#Other assorted chaos of my brain includes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cellarspider · 4 months ago

Text

Rambles in Star Wars History: The extreme shenanigans that changed an Empire

Bioware games can absolutely fascinate me, in part because of their worldbuilding, and in part because of where the worldbuilding ends. I mean, I did a whole long series of posts on the grammar of Qunlat and I have at least a dozen essays worth of material of exegetical analysis of religion in Dragon Age kicking around in my brain, which I keep threatening to actually manifest.

But since I'm here with my worldbuilding hat on, I'm going to ramble about Star Wars: The Old Republic, focusing on some of the sometimes-hilarious drama that's implied by the plot, and the implications for how these shenanigans remade a major galactic society in the process. Involved will be a man who faked his death to get out of going to meetings, a wine uncle who might become emperor, a living scowl with dangerous shoulders, and other assorted animals.

Expect a lot of bonus rambles in the image alt-texts, which is where I store commentary and jokes that I can't fit into the flow of the main post.

———

Before I dig into the topic at hand, I have to set the scene for those who don't know the game, or have forgotten in the fourteen years since the game launched.

Spoilers in the post below for Act 1-3 of the Imperial Agent, Sith Warrior, and Inquisitor storylines, Act 1 of the Jedi Knight storyline, the post-Act 3 Battle of Ilum flashpoint, and for various expansions including Rise of the Emperor, Knights of the Fallen Empire, Onslaught, and Legacy of the Sith. Assume that all reference links to Wookieepedia contain major spoilers.

SWTOR is an MMO set 3600 years before the Skywalkers crashed through the ceiling tiles of the galaxy, though it's not to say anything was less chaotic back then, just different chaos.

(Pictured: Anakin Skywalker, circa 32 BBY-4 ABY)

In this time, the titular Old Republic is opposed by a Sith Empire, which is precisely as functional as one might expect. After a decades-long conflict that ended with a Sith victory but left both sides exhausted, a state of cold war began. The Jedi, their Grand Temple destroyed, left Republic space to settle on an ancestral world. The Republic, battered and reeling, tried to recover its stride through use of its superior size and resources, and producing a truly unhinged number of superweapons.

The Sith Empire, in some ways, tried to pretend everything was fine for quite a while. They had successfully forced the Republic into a favorable treaty to end the war. They'd gained territory, they had a lot of work to do there.

…But as things started to look more and more like war again, they were left with the uncomfortable realization that they had sorta kinda killed most of the Sith in the last war, and Imperial citizens in good standing weren't producing enough Force-sensitive kids fast enough to rebuild the losses. Might've had something to do with most of them being dead.

The Empire, of course, is an absolute clusterfuck of a society. Slaves toil to maintain its power. Children of a slave and a citizen will be citizens themselves—unless they're "aliens", a category that includes everyone that isn't a human or a Sith pureblood, the original Sith species.

Being a citizen isn't great either: The Force-blind face mandatory conscription into the military, and can never rise to the highest echelons of society. Above them, the Sith act as a semi-hereditary aristocracy of evil space-wizards that serve an immortal, eldritch Emperor, their living god who has also kiiiind of gone AWOL for reasons only a few of them understand. He's torn between doing his job or staring at a living paperweight, and the paperweight has been winning. He also recently got trapped by an evil hole in the ground, it's complicated.

With the Emperor incommunicado, the duties of the state fall to the Dark Council, a ruling body of up to twelve Dark Lords of the Sith. Each have their own sphere of governmental influence, which are, one can only assume, very dark as well.

Presumably, the Dark Council had something to do with the inevitable yet still surprising solution to their space wizard deficit: over a thousand years of laws were suddenly overturned. Slaves, aliens, and prisoners were not only permitted to become Sith, it was now mandatory that they report for induction into training programs if they possessed any hint of Force-sensitivity.

This is how one of the eight protagonists of the MMO gets their start: if you play the Sith Inquisitor plotline, you begin as a former slave who has survived basic training and made it to the Sith Academy, where your teacher dearly wants to kill you. Your first mission: survive school.

I'm sure this is very relatable to quite a lot of you.

Now that I've got my PhD with only a few gray hairs, I'm looking back at this premise and thinking: This would completely upend the social framework of the Empire. You'd have every established Sith Lord in the Empire scrambling to kill these threats to their power, or harness them against their enemies, or both.

This is actually canon, but canon never touches on the broader, systemic implications of what the new Sith would do, and who they were before—Sure, the overseers of the training programs seem to be doing their damnedest to kill and undermine the newbies while maintaining plausible deniability, but enough of them survive to reshape the Empire. We know that. You play as one of them.

How in the fuck did the Dark Council ever manage to get this policy implemented in the first place? Obviously they did somehow, but the specifics are never mentioned.

But the specifics have the possibility to be hilarious.

The Dark Council itself is composed of Sith who either killed their way to the top, or inherited their seat from their Sith master—who they probably murdered. Turnover on most Council seats is incredibly high. The Spheres of Ancient Knowledge, Technology, and Military Offense each have three different Councilors within a single year, for example.

This also means that whoever ends up in charge of a Sphere might be entirely unsuited for it. Who heads up the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy? The least diplomatic guy on the Council, naturally. He goes by Darth Ravage, which fits in well enough with the three different Darths whose names mean 'death' (Thanaton, Mortis, and Rictus). The player can even end up as Darth Nox--'Darth Night'. You get the title by killing one of the Darth Deaths.

So, which of these barely-domesticated evil goths probably voted to allow 'inferior' beings to become Sith, overturning a fundamental tenet of imperial sith philosophy? Probably not the guy in charge of Sith Philosophy! We never see him, but he seems to have been a traditionalist. On the other hand, Darth "Murder has no rules" Ravage might not be huge on tradition, so we can mark him down as a "maybe". But he doesn't seem to be an instigator for something like this.

But on the subject of instigators: Darth Jadus.

Darth Jadus is an experience. While many of the other Council members make it quite clear they're angry enough to chew on the furniture, Jadus unnerves all of them by being utterly calm and composed, as long as you don't count how intensely fervent and irrational he sounds when he starts talking about the Dark Side. He's unhinged in a distressingly hinged-seeming way.

Heading up the Sphere of Intelligence, Jadus is a noted iconoclast on the Dark Council, using his authority to open Imperial Intelligence positions to aliens. He chooses slaves and Force-blind citizens to be his advisors and agents, ignoring the traditional power structures of the Sith. He prefers his literal cult following of fanatical adherents instead, who see him as a visionary savior, a terrifying inevitability, or both.

This means he seems to have basically no interest in elevating other Sith. In fact, he hates the way the rest of them run the Empire. Making more of them might potentially be against his interests.

Or at least it would be, if he didn't have some long-running secret plans that he wants to keep the other Dark Council members from catching wind of. Advocating for slaves, aliens and convicts to become Sith would superficially fall in line with his philosophy, and just raising the idea in public could cause such social chaos that his true plans would benefit from it. Jadus is also the most genre-savvy sith in the entire game: he seems to almost be aware at points that he's neither the protagonist nor main antagonist, and thus his evil plans involve not messing with either of them. When he jostles up against the main plot and realizes he has no plausible means to derail it, he responds by leaving the plot entirely.

Given the tactical chaos and uncomfortably fourth wall-touching strategies Jadus makes use of, let's mark him down as a "yes".

But Jadus is an unpopular one on the Council. He's creepy. Sith HATE feeling creeped out. That's supposed to happen to other people, dammit, not them! And with his disinterest in politics and his deep interest in foisting his manifesto on everyone, he's not the most effective Dark Councilor.

He might be able to pull in a few—Darth Decimus, head of Military Strategy, seems to have been quite willing to exploit any advantage he might be able to squeeze out of a situation. Fun side note, his voice actor also played the First Order officer who was just so done with Hux at the beginning of The Last Jedi.

youtube

[Video Description: A compilation of Mark Lewis Jones as Captain Moden Canady from The Last Jedi, with the video quality partially encrunchified by YouTube. This includes all of his shots from the film, from arrival of the Seige Dreadnought Fulminatrix, to the extremely annoyed look he gives the fireball that kills him. Sound supervisor Matt Wood was apparently pretty sure "FIRE ON THE BASE!" was going to be used as an EDM drop, and I can confirm, I've heard it out in the wild.]

Who else have we got rattling around in this Council, who might have extremely ridiculous reasons to vote yes? Well, we have Darth Vengean, head of Military Offense, was all about the Offense. Who needs defense? That nerd Darth Marr? HA! No, Vengean wanted to restart the war with the Republic. More bodies for the war machine would probably be fine with him.

Speaking of that nerd Darth Marr, Darth Marr.

Apparently he designed this armor himself. Solid effort, my man.

Marr is in his sixties by the time the game happens. He's one of the longest-surviving Dark Councilors, and he sounds so tired of his coworkers in every scene he's in. Heading up the Defense of the Empire, Marr also is the de facto leader of the Dark Council, by dint of being the only adult in the room.

Much like Jadus, he distances himself from the backstabbery and rivalries among the Council members. Unlike Jadus, he 100% means it, and has been focused on not making the Empire explode. He eventually ends up as the unofficial leader of the Empire until he gets one-shotted so hard it makes his ghost chill out a bit. He keeps the spikes, though.

So, if there's anyone on the Council who might vote for this on purely practical grounds, and has the power to push others into agreeing with him, because so help him if they don't stop holding duels in the conference room he's going to turn this Empire around—

Nobody listens to him on that, by the way. Both the Sith main plots involve duels in the conference room.

In fact, one of those duels is egged on by our last suspect. Marr might be a contender for longest-running Dark Councilor, but there is another candidate: Darth Vowrawn, who seems to be having a much better time being on the Council than Marr. I suspect the only reason why he doesn't have a bucket of popcorn with him in the Council chambers is because somebody made a rule that he had to stop doing that.

Vowrawn is a surprisingly cheerful old bastard who seems to have turned his hobby into his job. He shows up 'fashionably late' to someone else's attempted coup, after lamenting he can't sell tickets to the clusterfuck that's about to commence. In the expansions to the game, he can outmaneuver and outlive all of the competition and end up becoming the Emperor, at the age of 87.

Vowrawn is also indifferent to against the Empire's policies--he supports the ascension of a Zabrak to the Dark Council, and takes one as an apprentice as well. Beyond that, Vowrawn would have to support this move, because he's instrumental in any large project like this, both politically and practically. While the others I've mentioned all have roles explicitly to do with the aggressive expansion or protection of the Empire, Vowrawn heads the Sphere of Production and Logistics. In essence, he's the one who can decide whether all these other bozos get to eat or not.

If Vowrawn didn't accept this change, then it would have failed. So, he's a definite "yes" by default.

Speaking of bastards who are still active well into their eighties, we have one last major figure who isn't on the Council that likely advocated for this: Darth Malgus.

youtube

[Video Description: The "Deceived" trailer, set ten years before the game. God, I love this thing. This was the first trailer I saw for the game, and it got me, it really did. The Sith are just as ridiculous as they should be, combined with choreography that feels a lot more crunchy than lightsaber combat had been before, with distinct combat styles for the two main fighters. It's quick, it's impactful, and it's got a memorable conclusion. Love it.]

Malgus is as anti-racist and anti-classist as Jadus is, but without the insane transcendental Dark Side philosophy. Instead, he has an insane philosophy of bettering the Empire through eternal war, which he believes everyone should have an equal ability to participate in. He is what would happen if a Warhammer 40k character had an inside voice.

youtube

[Video Description: The "Disorder" cinematic trailer, set before the Legacy of the Sith expansion. Malgus is 75 here. Man's held together by spite and screws and whatever nutrients you can absorb by being thrown through walls. He's fully given up on the Sith Order at this point and is trying to do his own thing, and he makes it look rad. The choreography has only gotten better, goddamn. Why did it take me three goddamn years to watch this. IT'S REALLY GOOD.]

Malgus is a big deal in the military, with a lot of support from both the Force-blind soldiers and earning the loyalty of a surprising cross-section of Sith. We know this, because he nearly hijacks the Empire at one point in the early expansions. He'd be into this idea, and he probably advocated for it. While he'd have the most direct interaction with the military-related Councilors we already have in the "yes" column, he also has a history of annoying the bejeezus out of other Sith on "his" turf, so who knows! He may have been more persuasive to the others we haven't dug into.

And we can't really dig into all of them at the depth we have with some. Despite how bogglingly huge SWTOR is and the two thousand four hundred and ninety-five named characters and "Additional Voices" credits in IMDb, we never meet some of the Dark Councilors. If you don't play all the eight main storylines, you won't see all of them in the game. I'll admit, I've never seen Darth Hadra, because I've never gotten that far in a Republic-aligned storyline! The Sith you encounter in their stories can often be more one-note, because they're purely there as antagonists rather than people you are legally required to hang out with, and thus have more opportunity to pester mercilessly.

[Video Description: A clip from my own Warrior run-through, featuring my big lad Rejalgar, his coolest friend Vette, and his boss, Darth Baras, who is presently having a screaming tantrum, which Rejalgar makes worse with the most delightfully straight-faced "Is there a problem here?". The Warrior plotline lets you play things sincerely evil, sincerely noble, or sincerely hilarious. Do you want to see Jedi bluescreen when a Sith just straight-up refuses to be violent? Do you want to sidestep a boss fight by offering a family a government pension, something your boss commends as being very devious and evil? Do you want to break up a fight between gangs by threatening to eat them? Come play the Sith Warrior storyline, and be the chaos you want to see in the galaxy!]

youtube

[Video Description, from a clip I uploaded to YT specifically for this post after I found out you can only upload one video per tumblr post wtf: A clip from my Inquisitor run-through, featuring my extremely shirtless lad, Sericus, playing coy and a little airheaded when called up by his Sith master, Darth Zash. Back in the day, Purebloods weren't supposed to be played as canon for this storyline, but there were tweaks later made to dialog that provided a canon explanation for how someone with visible Sith ancestry could end up in this situation. The storyline, however, unfortunately does not fully account for a character whose ideal job description is 'villain's beautiful and deceptively intelligent consort, the true power behind the throne'. It assumes you're playing a character who wants to go conquer and/or do mad wizard-science. Bonus points for eventually letting you marry your eight foot tall razor-faced cannibal thrall though, that's very fun.]

Why don't we see all of the Dark Council? Well, because they're ultimately not important to the story as a group. Events keep you locked tightly under the purview of just one or two of them on the Sith side of things, before the post-game and expansion plots launch you into the experience of being a major player in Imperial affairs, and Imperial affairs launch themselves at you in return.

Everyone realizes the Emperor wants to eat them. Then he dies, except he doesn't. Malgus takes over the Empire for a few weeks. Marr takes over, but half the Council is dead and the rest are still in orientation and are probably also dead, because their would-be successors assassinated them. The Emperor, only mildly inconvenienced by also being dead, eats a planet. Then things go completely off the deep end, and the Dark Council is no longer your concern at all.

It's economical storytelling to not belabor the rest of the Councilors, and playing through as an ex-slave Inquisitor, you continue to face enough challenges directly linked to your background that the resistance feels systemic, even if you don't actually see all that many others who are facing the same issues.

But I think there's a lot of potential for some really wild storytelling in there. Your character receives some level of basic training before they reach the Sith Academy, along with a whole batch of ex-slaves. What did that entail? How was it organized? What happens when folks from abolitionist movements start being trained as sith, gaining all the attendant legal authority over the life and death of others?

And what about the prisoners who were released for training? While one canon option is to play a character who was facing immediate execution for participation in violent anti-Imperial resistance, at least a fair chunk of Force-sensitive prisoners were probably serving longer sentences. What happens when prison gangs start gaining a foothold in the Sith Academy, where they're too dysfunctional to even form Mean Girl cliques? What happens when some of their members become full Sith? How many of them might have Hutt backing, or even funding from the Republic Secret Intelligence Service?

These are the sorts of things the Sith themselves are terrified of. This earns a very sarcastic thoughts and prayers to them, of course. Yet it truly is wild to think about the decision-making process that went into this massive societal shift that the game treats as simply a piece of inciting incident for two plotlines out of eight: Twelve unhinged people sat down in some extremely high-backed chairs one day and voted to give everyone equal access to lightning.

I love Star Wars, it's just the funniest shit imaginable sometimes.

#star wars #star wars: the old republic #swtor #swtor meta #darth jadus #darth marr #darth vowrawn #the sith empire is held together with only chewing gum and bad vibes #and it's hilarious #love these terrible idiots

332 notes · View notes

cutebisexualmess · 2 years ago

Text

blog intro(finally)

hey! I'm Vee or just V, welcome to my blog! I mostly use they/them pronouns, but xe/xem is fine as well!

pronouns page

join my cat meme mailing list

@vee-artss - my art sideblog :) (i will post more promise)

@vees-anime-escapades - my anime sideblog (also the only blog I organise by fandom)

@purple-blocks - mcyt sideblog, for all my life series and eventually hermitcraft stuff

@veeliveblogs - my liveblogging sideblog for all my random thoughts as im watching things so I don't spoil it for others who follow me here

ao3 (i don't post but i bookmark a whole heap of things, also just in case i do post something)

goodreads i want to read more so send me book recs!

I also run a couple of tourney and rp blogs but you can only know those if you find them first >:)

if you need someone to beta for anything hmu for SPAG and flow because i find it fun lol

✨neurodivergent minor✨

(16-18 range)

I’m also from Australia!

fandoms Im in:

Percy Jackson, the owl house, keeper of the lost cities, the amazing digital circus, helluva boss and hazbin hotel, sk8 the infinity, yuri on ice, heartstopper, the dragon prince, epic the musical, the Hatchetfield trilogy, and high class homos

others I (might) occasionally post about:

she-ra and the princesses of power, camp cretaceous + chaos theory(not the og park and world movies though but i’m working on it), the umbrella academy, ava/m, sanders sides, the two princes, nimona, starkid musicals, a little wings of fire, miraculous ladybug, hells belles(webseries on tiktok), countdown to countdown, not so silent, young royals, red white and royal blue, our flag means death, kpop demon hunters, spy x family, bungou stray dogs, a lot of musicals, and other assorted webcomics and webseries my brain digs its claws into

things Im reading/watching atm: prince of fortune, maestro(school read), a sign of affection, cbs ghosts, and the apothecary diaries!

also just fyi i wont be tagging pjotv spoilers on rbs sorry

my sorting tags:

#vee speaks - for my original posts

#vee arts - the occasional art i post

#save - favourite posts I'm saving for later

#from the draft dungeon -posts scavenged from my drafts

#tag games - tag games

#picrew chain - picrew chains

#ask game - ask games, specific ones will be tagged: [thing] ask game

also feel free to send me recs! I will consume any type of media and any content(including fanfic), and recs give me direction in my endless pile of to be read/watched :3

I don't mind if you dm/tag me in anything :D I love it when people interact with me.

feel free to ask for my discord as well!!

🐚 team no abs

Mutual tags(so far)(lmk if you want me to untag you :))

@glacierruler - #mutual ❄️!

@periwinkle-the-11th - #mutual 🪻!

@fuzzysoulyt - #mutual 🐇!

@violetthunderstorm - #mutual 🌩️!

@nico-the-overlord - #mutual 💰!

@brookie-writes - #mutual 🧊!

@dragonairice - #mutual 💎!

@multi-fandom-lunatic - #mutual 🍪!

@randomnerd737 - #mutual 👍!

@clarityroses2 - #mutual 🌹!

otherwise atm mutual tags are #hi (name) until i change them :))

#vee speaks #intro post #coloured text #colored text #dividers by benkeibear #:)#ill add more if i realised ive forgotten something i want to put in #im also australian just btw #(also brooke idk what blog to tag so I just tagged your writing blog)

29 notes · View notes

flfverse · 2 years ago

Text

random assorted laws, pt 1

i keep waiting to have a firm enough grasp on legal worldbuilding to lay out laws in neat categories and name them and be all official. but i must embrace my messy chaos brain. so here, in no particular order, are a random list of laws in FLFverse.

anti-discrimination: discrimination is currently illegal on the basis of orientation. doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, or that the law is well-enforced, but it is there. it does not, however, extend to transoriented people.

currently activists are fighting to include transoriented people under the law, and to institute a quota/required ratio of subs to doms in specific industries and in leadership positions.

public indecency: exhibitionism and voyeurism are a thing, but so is consent. sexual play of any kind is illegal in public outside of specific designated areas in clubs, parks, clinics, etc.

commands: it is illegal for dominants and switches to use their dominant register on anyone in the workplace, and is considered (sexual) harassment in other areas of life.

education: as part of the health curriculum, all public middle and high schools are required to teach students about their orientations. sex ed requirements are also a lot more robust. all schools are also required to have a room set aside for students who might drop during school hours to recover, but there aren’t exactly rules for how the room has to be set up.

honestly i had more ideas when i started this post but then i left it for a few days and now i don’t. part 2 will come later! also, next up is a post about historical laws that are no longer in place.

#flfverse #worldbuilding #d/s au

2 notes · View notes

hangingfire · 2 years ago

Text

Yuletide 2022

Another Yuletide fic exchange has come and gone, and now it's time for the reveals post.

First: my wonderful gift. It's the Christmas special The Bear deserves; funny, moving, sharply observed. It is, as Sydney Adamu would say, fire.

Sunday Special Author: LearnedFoot Fandom: The Bear (TV 2022) Details: Rated T, Gen, 2073 words Tags: Sydney Adamu, Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto, Richard "Richie" Jerimovich, other characters make appearances too, Friendship, Found Family, Christmas, Post-Canon Summary: The Bear stays open for Christmas.

Second: my recs list for Yuletide 2022, a work in progress. It's an eclectic bunch of stuff right now, including Stand By Me, Piranesi, 17776, Ask a Manager, and more.

And finally, my works.

Below the Waves for rueckenfigur Fandom: Polar Explorer RPF Details: Rated G, Gen, 1813 words Tags: Francis Crozier, HMS Terror, Historical, Sailing, Franklin Expedition, Ross Expedition, POV Inanimate Object Summary: "A ship can have favourites; sailors know this in their bones. And Crozier—quiet, steady, respectful—was hers." Notes: This isn't a Terror fic per se, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't heavily influenced by that show. I mean, I went and stuck a quotation from the show in the epigraph, and Lt. Little in this story maybe owes something to Matthew McNulty's portrayal in the show. In any case, my recipient had asked for a story about Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, and after a speed-run through assorted works of nonfiction, this is where I ended up, telling his story from the point of view of his ship, HMS Terror, who still dreams of him as she lies 21 metres below the surface of Terror Bay. The title is from Heidi Berry's song of the same name, and the mood of the story is basically that song as well.

Bell, Book, and Candle for BeccaLee Fandom: Control (Video Game) x Piranesi - Susanna Clarke Details: Rated G, Gen, 1533 words Tags: Emily Pope, Original Characters, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Found Documents, case files Summary: Correspondence relating to OOP27-UE. Notes: I wasn't sure if I was going to manage to write anything other than my assignment this year, but I'd been listening to the audiobook of Piranesi while doing some long pre-holiday drives. So I went poking around the prompts and found that BeccaLee had requested both Piranesi and Control. I did very much like the idea of mashing up the House and the Oldest House, and also the idea of there being other Oldest Houses. There's not really a plot here per se; it's more of a vibe, and in particular the shared vibe of both canons that suggests something Larger and More Powerful At Work. And of course the characters from the world of Control would see Piranesi's House as something creepy at best, and outright dangerous at worst.

The Cunning of the Goose is Immeasurable; Its Mischief Infinite for Lielac Fandom: Untitled Goose Game x Piranesi - Susanna Clarke Details: Rated G, Gen, 1133 words Tags: Piranesi | Matthew Rose Sorensen, The Other | Valentine Andrew Ketterley, Goose (Untitled Goose Game), Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Prequel Summary: Entries for the Fourth Month in the Year the Albatross Came to the South-Western Halls. Notes: Lielac had requested Untitled Goose Game fic and their prompt offered a blank cheque for crossing the game over with literally anything. And, again, since I had Piranesi very much on the brain, I thought, well, why not have the Goose pay a visit to the House? What if the Goose is an agent of mischief and chaos that transcends space and time? Once the idea formed, the story practically wrote itself. I also constructed it such that it is set a month before the beginning of the novel, which averts spoilers of any significance. I'm tempted to expand on it—probably the only reason it's not longer is that I literally wrote it two days before the collection went live, and I wanted to get it done. But really both Piranesi and the Goose deserve more shenanigans together before the Goose buggers off to wherever it came from.

#yuletide #yuletide 2022 #my work #fic recs #the bear fx #piranesi #control game #untitled goose game

4 notes · View notes

stressisakiller · 4 years ago

Text

Time to Go Sunflower

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

(Hello Sunflower Part 6)

Summary: 6 months after escaping Hydra you have an unexpected visitor.

Warnings: Fluff straight Fluff. A little bit of melancholy

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Flashbacks are in italics. Bit of a filler chapter again, but needed to move forward with the story. Let me know if you have any requests for future chapters! Thank yall for reading!

Series Masterlist

<< Previous Next >>

You had gotten to enjoy a normal life with Bucky for 6 months. Six months of going to work and coming home to spend time lounging around. You didn’t just lounge around, of course, neither of you is that kind of person. You work and worked out every day at a local gym, you had quickly become friends with the owner. He didn’t ask too many questions when you asked for a job and you taught women self-defense and helped keep the place running. Bucky taught a boxing class and helped you teach self-defense. He really enjoyed the ability to use all of his training to help others rather than hurt. The nightmares are the hardest thing for both of you. You both did this you weren’t proud of, you were both tortured, and now that everything was peaceful all of those memories were coming back to haunt you. You slowly fell into a routine on the nights when the nightmares kept you up.

You woke up first, due to your nightmares or his, walking into the kitchen you would place the tea kettle on the stove. Bucky had surprisingly become fond of some chamomile tea when he couldn’t sleep, but only when you’re the one who makes it. You place your coffee mugs on the counter, you had gotten them as a joke when you first moved to Brooklyn. Smiling, you remembered the day you bought them.

It was a chilly spring morning and you had just moved to New york. As you explored your neighborhood you noticed that there was a farmers market. You looked over at Bucky giving him your best puppy dog eyes. He rolled his eyes, before chuckling and saying,

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt for us to look around for a minute. We could use some fresh fruit at the house.”

Walking through the narrow paths you pointed out every funny or weird thing that you could find. Reveling in the small smiles that occasionally graced his face as you pointed out something especially silly. It was so different being able to do whatever you wanted, having time to just joke around. You couldn’t help being on high alert, even as you had fun walking through the market, and you could tell that Bucky was in the same boat. Your eyes scanning the area, taking notes of exits, and paying attention to everyone around you. Your eyes grazed over a particularly cluttered booth full of assorted kitchen items when you saw it. The perfect mug for your soulmate. You hurried over to the booth, Bucky following behind you confused at the sudden pit stop. You grabbed the mug and excitedly asked the man behind the table.

“How Much?”

“For a pretty lady like you, $5.”

You quickly pushed the money into his waiting palm, turning back to Bucky to show him your treasure. It was a large white mug with the sentence “I never thought I would be a grumpy old man but here I am, killing it.” He took one look at it and laughed out loud, a full belly laugh that had you grinning like an idiot. You had never heard him laugh like that before and it quickly became your favorite sound. He searched the rest of the market, looking for the perfect mug for you as well. You were walking past the last booth when he saw it. Dark blue with a yellow sunflower beside the words “I run off of coffee, chaos and cuss words.” It was his turn to rush over, purchasing the cup before you even caught up. Looking up at him with curiosity when you reached his side. He was grinning like a schoolboy when he showed you what he had found.

Bucky’s arms sliding around your shoulder brought you out of your memories. You leaned back into his chest, pouring the water over the tea bags. You spun around and wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your face against his chest. You always loved how warm he was, you didn’t normally get cold, thank you serum, but you still loved snuggling close to him whenever you got the chance. You both froze when you heard the knocking at the door, grabbing the gun you kept in the drawer you and Bucky shuffled towards the door, remaining as quiet as possible. You couldn’t help but shake your head at the Deja-vu of seeing Steve standing outside your door looking just a little bit lost. You looked over at Bucky, lowering your gun and tilting your head to let him know it was ok. Cracking open the door you scanned the halfway, before ushering him in. You heard Bucky’s gasp when he saw who it was. Locking the door you turned to face your guest.

“Hey there Cap, what can we do for you at, oh 3 in the morning,” you asked glancing at the clock on the stove.

“They are getting ready to start the trials for the information that Shield “leaked”.”

You caught Bucky’s eyes and knew that it was the end of your time out of the world of Shield and Hydra. There was sadness and resignation in his eyes but also determination.

“So what do we need to do?” He asked.

“The best thing would be for you to come live in the Avenger’s tower. We will give you time to get accustomed to it before we look into putting you on missions. The council will look at you more favorably if you are actively trying to make up for your past.” He stated, speaking as if he were ordering a cup of coffee.

You tensed at that, “Does the council understand that we had absolutely no choice in our past? Maybe we could take them to a hydra base and show them what it’s like to have your brain emptied and someone else’s will forced on you.” you spat.

“I know, Y/N trust me, I think it’s stupid for them to have these trials at all. You and Bucky have been through enough as it is but there is nothing we can do, not if you want to live a life where you aren’t constantly on the run.” He assured, his voice softening at you obvious distress.

You collapsed into yourself at the kindness in his voice.

“I’m sorry Steve, I shouldn’t take my anger out on you. When do we leave?”

“It would be best if we leave now. We will get all of your stuff to the tower as quickly as we can, but we need you to come back with me. We already have rooms set up for you and we want you to leave at night, fewer eyes on you.”

You closed your eyes and dropped onto the arm of the couch at his words. You knew this was coming but you thought you would have a bit of a warning so that you could prepare. Yeah, the apartment you were in wasn’t great, but it was home and it was the first place you had truly felt safe and happy. Bucky placed his hand on your shoulder giving it a comforting squeeze. You lifted your head and eyed Steve,

“Fine, but give us thirty minutes to pack the essentials.” You went to your room, not waiting for his answer. Bucky walked in shortly after, stopping your angry packing and pulling you into a tight hug.

“It’s going to be ok my little sunflower. I know we both wanted more time to ourselves before being dragged into this, but we will make it work, and we won’t do anything that we disagree with. Our decisions will be ours and our alone. Ok?” you relaxed into the hug and nodded. He pulled you back and gave you a quick kiss and started helping you throw all the things you needed, including the few pictures that you had into your duffle bags. You walked into the kitchen and grabbed your coffee cups, pouring out the now cold tea before packing them as well. If Steve thought it was strange he had the courtesy not to say anything. You had changed out of your pajamas as you packed, so as soon as you packed the mugs you were ready to go.

Shrugging your duffle bag onto your shoulder, you took one last look around your apartment. You took it in, seeing a movie of memories flash before your eyes. You pulled your eyes forward before steeling yourself, grabbing Bucky’s hand and nodding to Steve. Stepping out of your home for the past 6 months you faced an unknown future. But with Bucky by your side, and Steve at your back you knew that you would be able to face anything.

#bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #avengers fanfiction #avengers #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider x reader #soulmate au #hello sunflower

40 notes · View notes

archaickobold · 4 years ago

Text

So! I’ve finally done it, here’s a thing i wrote

Cassius Solis, in charge of a City the size of an actual continent, has to deal with four of the people under him- Matthew Reyes, in charge of research, Laura Kay, in charge of a number of things including textile production, Vesper Cooper, spymaster, and Theodore O'Gallagher, head military officer. And oh yeah, the hivemind that is connected to his brain, made up of the immortal dictators that came before him.

This is going to be interesting.

Cassius examined his reflection in the full length mirror, leaning close as he wiped away a non-existent smudge of eyeliner.

‘Cassius, you’re going to be late,’ a voice spoke in his head, but he didn’t even blink.

“It’s five minutes, and I’m the Head of the entire City. They can wait,” he mumbled, continuing to go over his makeup with a critical eye.

‘Yes, but it could be a matter of national importance,’ the voice argued again, and he rolled his eyes.

“Or, it could be another hour long meeting of them bickering. They don’t need me there for that,” he countered, leaning back slightly, satisfied. He tugged at his white and gold coat sleeves, straightening them, and sighed. “But, maybe I should be there to stop them from killing each other. I don’t need the extra paperwork.” He strolled out of the room, not even paying attention to the staff that bowed as he passed. The golden soles of his boots flashed in the sunlight that was streaming in through the large windows, each step neat and sharp on the marble floor. The walls were covered with garish displays of wealth in the form of mosaics and tapestries made out of literal glowing fibers, but Cassius didn’t pay them any mind. He lived here, after all, so they were nothing new to him.

After a few minutes, he arrived at the meeting room, exactly 4 minutes late. The others in the room stood, but Cassius waved them to sit, taking his own seat in the large chair behind the opulent wooden desk. He examined them- there were four of them, today. One, tall, pale, with steely gray eyes and black hair that had a few streaks of silver, cropped close to his head. Another had medium brown skin, her dark purple hair almost black. She was younger than the others, and about half a foot shorter than the gray-eyed man next to her. However, he wasn’t her main focus, as she was in a heated debate with the man across from her- He had piercing green eyes, and a permanent scowl on his face. It only deepened as the woman talked, his thick black brows creasing in anger. Despite the chaos happening right next to her, the final person sat quietly, a small smirk on her face. She had incredibly pale skin, and light green hair with a few gray streaks, her gray eyes peering out from behind her glasses. While there was nothing particularly outstanding about how she was dressed, she had a presence that was hard to dismiss. Cassius cleared his throat, loudly. When that still wasn’t enough, he cleared his throat again, before resorting to telepathically asking both of the people who were arguing,

‘Would you please pay attention?’ He didn’t even try to keep the condescension out of his voice. The two finally calmed down after that, and Cassius relaxed slightly. Maybe they were in a good mood, and they’d actually be able to get work done, rather than fighting to keep the two of them away from each other’s throats. “Now, Matthew, Laura, I’ve heard you have something you want to tell me?” They both started talking over each other, and Cassius held up a hand, just barely holding back a sigh. They fell quiet. “Why don’t we start with you, then, Laura?”

“He’s trying to sabotage me, I just know it! Shipments getting stopped at the border, at his border, might I add, and I need those shipments, I’m just trying to do what’s best for this City and he’s over there, trying to sacrifice what we’ve been working for, just to get his petty revenge-”

“I was only doing it because she was stopping my researchers! They were doing their jobs, taking samples-”

“They were kidnapping the people under my jurisdiction!”

“A small handful, that’s all,” Matthew said, waving a hand dismissively. “And their research is what really betters the City, how many technological developments have we had because of them, hm? Certainly more than the person in charge of textiles,” he spat, and Laura glared at him.

“For your information, my sector does more than just fabric, and even if it didn’t, I’d like to see how far you’d make it without your fancy clothes.”

“Farther than you’d make it without all of the life changing innovations that my people-”

“Enough,” Cassius raised his voice. “Matthew, stop blocking her shipments and tell your scientists to stop kidnapping her people. Use your own, you have plenty of them to choose from. Or at least, you should, according to the census data you’ve given me. Laura, don’t antagonize him. There, is that fair?”

“Not at all-” Matthew started, but Cassius ignored him.

“Good, then that’s settled. You two, leave. I have more important issues to deal with,” he said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. Matthew huffed, but reluctantly left, following Laura out. Once the door had shut behind them, he turned to the green-haired woman.

“Apologies, Vesper. They insisted that I needed to hear their complaints. A waste of my time, as usual.” Her smirk didn’t waver as she said,

“I understand, your Excellency. They can be a bit out of hand, however, so would you like me to take care of them for you?” He considered it briefly, but shook his head.

“No, that’s quite alright. They do have their uses, sometimes,” he said, and the voice in his head- a different one, this time- said,

‘Not to mention, the stability in Matthew’s sector is incredibly fragile. Removing him from power might be just enough to spur on a revolution, and I don’t think we need to remind you, Cassius, what happens if you’re responsible for a large scale revolution.’

‘I’m well aware, thank you. Now, would you please leave me alone, I need to focus.’

‘Sorry you don’t want the help of an entire group of immortal leaders, who all have far more experience than you. But please, if you think you can do this alone, go right ahead.’ The sarcasm was practically dripping from their mental voice.

‘That’s not what I meant at all, and-’ Cassius cut himself off. There was no point arguing with the hivemind when they got like that. Instead, he carefully returned his attention to Vesper, who was watching him with a careful eye. Suddenly feeling very uneasy, he quickly said, “You said you have some reports for me?” Her expression was unreadable, and he was only able to feel a brief flicker of some emotion with his telepathy before it was gone as she said,

“I do, your Excellency.” She laid a small cube device on the desk, which lit up with a light green glow as it projected an assortment of documents into the air. “My spies have seen an increase in small skirmishes here,” she tapped an area on a map, “And here. These resistances aren’t strong, or organized, but they may be something to keep an eye on. Or, if we want to cut it off now before it gets too out of hand, I’d recommend making an example out of some of these… idealists,” she said. Her tone was neutral and unreadable, but something about the way she said the word ‘idealists’ made it seem as if it was slime in her mouth. Cassius nodded slowly, as the last person spoke up.

“If I may, your Excellency, but I would advise against that course of action. That might give the rebels a rallying point, rather than scaring them into submission.”

“I’m not telling you how to do your job, Theodore,” Vesper said, voice level with a cutting undercurrent. Theo just raised one eyebrow.

“And I’m not telling you how to do yours, just making a suggestion.”

“And I thank you both for your work,” Cassius interrupted, before they could start arguing. He’d had enough of that with Matthew and Laura to last a lifetime. “Vesper, Theo, I’ll take both of your words into consideration. I think it might be best if we enforce a stricter guard presence in these areas, but I don’t see a need to have any further action,” he said, looking Vesper in the eye, despite the fact that he was more than slightly intimidated by her. She was quiet for a long moment, meeting his eyes with a level, unreadable gaze. Her smirk never wavered, as gray eyes met gold. Just as he started to squirm, she nodded, simply saying,

“Of course, your Excellency. As you say.” With that, she stood, not waiting for Cassius to dismiss her. She left, the door silently closing behind her. Cassius immediately deflated, sinking back in his chair and closing his eyes.

“Theo-”

“I’ll do my best to ensure she doesn't kill you,” he said, his tone serious, though there was an amused twinkle in his eye. Cassius groaned, massaging his temples.

“Why,” he muttered. “Why did I ever take this job.”

‘Because you wanted immortality, and practically limitless power and wealth?’ one member of the hivemind offered.

‘That was a rhetorical question and you know it,’ Cassius replied, not letting the telepathic communication show on his face. Not even Theodore knew about the hivemind’s existence, after all, and he did want to live, and to be immortal, so he had to keep it a secret. Theodore, unaware of the silent communication, said,

“I don’t know, Cassius, but you’re here now.” Cassius nodded tiredly.

“That I am,” he mumbled, before looking up at Theo. “You didn’t have anything else for me, did you?”

“I just wanted to make sure that Vesper wouldn’t try to kill you, or that you wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire between Laura and Matthew,” he said, a small smile on his face. Cassius returned the smile with one of his own, before closing his eyes again.

“Thank you, Theo. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Just doing my job,” he said quietly, and Cassius had to shake his head slightly, his smile still in place. As the head of his personal guard, sure, maybe Theo had to provide him with some form of security, but he had chosen to guard him himself. Cassius very much appreciated Theo’s presence, as the one person he felt he could genuinely trust. And maybe that was because he was also his official second in command, but maybe it was also because he had proven trustworthy, time and time again, for the past 14 years. He let out a breath, pulling himself back to the present, and bracing himself for the rest of the day. He was sure he had plenty of work to do, and avoid, as usual.

2 notes · View notes

turtlepated · 5 years ago

Text

The Handbook for the Recently Married (to the Deceased)

Chapter 2:

[TW: mild peril. It’s not explicit or graphic, but there is mention of hanging. I debated for a bit whether to keep this part brief so I could get to the next bit which I’m really looking forward to writing faster, but it feels like this is a better segue than jumping right in feet first.]

Tag list: @sapphic-florals , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @imtherain , @imsuchahobbit , @pastelnacht , and @tialanderrol

-----

I discovered quickly that the disembodied noises that echoed around me in what was apparently a vast empty space containing nothing my myself, the slide, and the distant door were emanating from the living room. Whatever the cackling green-haired guy in the stripes and his teenaged cohort were getting up to, they were evidently having a blast. Every few minutes it seemed I could hear peals of laughter, screams, dull sounds of impact as of people jumping around and even dancing. I was fairly sure that strains of upbeat music drifted to me, some sort of loud and boisterous song about a beautiful sound? I kept climbing, working my way steadily up the slide toward the landing that floated disconnected from any structure and the door that stood upon it.

Over the subsequent hours as I rose incrementally higher, the formerly indistinct voices on the other side of the door sharpened enough that I caught snatches of the conversations. I had no trouble recognizing the exuberant, raspy voice of the man in the stripes, so I came to the conclusion that the teenaged girl was named “Lydia,” since he said the name several times with evident reference to her. His name was harder to pin down, since Lydia only ever seemed to refer to him with nicknames: “Beej”, “BJ”, “Bug Juice”. But they were clearly making the most of whatever strange and unusual dynamic they had going on, judging by the terrified screams that I could only imagine came from other hapless guests at the door.

At some point I heard mention of some sort of handbook, then Lydia asking insistently, urgently about using the book to find her mother. Parts of the conversation were incomprehensible to me, but I overheard enough to pick up on the fact that Lydia was taking the book upstairs? Were there other people in the house after all? The man? demon? ghost? that she called BJ (it was very ambiguous just what he was) yelled plaintively after her and I heard his words with perfect clarity: “You’re leaving me? But what am I supposed to do?!” There was a desperation in his voice that surprised me, as though he had suddenly found himself adrift and unsure without his partner in crime even though she had only stepped out of the room. He lamented his loneliness to an unknown audience, though it was difficult to determine how much of it was genuine emotion and how much was play-acting. But on some level I understood how he professed to feel. I wasn’t a stranger to loneliness and disconnect and unfulfillment. Perhaps there was more to him than I’d given him credit for. I paused in my ascent, frowning deeply. What was that? Where had it come from? This….person had terrorized and attacked me! I should not be empathizing with him!

“After all I’ve done for her! Alone… again…” Even with his grating, sandpaper-to-the-ear-canal voice, I couldn’t ignore the hurt that seeped into his tone anymore than I could ignore the twinge it caused in my chest because, in spite of everything, at the very least I understood that hurt. I was so taken aback by this revelation that I missed the next part of his speech, a portion of which was again delivered in song form and included allusions to a “super evil plan going down.” I licked my lips and resumed my uphill battle with renewed fervor. Whatever that moment had been, whatever those feelings may have been, I was more than ready to get out of here before anything else horrible happened.

As I drew closer to the landing, things upstairs seemed to go quiet for awhile. Minutes or maybe hours later, it was hard to keep track of time in this strange empty place, I heard more hushed voices. But these were unfamiliar. One was a man, whispering loudly for Lydia. Maybe it was her parents! Maybe they could get me out of here. I started shouting for help, but it became apparent that while I could hear them, they could not hear me. At long last, I was nearing the end of my ordeal. The landing was just a few feet ahead of me, if I kept going in no time at all I’d be able to pull myself up onto flat ground for the first time in what seemed like ages. I couldn’t help the grin that split my face when I finally, finally grabbed hold of the bannister at the top of the slide and hauled myself up and onto my feet. Triumph and relief were overwhelming me and I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. But that decision could wait, it was time to get the hell out of this place!

All at once the activity in the house above me resumed with more ferocity than before: raised voices shouting things I couldn’t quite make out, a strange mechanical sound, a rumbling like thunder. Over it all I heard Lydia speaking loudly, practically screaming out some sort of rhyming verse: “Spirit nearest, hearts entwine! Love infernal, shades unbind!” The landing lurched under my feet and I staggered with a frightened gasp, grasping the door handle in one hand and the railing with the other. Everything shook, the house groaned around us as though it were trying to wrench free of its foundations. “Lydia!” “What’s going on?!” I had to agree with the sentiment, but I was more focused on getting the door open as everything around me continued to shudder as though in an earthquake. “I summon thee, lend Ceres’ breath! Devoted soul, released from death!” I twisted the knob, flung open the door, and hurled myself through.

Curiously I landed flat on my belly with a grunt, finding that I had apparently emerged from the fireplace on the opposite side of the room from the stairs to the basement. The sight that met my eyes could not have been stranger if it had been written in a script. The entire room was bathed in the ghostly bluish-purple light emanating from a squat machine placed on a plinth. Standing in the living room with their backs to me were two men and woman I hadn’t seen before. Lydia stood on the first landing of the stairs, looking down on us all. Her face looked pale and stricken in the draining violet light. A blood curdling scream made me leap to my feet. There was another couple in the room, a man in a green plaid shirt and brown khakis and a pretty blond woman in a floral printed dress. She was floating a couple feet off the floor, her eyes wide and round and unfocused as she shrieked again. “What did you do?!” demanded the man beside her, frantic, gripping her by the wrist and trying uselessly to pull her back to the floor. “I don’t know!” Lydia cried, thumbing wildly through a thick, battered book. “It was supposed to be my mom!”

The floating woman screamed again, sounding like she was in agony. The man beside her looked helplessly from one face to another of the assorted onlookers. “Somebody help! What’s happening to her?!” A familiar, gravelly voice sneered loudly from all directions, thrumming in the air, making the furnishings and décor rattle on the walls. “Exorcism: death for the dead!” There came a flash of burning red light and he appeared again, the man in the stripes. He looked different than he had when he chased me into the basement. Before, even when he was tearing his face off to scare me, there had been this playfulness about him, like it was all in good gross fun. That was gone now, his entire countenance was much more demonic. His hair, formerly bright grassy green, had turned a fiery, angry red as he pointlessly adjusted the frayed cuffs of his suit jacket.

“Hey guys! Awesome séance!” he snarled in sing-song, snapping his fingers in a whip-quick gesture that made the overhead light fixtures explode in a shower of sparks that rained down on our heads. “Lots of good, old fashioned chaos! You lose! In your faces! ‘Cause look who’s holding all the aces!” Lydia and the dark-haired man rounded on him at once, getting as close as they dared. “You did this!” the man shouted, pointing at him. With a smile that was all eye teeth, the furious demon jutted his chin at Lydia. “Nope. She did!” He then laid out his “super evil plan” for our benefit: unless Lydia would agree to marry him, Barbara, who must be the floating woman, would suffer an unspeakable fate. This was met with the expected responses of outrage and incredulity, so he promptly clarified that it was “a green-card thing.” When that still didn’t clear matters up, he snapped angrily, “I’m tired of being alone! And life is the only way out!” Once again, even though the rational side of my brain had me cowering against the wall with the others at his violent outburst, something in his voice made my heart go out to him.

Was all of this really just because he was lonely?

While I was occupied with my internal musing, Lydia agreed to his proposal, he snapped his fingers a few more times and floating Barbara lowered to the floor. Clapping and cheering happily to himself, the red-haired BJ attempted to dispose of Barbara and the man who I assumed must be her husband by sending them through a strange door that he drew on the wall with chalk. Just as it seemed things were about to start calming down, Lydia unexpectedly bolted through the door and disappeared in a green mist, followed quickly by a man in a smart suit who called after her. In the tense and stunned silence that followed, BJ let his head roll back on his neck and shouted to the ceiling, “Why does everyone keep leaving me!” Quickly composing himself, he announced that now we would all die. Todaaaaaay. In a panic I was shoved ahead of the nicely dressed Asian man who let out a shrill scream as the visibly smoking demon stalked toward us.

Even while it was still happening, I couldn’t say for sure how the minimalistic/modern living space spontaneously transformed into some sort of brightly lit studio gameshow set or why I was suddenly dressed in a silvery dress studded with rhinestones and a mermaid skirt. I was equally unsure just where the enormous board of rotating panels that loomed beside me had materialized from. Canned applause echoed from somewhere vaguely overhead when Mr. Bug Juice reappeared. He’d changed clothes again, now wearing a garish yellow blazer with pronounced lapels. He produced a microphone from an inside pocket of his jacket and spoke loudly and cordially into it, gesturing grandly as if to a live studio audience. “Thank you all for joining us today for another exciting round of America’s favorite game: Extreme Hang Man!” Frightened whimpers above and to the right of me drew my gaze up, where the Asian man in the nice suit stood on a platform with a gallows erected behind him. A rope dangled from the arm of the gallows, ending in a noose around his neck. He caught my eyes, his own blown wide in abject terror but was apparently unable to move from the spot.

“As always, I’m your host with the most! How about giving it up for our three contestants!” BJ crowed, waving toward three cartoonishly proportioned podiums where the blond woman, Barbara, the man in the green shirt, and the other red-haired woman were standing as more applause sounded. Written across the front of their podiums in spikey handwriting were the names, “Barbara”, “Adam”, and “Delia.” Adam leaned forward over the top of his podium, addressing the demon. “Beetlejuice, this has gone too far!” he admonished, only for Beetlejuice to gesture forcefully with an angry growl: “Put a sock it in, stiff!” Adam gagged around a rolled up pair of fetid looking tube socks that were suddenly crammed into his mouth as BJ (or Beetlejuice, apparently) ran a hand over his hair, which was once again a dark green. Clearing his throat once, he grinned at his imaginary audience with much more strained mania than I’d seen thus far. “Aaaaaaand, here we go!” he said, and I gasped when the panels in the board spun of their own accord to reveal a series of underscores. “Let’s have our first guess! Babs! Pick a letter!”

Barbara’s mouth opened and closed a few times, at a loss for words as Beetlejuice pointed to a pair of floating digital numbers that appeared out of thin air above her head. “Ten seconds on the clock, Babs, chop chop!” Stammering, Barbara called out a letter. It quickly became clear what was happening; it really was just like a game of hang man with a live man. With each wrong guess, the platform he stood on would lower incrementally as if on hydraulics, tightening the noose around his neck and drawing a petrified wail from him each time. The trio of “contestants” were doing an alright job of guessing the words and phrases Beetlejuice put to them, even though his abysmal spelling made it a bit more difficult for them.

The words and phrases themselves were all rather baffling: things like “Sandworm” and “Breathers suck” and “Why don’t you love me, Mom?” I cringed as Barbara correctly filled in the sentence “Everything is pointless”, causing Beetlejuice to let out a frustrated growl and the man on the platform a relieved sigh. The irate demon made another forceful gesture at the board, setting all the panels spinning at the same time as the next puzzle appeared. It took up the entire board and I glanced up at the man on the platform, who had blanched to a sickly gray. Beetlejuice cackled wickedly, pacing over to the three podiums. “Time for the sudden death round!” I worried my lip with my teeth, wracking my brains to come up with some sort of plan. This whole thing was getting out of hand, someone was going to get hurt. Or worse. I had to put a stop to it, but how? Clearly Beetlejuice commanded forces that I had no way to match, but there had to be something I could do. Fighting him was a no-go, I wasn’t sure I was wily enough to outwit him, which really only left me one avenue: give him what he wanted.

Well, what did he want? To be alive, it would seem, as evidenced by the many times he had said so aloud since the botched séance. And the only way to accomplish that was… The man on the platform whimpered piteously as Adam guessed a letter that was somehow not present in the ludicrously long puzzle and I steeled myself, realizing what I had to do and surprised to find that I was feeling very at peace with my decision. Beetlejuice had come to stand at the base of the scaffold, reaching out a hand to gleefully jiggle one of the rather flimsy legs and causing the whole construct to sway gently. Up on the platform the man gasped in fear.

Without preamble I stepped up to him and said point blank, “I’ll marry you.”

------

Thanks for reading! And if you’d like to be tagged in upcoming chapters, give me a shout!

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x self insert #at this point I think it's safe to say this is now an AU #my writing #Pate writes

50 notes · View notes

qualquercoisa945 · 6 years ago

Text

So We Picked Up A Pen And A Microphone

AO3 Link

Title Inspiration- Ex Wives from Six

so for those wondering what the countdown in my bio has been about anyways yeah uhhhhhhhh i am legally allowed to post this today since it’s my birthday and therefor i am legally obligated to self indulge, thank you for your time

tws- none that i can think of, but please tell me if there are any

Even before the show had started, back when all of them were still in rehearsals and the very few voluntary conversations any of them ever had were stilted at best or arguments just barely disguised as passionate discussions at worst, Anne was never the earliest to places. Partially due to not really wanting to wake up at Too Fucking Early O’Clock, partially because she just genuinely wasn’t the most pontual person- very rarely was she not at least a few minutes late to events.

But today was a bit of an exception. Today was the opening of their West End run, and she couldn’t help the slight skip to her step as she walked from the tube station towards the theatre, for once the first one to get going there. Not that she wasn’t familiar with the theatre or the show or any of that- but she would be lying if she said there wasn’t a reason.

During their UK tour, they had one alternate- Regina. She’d go on whenever any of the queens were ill or busy, but only one alternate for six queens was clearly too little- something Anne herself had brought up with the production team, with no action taken. Of course, as anyone with half a brain could’ve guessed, this resulted in multiple shows having to be cancelled and all of them, Regina included, being exhausted by the end of their run.

So once the West End run was announced, so were the changes to the cast- the addition of two alternates and a swing. And she was shocked when she noticed that she recognized them- from the posts Regina had made with her friends.

She’d looked into them- call it paranoia or stalking or what have you, but she’d prefer not to be around people she knew nothing about, especially not people who were going to be acting as herself when she couldn’t. She had their names- the alternates being Skye Jackson and Ally Rodriguez and the swing Gretchen Warren- and the social media that the show’s account had tagged them with.

Gretchen was the second oldest out of the four of them, just 2 years younger than Regina at 22, with dark brown wavy hair and green eyes. She didn’t seem to have much in the way of public stuff- her account had been set to private when she was tagged, and it was only after Anne had gotten permission to follow her that it was set to public. It was mainly personal, with a few pictures of relatively small local productions that never fully took off. This was understandable- she’d graduated just a year ago, and not everyone had a job offer right out of college. Now Skye and Ally were a different story.

Ally was the youngest, having turned 19 in the past November, just two months earlier, with light brown hair and some of the darkest eyes she had ever seen. A lot of the posts were personal, typical teenager stuff like photos of hang outs or posts at parties. Some were more serious- activism or mental health centered stuff that hinted more into stuff Ally seemed to keep closer to her chest. And there were also some tiny school productions of musicals, as well as covers she seemed to mostly do with her friends- some of them being her fellow alternates and swing, and the closest Skye.

Skye had her curious from the moment she’d seen the clips posted of them in rehearsal. At 19, just a few months older than Ally, and with jet black hair with teal tips and purple eyes, she couldn’t help but focus on her as she acted out what she recognized as her own song. A quick browse through her profile and she noticed the girl’s personality was an awful lot like her own- all huge grins and cocky smirks and quickly thought-up quips and arguments. Her posts, along with the videos she posted on the Youtube channel linked in her bio, were a mix of everything- personal stuff, covers, productions, announcements, and other more serious stuff that she seemed to also avoid.

She’d texted all of them as soon as she could, and although she’d gotten along with them fairly well, conversation had died fairly quickly due to the usual early-friendship awkwardness.

That hadn’t been the case for some of her other cast members, however, as she’d heard Cathy talk about Skye as if the two were friends, and Kitty seemed to have gotten along with Ally quite well. There was a part of her that couldn’t help but wonder why no one had managed to connect with Gretchen, but she figured they’d have time for that once performances started and they had more time to be around one another.

And now, she hoped she wouldn’t be stuck to the sidelines as she made her way to the theatre, hoping to be the first to meet the new cast members.

As she turned a corner, she couldn’t help the grin that formed when she saw a familiar head of golden hair a bit farther ahead on the street. “Oi, Regina!”

She gave her a wave when the girl looked up, and the latter gave the barest hint of a smile before Anne made a dash towards her. “So, how’s our superswing?” Anne’s grin only broadened at the soft chuckle Regina gave- it was clear no one could quite avoid the excitement of opening night, stoic as Regina was (or at least tried to).

“Admittedly, I’m pretty excited.” She replied, only confirming Anne’s suspicions. “Plus, I feel like the six of you will like the new girls. Though, Skye and Ally will bring more chaos into it all.”

“Hey now, Aragon and Jane live with me, right?” She replied with a smirk, earning another soft chuckle from the girl as they turned the last corner- the one that lead them into the street of the theatre.

“I believe they do, yes.” She agreed softly. “And I’ve been dealing with those two for a good decade or so now, I can handle them.”

“How bad are they?”

Regina hesitated at that question, physically stopping just a few feet away from the theatre before turning to face her with a smile and a playful light in her eyes that Anne didn’t think she’d ever seen. “Skye is you and Ally is Kath, only those two are childhood friends and Ally has much less self control than Kath has, so they’re much worse than the pair of you.”

Anne stared at her, mouth slightly agape, before chuckling with her trademark confident smirk. “Well then, guess me and Kitty will have to up our game.”

Regina gave a soft chuckle, shaking her head as she walked the last few steps to the theatre, Anne right behind her as she came inside the foyer.

Neither spent much time there- apart from a quick greeting to the ticket booth worker, they both seemed to agree to head to see the dressing rooms as quick as possible.

As soon as they were in the dressing room hall, Anne could hear soft voices from the farthest away dressing room, voices that sounded vaguely familiar even if she couldn’t pin names to them, coupled with musical theatre tunes muffled by the voices.

Before Anne herself could react, Regina chuckled softly and made a quick dash for it, opening the door. Assorted greetings sounded from it, but Anne was too deep into her own thoughts to properly process them, simply following Regina into the dressing room while registering, from the corner of her eye the names of the four girls engraved on the dressing room’s door.

The first thing that caught her eye was a book, left on the counter right of her. On its cover, Anne spotted a portrait of a familiar girl with fiery red hair and dark eyes much like her own. Before she had a chance to reply, however, a voice spoke up.

“Oh, that’s mine.” Anne looked up to meet sharp violet eyes and a wide grin, and immediately she returned it. “Anne Boleyn, right? Nice to finally meet you- in person, I mean.”

“Right back at you.” Anne returned, sitting on one of the vacant chairs before handing the book to Skye. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

That earned a laugh from the girl. “Eh, I’ve always been a Tudor nerd, to be honest-”

“Can confirm.”

Skye turned back to face who Anne was pretty sure was Ally with an amused, playfully annoyed smirk. “Thank you, Ally.” She replied with emphasis on the girl’s name, before turning back to Anne. “But uh, yeah, have been since I was a kid. Elizabeth is the one they focused more in school- well, apart from Henry, but I was never too interested in him- so that’s where I started and it just kinda grew from there.”

Anne nodded with a soft chuckle. “I see, ‘nd I’m guessing it’s safe to assume you were really excited when you got the job.”

“She called me screaming about it.” Anne looked up at the quiet, soft tone, meeting gentle green eyes and a shy, if amused, grin. “So yes, it is safe to assume so.” Gretchen continued, before falling silent.

Anne nodded, but this time it was Ally who spoke up first. “And uh, just before you ask, I’m first cover Cleves and Parr, Regina is first cover Aragon and Seymour, and Skye is first cover Bo- well, you, and Howard.” She couldn’t help but chuckled softly at the girl’s stumble, before nodding.

“Well then, I can’t wait for a chance to see you all perform.” ________________________________________________________________

That chance, it turned out, would come just that Sunday, their last day of the week and a double show day. Though, not for Anne herself, at least not the first show.

Anne seemed to have gotten herself roped into a last minute interview organized by the show’s producers, and so, instead of the first (and only) debut being Ally’s in the evening show as Cathy, and since Gretchen had to call out due to illness, it seemed Skye would get the honor of first debut as Anne.

And quite frankly, Kath couldn’t wait for it.

Even as she got on stage, with the white lights simply showing their silhouettes backlit to the audience, she couldn’t help but shoot Skye a quick glance, looking up and down at the girl’s turquoise outfit, before fixating for just a moment on her hair, a mix of jet black and the near exact same shade as her costume, before averting her gaze when the first beats of the show sounded.

Kath let her mind run on autopilot during the show, up until just a bit after Catherine’s solo.

“Yeah, you know… the one, you’ve been waiting for!”

The audience sounded softly at that line, as if heating up for the proper cheer, and Kath couldn’t help but all but bounce through the choreography as they prepared for what would usually be Anne’s big reveal, but today would be Skye’s.

“Anne Boleyn!”

The end of the intro to the song was met with laughter from the audience at the sight of Skye sat on the steps, in between Maria and Joan, staring at her hand as if she were holding a phone. She let out a soft, slightly confused giggle along with the audience, waiting until they quieted down before speaking.

“Literally what are th-” She looked up, as if only now noticing the audience, and then seemed to shrink into herself the tiniest bit, although her confident smirk betrayed her actual feelings- she was loving this. “Oh. Sorry!”

At that, she all but jumped onto her feet as the first notes of Don’t Lose Ur Head sounded, and the show was on the road.

As they performed, even after the song was over, Kath couldn’t help but analyze the way Skye acted. It was confident, but not cocky- it was self assured, and grounded, as if she didn’t think she was better than all of them, she knew she was better than all of them. And she would be damned if she didn’t show it.

It seemed to work, as Skye’s delivery of Anne’s one liners had the audience all but roaring all the time, and by the end of the show it seemed as if Skye had conquered the hearts of all audience members.

It was almost scary. But at the same time, fitting. She may have not known Skye for long, but even then she could tell she was good at persuading people. She was impressed, if she was being honest.

It was when leaving the stage that the problems started.

One tiny misstep was all it took, and suddenly Kath had nearly fallen, pain shooting up from her ankle and the only thing keeping her from doing so being the tight grip on her arm.

If it weren’t for the fact that she was in really high spirits and the very light feeling of a costume’s fabric brushing against her arm, she would’ve definitely panicked.

As it was, however, she managed to keep herself together just enough to regain her balance, pressing more on her good foot, turning around as soon as the pressure around her arm was released, coming face to face with Skye, who looked both incredibly concerned and incredibly apologetic.

“I’m sorry I held you so tight, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall. Are you alright?”

Kath almost nodded. But then she tried to set more pressure on her hurt foot, and a brand new wave of pain shot up, forming tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Okay, that’s a no.” Skye’s awkward half laugh almost made Kath feel just a tiny bit better. “‘S okay! Probably just a twisted ankle, there’s no reason for it to be anything worse. Can I help you to your dressing room?”

After Kath nodded, she leaned just enough against Skye as the latter wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gently helping her up the stairs and to her dressing room.

Once Kath was sitting on the dressing room’s couch with one foot propped up and Skye sat on the opposite arm rest with a few anti inflammatories (“you underestimate how often I twist my ankle, or get hurt in general,” was her response when Kath had asked her why she just had some on them) in one hand and a glass of water in the other, she took off her show shoe as carefully as she could.

“Yeah, that’s definitely twisted.” Skye stated with a calm certainty as Kath stared warily at her swollen up ankle. She looked up when she got handed the meds and glass, taking them without another word before letting her head rest against the back of the couch.

“It just had to happen on a double show day, huh.” She grumbled, just managing a half-smile that earned her a chuckle from Skye.

“Yeah, it sucks ass. But hey, don’t stress! Better for you to get some rest so you can be back as soon as you can.” Skye reminded softly, and Kath couldn’t help a quiet chuckle when Skye leaned in and tapped the tip of her nose with her finger.

They both looked towards the door when they heard it open, and a very concerned looking Anne peeked in through it, clearly winded from what Kath had to assume was running. “Okay, sorry, I literally came running as soon as I heard what happened.”

At Anne’s slightly panicked tone, Skye gave a soft smile, before standing up. “I’ll give you both some time.” ________________________________________________________________

“She likes you.”

Regina’s voice, calm and serene as always, still managed to surprise Skye as she closed the dressing room’s door behind her. “How so?” She retorted as she took her usual seat next to the older girl, raising an eyebrow.

Regina gave a soft chuckle at that. “Kath doesn’t trust people easily. You can hardly blame her, after everything that happened to her, but still. She trusts you, though- she wouldn’t have let you help her otherwise.”

Skye looked down at the counter while shrugging, feeling her cheeks heat up as she blushed and staying quiet for a minute before looking back up, unusually serious. “Well, yeah, but healing also makes it easier for you to trust people again. You know that as well as I do, ‘Gina.”

Regina’s gaze hardened slightly at that, but still Skye didn’t back down, looking back at her while she waited for an answer. “Maybe so,” she finally settled on, “but even so.”

“I got it. I was just trying to make sure she felt comfortable.”

“She wouldn’t have let you stay if she wasn’t. Either that, or the others would’ve come in way earlier. Jane definitely would have, that woman has a sixth sense.” Neither of them could hold back their snickers at that comment, but even so Regina was the first to regain composure, as always. “So I think it’s safe to say you did just fine.”

Skye nodded at that, before reaching forward to grab her “K” choker. “Regardless, I’ve got bigger things to focus on right now.” She let out a soft sigh, a mix of worry and excitement in her voice. “It’s Howard time, I guess.” ________________________________________________________________

“Divorced.”

The audience’s chatter quieted down as Aragon’s booming voice filled the theatre, save for a few soft cheers or muffled squeals, and Ally could barely stay still as she waited for her turn.

“Beheaded.”

The audience full on cheered as her girlfriend’s voice sounded, clear and confident but still so distinctly young and playful.

But she couldn’t stop to analyse just yet- she had a show to do.

“Survived.”

A similar, or perhaps even louder cheer broke after she’d spoke, and Ally couldn’t help but shoot a quick glance towards Skye, both wearing matching, wide grins, that they both were quick to hide as Aragon moved on with the show, and they both followed the choreography they’d rehearsed to the point of knowing one another’s first covers at least semi decently. Not decently enough to actually play them, but semi decently.

She went through most of Ex-Wives focused on the choreography and words, refusing to let herself mess up on the first song of her fucking West End debut- she knew how harshly swings and alternates were judged, and she wasn’t about to risk it. It was midway through the queens’ individual intros, however, where her body began to move on near auto pilot while she did the choreography.

“Funny how we all discuss that but never Henry’s lil’-”

“Prick up your ears, I’m the Katherine who lost her head!”

Ally could barely hear their “beheaded!” over the audience’s cheer when Skye piped up, and even Skye, who Ally was (unfortunately) very aware of how loud Skye was naturally, had to raise her tone to make herself heard over their screams.

“For my promiscuity, outside of wed! Lock up your husbands, lock up your sons, K Howard is here and the fun’s begun!”

“Survived.”

Ally couldn’t help but feel that familiar mix of anxiety and excitement pool at the bottom of her stomach while she stepped forward, facing the audience- and more specifically the front rows, as she was looking slightly downward- as calmly as she could manage.

“Five down, I’m the final wife. I saw him to the end of his life.” Hand on her waist, she looked up to the rest of the stalls, before moving her gaze up to the circle and its slips as she sung. “I’m the survivor, Catherine Parr.” A nod towards the audience as she raised the fist that was previously on her waist, the women behind her doing the same. “I bet you wanna know how we got this far.”

They went about the show without any problems, but it was after the “I have the plague” joke where she could see the audience (for some members literally) lean forward in their seats.

“Okay, okay, okay!” She spoke up, waiting until the four women had quieted before continuing. “You know what, I think it’s time we heard from our next queen, K Howard!”

The audience absolutely roared as Skye stepped forward, and Ally could barely keep a proud grin off her face as Skye did a tiny curtsy.

Then, she had to physically keep herself from jumping when she saw someone move forward from the corner of her eye, calming when she noticed it was Anne. “Babes, who’s that again?”

Skye’s excited grin fell off her face, and even if Ally knew by the gleam in her eyes that it was all an act, she could barely keep herself from going to comfort her.

Ally felt like she was in a daze as the scenes went on- it was only right before All You Wanna Do when she snapped out of it.

“So yeah! I can’t even begin to imagine how I could compete with you all!” Skye paused, letting the audience laugh, before continuing. “Oh wait, like this!”

And thus the song was on. Skye kept the confident yet childlike act up throughout for the first half of the song, quick smirks and winks towards the audience frequent for the first two verses and choruses. It was after the third chorus ended where things started to change.

“So we got married.” With a nervous chuckle and smile, Skye addressed the audience, rocking back and forward just a tiny bit. “Woo!” Her voice was higher pitched than usual, even as she tried to stay calm (or at least tried to act like she was trying to stay calm).

She went through the fourth verse with a soft voice, so unlike what she’d done before. It was near the end, however, after the final “connection”, that it began to change, turning into a near roar as she put her full emotion into the ending chorus.

“The only thing, the only thing, the ONLY thing you wanna do is-” She tsked, then huffed, almost stumbling as she threw her head back. And then the audience blew up.

After that, Ally wasn’t quite sure what happened. If she was being honest with herself, she went on autopilot for most of the rest of the show. It was only near the end of the final song that she actually snapped out of it, when Skye approached her as they neared the last official line of the show and the two did that same dance move from the very first dance break- take her hand, hold it up, curtsy, switch places. Then, they went into position for the end of the show.

“For, five, four, three, two, one more minute!” Maria’s drums roared, and Ally couldn’t keep a slightly tired grin off her face.

“We’re SIX!”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfics #six #six fanfics #writing #anne boleyn #katherine howard #skye ocs #ally ocs #regina ocs #gretchen ocs #if this flops i will cry

69 notes · View notes

kiruuuuu · 6 years ago

Text

Thanks to these two wonderful anons, I finally wrote more recruitverse! Thank you both :) 💗 In this one, they meet Shay’s girlfriend... and as usual, chaos is involved. (Rating T, humour + a whole lot of pining, ~5.1k words)

Meet my recruits! Find the other #recruitverse pieces under the tag or here on my masterpost 💙

Jojo has never seen Ivan Ivanovic this delighted. There are a few things which spark a grim smile, like being complimented on an exercise well done, or offering him food he adores, but nothing so far has managed to plaster a grin this wide and persistent on his stoic Russian face. His joy is contagious, and both Gian and Jojo himself mirror his expression with glee in between silent pointing and suppressed giggles. Even the blasted snake curled up in its tank seems to smile.

On top of Valenti’s forehead, Jojo’s phone comes alive with an alarmingly loud buzz, nearly toppling the group of chess pieces gathered on the display. The other three freeze comically, Ivan mid-step and his foot left hovering uselessly, Gian about to balance a ruler on the Frenchman’s toes and Jojo with his hands in his pockets, looking for his wallet. A few seconds pass. Nothing happens.

Valenti continues to sleep peacefully.

It’s Ivan who breaks out into quiet laughter, slight hysteria colouring his relief, and then they all have to hold on to something to not burst out into Frenchman-waking guffawing. They’re not even sure why Valenti is sleeping like the dead, but they sure as hell are taking advantage. He’s showcasing several stacks of various paraphernalia on all his body parts, the highlight being a literal chair precariously resting on his limbs. Jojo went where the other two didn’t dare and placed one of Shay’s ubiquitous containers of glitter on his friend’s crotch – closed, of course – and at this point they’re struggling to even procure more items to add to the impressive piles.

As Jojo gingerly places his opened wallet on top of one of Gian’s boots, Ivan Ivanovic, the madman himself, begins building a house of cards on the chair’s seat. Now and then, they whisper ideas back and forth and struggle to keep quiet in between the hare-brained suggestions – we could get Ying, was Jojo’s contribution, and Gian: I would like to try to put as many socks on him as possible. Eventually, it became absurd, with ‘an online coupon’, ‘a pottery course’ and ‘a trip to Italy’ marking the point where they had to stop or risk getting too loud.

A bag of water, Shay might’ve suggested, or if we distribute the weight equally, I bet we could put Dante’s tank on him.

But he’s not here, and Jojo isn’t even too sad about this fact. He’s been spending quality time with the other three, learning chess from Valenti, exercising with Ivan, discussing books from their childhood with Gian – they’re a friend group, after all, so he enjoys time alone with any of the four. Besides, when they get going, Shay’s absence is hardly noticeable anyway; Valenti’s and Jojo’s ideas are ridiculous enough and their motivation to set them in motion stronger than Ivan’s silence and Gian’s gentle disapproval. They don’t need him.

Which isn’t at all to say that he’s glad Shay has been frequently meeting up with his girlfriend. Of course not, Shay is wonderful – as wonderful as a good friend can be, in any case. Yet he’s not necessary for their group dynamic. Jojo can wait until the end of the day to share gossip and random events with him, sure. Shay isn’t the only thing that keeps him going each day. He’s not the first person he thinks about after waking up, though he’s usually the first to hear about Jojo’s convoluted dreams, and they usually text a little before drifting off to sleep as to not disturb the others. Even so, he’s not all Jojo can think about. He’s a big oaf, likeable yet with decidedly more stupid moments than any of them, gullible to a fault, easily entertained by pretty much anything – and now he remembers how Shay realised that the yellow flower called dandelion and the fuzzy one he called blowball are one and the same plant, and how amazed he continued to be by this fact for days and then Jojo told him that ‘dandy’ was derived from it as they, like the flower, tended to change their outfits drastically, and Shay actually believed him and excitedly told his sister who was merciful enough -

Gian is looking at him. Maybe because he’s been motionlessly staring at nothing again and Jesus fuck this is a recently acquired habit he could do without.

I don’t even want that much, he thinks and knows it’s untrue, he’s asking for a whole lot without finding the words and should move on. He should. He really, really should.

With a bang, the door to their room flies open, causing their heads to snap towards the two people in the doorway: Shay is unmistakeable, beaming like he won the lottery, and judging by his companion, he did. Brittany is by his side, close enough to touch and displaying a friendly, inviting smile which – to Jojo – looks fake. He recognises her from the endless photos Shay showed him, though she’s shorter in person, less attractive, even plain. If she didn’t use photoshop outright, she must’ve applied a beauty filter of sorts to maybe move her eyes closer together or reduce the size of her nose. Like this, Jojo just can’t see the appeal.

“Howya lads”, Shay addresses them, evidently not having noticed the snoozing Valenti, “this is Brit. What are we doing?”

We. Jojo suppresses a scoff.

Before any of them get a chance to react, there’s movement on top of the bunk bed they’re surrounding, sparking instant panic: Valenti is waking up.

As soon as the Frenchman notices the raccoon socks dangling right in front of his face, he jerks in surprise and sets a domino effect in motion: the chair topples, dragging Jojo’s and Gian’s phones as well as the old-fashioned wall clock they stole from outside with it, and while Ivan skilfully snatches the chair in mid-air before it can crash into Dante’s tank, the clock shatters on the floor (but at least breaking the phones’ fall), prompting another twitch from Valenti and before they can actively think about it, Jojo and Gian are suddenly scrambling to catch the cascade of assorted objects toppling down.

Ivan Ivanovic manages to prevent another catastrophe by grabbing the container of glitter with his free hand, making all of them breathe a sigh of relief.

There’s a small silence once everything has either gone splat on the ground or been cradled safely in their arms. Confusedly, Valenti eyes the mess either still in his bed, in Ivan’s, Gian’s and Jojo’s hands, or littered on the floor. “Are you serious?”, he mutters and yawns heartily. Then, after spotting something in particular: “You used your phones? Please tell me you at least took pictures beforehand.”

“We are no amateurs”, Ivan shoots back and nods to where his smartphone is sticking out of his pocket. “Of course we take pictures.”

“Can I see?”, Brittany bursts out excitedly. She looks way too entertained anyway, as if they’d orchestrated this chaos purely for her sake. “In college, stacking things on sleeping people was my favourite thing. Oh, and writing on them.”

“A classic”, the Russian agrees and readily pulls up his gallery after having set down the chair to show her, “I have photo of writing too somewhere.”

“Don’t show her that”, Valenti protests immediately. “You drew all over my chest, that’s not appropriate!”

“If my memory serves correctly, there was an instance of Shay exhibiting various pro-England slogans”, Gian joins the conversation now too, “proclaiming his undying admiration of the Queen, for example.”

“I told you they’re ruthless”, Shay dejectedly addresses the only woman among them, making her chuckle and quietly urge Ivan to show her said photos as well.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you lot!”, she erupts once more, apparently remembering where she is. “I’ve heard so much about all of you. Please call me Brit.”

And thus commences the general Fawning Over A Female. It’s a ritual Jojo has witnessed countless times in his life and as time progressed, it only became more sickening. Beginning with a funny introduction – nothing major, either a self-deprecating detail (I’m generally responsible for the trouble we end up in) or an allusion to an anecdote (I threw him over fence, don’t know if you have heard story) –, then followed up by desperately trying to include her into the group (Shay briefly mentioned a potential interest in video games, would you be willing to dare an attempt at playing some time soon?). Her laughter is suddenly more contagious than the plague, and there’s no doubt she’s drinking in all this attention lavished onto her like an alcoholic.

The lack of girls among the Rainbow recruits must’ve gotten to them. Even Ivan Ivanovic is being courteous, there’s no other word for it. Boot-licking maybe. If you can even call knock-off Uggs boots. Valenti is going cross-eyed with how much he’s trying not to ogle her and even Gian of all people seems dead set on winning her over.

Pitiful.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Jojo”, he interrupts her before she can get the words out (and it took her long enough to turn to him, the only guy in the room not beaming at her like a lunatic), “and I got a mess to clean up.” With that, he turns away to pick up the shit off the floor which Valenti kicked everywhere. He’s not known for tidying up, especially not voluntarily, but no one bats an eye.

After all, he’s not known for flirting with girls, either.

Brit hardly counts as a woman; with her freakishly large eyes, overdone expressions and exuberant behaviour, she’s infantile. Pretty? Maybe. Perhaps under all that make-up not so much. But pretty enough to melt his friends’ brains. She’s delighted over that stupid snake and pretends like nothing’s more interesting than hearing all about Valenti’s piano lessons, and they’re eating it up as if she was a date they snagged despite never expecting to.

Then, all of a sudden, something dawns on him. Something which has him freeze instantly and turn back to the giggling posse.

“How did you get in?”, he asks loudly, not bothering to apologise to an irritated-looking Valenti for talking over him.

Abruptly, the noise dies down. They get what he’s asking – except for Shay, whose grey cells might’ve been sucked out of him by this doll and dear fucking God, that’s a mental image for which Jojo only has himself to blame. “She parked outside and we walked in”, Shay clarifies, pointing in a seemingly random direction. “By the skip, you know. Why?”

Gian looks positively horrified. “They – they merely allowed you entry?”

The happy couple exchanges a glance, nonplussed. “Yeah? I mean, they know me.”

“What did you say you worked as? A waitress?”, Jojo can’t help but ask with a sickly sweet smile. “Shay, you fucking moron, you brought a waitress into an SAS base. She’s a civ!”

“Oh, is that what this is?”, Brittany clarifies cheerfully. “I was wondering about all the security.”

Jojo’s no longer wondering why these two airheads ended up together. By now, he’s only clueless as to how they found each other at all with how much they’re bumbling through life. “Yeah, you gotta go. Your man’s getting eviscerated if they find you.”

Despite the shocked faces around her, she’s still perky. “Ah, it’s not going to be that bad.”

Valenti pulls a face which Jojo feels in his guts. “If you think that, you can’t be very aware of our reputation.”

And this is when they suddenly notice boots stomping down the hall. Familiar boots. On the way to their room.

“Goodbye cruel yet magnificent world”, Gian mutters, already accepted his fate, whereas Shay and Jojo exchange a single glance – enough to ensure they’re on the same page. Which hurts. Despite all the mayhem and impending doom, Jojo has the brain capacity left to realise he’s never been this in tune with anyone else he’s ever met.

They grab the nearest blanket – Valenti’s, causing even more items to topple to the floor – and hold it up in front of Brit and Ivan, trapping them between two bunk beds yet shielding them from the door. Well, to be exact, it’s only Brittany who can’t be spotted anymore. Ivan’s eyes are still peeking over the edge.

Sledge barges in without so much as a knock (which is fair enough as it’d only give them more time to hide any evidence), and finding himself in front of five recruits staring at him, unmoving, doesn’t seem to quell his suspicions. Oddly enough. “Which one of you clogged the showers?”, he barks as a greeting and Jojo doesn’t even get that usual pang of I wonder if he orders Maestro around like this at home. He doesn’t know when the Scot’s broad frame became less attractive than gangly limbs and a crooked grin.

“First of all, I find it very disrespectful to assume it was one of us”, Valenti starts with as much indignation as he can muster while nearly shaking in his boots, “you can’t just default to us every time something goes wrong, it’s unfair and -”

“Shut up, Jean.” The Frenchman’s mouth snaps shut. “Who was it?” Sheepishly, Gian, Jojo and Valenti raise their hands. “Bloody knew it. If it’s not in mint condition by supper, you won’t be getting any. Now drop the blanket and let me see what else you broke.”

“Ivan’s indecent”, Shay quickly butts in, earning himself a withering glare. There’s movement now, and instead of standing stock still, Brit is sliding under one of the beds while trying to make as little noise as possible.

“Come on. Let me see, lads.” They manage to dodge Sledge’s hands until he eventually rips the duvet out of theirs to face the explosion caused by Valenti’s awakening earlier. The Scot eyes the mess suspiciously. “That’s it?”

“I really was indecent”, Ivan replies, deadpan. “We were comparing. Would you like to -”

Sledge’s face contorts in vague horror. “God no. I’ve heard enough. I better not catch any of you causing more trouble for a week, there’s only so much nonsense I’m willing to take.”

With that, he storms off, leaving them to gather around an extremely dusty-looking Brit with cobwebs in her glossy brown hair. Her muted expression soothes something in Jojo.

“Now we just have to get you out of here and we’re good”, Shay announces, sounding hopeful and pointedly ignoring the disbelieving looks of his friends. “Got any ideas, lads?”

The Frenchman is the only one looking contemplative instead of bleak. “I might have one.”

“Do we, uh”, Valenti begins hesitantly, fidgeting when attentive eyes shift over to him, “do we have blueprints of Hereford? Somewhere? Just out of curiosity? Maybe you’ve heard of a secret passageway to the Outside? A path theoretically possible but no one dares to use it?”

Jäger examines them, visibly fighting a smile. They approached the German engineer for no other reason than his involvement in their highly successful weapon of Christ-mass destruction and the fact that he didn’t rat them out, quite the opposite. They’ve discussed alternatives, a conversation Brittany followed with increasing entertainment, and decided against Smoke and Mute despite their love for mischief and support for anything threatening Sledge’s and Thatcher’s composure: the two are simply too unreliable and would indubitably sell them out for a Curly Wurly. There’s no love lost between any recruit and most of Rainbow, and the operators who do actually care about them are the ones who’d chastise them for causing any kind of trouble.

So they’ve snuck into the workshop, hoping their usual invisibility works in their favour.

“Gustave told me not to interact with you five anymore”, Jäger replies, though his lowered voice implies the opposite. “But you seem very polite. And reasonably desperate. Why do you ask?”

“We might be wanting to smuggle something out”, Jojo explains. It’s odd to talk to his fellow countryman in English and not his mother tongue, but he vividly remembers the previous time he tried to converse with Bandit in German. If he’d thought the man’s swearing and threats couldn’t get any worse than what he produces in English, he was sorely mistaken.

“Like what?”

Girlfriends, Jojo thinks. “Live cargo?”, he offers. Shay pulls a face.

“Oh. Did you adopt a stray animal?”

When he makes a pensive expression, he earns an elbow between his ribs. “Listen. We can’t talk about it. Can you help us?”

“Not without seriously upsetting my boyfriend, no. I’m already on thin ice after I accidentally helped Dom spike the afternoon coffee.”

That’s fair enough, thinks Jojo. So maybe they need something more… straightforward. He suddenly has an idea.

“Is it theoretically possible to use a trebuchet to catapult someone?”, Jojo wants to know interestedly and almost regrets asking the moment Mira’s face lights up.

“Of course! Do you have one at the ready or would you need to construct one first?”

The five of them exchange uncertain glances, so the Spaniard enthusiastically begins sketching out all the materials needed, complete with dimensions and tools. In fact, it’s a tad concerning how easily she outlines all the necessary steps and has Jojo wonder about her past – this sort of thing seems to come naturally to her. Engrossed, they follow her instructions with nods and mental notes and eventually accept the several sheets of construction paper with elaborate thanks. Consulting her was Jojo’s idea and he based it on Mira’s helpfulness and general spirit when it came to building… anything, really.

“Now have fun and don’t be afraid to use your hands. Making things is incredibly rewarding. Good luck!” It doesn’t seem to bother her that she can’t even remember their names as she’s too focused on a task well done. Before they can turn around, however, she stops them with a last afterthought: “Wait – you didn’t need the person to survive being launched, did you?”

Before Shay even has the opportunity to get more upset than he already is, Ivan speaks up: “Never mind. I have idea.”

Kapkan is sharpening a knife, with Fuze next to him cleaning a gun. The two Russians raised their gazes the moment they stepped outside and haven’t lowered them since, favouring a cold hard stare to intimidate over inspecting their own handiwork, which admittedly ends up being flawless despite the lack of attention. Otherwise, the two of them are unmoving.

Four of their expressions basically scream this is the worst fucking idea and only Ivan Ivanovic seems at ease. He nods curtly as a greeting and receives likewise, but when the rest of them attempt an equally cool gesture, they’re scrutinised even more closely as a result. Jojo is genuinely anxious; being in the same room as any other Spetsnaz always causes an uncomfortable itching just below his skin. Except for Ivan, of course.

“Why are we here again?”, Valenti whispers while trying to hide behind Shay, and winces when Kapkan’s eyes flick over to him.

“Guard on entry”, Ivan says, clearly not beating around the bush, “who is it today?”

The two operatives glance at each other. “Perkins”, Fuze replies, and Kapkan adds: “Pain in the ass. Why?”

“He could have accident. Two minutes.”

Holy fucking shit. Jojo feels all colour drain from his cheeks.

“Yes, he could have”, Kapkan concurs. “But it would cause a lot of attention. Potentially. Sounds like it’s not worth it.”

“It is”, Ivan emphasises and that’s the moment Valenti finally snaps out of his disbelieving stupor and drags the Russian away while muttering what could be either French swearwords or a bread recipe, Jojo isn’t sure.

“Thanks anyway!”, he yells over his shoulder as he quickly follows the others, their ranks breaking down more with every passing second. “No hard feelings! We won’t tell!”

“I cannot shake the feeling that this has ensured our demise”, Gian mumbles and Shay, just as pale as Jojo feels, simply nods.

“To be honest, I don’t mind spending some more time with this cutie”, Brittany waves off Shay’s concern the moment they’re back in their room. “I’ve never even touched a snake and Dante is a real gentleman, so don’t worry about me.”

“Are you out of your mind?”, Valenti hisses in the background, audibly furious. “No matter whether Perkins is a piece of shit, he’s SAS and we’d be dead meat!”

“They would have tied together shoelaces”, Ivan unsuccessfully tries to appease him. “Or something like it. Better idea than hoping Hereford is Hogwarts, with secret tunnel.”

The Frenchman turns a lovely shade of dark red which almost matches his scarf. “Really? You call involving the Russian mob a better idea? At least I didn’t try to turn her into ammunition!”

“Hey, no need to lash out just because you didn’t get your letter when you turned ten”, Jojo chimes in, feeling his own annoyance spike.

“My suggestion was reasonable at least and wouldn’t have ended with her splattering into giblets.”

Thankfully, Gian steps in before the two of them can get into yet another shouting match: “May I propose the simple yet effective art of social engineering?”

Oh. This sounds like it could actually go somewhere.

“But we already talked to Jäger”, Shay speaks up, confused, and Jojo doesn’t know whether to hug or laugh at him.

“A tried and tested example of this involves carrying a ladder into various establishments”, Gian explains. “The key is to seem so average, everyone else’s eyes glide right past.”

Shay is still frowning. “Don’t call her average.”

“Darling -”, Jojo begins to set him straight, but is interrupted by Brit: “No, he just wants me to carry a ladder.”

It’s immensely satisfying to have Ivan raise an eyebrow and then, very quietly, murmur into Jojo’s general direction: “Match made in a very chaotic heaven.”

“Fairly sure we can find a recruit’s uniform that fits her”, Valenti picks up Gian’s idea and has the happy couple react with an intrigued ohh.

“Doesn’t look too bad”, Jojo decides as he inspects the sixth recruit in their group. Brit is noticeably too thin and the make-up peeking out through the holes in the balaclava aren’t reassuring, but she might just pass. “Are you a decent liar?”

“About as good as I am”, Shay replies in her stead, prompting the others to exchange glances clearly spelling out we’re doomed.

“In that case, just don’t talk. Leave it to us. If you’d be forced to answer, maybe pretend you don’t understand English.”

“Why can’t I be mute?”, she asks, making Shay shake his head.

“He’s much taller than you are, Brit, that would never work.”

Bless him. To hell and back. This is the same guy Jojo trusts with his life, and he knows Shay would never let him down in a mission. Yet he’s so child-like in the most charming way, wide-eyed and curious, gullible and excitable. And, at times, really really dim. Not that it matters as their continued survival rests in his girlfriend’s hands right now, and she still doesn’t seem to have grasped the severity of the situation. While Jojo isn’t sure of the repercussions to inviting a civ unannounced, they can’t be great, especially with their history of either demolishing or disrespecting anything that’s not nailed down (and even some of what actually is).

Trying to appear nonchalant, they saunter through the corridor like they belong, naturally crowding around Brittany so it’s less obvious she has no idea where she’s going and hoping they don’t meet too many eagle-eyed operators. Female recruits are few and far between, so it’s indeed possible someone like Montagne or Doc, who interact with them often enough, would raise an eyebrow.

Fortunately, the first person they run into is Rook. Not only is he well-known for being sociable and friendly, he’s also comfortable with English and French only. Brit can easily claim being Russian and avoid any questioning with a thick accent.

“Hey, guys”, Rook greets them cheerfully. “Who’s your extra? A new recruit?”

“Yes, but unfortunately her English skills aren’t -”, Gian begins just as the masked woman blurts out: “Ah oui, pardonnez-moi, je suis française.”

Oh.

Well.

The panic in her eyes is visible as Rook, delighted, starts babbling to her in rapid French before Valenti replies with a few curt sentences and then drags her with him accompanied by excuses as loud as they are insincere.

So far, the plan is working beautifully.

“I’ve never met an American who could speak French!”, Brittany whispers in her own defence as they leave the building. “I thought it was a safe bet.”

“You have something more exotic?”, Ivan wants to know. They’re not far from the gate now, with a bit of luck they’ll make it.

And then they’re greeted by another familiar voice, a voice at which Gian’s ears perk up almost visibly. If there was ever the equivalent of a friendship crush, this would be it – Gian would give his right arm to be able to bask in this man’s presence, which says a lot as the ginger makes sure not to play favourites. But Castle? Castle is his celebrity. Castle is to him what Sledge is to the rest of them.

Unfortunately, Castle is also well-armed when it comes to languages.

Jojo already sees himself ejected straight out of Rainbow as soon as Castle realises the new recruit in their midst is a fraud, which will be incoming in a second or two, as soon as Brit chooses Spanish or maybe German or even Latin -

What comes out of her mouth, however, is nothing Jojo has ever heard. It sounds so unfamiliar that his heart soars, even if there’s a shred of doubt still – it’s so foreign she might as well have made it up despite how confident she seems. It’s perfect. Whatever it is, maybe Arabic or Nigerian, who knows, will definitely throw Castle for a loop.

His confidence lasts for all of a heartbeat. Because the operator, momentarily baffled, responds in the same odd vernacular.

To everyone’s bewilderment, Brit doesn’t seem to mind as she continues, exchanging a few phrases with an increasingly jolly Castle and then waving goodbye before strutting off towards freedom, leaving the boys at her heels.

“That wasn’t Korean”, Valenti mutters. “What did you -”

“I can’t believe it”, Shay pants, and for once, he’s breathless, “you speak Klingon?!”

“You do too?! buy’qu’ ngop!”

Holy shit. Jojo isn’t sure whether his eyes can roll any further into his skull. This is so fucking in character for everyone involved he should’ve seen it coming a mile away.

While the two nerds continue gushing, to Valenti and Gian’s amusement and Jojo’s frustration, Ivan Ivanovic breaks off from the group, in the direction of the small office by the gate.

“I will tie shoelaces together”, he announces quietly.

That evening, when they’re all huddled together for warmth in one of their secret hideouts – the attic of one of Hereford’s practise houses –, the atmosphere feels different. Where just a week ago, Shay would’ve spent several hours typing on his phone, wholly engrossed in whichever inane conversation he was having with his paramour, today he’s much more involved. Not that he’s participating in the impromptu Smash Bros. tournament Valenti put together on the spot as soon as Ivan mentioned being able to beat him (though neither of them have ever touched the game prior to this), but at least he’s looking up whenever one of them hoots. Now and then, he relays Brit’s opinions about the evening, making most of them laugh: once they’d successfully jailbroken her, they all went to a nearby café to allow for some time to pass (and the poor barista thought she was getting robbed for a moment). Brittany must’ve really enjoyed herself nonetheless, inquired some more about Dante and those ‘weird polyglot Americans’.

Yes, Shay’s attention is slowly shifting back to them now that both bubbles have come into contact, and he’s probably hoping they’ll merge with time. Valenti and Gian seem relieved by this change, they must’ve missed him too, whereas Ivan Ivanovic is his usual inscrutable self. He gave nothing away, though he must’ve noticed Jojo has bummed quite a lot of cigarettes off him recently.

Jojo hates it.

He hates the way Shay’s entire face lights up when Gian comments on one of Brit’s remarks, hates how the others have just… accepted her. Because it doesn’t involve him. He didn’t fall for her womanly charm and he seems to be the only one who’s not picking up what she’s putting down. The others laugh and it almost feels like an attack. If he wants to keep being a part of this group, he has to like her, it implies. He better make an effort.

Even if he really doesn’t want to.

“Shay”, he addresses his former best friend during a brief lull, “how come you didn’t contribute any ideas earlier?”

The idiot either hasn’t noticed Jojo’s gloomy mood or has chosen to ignore it graciously. His smile is genuine, like someone whose faith in his so-called best friend is unshaken, and Jojo’s heart throbs. “Honestly, I was so happy about her being here that I didn’t even think. At all.”

“That is utterly endearing”, Gian replies, and Valenti goes awww and Jojo thinks: I’m gonna throw up in my mouth.

After Valenti has K.O.’d Ivan using Jigglypuff (something about which he’ll brag for at least a year), Jojo requests another cigarette break and only narrowly resists asking for a hug first thing when cold air hits them. The Russian is watching him closely, probably expecting an outburst of some kind and normally wouldn’t be far off. But Jojo’s feeling too pathetic to conjure up his trademark anger, and so they stand in silence for a while. “Is it just me or is she a bit of a slag?”, Jojo eventually bursts out when he can’t take it anymore.

Ivan isn’t smiling now. He takes his time answering. “Just you”, he says calmly.

“So you want to get into her undies as well, Ivanko?” The silence stretches on long enough so Jojo can berate himself mentally for voicing his thoughts out loud.

“No. She is nice. I like her.” The simplicity of his statements drives home just how true they are. With a pointed look, he adds: “We all do.”

And this we, again, doesn’t include Jojo.

#rainbow six siege #recruitverse #fanfic #jojo you biased idiot don't be so harsh #also I watched the great british bake off and basically imagined alice from season 10 for brit #just as lovely and all over the place #I have a gameplan for the next parts but god knows when I'll get around to writing them

31 notes · View notes

terri-does-gods-work · 6 years ago

Text

Three, Two, One

[This is a tyrus oneshot based loosely on whatever information @joshua-rush has given us on 3x21]

Word count: 2190

“Andi, the streamers are amazing as they are. Relax for a bit,” shouted Bex to Andi, who was precariously standing on Cece’s railing, hanging up decorations for the New Year’s party that night.

“Says you!” Andi shouted back, demounting the railing. “Buffy, Cyrus, TJ, and Kira are coming at 10, and it’s already 9!”

“Wait,” Bex put down her magazine and looked at Andi, “Kira’s coming? I thought you guys hated her,”

“We haven’t invited her but I’m pretty sure she’ll end up coming along with TJ.”

“But I thought TJ liked Cyrus. He’s dating Kira now?”

“Mom, were you listening at all when I told you about the whole Costume Day mess?”

Bex paused for a moment, trying to muster up an excuse, “I guess, with all the wedding emotions it got lost in my brain. Sorry, kid.”

Andi’s face drooped. A wedding would’ve been nice (to say the least) after all their will-they, won’t-they drama. Something to cement it all. But, Bex and Bowie are still Bex and Bowie. Anyway, she had other things to think about. It was T-minus 54 minutes until the guests were to arrive and the house still wasn’t ready. Cece was out doing some last-minute donations she missed out on during Christmas, Andi was decorating the living room, and Bex was currently lifting herself off the couch to get more chips (for herself and the party) with Bowie.

***

T-minus 3 minutes and everything looked, as Andi said, “Just about ready,”

A playful knock came at the door. “It’s Buffy and Cyrus, I’ll get it!” Andi called to her family as she ran to the door.

“Hi, Alex, right?” said Kira, smiling, as she interlocked hands with a deadpanned TJ.

“Uh, it’s Andi, actually,” Andi’s eyebrows furrowed, “come in.”

Kira pranced into the house dragging TJ behind her. TJ could barely manage to get out a faint “Hey, Andi,” before Kira pulled him away and sat him on the couch.

“Can I get you guys anything? Chips and soda?” Andi asked, hesitantly.

“Chips would be great, thanks,” Andi started to walk to the kitchen with her hands stuck to her side, “oh, and Alex?” Andi turned around and sighed, “a diet coke for me and a sprite for TJ,”

“Actually, I’ll just have some water,” muttered TJ, as Kira shot him a glare.

“Got it,” Andi swiveled on her heel and left to the kitchen.

There was another knock at the door. “TJ, its probably Cyrus and Buffy,” Kira’s ears perked up at their names, “can you get it?” Andi called from the kitchen.

TJ began to push himself off the couch, but Kira pushed him back down, “I’ll get it,” said Kira, as she bounced to the door.

“Hey guys!” she greeted.

Buffy shoved past her pulling Cyrus along. Cyrus stopped when he saw TJ. “Buffy, he’s here. With Kira!” he whisper-shouted.

Buffy looked at the two in disgust before replying, “I’m confused, too,”

“He told me he was going to tell Kira to back off!”

Buffy shook her head and followed Cyrus into the kitchen. Neither dared to look at TJ.

“Andi, what is Kira doing here?” interrogated Buffy, her eyes wide,

“I don’t know, she just showed up with TJ. I couldn’t exactly make her leave,”

“Of course, you can. Follow me,” Buffy retorted as she marched into the living room, “Kira, can I talk to you outside?”

Kira frowned suspiciously at Buffy, following her out to the porch.

***

“What are you doing here?” Buffy started, “You’re not friends with any of us,”

“Where TJ goes, I go,” replied Kira.

“Was that TJ’s choice or was it just what you told him?”

“What does it matter?”

“TJ’s a nice guy, Kira. And he can make his own decisions. He doesn’t need some random girl with a terrible attitude to make them for him,”

“Did you just call TJ a ‘nice guy’? Wow, Buffy, you’ve gone soft,”

“Look, Kira, I’m trying to be reasonable but you’re testing my patience. Cyrus is an incredible person and whatever you said to TJ before Costume Day basically destroyed their friendship,”

“Friendship? Just friends? Because it seemed like more than that to me. Is that really what you want for Cyrus?”

The argument falls silent. Buffy’s mouth is slightly agape. “You need to leave. Right now,”

“Fine. But just so you know, TJ’s with me now. Not Cyrus, me,” Kira huffed before walking out of the compound, slamming the gate shut behind her.

***

“What do you think Buffy’s going to tell Kira?” asked Cyrus, intermittently peeking through the kitchen door to check on TJ.

“She’ll probably get rid of her somehow. I wouldn’t question it too much,” Andi trailed off when she noticed Cyrus’ gaze fixed on TJ, who was currently sitting on the couch fiddling with his phone case, “why don’t you go talk to him?” she questioned.

“And say what? We haven’t spoken since he apologised for the costume, and I don’t know how to talk to him after what he told Buffy and me,”

“About that, what happened? You guys never told me,”

“It isn’t really our story to tell. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. But since he said that, I figured he’d break up with Kira. He even told me he would, but I guess Kira’s still got him wrapped around her finger,”

“I’m sure he has a good reason. I didn’t like TJ for a long time, but I’ve seen the way he acts around you. Something lights up in him, Cy. He makes you happy, and I think you make him happy, too,”

“You really think so?”

“I do,”

Andi was interrupted by Buffy storming back into the house. She sat down next to TJ, silent.

“From the lack of blood on your clothes, I take it you didn’t kill Kira?” TJ remarked.

“I was close, but no. She did leave, though,”

TJ breathed a sigh of relief, prompting Buffy to urge him to talk to Cyrus, “I know you like him,” she gestured towards the kitchen, where Cyrus and Andi were still peering at the other boy, “you should talk to him,”

“You’re right, Driscoll. For once, I actually mean it,” TJ stood up halfway but sat back down, “But I have no idea what to say,”

“Just say ‘hi’ and see what happens. You two have never had trouble finding things to talk about before,”

“Yeah, turns out, we’re a lot alike,”

TJ nodded and stood up all the way. He took a deep breath and made his way to the kitchen. Andi smirked and speed walked into the living room to sit next to Buffy.

***

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” TJ asked, twiddling his thumbs, barely looking at Cyrus.

“I was actually just about to ask you the same thing,” Cyrus replied, “Let’s go to Andi Shack. It’s more private than—” he looked over at Buffy and Andi, who were staring intently at the two boys, “here,”

Cyrus led TJ to the backyard and into Andi Shack. “Isn’t Andi going to kill you for being here without her permission?” TJ asked as he fumbled in the dark for a light switch.

“Not necessarily,” TJ looked up in confusion, “It depends on how this conversation goes,”

“I see,”

After carefully moving pieces of art and art materials, the two sat down on a tattered bench covered in old paint.

“So, Kira, huh?” Cyrus started.

“I know what I said, Cy, but, it’s just—”

“Complicated, I got it,” he paused, “What you told me the other day, you were being serious?”

“Of course, I was. I’d never joke about that,”

Cyrus smiled at TJ, but TJ’s face was still full of worry.

“What is it?” asked Cyrus.

TJ stared at Cyrus blankly for a few moments, “I think you’re really great, Cyrus,” his eyes shifted down to the floor, “and I,” TJ gulped.

“TJ it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to say. My parents say that’s almost as bad as bottling—”

“Can I kiss you at midnight?” TJ interrupted, causing Cyrus to go pale, his eyes wider than an owl’s.

“Can you—” Cyrus trailed off, unable to speak.

“Never mind, it was a dumb question. You probably don’t want to, anyway. I guess this conversation didn’t go as well as Andi had hoped and we’re probably dead meat,”

“Teej,” Cyrus called, as he noticed TJ getting up to leave, “you can,”

“I can?” TJ said, turning around to face Cyrus, subconscious smiles creeping onto their faces.

Cyrus simply nodded and stood up to hold the other boy’s hand, “It’s getting cold. We should go back inside,”

They switched off the light and went back into the house.

***

“Bex, Bowie! There’s less than an hour left, set the food out in the living room!” shouted Cece from the kitchen.

“Coming, I’m coming,” Bowie pulled her up off the couch and gently pushed her towards the kitchen, following not far behind.

“I think Cyrus and TJ made up,” Bex told Bowie, eyeing the boys as they entered the house.

“Why do you invest yourself in the lives of thirteen-year-olds, Rebecca?” questioned Cece, handing each one a tray stacked with sandwiches and cake.

“When were TJ and Cyrus fighting?” asked Bowie, walking out of the kitchen with his trays as well as Bex’s.

“I’m sure Andi will be glad to know I pay more attention to her rambling than her own father,” she replied, cheekily, taking the trays from Bowie and setting them down on the coffee table.

The kids immediately took notice of the food and stampeded towards the table. An assortment of compliments towards Cece’s were spoken by food-filled mouths.

***

With less than 2 minutes till the end of the year and a room full of satisfied stomachs and neighbourhood friendly music, the seven of them stood around the living room. Bowie and Bex were already standing in the corner, ready for midnight. Andi and Buffy were sitting on one side of the couch, somehow still eating the remaining chips, as they waited for the countdown. Cece was just trying not to fall asleep but gave in and went upstairs after reminding the kids (including Bex and Bowie) to clean up whatever mess they make. Cyrus was sitting next to Buffy, and TJ was sitting next to Cyrus.

The kids’ conversation was a long, muffled noise to the outside listener, but as the clock neared twelve, the chaos turned into a countdown.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four,” Cyrus and TJ turned towards each other, barely three inches apart. The rest of the room faded to a big blur. It was just the two of them and there was no going back now.

“Three, two, one.”

As the rest cheered, “Happy New Year!” TJ had his hands gripped around Cyrus’ waist, and Cyrus’ hands were entangled in the other boy’s hair. Their eyes were closed tight, lips together, indifferent to the world.

The boys pulled away at the same time, when they realised the cheering had stopped. They opened their eyes to four people staring at them in disbelief.

“They really made up, huh?” added Bowie, breaking the silence. The rest chuckled as the new year began.

***

The next morning, the four kids went to The Spoon to meet up with Jonah.

“I apparently missed a lot,” Jonah stated, watching Cyrus and TJ walk in, hand in hand.

“Not much,” Cyrus chuckled and turned to TJ, who was trying to refrain from smiling.

“Baby taters?” Amber asked, approaching the table, “and happy new year, by the way!”

“Firstly, is that even a question, and secondly, you too, Ambs,” Andi blushed.

“So, that’s baby taters and,” her expression turned grim, “TJ, Kira came by earlier asking for—”

“Hey, Kippen, you got a second?” It was Kira. Again.

TJ stood up, “Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of them,” Amber slowly backed away.

“Okay,” Kira looked around the table, “fine. I’m sorry. What I did to you was vindictive and, if I’m being honest, I mostly did it to get back at Buffy,” she mouths ‘sorry’ to Buffy, “It was wrong. I saw TJ and thought I had a chance but then Cyrus came along, and I figured, ‘why not?’”

“You still made two people feel badly about themselves just for being who they were,” retorted Buffy.

“Sometimes there’s a nice person trying to get out. I guess I still haven’t figured out how to do that. My parents told my neighbours what I told Buffy. I didn’t realise how much that would hurt someone. I’m sorry.” She walked out of the diner without a second glance.

“Well, at least she knows how to apologise unlike some of us,” Buffy joked.

“Hey!” TJ responded, “I can say—"

“Teej,” Cyrus gestured at his hands under the table. He put up three fingers, then two, then one, and gave TJ a quick kiss on the lips before changing the conversation, “So, Andi. Amber, huh?”

#i cant believe i redeemed kira #andi mack #tyrus #tyrus fanfic #tyrus one shot #fluff #tyrus fluff #renew andi mack #andi mack s3

110 notes · View notes

dfcfanfics · 5 years ago

Text

Looking Back At 2019

Greetings! Your sixth-favorite old man who churns out Miraculous fanfics is back again, casting his eyes on the year-about-to-end and what came of it.

Throwing my ramblings behind a cut, for the benefit of those who are less than fanatical about them.

Okay! Still here? Great.

Stories that I wrote in 2019 included:

Longfics:

Let’s Take It From The Top: The conclusion to this one arrived in January. This was a long-running alternate universe story, the longest I had written at that time, rebooting the Miracuverse with two alterations:

1) Gabriel brought the Cat and Moth, not the Peacock and Moth home from Tibet.

2) Gabriel was willing to listen to Nooroo’s pleas to not use his powers selfishly.

That simple starting point cascaded into a very long chain of surprises and reinventions of familiar Miraculous events. Old faces with new Akuma identities, including a new one (Firefly) for Marinette before she ever becomes Ladybug! A Wish gone awry that eventually threatens all of France -- and perhaps more. Good Gabriel exploring the possibilities of Nooroo’s powers while attempting to save his son. The eventual emptying of the Miracle Box in an all-out showdown. Adrien in pink sweatpants. The answer to what happened to Atlantis. And my very first piece of fanart received ever, from the incomparable @yunyin.

It’s a lesser-loved piece of mine, but I think there’s some very solid writing in it, so if you skipped over it I’d encourage you to check it out.

Someone To Watch Over Me: My labor of love. This was inspired by absolutely perfect Ladrien concept art from @buggachat, which I will never hesitate to link. I fell in love with it, considered how I would work it into a longer Ladrien idea that was bubbling in my brain, and reached out to @buggachat with a first-chapter draft. She gave me the go-ahead to continue with it, and I hope she likes what I did to her poor characters along the way. ;)

Adrien’s attempted Akumatization and Ladybug’s last-second rescue leads to far more than either of them bargained for. Marinette reaches out to Adrien with comfort and affection in both of her identities -- and finds Adrien responding to both in kind, as much as he is capable of in his somewhat emotionally numb state. Slowly, she cracks his shell and a Ladrienette triangle forms. Though obviously Marinette would be fine with being Adrien’s girl in either identity... he doesn’t know that, and the slow burn to full-on romance is quite the ride.

All the while, Gabriel is watching his son closely, as his master plan requires someone with emotional ties to Emilie to be Akumatized and Adrien is his last-hope selection. He watches the evolving relationships, ready to pick off whichever one ends up broken-hearted when Adrien makes a choice and the triangle collapses... and is curious when that doesn’t seem to happen. A dinner party at Marinette’s proves memorable, followed by one at Adrien’s that proves... life-changing for all.

24 chapters, 230k words, my longest chapter ever, an Adrien moment that startled many readers in a very good way, and many other delights.

It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...: This one wasn’t supposed to be a longfic. It started out in my mind as a wacky farce, responding to how Heart Hunter / Miracle Queen ended and examining where the Adrigaminette triangle might go. But the more I wrote at the beginning, the more I started digging into the emotional possibilities and felt like, well, this could actually go places.

This picks up with Marinette overwhelmed, hiding out in her room. The blossoming relationship between Kagami and Adrien, the new responsibilities of Guardianhood, knowing what happened to Master Fu, and many other questions are screaming inside her skull and she is out of answers. A ring of her doorbell shatters everything, though, as it reveals a sobbing Kagami; in this version, he tries being her boyfriend but abruptly cuts it off, admitting that he loves someone else. And we all know who that someone else is... and now Ladybug knows that, too.

And our heroine... snaps.

12 chapters so far, a deliberate experiment in writing shorter chapters (each one is under 5k) that has been... well, challenging to both myself and my readers. The response has been good and it is nearly complete; I’m thinking maybe four more chapters unless something changes.

Not-so-longfics:

Two Hearts That Wax And Wane: The first of a small handful of response fics to Puppeteer 2, specifically the car scene near the end, which I found to be one of the definitive moments of the entire Season 3. It certainly created veritable oceans of salt on Tumblr, so I decided to try to make something sweeter out of it.

Marinette has heard “the girl that I love” from Adrien’s lips... and it certainly wasn’t referring to her, at least as far as she knows. So... now what? Adrien isn’t sure what Marinette’s reaction meant, but he knows that he screwed up somehow, and that he needs to make things right with her or potentially lose a very precious friend. And so four chapters follow, one from each Love Square side’s perspective (Adrienette, Marichat, Ladrien, Ladynoir in order).

Angst segueing into fluff, as is my usual formula.

Full Stamen Ahead: A five-parter that makes an utter shambles of the French education system. (If you’re sensitive to Americanizations, this is not the fic for you, unless acres of fluff serve as a sufficient antidote.)

The school is promoting a Carnation Day, in which white, pink or red carnations are delivered to students for a nominal fee. Marinette decides that she’s finally going to confess her feelings, but an interruption by Chloe disrupts her red-carnation attempt. Seeing an opportunity, Chloe responds with a nasty plan of her own... and chaos soon reigns.

Five short chapters of high school antics, detective work and flower petals.

Just One More Minute...: Another fic inspired by Tumblr art, this one by Ladybeug. After five hours of fighting an Akuma, our heroes tumble together to a rooftop, unable to move another inch. They’re about to detransform, and they know it. But... surely... they could rest for just a moment before they act, couldn’t they?

One-shot.

Playing A Familiar Chord: Puppeteer 2 response fic number two, this one from a Lukanette perspective. After hearing what she did in the car, Marinette returned home feeling completely disheartened. Who might be out there that she could turn to, talk to, call on the phone and get a male perspective on about what just happened? Who could be her Big Brother today, even though they both know that he’d like to be more than that?

One-shot. Fluff, comfort, and a Luka who’s smitten but remains assertive as well.

After the Storm Breaks: Heart Hunter/Miracle Queen response fic, examining what might come next. A short time after the finales, Adrigami is fully enabled... as is Lukanette. A party that Adrien, Kagami and Marinette all attend becomes awkward, so Adrien calls Marinette to make sure that they’re still on good terms... and a lot of unexpected truth comes out.

One-shot. Fluff, comfort and friendship. Exploring a far stronger Adrienette forming even while they’re each dating other people.

A Little Promise I’d Made Myself: A super-fluffy one-shot. It’s a New Year’s Eve party at Rose’s house, and while Adrien is having a good time, he notices that Marinette is sitting off by herself. So he joins her, and as the countdown to midnight approaches, Marinette wonders if she has it in her to give him a real New Year’s kiss...

Crack and Silliness:

Assorted bits of insanity, response fics and stuff that popped into my head.

The Logical Conclusion: Ladybug examines why all the Akumas center around one particular classroom... and presents Chat Noir with her theory as to whom Hawkmoth must be.

Reservoir Kwamis: Quentin Tarantino’s film Reservoir Dogs from a Miracuverse perspective. Maybe three people will enjoy this.

Getting Things Backwards: Backwarder response crackfic. Adrien opens Marinette’s “love letter”... which is actually Fu’s constipation medicine prescription... and interprets it in a very different way.

First Times Are Always Awkward: On Ladybug and Chat Noir’s first outing against Stoneheart, Tikki is not fully aware of modern technology... like cell phone cameras. So that “Kwamis cannot be photographed or recorded” extends to their magic as well -- like certain costumes. Alya ends up with quite an eyeful when she watches the footage she captured...

Communication Breakdown: In an emergency, Plagg needs someone else to accept his power, don the ring and be a hero. He’s in a room with someone who is able and willing. But when it comes to saying “Claws out” aloud, there’s one little problem...

Busted, Said The Kwami: Kwami Buster response crackfic. Adrien finds himself dreaming of a midnight visit by Ladybug, who becomes Multimouse, who acts... unusually. This is not Plagg’s first rodeo with size-changing heroine fantasies, though.

Nooroo Uses A Swear Word: He sure does.

Options Include...: A response to an Instagram post by Adrien. Marinette sees Adrien admiring Nino and Alya’s relationship, and pining for one of his own, and reacts...

Leave Some Stones Unturned: Wayzz and Marinette investigate Master Fu’s studio, as Wayzz is aware of many secrets hidden away there in Fu’s absence. They find a pair of Kwamis who are not from the Chinese set, and whose concepts and personalities startle Marinette greatly... (Little Feat fans will appreciate this one.)

If you’ve reached this note, I thank you regardless of whether you’ve actually read my stuff or not. :)

I thought Season 3 had a lot of interesting components and a lot of very flawed execution, both in where it chose to take the characters and the usual nightmares involving episode ordering and character consistency. I sincerely hope that the hiatus before S4 will allow Team Astruc to present a more coherent and consistent approach in 2020.

Tumblr salt of You’re Not Writing The Story How I Want You To! and My Ship Must Sail NOW! will continue, obviously. That’s life. But Tumblr salt picking apart writing choices and characterization in what they actually put out there... that I can get behind. The Marinette Defense Squad remains vigilant. My hat is tipped to the many Tumblr folk who approach these episodes with a critical but supportive eye; recognizing what’s good, pointing out what’s not and wanting what emerges to be great.

Best wishes to all in the new year, particularly @brittsarts, my tireless artist friend still plugging away at the comic-ization of Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright and doing fantastic work at that as time and energy allow.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #rambling #old man reviews where all his free time went

6 notes · View notes

a-splash-of-stucky · 7 years ago

Text

you look so perfect standing there

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes [Not reader-insert]

Summary: When Bucky steps in a Natasha’s model at a shoot, he does not expect the photographer to be this hot.

Warnings: Bucky in lingerie, Bucky thinking very dirty thoughts about Steve, awkward flirting. No smut, but a lot of smutty thoughts. Language.

Notes: Written for @wehaveabucky’s writing challenge, using the prompt: Photoshoot.

The author of this fic has a gratuitous kink for Bucky in skimpy underwear. I regret nothing. Also, if you ever want to give me a present, I will never turn down fics/artwork involving Bucky in lingerie. Visual inspiration for look [1] [2] and [3]

Stucky Masterlist

Bucky flops onto his couch with a tired sigh, grateful to be off his feet after spending an entire day chasing after a bunch of hyperexcited pre-schoolers. He loves his job, loves the kids in his class but man -- school trips are the worst. Of course, it’s just his luck that this week he’s had to go on three of them.

Thank fuck for child-free weekends.

Bucky hooks his toes under the lip of his coffee table and drags it over. Of course, he could sit up and reach over for the box of pizza, but that requires too much effort. His phone starts ringing just as he’s about to dig in. Cursing under his breath, Bucky wrestles it out of his back pocket and presses the answer button.

“’lo?”

“Barnes,” comes a crisp voice.

“Romanov,” Bucky replies, as he flips open the pizza box and grabs a slice.

“You’re free this weekend, yes?” she asks.

Bucky freezes, hand poised in mid-air. “Uh…I did have plans,” he says slowly.

Natasha snorts. “Really?” she drawls. Bucky can imagine her pursing her lips.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, as he stuffs half the slice into his mouth. “M’gonna sleep in, sit on the couch all day, marathon Parks and Rec, eat a shit ton of junk—,”

“Great, you’re gonna be my model,” she announces.

Bucky splutters in surprise. “I’m gonna what now?”

“A model, Barnes. Y’know—,”

“Yes, I know what a model is, Nat,” he snaps, “But why me?”

“Eh, you’ve got a decent ass,” she replies.

Bucky snorts indignantly. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that my ass is – wait, did you just compliment me? You think my ass looks nice?”

“I said it looks decent,” Nat says, enunciating clearly. “And stop fishing for compliments. Look, you know that I’ve got a new line of lingerie coming out for the store, right? My model cancelled on me last minute, and I needed someone on short notice.”

“I’m flattered to be your plan B,” Bucky says dryly.

“Actually, you’re more like plan E.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bucky grumbles.

Nat huffs. “So. You in? This Sunday, for a couple of hours.”

Bucky sighs heavily. “Nat. I’m a teacher, I can’t—,”

“It’ll be completely anonymous,” she assures him. “Body shots only, your face won’t be included. And it’s not like you have any identifying marks on your body, so…”

As her voice trails off, Bucky heaves a dramatic sigh. “Okay, fine, but you’re buying me pizza after.”

“Deal. I’ll send you the address in a bit.”

----------

When Sunday rolls around, Bucky is most definitely not nervous. Of course not. That funny feeling in his stomach is just…indigestion. Possibly excitement. No nerves whatsoever.

Maybe he’s a little nervous.

He shows up to the location about ten minutes before he’s expected to be there. Nat’s directions have brought Bucky to an empty loft space in downtown. Bucky can understand why Nat’s chosen to have the shoot here; the exposed brick walls, wooden floors and overall industrial vibe is exactly the kind of aesthetic she tends to go for.

The loft is bustling with activity when Bucky arrives. People are dragging around lights, backdrops and various pieces of furniture. Bucky cranes his head around, looking for Nat. He startles when someone taps him on the shoulder.

When he turns around, his nearly gasps in surprise. His brain descends into chaos as his eyes are confronted the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen; blonde, with bright blue eyes and a disarming smile that Bucky wants to kiss right off his lips. Blondie is built as fuck, his broad shoulders and chest tapering into a ridiculously small waist. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans that hug his muscular thighs and a light blue t-shirt that clings to him like a second skin.

“Hi,” Blondie says, “You’re James, right?”

Oh. Oh, dear God, he’s talking to you – answer him you idiot, ANSWER HIM!

Why does his inner voice sound a lot like Rebecca?

“Uhh,” Bucky says. He mentally face-palms himself and tries not to outwardly grimace.

Nice going, Barnes.

Blondie quirks an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Y-yeah, I’m James,” Bucky says, wincing internally at his stutter. “But, uh—just call me Bucky. Only my ma’s allowed to call me James.”

“Bucky, huh?” Blondie says, “Nice to meet you. I’m Steve.”

“Steve,” Bucky echoes distractedly, too busy watching the mesmerising movements of Steve’s lips. He really, really wants to kiss them. “Yeah, yeah, it’s uh…nice to meet you too.”

Get it together, Barnes, where’s your game at?

If Steve’s amused by Bucky’s bumbling pleasantries, he doesn’t let it show in his expression. “So, I’m gonna be your photographer for today,” Steve says casually.

Fucking hell, Bucky is not gonna survive this day.

“Oh,” Bucky squeaks, “That’s great. That’s cool, yeah. Yeah, really excited to work with you, Steve, Nat’s told me about you.”

Steve laughs softly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “What’d she say about me?”

Hngh, how can this man simultaneously be the hottest and also the most adorable thing on this planet? It’s not fucking fair.

Bucky grins. At least, he thinks he’s grinning.

“Only the good stuff,” he replies, “She told me that you’re the only person she’d trust to run this shoot.”

Steve shakes his head like he can’t believe Natasha said that about him. To be fair, that woman does not give out compliments easily. He clears his throat and meets Bucky’s eyes once again. “Okay, well—um, we’ve got a pretty packed schedule today, so if you wanna head to hair and makeup and get changed and whatever…I’ll just…I need to finish setting up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “Yeah, see you in a bit, Steve.”

Steve flashes him another one of easy smiles and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder before he walks off. The lingering warmth of his hand sends shivers down Bucky’s spine. As Steve walks away, Bucky takes the opportunity to ogle his ass – those jeans are doing wonders for him. And that shirt? Hello sexy shoulder muscles.

Bucky heaves a shaky breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

He is so, so fucked for this shoot.

----------

“Oh, hey Wanda!” Bucky calls, as he walks into the dressing area. “You’re here to make me look good, I take it?”

“Yup,” she says, “Drop your bag anywhere, then come sit by the vanity. You need all the help you can get, so we’d best get started.”

“Har-har, Wan,” Bucky drawls. He drops the gym bag holding his change of clothes beside the vanity, then plops down in the foldable chair that Wanda pointed to. The surface of the table is littered with an assortment of beauty utensils, and the mirror has huge bulbs built into the frame.

“You look a little nervous,” Wanda comments, as she clips his bangs out of the way and starts to smooth some sweet-smelling cream all over his face. “Why’re you nervous? I know for a fact that this isn’t your first shoot.”

She’s right. Back when Natasha was in fashion school and just launching her online boutique, Bucky had often been the person to model her garments. He’d also done a few other modelling gigs back when he was a broke-ass college student, for some quick cash. He and Wanda had met on one of those gigs; when Bucky introduced her to Natasha, the two of them had hit it off, and now they’re something of a team.

So yeah, Wanda is correct; this is not Bucky’s first photoshoot.

“’S my first one in lingerie, though,” Bucky mutters. He closes his eyes as Wanda starts to buff some foundation onto his face.

Wanda snorts. “Buck, you’ve done underwear modelling before, right? How’s this any different?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dunno,” he replies, even though he does. This photoshoot is different because the photographer is the most beautiful man that Bucky’s ever seen and Bucky desperately wants to bone him. Or be boned by him, whatever, Bucky’s not picky.

As Wanda picks up her powder, Bucky frowns in confusion, a lightbulb going off in his head.

“Wanda, why the hell’re you puttin’ makeup on me for?” he asks, “Nat said my face wasn’t even gonna be in the shot.”

Wanda pauses, her brush in mid-air. “Crap,” she mutters, “I forgot. It’s like a reflex, sorry. I’ll wipe it off—,”

“Wait!” Bucky blurts. She freezes in surprise.

If he’s going to have any chance at getting into Steve’s pants – or at least, at getting Steve to ask him out on a date so that he can eventually get into Steve’s pants – then he’s going to need every piece of help that he can get.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Bucky says, shooting her an easy smile. “I do. It helps me get in the right headspace.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking in surprise. “Oh, okay then, I’ll just…continue on.”

“Please do.”

“But seriously, relax, Bucky,” Wanda says, as she sweeps powder onto his face. “You got this.”

Bucky sighs. “M’ just a lil’ nervous, is all. Haven’t done this in a while, don’t go to the gym as often as I used to.”

“Bucky Barnes? Insecure in his own skin?” Wanda scoffs. “Puh-lease, now there’s a joke if I ever saw one.”

----------

Natasha drops by the hair and makeup area just as Wanda leaves in search of an extension cable.

“Romanov,” Bucky hisses.

She arches an eyebrow at his tone. “Yes, James?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he growls, careful to keep his voice down so as to not draw anyone’s attention.

“Tell you what?”

Bucky makes an exasperated noise and gestures towards Steve, who’s setting up some lights with the help of a couple of assistants. Natasha follows his gaze and, when she spots Steve, chuckles darkly.

“Oh, that you’d be parading around in lacy underwear in front of a blonde beefcake?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah. That.”

“Whoops, it must’ve slipped my mind,” she says innocently.

“Some friend you are,” Bucky grumbles.

She hums thoughtfully as her eyes drift back to Steve. “He’s bi, you know? And single, too.”

“Fuck me,” Bucky groans, his heart doing excited somersaults in his chest.

Nat snickers. “No, but that’s something you might wanna ask Steve about,” she teases.

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky snaps, turning away from her to hide his blush.

“Who knows, Barnes,” she sing-songs, “Something good could come out of this. Look, you’re gonna be parading in front of him in black lace, so make the most of it, is all I’m saying.”

Bucky snorts. “Would you kill me if I have a boner in like, half the pics?”

She turns on her heel and stalks off, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

----------

Once Wanda has finished his makeup and arranged his hair into a loose bun, she hands Bucky a pair of black lace panties, which, apparently, constitute his first ‘outfit’.

“Off you go,” she says, ushering him towards the corner of the dressing area, where a privacy screen has been set up. “There’s a mirror behind the screen and there should be a robe hanging off of it.”

Bucky dutifully trots off to get changed. He unzips his hoodie and slides his sweats and boxers down, leaving his clothes folded in a neat pile beside the mirror. The lace is surprisingly soft against his skin and the black compliments his skin tone nicely. He’d been worried that the lace would be too revealing, but actually, the pattern is busy enough to not leave him too indecently exposed. Bucky twists around to check the view from the back and gives himself a pat on the shoulder; his ass looks good.

When he looks at himself dead-on, though, he can’t help but feel a little self-conscious. Maybe he should’ve done some extra crunches when he went to the gym yesterday, or possibly even opted for something other than the greasy Chinese takeout he had last night. Either way, his abs are not as defined as they could be.

Is Steve the kinda guy that likes a toned man? Or, is he okay with a little bit of pudginess? Well, if Bucky’s going to be prancing around in his underwear in front of Steve, he’s going to damn well make sure that he looks smokin’ hot. That means pulling out all the stops.

“Hey Wanda?” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can you c’mere for a sec?”

“What’s up?” she asks, popping her head around the side of the screen. When she catches sight of him, she gives a low whistle. “Woah, Bucky, you look nice.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, flushing hot. “Um—d’you think you could…abs?” he mumbles, gesturing vaguely towards the region of his body in question.

“Abs?” she echoes, confused. “What about ‘em?”

“Could you…make ‘em look more obvious?”

Wanda smirks knowingly. “You want me to contour your abs, Bucky?”

“Yes,” Bucky sighs. “Make me look like I go to the gym five times a week.”

“I mean, yeah, I can do that, but you look great, so I don’t really see the point. What brought this on?” Wanda asks, as she steps around the privacy screen. She pulls out a brush and some contour powder from the utility belt strapped around her waist.

“Nothin’, I just wanna look good,” Bucky says.

She cocks her head to the side. “Look good? But you—oh my god,” she gasps.

“What?”

A maniacal grin stretches her lips. “It’s because of Steve, isn’t it?”

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. “No, it’s not,” he says tersely.

“It is, it totally is,” she giggles, “Oh, did you know that he’s—,”

“Bisexual and single, yeah, Nat’s already told me that.”

“More importantly, he’s your type,” she whispers contritely, nudging Bucky with her elbow.

“I don’t have a type,” Bucky retorts defensively, “I just go for the nice guys!”

“Uh-huh,” Wanda says, a dubious expression on her face. “The nice guys with blonde hair and thighs that were made for grinding on, am I right?

Bucky doesn’t dignify her with an answer.

(She’s totally right)

“Flex your muscles. Tense up,” she instructs.

Bucky does as he’s told. Wanda dusts contour powder over his body.

“What d’you think about body oil?” she asks, as she moves her brush to his iliac furrow, sculpting out those lines too.

“What do I think about body oil?”

She looks up at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Imagine – glistening abs, glistening shoulders, looking like you’ve just had the best sex of your life—,”

“Sign me the fuck up.”

----------

After making himself look like a vision of sex, Bucky throws on a black silk robe and pads off in search of Steve. Bucky finds him standing beside a pile of white sheets that have been spread out on the floor. They’re piled on top of each other, creating sensual ripples in the fabric.

“Hey, Bucky!” Steve chirps, flashing another one of those killer smiles. “We’ve just finished setting up, you’re just on time.”

“This is the set?” Bucky asks, jerking his chin towards the unassuming mountain of white fabric.

Steve nods enthusiastically. “Yep. We couldn’t find a real bed on such short notice, so we kinda had to make do. The plan is for you to roll around in the sheets, with me standing above you, and then I’ll get a few shots. Sounds cool?”

“Yep!” Bucky replies, voice a little strangled.

Sure. No big deal. He’s going to be rolling around in silk sheets, in his lacy underwear, with Steve standing over him. No big deal.

“Great. So, if you’ll just drop the robe, we can get started.”

Bucky takes a deep, fortifying breath, then unties the sash holding his robe together. He doesn’t miss Steve’s sharp inhale as the silky garment slips off his shoulders. Despite his nerves, Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. He hands the robe to an assistant and then crawls onto the sheets. When he’s in the middle of them, he twists around so that he’s lying on his back.

Steve is watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. “If you could just let your legs fall open a little,” he instructs, “Bring your feet in – yeah, just like that.”

Once he’s arranged Bucky to his satisfaction, Steve picks up his camera and stands between Bucky’s legs. The air is filled with the rhythmic snap of the shutter, as well as Steve’s murmured encouragements and instructions. Bucky’s nerves fall away as he gets into the zone. He manipulates his body as Steve directs, arching and flexing and relaxing as required.

The knowledge that his face won’t be in any of the shots doesn’t stop Bucky from giving Steve his best bedroom eyes. Bucky tips his head back invitingly, baring his throat and letting his lids droop half-shut. He parts his lips on an exhale, the corner of his mouth crooked up in a soft smile. He hopes that Steve is picking up his signals.

Steve curses under his breath when Bucky slips his right thumb into the waistband of his panties and tugs them down a little, as if he were about to slip them off. Bucky spends some time teasing Steve like this, sliding his fingers back and forth, and slipping a couple down the front, so that his fingertips are brushing the base of his cock. He arches his back and thrusts his pelvis upwards, his lips parting of their own accord on a silent moan.

“Uh, Bucky?” Steve asks, tearing his eyes away from the camera for a second. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip; Bucky notes the flush of colour on his cheeks.

“Could you—um, could you roll over, please? I need to – uh, I need to get some shots of your a—I mean, I need to get some shots of the back,” Steve stutters.

“You wanna get some shots of my ass, Steve, all you gotta do is ask,” Bucky drawls, smirking to himself as he rolls onto his stomach.

He finds himself naturally bringing his knees up under him and pressing his chest to the floor; the position draws attention to his lace-clad ass. Bucky can feel the weight of Steve’s stare, intense and heated, as it rakes over his back. He has half a mind to start grinding against the sheets, humping the floor like he’s some horny teenager.

Once Steve’s gotten all the shots he needs, Bucky gets sent off to Wanda to change into his next set. She’s waiting in the dressing area with a knowing smirk on her face.

“What?” Bucky asks, as he walks past her.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Barnes,” she says, turning to keep pace with him. “I think the only way you could’ve been more obvious was if you ripped the panties off and flat-out asked him to fuck you. Like, seriously, we all thought we were seconds away from watching you two shoot a porno!”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugs, despite the flush crawling up his cheeks. “Didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt, y’know? If he wants it, he wants it and I’m gonna let him have it.”

“You should’ve seen the look on his face when you rolled over,” she comments, as Bucky steps behind the privacy screen. “I’m pretty sure he was about to have a heart attack.”

“My ass does that to people,” Bucky agrees. Wanda snorts in response.

The next set that Bucky changes into comprises of more pieces. There’s a pair of white thigh-highs with a lace trim, a garter belt to hold them up and some matching lace panties to complete the look. These panties are cut differently to the ones that Bucky currently has on; nearly half his ass is going to be on show.

Luckily, Bucky’s ass is at peak form. All those squats have finally paid off.

“Hey Wanda?” he calls, as he takes the lingerie pieces off their hangers.

“Yeah?”

“Do I put panties over garter, or garter over panties?”

“Garter over panties,” she replies, “You only do it the other way ‘round if you’re planning to take the panties off, which we’re not doing.”

“But what if I wanna take ‘em off?”

“Barnes, none of us wants to see your bare ass,” Wanda sighs.

“Steve might,” Bucky grumbles.

The garter belt and clips are a little fiddly, but once everything is in place, Bucky has to admit that he looks good. The thigh-highs elongate his legs and the belt emphasises the smooth curve of his waist. His cock is snugly held by the lace panties and the bottom of his ass cheeks look especially perky.

If Bucky were Steve, he’d fuck Bucky.

Bucky slips on his robe and pads back out to the main area, where an assistant points him to where he’s needed. From the looks of it, he’ll just be shot in front of a simple black backdrop – Bucky is thankful that this set-up doesn’t involve Steve standing over him, as he doesn’t think that he’ll survive another round of that. A couple of light boxes cast a warm glow.

Steve catches his gaze and smiles, gesturing for Bucky to step onto the set. This time, when Bucky drops his robe, Steve is more open with his appreciation; his eyes widen noticeably, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. His gaze roams over Bucky’s body hungrily and, when their eyes meet again, he doesn’t bother to apologise.

“You look good,” he says instead, voice dark and husky.

A rush of heat travels down Bucky’s spine.

The current set-up is more similar to modelling gigs that Bucky’s had in the past, but the fact that he’s strutting around in fancy lingerie is definitely new. He’s also never wanted to fuck his photographer this bad, either.

“Okay, Bucky, if you could just tip your head back and cross one leg in front of the other – yes, hold it, just like that,” Steve praises, peering into the viewfinder as he snaps a few pictures. Steve encourages Bucky to move around and do whatever feels natural, so Bucky finds himself twisting himself this way and that, focusing on creating sinuous, sensuous lines with his body.

“That’s great, Buck, real good,” Steve murmurs, every now and then.

Bucky finds it ridiculously endearing that Steve’s somehow managed to make a nickname out of his nickname. He likes how the syllable sounds as it rolls off Steve’s tongue, the easy familiarity behind it. Bucky wants to find out what his name sounds like rolling off of Steve’s tongue when Bucky’s sucking on his dick or riding his cock, but that’s a mystery to be solved later.

“Turn around for me, please? Great, could you put one hand on the back of your neck and look at me over your shoulder?”

Bucky does as he’s told, craning his neck around until he’s looking at Steve. He notices how Steve’s gaze is appreciative as he casts it over Bucky’s back and ass. When their eyes meet, the corner of Steve’s lip twitches, like he’s resisting the urge to smirk. Bucky wouldn’t call himself vain – well, no vainer than the average person, at least – but he’s looked at the mirror enough times to know that he’s got a little bit of muscle definition going on back there when he flexes. Clearly, Steve likes what he sees.

Bucky makes sure to arch his back so that his ass looks perkier. He tells himself that he’s doing this for the sake of modelling the panties, but really, it’s because Bucky wants to shove his ass into Steve’s face.

Figuratively and literally.

----------

Bucky’s final pair of panties are deep-red and high-waisted, with a criss-cross ribbon design in the back. Wanda also hands him an oversized, white, long-sleeve button-down to wear; it hangs off his shoulders in a sultry manner.

Bucky is accosted by Natasha after Wanda finishes touching-up his makeup and dousing his hair in more texturing spray.

“Barnes,” she says primly.

“Yes, Natasha?”

The smile she gives him doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re modelling for an advertising campaign, yes?”

Bucky nods in agreement.

“Good,” she says, “Keep that in mind.”

His brows pull together in confusion. “What’re you…tryna say, Nat?”

“Stop acting like you’re on a porn shoot.”

Bucky blanches. “Am I…that obvious?” he asks, as they start walking to the next set.

She quirks one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Look, if you wanna seduce Steve, then don’t let me stop you, just…maybe stop trying to get him to fuck you on the spot?”

“I…make no promises,” Bucky says.

Nat snorts. “Then I retract my promise of buying you pizza.”

Bucky’s eyes land on Steve, who’s conversing with a couple of assistants on the other side of the space. “If I get to have a slice of that beefcake, I think I’ll be okay,” he tells her.

“Oh my god,” Natasha mutters, shoving his shoulder. “That was terrible. I’m leaving you, go away.”

Bucky walks away from her, still cackling.

The final set consists of a chaise lounge that has been positioned in the corner of the space, in front of an exposed brick wall. It’s angled so that it is bathed in the sunlight pouring in from a nearby window. The chaise is upholstered with maroon velvet and sits low to the ground. There are cream and off-white blankets draped over it in a haphazard manner, and someone has piled on some throw pillows.

Steve grins when he spots Bucky, not bothering to hide his meaningful once-over. Because Bucky’s wearing the oversized shirt, Wanda hadn’t bothered to give him a robe. And, since the shirt is unbuttoned, Steve can plainly see the red panties that Bucky is wearing.

“How do I look?” Bucky asks, as he makes a show out of turning around in a circle.

Steve tilts his head to the side, an amused smile on his lips.

“Stunning,” he replies softly.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly going dry. Jesus, is this guy even real?

Steve asks Bucky to lie on his couch with his head against the arm rest, legs sprawled out over the blankets.

“I just want you to relax into it, Buck,” Steve says, as he brings his camera to his eyes. “Less posing more…softness. Like you’ve just woken up.”

With those directions in mind, Bucky slouches further into the chaise and brings one knee up, resting his wrist atop it as his shirt pools around him. With the too-big garment constantly slipping down his shoulders, Bucky has multiple excuses to run his hands over his body, under the guise of rearranging the material. The shutter clicks continuously.

Bucky has long recognised the value of having a narrative to use when he’s modelling; if he can become someone, if he can step into a character’s shoes, then it becomes much easier for him to deliver the desired aesthetic. With his skimpy red panties and his oversized shirt, it’s easy for Bucky to imagine that he’s spending the night at Steve’s place, and that he’s borrowed Steve’s shirt so that he’s not totally naked as he lounges on the couch. Oh yeah, that’s a dream he’s happy to entertain – maybe they’ve been seeing each other for a while and this is the first time that Bucky’s spending the night at his place. Yeah, that would explain why he doesn’t have any clothes here.

Or maybe – maybe Bucky’s some sort of kept boy, a sugar baby, perhaps. Steve’s given him these nice panties and has now asked Bucky to model them for him. Distantly, Bucky wonders if Steve would be into that kind of relationship.

Steve calling his name snaps Bucky out of his whimsical daydream.

“Huh?” Bucky says, blinking owlishly at Steve. Damn, what’d he just miss?

Steve smiles benignly. “I asked if you could get up on your knees so that I could see the back.”

“Oh,” Bucky murmurs, “Yeah, sure.”

He rearranges himself so that he’s kneeling on the chaise, facing the brick wall behind it. Bucky slips the shirt off his shoulders and gathers most of the material in his hands, so that it drapes over the backs of his legs and leaves his ass completely exposed. When he hears Steve’s sharp intake of breath, he smirks – the criss-cross design exposes the top of his crack in a rather scandalous way.

Steve moves around him, taking shots at various angles. Bucky tenses his muscles and flexes his back, contorting his body every way he can, to give Steve some variety to work with.

“That’s good, Buck, that’s real good,” Steve praises, “Could you turn to the right a little – yes, just like that.”

The entire photoshoot is over in a depressingly short amount of time.

Steve calls it a wrap with a booming voice and a loud clap of his hands. Bucky shrugs the shirt back onto his shoulders, but leaves it unbuttoned as he walks back over to the dressing area, unwilling to hide his body from Steve’s appreciative gaze. The man in question gives Bucky a friendly smile as Bucky walks past him. Steve opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but gets distracted when Natasha calls him.

Bucky grabs the bag that he’d dumped beside the makeup station and brings it to the changing area. He slips out of the panties and the button-down, then pulls on the street clothes that he’d brought with him; CKs, a pair of black skinny jeans and his favourite red pullover. Bucky stuffs the hoodie and sweats that he’d been wearing earlier into his bag, bids goodbye to Wanda and is scanning the studio for Nat when someone catches his wrist.

“Hey,” Steve says breathlessly, when Bucky turns to face him.

“Hey yourself,” Bucky replies.

“I—uh, I just wanted to say that I had a great time working with you today,” Steve says, ducking his head shyly. “Uh—yeah, you were really fun to shoot. It’s always nice to work with someone playful and responsive.”

Bucky flushes, scuffing the toe of his Converse against the floor in embarrassment. “Um—thanks. That’s—yeah, it was real great working with you too, Steve. You—um. You really knew what you were doing.”

Really, Barnes? Can you not handle a compliment or something?

Steve ducks his head in acknowledgement of the praise, a tiny smile on his lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs. Steve opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, as if he were about to say something, but then thought better of it.

“You doin’ anything nice this afternoon?” Bucky asks, as he readjusts his grip on his bag.

Steve snorts. “You, I hope,” he mumbles. There’s a half-second of silence, before his eyes widen and a scarlet blush blooms over the apples of his cheeks.

“I—I mean,” he stammers “I—uh, shit, that’s not what I—I mean, yes, I’d like that but—okay, fine laugh it up.”

Bucky is giggling – giggling, like he’s some sort of schoolgirl – at Steve’s mortified expression. “Well, that’s one way to be direct,” he jokes, as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

If it were possible, Steve’s flush goes even redder. “I—what I meant to say,” Steve sighs, “Was—would you, uh, I mean, are you busy this afternoon?”

Bucky cocks his head to the side and appraises him. “Well,” he drawls, “I did have plans.”

Steve’s face falls. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t wanna—,”

“I was gonna go home,” Bucky continues, talking over Steve. “Take a bath, order in some pizza, crack open a beer, maybe watch some Game of Thrones.”

He trails off with a shrug. “But, y’know. ‘M open to other suggestions,” he says, knocking his shoulder against Steve’s.

“Really?” Steve murmurs, a smile gracing his lips. “Well, maybe you’d let me take you out for a coffee?”

Bucky bites his lip and nods. “Yeah, Steve. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

#wehaveabuckyswritingchallenge #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky fanfiction #stevebucky fanfiction #wintershield fanfiction #stucky fanfic #stevebucky fanfic #wintershield fanfic #my writing #stucky smut #you look so perfect standing there

293 notes · View notes

hermitologist · 7 years ago

Text

My 20 Favorite Records Of 2018

Hi. I made a list of my favorite records of the year again. People seem to enjoy these things, and I definitely enjoy tearing my hair out trying to figure out what I liked best, so here we are again.

This years list is chock full of heavy/sludgy bummer jams, post-rock epics, and super aggressive metal and hardcore, with a few poppier and more adventurous indie records scattered about. The honorable mentions list gets a bit more eclectic if you’re looking for stuff that sounds a little less like it was birthed from the loins of the late-90s/early-00s Hydrahead and Relapse discography.

As always, I welcome your suggestions for records and podcasts I might’ve missed the boat on, no matter the genre. There’s way too much good stuff out there to keep up with, so help me out.

Also: When my aging corpse is not being pissy about being used for something other than child-wrangling, eating, or sleeping, I try to run a few days a week and will listen to/briefly review a record on each run. Almost every record on this list has been a part of one of those posts, so if you’re interested in such a thing, please check out my Instagram.

BONUS: I put together playlists of my favorite song from each of my top 20 records, so if you’re overwhelmed and don’t know where to start, just throw it on and see if anything grabs you.

Hermitology’s Favorite 20 Records of 2018 - Spotify Playlist

Hermitology’s Favorite 20 Records of 2018 - Apple Music Playlist

20) Slugdge - Esoteric Malacology

This record is ridiculous in the best ways possible -- insane amounts of shredding, light-speed double bass and blast beats, and lyrics about slugs and other assorted beasts. It’s been ages since I went through my Swedish & Norwegian Metal phase, but this awakened those long-dormant receptors that used to hum when I listened to At The Gates, Opeth, Dimmu Borgir, Soilwork, et al.

Listen here.

19) Ingrina - Etter Lys

Excellent French doomgaze/post-rock that sounds like it could very easily be the soundtrack to the apocalypse. Etter Lys has a familiar sound/vibe, but a refreshing energy and captivating sense of dark melody that really makes them stand out to me. Highly recommended for fans of This Will Destroy You, Rosetta, God Is An Astronaut, et al.

Listen here.

18) Beach House - 7

This record was the perfect foil to all heavy stuff I listened to this year, and my go-to in-flight record of 2018. It’s a damn near perfect collection hazy, airy, dreamy, downtempo indie pop. I’d never been a huge Beach House fan, but 7 hooked me and pulled me in. Throw this your headphones on, press play, and melt into your chair or couch.

Listen here.

17) Culture Abuse - Bay Dream

This record was not what I was expecting, but it ended up being exactly what I needed. (If that makes any sense.) Instead of a grimy, high-energy punk record, I got a fuzzy, bouncy, catchy-as-hell soundtrack to my entire summer. A perfect blend of The Ramones and peak-Weezer, with a vibe all its own.

Listen here.

16) Deads - LLNN

Roughly forty minutes of insanely heavy and furious drop-tuned, down-tempo, doom-inspired crushers offset by eerie, cinematic synth parts. If you’re a fan of early-Cult of Luna and/or Isis, this record should be a new staple in your diet. There’s also enough atmosphere here to appeal to post-rock fans who might desire a little aggression boost.

Listen here.

15) Heads. - Collider

Beautifully written sludgy rock that falls somewhere between the heaviness and spookiness of Young Widows and the heroin-soaked atmosphere and melody of Failure. For what it’s worth, I dig Collider more than either of the aforementioned bands’ most recent output. It’s a perfect marriage of influences, killer songwriting, an excellent recording, and a flat out fantastic record from front to back.

Listen here.

14) mewithoutYou - [untitled]

I’ve been a mewithoutYou fan for ages and love everything they’ve done (so I’m a little biased), but this record is just on a completely different level as far as I’m concerned. It’s the peak of their creativity, songwriting, mood, dynamics, lyrics, production, etc. It’s got the atmosphere and moodiness of post-rock, the angular quirkiness of Fugazi, the energy of Refused (at times), and the all the character of a classic mwY record. It’s phenomenal, and doubly impressive because they made it 18 years deep into an already impressive career.

Listen here.

13) Foxing - Nearer My God

I was familiar with Foxing before this record came out because they’d toured with many former tourmates, and while I appreciated what I’d heard from them, they never really clicked with me. And then I heard this record and it totally floored me. It’s incredibly ambitious without coming across as super scatterbrained or pretentious and it’s executed flawlessly (production included). This band should be massive, and I’m stunned that I’m not seeing this record on more year-end lists

Listen here.

12) This Will Destroy You - New Others Part 1 & 2

Somehow TDWY managed drop two incredible full lengths a month apart, and I honestly cannot choose between the two (so I’m combining them into one). These LPs are arguably their best work as a band, the addition of Robi Gonzalez on drums has given their sound new energy, dynamics, and pocket, and there aren’t many bands in post-rock doing it as well as these dudes do. Incredibly impressive to be able to put out this much music all at once and have it be this consistent.

Listen here.

11) The Armed - Only Love

Somehow this record manages to be chaotic, energetic, beautiful, delicate, catchy-as-hell, abrasive, and atmospheric all at once. Sometimes it sounds like you accidentally have five different songs playing at the same time. Somehow modular synth-soaked punk/metal works. Clearly I cannot explain exactly what in the everliving hell is happening here, but I can tell you that it’s a wholly arresting record that blew my mind on first listen, and has gotten better with every listen since.

Listen here.

10) Hemwick - Junkie (EP)

Normally, I wouldn’t include an EP on this list, but this is one just too good to ignore. It’s 30 minutes of insane riffage and heaviness that sounds like it spawned from the same gene pool that produced Converge, Cult Leader, and Intronaut. It’s got the spazziness and brutality of the former, blended perfectly with the occasional post-rock/metal shift into the epic melody of the latter. Super excited to hear what comes next for these guys (hopefully an LP recorded with Scott Evans or Kurt Ballou?), because this is an incredibly promising “debut”.

Listen here.

9) Architects - Holy Hell

As a standalone record, Holy Hell slays. As a follow-up to losing a family/band member to cancer (guitarist, Tom Searle), it’s a fucking triumph. Somehow Architects managed to push through the grief and heartache, and pushed the boundaries of their musical creativity and emotive lyrics to create what is arguably their best record. Holy Hell is packed to the gills with with massive, arena-sized riffs and moshworthy breakdowns, sprinkled with just enough melody and dynamic to keep things fresh without losing its edge. An amazing accomplishment in the face of such adversity.

Listen here.

8) Slow Mass - On Watch

An outstanding fusion of mellow(er) post-hardcore, bummer jams, Unwound-inspired post-punk, and shimmery shoegazey goodness. “Suburban Yellow” (see playlist) is one of my favorite songs of the year, falling somewhere between the crushing gloominess of a Kowloon Walled City song, and the somber plod of a classic Pedro The Lion track. I tend to shy away from music with dual lead vocals (because I often prefer one of the voices to the point that I’d rather just hear it all the time), but Dave Collis and Mercedes Webb’s voices are so complimentary and perfectly balanced that they take these songs to another level. Bonus: I’d highly recommend watching their frigid Audiotree session.

Listen here.

7) Hot Snakes - Jericho Sirens

One of my favorite bands of all-time put out its first record in 14 years, and it was well worth the wait. It’s Hot Snakes doing what they do best -- ripping 30 minutes of high-energy post-punk jams fueled by the brilliantly weird guitar wizardry of John Reis, and propelled by the dual drummer attack of Mario Rubalcaba and Jason Kourkounis. I’m not entirely sure where I’d rank it in their discography, but having fresh Hot Snakes tracks makes the world a better place.

Listen here.

6) Cloud Nothings - Last Building Burning

What did we do to deserve two Cloud Nothings LPs in two years? I was a little worried about whether the band could churn out a record as fantastic as Life Without Sound (which landed at #7 on last year’s list), but they absolutely did. Last Building Burning builds on the catchiness and energy of LWS’s bummer jams, but adds a little extra grit, fury, and urgency. The result is a record that’s damn near peak Cloud Nothings. It’s got hooks for days, an energy that’ll make you want to bounce off the walls, and a nasty edge that brings to mind 80′s Wipers or early Hot Snakes jams.

Listen here.

5) Cult Leader - A Patient Man

Cult Leader’s Lightless Walk was a Top 5 record for me in 2015, Gaza’s No Absolutes In Human Suffering was in my Top 5 in 2012, so it should be no surprise that they’ve cracked the Top 5 again. I’d be hard pressed to name another HEAVY band who has done it for me the way these guys have over the past six years. A Patient Man hits all the notes -- pure chaos, expansive and melancholic post-rock sections, and the most headbang-worthy breakdowns on the planet. It’d take a miracle to get this 43-year-old geriatric with a bad back to come out of mosh retirement, but the breakdown in “Aurum Reclusa” is seriously making me think about a comeback.

Listen here.

4) Low - Double Negative

I don’t think I’ve had a record screw with my brain as hard as Double Negative did since I heard Kid A for the first time. It’s a spooky, brain-liquifying journey through sonic textures and ambience, arranged and mixed in a manner that is absolutely enthralling (and a bit unnerving and “wtf are my headphones broken?”at times). If you’re gearing up for a first listen, I’d highly recommend clearing an hour on your schedule, throwing on a good pair of headphones, and letting this have its way with you. If you’ve already heard it, you should listen to it again. It gets better and weirder and more captivating every time. It’s a trip, and a great one at that.

Listen here.

3) Daughters - You Won’t Get What You Want

As a standalone record, this is groundbreaking. As a “comeback record” it’s a fucking triumph. Their S/T record (2010) is one of my favorite heavy/noise rock records of all-time, and somehow YWGWYW surpassed my lofty expectations for a follow-up. It’s a dizzying journey for sure. It’s moody as hell. It’s coherent. It’s adventurous without being overly weird. And it’s all of the best things about their previous work distilled into a perfect chunk of musical madness. The best records are the ones that make your brain matter spill out of your ears upon first listen, but it’s the all-time classics that do that and get better with every subsequent listen. Sure, it’s a record for “when the mood is right”, but when I’m in the mood, this hits all the notes for me. It’s a masterpiece.

Listen here.

2) Holy Fawn - Death Spells

This record came out of nowhere and absolutely knocked me on my ass. I’m not sure I’ve had a record do that to me since I first heard Cloudkicker in 2009 -- knew nothing of it, had zero idea what to expect and literally had goosebumps for a majority of my first listen. Tempe’s Holy Fawn have created a unique blend of dense, dynamic, and cathartic post-rock, doom, and shoegaze with airy vocals that remind me a bit of Jonsi from Sigur Ros. It’ll be a daunting task to follow up this masterpiece, but I’m incredibly excited to see and hear what the future holds for these guys.

Listen here.

1) Pianos Become The Teeth - Wait For Love

This was one of my most anticipated records of the year, and it not only lived up to my lofty expectations, but exceeded them. “Bitter Red” was far and away my most played song of the year, and I must’ve listened to Wait For Love 50 times during the month of February alone. It’s no surprise that I found myself going back to it throughout the year, and in revisiting for this list, it gave me chills just like it did 10 months ago. These dudes are doing melancholic and cathartic post-hardcore better than just about anyone these days, and I cannot wait to hear what’s next for them.

Listen here.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Roughly 80% of these records could/should have very easily landed on the Top 20 list (and probably would if I obsessed over this list any further and gave everything a super dedicated re-listen). They’re all absolutely worth checking out.

I know this list might be a little daunting, so I put together a Spotify Playlist of my favorite songs from each record, so you can just throw it on and see if anything grabs you.

Thanks to my man Zack Hite for helping me out and putting together an Apple Music version of the playlist.

Hermitology’s 2018 Honorable Mentions Spotify Playlist

Hermitology’s 2018 Honorable Mentions Apple Music Playlist

Baptists - Beacon of Faith

Birds In Row - We Already Lost The World

Boygenius - S/T EP

Candy - Good to Feel

Coastlands - The Further Still

Conjurer - Mire

Death Engine - Place Noire

Drug Church - Cheer

Emma Ruth Rundle - Dark Horses

Failure - In the Future Your Body Will Be ...

Fiddlehead - Springtime and Blind

Hammock - Universalis

IDLES - Joy As An Act Of Resistance

Jay Jayle - No Trail & Other Unholy Paths

Jesus Piece - Only Self

KEN Mode - Loved

Man Mountain - Infinity Mirror

Mogwai - KIN

Nate Smith - Pocket Change

OHHMS - Exist

Ólafur Aarnalds - re:member

Polyphia - New Levels, New Devils

Portrayal of Guilt - Let Pain Be Your Guide

Prefuse 73 - Sacrifices

Rolo Tomassi - Time Will Die …

Sectioned - Annihilated

Slow Crush - Aurora

Snail Mail - Lush

SUMAC - Love In Shadow

Svalbard - It’s Hard To Have Hope

Taken - With Regards To (EP)

The Story So Far - Proper Dose

Tides of Man - Every Nothing

Vein - Errorzone

Yashira - Shrine

PODCAST QUEUE

The Deadcast (humor, sports, politics)

Chapo Trap House (politics, humor)

Hang Up & Listen (sports, culture, nerdy)

Effectively Wild (baseball)

The Frotcast (movies, humor)

The Trap Set (drums, psychology)

The Gist (current events, politics)

Song Exploder (songwriting, production)

The Modern Drummer Podcast (drums)

#music #year end lists #AOTY #hermitology #podcasts

17 notes · View notes

weaselle · 7 years ago

Text

Excerpts from a novel I’m working on... Meet the Ix

The book is called Everything is True, starring a young lesbian/non-binary person named Helix. The concept is, everything is true, in other words, aliens exist, bigfoot exists, elves exist, we landed on the moon AND there was a conspiracy about it, there is an actual flat Earth out there, magic and extra-dimensional characters exist, and therefore anything and everything my imagination hands me can go in. The style is modern fiction meets fantasy, in a lightly humorous style. Here are the first four scenes that contain the Ix, a small pack of things that lived in my head until I put them on paper; meet Nix, Stix, Pix, Six, Kix, Dix, Mix, Fix, Quix, and Tix. They are cousins to the Yps, who I will introduce when I’m done reworking their first scene (Blyp, Nyp, Tryp and the rest of their kin are pretty perfect, but I had to come face the fact that Gyp was a bigoted name for the pickpocket cardshark little beastie; I think I’m going to go with Gryp, and I’m changing some things about the setting and a few plot points too.) Anyway, welcome to Everything Is True - meet the Ix _____________________________________________________________________ The Ix had woken, and that meant no good to anyone. The entire bogus of Ix had lain slumbering, a furry pile of malign unconsciousness, for time outside of time, until a cousin of coincidence folded up his message to them into a paper-airplane, hit the topmost snout square on with it, and ran away from the resulting chain reaction. The pile, squirmed, the pile hissed, the pile seethed and bit. It built into an all out ball of brawl, before the Ix woke up enough to sort themselves from each other and start looking for something non-Ix to fuck with. Irritatingly, there were only the dozen or so Ix, so they began going over their equipment and snarling groggily at any other Ix that got too close before they'd finished waking up. _____________________________________________________________________

The Ix looked a lot like ferrets, if the little weasels had been designed with an extra pair of arms/legs halfway down their slinky bodies. They were of a fairly weaselly disposition also, and swarmed around on two, four, or six limbs, each of which ended in a hand/foot just a tiny bit more ape than ferret. When walking upright on their haunches they had a tendency to sort of waddle. Standing thus, they were, on average, about two and a half feet tall, covered in leather harnessing, belts and pouches. They had nothing else for clothing, and their fur was a varied gray, each with some natural pattern, usually including some kind of mask, and also permanently dyed markings on, like tattoos. Every Ix had a uniquely evolved prehensile tail, this one with pincers at the end, that one extra long and thin, another barbed wickedly. As they bumbled about, one of them, remembering something from their last excursion, started loudly chanting “Coffee! CoffeeCoffeeCoffeeCoffee!” She was immediately dog-piled by a snarling trio of the others, but there was a general chattering hiss of agreement. Nix looked up from deciphering the contents of the paper-airplane, and took charge before the bogus could fall to total chaos.“Nagh! Belay-that-and-knock-off-yer-squirming-and-noise!” He chatter-growled, “Stix-Quix-and-Flix! Get-off-of-Mix! Everybody-check-all-- Dix! Stop-humping-Kix's-leg! Check-your- Pix! Stop-pinching-Tix! I-don't-care-which-you-or-who-started-what! Everybody-check-all-yar-mees-and-mines!” There was a bogus wide inventory of items.“Nagh!” cried one, “I'm-missing-a-mine-what-has-sharp-parts-and-bits-for-the-picking! Which-Ix-has-his-mitts-on-my-mostest-of-mine!?”The largest of them, an Ix that looked like he only ever ate steroids, gingerly picked up what appeared to be a pickaxe designed for tree-chopping. “Um... Pix?” the large Ix chuckled in a voice full of help but devoid of smart “Pix?”“Nagh! MineMineMine!” cried Pix, and launched himself at the oafish Kix without hesitation. And then immediately re-launched, when that body-builder of an Ix lashed out with a hind leg and sent him flying backwards. A fierce wrestling match ensued, and Nix was forced to interfere before the bogus could pick sides and join in. “PreyPreyPreyPreyPreyPrey!” He screamed at them, and that got their attention quick enough. “We've-a-jobby-bit-and-a-Prey-thing-to-hunt!” He reminded them, tucking the rolled up note into a loop in his belt and settling his eye-patch. “With-every-all-yer-mees-and-mines-we'll-go-and-” “-and CoffeeCoffeeCoffee!” screamed Quix, dancing crazily in place. This time the whole bogus picked up the call, the cave echoing with shouted demands for coffee. Nix shrugged to himself. “Bellydown-me-swarmy-Ix, to-the-One-Side-world-and-Coffee!” he proclaimed, and then Nix streaked out of the cave, the whole tumbling lot of the Ix on his heels, chattering and cheering and biting.

_______________________________________________________________________ Market Street of One Side Earth was not prepared for the arrival of the Ix. They swarmed out from under a manhole cover, and all thirteen of them formed up standing on the roof of a bus stop like a group of wicked meercats, surveying the busy street. Behind them, a car got it's wheel stuck in the manhole they left uncovered. Nix licked a needle-y two inch fang and snuffed appreciatively as, over his shoulder, the bogus grinned and snapped, looking around at the scene with their tongues lolling happily at their prospects. “Fun-fun-fun-fun-fun” was the general chatter. “My-nefarious-Ix,” Nix announced, “let-us-hunt-amid-this-chaos, Nagh! and-catch-ourselves-some-Coffee!” and the Bogus cheered and scattered off the bus stop, chanting “-CoffeeCoffeeCoffee-”. None of the thousands of human ears in the vicinity believed themselves enough to tell their conscious brains they'd heard this, and not an eyeball near let such nonsense as a pack of Ix past the optic nerve. The Ix weren't invisible, they were Unacknowledged. Also, like most All Siders, they could create, not an absolute, but just a tendency in One Siders to step around and otherwise avoid an unacknowledged All Sider in their path (or, truly useful, one in their chair). All Siders caused this subconscious avoidance by trying to remember to be somewhat malevolent, angry or at least very irritable; in this, the Ix were naturals.

They poured through the crowd in a frenzy, a sudden wave of ailment. Stix, armed with a pair of what were essentially giant toothpicks, was jabbing people viciously in the leg or foot as he passed, and pausing now and then to snatch up a discarded piece of gum and expertly fling it beneath a descending shoe. Mix was riding around on people, so malicious they never acknowledged his presence, and using three hands and his slender forked tail to reorganize the contents of their pockets. An assortment of All Sider insects fell continuously from Tix, crawling into the nearest electronic devices they could find to cause system errors, while Tix herself sprang about like a deer, smacking people in the face as they twitched and flinched and failed to realize she was there. Bumbling Kix forgot to be irritable, and people began tripping over the bulky Ix, their eyes never once believing that they saw him. Dix was humping a flurry of legs and every dog he saw, which, as dogs find All Siders more observable than humans do, was causing a lot of canine misbehavior. Sores and colds and rashes broke out wherever Six passed, throwing an occasional little powder puff bomb and rubbing his mangy coat around people's legs like some disease-ridden cat. Fix dashed along under vehicles, his middle hands a blur above his back as they expertly arranged malfunctions. The whole bogus raced about frenetically while moving the same direction, much the way objects caught in a hurricane travel the same direction as the storm.

Nix was the only one of the little weaselly beasts not zipping about in this melee of misfortune. His mind was the sharp focus a ferret gets when the myriad things it is eternally distracted by happen to turn out for the moment to be all the same thing. He merely drifted along, moving forward at the same pace as the tempest of Ix. Middle hands hooked in his belt, top arms crossed across his lanky chest, he swaggered down the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the crowd disdainfully, his pair of infamous hatchets strapped diagonally to his chest and back. Behind him, like an afterthought of evil, his tail whipped lazily, and every person the long flicking tip touched, some valuable possession they carried instantly reversed into nothing. All around him, as the Ix asserted their presence, the world went wrong. Fights broke out. Dogs trailing leashes threw snarling fits, and children cried. Jackhammers failed, trucks broke down, traffic lights began giving conflicting signals. People looked down to find their muffin sprouting mold and their latte somehow rancid. Windows cracked. Men forgot everything but the woman they happened to be looking at, and walked into poles or out into traffic. A young couple at a bus stop suddenly started throwing up. One poor man, too angry himself to tend away from Unacknowledged All Siders, was unfortunate enough to step on Nix's foot, and was dismantled to nothingness by the terrible hatchets in the blink of an eye.

Aside from that one man (and an old woman who failed later to recover from her encounter with Six) nobody else died. This was largely because the Ix were simply playing, and didn't particularly care if anyone was killed or not. They were only having a good time on their way to find a prize. Just ahead of Nix, a fire hydrant exploded. Off to his left, some Ix or another caused a car crash. _______________________________________________________________________ Nix confirmed his One Side location on Oxford St. matched his given coordinates and slid his eyepatch around his head until it was up behind his ear. The black string that remained across his brow and under his other ear blended with the black fur of the natural eyepatch that was his only facial marking. “BOGUSMINE!” he screamed like a small mountain lion “Coffee-Coffee-Coffee!” and he pointed into the internet cafe and after-hours club to his right. The whirlwind of Ix contracted, dog-piled briefly in the entrance to the shop, and then streamed in. They quickly spread until they were everywhere, under tables, on top of counters, inside cupboards... everything that could be tipped was knocked over, everything that could be opened or uncovered became so. Wires were chewed through. Chairs appeared to leap up and topple. The panic within began instantly but was achieved too slowly for anyone to make it out in time. Later a bewildered policeman, assigned this cafe from among the battalion of emergency personnel that descended on the aftermath of what the media would bill as the Market St. Calamity, would interview the still conscious. Upon hearing some of the descriptions, he would exchange a look with his partner and very carefully write down much shorter things, such as 'witness extremely confused', which was easier on all concerned and would keep his captain from screaming something like “what the fuck is this, Benson, a fucking bed time story!? I sent you to write witness statements, not an episode of the fucking X-files!” According to the four eye-witnesses still standing, what happened inside was this: “Everything started, like, flying around-” “What I first saw was the table rockin' like a earthquake” “Everybody started screaming.” “-like, chairs and coffee cups and everything-” “-Tell him about the cash register, Sarah.” “Only, see, it spilled my iced caramel half-caff skim latte all over my lap when it started rocking like that” “-and all the coffee machines and things started going off like crazy-” “-Sarah, tell him about the register” “-and the lights started flickering-” “The screaming was terrible. 'Cause of all the burns too. From the hot coffee and tea flying everywhere.” “And these are new pants, a hundred-fifty bucks they cost me” “-for a minute I sort of thought I saw a bunch of evil, like, monkeys slamming cabinets open and shut-“ “-Sarah tell him about the register, Sarah” “I can still hear the, the screamin'. And gurglin'. Fucked up gurglin' screams, because of, y'know, all the throwin' up.” “Won’t come out, I bet, you just wait and see; 30% cashmere you know. Then a chair flew over and hit the man next to me in the face” “-while everything inside them burst off the shelves-“ “-Sa-ra-a-a-a-ahh, the register, tell him about the register-” “-and the register sort of floated up, shook itself empty-“ “-and flew like a bullet right at my head! My HEAD! I could have been killed! Dude! Seriously, Sarah, you’d think you didn’t even care I’m almost dead! And what are the cops going to do about it, anyway?” “Of course he started bleeding RIGHT on my shoes, just my luck” “Awful sound, people still tryina scream while throwin' up. I'ma have nightmares.” Down the block, a frustrated Nix double checked his eye-patch and found that his quarry had gone to ground, no trail. Frustrated, he gathered the quite caffeinated bogus and raced back to the All Side.

#writing #book #novel #everything is true

2 notes · View notes

zombolouge · 7 years ago

Text

Body Dysmorphia - An Evil Parrot

So, as you guys may or may not have seen, I made that lovely post about my journey with weightlifting, which was largely what sucked all my time away in 2017.

Anyways, I thought I would share some of the psychological developments that went along with it, part of which includes my concept of reality collapsing in on itself like an ill-tempered flan.

Discussion of mental illness and weight loss below. Buckle up, babes, I’m gonna get salty.

Y’all probably heard by now, but I have some brain-space friends. Namely: Anxiety, Depression, and PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, for those that don’t know and are too lazy to google).

It’s not a secret that I have a trifecta of mental illnesses, like I dropped down a well and found the world’s shittiest triforce with my goddamn face.

I’ve got this whole episodic, cyclical Zelda game happening with my thinking all the time, and it isn’t as fun as you would think. Link is running around my head for anxiety, sticking his sword in things and throwing pots full of bees so that I’m all twitchy and convinced that a swarm of murderous cuckoos are following my every move. Zelda is moping around the castle basement, Princess Depression herself, pointing out all the times where we failed to save ourselves and how nothing we do really matters, so who cares if we ever have fun or sleep or see the light of day, it’s all going to crash in a repeating cycle of despondence and chaos at some point. Then there’s Ganon, big ol’ behemoth PTSD, stomping around my brain and messing with my perceptions so that I don’t trust myself, I’m convinced I’m wrong, I’m convinced everyone I know is slowly coming to hate me or is out to get me, I’m sure that I’m messing something up at all times, and when anything bad happens it is obviously my fault. Worst of all, he’s just back there laughing maniacally the entire time and spilling more miasmic gooze all over everything.

I might have been playing too much Breath of the Wild lately.

Still, my point stands. It’s a shitty triforce, and it can make my life difficult because sometimes these pieces are working together to slow down my functionality while other times they’re all fighting each other, and I’m just caught in the crossfire.

I’ve coped, however. I lived (poorly, miserably) with the PTSD for about 5 or 6 years before I was diagnosed. It was my general physician that caught it (apparently constant, unrelenting nightmares that occur every time you sleep is not a normal thing. Go figure!), and she referred me to a therapist, who diagnosed the additional depression and anxiety. Those two were probably always there, but the PTSD came later. We theorize – “we” meaning myself and all the professionals I’ve ever seen – that the PTSD started very early when I was quite young. It wasn’t until I was in an abusive relationship that it really got powered up, however. The severity was probably exacerbated by my age – I was 17 when we started dating and just under 21 before I left him.

In any case, I got diagnosed, I got put on an assortment of medication, and I got treated. I spent 6 months in somewhat intensive therapy before it all sort of clicked together. One day I just…woke up. Having PTSD the way I did was like sleepwalking through life, as though someone had taken all of my essence and boxed it up somewhere inside me. When the therapy clicked, it opened the lid to the box, and I found myself in a life that felt incredibly foreign to me, like someone else had borrowed my body to live for a bit, handed it back with all these new shapes and situations.

Foremost of that – and more to the point of this post – was my weight. In the first year of my abusive relationship, I gained 100 pounds. After the relationship, the weight stayed around. After all, losing 100 pounds doesn’t exactly happen by accident, and I was still addled with PTSD for a large portion of it, which compounds your ability to lose weight. It would sometimes fluctuate by ten or so pounds, but never more than that.

The weight never seemed to bother me, though. After all, it never held me back from having relationships or making friends (nor did it contribute to any of the times I set those bridges I was building on fire, but that’s for another post). I didn’t feel like it stopped me from pursuing my writing career. I read a lot about body acceptance and I got to where I was at peace with my size. I can’t say that I found myself beautiful, per se, but I knew that I wasn’t ugly, and if I was ugly, it wasn’t because of the weight.

Now, fast forward about three years, and I find myself sitting on a hospital gurney in a hallway, a brace strapped around my neck and the world spinning and blurring around me. I had fallen about 30 hours prior to that point, slipping in ice. I had known that I bit the concrete hard when I went down, but I had thought I was okay…until the next day when I couldn’t type, started feeling drunk, and just barely got myself to an urgent care before I was slurring my speech. I won myself a concussion, a sprained wrist, a sprained ankle, and a sprained cervical spine, which is a terrifying thing to be told you have sprained.

After that, I spent about two months recovering. I couldn’t write much, had to avoid reading, so I just sat around and played a lot of video games that didn’t overload me with text. I thought I was fine, but I think not being able to read or write broke something in me, though I tried to deny it. It also highlighted how very little I enjoyed life without those things, even if I kept promising myself that my writing would be fine, that I would get to come back to it.

The end result of this storm of doubt and escapism was that I realized my life was full of a lot of waiting. Waiting to recover, waiting for the right time to publish my book, waiting for some random sign to descend from on high giving me permission to do all these things I wanted to do. I mean, I had a list a mile long of things I would like to be or do, but I just wasn’t taking any steps towards them. I had it in my head that somehow I wasn’t “ready”, and I was metaphorically pacing and twiddling my fingers as I waited for someone or something to tell me “it’s time”.

Turns out a concussion is a good way to snap out of that kind of bullshit.

Initially, I started my journey with weightlifting for two reasons: to use exercise to help control the symptoms of my triforce of garbage, and to gain control over my body that would allow me to do the things I wanted. You see, I like doing things. Things like going to concerts, wandering around a new city, trekking through the woods so that I can point at animals and shout their names like I’m five and discovering the world for the first time.

When I was in high school I did all sorts of active things before my abusive boyfriend came into the picture. Some of my fondest memories were from playing rugby in the park, often after dark, screaming with glee into the night air as we slammed each other into the grass with tackles that were more about clobbering ourselves than they were about getting to the ball. I was also in marching band, which doesn’t sound like much, but holding up a trombone for extended periods of time builds some decent arm muscles. I used to go hiking and fishing all the time with my dad when I was little, and regular swimming trips were a requirement until I moved to New Mexico where water is only a figment of your imagination.

The point being, I wasn’t doing a lot of things that I enjoyed doing, and part of that was because I wasn’t physically fit enough to do them. So, I started with lifting weights.

Now, again, initially this was not about weight. It was about getting stronger and giving myself more energy, it was about getting to a point where I could be the things that I wanted to be. I ignored the weight loss aspect in the beginning because I didn’t want to focus on it. Focusing on weight in the past had gotten me into unhealthy habits (‘sup, anorexia), and that was certainly not what the journey was about this time.

That attitude lasted up until the point where one day, almost out of nowhere in its suddenness, I looked in the mirror and recognized myself. Until that point, I hadn’t even realized that I didn’t recognize the shape that I had become. I mean, I was certainly used to it. It wasn’t as though the face in the mirror was unfamiliar. I saw it every day, after all.

But there was one day that I looked up in the mirror while I was brushing my teeth, and I saw a version of me that I felt a kinship with. Suddenly the image of myself that existed in my head had become physically represented. I looked into my own eyes, and I didn’t see the armor of weight that I had draped on my frame during the years of abuse. I saw the person that I felt I was underneath.

It was a bit like living for 10 years with cloudy skies, and then one day the sun breaks through and you remember that the fucking sky is blue, not grey.

This had a tremendous effect on my mood and confidence. I realized that I wasn’t happy with my weight, not because it was high, not because being fat was anything to be ashamed of or anything terrible, but because it didn’t look or feel like me. That life that someone had been living for me while I was locked in the PTSD box had included a body that just wasn’t mine, and I’d still been using it without realizing it wasn’t a good fit. Shedding the pieces of that ill-fitting suit of armor was liberating and poetic in its beauty.

I went through a period of deep and illuminating emotional discovery alongside the physical changes. I’m now more in touch with who I am and who I want to be than I’ve ever been, which is great most of the time. I would like to say that I continued getting to the size that I wanted, reached it, and lived happily ever after.

If that were true, nobody would complain about how hard it is to have mental illness. If there was really a magical happily ever after where we never had any issues with our mental problems ever again, well, it wouldn’t be so damn hard to exist.

In October of 2017 I lost someone important to me. The death was sudden, which was awful, and almost assuredly preventable if they had been at all focused on self-care, which was infuriating. In my grief, my triforce of terrible brain function reared its ugly head, and I developed a bad case of what I would later learn is body dysmorphia.

Now, I am by no means an expert on body dysmorphia. I can talk at length about depression, anxiety, and PTSD, because I’ve spent enough time with them and done enough research that they’re old friends by now. Body dysmorphia is something new to me, an unknown beast that’s camping out with the others. I didn’t even have a name for what I was going to until I had been venting to a friend about my frustrations with my self-image, and they turned to me from their position on the neighboring treadmill and said “Girl, that’s called body dysmorphia and it’s fucking normal when you lose half a person like you have.”

Well, shit.

So, I can’t speak for everyone’s experience with this particular issue nor can I tell you what’s common or average. What I can do is talk about what I’m going through personally, and shed some light on what happens when body dysmorphia hits during weight loss.

It was about three days after my loved one’s funeral that I woke up, looked in the mirror, and was convinced that I hadn’t changed at all. According to my eyes, I was exactly the same size and shape as I had been back in April before I started lifting. I could no longer see the muscles, I became convinced that my face had rounded out once more, and I stared at my stomach like it was an alien creature attached to my waist. I was certain that any minute an evil spawn wearing my ex boyfriend’s face would burst out of my torso, cackling wildly as it taunted me for having thought I escaped all those negative thoughts and habits.

This was, naturally, quite depressing. I sank into a deep, dark hole that didn’t really have a bottom or a top. It was just rough dirt and mud in all directions, and I was drowning. The only thing that saved me, that kept me from sinking into that muck for good, was – of all the strange things – numbers.

You see, what I saw in the mirror wasn’t matching up with what I knew to be the inalienable facts of the situation. If I was back to the size I was in April, how could I still be wearing pants that were 5 sizes smaller? If I had gained it all back, how could I still be wearing all the smaller shirts? Why would the measuring tape still show a one inch loss around my stomach from the last time that I had measured?

If I hadn’t been marking my progress with these things, I might have panicked. I don’t quite know where my headspace would have led me if I didn’t have actual evidence that was contrary to what my perception was trying to tell me. I know that it wouldn’t have been good, that’s for sure.

I suffered with this depression for only a couple of days before I blurted out my frustration to my friend, largely because I had just gone through a weightlifting session and wanted to cry after each lift, for no other reason than I had to see myself in the massive, wall-length mirrors the entire time and the visual made me feel weak and horrible. I wasn’t lifting less, I was still increasing my progress on-pace with my plan, but I didn’t look good in my own gaze, and therefore hated every bit of effort exerted that day.

That’s when he mentioned body dysmorphia, and this beast in my head was given a name.

I tried for about a week to resolve the issue on my own, but my depression kept getting deeper and darker. I started having obsessive, negative thoughts. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had obsessive thoughts, but they’re quite frustrating, especially when you don’t want to hear them, and you certainly don’t intend to listen to them. It’s like I had a parrot hanging out on my shoulder, right next to my ear. It spent its time repeating the phrases that it had learned, all day long, and the person that had originally trained it fucking hated me.

Why would you ever think you could be strong or pretty? You’re hideous and you’ll never get anywhere in life because of it. Look, you’ve fallen back to where you started, because you fail at everything you do. It was downright delusional to think you had made progress in the first place. Welcome to reality, fuckup. Everyone who knows you must be so ashamed. They all doubted you and now you’ve proven them right. You’re probably terrible at writing, too. I mean, you can’t even exercise, what makes you think you could do anything else? You’re so stupid for trying. You’re stupid and your stories are stupid. You should die. You should definitely just kill yourself. You should take every pill in the house, lay down, and give up. You should drive your car off the side of a bridge. Nobody cares if you finish your stories, just forget about all of it. Just stop existing.

Yeah, that parrot was a piece of shit.

My experience with my garbage triforce is that those thoughts and feelings are always there, in the background. They never really go away. BUT. When I am handling the triforce well and coping in healthy ways, the parrot’s voice is so small that I can ignore it. I can barely hear it because I’m doing well and focused on working towards my goals. It’s like, when I’m functioning well, I get to shove a bunch of crackers in its mouth and I get some peace while it tries to talk around them. When I’m not coping well, the voice gets louder, and sometimes it will drown out everything else.

A week after giving my body dysmorphia a name, I knew that I was not coping well. I couldn’t muscle my way out of this rut on my own because the body dysmorphia and depression were gorging themselves in this big feedback loop. The more depressed I got, the worse my self-image was. The worse my self-image got, the worse the depression got. I was trapped in a circle of suck, and that parrot was fucking screaming at me from the minute I woke up to the minute I finally passed out at night.

Fuck that shit.

I did the research and found myself a therapist, after which I promptly requested (and was given) antidepressants.

This has been a lifeline, and I’m starting to see improvements even though it’s only been about a month. Therapy is helping me dig up the emotions that are at the root of this spiral, and the antidepressants are a nice supply of crackers to shove into Polly’s spiteful face. It’s not perfect – I didn’t wake up and find myself magically cured. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I see myself again and all the progress that I’ve made, and I feel amazing. Other times I can’t bring myself to be positive, and the parrot starts squawking all over again, though it’s not as obsessive. The suicidal thoughts are gone, which is nice. I never had any intention of acting on them, but when your brain is calling for death, it can certainly dampen your ability to do anything besides beg it to shut up.

I’m confident that I’ll get back to where I want to be, though. With the combined powers of therapy and antidepressants, I should be able to drive the parrot back into its cage and get control of my triforce once more. In the meantime, the steps I’ve taken keep all those problems from holding me back, so that I can still do all the cool things I want to do with my life, like writing and hiking and finally getting all those damn Korok seeds in Breath of the Wild.

But I wanted to share this aspect of my story, in case anybody else was grappling with whether or not they should go to (or go back to) therapy or get some antidepressants. I know it can be hard to know when that breaking point is; when you should throw your hand out into the darkness and ask for help. I figured out what that point was, and I’m glad I did it when I did.

Never let yourself suffer for longer than necessary. Always remember, it isn’t supposed to be that hard just to live. When it is, it’s time that you found someone to help you through it.

Get help, and tell that parrot to shut its goddamn face.

#zombolouge writes #discussion about weight loss and body dysmorphia #my journey through my own brain #shitty triforce #evil parrots

12 notes · View notes