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xxsmokeyy · 4 years

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Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.

The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.

He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.

Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.

“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?

It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.

“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.

“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.

Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.

“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.

The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.

“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?

He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.

“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”

“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.

He stays silent and refuses to say a word.

“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.

He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.

“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.

Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.

Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.

“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.

“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.

“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.

That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.

He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.

“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.

“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?

“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.

“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.

“Yeah.”

“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.

“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”

“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!

It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.

“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.

“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.

Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It’s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.

You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.

In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.

But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.

“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.

“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.

“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.

“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.

“You’re living in a dumpster.”

“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.

Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.

“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.

Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.

This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.

“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.

“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.

Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.

Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.

A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.

Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.

“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.

“What?” the man quizzes.

Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.

“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.

You’re bribing him.

And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.

Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?

“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.

What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.

Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.

Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.

He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.

You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.

“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.

Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!

“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.

Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.

Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.

“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.

Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.

“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.

You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?

You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.

As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.

When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.

“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.

“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.

Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.

You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.

He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.

Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.

You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.

“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.

A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—

with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.

—except one.

A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.

Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.

With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.

“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.

“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.

It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.

He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.

You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.

Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.

He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.

“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.

When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.

Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.

He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.

The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.

He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.

Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.

Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.

It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.

A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.

You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.

Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.

Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!

He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.

You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.

Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.

He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.

He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.

“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.

He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.

“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.

“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.

“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?

Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.

“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.

The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.

His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.

He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.

You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.

Not so free now, are you?

Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.

The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.

The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.

His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.

Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.

You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.

Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.

“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.

“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.

“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.

It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.

“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“

“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.

His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.

Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!

Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.

He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.

With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.

His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.

Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.

You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.

“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.

Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.

You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.

Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.

Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.

Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.

This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.

It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.

The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.

As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.

“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.

You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.

A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.

Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.

It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.

You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.

Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.

You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.

Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.

With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.

It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.

You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.

Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.

With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.

Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.

He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.

Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.

Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.

You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.

“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.

“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.

“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.

What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.

Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.

You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.

Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.

He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.

Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.

“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.

As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.

With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.

Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.

It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.

That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.

You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.

It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.

“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?

Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.

“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.

“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.

When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.

Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.

What a crazy brat.

In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.

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tiakennedy-beecher · 4 years

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Art and Design Contexts and Research

1. Fine Art, Film and Cinema

Fine Art:

Elizabeth Catlett, Target, 1970

In 1915, Elizabeth Catlett (the granddaughter of freed enslaved people) was born in Washington, D.C. and unflinchingly depicted the violent reality of racial injustice throughout her career. Catlett’s decision to focus on her ethnic identity, and its association with slavery and class struggles, was bold and unconventional in the 1930s and 1940s when African Americans were expected “to assimilate themselves into a more Eurocentric ethic,”. She confronted the most disturbing injustices against African Americans, including lynchings and beatings, as she was confident that art could foster social change. She also portrayed civil rights leaders — Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., Angela Davis and Malcolm X — as well as the courage and resilience of everyday African-Americans, particularly women. She “always wanted my (her) art to service my (Black) people — to reflect us, to relate to us, to stimulate us, to make us aware of our potential,”. She believed that “We have to create an art for liberation and for life.” Target and Black Unity (1968), a raised fist carved in mahogany, are two of the most iconic and lasting artworks in the continuing movement for civil rights.

The signifier is the cross hairs of a rifle sight framing the head of an African-American (Black) man mounted on a block of wood. It was created in response to the fatal shooting of two Black Panthers, Fred Hampton and Mark Clark, by Chicago police officers. The signified is to highlight the fact that research shows that young Black men are far more likely to be killed by police than other Americans. It also dates back to the Civil War era when rifle scopes entered into widespread use or to the present day where more up to date weapons are used as well as choke holds and physical restraints. I have discovered that artwork can have an ever lasting impact on the world as it can still be very much relevant years to come. The research has helped me discover the potential in possibly creating a symbol or action that can be used in/to identify a protest in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project. Film:

youtube

Martha Rosler, Semiotics of the Kitchen, 1975

Martha Rosler’s video is a grainy six minutes that spits in the face of America’s gendered social hierarchy. In a kind of parody (or perhaps anightmarish version) of Julia Child’s cooking shows in the 1960s, Rosler stands in a kitchen, wearing an apron and walks through the alphabet, assigning letters to various objects found there (“A” for “apron,” “B” for “bowl,” “C” for “chopper”) as she holds these objects up to the camera with an eerie lack of expression and emotion. Her movements become increasingly contrived and violent as the video continues on. By the time she gets to “fork,” she’s stabbing at the table aggressively with the utensil. When she arrives at the letter “R,” for “rolling pin,” she thrusts the object at the camera. By the end of the alphabet, she’s brandishing other kitchen tools like weapons, stabbing the air. The video ends with the artist offering an exhausted shrug, an ambiguous gesture that feels less like a resignation of fate and more a way of asking, “What is wrong with us?”.

The signifier is a woman wearing an apron reciting the alphabet while demonstrating objects in the kitchen that correspond with the start of each letter. The signified is to highlight America’s gendered social hierarchy. It also demonstrates women’s frustration with society’s expectation of them being housewives therefore they feel that they are unable to dream big due to being trapped in a cage. I have discovered that artwork can have an ever lasting impact on the world as it can still be very much relevant years to come. The research has helped me discover the potential in possibly creating a symbol or action that can be used in/to identify a protest in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project.

Cinema:

youtube

Ava DuVernay, When They See Us, 2019

When They See Us is based on a true story that gripped the United States of America, it chronicles the notorious case of five teenagers of colour, labeled the Central Park Five, who were convicted of a rape they did not commit. The four part limited series will focus on the five teenagers from Harlem (Antron McCray, Kevin Richardson, Yusef Salaam, Raymond Santana and Korey Wise). In the spring of 1989, when the teenagers were first questioned about the incident, the series will span 25 years, highlighting their exoneration in 2002 and the settlement reached with the city of New York in 2014. When They See Us was created by Ava DuVernay, who also co-wrote and directed the four parts. Jeff Skoll and Jonathan King from Participant Media, Oprah Winfrey from Harpo Films, Jane Rosenthal and Berry Welsh from Tribeca Productions executive produce the limited series alongside DuVernay through her banner, Forward Movement. In addition to DuVernay, Attica Locke, Robin Swicord, and Michael Starrburry also serve as writers on the limited series.

The signifier is five teenagers of colour from Harlem, New York sitting in a holding room after being illegally questioned/beaten by NYC police. The signified is to highlight the fact that research shows that Black men are 3.5 more times likely to be falsely accused of a sexual assault crime they did not commit than their white counterparts. It shows how their conviction effected their lives before and after they were exonerated. It also shows how they were all pinned against each other, from the very beginning, just for the sake of convicting someone due to the cases huge media coverage gaining it public attention.

I have discovered that cinema can have an ever lasting impact on an individual as I, myself, and I’m sure many others can relate will remember scenes from this movies years to come and forever carry that anger and heartache for the victims (Antron, Kevin, Yusef, Raymond and Korey). The research has helped me discover the potential in possibly using real life stories of activism (preferably issues that physically or mentally affect us such as domestic abuse, racial injustice or mental health) to create a greater impact and deeper personal connection in result making an everlasting impact on the individual viewing in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project.

2. Graphic Communications, Advertising and Semiotics

Graphic Communications:

Hank Willis Thomas, All Power to All People, 2017

Hank Willis Thomas’s “All Power to All People” is an eight-foot-tall Afro pick with a Black Power fist raised to the sky as its handle. It is a response to America’s long history of erecting monuments to racist white men. It was first installed in Philadelphia’s Thomas Paine Plaza, not far from a statue of Frank Rizzo, the city’s former mayor and police commissioner. Starting in 1967, Rizzo presided over a police department that was known across the country for its unhinged racial violence, and when he was elected mayor in 1972, he only helped perpetuate and cover up this violence. The Philadelphia Inquirer cited a grim statistic that “police shot civilians at a rate of one per week between 1970 and 1978,” roughly the period in which Rizzo was running the city. Thomas’s statue was a remarkable rejoinder. Though it was only on view in the plaza for about two months, it has since become a kind of roving monument to equality. Versions of the sculpture have been shown at places ranging from Burning Man to the Washington, D.C., headquarters of the Human Rights Campaign. Meanwhile, after protests over police brutality against Black Americans erupted across the country this summer, Rizzo’s statue was vandalized and, finally, taken down.

The signifier is an eight-foot-tall Afro pick with a Black Power fist raised to the sky as its handle and a peace sign featuring in the middle. The Black Panthers used the slogan "All Power to the People" to protest centuries of racial injustice against Black people in America. The Black Power fist is associated to the Black Power movement that began in 1960. It was a social movement motivated by a desire for safety and self-sufficiency that was not available inside redlined African American neighbourhoods. The signified is to highlight America’s long history of erecting monuments to racist white men. It also shows that white racist men are glorified and rewarded for their racism with a monument. This further adds fuel to the fire as it further adds to the on going disrespect and injustice of Black people.

I have discovered that historical objects (usually frowned upon or used to shame others) relating to ethic groups can be used to celebrate and moralise. The research has helped me discover the potential in using items that cultures were originally shamed for and then culturally appropriated by other races as a way to reclaim them as their own in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project.

Guerrilla Girls, Do Women Have To Be Naked To Get Into the Met. Museum?, 1989

Guerrilla Girls are an anonymous group of feminist. They are female artists devoted to fighting sexism and racism within the art world. In 1985, the group formed in New York City with the mission of bringing gender and racial inequality into focus within the greater arts community. The group employs culture jamming in the form of posters, books, billboards, and public appearances to expose discrimination and corruption. Members wear gorilla masks and use pseudonyms that refer to deceased female artists to remain anonymous. Their identities are concealed because issues matter more than individual identities, "Mainly, we wanted the focus to be on the issues, not on our personalities or our own work."

The signifier is a nude portrait of a women (in black and white) laying on a purple silk sheet while holding it and wearing a gorilla mask. The purple silk sheet appears as a sex toy on first inspect, on second inspect it appears as a feather duster due to the dark shadows and shape on the sheet creating the effect of bristles but once you take a closer inspection it is clear that the sheet has been made to look this way to truck the mind. Both these items, the sex toy and feather duster, are meant to degrade women and place a stigma around these objects. They are made to shame/put women (down) purely based on the decision they make. The signified is to highlight the fact that less than 5% of the artists in the Modern Art Sections are women but 85% of the nude portraits are female.

I have discovered that objects can be used to deceive the viewer into believing something completely different to what is presented in front of them (intentionally) in other words this would be seen as an illusion of some sort. The research has helped me discover the potential in intentionally deceiving viewers in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project.

Advertising:

Act Up (campaign poster), Silence = Death, 1987

In the early years of the AIDS epidemic, the US government and mainstream media infamously ignored the crisis. By the time President Reagan finally uttered the word “AIDS” in 1985, 12,000 Americans had already died. That same year, six men in New York City (Avram Finkelstein, Brian Howard, Oliver Johnston, Charles Kreloff, Chris Lione and Jorge Socarrás) began meeting to privately share their experiences of AIDS-related loss in the absence of public discourse. They were inspired to create something tangible that could spread awareness, they swiftly settled on a poster. They decided that it should have have little (if any) text. Frankielien belied that “Sentences barely do (work). You need sound bites, catchphrases, crafted in plain language. The poster is exactly that, a sound bite, and vernacular to the core. The poster perfectly suits the American ear. It has a power. If you’ve ever stopped in front of one or turned your head for a second look, that power was at work.” The result of their collaboration was a hot pink triangle (an inverted version of the symbol Nazis used to label gay men) emblazoned on a black background above the slogan “Silence = Death”. It debuted in 1987. The six friends hired wheat-pasters to cover the East Village, West Village, Times Square, Chelsea and the Upper West Side (neighbourhoods chosen to reach both queer audiences and the media) overnight, and the city woke up to what became the most enduring icon of H.I.V./AIDS-related activism. Later that year, on April 15, members of the newly formed activist group AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (Act Up) stormed the city’s General Post Office carrying copies of the sign, solidifying its ongoing centrality to their cause.

The signifier is a black and white poster reading “SILENCE = DEATH” with a hot pink triangle in the centre of the page. The pink triangle draws the viewer in creating a central focus is to highlight the fact that the AIDS epidemic/crisis was infamously ignored by the US government and mainstream media resulting in 12,000 Americans dying before the issue was publicly addressed by the current President (Ronald Reagan) using the word “AIDS” to create a clear and direct message.

I have discovered that using little to any words and a play on historical icons previously used to dehumanise others can create a powerful effect on the viewer causing them to have another look and really focus on the subject matter. The research has helped me discover the potential in reclaiming objects that are used to oppress others and use short snappy catchphrases to grab the attention of others in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project.

Semiotics:

Dread Scott, A Man Was Lynched by Police Yesterday, 2015

From 1920 until 1938, the N.A.A.C.P. would mark lynchings by flying a stark black and white flag reading “A Man Was Lynched Yesterday” from its New York headquarters on Fifth Avenue. The was done to confront the residents of a northern city with the horrifying regularity of these murders. In 1938, the N.A.A.C.P. ceased flying the flag after the organisation’s landlord threatened eviction. In 2015, Dread Scott felt that the banner was just as grimly necessary in the present day United States of America as it had been nearly a century earlier. He produced his own version of the flag, updating the text to read “A Man Was Lynched by Police Yesterday” in response to the fatal shooting of Walter Scott by a South Carolina police officer. “During the Jim Crow era, Black people were terrorized by lynching…It was a threat that hung over all Black people who knew that for any reason or no reason whatsoever you could be killed and the killers would never be brought to justice,” said Scott. “Now the police are playing the same role of terror that lynch mobs did at the turn of the century.”. The piece became a source of national controversy when it remained on view above the street after a deadly sniper attack on police officers in Dallas, Texas, sparking a wave of threats to the of Jack Shainman Gallery from people who felt that the work encouraged violence against police. The gallery removed the flag and displayed it indoors following pressure from the building owner.

The signifier is a black and white flag reading “A MAN WAS LYNCHED BY POLICE YESTERDAY” hanging from a flag pole. The way in which the piece has been displayed shows a stark resemblance to the topic of discussion on the banner/flag. This is due to the fact that there is a clear link to the action/movement of what would happen to the victim when these acts of hate crime would be carried out. Furthermore, the use of black and white colours symbolise the two races affected not only that but it creates a stark contrast therefore grabbing the attention of others. The signified is to highlight the fact that “A Man Was Lynched by Police Yesterday” (something that has been and still is a common occurrence in America). It also highlights the horrific acts of hate crime and racism that is directed at/towards Black people on a regular basis throughout the world (but more commonly with the USA). These acts of hate crime have been around for centuries however they have changed in the way they are carried out and by whom they are carried out by. Despite this, one thing has remained the same…no punishment is never given.

I have discovered that subtle visual links to the subject matter create a powerful impact. The research has helped me discover the potential in simplistic art pieces in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project.

3. Fashion Design, Photography and Promotion

Fashion Design:

Public School, Make America New York, 2017

Public School creative directors’, Dao-Yi Chow and Maxwell Osborne, athleisure-focused show featured sweatshirts with the phrase, "We Need Leaders" on the back. Many of the models wore red baseball caps that parodied Donald Trump's campaign slogan, "Make America Great Again" insisting instead that we "Make America New York”. During the finale, the song "This Land Is Your Land" played in the background.

The signifier is a red baseball reading "Make America New York." in white font that has been unpicked creating a distressed look. This imitates the (destructive) style of presidency Donald Trump took on. The signified is to highlight the fact that Donald Trump did not follow the formal style of presidency previous President in America usually follow. It also shows how Donald Trump was unable to lead the country due to the lack of his leadership skills and only ever appeasing to his base in result leaving many Americans unheard.

I have discovered that subtle visual links to well known controversial political figures creates a powerful impact. The research has helped me discover the potential in parody art pieces in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project.

Photography:

Suzie Blake, Blood Mountain, 2019

Suzie Blake created a sculptural installation featuring a 3-meter high mound of red clothing and apparel. In the 3000 kilogram pile are T-shirts displayed slogans like “Girl Power” and “The Future Is Female” which peak out from the crimson clothing. It is displayed like a giant pile of landfill. The clothing is all in the hue of that liquid which runs through our veins and tarnishes our hands when we remain silent on serious issues. Blake created the work in the form of a mountain as it is considered the archetype of ascent and power ( the bridge between heaven and earth). Her goal was to reimagine this archetype in the form of greed and waste. “Blood Mountain” asks, what is the environmental cost of bloated man-made structures? And what is the role of feminism within such structures? Also, whose empowerment does the current iteration of the feminist movement serve? And since when did we think it was acceptable for brands to piggyback on our movement?

The signifier is a sculptural installation featuring a 3-meter high mound of red clothing and apparel. The signified is to highlight the fact that the fast fashion industry is the second biggest polluter after oil. It also brings attention to the fat that most garment workers are women, or sometimes girls (around 85%) who get paid on average $3 a day. It also raises a set of questions in the viewer’s head such as “What is the environmental cost of man-made structures?”, “What is the role of feminism within such structures?”, “Also, whose empowerment does the current iteration of the feminist movement serve?” and “And since when did we think it was acceptable for brands to piggyback on our movement?”.

I have discovered that pairing well known objects (that are associated with a topic) and subtle objects that imply the effect the topic has on humans creates a powerful and clear message while opening viewers’ eyes to situations that were overshadowed. The research has helped me discover the potential in direct but subtle art pieces in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project. Promotion:

Vivienne Westwood, Homo Loquax A/W 19 LFW, 2019

Vivienne Westwood is renowned for seamlessly amalgamating fashion and activism, having used her platform over the years to protest a whole range of issues, from fracking to austerity. Westwood had models wear clothes with slogans berating politicians while protests about the environmental impact of London Fashion Week took place. She sent models down the catwalk wearing aprons and tabards with anti-consumerist and climate change slogans.The show happened at the same time as environmental action group Extinction Rebellion organised protests at several of London Fashion Week venue's to highlight the throwaway nature of the fashion industry. Models also held microphones and spoke to the audience in a theatrical display, urging one another to buy less and pontificating on the consequences of consumerism. A model paused on the runway to say that Brexit was a crime, while another took a jibe at American foreign policy. The clothes themselves were as avant-garde as one would expect of a Vivienne Westwood collection.

The signifier is a collection of clothes featuring slogans berating politicians. The collection also featured a set of playing cards that illustrate a plan to save the world from climate change. The signified is to promote the dangers of climate change, Brexit and capitalism. It also shows that fashion is all about styling: buy less, choose well, make it last.

I have discovered that using a global stage to speak out on issues that affect the world as a whole can deliver a strong and direct message. The research has helped me discover the potential in using fashion as a political message/statement in identifying opportunities for progressing with the project.

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Link Tank: Black Widow and Why the MCU Has Overstayed Its Welcome

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

All good things have to end at some point. Black Widow reveals the reasons why the MCU has potentially overstayed its welcome.

“These are the words that rang out in the first full trailer for Black Widow, released all the way back in March 2020. Now, more than a year later, the Marvel Cinematic Universe is finally revealing Natasha Romanoff’s hidden past and the identity crisis that comes with it. It’s a rollicking action-adventure, full of great set pieces and emotional moments, but watching it, I couldn’t help but feel like we’ve been here before, and not just because it’s set just after Civil War and before Infinity War.”

Read more at Mental Floss

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Link Tank: Black Widow and Why the MCU Has Overstayed Its Welcome appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Vt2a1B

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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jewish-privilege · 5 years

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Eric Lidji is a man who cares deeply about modest ambitions. He has lived in Pittsburgh on and off for 20 years. It is a city perfectly sized to his sensibility, neither very small nor very large—a place known to but mostly ignored by those who do not live there. Lidji, 36, has held many jobs; most recently, in late 2017, he became the director and only permanent staff member of the Rauh Jewish History Program & Archives, a repository of early-20th-century local Yiddish-theater posters as well as records from dozens of small-town synagogues in western Pennsylvania. But even before he became an archivist, Lidji’s work has always been the same: He is a diarist of small delights, a chronicler of curios, an ardent psalmist of Pittsburgh’s quirky charms.

Like many of the 49,000 other Jews in the Pittsburgh area, Lidji was socializing at a local synagogue on the final Saturday in October last year when he heard the first rumors of a shooting at the nearby Tree of Life synagogue. The news was soon confirmed: Eleven Jewish worshippers had been murdered. Lidji felt paralyzed: Shabbat, the Jewish day of rest, was still ongoing, and he wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t until a few hours later that something clicked, and Lidji felt a certain desperation stirring alongside his sorrow. Already, people were laying artwork and stones, which Jews customarily place on graves, on the sidewalk around the synagogue where the shooting had taken place. Many of the accumulating objects were fragile and homemade, with no clear owner or steward, left outside without protection against Pittsburgh’s notoriously wet weather. This was not just an outpouring of grief, but a proliferation of artifacts—artifacts that, in Lidji’s view, should be preserved.

On the Monday morning after the shooting, Lidji met with half a dozen colleagues who work in other divisions of Pittsburgh’s Heinz History Center, where the Jewish archives are housed. Together they formed a task force, fanning out to as many vigils, funerals, and religious services as they could. They filled their bags with copies of programs and approached speakers after public events, asking them for their notes. Whenever Lidji spotted someone carrying a sign, he would hurry over and hand them a business card, hoping they would call him when the card reappeared at the bottom of a purse or in a pocket emptied for laundry and offer to donate what they had made. Sometimes he felt overwhelmed. On the Tuesday after the shooting, he showed up at a protest against President Donald Trump in Squirrel Hill, Pittsburgh’s historic Jewish neighborhood, to find thousands of people gathered in the streets carrying signs and banners. “It felt like … archiving the ocean,” he told me.

The grim reality of Jewish history is that Lidji is not the first archivist of his kind. Medieval Jews buried family heirlooms in the walls of their houses in times of plague, fearing that they might be blamed for the disease. Scholars founded the Yiddish institute YIVO in the early 20th century, recruiting ordinary Eastern European villagers to collect photographs and folktales of a culture threatened by pogroms and mass migration. Emanuel Ringelblum led a covert effort to collect and bury artifacts documenting life in the Warsaw Ghetto in the early years of the Holocaust, before its inhabitants were murdered and its remaining structures burned to the ground.

...Since the attack, Lidji has experienced a personal religious transformation: After nearly 15 years of haphazard Jewish observance, he started attending services every day. But there were other reasons to show up for prayer: It has proved a useful venue for winning people over to the cause of archival collection.

...After the attack, Lidji’s first big challenge was becoming more visible to the community: being unobtrusively, insistently present at memorial events, and building relationships with community leaders. His second big challenge was convincing the Pittsburgh Jewish community that its history is worth preserving.

The first time Lidji felt “any sense of accomplishment,” he told me, was when a man who had been “polite but reticent” about the archival project came over during morning minyan one day and announced that he had found “the perfect object.” On the day of the shooting, a boy had been celebrating his bar mitzvah at an Orthodox synagogue about a mile away from Tree of Life, and continued the service even as news of the shooting reached the community. The bentscher, or book containing the prayers said after meals, captured the moment perfectly, the man told Lidji: It featured the boy’s name and the starry Pittsburgh Steelers logo wrapped around the date, 10.27.18. Lidji eventually got hold of one of the bentschers.

The most significant items Lidji has collected have what he calls “the shine,” a certain raw, emotional quality that indicates an object’s clear connection to the past. In the week after the attack, students at the Hillel Jewish University Center of Pittsburgh gathered and expressed their feelings on Post-its. “My childhood illusion of security as a Jew was shattered,” one student wrote. Lidji and his colleagues collected programs from memorial events, some more pointed than others: A community with a large Bhutanese population hosted a vigil, where attendees seemed to feel acutely the dangers of being an ethnic minority. A large Reform Jewish congregation, Rodef Shalom, hosted a small event where the preschool director reported that ever since the attack, the children had been obsessed with building elaborate protective structures out of blocks.

...A few weeks after the attack, Lidji got a call from a local family who wanted to donate a sign they made for the first memorial vigil, on the night of the shooting. When the mother brought her two children, 3 and 5, to the archives, the older child asked why they had to give the sign away. Sometimes, Lidji told her, things are so important that we have to make sure they will be around for a really long time. Right, the girl’s mom added. One day, you will be able to bring your grandchildren to see this sign.

In late summer, Lidji picked up several vanloads’ worth of material from Jewish organizations around town, ranging from condolence notes to quilts to paper cranes they had received in the preceding months. Lidji said it will probably take him at least a year to go through it all. And there’s more: Tree of Life and the other two congregations that were in the building during the shooting received an estimated 10,000 letters in the days after the attack. It is unclear where they will end up.

“People will tell this story someday, and they’re going to tell it using this information that we’ve all left behind for them,” Lidji told me. “We’ve only done as good a job as we could do. We couldn’t save everything.”

...Lidji has had to figure out how to start telling the story of the Pittsburgh shooting, a story with much larger and darker implications than any he’s had to tell before. At first, it was Jewish organizations in and around Pittsburgh that approached him to help them make sense of the shooting—the Orthodox yeshiva where he went to high school, an area synagogue where one of the victims’ children attend services. Eventually, he started getting requests from people who live farther afield. In June, Lidji spoke at a convention in Colorado of mostly non-Orthodox chevrot kadisha, or sacred societies, made up of the members of Jewish communities who oversee the washing and burial of the dead. The convention was held not long after a gunman allegedly killed 51 people and wounded dozens more in a mosque in Christchurch, New Zealand, and also not long after a 19-year-old man allegedly opened fire in a synagogue in Poway, California, murdering one woman and injuring three others, including a rabbi and an 8-year-old girl.

Lidji began his talk with a story he sometimes tells when he’s trying to explain the deeper meaning of the archives project. Psalm 90 begins, “A prayer of Moses, the man of God.” According to Jewish tradition, most of the Psalms were composed by King David, who was born centuries after Moses died. How, Lidji asked, could David have known what Moses had said in his prayers?

In answer, Lidji offered his interpretation of a line from the Radak, a medieval Jewish commentator, painting a scene of dramatic discovery: King David, unable to sleep and wandering around his palace at night, finds a pottery jar containing a mysterious scroll bearing Moses’s prayers. How meaningful it must have been, Lidji said, for David to hold in his hands the words of the Jewish tradition’s greatest prophet. Psalm 90 itself describes how insignificant human events must seem to God: For in Your sight, a thousand years are like … a watch of the night. And yet the Jewish people, Lidji explained, have been able to maintain continuity in part because their archives have let them “come back later and be reminded.”

The bar mitzvah boy who persevered through his prayers even as his synagogue went on lockdown will one day die. The little girl who gave her sign to the archives will one day die. From dust to dust: A century hence, no one who witnessed the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting and its aftermath will be around to explain why they loved Squirrel Hill. If it survives, Lidji’s archive will be all that’s left to tell a more textured story. Depending on what comes next, those stones and signs and notes of grief could tell radically different stories: of a rare aberration in American Jewish history, or the restarting of an ancient clock.

#long post #pittsburgh shooting #z''l

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boundlesshart · 5 years

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preliminary cindered shadows thoughts and headcanons

Or: DLC truly fed me more than I fed myself today

Ok. I have watched through all of Cindered Shadows, read through the library texts, and seen the Claude/Balthus supports. I’ll keep this mostly concerning Claude and House Riegan as a whole, since they’ve gotten a lot of development.

As of right now, the information seems to be more informing than “you see this carefully created headcanon that you like? poof. gone”, which is excellent!

Spoiler warning extends to early Chapter 1 of Cindered Shadows (snippet of dialogue ten minutes into the side story, nothing story related), Basement Library contents, and the Balthus/Claude support.

Members of House Riegan

The most exciting development for me is that every immediately relevant Riegan has been named! Duke Riegan (Claude’s Grandfather) is now Oswald von Riegan (nicknamed Oswald the Old in the C support of Balthus/Claude), and Claude’s mom is now Tiana.

First off: Oswald the Old. Love it. Keeping it. I’m only now realizing that a lot of my headcanons have been restricted to the headcanon channel on our discord, so for a refresher: I hc that Duke Riegan has a Major Crest of Riegan, which has allowed him to reach 100 years of age by the time the game starts. He’s kind of shaking his cane at the youngins and being stubbornly alive in the face of Alliance nobles praying to the goddess for him to pass on finally, but his health is failing and he is unquestionably old. It reminds me a lot of “The Late Lord Frey” from ASOIAF, which refers to another ridiculously old man who people wish would die so that they can get their inheritance, only for him to be stubbornly alive (and hated, though he doesnt particularly care about that). LITERALLY hate that I compared Oswald to Walder..... LITERALLY hate that i realized that their names have similarities. Moving on quickly before I get mad.

I do miss my Shakespeare reference of Desdemona falling in love with Othello the moor, and Tiana feels a little too simple next to her brother Godfrey, but it’s fine. I’ll talk more about her later, because now we have to talk about the brand new Riegan on the block: Claudia von Riegan.

Letter to a Mysterious Noble: Lady Riegan Gives Bren a Heart Attack, Part One

I’ll start with the letter that nearly killed me:

My Beloved....

You were right. It seems he would not hesitate to divide the house. What's more, I hear he's considering taking his half of the territory and joining the Kingdom.

I can't believe he would even consider dragging another region into this, not to mention stirring up trouble over his inheritance, at a time when the Alliance desperately needs to unite. He's clearly out of his mind. Though he bears a Major Crest, and you a Minor Crest, your father was wise in his attempt to declare you his heir.

As it were, I can't help but wonder what your intentions with me are, I am drowning in letters proposing marriage to that....beast. He may share your face, but the resemblance ends there. I refuse to marry such a foul creature. If you don't come to me soon, I am going to you. Don't forget that my father's blessing could be revoked at any moment....

I will depart Derdriu at the end of the Lone Moon. You have better be prepared for my arrival. I wish to marry you beneath the Garland Moon. Why? Well, I am a woman, after all, and even I harbor dreams of being a Garland Bride. Understood? Great. Make it so.

- Claudia, Second Daughter of House Riegan

Ok. With the Claude/Balthus support it is confirmed that Claudia von Riegan is NOT Claude’s mom, which is a relief and a half because I was about to throw hands in defense of the milfdilf power couple that I made Claude’s parents to be.

Now that that is cleared up, this letter is definitely referring to the split of House Daphnel and the creation + defection of House Galatea to the Kingdom. We don’t have a date for when this happened to give more context to the letter, so I’ll leave that to a future Ingrid to decide. In lieu of that, I’ll place this at the 960s, since the Alliance would be in turmoil rebuilding and recovering from the war against Almyra, which would be a time when they desperately need to unite. It’s also a part of my Riegan timeline that isn’t getting filled up, so it works for me.

What’s more important is what is happening in this letter: Duke Riegan’s daughter, fleeing her home and all she knew for the one she loved. Very Claudemom, which is where we realize that this is the inspiration behind Claude’s name. I’ll deal with that in a second, I just want to comment on how funny it is that a Riegan lady eloping is something that has happened twice now. It’d be funny if this was a pattern..... though I can’t see it staying positive though, Riegan ladies being thought of as notoriously difficult and strong-willed, in a bad way.

I thought this was Claude’s mom because of how frank she was. Claude calls his mother a warrior goddess and a demon queen who would have laughed right alongside his dad if he got into trouble, and from this letter..... it really fits. “He’s clearly out of his mind”, “I can’t help but wonder what your intentions with me are”, calling one of her suitors (the other brother?) a��“beast”, “if you don’t come to me soon, I am going to you”, and my favorite part: “You have better be prepared for my arrival. I wish to marry you beneath the Garland Moon. Why? Well, I am a woman, after all, and even I harbor dreams of being a Garland Bride. Understood? Great. Make it so.”

Very blunt. She knows what she wants and she’s going to get it. It’s pretty much confirming what I’ve been thinking about how Tiana would have approached Hairan (Claude’s dad) and captured his heart, and what I’ve been going with for Claude’s search of a partner. They know what they want. They won’t stand to marry a spineless lowlife. They want someone who can keep up with them, not walk behind them or ahead of them but beside them. Excellent content. This really made me love House Riegan.

Now. Claudia. Claude. Claude is meant to be named after Claudia. My headcanon prior to this was that Claude is a name he took on when he came to Fódlan, naming himself after Godfrey Claudius Riegan to curry favor and affection from his sentimental grandfather.

Here’s the thing: both ways have their own meanings and I love them both. The first references someone who could have been Tiana’s inspiration to leave to Almyra, a tribute to the woman who gave her courage. The second references a dead guy whose name Claude uses for his own personal gain, only for it to end up being a big part of his identity, similar to his initial view of Fódlan as a stepping stone to achieving his dreams. I’m not in the business of headcanoning deadnames. Claude’s reference of fake names after Balthus asks if he is Claude von Riegan (something along the lines of “Claude is such a common name in Fódlan, it’d be perfect for a fake name”) is definitely just to throw Balthus off, but it’s too perfect not to appropriate for my own use. My initial headcanon about Claude’s names stay: When he started transitioning he chose to go by Hafez, and when he resolved to go to Fódlan he decided to go by Claude after his recently-departed uncle.

Tiana von Riegan: Lady Riegan Gives Bren a Heart Attack, Part Two

Tiana von Riegan..... I love her. God I love her. I love that Balthus loves her and confirms that she is a hot milf on top of being a badass woman in general. Claude being like “Dude that’s my mom” was also really funny. Excellent support that goes into what is important for me. Love. Stan.

Timelinewise, I’ve put Tiana’s birth year at 1135, her graduation from the Officers Academy at 1154 (a year after Balthus was born, she was 19), and her disappearance in 1160. Reminder that Claude was born in 1162, specifically stated outside of Fódlan. Things are actually looking up for this timeline and where I placed her: Between 1154 and 1160 she is stationed at Fódlan’s Throat as one of the Goneril Valkyries, which gives me a fantastic excuse to have Holst and Balthus meet her a few times before her disappearance as stated in the support. Both of them knew her, and apparently they bawled their eyes out when they heard that she disappeared, which is hilarious but also cute???? She really was popular....

Back to the milfdilf power couple, LOVE Claude’s line when Balthus says that he wants to confess to his mom: “Is that a fact? Well, it’ll be interesting to see whether my father can kill you before my mother beats him to it”. They’re MARRIED. They LOVE EACH OTHER. I love it when Fire Emblem gives me parents that love each other and their kid.

Overall, nothing much changes besides the name. Except for this one..... “interesting” document from the Basement Library.I’m just going to be mad and confused at it so it gets their own separate section:

To Those Who Slither in the Dark: Eat My Ass

Ok, so straight up? I don’t like the whole “secret society of mole men are behind every plot point in history ever” thing. Stop it. Stop it! I hate this almost as much as I hate alternate timelines coming together. I’d rather it be people making decisions on their own be the reason why things go to shit, not secret societies of mole men. I had a feeling that the Slithers would be involved in the Leicester Alliance somehow beyond the Ordelia mess, but that didn’t mean that I wanted it.... Awful. Terrible. I’m posting this note here for posterity.

Item 51 Part 6 ...son of the Alliance's leader, Duke Oswald Riegan, has died in an accident. This follows an incident involving the previous successor, and even the knights of Seiros suspect it was at Count Gloucester's command, thought it seems to conspicuous. This is some concern that this could spark a war. With Duke Riegan gravely ill, the situation is....

At first glance it’s pretty much what it is: throwing some ambiguity at the identity of who arranged for Godfrey’s death. The one thing I’m still trying to wrap my head around is the mention of a “previous successor” before Godfrey. The only mention of Duke Riegan’s other kids is in the Alliance Nobility Register Thingy describing House Riegan, which only mentions his daughter Tiana. Timeline-wise, she is the only person that fits. I headcanoned Tiana as a crestless daughter and the last child of many throughout her father’s lifetime, so far out of sight and mind that she gladly took on risks like fighting to defend Fódlan’s Throat and eloping to Almyra because she didn’t have any duties tying her down. I don’t know what to make of this.... so I’m just going to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Claude/Balthus Support

Finally.... here is the rest of my reaction to Claude’s one new support from the DLC. I said this a lot but I’ll say it again: Love it, excellent, incredibly informative. I like it for the same reason I like Hilda’s (going into his origin), but I also like it because it’s the first time someone that can speak comments on Claude’s ambitions outside of the one cutscene after Fort Merceus. I’m very satisfied with what I got.

The official story/explanation for Claude’s origins seems to be that he was born to an offshoot of House Riegan. Now, Balthus dismisses it, but Balthus is dumb and I’m not dismissing it because it perfectly fits with my headcanon that there are a handful of people that are Riegans in name only, children of the current Duke Riegan, crestless and poor and existing only as irrelevant nobles. They would have been ignored if Duke Riegan died without an heir. Balthus sees through it immediately, but seeing that Claude thinks it’s plausible enough to use as a cover story, I think there’s some truth to it.

Claude reaction to Balthus poking into his heritage is to tell him to mind his own business, followed by saying that he’s too busy and leaving. This is so unconvincing that I’m choosing to ignore it. Come on Claude. You’re better than this.

We get a little information on Kupala, the autonomous village in the mountains close to Edmund Territory, north of the Alliance and straddling the borders of Leicester and Almyra. I’m not tooooo interested in them personally but I like Claude’s last line when he’s talking about a description of the Kupala tribe he heard in Almyra: “Don’t try to find them, people say, or you’re liable to get hexed. Or so the tale goes. That part was probably added to spice up the story a bi, but even so, they’re certainly a mysterious lot.” I headcanon that magic isn’t widely practiced in Almyra and to a point even feared (see: Claude’s pleas to not get hit by magic in his Lysithea supports). So like.... love it when my dumb headcanons get that Support.

Absolutely LOVE that someone is telling Claude that simply “breaking down the barriers”, whatever that means, won’t be easy and might result in consequences he didn’t prepare for. It’s like I possessed Balthus.... “Give me concrete details on your plan and also let me tell your mom I love her”. I also love Balthus’ line “Everything we’ve built to until now could fall to ash”, which references Claude’s death quote in CF.

#headcanon #fe3h spoilers #long as hell this took me two hours #i couldn't wait to share my thoughts

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the--blackdahlia · 5 years

Text

Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 51 (Dirt!Nikki x Reader)

Title: Too Young to Fall in Love 51

Summary: Nikki Sixx was a hard partying musician on the strip. He never expected to fall in love with anyone, until a girl knocked on his dressing room door looking for a ride home and took his breath away. Just like everything else Nikki did; the drugs, the money, the music; Nikki went hard with love. (Y/n) Bass never expected the bassist of Motley Crue to be the one to shake her calm and calculated life up. She had a plan. Graduate school, become an epic producer, and watch from behind the scenes as her brother’s band rose to fame. Nikki and (Y/n) were perfect for each other, too bad her brother, Tommy, didn’t think so.

Series warnings: Smut (18+ Please), drug use, language, referenced miscarriage, drug overdose, mentioned attempted suicide, out of character moments for everyone in the band, the timeline might be a little screwy but it’s fanfiction! I know nothing of music production and my medical knowledge is really screwy, so it won’t be accurate.

A few months later

“Babe! I’m home!” Nikki called out as he came through the door. “Stopped at the bakery and got the cake! And those cupcakes you like!” It was quiet downstairs. “Babe?” He sat the baked goods on the island and headed into the house. He made his way to the nursery, where he could hear music playing. (Y/n) was decorating, wanting everything to look perfect.

“(Y/n).” Nikki said softly. She jumped and turned to look at him.

“You scared me!” She laughed. “So, what do you think?” They had went with softer, neutral tones, and the paint had just finished drying, so (Y/n) was putting up all the decorations. Cute little animals playing instruments.

“It’s perfect.” Nikki smiled and wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting on her bump. “Everything is amazing.” He kissed on her neck, holding her close. She moaned softly, then glanced at the time on the watch Nikki was wearing.

“Shit!” She called out. “Everyone’s going to be here in like an hour or two!” She pulled away from Nikki. “I need to get a shower and...and…”

“Babe, relax.” Nikki smiled. “I got the cake. Pizza is scheduled. You just go get a shower and calm down, okay.” He kissed her gently.

“What would I do without you?” (Y/n) asked, kissing him again.

“Be a lonely, but still a really hot, producer in New York.” He smiled at her. “Or be married to Bret Michaels.”

“Oh, don’t remind me of that.” (Y/n) shook her head. “Okay, I’m getting in the shower. Be out in a bit.” She headed towards the bathroom while Nikki went downstairs to get ready for their guests; Vince and Vanessa with Dean and Samantha, Tommy and his new girlfriend (Pamela had the boys this week), Athena and her new husband, and Mick going solo, as well as (Y/n)’s parents. Tonight was the gender reveal. Nikki and (Y/n) didn’t even know what they were having yet. The doctor had wrote it on a slip of paper and put it into an envelope, which (Y/n) took to the bakery to have a cake made. It was chocolate icing, but inside would either be pink or blue.

About an hour and a half later, the pizza arrived, along with Mick and (Y/n)’s parents. Mick helped Nikki get it all set up while (Y/n) finished getting ready. Vince, Vanessa, and the twins were next, followed by Athena and her husband James, and then there was Tommy, being fashionably late, but no girlfriend in sight.

“She, uh, didn’t want to come.” Tommy shrugged. He leaned over to Nikki. “I haven’t been dating. Don’t tell (Y/n). She worries about me after prison.”

“Well, I wonder why.” Nikki laughed. “It’s cool man. Your secret is safe with me.”

“So, when do we find out what this little sucker is.” Vince asked (Y/n) as she walked past him.

“Once we cut the cake but this pizza smells really good.” She grabbed a few pieces and smiled down at the twins. “You both are just so cute!”

“Well, Dean keeps stealing Sammy’s bow all the time, and Sammy likes to bite.” Vanessa laughed. “Those two are going to be a handful. You think your brother and your husband are the terror twins? I think my little pumpkins here are.”

Conversation flowed throughout the evening, Tommy giving vague answers when asked about his girlfriend and Mick saying he was just fine being single. Vanessa and Vince alternated between feeding the twins and feeding themselves. (Y/n) smiled. This was her family. She never thought in a million years that the most notorious band in metal would be sitting together in her living room, waiting for a gender reveal while making small talk like they hadn’t just been doing coke off of naked strippers about ten years ago.

“Okay guys, are we ready?” (Y/n) asked, standing up. Nikki and (Y/n) made their way to the kitchen, everyone else in tow. The cake sat there, ready to be cut. Nikki handed (Y/n) the utensils.

“Be my guest.” Nikki told her, kissing her cheek. (Y/n) cook a deep breath and cut a piece, laying it out on a plate.

A pink cake.

“We’re having a girl!” (Y/n) gasped, hugging Nikki. “Oh my god!”

“We’re having a girl!” Nikki echoed, holding his wife close to him. He had never dreamed that he would be a dad to a little girl. She was going to be so loved and protected, because she had not only her three uncles in the room who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt anyone who hurt her, but a long list of musicians that Nikki and (Y/n) had befriended over the years.

Nikki and (Y/n) Sixx were having a girl.

****

“I don’t know anything about shopping for girls.” Tommy said. “At least, not baby girls. Big girls though, I can buy for.” Tommy said as they passed by Victoria Secret.

“Vanessa was in charge of getting everything for Sammy, so I’m at a loss.” Vince shrugged.

“I haven’t bought baby clothes since the 1970’s. And I’m pretty sure I was drunk then.” Mick added. Nikki sighed. He should’ve just invited Slash or something to join him on this mall trip. He wanted to start buying clothes for the yet unnamed baby. He might have been going overboard with buying baby stuff here recently. Most people assumed that the mother would be the one going crazy. But not in (Y/n) and Nikki’s case. Nikki wanted everything to be absolutely perfect.

“So, any names yet?” Tommy asked as he looked at a display in the window at a music store. A small poster was hanging in the window, with a picture of him at his kit that said “Tommy Lee Uses Vater”. “Dudes, check me out!”

“Good thing we’re not visiting a music store in the 1980’s. Sober Tommy pointing out every picture of himself would get real old, real fast.” Mick grumbled.

“I should’ve just left you losers at home.” Nikki sighed. They headed into the baby store, looking extremely out of place. Vince had recently died his hair a deep red, Tommy looked like he had been pulled from the hip-hop block on VH1, Mick looked like an old man shopping for his grandchild, and Nikki was in all black with tattoos.

“Can...can I help you?” A young girl greeted them.

“My wife and I are having our first child, a baby girl, and I might be going a tiny bit overboard.”

“Oh, congratulations, well we have a great selection of girl clothes over here,” she gushed and showed him all the latest clothes for baby girls.

Nikki and the guys all looked at all the ruffles and pink around them. “Do you think she’s be mad if I dyed some of this black?”

“I think there’s a store on the strip that has baby clothes,” Tommy told them.

“I guess we can try,” Nikki shook his head, “I’ll buy some of this just in case though. I don’t want her getting mad at me.”

“Man, she is so laid back about this. Compared to Nessa pregnant, she’s pretty chill.” Vince told him.

“And her favorite color is black.” Mick shrugged.

“True,” Nikki nodded. “Then let’s go Crue!”

****

“Look at this onesie!” Tommy called out. “It’s so cute!”

“Yeah, but her dad isn’t the drummer dumbass.” Vince said, smacking the back of his head. Everything in the store was rock based, and Nikki had already found a couple

“Can I get it custom?” He asked. “My uncle is the best drummer in the world type of thing?” Vince found matching t-shirts for the twins. He wasn’t sure if Vanessa would actually put them on the kids, but they were cute.

“Hey, aren’t you those guys from Motley Crue?” A guy asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Nikki said, looking over at him.

“Dude! You guys were so awesome! I got laid for the first time when Home Sweet Home was playing.” He high fived Tommy then headed about his shopping. The guys looked at each other with smiles on their faces.

“Oh man this looks good,” Nikki said as he grabbed a onesie. It was a Motley Crue onesie, black with pink trim and the band's name in pink.

“Get it. I dare you.” Tommy laughed.

“You don’t have to dare me,” he laughed, “I’m getting it”

“Baby Aphrodite is going to be the best dressed baby in all of LA.” Tommy laughed.

“Not naming my daughter after a Greek goddess. Especially not Aphrodite.” Nikki shook his head. “(Y/n) have a few ideas for names. But we’re not certain on anything until we meet her.”

“What? Are you thinking of something like Olive or something?” Vince asked with a laugh. Nikki stayed quiet. “Wait, really?”

“I said that we’ll know for sure when we see her.” Nikki told him again, grabbing another onesie. “But yes, Olive is on the list.”

“Olive Sixx.” Mick said as they bought the stuff and headed out.

“I didn’t say we had a great list. Just that we had a list.” Nikki pointed out. “It’s a work in progress but we still have some time.”

“Ok, dudes I’m starving let’s go eat.” Tommy smiled and clapped his hands together.

“When are you not starving?” Mick asked. Nikki pulled out the little onesie and smiled, running his fingers on the fabric. He was going to be a dad, and he knew he was going to be a better parent than his ever were.

****

“I feel so fat.” (Y/n) groaned as she sat on the couch with Vanessa, watching the twins on the floor. “My feet are swollen, my ankles are the size of an elephant, I’m either sad, horny, or hungry. There’s no in between.”

“Welcome to pregnancy,” Vanessa smiled. “But you look gorgeous. And I bet Nikki can’t get his hands off you.”

“He said that he’s already looking forward to more kids.” (Y/n) told her. “But I look awful. I don’t get where ya’ll are getting this gorgeous look from or whatever.”

Vanessa hugged her, “because you are drop dead gorgeous (Y/n) Sixx!” Vanessa looked to the twins and sighed as they crawled around the small space they made in the living room for them. “Nikki not able to get his hands off you should be proof of that.”

“How are you and Vince doing?” (Y/n) asked. “Last I heard, you were convincing him to get snipped.”

“Well, I’m good with just two. Plus he has his two other kids so four kids for him should be good enough,” Vanessa sighed. “I just don’t want to risk anything bad happening.”

“Nothing bads gonna happen.” (Y/n) rubbed her arms. “And, if you decide you want another set of twins later on, it can be reversed.” She teased Vanessa. She watched as Dean reached out and stole Sammy’s bow, making her cry and try to bite her brother. “Wow, you were right about that.”

“Terror twins! I told you.” Vanessa took the bow from Dean and fixed Sammy’s hair.

“The boys are going to drop a new album soon. I just hope the tour is after the baby comes.” (Y/n) sighed. “Could you imagine me being in labor and Nikki in Europe?”

“That would drive him crazy,” Vanessa laughed. “But aren’t you in charge of scheduling it? Since it’s the label you guys created?”

“He’s not letting me do anything.” (Y/n) sighed. “I think the miscarriage from the 80’s still haunts him. He wants me to take it easy. I’m going stir crazy.”

“Talk to him hun,” Vanessa smiled. “I mean I can understand where he’s coming from but you guys are past the miscarriage point.”

“I know we are, he knows we are, but he’s still scared.” (Y/n) told her. “He’ll still wake up in the middle of the night, pull me to him, and tell me he’s sorry. It’s been years Nessa.”

Before Vanessa could reply the guys came back with bags on their arms. Nikki walked up to (Y/n) and kissed her on her head.

“How are you feeling?” he put the bags down.

“I’m okay.” (Y/n) smiled. “Think I can do some work for the label soon?”

“As long as you don’t get stressed I think we’re ok?” he held on closely to her.

“Nessa! I got some shirts for the twins.” Vince said excitedly. One was blue, one was pink. Both said “I’m cute, mom’s hot, dad’s lucky”. “What do you think?”

Vanessa smiled at him, “I love them and you’re still getting snipped,” she gave him a pat on his cheek before handing Dean to him. “Your son loves to make his sister cry, and your daughter loves to bite.”

“Well, as long as it keeps the boys away, right my little man?” Vince asked, smiling at Dean. Dean gave Vince the biggest smile. Nikki pulled out the small camera (Y/n) had bought him when she found out she was pregnant and snapped a picture of him and Vince. The small camera came in handy when he was on the go.

“Someday we’ll have camera phones. That’s what the guy on TV said the other day. That soon, we’ll have really good cameras and computers in our pockets.” Tommy told them.

“Yeah, but nothing will beat the real thing.” Nikki laughed.

“So, when is the pregnancy photoshoot?” Vanessa asked. (Y/n) looked at Nikki. They hadn’t really thought of it, but (Y/n)’s mom had been bugging her about it so she could send pictures back to Greece. Nikki smiled at (Y/n) and rubbed her back.

“Well, maybe we could plan something out in the backyard with Jett and Ziggy.” He shrugged. “I know they’re just going to love their little sister.”

“But I look like a house.” (Y/n) groaned. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this. It’s bad enough you guys see me like this.”

“At least she’s not throwing stuff at him.” Vince mumbled under his breath.

Vanessa smacked him lightly, “honey, you look lovely! I can help you with hair and makeup.”

“But…” (Y/n) sighed.

“No. It’s going to be great!” Tommy told her. “As long as there are clothes on in the photoshoot, I’ll be happy.”

“Yeah, I was going to do a naked photoshoot to send to your aunts in Greece.” Nikki sighed. “Seriously, where did all the brains go?”

“My little sister stole them.” Tommy said, not sure if he was insulting himself or complimenting her.

“You could always save the naked ones for your private collection,” Vanessa smiled.

“Oh, I already have plenty of those.” Nikki teased.

“Gross!” Tommy called out. “I don’t need to think about that.”

****

(Y/n) sat on a bench, her hands resting on her belly while Nikki snapped the pictures. Ziggy and Jett had posed in a few, but a squirrel ran by and Nikki hadn’t been able to reel them back in. So (Y/n) was going solo for the rest of them.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be in them dad?” (Y/n) called out to Nikki. “I mean, it’s not just me that was involved in this!”

“I could set the timer,” Nikki said as he grabbed his tripod and began to line the shot. “Ok, so everything is set.” (Y/n) stood up so Nikki could run over and wrap his arms around her and place his hands on her belly. Once he got the time set, he did just that. (Y/n) leaned back against him as the camera went off.

“I bet you look very handsome in it.” (Y/n) said with a smile.

“You look better,” he muttered as he kissed her as the camera went off again. They took a handful more pictures before Nikki went to develop them. (Y/n) lounged outside.

“Your daddy and I love you very much sweetheart.” (Y/n) whispered to her belly. “We can’t wait to meet you.” She rubbed small circles and smiled. She had never thought she would be this happy. She looked at the house with loving eyes. Soon, they would have a family there.

****

“Vanessa, my belly feels tight.” (Y/n) told her a few months later. They were out and about for the day while the boys did interviews and made their rounds. “And little miss thing is all over the place. It’s like she’s breakdancing or something.”

“She might be getting ready to come out,” Vanessa gave her a smile.

“You think?” (Y/n) asked. “Nikki will be in a panic if I’m not with him when I go into labor. You know it as well as I do.” She laughed a little.

“Well she sin;t going to come out today, I hope,” Vanessa chuckled. “But it sounds like she’s getting herself in the position to come out.”

“Dramatic, just like your daddy,” (Y/n) sighed. “Gotta make sure you make a big entrance and put on a show, right?” She rubbed at her belly. She looked at he stroller the twins were in. “Nessa, you’ve got to see this. Get the camera from my purse.” She told her. The twins were fast asleep holding hands.

Vanessa grabbed the camera and smiled as she took the picture, "I need to get a copy of this."

"Of course." (Y/n) smiled but then groaned.

“(Y/n)? Are you ok?” Vanessa rushed to her. “Maybe I should call Nikki.”

"She’s mad about something." She rubbed her stomach. "I...maybe we should call. But he's on TV with the boys."

Vanessa pulled out her phone and called Nikki, “Damn it.” she cursed, “It’s going to voicemail.”

"Leave a message and I'll just go on." (Y/n) gasped. "Little lady your daddy will be upset if you come before he gets here."

Vanessa left Nikki a message as she led (Y/n) back to the car, “I’m taking you to the hospital.” she said. “I think they should check you out in case you are in labor.”

"Okay, not gonna argue." They got the twins in the car and headed towards the hospital.

****

"I heard a cell phone while we were on stage." Tommy checked his. "Wasn’t mine."

“It was mine,” Nikki sighed. “This is Vanessa’s number,” he put the phone to his ear. “She thinks (Y/n) is going into labor. I got to go.” NIkki rushed out of the studio before the guys could say a word.

“Didn’t we come with him?” Vince looked at the guys.

"Nikki wait!" Mick called out. "Your our ride!"

The guys all rushed after him and piled into the car. Nikki drove like a bat out of hell to get to the hospital. He tripped over himself as he ran to the nurses station gasping for air.

“Wife… in… labor…. Friend… brought… where?” he gasped.

"Nikki!" Vanessa called out. "She’s in being seen." Just then (y/n) came out.

"Guys?" (Y/n) asked.

Nikki rushed to her voice and went in side, “(Y/n) I’m here. Are you ok?” Nikki rushed to hold her hand. “Is little lady coming out?”

"No not yet. she just is being a dramatic little girl." (Y/n) smiled. "Are you ok?"

"I… you…baby…" he tried to catch his breath. "I got scared I was going to miss it."

"Guess she's running drills." (Y/n) laughed.

“Once I get you home I’m going to have to come up with something so I don’t miss the real thing,” he smiled.

"What if you're on stage or at another interview? It could be on the national news." (Y/n) laughed.

"Then everyone is going to know that little lady is here to rule the world," he caressed her cheek and kissed her.

“So you’re okay?” Tommy asked, sounding a little worried. (Y/n) smiled.

“Yes Tommy. Honestly, just tired right now.” (Y/n) told her brother.

“Little lady wanted to keep us on our toes,” Nikki chuckled a bit. “She’s good, and I about had a panic attack.”

“I’m sorry honey.” (Y/n) told him. “I’m ready to go take a nap. Do you have to go back anywhere?”

“Nope I think that was our last interview,” Nikki looked at the guys who gave him a thumbs up.

“Good. Now which cute guy wants to take me home.” (Y/n) laughed, giving Nikki a smirk.

“Hey,” Nikki pinched her nose playfully. “Only cute guy taking you home is this guy!”

“I said cute. Not extremely handsome.” She smiled and kissed him.

“Hey now. No kissing. Kissing leads to more babies once that one comes out.” Tommy laughed. “Go rest. Who knows when my niece is going to make her world debut.”

“Come on sweet girl,” Nikki smiled. “Let’s get you home.” He led her out to the car. Vanessa kissed Vince.

“How much did he freak out?” She asked, looking at him and the other guys.

“He almost left us at the TV station after the interview,” Vince shrugged and smiled. “How did the kids do with you guys?”

“(Y/n) has a picture she’s going to have Nikki print off for us. But the babies were asleep in their stroller holding hands.” Vanessa to him with a big smile.

“I don’t know why, but I have a feeling that little lady is going to make her appearance at the most inconvenient time.” Mick told them with a shrug.

“Now that's what I want to see,” Tommy said as they all watched Nikki help (Y/n) into the car. “I kind of want to see him freak out when it actually happens… remind me to get the camcorder ready though.”

“Oh, we won’t let him live that down.” Vince laughed.

“Wait, Nikki’s taking (Y/n) home. He was our ride.” Mick told Tommy. Mick and Tommy turned to look at Vince and Vanessa, giving them little pouts and puppy eyes.

“Come on you clowns,” Vanessa sighed. “But that means you’re on baby duty!”

“Hehe, she said duty.” Tommy laughed. Vince handed him Dean. “What’s that smell?”

“That’d be the duty.” Vince laughed.

“WHAT?” Tommy smelled Dean and put him at arm's length. “Dude that is not funny! He smells like one of Nikki’s old pairs of underwear from the Theater of Pain tour!”

“I don’t want to know how you know what the smells like.” Vanessa shook her head. “Give me my son, I’ll change him and you can walk home.” Tommy sighed and looked at Vince. He hadn’t really changed too many diapers, since Pamela did most of that.

“Come on drummer, I’ll show you how it’s done.” Mick grumbled, taking the diaper bag from Vanessa and leading him to the bathroom to help him change the baby.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk @tommyleeownsme @marvelismylifffe

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @sweet-dreams-on-butterfly-wings @estxxmotley @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @are-you-reddie54321 @flamencodiva @scarecrowmax @major-tom-is-a-junky @anyasthoughts @bandaids-not-groupies @ilovetomkeiferslips @kaitieskidmore1

Nikki Sixx Tags: @daisystuffsstuff @unknownoblivion @deakysblueoutfit @fandomshit6000 @sixx-mckagan

Too Young to Fall in Love Tags: @kingbouji3 @leximus98 @thekidbakerinthetardis @crystalbaby12 @shawnsstxtches @knockemdeadgirl @deansgirl1993 @haileynicoleseavey17

#too young to fall in love #Motley Crue #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki x reader #the dirt #dirt!nikki sixx #dirt!nikki sixx x reader #dirt!nikki x reader #dirt!nikki #fanfiction

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solange-lol · 5 years

Text

not so typical love song - ch. 1/13

Chapter Title: Rollarcoaster

Words: 3,050

Note: my piece for the @pjo-hoo-bigbang !!! special thanks to @shelbychild and @wisdom-walks-alone for editing and helping me develop this story! it wouldnt exist w/o y’all!

Art by @lizzybizzyo! <3

read on ao3

—

Nico is staring at his computer, wordless. This isn't writer's block or surprise; it’s just the unknown reality of what this situation could lead to.

Another gay kid in his school. Another gay kid that isn’t Mitchell—who’s been out since 8th grade, and the only one to be out since then. Another kid at their school who’s hiding a secret.

Nico doesn’t even know if this kid is a boy or a girl or what, and frankly, he doesn’t care. There’s another kid like him. And he has no idea how to respond to the post.

The post is a submission from their school’s gossip blog on Tumblr, the notorious ‘hb-secrets.’ Piper had called him an hour ago, asking if he’d seen it yet.

“Seen what?” he had responded.

“The post on hb-secrets? About the closeted gay kid?” It hit Nico like a wall of bricks as he quickly went to pull up the website. Did somebody know? It was a relief when he saw the clipart Ferris wheel and a few short lines submitted by a blog called blue0919.

“I bet it’s that Brazilian sophomore. Paolo or whatever? Or maybe it’s Connor Stoll! I swear he’s been flirting with Mitchell, but Annabeth keeps telling me that he’s into Lacy or someone,” Piper continued as he read, but it was going in one ear and out the other as he processed the words on the screen

Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck on a Ferris wheel. One minute I’m on top of the world, and the next minute I’m at rock bottom. Over and over all day long, because a lot of my life is great. But nobody knows I’m gay.

“Gotta go. I’ll talk later,” Nico said quickly, switching off his phone. He knew it would raise suspicion, but it felt like time was turning in on itself. Nobody knew about Nico. In fact, nobody ever even suspected. He’s never been called names besides “Death Boy.” And yet, there were the exact words that described his life, written out in front of him like they were a second thought.

And now, he was staring at his computer with an empty Gmail draft open. The original poster had left their email at the end of the post, so Nico after glancing quickly at his Panic! at the Disco poster still proudly hanging on his wall, typed out a new address. He was stuck, though, unsure of what to say from here.

So, he started from the beginning.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 2 at 6:48 PM

Subject: Hey

Somehow you’ve managed to type exactly what I feel. Sorta scary, as if you’re inside my head or something. Maybe it’s just a gay thing to be speaking in metaphors about the pressure of everyday society.

That’s what I am. Gay. I don’t know if I’ve ever really said it out loud to myself.

It’s weird because I never really had a perfectly normal life. My mom died when I was young, so I never really got to meet her. My sister and I have always been super close until she went away to college. Now, not as much. I guess that’s just what happens when you live a million miles away.

And I’ve known my stepmom longer than I knew my real mom, but it was only a few years ago when I met my half-sister when she came to live with us because her mom died as well. Meaning, she isn’t the daughter of my stepmom. It’s a long story, and not really one I want to get into.

She’s super nice though. It’s funny, but despite being polar opposites with my older sister, they’re both mushy inside. Same with my stepmom. And my dad… he tries his best. We’re like exactly what you expect from a slightly broken family. Plus my dog who my cousin gave to me during a rough time. Honestly, she’s probably my favorite sibling out of them all. (Both my sisters would kill me if they knew I wrote that.)

And then there are my friends. I have some that are closer than others; Two of them I’ve known for a while now, and one who I only met recently but treats me better than some of the people I’ve known my whole life. While I admit, I’m not the most social person in the world, they’re pretty amazing as far as friends go.

So there it is. My perfectly normal life. Except for that huge ass secret.

He typed and retyped each line what felt like a thousand times, deleting word after word. He didn't know what was too much. It all felt like too much, really. He didn’t even know if he could trust this person.

Signing it was the worst part; he didn’t have any good pseudonyms. Eventually, he decided to leave it blank.

Without a second thought, Nico hit ‘send’ before leaning back in his chair and putting his hands over his head. Only a second later, a light knock came from the door, causing him to quickly sit up as Hazel popped her head in.

“Dinner’s ready if you wanna eat,” she smiled. She left just as quickly as she came, curls bouncing as she walked away. They had gotten over the awkwardness of having a new sibling only months after Hazel moved in, but there was still some strangeness. To this day, Nico was still a lot closer to her than Bianca was. Either way, Nico knew he would do anything for her. (Not that he would admit that. He didn't even need to, Hazel already knew.)

Nico glanced back at his computer, but there was nothing in his inbox besides the Gmail “Welcome” email. It was stupid to think this person would respond that quickly, seeing as Nico didn't even know if they would respond at all. Heaving a sigh, he got up to join his family for dinner. Maybe he could even convince them to watch Steven Universe instead of The Bachelor.

---

Dinner went as expected. It’d been a while, actually, since they were all together for a meal. Hazel talked about her psycho geometry teacher and a boy she talked in the class named Frank, who seemed sweet but apparently had a shared hatred for math just like her. Nico didn’t say much, although chimed in at the latter, saying he better be the flower boy at their wedding. That even got a short scoff out of his father, which tended to be the closest Nico ever got him laughing. So, that was a win.

However, he was a little more distant than usual. The pending email response was in the back of his mind during the entire meal.

Even afterward, as they watched reruns of Glee (a compromise made between Hazel and Nico, much to their father’s dismay), Nico couldn’t focus. It felt like a weight was burning through his back pocket. After the second episode (and laughing his ass off at his father’s reaction to Kurt’s ‘Single Ladies’ dance) he finally excused himself.

He tapped the Gmail app on his phone as soon as he had reached his room. It felt like his heart skipped a beat when he noticed the new notification, a response from the original poster. With slightly shaky hands, he tapped the response, and a message opened up.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 2 at 8:12 PM

Subject: I’ve never done this before

Dear anonymous person on the internet,

I really don’t know where to begin. I’m also not sure if you're a real person. For all I know you could be some random pedophile like one of those cases they warned us about in health class for the past 5 years, even though it’s never happened within the last decade.

But in case you are real, hello! I’m the original poster from that hb-secrets thread about life being a Ferris wheel. I’m rereading what I wrote there and I can’t stop cringing, so I’ll start by apologizing for that. I’m not usually one for metaphors, even the bad ones.

Anyway, it sounds like you identify with what I wrote. I’m glad you emailed me; I didn’t think anyone would actually do anything with the email that I left. Except maybe be extremely homophobic. But it made me feel less like I was shouting into the void, so thanks for that. And I assume you’re okay with me writing back since you sent me the first email. Though, I can’t believe I’m actually writing to you. I really didn’t think I would.

I guess I’m thinking it could be nice to talk with someone who can relate to how I’m feeling. No pressure, of course, but feel free to write back if you want to. I don’t want to use my real name, but you can call me Blue.

It was surreal. Someone who was like Nico. Someone who wanted to talk to Nico because they were like him.

He started to type again, with more excitement than he’s ever felt. He’s never been able to express this part of him before. It was almost like first date jitters-type feeling.

(Not that he really knew what that was like.)

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 2 at 8:23 PM

Subject: Re: I’ve never done this before

Hi, Blue

Wow, I’m actually kind of flipping out right now, because I seriously didn’t think I’d hear from you, especially so quickly. Wow. Okay. First of all, thanks for your email and also for your Tumblr post. I really liked it, Blue, and it wasn’t cringy at all, I promise.

So do you go here (here meaning HBHS)? I do, I’m a junior. And I’m a guy (are you a guy?) Anyway, I could relate a lot to your post, Like, pretty much all of it, but especially the part about being gay. You probably figured that out already though. And I’m not out yet either, which you probably figured that part out too.

I guess a part of me wants to be out, but a part of me’s like… no. It’s hard to explain. I don’t know. Maybe you get it.

So yeah, it’s really nice to meet you! This is kind of cool, right? Even writing this email makes me feel eleven times less alone.

-Angel (not my real name either, two can play at this game. It’s not like a pet-name type thing. If you ever find out who I am, you’ll understand why.)

He was worried about the whole name-signing thing. ‘Angel’ was just the easiest thing; it was a direct translation of his last name. He was really hoping Blue still didn’t take it in a weird way, even with that last note.

Relief flooded through him when he read the first sentence of Blue’s next email.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 2 at 8:41 PM

Subject: Re: I’ve never done this before

Angel, huh? Maybe like guardian angel perhaps.

Also, eleven times less alone? That’s oddly specific. :) But I know exactly what you mean.

Anyway, wow. Hi. You wrote back, and quickly too. I’m really glad you liked my post. Now I’m actually happy I put it out there. I have to admit, it’s strange to be writing a somewhat personal email to you when we don’t know each other’s identities. Though, in a way, I guess that makes it easier. Sorta like a therapist, except we’re both blindfolded and have the same problem. So not really a therapist, I guess.

Do you think therapists have therapists? Like, if the problems get to be too much for them? Is there an Almighty Therapist who just absorbs everyone's issues and feels nothing?

Anyway, I am a guy, and I’m also a junior at HB. I think you’re actually the first other gay guy I’ve met here. It’s pretty surreal to be talking to you. (In a good way though.) I wonder if we know each other in real life.

And I think I understand what you mean. I feel like I’m constantly going back and forth about wanting to come out. I have these moments where I’m almost bursting to tell people. Of course, that’s where I was when I posted the thing on Tumblr. But I always feel so weird about it a few hours later, and sometimes I’m intensely relieved no one knows yet. What about you?

-Blue

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 2 at 9:12 PM

Subject: Re: I’ve never done this before

I mean, let’s be real, eleven is the best number, which is perfect because we’re both in eleventh grade. And I can't believe we’re both juniors. The class is pretty small compared to the others, so I bet we do know each other, which is weird to think about. What if we’re actually enemies in real life? Do you have enemies? I don’t think I do, not really. Various people tend to annoy me a lot. It’s not even their fault; some people just have really punchable faces.

(I’m usually a really nonviolent person. I’m more like a violent person who at the same doesn’t really want to hurt anyone, so I have to resort to fantasizing about punching people, which just ends in eating my feelings in large quantities of McDonald’s.)

It’s funny for me, it’s actually not so much that go back and forth about wanting to come out. It’s like I simultaneously do and don’t want to be out. Which is pretty freaking exhausting, honestly. Like I’m in this constant state of JUST SAY IT and NO NEVER. Do you think that ever ends? I don’t know, maybe I’m just a really indecisive person. I think part of me is also just holding out until college when I’m away from anyone I know and can just reinvent myself.

So what kind of stuff do you like to do after school and everything?

-Angel

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 2 at 9:34 PM

Subject: Re: I’ve never done this before

I don’t think I have any enemies, but now I’m definitely wondering if I’m the guy with the punchable face. How do you know if you have a punchable face? I’ve never been punched, so hopefully, that’s a good sign.

I will say, I’m definitely with you on the issue of eating your feelings. I’m the person who has never smoked a cigarette or gotten drunk or anything like that, and I'm usually relatively healthy. However, I once ate five jars of Nutella in one sitting. I do not recommend,

I’m indecisive, too, in some ways. Okay, full disclosure: I was really conflicted when you sent me that email. I kept going back and forth about whether I should email you. I was (and am) definitely intrigued, but I guess I was also a little bit paranoid. It’s just that you could have been anyone, and it’s hard to know sometimes if someone’s being a jerk or if they’re being sincere. Plus my cousin sort of actually outed me. Not to anyone else, he’s the only one who knows, but now I’m super paranoid about coming out. (Exactly what you said about holding out until college. I’m thinking I can move to LA or somewhere where nobody really cares. Although I wouldn’t want to reinvent myself. And I don’t want you to reinvent yourself either, you’re pretty cool as you are I think.) Anyway, I’m really glad I decided to email you, though.

So, you’re probably going to think I’m ridiculous, but I’d rather not answer your last question. It’s just… I think I like being anonymous for now. Is that okay?

-Blue

Okay, that last part was fair. Nico understood the wanting-to-be-anonymous thing. Sure, they go to the same school. But Blue had no reason to entirely trust him; Nico didn’t really trust Blue at all. This could entirely be some random asshole anywhere in the world trying to find him and beat him up, or worse. It sucked that homophobia was still a thing in their day and age.

But Blue said he liked talking to Nico, and it was thrilling to talk to him. It was another secret of his, but not one he entirely minded keeping. So, he chose to believe that Blue was actually who he said he was.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 2 at 9:57 PM

Subject: Punchability

Blue, you have so much to learn about the rules of punchability, starting with the fact that it is completely impossible for you to have a punchable face. Rule number one: guys who make metaphors about Ferris wheels are automatically unpunchable. Rule number two: There isn’t one. Just rule number one, so memorize it. Everyone else can catch these fists. (Catch these fists? These hands? This would probably be more intimidating if I knew the correct phrasing)

Also, five jars of Nutella in one sitting is the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life. Challenge accepted.

I don’t think you’re ridiculous, Blue. I totally understand why you don't want to tell me about your extracurricular activities (I’m guessing interpretive dance, though, you seem like the type.) But seriously, I get it. It’s this weird contradiction, right? It’s so much easier to be open with someone who doesn't know you at all. We’ll be each other's Ultimate Therapists.

(Except I don’t think I could ever be a therapist.)

Anyway, I’m really glad you decided to email me back, too :)

-Angel

That smiley face was really unlike him.

Nico sent the email, but after nearly an hour, he didn’t get on back, which meant Blue was probably asleep. Which was different from what Nico was used to; he tended to stay awake until the early hours of the morning most nights. But it wasn’t anything he minded. He had a conversation with Blue, and even if that was the last one they would ever have (which, he was hoping it wouldn’t be), it was good to know that there was somewhere out there like him.

#solangelo #heros of olympus #pjo #will solace #nico di angelo #pjo hoo big bang 2019 #im willing to make a tag list for this but i didnt want to use my general solangelo taglist #so if you would like a taglist for this fic lmk!#nstls

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hellacre13 · 7 years

Text

It’s been brought to my notice a clois shipper is taking my comments on CBR without my permission, screen grabbing and pasting in his tumblr to talk trash . So glad you think my comments so worthy that you need to pull out your straw man arguments instead of being honest enough to reply to me there. But I won’t give any credence to your cowardice. You know, some people have been making a habit of this. Taking what I and other posters have said on public forums and going on twitter and tumblr and trying to act all smug and smart and trying...TRYING...to ridicule us. But you know I tend to ignore these cowards. I don’t like wasting my time on shipping wars which is why I rarely get into to and fros with these folks here. Fact, I have most of them blocked. But this I decided has given me a great opportunity to share with my fellow comic fans.

In retrospect, my post my post must have been thought provoking . 😉 😚 Glad to see it got him reacting. So I thought why waste it on CBR alone? I MEAN I DON’T HAVE TO ASK MYSELF PERMISSION. Let me share what it was about. Here was my thoughts on that debacle Batman #39 before it was released based on the Bleeding Cool article that it seemed to have ripped from that notorious Action 571 by Joe Kelly 18 years ago. Now some people, usually clois fans, love Action because it, in their eyes, hold their pairing up as some great love because of this issue. But then there is another side to it and I ask people to sincerely think about this given the fact we have moved on in terms of how we view relationships and dynamics. I am not talking about political correctedness gone mad. Not at all. And no way I would be so disrespectful to call Joe Kelly the man a sexist or anything like that the way some clois fans attack Superman/Wonder Woman fans and writers because they so “hurt” fiction simply paired up two single people in one story line ie the new 52 despite them having tons of stuff in other books and media. Some writers just do stories using outdated troupes that have evolved into sexist plots because times change and they at times miss their mark with a section of the fandom or can be a hit depending which side of the fence you are on. And they should never be personally attacked for it. You can critique them but don’t for the love of god try to label people you don’t know anything about other than you read a comic that you don’t like.

I hate Action #761. Not because of the premise that two people who have been attracted to each other, who have a long history of closeness in BOTH their comics...ie they actually have been shown in the narrative...it's not just dragged in left field... that they can end up closer or intimate. It's actually pretty normal I'd think if two friends with some unresolved tension, after they lose their spouses etc find solace or love again. It's morbid to be so guilt ridden that a dead partner you cannot recall and who you think is dead makes you close your self off to love, when it's clear you really really tempted. But this was never the point of Action #761 to explore love and loss. How can you as a writer if you want to sincerely tackle it when you full well KNOW you cannot shake the boat? It's not AU. It's not an altered timeline where you can follow through without messing up canon. You obviously, in such a scenario, will set up one character to be humiliated by doing something so absurd and heavy handed to try to prop a relationship that supposed to great because it's human etc etc...and being human is supposed to encompass the highs and lows of love, including tragedy and honoring a love by living etc. It tries so hard to beat you over the head Clark would rather be a monk for the rest of his life to honor one dead woman's memory. I did not come away and go aww that's love. I thought sheesh, what a dysfunctional love . Superman is actually crippled by Lois memory or lack thereof. Diana seemed pretty normal to me. And SHE never crossed boundaries or propositioned him. HE was the one raising it. And she backed off and never made him feel at all as if he did anything wrong by rejecting her. She was selfless in one vein and just a prop in another with no pov about how she dealt with it as a woman and someone who left behind friends and loved ones too. It was all about Superman and Lois to prop them at her expense. She comes off as the reject when in fact it's a story that used her in a cheap way knowing all the time that was the only outcome. Can't we all just assume Superman would be faithful to Lois while they together simply because he is that kind of a dude? Why did Joe Kelly need to drag Diana in as some temptation? Just like Superman fans hate when they use Superman as the punching bag to show the strongest character can take a beating by all and sundry, am I to assume Diana has to be used as the apple because she happens to be beautiful and THE premiere female? So, if you refuse Wonder Woman of all people...wow...you gotta love Lois so much. That's pretty sexist crap right there by Kelly. It was a poorly thought out story. But it was 18 years ago and we have moved forward in terms of the way women are used. So color me totally unimpressed King takes this lame troupe and play with it again.Because you can do nothing good with it. Neither Batman or Diana are single. It is not AU. Unless there is a plan to make them dump Selina and Steve. I hardly think this likely since why would DC make such a big deal of the Batcat stuff only to dump on it in this manner. BOTH are with their "love interests". Bruce has made a huge step in his canon. Love with commitment and pending marriage. Diana is shacked up with Steve Trevor. I am not fan of Rebirth. But she is with Steve cureently so why is there this need to muddy the waters at this stage? They could have done this easily when both were single. People might not like or might like it depending on your shipping preferences but at least they free, single and disengaged. They can kiss or date who they please as single people. Batman sure as hell has umpteen women in his books. Wanting a beautiful woman is not exactly strange for him. And King is cheating by trying to say they have some deep, great friendship based on one lame two parter? Because they spend some time in a pocket universe where time passes but is only two issues we to assume their friendship has the same magnitude as say Clark and Bruce's which has had so many books devoted to it? Diana pre new 52 and new 52 could never be seen to be Bruce's close friend and boast of a friendship to equal Superman and Batman or even a romantic dynamic as her other canonical love interests because they had limited stories together. King premises this as some great deep friendship because he wants to retroactively in a paltry two issues cement something they never earned? That's how lazy and arrogant DC and Batman writers are. It was done by Joe Kelly in the JLA run where Batman sucked Diana's face with no build up. It was done by Rucka in Black Night. Seems King is doing it again. Pushing something that just has not been earned. And using the cheapest way to try to claim it. It is baffling he uses Superman and Lois is positive ways and supportive of Selina and chooses to put Diana, a symbol of sisterhood in a story where you have to dredge up sex and intimacy to show how good friends they are. I don't get it. This arc is supposed to be about Batman's friends response to his pending marriage . So he and Diana couldn't spend some time bonding in any other way? What is the purpose? It does not sound at all good to me. So this is why I think that him even borrowing the premise or homaging or whatever he's done a poor choice. Diana will come off looking bad again and a prop or mouthpiece because it is a Batman book and about his issues.

Then Batman 39 hit and I said this.

I'm sorry to say I told you so. But yeah. Whenever batman fan boy writers handle Wonder Woman this is what you get. Lazy ooc plots to claim her as hooked on Batman's irresistible charms. They don't build anything over time. They just slap it in your face. Bruce Timm. Joe Kelly. Greg Rucka, Now Tom King and no doubt soon Liam Sharp. Like I say it doesn't bug me two friends who are close and attracted to each other if they are single try a relationship. But Action wasn't about that. It could not any way explore anything in canon. And no one I know who liked smww or ww cared for it. It was one sided to ensure smll came out smelling rosy and Diana ...oh poor Diana...just rejected because if you turn down Wonder Woman...wow, what a man. What a love! So dumb. Like he couldn't just be seen as faithful because he's a loyal guy in a normal situation. They just needed to go all heavy handed to make a pointless point at WW expense.

Batman 39. Worse. The pacing in Action at least tried to show a bond already there knitting tighter...they did not need this issue to show they are friends. They already were close etc. Diana did not proposition Clark. They maintained boundaries and yadda yadda for a moment looked at each other and then Clark pulled back and Diana is fine with it blah blah. This shows a Wonder Woman in terms of the art, flirting heavily in her body language from the get go. Batman as you clearly see is still trying to be faithful in his body language. She even suggests they get it on knowing he will go back to Selina. I just don't how to take that. No Diana I know would openly suggest that. It's so out of character. She's the apple/ temptress. She has no pov or remembers she has her own lover and life. He's a non issue. Poor Steve prob sitting in their apartment waiting for her.

Now if this is based on Rucka's Diana...then this is not the way I want my Wonder Woman. Not so lacking in empathy, emotional intelligence and wisdom . I don't understand how any one as old as she is with so much relationships under her belt as suggested by Rucka, cannot understand and respect the nuances and boundaries in relationships at this stage. That she views all that she has "loved" as not able to teach her anything. It is baffling to me this Rucka Diana with all this delusion and madness nonsense. She's not a naive here but comes across as very self centered and stiff for a character who is about sisterhood and compassion. You'd think as she has her own lover she would empathize how much Bruce misses Selina...is bizarre what we have here. So whether they kiss or not is not the point. It's the set up and Diana's poor characterization. [/SPOIL]

DC dropped the ball on Diana with Rebirth. Badly and this is where she is now. Batman writers are getting to dictate her motivations, character, personality in throw away arcs and they just don't feel right at all. No matter how people say they hate the new 52...Diana maintained her core personality under the pens of Azzarello, and Soule and hell even Finch and Johns wasn't all bad.

For those who never read either books...you’re missing nothing but Action is the lesser of two evils. You can go read them to at least keep make your own minds up but context is important in everything and timing. Personally I say don’t give DC $ for nonsense. I’m pretty sure you can get it online free to read or see many spoilers around. As much as I don’t like Wonderbat, if it had been done when both were single...(and to be fair it had been back in JLA in 2002 by Joe Kelly and went nowhere)...it would have not been so bad as to raise so much ire. Pissed off fandoms, sure, but I am not so into shipping wars that I would be writing about any issue on this blog. Same way I ignore clois in Rebirth because they are not my new 52 Superman or Wonder Woman. So not sure why in God’s name DC wants to force it now when they did a Batcat engagement and choose to put Diana with Steve. I mean, are they crazy to be playing with that kind of fire when people are so sensitive the way women are used? And then that mini coming up by Liam Sharp is hinting at the same kind of crap trying to write retroactive wonderbat stuff just to have his own shipping preference. After Batman 39, I’d say, he needs to thread carefully. I mean come on, DC. Treat Diana better. It’s no skin of Batman’s nose. He sells no matter his status quo. He can have a harem his fan boys don’t care. But DC chose to go a very important step and make Bruce take a huge decision to tell the woman he loves he wants to commit to her and her be a part of his life. This is not something you sully with this kind of thing at this time. And let’s just say Bruce and Selina break up someway along the line does DC really want it to be because people blame Diana for it? Now is not the time for it. God, DC, you had your chance and never took it. Don’t mess about now. Now maybe King might have a better part two to subvert what we are seeing here but I still think using Wonder Woman imagery as the temptress was ill advised.

And those trying to drag SuperWonder into this. Please. Our New 52 couple is dead. They are not part of this. Try reaching somewhere else. The clois shipper using my CBR comments, your example is so silly of trying to use DC Presents #32 as the same as Batman #39. That story was set in the Silver Age where there was an innocent whimsy and silliness in stories. Eros shot SM and WW with arrows and they kissy kissy for a bit while trying to find a cure. Both were dating Steve and Lois but most pointedly neither had told Steve and Lois they were Clark Kent and Diana Prince in those stories. Both Steve and Lois use to treat Diana and Clark like shit in favor of Wonder Woman and Superman back then. So let’s not even start with the faux outrage. It was just a different time and the Batman Brave and the Bold kids comic replicated it because again, it’s the context and kind of story. No one batted an eye lid nor cared Bats and Wondy kissed under a love spell. The innocence is there unless you’re reaching big time.

Here is that lovely thread people. http://community.comicbookresources.com/showthread.php?106190-Batman-39-Could-Be-Borrowing-A-Plot-From-An-Issue-of-Action-Comics

And here is Bleeding Cool’s pov.

https://www.bleedingcool.com/2018/01/17/batman-39-action-comics-761-temptations-wonder-woman-spoilers/

Oh and since I am an admin on Hellyeahsupermanandwonderwoman...it has permission to reblog me.

#superman #wonder woman #action comics #batman #catwoman

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alia-turin · 7 years

Text

That took way longer than I expected and I wrote it in a way I absolutely hate. I have been writing that since Thursday bits and pieces and I just hate it when I can’t sit and write it all in one go. Anyway here we are hope you guys enjoy. Some very angry Noct coming next chapter.

Fic Title: Take It and Run [cowboy au] Chapter: 9. Land Previous Chapters: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Rating: G (Warnings: swearing, drinking, some self hate implied) Characters: Cor, Luche, Noctis, Glado, Ignis, Nyx, Luna, Ravus, Libertus, Crowe. Tagging: @birdsandivory @jojopitcher @lazarustrashpit @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy @kairakara101 @parjiljehavey

“I heard a rumour.” Glado said as soon as he walked in the marshal’s office.

“Good morning to you too.” Cor didn’t look at him, Prompto brought him earlier some of the shrapnel from the stagecoach and he was busy examining these.

“Somebody left last night the saloon with a pretty girl who wasn’t a saloon girl. Half the town is talking.” Gladio chuckled and leaned over the desk his massive frame blocking the sunlight.

“I didn’t leave, I helped her, I walked her home, I walked back. She is half my age. Would you move?” Cor tapped Gladio’s arm to encourage him to do it faster.

“I’m not judging, in fact I’m happy for you. It’s nice if you can find some distraction.” Gladio gave him a big grin, Cor couldn’t believe how much he looked like his father.

“Are you done? I have work to do.” Just as he said that Prompto came back in carrying a box of more shrapnel.

“That’s everything.” The young man left them on Gladio’s desk. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Why are you asking us, Noct is your boss.” Gladio said as he walked to his desk and started going through the burned pieces of wood and metal.

“He…”Prompto looked at Cor as if looking for support and Cor sighed.

“Noct is not in condition. I’m doing his job for now.” Cor explained. He wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t the boy’s father. Boy? He was a grown man, he should start acting like one. Cor hated himself for being so ‘easy’ and allowing Noctis to be so easily distracted, but he also felt responsible for him. He knew that his actions were misguided and in order to deal with things Noct had to be pushed to do them alone, and yet he couldn’t allow himself to do that.

Cor started angrily going through the box, not even sure what was he annoyed at. Was it himself, for allowing Noct to neglect his duties or was it actually at the sheriff.

“No…” he pulled the shrapnel that caught his attention. He ran towards the chest of drawers behind himself and started franticly looking through the pictures that were stored there.

“You found something?” Gadio got off his chair, Prompto following him like a puppy not sure what else to do.

“It’s the same.” Cor threw the pictures on the table. “It is him.”

Gladio grabbed the pictures and looked at them, looked at the shrapnel Cor was holding.

“Wats going on?” Prompto tried to peak over Gladio’s shoulder but the other man was taller than him.

“You know how every great marshal in the west has his enemy?” Gladio started and Cor gave him an angry look but the younger man absolutely didn’t care and continued. “Our Marshal here has his arch enemy. General Glauca. Man started in the army, eventually was dismissed for some sort of misconducted, almost was executed for it. Cor here has been on his trail for years, that’ why he moved to Insomnia, it’s in the center of his territory but there were crimes that followed Glauca’s pattern.”

“But there is nobody by the name Glauca in town.” Prompto sounded very naïve in his sentence.

“He hasn’t used the name Glauca since he left the army.” Cor explained. “He uses number of other names, but in the military he was known for his notorious use of explosives. The man was a genius, timers, tripwires, you name it.” He placed the shrapnel on his desk and next to it a picture that looked like very similar pieve of shrapnel. “The picture was taken five years, an army supply cart was attacked and bunch of explosives were stolen. Glauca, missed to kill one of the men, or more like thought he was dead. The man lived long enough for the marshals to arrive and described Glauca as the man who attacked them. We know that he is in possession of military explosives. We also know that same military explosives were used when they robbed the bank last year.”

“You cannot be sure.” Gladio said calmly and Cor didn’t blame him for wanting to pull away from the theory. A piece of shrapnel which hinted toward the stolen explosives meant nothing, but Cor wanted it to be truth. Arresting Glauca was going to gibe whole new meaning to his life.

“So…if this Glauca is…here…how do we find him?” Prompto asked almost innocently.

Cor didn’t have answer for him, what worried him more was that if Glauca was responsible for the bank as he initially suspected, but now was also doing that hit on the stagecoach probably he had been in town all that time. Under his nose, for all he knew he might be doing his groceries right now. Of course they had wanted posters all over the place, but these wanted posters looked like nothing. Any man with broad square jaw in his forties could be Glauca if you look I at certain angle.

Luche watched the rodeo with little interest. His mind was running over and over through the events from the past days. In fact, he had been thinking so much over it that he couldn’t sleep well last night, with his alcohol filled adventures from the night before, he was running on very little sleep. At least this morning he finally managed to shave and looked more like himself.

“I need to impress her.” Nyx said that mostly to himself but Tredd and Luche gave him bored looks.

“Walk to her, pull your pants down and I’m sure she will remember you.” Tredd laughed, Luche smiled at his silliness, but Nyx just gave him a sulking look. The man had it bad for Ravus’ sister and he was going to use that. Through the night he couldn’t reach to a conclusion which of the other three was to blame for their failure, but Ravus was bothering him. The man disliked Ardyn, but the mayor had a leash on him, same way he did on all of them, in one way or another. Ravus wasn’t going to betray them out of love for Ardyn, but he was certainly going to do it to save his ass. That’s why he needed Nyx.

“Listen, you need to be classy.” Luche said with his most serious expression trying not to look at Tredd who was failing at holding a laugh. “She ain’t some local saloon girl that will get impressed with your superior gun or rope skills. Bring her nice stuff. Laces for dresses. You know how hard is for woman who had all the shops of the East to find nice dresses here. You go in the general store and they have two fabrics. You need to win her with nice stuff.”

“Nice stuff…” Nyx repeated. Luche smiled, mostly to himself. Nyx was broke, as was he. Love made men do stupid stuff and he was betting on Nyx to be willing to do something stupid, out of love.

“Listen to Luche. He knows very well what it means to like a girl who is worth more than you.” Tredd pointed down and Luche followed the direction of his finger. There she was. The key to all his questions.

“I don’t…” he decided not to finish that sentence. Did it even matter if he liked her not? He needed her that was for sure, but it wasn’t just as simple as going down saying some nice words and asking her to have coffee with him. He had little time and needed answers to questions he couldn’t just ask someone he just met.

“Excuse me. I need to make some money.” Tredd got up and walked past them, going directly to the referees to add his name.

“What is he doing?” Nyx as usual was suspicious to everything Tredd was doing, and Luche couldn’t really blame him for that. Ironically Tredd was way more reliable than he gave out, but you had to go under the layers of…well Tredd, in order to figure out he wasn’t just stupid comments and bravado.

“Making money. Which probably we should do as well. Your girl won’t be very impressed by your empty pockets.” Luche got up as well patting his hat to clear the dust. He walked down to the referees and signed in his name for the roping.

Tredd was getting ready to jump on a horse, massive bay stallion which looked as mean as he was big. Luche walked to the fence and leaned over wanting to see up close Tredd falling on his ass.

“Your friend is doing good.” The redhaired girl was standing next to him watching as Tredd was managing to keep his balance on the horse. “To be honest I didn’t expect anyone to stand even a second on that horse.”

Luche just started at her not sure what to say. He knew he had to say something, but the last thing he expected was for her to talk to him. He has been thinking how to talk to her to get the information he needed, but now she was there, talking he just needed to lead the conversation in the right way.

“He is pretty good with horses. His only redeeming quality.” Luche gave her a charming smile but she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at Tredd keeping his balance on the horse. “Is the horse yours?”

“Yes, I have provided most of the broncos for the event.” The referee sounded that Tredd had reached the minimum time required to be on the horse and he was still doing good. “Are you joining?”

“I’m not that good with broncos. I like horses don’t like falling of them” he patted the rope on his hip. “I’m better at roping and shooting but...” he didn’t need to explain that one shooting wasn’t really a competition and two he had no gun. Tredd got off the horse when the animal was finally tired, everyone applauded.

“Sheriff got you good cowboys by taking your guns away.” She turned towards him, her green eyes looing straight into his blue.

“I don’t blame him. There is nothing scarier than a man with a gun. Nothing as helpless as one without.” He had to bring that conversation to the mayor and why he was after her land but how? He couldn’t just ask her straight forward, she didn’t even know his name, why would she tell him that. “Especially since what happened with one of the sheriff’s deputies.”

“What do you mean?” judging by her tone and expression she didn’t know about the attack or the injured deputy. Maybe the sheriff and marshal were keeping it low key.

“I thought you knew…” he said slowly. He was stepping on very fragile ground and he might end being slapped in the face like Tredd. “I mean you left last night the marshal surely he mentioned it.”

“Of course. The Marshal walks me home and helps me with couple of horses and the whole town talks.” She didn’t seem as annoyed at his assumption as he thought she would be but she wasn’t happy either.

“I didn’t mean to…” Luche smiled in an apology and could see the lines on her face softening. His charms still worked even if he lacked sleep. “To be completely honest when I hared you arguing with your brother I was about to offer my own services. He had been pretty loud and obnoxious before you walked in, talking about his...disliking of you. Of course, none of that is my business, it just felt silly.”

“His disliking?” she shook her head. “What was he disliking? Working for living or?”

“That and the fact that the mayor offered you money for your property and you refused.” She didn’t react or answer to what he said and Luche cursed himself. He pushed it a bit too far. She wasn’t going to tell him anything. He should have started in a different way. He should have walked to her, introduce himself charm her… “Please forgive me it’s not my business. It just sounded strange on his end to complain about that. I mean mayor or no, it’s your family’s land. I lost mine few years ago due to my father’s bad business venture and would give arm and a leg to have it back.”

“I guess that explains your accent, you were obviously not born around here.” She smiled at him and for a second, he wanted to ask her million other things none of them related to his present issues. “My brother values money and the mayor offers a lot.” He could see she was hurt from the whole situation and wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. Strange feeling considering he didn’t really know her.

“Why would the mayor need so much land? Or he just wants some of it?” he saw Tredd approaching and knew he had very little time. That idiot was going to open his mouth and say something inappropriate.

“I don’t know. He has been purchased some other properties on that side of town, I guess he wants to connect them. Insomnia is growing really fast. We used to sell abut ten horses per year when we first moved in here. Now we provide horses and cattle for rodeos like this one so you cowboys don’t shoot at each other and stay entraining and we sell close to fifty horses per year, plus other cattle and produce. If the town continues to grow, land will be valuable.” She was distracted by Tredd who leaned on the other side of the fence smiling at her. She just looked at him and turned her head back to Luche as if pretending Tredd wasn’t there. “Anyway, I wish luck in the roping. I will see you around I hope.”

“I certainly hope so.” He smiled charmingly and watched her walk away.

“No bet, huh?” Tredd slapped the back of Luche’s neck and he slapped him back on the forehead pushing his ha on the ground. “What did I miss?”

“Not much.” His conversation wasn’t complete lack of time but as he suspected it just added couple more questions. “The mayor is not just after her land, he is after land here in general. Either the land is valuable, it has something on it that no one knows about or he expects it to become valuable. Now that doesn’t really explain why he tricked us.”

“Maybe he didn’t.” Tredd was cleaning his hat from the dirt watching after the girl. Luche knew what was the other man thinking right now and wanted to punch him. “Maybe there was something in that stagecoach. That’s why it exploded. Something that had to disappear.”

Luche stared at him for a second, but that made perfect sense. There was something on that couch and now there was nothing.

#my writing

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cepmurphy · 7 years

Text

The Maze With No Exit

The attempt to rebrand everything as new and progressive died a death when it got to Labyrinth Complex. Even without the years of propaganda and barely hushed up deaths and the sleazy ‘true stories’ Men in the Maze soap, even if every part of the interior was rebuilt and all the punishment programs replaced and gumdrops given to all inmates, you still had to look at the damn thing. A decaying, crumbling pre-space fortress out in the moors. A place you’d torture a heretic, a place of plague and starvation.

All of it bollocks: Labyrinth Complex was only fifteen years old and had been deliberately made to look like shit. It screamed ‘prison’, ‘tough on crime’, ‘they’ll get what’s theirs’. On the inside, at the entrance and staff rooms, it was just bland corridors in eggshell colour and calm lighting and posters about the canteen. The guards were still hulking scarabs, but the uniforms were a new colour and the helmets rarely on. New and progressive.

The usual guard, a euro homoracial named Raku, had escorted her to the guard’s subway shuttle. You could barely feel the twists and turns as it went under the great maze. Stations flashed past: Infirmary Baker, Cell Block C, Rallying Point #2, Exit, Cell Block A. Each station the same blandness as the corridor. Each station sign was an electronic display that could be shut off.

All of it pointless – prison escapes were rare at any complex. Labyrinth’s abnormal structure did nothing for safety and everything to drain taxes, so the Dignity Party could claim there was none left.

“This is a waste of time,” said Raku, as they exited into Cell Block A. “Minotaur’s not getting out.”

“I’ve heard that from you before,” said Wu Ariadne, keeping her tone professionally pleasant.

“Guess you get paid either way.”

Under Dignity, being the wrong sort of lawyer meant you got that comment a lot and usually the implication under it. The guard had the other sort, the assumption you didn’t care about the clients.

After all Briers Minotaur was accused of, it would be easier to not care.

He brought her to the interview room – and on this side of the maze, where the inmates lived, the building again was faux-decaying stone and shadows – and despite the chair, Minotaur was standing and as close as possible to the entrance. His prison shirt was off, revealing seven feet of muscle and old scars. If you hadn’t expected it, your first reaction would be to jump and thus he’d have the power.

Airadne didn’t jump.

Skin pale as milk, face contorted into a muzzle, horns extending his height a further foot. Most cretohuman mixes filed their horns down to try and fit in. Minotaur had ripped a man open with his.

When Raku left, she was alone with one of the most notoriously violent people in the maze.

She sat down first, partly for ease of writing on her pad and partly to end any power play. Let him talk first.

“Why are you wasting my time?” Minotaur said.

“It shouldn’t be a waste. The Solidarity government wants to transfer as many people from Labyrinth as possible – a lot of the old restrictions are gone.” The reintroduction of legal aid had been transformed the Oberoi-Lktak Trust overnight from struggling charity to middling charity. “If you let us represent you, I am confident we can get you sent to another complex. I’ve already achieved this for three others—"

“Getting out of the maze and into another maze. Such fucking wonders.”

One of the scars looked fresh. Her notes said he’d had an ‘accident’. Another inmate had ‘fallen’ the same day. Fallen onto his legs with enough force that they need bionics.

The only tattoo on Minotaur was a blue circle, ‘CSS’, with a rip through it. Normally, gangland figures would be covered with ink to show affiliation, reputation, and general frighteners – having only one was rare, and it wasn’t a tag she was familiar with.

To break the ice, she asked: “What does the tattoo mean?”

“They say I eat flesh,” he said, ignoring her. “Said that outside, say that inside. I was on Men in the Maze, they showed me doing it.” He pulled his gums back: a row of fangs at the front, yellow with plaque. “You want to know if it’s true?”

When he’d finally got out of Centralia Secondary School – expelled for a fight he had started but only as retaliation – Minotaur had wanted to celebrate. A little reminder of the dump and how it couldn’t handle him. Take his humiliation and make it a badge of honour. Minotaur had never been allowed his juvie gang’s tag (“not for cretes”) but he could have this.

It had been twelve years since the Triworld occupation had ended. Foreign worlds protecting Herak from a hostile power, or stopping it from joining its nearest neighbour, or exploiting it under claim of protection: all depended on who you asked. Either way, the Triworld Alliance had come to terms with the Rudinsh Expanse and now Herak was free of alien soldiers. The Creta had been stationed on this part of Herak and they raped our women, or the women wantonly sold themselves, all depended on who you asked. A few hundred hybrids came out of it.

Minotaur’s mother claimed it had been love and that she tried to leave with his father, only for the Creta to deny her and dozens of others a visa. The kids at school accused her of victimhood or collaboration, depending on their mood. The local branch of Dignity tended to claim victimhood and point to the young cretahumans as the reason they should be in power. Cretahumans were a sign of shame and defeat. Cretahumans were naturally violent, didn’t you know?

There wasn’t much to do. People didn’t hire teens who got expelled and they didn’t hire ‘cretes’ and, this one to his face, they said they didn’t hire people with a record. If his record included that man they’d mugged, okay, fine, but all he’d ever had was citations for vandalism. A mere two of those. A lot of kids had worse than him.

Some of his juvie gang ‘friends’ had jobs. They’d jumped the man too. They had minor vandalism. Back in the gang everyone said you had to watch out for each other and not grass and help out, but that was all shite when it was him who needed help. The gang had wanted him because he was a scary looking kid to other kids and he’d been desperate enough to pretend that was enough.

Dignity had got dole reforms through before even they were in government and that was him stuffed. They had the council election won and the stares he got in shops and bars upgraded to “please move along, sir”. He might be violent.

In one pub, a grey satyr in grey clothes and a grey voice asked him if he could be violent against “someone who’s upsetting a friend of mine”, for money.

The second time was easier than the first. After three years of unemployment and stares and traitors, he wanted to hit someone.

Second time led to third time to fourth time and then King Minos came along with a contract. The King family had been a small outfit for decades but the big boys of the occupation had lost all their contacts when the aliens left, and Minos had used his superior brains to exploit that (or, depending on who you asked, got real lucky). King Minos needed a good soldier.

Minotaur had spent so long being looked down as a violent thug and as soon as he became one, he had cash and respect.

“You’ve been charged with a single murder.” Ariadne put emphasis on ‘charged’. “We can’t get that sentence reduced but on its own, it’s not enough to justify Labyrinth.”

She thought Minotaur was going to imply the other murders he’d almost certainly done or bring up the assaults they couldn’t stick on him. Hell, the police could have stuck at least two on him. They just hadn’t bothered. The murder was enough under the then-new laws, and knowledge of the assault charges helped direct the jurors to guilty and the judge to the full thirty-year sentence.

Which you could say he deserved but the law had not proven that. The guilty and the monsters were still meant to have rights. Few deserved Labyrinth.

“Same question, Ariadne. Why should I give a shit about moving from one prison to another prison?”

“Other prisons will give you better treatment and facilities. I can’t get you out but I can make it so you can tell where in the prison you are.”

“Oh, I know. Right now, this cell block is in the second ring of the maze, in the east. When it moves, it will only go to the third ring’s south or it’ll just move one slot down in second east.” He spoke with pride. “I had it all figured in the first year. It’s not difficult.”

Labyrinth was deliberately structured to be impossible to find your way out – sections given obtuse names, layout randomised, an Escher drawing of stairs and corridors to reach any other section, all outside sound muffled, each window showing the wrong place. Every four hours, the building’s interior would transform, and each section would be moved on tracks to a new location. More than being inescapable, it was designed to be disorienting. The world you lived in could not be understood, there was nothing but sand for you to build on. Far easier to obey or to turn inward.

The death rate was three times higher than the prison average.

Minotaur was not the first inmate to think they had the layout figured out. He was the only one to have done so.

“I know where I am and I know the rules in here. What do I want a transfer for?”

Dignity got into power in a wave of infrastructure and welfare spending on the right things. Heteroracial humans and satyr got extra child support payments for the planet’s genetic stability (sucking up to 40% of the population), child support was cut at three children (to hit certain minority faiths and the harpies), there was money for schools in the right places and free higher education for teenagers who came from the correct schools, money for police and prisons to protect the good people from the wrong people. A few media laws here and there, restrictions to free trade and immigration, state-sanctioned youth groups for each sub-species that oh-so-accidentally made children less likely to talk to each other.

What people voted for.

For the first few years, this was all good for Minotaur. Some people suffering meant more loan sharking, which meant more people he’d need to threaten or hit; more restrictions meant more black marketing, which meant more people he’d need to threaten or hit; more political and racial tension meant fewer bystanders and ‘good citizens’ to notice him threatening and hitting certain folk, and it meant the heteroracial and satyr majorities saw a cretahuman in a suit coming and got out of his way.

He beat seventeen people and killed three in the good times. Any qualm had gone. That was the other handy thing about the Dignity government: everyone was for themselves now, so what the hell.

Early on, he had thought if there could be another job – he’d be old one day, he might not be able to stay a legbreaker. Other cretahumans fell into the King family’s orbit by sheer necessity, both in debt to him and doing his dirty jobs, and that made it clear there was nowhere else for them. And soon he had a deserved local reputation, so who would hire him if he didn’t have Minos behind him? They’d still be pissed at all the ‘discounts’ they’d given him.

No, he had to stay. The money was good. There was nowhere else.

Three years into the new government, one of Minos’ rival firms had got sick of the tribute they had to pay to do business. Agnes, matriarch of the Vasquez gang, sent her own son Theseus to kill Minotaur as a message. A cage fighter, a knifeman as enforcer, the best statue-perfect features that money could buy: Theseus had killed more people than Minotaur by a factor of three.

If Theseus hadn’t misjudged Minotaur’s height, the cretahuman would have died on the tribute run. With a great puncture and blood gushing out, he almost had anyway. All that saved him was the decision – a cold one, his mind refusing to go to instinct despite itself – to punch hard as he could at Theseus’ left eye. The Vasquez’s golden boy, he went with instinct and covered his eye with his free hand.

That meant Minotaur could grab and dislocate the sword arm’s wrist. Instinct was stupid. It continued to lie to Theseus, telling him to punch in the face as if this was a cage fight – it hurt and bloodied Minotaur’s mouth, it made him stagger back, but it didn’t stop him from lowering his head and charging and ripping his horns into Theseus’ guts. If his foe had punched him in the existing wound, the pain and shock might have dropped him.

Still, Minotaur almost bled out on the way to a doctor. It wasn’t all a bad hit.

And then the police, ordered from on high to do a mob crackdown, showed up and it was not hard for them to argue a filthy crete had killed poor Mrs Vasquez Agnes boy, this sporting pillar of the community. And King Minos decided, sorry Minotaur, we can’t provide an alibi, it might be bad for business.

Labyrinth Complex had been built that month. “Finally, a prison they deserve,” President Huynh had declared. Minotaur was the first one in.

“What are the rules, Minotaur?”

“They’re whatever I say they are.”

Ah. Now, Ariadne began to understand. “And what do you say?”

“Give me what I’m owed, there’s no trouble. If there’s trouble, well, there won’t be for very long. People have accidents here all the time, it’s not a very well-built prison.”

“I understand,” she said carefully, “that King Minos had an accident when he came here.”

“A fucking tragedy. After all he did for me, getting me my first job.”

“Labyrinth was never designed for rehabilitation. Another prison might help you build a new life when you’re released.”

“That might have meant something when I was a kid. What new life can I make in my fifties? Who wants to hire the man who everyone knows eats flesh? In the Maze, I’m a king – I am the centre of all that goes on here. Fuck do I want to be a shelf stacker when I’m sixty?��

“Alright. If you change your mind, you can call the trust,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t.

This wasn’t even her first failure. So many men and women had been thrown into a maze of crime and deprivation that only ever led further in and to dead ends; not everyone could believe there was an exit anymore, and not everyone who did would ever find it. Too few people wanted that exit to be something you could find. Dignity had a lot of unpopular policies but locking ‘them’ up ‘where they deserved’ had not been one of them. Trying to shut Labyrinth was the least popular of Solidarity’s reforms.

So, onto the next one. Always onto the next one.

Briers Minotaur would see two more lawyers in the next three years, at which point the government (under pressure in the polls) considered enough inmates had been transferred. No new ones came in.

At the end of that three years, he violently beat a harpy over a moderate insult. The harpy fought back, managing to slash a key vein. The blood loss caused Minotaur to go into shock.

An inquest found he would have lived if the guards had cared to move fast enough. But, as the guards said to themselves, he’d only been some thug, not worth caring about.

END

#science fiction #sff #minotaur #greek myth #sci fi & fantasy #short story #flash fiction

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evenstevensranked · 7 years

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#27: Season 2, Episode 1 - “Starstruck”

Ruby desperately wants to win a radio contest to sit in on boyband BBMak’s recording session. Meanwhile, Louis finds an incredibly lucky penny and milks it for all it’s worth.

Wow, guys! Season 2 opens with the BBMak/Lucky Penny/Louis gets a makeover and looks smokin’ hot and Ruby develops a crush on him and I'm like "girl, same" episode!!! Let’s do this.

Alright, so within the first minute of this episode we learn that Ruby is absolutely obsessed with BBMak (a boyband that actually existed and is now unfortunately so irrelevant that some younger viewers of today assume they're a fictional band) and she’s trying to win a contest to go to their recording session when they come to Sacramento. She’s been listening to the radio on her pink, cheetah print walkman for hours on end trying to make sure she’s the lucky caller. Ren is concerned that her intense devotion may not be healthy.. but, Ruby insists she’s not obsessed with them. Her bedroom and behavior says otherwise:

At school the next day, Louis ends up finding a lucky penny which leads him to experience the best few days in a row ever. It kicks off with him narrowly escaping death and his big history test being canceled due to their teacher’s monkey having babies. The usual. If you binge watch the show, like I’ve done more times than I care to admit, the first few seconds of this scene are shocking because Louis' voice is obviously deeper and he looks obviously older. Yet according to Disney logic we're supposed to believe he's still in 7th grade, lol nah. Maybe at least the second half of 7th grade... We've gone over this before.

Louis seconds away from potentially dying over a penny.

Like I've mentioned, Disney is notoriously bad at airing episodes out of order. So here, we get an episode featuring Ren’s old friend Nelson. The only issue is that this aired 6 episodes before Thin Ice, which is Nelson’s formal introduction. The only explanation I can think of for this is that the Disney execs thought the BBMak thing would make a stronger season opener and switched up the airing order after they were already shot sequentially. I guess they assumed, or hoped, no one would notice or care that there's a new character we've never seen before just chilling with the gang like BFFs lol. According to Wiki at least, Season 2 was aired horrifically out of order when you compare the production code to the number it aired in the season. Like, WOW. For example, this episode was shot as Episode 13. I think that says it all.

No wonder Louis seems so jarringly older in this episode. He’s totally younger in the episodes that were supposed to air during the front half of S2.

Anyway, both Ren and Nelson are concerned about Ruby’s wellbeing now. She has practically turned into a fanatic zombie. They approach her and she says “I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. Do you really think I wanna chat?” completely zoned out of her mind. Yeah, I’d be worried too. We also see that she’s not doing her schoolwork either. Her entire binder is full of BBMak, including this rather disturbing pop-up:

Continuing his string of good luck, Louis gets to eat Principal Wexler’s extravagant birthday lunch for whatever reason and ends up winning a free fashion makeover courtesy of "Fruity Fruit Cocktail." ....ok. Tawny starts to get freaked out and Twitty simply says "I'm starting not to like you" which is understandable, because Louis is quickly slipping into another arrogant phase due to all of the luck he's been having.

Ren and Nelson give Ruby an intervention to stop her ridiculous obsession with BBMak and wanting to marry one of them. Why is this something that never goes out of relevancy? This is still happening today. It’s perhaps more relevant than ever with the rise of internet fandoms and socials like Tumblr. Teens are literally spiraling into genuine insanity over bands like never before. As long as there are teen idols, there will be teen idol fanatics. Can’t really go wrong with a plot-line like this. Ren tells her "You deserve a real life person who's gonna be perfect for you" - Ruby agrees and decides to turn over a new leaf.

The new and improved made-over Louis comes waltzing in, and just like that Ruby replaces her BBMak obsession with a Louis obsession. She’s just blown away by his beauty. Same, tbh. Y’all already know that I HAD THE BIGGEST CRUSH AND THIS EPISODE KILLED ME!!!! Now that I think about it, this very well might've been the episode that solidified my everlasting fondness for Shia LaBeouf.

This isn’t even overdramatic. Ruby is so me.

Even Ren and Nelson tell Louis that he looks stunning! Well, “stunning” was Louis’ word, not theirs. They just agreed with his conceitedness, lol. Suddenly a bird comes flying into the house and lands on Louis’ shoulder. Of course, it happens to be Pecky -- a missing bird with a $50 reward. OF COURSE!

The next day, Ruby happily tells Ren that she has officially moved on from BBMak. There’s a new guy in her life! Ren is so excited until Ruby reveals the new object of her affection to her:

Um, is this my room circa 2001 or Ruby’s? I honestly can’t tell. Also I would so buy that big’ol poster of Shia on her closet door. That thing has made a few appearances throughout the series. It’s kind of iconic looking, don’t you think? Maybe that’s just me...

Just thought I’d mention: Ren asks her “How did you get these pictures?!” and Ruby explains “I downloaded them from the internet. Louis has a very interesting website.” Do I even want to know? Aside from the implied potentially disturbing content, part of me wishes Disney had some sort of interactive fake louisstevens.com website or something like Nickelodeon did with amandaplease.com!

Tawny insists that Louis' lucky streak is nothing but “admittedly weird coincidences,” until Louis calls in to win the huge BBMak contest and......... wins. I love how he acts so blasé about it. The DJ is so excited and Louis is all "Eh.. What can I say? This whole charmed life thing is getting kinda old." Also, the DJ in this scene, who appears two more times in the series, was one of the many actors recycled for That’s So Raven. He played a news reporter on that show. Similar field. Huh.

Ren believes that Ruby is simply rebounding with Louis and decides to show her his nasty bedroom to make her realize she doesn't actually like him. Ren also tells Ruby that he’s rotten and selfish, which... Is kinda true sometimes, oops. But at the same time, that scene always makes me a little sad inside. Louis is a good guy at heart, Ren!!

Just then, Louis appears in the doorway asking "What are you doing in my room?" and we get this incredible exchange:

(credit)

Louis then proceeds to very unselfishly invite Ruby to the BBMak recording session which only reinforces her crush on him.

Okay. We finally make it to this darn recording session! Thank god. Louis might as well’ve brought his entire extended family because he brought four freaking people along with him like it’s some free for all. You usually don’t push your luck when you’re gifted something like that... but, oh yeah. Lucky penny. I freaking love this bit where Ren whispers to Ruby “Woo! He’s gorgeous...” referring to Christian from BBMak, and Ruby says “I know.......” in reference to Louis! LOL.

Ren is so disgusted and once again Ruby is me.

Shia has been gorgeous in my eyes for nearly my entire life!!!!!!!!! Apparently I'm weird because I've seen so many memes about him that say things like "He was that ugly, weird kid on Even Stevens and then he magically became good looking" I'm just sitting here like??? Y'all are about 14 years late to the party.

Louis and Twitty get distracted by a table with free cheese on it, which honestly is the best part of any and every function or gathering. Not even gonna lie. While hanging around the cheese table, Twitty decides to seize the opportunity and give BBMak an Alan Twitty Project demo tape of “Sacramento Girl.” (YESSSSS!) They lie and say they’ll check it out — but immediately stuff it under a block of cheese. As a musician, I can confirm that this is too real. It’s impossible to get successful/established artists to take you seriously. I met Fall Out Boy at a local radio junket once and slipped Pete Wentz a demo. I never heard anything, sooo... It stings to know that he most likely hid it under some cheese the second I left.

BBMak are looking for a ‘Sacramento sound’ (whatever that is) and encourage Louis to play some tambourine on their track! They tell him “If this works out, you could come on tour with us!” If only it was that easy to land a national gig in real life. Ruby mentions in passing that she needs to tell Louis how she feels, and TAWNY IS NOT HAVIN’ IT! Omg. She kinda gets jealous of Ruby’s crush and they start a small argument over him. Ren cannot believe what she's witnessing and I love it. Also, Christy looks fantastic here? Whoever did her hair and makeup: Good job!! wow!

Unfortunately, Ruby’s attraction to him is short-lived and comes to a screeching halt the second Louis loses his penny during his tambo solo, jumping around like a lunatic with no rhythm. (Again, HOW does he become a drummer later on? It’s a mystery.) It’s very subtle, but you can tell once Ruby starts finding Louis "odd and annoying," that Tawny is secretly happy about it and still obviously likes him unconditionally even though he's literally insane. Same, Tawny.

So, yeah. Louis loses his penny and his luck runs out. BBMak basically kick him out of the studio. I love how Louis asks them “What about the record and the touring?! What about BBMak-Stevens?!” as if the conversation ever went that far. It’s great. I might’ve spoke too soon about Shia being gorgeous because the faces he makes when he realizes the penny is missing from his pocket are the furthest thing from the adjective:

It is hysterical, however. And that outweighs everything else here, so.

This episode ends on an AMAZING note: A super cringy music video for “Sacramento Girl”! What more could you ask for?!?! We get some Twitty-Stevens Connection action here and it’s something to behold. 😂 Be on the lookout for Shia doing his classic “shirt-over-the-head” thing he does, HAHA. You can tell some of the vocals were done by middle-aged men (probably Jim Wise) which makes it even more hilarious. My favorite lyric has got to be the Grammy award worthy: “Before I met the girl I had it made... Now she scores higher than the whole arcade. YEAH!” And of course, the episodes’ immortal last words "TAKE THAT, BBMAK!!!!" will go down in history.

youtube

That’s it! I honestly don’t even know why I’m ranking this one “lower.” It’s probably one of my personal favorites but.. Idk man. There are simply other episodes that I like more, lol. This is a totally solid episode though! Super memorable, pretty strong humor (including music-related humor... which you know I love!), and two awesome plot-lines that blend really well! But, even with all of that.. something felt slightly flat about it when re-watching. It could possibly just be from me watching these episodes waaay too much, tbh. It also probably has something to do with it being a “special” episode with guest stars and whatnot. Episodes like that tend to feel like totally separate things to me.

At this point, we’ve officially reached the REALLY REALLY GOOD part of the list, though. So I don’t feel too bad about placing it here. There are no “bad” episodes from here on out. Well, there are no bad episodes of Even Stevens in general really. But.. you guys know what I mean.

I’m probably gonna regret and rethink this entire list once I finish it anyway so, lol.

Thanks for reading!

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#rank #even stevens #season 2 #disney channel #shia labeouf #bbmak #louis stevens #ruby mendel #ren stevens #christy carlson romano #the twitty stevens connection #alan twitty #old school #old disney #throwback #aj trauth #the alan twitty project

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disappearingground · 5 years

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Jenny Lewis Escapes the Void

Pitchfork March 21, 2019

After a turbulent childhood and two decades of brilliantly vulnerable songs, the L.A. idol has finally arrived at something like happiness.

By Jenn Pelly

Jenny Lewis and I are in her brown Volvo, idling outside her childhood home. On a Tuesday afternoon in Los Angeles’ San Fernando Valley, we are two blocks from Van Nuys Middle School, where Lewis once sang “Killing Me Softly” in a talent show and got suspended for flashing a peace sign in a class photo (it was mistaken for a gang symbol). We are walking distance from what used to be a Sam Goody record store on Van Nuys Boulevard, where Lewis once bought a life-changing tape of De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising, stoking her obsession with magnetic wordplay, as well as her first Bright Eyes CD, Fevers and Mirrors, which she quickly shared with the three men in her burgeoning indie band, Rilo Kiley, in the early 2000s.

We are not far from the bar where Lewis’ older sister, Leslie, sings in a cover band every Saturday, following in the tradition of their parents, who sang covers in a Las Vegas lounge act called Love’s Way in the 1970s. And that strip-mall pub is just across from the movie theater where Lewis and her mother once conspired to steal a cardboard cutout of Lewis’ 13-year-old self—a souvenir from when, as one of the busiest child actors of her generation, she starred alongside Fred Savage in the 1989 video game flick The Wizard.

Lewis left the Valley alone when she was 16 and vowed to never go back. “That was my number one goal: just to get out,” she tells me now, at 43. But on the occasion of her fourth solo record, On the Line, I asked for a tour of her past life, and here we are—Lewis in a royal blue jumpsuit, with electric blue sneakers and eyeliner to match; me, staring up at the rainbow of buttons fastened to the sun visor of her passenger seat, a collage that includes Bob Dylan, a peace sign, and a hot-orange sad face.

From the driver’s seat, behind her oversized shades, Lewis mentions the Bob Marley blacklight poster that once hung in her Van Nuys bedroom, and I imagine the scores of teenage bedroom walls that have made space for her own iconic image through the years. Lewis’ catalog of cleverly morbid, storytelling songs with Rilo Kiley and the Watson Twins ushered a generation of young listeners through suburban ennui and personal becoming—like a wise older sister we could visit on our iPods, offering an example of how to do something smart and cool with your sadness and your solitude.

In the mid-2000s, Lewis was like an indie rock Joni Mitchell for the soul-bearing Livejournal era, or an emo Dylan, the poet laureate of AIM away messages. Words—some cryptic, some elegant, some brutally, achingly direct—burst from the edges of her diaristic songs, with a dash of Didion-esque deadpan for good measure. It’s no surprise that Lewis’ earliest bedroom recordings were just Casio beats and what she describes as “raps.” Lewis was the first feminine voice I ever encountered leading a band outside the mainstream, with a sound that initially befuddled my ears because it was, in that overwhelmingly male indie era, so rare: a woman’s plainspoken voice.

Cruising around L.A. together, my mind maps the California of her lyrics. What does it mean for the palm trees to “bow their heads”? What becomes of the cheating, California-bound man in Rilo Kiley’s filmic “Does He Love You”—the soulful rave-up where Lewis belted the heroic mantra, “I am flawed if I’m not free!”? But my most pressing question, the one I must ask Lewis: Is California still “a recipe for a black hole,” as she sang on 2001’s “Pictures of Success”? “I guess it’s all the void,” she tells me straight. “It’s not really geographical. That’s what you find out on your adventures. It doesn’t really matter where you go. You accompany yourself there.”

The main destination of our Van Nuys excursion is the small ranch home of Lewis’ youth—or rather, homes, as there are two, practically adjacent. It’s a little complicated, I learn, as are many things with Lewis’ upbringing.

Lewis was born in Vegas on Elvis Presley’s birthday. In 1976, her parents and sister were living out of suitcases on the road, playing Carpenters and Sonny and Cher songs at casinos like the Sands, the Mint, and the Tropicana. “My mom was so pregnant but she would not miss a show,” recalls Leslie, who was 8 at the time. “Jenny would be kicking her on stage, and I remember seeing my mom flinch. I think that was Jenny saying, ‘Let me out, I want to sing!’”

Soon after Lewis was born, her parents divorced, and her father, Eddie Gordon, left the family and continued his career as one of the world’s leading harmonica virtuosos. Lewis’ mother, Linda, moved back to her native Los Angeles, working three jobs to rebuild a life with her daughters. At 2-and-a-half years old, Lewis was discovered by the powerful Hollywood agent Iris Burton (a young Drew Barrymore and the Olsen Twins were among her clients) after the toddler spontaneously wandered over to her table in a restaurant.

When Lewis was 5, she was already supporting Leslie and their mom with her commercial and TV acting, and they bought their humble first home, the one we’re visiting. “But we always used to dream about the house on the corner,” Lewis says, slowly circling the block, “so then my mom bought that house, too.” It’s two doors down, looks pretty similar—why dream of it? “Because it was right there,” Lewis says, “and it was nicer than the one we had!” (A 1992 L.A. Times headline dubbed Lewis “A Teen-Age Actress With 3 Mortgages”—she owned a townhouse in North Hollywood by then as well—calling her “the youngest member of the United Homeowners Association.”) “I know it’s confusing,” Lewis says. “This is part of the simulation; this is craziness. Why did we also want that house?” She erupts into a cackle. “None of this makes any fucking sense.”

In life as in her songs, Lewis is a consummate storyteller, mindful of how tiny details make a great tale. In the car, for instance, she tells me about the time she played Lucille Ball’s granddaughter on the notoriously bad 1986 sitcom “Life With Lucy.” It was the last show Lucy ever starred in, and it was canceled before the first season even finished. The mood was blue, but a wrap party was still planned, and Lewis’ mother convinced Lucy to have the gathering at their little house in Van Nuys. “So Lucy rolled up with her two dogs,” Lewis remembers. “She walked in the front door, looked around, and said, ‘What a dump!’”

Lewis’ mother typically attracted fascinating characters to the house—like the producers of the TV special “Circus of the Stars,” who trained Lewis in trapeze; or “Fantasy Island” star Hervé Villechaize, who came over for a scammy “Pyramid Party”; or The Exorcist writer William Peter Blatty. One year on Halloween, at the recommendation of the family’s illusionist friend—who, according to Leslie, levitated Jenny in their house—her mother invited over Ghostbusters star Dan Aykroyd’s brother Peter, who was himself a real-life ghost buster. Peter planned to “check out the levels” of the house.

Intrigued by the Lewis’ paranormal investigation, the local news showed up. Back then, Lewis was hanging out with fellow child actors Sarah Gilbert, Toby Maguire, and Leonardo DiCaprio—who also came through to scope things out. Recalling the ghost-busting scene, Lewis says, “They came over and set up their vague, infrared equipment and they captured some sort of reading coming down the hallway and going into my childhood bedroom.”

I ask Lewis if the ghostbusters’ findings felt accurate. “Well, totally,” she says. “Something was going on. We always had weird vibes in the house. Very dark vibes.”

In person, Lewis’ temperament is one of constant cheer. She radiates positivity, takes bong rips in her kitchen, says “dope” and “vibe” often. This sunny disposition is occasionally punctuated by looks of deep, welling concern for others—as if she is on the brink of tears for humanity. Still, she calls herself a “total skeptic,” and tells me that show business trained her, early on, to master the art of getting along. “I didn’t ever wanna be one of the dicks on set—like in a family situation, where one person can really fuck up Thanksgiving,” she says, before veering into more existential territory. “We all know we’re careening towards the end of humanity. I just wanna do my work and hang out with my people.”

It’s only later, while sipping Modelos at the dining room table of her quaint ranch house in the hills of Studio City, that Lewis reveals the source of her childhood home’s “dark vibes” was her mother’s lifelong heroin addiction. “It is painful to go back there,” Lewis tells me. “I get a weird feeling. I don’t know if the ghostbusters could have detected it, but there was some kind of energy that was not conducive to survival. So when I left, I left.”

“My mom was an addict my entire life, and it was a fucking rollercoaster,” she continues. “It lent itself to some amazing situations, but it was manic as fuck, and there were drugs constantly. It’s a lifestyle, and it’s a community to grow up around. I feel grateful for having been witness to some pretty outrageous human behavior from a young age. Nothing really shocks me.”

Leslie attests to their complicated home environment, and recalls “stepping over people trying to find my books to go to school.” She became a mother figure to Jenny, taking her little sister to school on her bicycle and making sure she did her homework. Leslie was just a teenager when she put it together that their mother was pushing Jenny’s acting money into buying drugs and, ultimately, selling them. “It was a terrible realization for both Jenny and I to have,” Leslie says. “I give our mom a lot of credit for being resourceful prior to that. We probably wouldn’t be talking to you today if she hadn’t been so inventive and so diligent. But it escalated.”

When Jenny quit acting in her early 20s, Leslie wasn’t surprised. “I remember her finally having the burden lifted off her shoulders, that she didn’t need to support our mom anymore, and she didn’t need to be told what to do anymore—she was free,” Leslie says. “Her agents were calling me, asking ‘What the hell’s going on? We’re booking her in all this stuff.’ It was a big deal for her to walk away. But she had to do it. I think she didn’t want to be saying other people’s words anymore.” Leslie recalls the bubbly dialogue Lewis would have to recite on screen and adds, “That’s just not where she was at in her life.”

Focusing on her own words, Lewis arrived instead at death, disease, loneliness, deflated dreams. Rilo Kiley’s 2002 breakthrough The Execution of All Things opens with a hushed monologue from Lewis about the melting ground. On the title track, she sings genially of a will to “murder what matters to you most and move on to your neighbors and kids.” Disguised by twee album art, Rilo Kiley created an indie rock uncanny valley, a sweet-sung pop moroseness of Morrissey-like proportions.

The centerpiece of Execution is a gritted-teeth fight song called “A Better Son/Daughter.” It bursts from a music-box twinkle to a monumental marching-band wallop, from a depressed paralysis to refurbished self-worth, from “your mother […] calling you insane and high, swearing it’s different this time” to “not giving in to the cries and wails of the Valley below.” In the past, Lewis has rarely discussed how her own biography fits into her songs, but the sense of hard-earned triumph and conviction powering this particular song is unequivocal. When I ask what might have inspired its climax—“But the lows are so extreme/That the good seems fucking cheap”—she simply remarks, “I mean everything I say.”

In 2006, Lewis wrote the fablistic title ballad of her solo masterpiece, Rabbit Fur Coat, to convey the feeling of her story—a mother waitressing on welfare in the Valley, the promise of a working child, a fortune that fades—if not the concrete details, which, she says, don’t really matter. But the haunting “Rabbit Fur Coat” laid her mythology bare. “I became a hundred-thousand-dollar kid/When I was old enough to realize/Wiped the dust from my mother’s eyes,” Lewis sings, the last line quivering into a moment of piercing a capella. “Is all this for that rabbit fur coat?”

I ask Lewis where she thinks her optimism comes from, and she just says “survival.” This summarizes an equation of emotional resilience that more women than not are tasked with solving young. “Jenny has basically been on her own her entire life,” says her best friend, the musician Morgan Nagler. “She’s the definition of buoyant.”

It’s hard to imagine rock in 2019 without Lewis’ radical honesty, without her hyper-lyrical mix of the sweet and the sinister. “In the early 2000s, the really big indie artists were Bright Eyes and Death Cab for Cutie, and Jenny was one of the only women fronting that kind of music,” says Katie Crutchfield, aka Waxahatchee. “But in the next generation after that in indie music, there are so many women. How could she not have been a huge part of that?”

Crutchfield, now an indie figurehead in her own right, says no songwriter has directly influenced her more than Lewis. When she was still a 20-year-old punk living in Alabama, Crutchfield got the cover of The Execution of All Things tattooed prominently on her arm. Lewis’ odd, poppy, poetic songs had a musicality she hadn’t found in punk, but they still spoke to her as an outcast.

Seeing Rilo Kiley play for the first time—at a Birmingham venue she would go on to play herself—was a watershed moment. Crutchfield and her two sisters stood front row center, sang every word, and cried. “It was so huge to see a woman on stage holding a guitar, being powerful but still very feminine,” Crutchfield says. “That was my first foray into seeing that as a possibility for myself.” She recalls the exact outfit Lewis wore that night: red leather skirt, knee socks, T-shirt tucked in, and “a belt that was like a ruler—something you would see on a teacher.”

When Eva Hendricks, singer of sugarrushing New York pop-rock band Charly Bliss, was still in high school, she would spend days writing Lewis’ lyrics in her notebooks over and over, becoming attuned to the virtues of unsparing openness in songwriting. “Listening to that music unlocked something I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to understand about myself,” says Hendricks, who also appreciated how Lewis never downplayed her femininity. She distinctly recalls going to a Lewis record signing around 2014’s The Voyager: “I waited in line and when it got to be my turn, the only thing I could think to say was, ‘I can’t believe that your voice is coming out of a real human being.’”

Harmony Tividad, of Girlpool, was 12 the first time she heard Rilo Kiley, and calls Execution’s “The Good That Won’t Come Out” one of her favorite songs of all time. “That song is more like a diary entry, and vulnerable in this way that feels like a secret,” Tividad says. The unvarnished album opener peaks with Lewis speak-singing, “You say I choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me/Maybe you’re right.”

“I was a really emotional, awkward young person and felt kind of socially trapped,” Tividad, now 23, reflects. “I was a freak. And that song is about exploring all of this stuff inside of yourself that you can’t really show people. It’s about isolation, which I have felt a lot. This music was a soundtrack to that recalibration of personhood. It was very integral in me developing a sense of self.”

Lewis has resided in the quiet show-biz neighborhood of Studio City—which she refers to as “Stud City”—for 11 years. She mentions that her current home is still, technically, located in the Valley, and shoots me a conspiratorial look: “Don’t tell anyone.” There are retro-looking landlines all around the house (cell service is poor), and eye-catching vintage Christmas bulbs strung in the kitchen window. The house was previously owned by the late Disney animator Art Stevens, who worked on Fantasia and Peter Pan. Standing amid dozens of plants in the little green room at the heart of her home, sipping a coconut La Croix, Lewis enthuses about Mort Garson’s obscure 1976 electronic record, called Mother Earth’s Plantasia. The whole place has an air of magic.

Its infrastructure has been unchanged for decades, which stuck out to a location scout for Quentin Tarantino’s upcoming Charles Manson film, who knocked on the door one day and asked to take some photos. He did not return, but his business card is on Lewis’ refrigerator, alongside one from legendary songwriter Van Dyke Parks, and a Bob Dylan backstage pass. The fridge is mostly covered with hospital stickers from when Lewis was visiting her mom, who died of cancer in 2017, and inspired her new song “Little White Dove.”

The other big change in Lewis’ life was the dissolution of her 12-year relationship with singer-songwriter Jonathan Rice—after which, to shake up the energy of the house, Lewis’ friend and photographer Autumn de Wilde painted the walls of her bedroom a striking shade of rose. Directly outside the door is a life-size photo of her best friend Morgan, and the window of her bedroom, spanning the right wall, looks out to a built-in pool. The sill holds carefully arranged objects: ruby slippers, her passport, a candle, a plethora of sunglasses, and a violet notebook labeled “Lewis homework for On the Line.”

Talking with Lewis, the despairing elephant in the room is Ryan Adams, who played on the album. Two weeks before we meet, Adams was accused of sexual misconduct and emotional manipulation from musician Phoebe Bridgers, his ex-wife Mandy Moore, and others, including a woman who was allegedly 14 at the time, prompting a criminal investigation by the FBI. “The allegations are so serious and shocking and really fucked up, and I was so sad on so many levels when I heard,” Lewis tells me. “I hate that he’s on this album, but you can’t rewrite how things went. We started the record together two years ago, and he worked on it—we were in the studio for five days. Then he pretty much bounced, and I had to finish the album by myself.”

“This is part of my lifelong catalog,” Lewis continues. “The album is an extension of that thing that started back at my mom’s house—I had to save myself and my music, and get away from the toxicity. Ultimately, it’s me and my songs. I began in my bedroom with a tape recorder, and it was like my own fantasy world. I’ve taken all these weird turns in my life—with mostly men, sometimes women—but I feel like I’m finally back to that place, which is autonomy.”

Though On the Line features an impressive array of players—Beck, Rolling Stones producer Don Was, Dylan drummer Jim Keltner, literally Ringo Starr—the album marks the first time Lewis has penned an album of songs solo, without co-writers, since Rabbit Fur Coat. “I’m not fully myself when I’m co-writing,” Lewis admits, describing a directness to the songs she’s penned with men, like Rilo Kiley’s “Portions for Foxes,” as opposed to songs she’s written alone, like “Silver Lining.” “With the songs I’ve co-written, it’s almost as if there’s a trimming of the emotional, rambling, poetic hysteria, which is where I live when I’m writing by myself,” Lewis says. “I don’t think of songs structurally. It’s a feeling, and I’m chasing the feeling.”

The cover of On the Line is a close-up of Lewis’ chest in an ornate blue gown. She chose the snapshot intuitively, from a pile of Polaroids taken by de Wilde, and only later recognized it as a deep homage to her mom, who once dressed similarly in Vegas and had an identical mole between her breasts. “Over the years I’ve become more comfortable in my skin,” Lewis says. “It’s funny to feel good in your skin when it’s not quite as tight as it used to be.”

With her voice sounding more refined than ever, On the Line finds Lewis singing about getting head in a black Corvette, feeling “wicked,” and—on the devastatingly delicate “Taffy”—sending nudes to a lover she knows will leave. “There’s a lot of fantasy in my songs,” Lewis tells me. “Sadly, I don’t get that much action. I should have gotten more.” She says she has always written about sex as “character projection,” but when she did so on Rilo Kiley’s final album, 2007’s Under the Black Light, it polarized fans. Lewis recalls one journalist who made a flow chart claiming to correlate the declining quality of the band’s music and the shrinking size of her hot pants. “It was so puritanical,” she says. But as the borders between the underground, mainstream, and genre have broken down, the artists who Lewis inspired are continuing to make space for more expansive expressions of sexuality.

The new record’s sound is warm and sleek, and when Lewis says she listened primarily to Kanye’s recent work while mixing it, I recall yet another wacky tale she shared with me at her house: Once, circa 2008, Lewis chanced upon Kanye at an airport. He played her a cut from 808s and Heartbreaks, and she played him her sprawling psych-rock triptych “The Next Messiah.”

Listening to On the Line, I find myself fixated on “Wasted Youth,” which uses a jaunty piano arrangement to deliver its neatly bleak refrain: “I wasted my youth on a poppy.” Lewis then slyly draws a line from the drugs to our numbing daily realities. When she sings, “Everybody knows we’re in trouble/Doo doo doo doo doo/Candy Crush,” I can feel my phone festering in my palm.

“I feel like that song is more about Candy Crush than heroin, if that’s even fucking possible,” Lewis says. “That’s the fuckin’ end: Candy Crush. It’s terrifying. I feel like my brain has been taken over by one of those weird fungi that grow out of the head of an ant in the rainforest. It’s like we’re spracked out on our Instagrams. It makes me feel like shit even talking about it.”

By the bridge, however, Lewis offers a blunt jolt of hope: “We’re all here, then we’re gone/Do something while your heart is thumping!” That’s a surprisingly heartening sentiment from a songwriter who has referred to herself as “a walking corpse,” who once made a springy emo anthem entitled “Jenny, You’re Barely Alive.”

“I’m in my 40s and something has shifted,” she says, when I ask what she does these days to help herself through. “Maybe you’re more aware of your own mortality, and have the balls to walk away from things, and be untethered, and do the reflection and the hard work—getting your ass out of bed and walking a couple miles, going to the gym, talking to a therapist.”

Lewis says her relationships with her female friends have deepened profoundly in recent years. “Maybe this is what we’re picking up on: the collective consciousness,” she says. “Women are talking to one another more. Reaching out to my girlfriends has helped me through these lessons that keep coming up. It’s the same lesson, where I’m like, ‘How am I in this situation with this fucking person that’s crazy… again? Why am I here and why have I stayed this long?’ And then my girlfriends are there to go: ‘Get the fuck out of there!’” (She is clear that this is not about her relationship with Rice, but rather about other romantic and working partnerships.)

I tell Lewis that these get-me-out predicaments remind me of her own song, “Godspeed,” from 2008’s Acid Tongue, which I had been revisiting quite a bit lately—a golden-hour piano ballad from one woman to another, a paean to “keep the lighthouse in sight,” to get “up and out of his house,” because “no man should treat you like he do.” “I wrote that for my friend,” Lewis says. “But maybe I wrote it for myself now.”

By the end of my time at Lewis’ house, the sun has set and we’re sitting in near total darkness, save for the neon pink glow of one of her many landlines. “You have to make a choice to be happy, or try to be,” Lewis insists. “Sometimes that involves moving away from people that you love, or that hurt you, or that are toxic. You have to find your bliss in life, right?”

I almost can’t believe that the same woman who provided me with my personal millennial-burnout anthems is asking me about unfettered joy—the artist who wrote the lyrics “I do this thing where I think I’m real sick, but I won’t go to the doctor to find out about it” and “I’m a modern girl but I fold in half so easily when I put myself in the picture of success” and “It must be nice to finish when you’re dead.” But I nod; it’s true.

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