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lifeofkaze · 3 years ago

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When Stars Ignite - Chapter 39

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: David Willows belongs to @that-scouse-wizard

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language

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Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch @anthamariemayfair

I thought that we would build this together

But everything I touch just seems to break

Am I your sail or your anchor?

Am I the calm or the hurricane?

~ Rise Against - House On Fire ~

Ever since their confrontation on the tour bus, Lizzie and Orion had spoken even less than before.

Lizzie had granted Orion his wish and had done everything in her power to avoid him as best as she could. But every time she found herself taking the long way to avoid him or leaving a scene because he entered it, she worked herself deeper into a state of simmering anger.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was more angry at, his attitude or that she was pathetic enough to play this ridiculous game of his.

As a result, the few words she still had left for him were becoming more brusque by the day. It had come to a point where none of their friends even tried mediating between them anymore; no one knew them to be snappy and they had decided it would be better to not get caught in the middle.

The tension hanging in the air was close to a boiling point; if there was any laughter or banter shared backstage, Lizzie didn’t know of it. Her constant bad mood was filtering everything remotely enjoyable out of her surroundings and left her with nothing but her anger.

The situation with Orion had started to impact not only her own performance, but the overall quality of their shows. While things had still been going relatively smoothly in Belfast, everyone had to improvise one time or another to gloss over their mistakes; it was a normal practise and could happen on stage anytime, but not as often as it did these days.

When they had arrived in Dublin, it had quickly gone downhill from there; the amount of mistakes had doubled, their blind understanding built on years of practise all but gone.

Orion and Lizzie were the worst off; Orion was missing his cues, forcing all of them to adapt as quickly as possible, and Lizzie found her rhythm off more often than she liked to admit.

The last show they had been playing had been a disaster; so much so that Ethan had gathered them all in one of the dressing rooms after they had left the stage.

“Listen up, team,” he said. “I don’t know what the problem is, and I’m not even sure I want to know. But whatever it is, it has to stop. Only because the budget for our next production is safe doesn’t mean we can allow ourselves to slack. It’s only one stop until Glasto and I want you to be at your peak. Nothing comes of nothing, so get the fuck over yourselves and stop doing bullshit on stage. You’re professionals after all.”

He gave them a warning look and left them to themselves; the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees after the door had closed behind him.

“Dad’s got a point,” Skye sighed into the ensuing silence. “Hate to say it but we’re getting worse with each show. That last one yesterday? Don’t think I’ve ever played so shitty before. We’re in more shambles than the Gallagher brothers in a piss up. We gotta pull ourselves together. Our fans deserve better.”

“I agree,” Orion said tersely, “our fans had to endure a lot of drama. It’s only fair to make up for it with the best performance we could possibly give.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes at his words; as if it was that easy.

“It would be a lot easier to perform better if some people in this band would put aside their airs and graces and do their job properly,” she shot in Orion’s direction.

“There’s two sides to every coin,” he said and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I could do my job if you didn’t constantly mess up your timing. It’s no one’s fault but yours if your rhythm is off, so perhaps try shouldering your own responsibility instead of looking for blame elsewhere.”

His tone was sharper than Lizzie had ever heard it before, but before she could get the chance to retaliate, Orion had already stood up and left the room.

All eyes were darting to Lizzie, but she just stared after him. Her face was pale but quickly changed colour from white to red as her surprise at being so openly attacked made way for anger.

She cursed so violently it even made Skye blink in surprise. She would not have Orion say something like that to her face and get away with it.

She was almost by the door when David reached her, trying to hold her back.

“Come on, Lizzie, forget about it. He didn’t mean it. We’re all a little tense right now, let’s just calm down and work things out.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder but Lizzie shook it off angrily.

“We’re going to work things out alright. But the fuck I’m going to calm down first.”

Ignoring the worried looks of her friends, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

***

Orion hadn’t gone far when he heard a door being slammed shut and the quick sounds of footsteps immediately after.

He closed his eyes in resignation; he’d known Lizzie’s steps under a thousand, and the quick staccato of them didn’t promise anything good, either. She quickly caught up with him and lost no time to vent her anger.

“Who the fuck do you think you are,” she snapped at him, her eyes flashing dangerously.

It wasn’t only what he had said just in the dressing room now which was fuelling her fury; Orion had seen her frustration grow over the last couple of days, building on itself each time they had been forced to be near each other.

If anyone had told him a few weeks ago how they would be at each other’s throats, he would have laughed in their faces.

Lizzie had already opened her mouth to continue, but Orion interrupted her before she could say another word.

“I understand you’re furious, but keeping a level head for a change would become you,” he said coolly. “People might ask questions if they hear you scream at me.”

Humiliating her wasn’t what he had aimed at back in the dressing room at all, but his emotions had gotten the better of him once again.

“Fine then,” Lizzie said tersely and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along behind her.

After they were out of earshot of the dressing room, Lizzie opened the next best door and shoved him inside; it was a large storage room, filled to the brim with old costumes, music stands and ancient sound equipment.

“Here you go,” she hissed, “no one’s listening anymore.”

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” Orion said.

Lizzie’s aggressive energy was unsettling him; she had been all kinds of annoyed over the last days, but it wasn’t like her to be so furious.

Orion tried to step around her to get back to the door, but Lizzie quickly moved into his way, keeping him from the only way out of the room and the conversation he didn’t want to have.

“I think this is absolutely necessary,” she replied, her voice dangerously calm. “Now, if you were so kind to enlighten me as to what the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

Her voice was picking up volume until she was almost shouting at him.

Orion crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked away from her.

“What makes you think something might be wrong?”

“Wait, let me think,” Lizzie said acidly. “Maybe the fact that you’ve been acting like the king of jerks since Manchester? Yeah, I think that might have given me the impression.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have no idea what you’re talking about. ”

“Haven’t you?” Lizzie scoffed. “How about blatantly ignoring me for days on end? How about leaving every time I join a conversation as if the devil himself was after you? How about publicly blaming me for messing up when it’s you not picking up on my cues because you can’t even get over yourself to look at me?”

She stopped and took a deep breath to keep herself from shouting again.

“I thought we had agreed to end this civilly.”

Feeling called out by her accusations, Orion’s jaw clenched.

“That was before you started prancing around Charlie like a silly little girl. I thought you were better than that.”

“Me, prancing around? And Charlie of all people?”

Lizzie looked at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears and her laugh was sharp and bitter.

“Listen now, and listen closely, for I will not repeat this again,” she said. “For one, Charlie and I are friends, and just friends, for fuck’s sake. As you know very well, Charlie is in a very happy relationship with another one of my friends. But it’s good to know you’re taking me for being that type of girl - at least now I know where I stand with you.”

“And secondly,” she hissed, “if I recall correctly, it’s you getting all comfortable and cosy with the prettiest of our fans night after night after night, not me.”

She had come closer while talking and stabbed her index finger into his chest.

“If one of us is acting ridiculous, it’s definitely not me.”

Orion turned around and took several steps away from her. He raked his fingers through his hair, distressed by the badly subdued anger in her voice. It seemed to poison the air of the room, making it difficult for him to breathe.

But Lizzie had a point and Orion knew it; every time one of the girls at their meet & greets was trying to flirt with him, instead of turning them down like he usually would, Orion let them.

He never took them back to his room, but he knew Lizzie was watching him. He wanted to get under her skin, driven by a childish flare of jealousy whenever he saw her with Charlie or David; apparently, his mission had been successful.

Knowing this didn’t make Orion feel any better, though; on the contrary, the rage that he had been carrying inside him since the night Everett had left the band was boiling under his skin, threatening to spill over.

He took a deep breath to center himself, but Lizzie interrupted his thoughts; taking his prolonged silence as a refusal to talk, she pressed him further.

“You’re absolutely not going to ignore me now,” she said and stood next to him. “I’m not leaving until we’ve settled this once and for all. I’m sick and tired of your attitude. You walked out on me, so stop acting like a hurt little snowflake and man up to your decisions.”

Despite his best efforts, Orion’s brow furrowed; her words got to him more than he cared to admit. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?

“Walked out on you?” he asked over his shoulder. “As far as I remember, there was nothing I could have walked out of. You made it very clear that was off the cards for us.”

His voice was strained now and he prayed she wouldn’t push him further, but of course she did.

“We both agreed it was a physical thing, nothing more. Don’t you dare put the blame on me.”

There was something else beneath her angry tone now, but Orion couldn’t make out what it was. He pressed his lips together, wishing she would just stop. He didn’t want to say the words burning on the tip of his tongue; it would mean there was no going back, not ever.

Growing impatient, Lizzie grabbed his wrist to make him face her. “Look at me!”

When he felt her touch, something in Orion snapped. He wheeled around, the sudden motion making Lizzie take a step back in surprise.

“You want to know what my problem is?” he said, louder than he’d meant to. “Fine, I’ll let you know. I love you! Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?”

All the colour drained from Lizzie’s face, and he instantly regretted his words.

Lizzie just stood there, blinking rapidly, the look on her face incredulous as she tried to process what Orion had just said; all her anger had seeped out of her from one moment to the other, and all the fight had left her body. She looked incredibly small and vulnerable.

“What?”

Her voice had reduced to a whisper, all kinds of emotions flickering across her ashen face.

Orion, on the other hand, just felt empty.

“I’m in love with you,” he said again. Deeply distraught, he closed his eyes and brushed his hair out of his face.

“I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t bear looking at Lizzie any longer; he had to leave while his mind was still in shock about what he had just spoken out loud. He had always prided himself on being calm and collected, and had now spilled his heart in a rush of anger.

Orion didn’t want to see her reaction or hear her words, he just wanted to get out. He was afraid that whatever she might say would shatter what little was left of his heart which wasn’t firmly in her hands already.

Without another look at her, he stepped past her and left the old storage room.

He needed to be alone.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #lizzie jameson #rockstar au #when stars ignite #besties collaborate #dun dun dun

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words-for-holland · 4 years ago

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Happier (4) | T.H.

Summary: Y/N & Tom speak to each other for the first time in 3 weeks! Tom is in talks of doing a new movie. Lots of yelling, painful pictures being sent. Harrison and Harry go on a trip. Does Kate finally tell the truth to Y/N?

A/N: Hmmm....seems like Natalie & Matt is everyone’s favorite/hated suspects. More theories lets hear em!!!

Sanctuary

Its a word often used to protect those within a troubling world. For some it’s a church, a home, sometimes a family and friend. For Y/N and Tom, sanctuaray was no where to be found. Three weeks it’s been since the world felt like it collapsed on Y/N and Tom. Three weeks of feeling left in a troubling space that they could not get out of...until now. As soon as they heard each other’s voices on the phone, it gave them a moment of relief, but only for a moment.

“So...how are you?” Tom asks nervously. He wanted to pick his words out carefully in hopes that he wouldn’t upset her.

“Im okay.” Y/N responds quietly as she looks back at her phone. No message yet, maybe she was in the clear and that gave her a small boost of confidence. It was going to be okay. “How about you?” She asks back, not really sure how to carry the conversation. In any case, how does one continue talking to an ex without making it awkward? Let alone how does one talk to someone without the fear of being blackmailed.

“Yeah Im great...really great.” Tom lies and chuckles nervously.

Y/N could tell by the tone of his voice how nervous he was. A habit she always found to be adorable for him. Y/N rolled her eyes with a slight smile before she questions him in a serious tone “Why did you call Tom?”

Tom closes his eyes, letting out a stressed sigh. “I miss you Y/N and I dont care what you say or what you said to me that night, but this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I miss you too but things happen beyond our control, Tom. Sometimes it just can’t be helped.” Y/N responds nonchalantely, staring at her phone again. No messages still.

“Thats a load of bullshit and you know it. We were supposed to get through anything. Fuck the rumors fuck everything! This isn’t like you Y/N!” Tom vents out every feeling and thought he had since she left. “You say you miss me but then what are we doing? Why are we continuing to hurt ourselves like this?”

Y/N shakes her head, knowing deep down the reason why but could never say. Not unless she wanted to ruin his dream. She could never. “It’s not that simple.” She croaked.

“We would have found a way to get through it, but you gave up so easily. I know for a fact my Y/N never gave up without a fight.”

Y/N looks again at her phone, and no messages were to be found. Maybe she could tell him, and they wouldnt know, but Y/N knew better. Somewhere out there there was someone always watching her every move. “I cant do this right now. Goodbye Tom.” Y/N hangs up as she continues to cry herself to sleep. So much for sanctuary.

Its the morning after, and as Y/N heads downstairs, she hears soft laughter and conversations echoing through the halls. For a second it almost sounded like Tom’s, and she hurried toward the room only to be disappointed. In the living room was Matt and Kate as they made small talk awaiting for Y/N’s arrival.

“Y/N! You’re awake!” Kate exclaims as she gets up from the seat to give her a hug. “Look who decided to drop by!”

Matt looked up at Y/N and gives her a shy smile and wave. He’s dressed in his navy blue LBI shirt and cream colored shorts. It was typical high school Matt...nothing had changed with him.

“Yes I see that....I’m sorry did we have plans and I forgot?” Y/N asked confused.

“No actually uh I invited him over because I knew you wanted to catch up with him after last week..so I pulled some strings.” Kate whispers.

“You..what?” Y/N asked annoyed, her eyes glaring and her brows furrowed. If there was one thing Y/N hated it was blind dates. She had stressed that over and over throughout the years that she hated it, especially with people she used to have romantic feelings for. The keyword..USED.

“Cmon Y/N. Remember this was the time for you to move on and forget. Plus you wouldn’t want to send him away after he came here just to see you!” Kate tries her best to sell it, she had to...there’s wasnt really a choice.

Y/N looked back at Matt and groaned silently to her best friend. “Fine I’ll go, but this is the last blind date you’re ever setting me up on AND you’re doing the dishes.” She emphasized as she got ready and grabbed her purse.

To say Y/N was surprised was an understatment. For sure, she had a feeling this was going to be awkward in so many ways like any other first dates, but this...wasn’t too bad. Though she realized it wasn’t a date this was just two old friends catching up from the past.

She learned a lot about him and how his younger brother Steven was working on becoming an engineer and how his little sister Emily was also grown up and working towards becoming a physical therapist. As for Matt, he was working in the city too as an accountant for a finance firm. While they continued to eat their lunch at Chelsea’s Market, she couldn’t help but make the comparisons.

Matt didn’t dress up like Tom, didnt make her laugh like Tom does, didnt make her blush the way Tom does, didnt smile like Tom, and when he touched her hand...she didnt feel the goosebumps the way Tom would. It was clear. He wasn’t Tom and could never be Tom.

The date came to a close, but Y/N hadn’t really gathered much from it since she was so focused on Tom. Every word Matt had said to her barely made it through. She’d be lying if she didnt say the date was okay but she’d be lying even more if she had said she’d enjoy it.

She looked into his blue eyes as he looked into hers. Matt tried to lean forward to give her a kiss, but Y/N moved away. She couldnt. Not when Tom was still present in her thoughts and her mind. “Im sorry...I just got out of a serious relationship and well —” Y/N whispers feeling guilt in her heart.

“No no. It’s fine really. Maybe I was too forward with this and I had no idea....I’m sorry.” Matt laughs, feeling heavily disappointed. “I’ll uhh I’ll see you around?” Y/N nods as she waves him goodbye.

The next day, Tom wakes up in his bed still praying that this whole phase was just a nightmare he’s still having trouble waking up from. Today was not that day. He got up and dressed appropiately knowing that today would be a meeting for his upcoming project. He had forgotten all about it especially with everything going on. When he arrived and entered the room with Harrison, Natalie also appeared sitting in one of the chairs with a smile and coffee on hand.

“Jesus you’re like everywhere now.” Harrison speaks out taking the seat across from her, while Tom takes the seat next to Harrison.

“Well I mean I do live with you guys temporarily until my flat gets fixed, and I did get cast in the same movie as Tom.” She laughs pointing out the obvious.

Tom looked up, his eye wide open and brows raised. He completely forgot the fact that she was going to be playing his love interest for the film. He tried to recall if he had told Y/N about it before and if maybe that’s why she was also mad. Maybe if he told her now, that would make her feel better? Tom was lost in his thoughts he didnt hear the other publicists in the room calling out to him. “Tom are you listening?”

Harrison quickly hits his best friend to wake him up from his thoughts. “Huh? Uh..no sorry.” Tom confesses, looking down at the table.

The publicists, both roll their eyes in annoyance. “We’re telling you that you need to do a lot of PR for this movie in order to boost the sales, and recoginition for both you and Natalie. This means..you’re going to have to pretend you’re in a relationship for some time.”

Tom and Harrison are now fully attentive and furious. “What?! Im not doing PR for this. That is low for the both of us. We shouldnt have to fake a relationship to get our work across” Tom yells out fury burning in his brown eyes.

“I know Tom, but no one watches it for the films nowadays it’s about the image, and right now we’re trying to help both of yours and Natalie’s. You’ve been looking liek a depressed bloke this past month and Natalie is trying to get some exposure in the business.” The publicists expalin. “Harrison, help us out here.”

“Look mate, Im just his assistant. It’s up to Tom if he wants to do this or not.” Harrison speaks out as he points to his best friend. He faces Tom and whispers, “You don’t have to do this mate, there are other projects out there.”

Tom nods, as he looks at the room of people. He closes his eyes, but all he could see was Y/N. Deep down, Tom knew he couldnt do this to her. “I..I don’t think I can do this.”

Natalie and the publicists’ eyes shot up in fear, unhappy with the response given. They knew there was only one thing they could do now. “Ah I understand. It’s because of a girl isn’t?” Natalie’s publicist speaks out. Tom looks at her and then down at the table, as he slowly nods his head. “Yes well Natalie’s told me all about her. Seems like a bright girl, but believe Tom she doesn’t love you as much as you thought she did.”

Tom’s eyes dart towards the publicist as his eyes continue to stare down in anger. He was angry, pissed off that they could ever make that assumption. “Fuck you! You don’t know anything!” His tone set in anger.

“Oh..but we do. See you think Y/N is remaining as faithful as you after a breakup, but why is she already out with another guy.” The publicist continues. She hands her phone to Tom as he swipes through the pictures of Y/N and Matt’s date. He saw Y/N smile at Matt, laugh with him, and touch his shoulder. Yet, the one picture that broke him the most was the one where Matt almost kissed Y/N. While Tom didn’t know the backstory, he could very well imagine how it went. Everything in him shattered, and his eyes started to well up.

“Mate..there’s gotta be an explanation for all of this. Y/N wouldn’t move on from you that quickly. You know her..she wouldn’t. This is all rubbish.” Harrison tried to reason to his heartbroken best friend. For once, he couldn’t rule out Natalie. She didn’t blackmail Y/N, someone else did.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Tom grumbles as he gets up and walks away.

The world was quiet for the next two days, and it almost seemed like a break from all of it. Back in the New York, Y/N was minding her own business in the apartment with Kate, when she got a text message.

Unknown

Answer the next phone call. ❤️

Y/N’s phone rings and it’s Tom. Her hands are shaking, afraid of what was going to happen. “Y/N.” Tom says shortly, tone filled with disappointment.

“Tom” Y/N replies, her voice shaking.

This wasn’t sanctuary anymore. This was hell.

“Tell me it’s not true.” Tom speaks out, needing to hear the truth. “Did you go out with another guy?”

Y/N hesistated for a moment, unsure of what to say. She could either lie or tell the truth but it didnt matter at this point she was fucked either way. “Yes.” She breathes out. “But — ”

“It’s not what I think? Right?” His tone getting louder. “So it’s okay for you to judge me with Natalie, but not okay for me to judge you with some bloke you’re with?”

“Matt is my friend and I had no choice in that matter!” Y/N yells out, unhappy with how Tom was confronting her.

“Did he threaten you?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, not him but someone was threatening her. “No.”

“Then you did have a choice.”

As soon as Y/N was going to speak, she got a new message. This time it was a picture from Unknown. One of Tom and Natalie getting cozy as they walked out of a building. Natalie was smiling and Tom had his arms wrapped around her shoulder. “Yeah, guess you made yours too with Natalie.”

Tom was in shock, did she know about the him and Natalie. “Y/N it’s not what you —”

“What? What I think? Yeah that makes two of us, but you want to make assumptions? Fine. You look like you already moved on yourself, but moving on with a girl you know I can’t stand...that’s an all time low for you.” Y/N hangs up and throws her phone across the room. Kate quickly comes to comfort her best friend.

“He...he moved on.” She sobbed quietly in Kate’s arms.

“I know...it’s going to be okay.” Kate whispers. Tears started to also fall on Kate’s eyes as she saw how much pain her best friend was in. She looked at her phone and quickly deleted the pictures she had taken of Y/N and Matt. “Im so sorry. I..have to tell you something.”

Y/N had fallen fast asleep, exhausted from crying. Just when Kate was ready to tell the truth...the door rang.

“Kate!” Harrison and Harry said spoke out in relief as they hugged her.

“Hey..what are you guys doing here?” She asked surprised but also relieved.

Harrison and Harry looked at each. “We want to help find out the truth.”

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl @ifilosemyselfagain @hevjadams @averyfosterthoughts @fangirl-with-a-mission @drishtisikarwar @eridanuswave @ifntelyinspirit @trumpettay @astridcommings @parkershoco

#tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader

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lamiasluck · 5 years ago

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Jailbird

Summary: After a particularly bad adventure, Illinois finds himself in a tough spot. He got arrested. So him, being the man that can't be cooped up, decides to plan his escape. However, fate has decided that he doesn't deserve something that easy. So his plans hit a bump in the road when he accidentally pisses off a certain prisoner.

Characters: Yancy & Illinois

Warnings: Minor violence and fights

Words: 1719

Read on AO3!

Chapter Two Chapter Three

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

It was because he panicked. He panicked and now look what happened.

Illinois got arrested.

It was something stupid, truly. Oh, he shouldn’t trespass here! Oh, this is a government protected historical sight. Oh, stop resisting!

Bullshit. An adventurer like him shouldn’t be held down like that.

They took everything, absolutely everything. His clothes, his treasures, his dignity as a well-known adventurer. Even his hat, his goddamn hat. How could they disgrace him so? At this point he knew that Lady Luck screwed him over. But it didn’t matter what he thinks, what mattered was how he was going to fix this.

Illinois scanned his surroundings to try to spark ideas. There were lots of people - criminals - that eyed him like children to a fish tank. Lots of security, too, there was no way he could escape without losing an arm here. Alone, at least. The security looked tough, but the prisoners had their fair amount of strength by the looks of it. Either way… Illinois was probably going to charm one or the other.

First, Illinois looked around for the “leader”. Every scene like this had one, even the toughest guy had to respect someone. He looked around for the brooding ones. Tatoos, scars, the whole nine yards. As intimidating as those guys were, Illinois was surprised with everyone flocking to some random guy. Sure, he looked pretty tough, not as tough looking as others though, and not as harsh on the eyes as Illinois assumed he’d be.

“So I heard there’s a new guy in ‘ere?” the man asked, voice booming over the sea of prisoners. Immediately everyone looked at Illinois. Yep, this was definitely the leader.

The man paced slowly to Illinois, crossing his arms while puffing out his chest. He even had a different aura than the other prisoners. He was clearly in charge and knew that fact very well. Illinois kept his face neutral as the man stood in front of him.

“Allow me to give youse a warm welcome.” He opened his arms and gestured to everyone else. “I’m Yancy, glad to meet ya.”

“Name’s Illinois, it’s a pleasure. However, I’m afraid I can’t stay for too long,” he explained, quirking an eyebrow at Yancy’s confused expression.

“Why’s that?”

“Adventure calls, my friend~” No one reacted to his charming attitude. At least, no good reactions. “There’s been a mistake, I’m afraid. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh come on! It’s not so bad ‘ere. Youse are gonna fit right in.” The prisoners began to exchange suspicious looks amongst each other before staring at Illinois again. They fidgeted while Yancy talked.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t understand.” Illinois’ composure cracked. “I can’t be kept here. They can’t keep someone like me here!”

“Well… what ‘someone’ are youse?” Yancy’s tone turned cold and in an instant the other prisoners glared at him. Illinois glanced between all of their hostile gazes, like a pack of wolves to a rabbit. Looks like he upset the pack leader.

He caught himself panicking again. If panicking in his adventure got him in jail, who knows what could happen if he panicked here? He certainly wasn’t charming the prisoners at this rate.

“I mean no offense, Yancy.” Illinois raised his hands as if he were surrendering. “I’m just an adventurer, a thrillseeker, if you will. I’m sure this place is as charming as you say, but it’s just not for me.”

“Oh, I see…” Yancy turned to the others, smiling like the Chesire cat. A simple chuckle from him sent the group in fits of laughter. “We gots ourselves one of ‘em freebirds, yeah?”

“I guess you could say that.” Illinois ignored everyone’s judging looks, stepping closer to Yancy and leaning in. “I was hoping you could help free this bird,” he whispered.

Yancy laughed again. “As if,” he sneered.

Illinois huffed, but still cracked a tight smile. “Is that how’s it’s going to be, jailbird?” He tilted his head, which caused Yancy to scowl. “Then don’t worry about me. I’ll find another way out of here.” He turned on his heels to saunter off, only for Yancy to grab him by the shoulders and turn him around again.

“Youse think you’re so special, yeah? Well, hate to break it to youse,” Yancy pretended to ponder to himself, “No, actually I’d love to break it to youse! You’re no better than any other scumbag in ‘ere.” He shoved Illinois away from him, the adventurer stumbled but caught himself. “And if I gotta show you,” he went into a fighting stance, “I’m more than happy to welcome youse.”

Illinois’ eyes widen. The other prisoners began to cheer and encourage Yancy’s actions. He raised his hands up again in a surrendering gesture. “I’m not here to fight.”

“Then you’re here to get beaten up.”

Illinois was never one for fights, as shown by his unsure movements and seconds too late reactions. It was surprising how often his personality got him out of trouble. Though, Lady Luck really must hate him today.

Illinois fell to the ground after a hard hit to the jaw. He groaned and clutched his face, barely registering the chorus of laughs above him. Yancy snickered and turned his back to face the crowd.

“All bark, no bite.” Admittedly, he had his fair amount of bruises and cuts, but he was still standing. He ran his tongue over his busted lip as he reveled in the other’s impressed cheers. He tasted bitter blood and sweet victory at the same time.

A deep frown was plastered on Illinois’ face as he stared up at Yancy through a bruised eye. He clenched his fists. Even if Illinois was never good with fights, he was always resourceful.

Yancy fell to the ground with a yelp when Illinois landed a sharp kick to his shins. Before he could react, Illinois dug his knee into his chest and punched him. “I’m not done yet, jailbird,” Illinois growled at the dazed prisoner. He never let Yancy recover as he threw punch after punch. “I am getting out of here. One way or another.” He raised his hand once more, only to be abruptly grabbed from behind.

“Now what is going on here?!” the warden called out from within the crowd. The guard that grabbed Illinois’ arm pulled him up and twisted his arms behind his back in a painful angle. Yancy received the same treatment, staring fearfully as the warden slowly approached.

“Let me go-!” Illinois gasped.

“Well what do we have here?” The warden stood in front of Illinois. “You just shown up and you’re already starting fights?” He shook his head.

“He started it,” he replied, glaring at Yancy.

“Now that’s not a surprise…” the warden sighed and turned on his heels. Yancy continued to cower in his presence. “What have I told you, boy? You can’t keep doing this.”

“W-Warden,” Yancy stuttered, “Youse don’t understand I-”

“Send him to solitary!” Immediately the guard escorted Yancy out of the room, ignoring his desperate pleads. The warden turned back to Illinois and pointed at him. “And you.”

Illinois swallowed the lump in his throat, breathing heavily.

“You’re going to get a warning, new guy.” He gave him a hard pat on the shoulder and gripped harshly. “But if I ever, and I mean ever, hear another peep outta you… well, you won’t want to hear the punishment. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded frantically.

“Take him to his cell.”

This jail must love to surprise Illinois. His cell was oddly homey upon first glance. Besides the dull grey walls, it was decorated like a cheap hotel room, which was more than he could expect. There was even a small TV in the corner! Still, Illinois ignored it all in favour for rest. His head throbbed in pain. At least the guards had the decency to give him bandaids and cleaned the blood. There was a bunk bed that Illinois gladly hopped up on top of. The bed creaked which only added to his growing headache.

The silence was killing him.

A pained groan was the only sound in the confined room. Illinois covered his eyes with his arm and tried to get some sleep. The gravity of the situation was like a boulder crushing every fibre of his being. Even thinking about staying cooped up away from society - away from adventure - was hell.

He doesn’t keep track of how long he slept, but eventually he hears the cell door unlock and someone shuffle in. A cellmate was a thought that barely crossed his mind, but he had no energy to complain.

“Youse got a deathwish? That’s my bunk,” a familiar voice said.

Oh, fuck.

Illinois cracked one eye open and, yep, Yancy stood before him with that same pissed off look. At this point he was surprised that a laugh track didn’t start playing at his misfortune. While he didn’t have enough energy to complain about his situation, he did have the energy to be snarky.

“I didn’t realize I was dealing with prison royalty here,” Illinois grumbled. “Why don’t you take the bottom bunk tonight? Less work for you.” He covered his eyes again and pretended to ignore the fuming prisoner.

“Why don’t you sleep in a ditch? Youse ain’t gonna last one more day with this shitty attitude.” Yancy snapped.

“I don’t care…”

Yancy blinked in surprise. “What?”

“I said, I don’t care,” He uncovered his eyes briefly to glare at Yancy, but quickly laid back down. “We already fought. Just sleep for god’s sake.”

Yancy stood dumbfounded. As much as he wanted to argue back, he was quite tired as well. All the bandages in the world didn’t help him stop swaying from nausea, nor did it help in in the dark cramped room of solitary. So he frowned and collapsed on the bottom bunk. Just for today, of course, because no new guy was going to boss him around like that.

“I won, by the way,” Yancy huffed, glaring at the top bunk as if Illinois could see him.

“Tell yourself that, jailbird. Maybe you’ll sleep better.” Illinois grunted when he suddenly felt Yancy kick his bed. This was going to be a long and excruciating adventure…

#Yancy #illinois #ahwm #markiplier #markiplier egos #fanfic

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companionjones · 5 years ago

Text

Love In The City

Pairings: Seth Meyers x Stefon, Leslie Jones x Colin Jost

Fandom: Saturday Night Live

Summary: Some friends go out for drinks, but a conflict erupts.

Warnings: Curses, Leslie Jones, many sexual references

*******

“Jeez, it’s almost been an hour. Where are they?” Michael Che questioned Amy Poehler.

She shrugged, “Who knows? Maybe they finally killed each other.”

“Oh, shut up you sensual snow storm on Christmas day,” Leslie Jones complimented Colin Jost as the two of them entered the bar.

Che commented upon spotting the couple, “Nope. Haven’t killed each other yet. S’up, Colin?” he greeted his friend.

“S’up, Che?” Colin returned, using the same tone that Michael did. Which, let’s just say, wasn’t Colin’s usual style.

Michael put a stop to it. “No. No. Stop that now.”

Colin winced, “Yeah, sorry.”

Leslie and Colin took their seats at the table Amy and Michael were at.

“Sorry we’re late, guys.” Leslie explained, “We were busy doing some paddy whack.” She smirked at her partner.

Colin cleared his throat and tried to hide his blush. “Come on, Leslie. They don’t need to know about that.”

Leslie smacked her lips. “Oh baby, you know Mama’s just excited. She wants the whole world to know that we do the do, you white, sexy version of Urkel.”

More to himself than anyone else, Colin mumbled, “Why Urkel?”

Amy Poehler decided to change the subject. “So Leslie, how are you doing since you left SNL?”

“Oh, I’m doing great, Amy. I have this new audio series coming out with John Cena.”

Michael nodded, “Yeah, I heard about that. What’s it about?”

“I’m telling you, gorgeous,” a new voice entered the bar. “This place has everything: hobos, orphans, that fitted sheet you just can’t get to stay on your bed.”

The strange man’s husband, Seth Meyers reasoned, “Okay, we can go there later tonight. But let’s just hang out with our friends for now.”

Stefon agreed, “Sure, but we have to get there soon, they close as soon as their owner, Sarah Silverman’s vagina, gets arrested. And, trust me, it’s coming.”

Meyers nodded vaguely to respond to his husband while they took their seats. “Hey guys, hey Amy,” he addressed the others at the table, “How’s everyone been?”

They all gave their answers, then everyone ordered.

“So,” began Amy, “Stefon, I heard you’re getting back into writing. Any projects yet?”

“No,” was Seth’s immediate, dismissive answer.

Stefon contradicted, “Yes, actually.”

“Oh,” Michael tried to encourage, “What is it?”

“You don’t want to know,” warned Seth.

The former tourism correspondent replied, “It’s this flick about two step-brothers trying to find their way as they moved to the city together.”

Michael endorsed, “That doesn’t sound bad at all. Seth, why are you so stressed about that?”

The late night show host bluntly answered, “It’s a porno,” just before taking a sip from his coffee.

Amy and Michael voiced their sudden distaste.

“Well,” encouraged Leslie, almost pervertedly, “Don’t stop there.”

Colin hesitantly agreed, “Yeah. I’d like to know how fast it goes from that to...porn.”

Jones turned her head to Jost. “Shut up,” she instructed without batting an eye.

“Oh, thank God,” Amy sighed, “Food’s here.”

The six ate in silence for a minute or two before conversation started up again. Luckily, the atmosphere wasn’t as hostile as it had been before.

“Remember that, Che?” Colin laughed, “It smelled so bad!”

Michael chuckled, “You don’t have to remind me. I felt bad for Aidy and Kate. They were the one’s holding it.”

Everyone had stories to tell.

Amy, for instance, couldn’t catch her breath at one point because she was laughing too hard. “And...and Lorne hadn’t even shown up yet, but we were all losing it because of that stupid newscaster skit.”

“We didn’t even end up doing it!” exclaimed Seth in a fit of laughter.

Meanwhile, as everyone else was giggling, Leslie leaned over to Stefon. “I hate when they start talking like this. It’s like they all have some sort of bond because they were all anchors on Weekend Update.”

“I know,” Stefon rolled his eyes, “You should see Seth when we get home. He brings up things that are wildly different from the actual subject of the conversation.”

Leslie nodded, “I get what you’re saying. You know what? We don’t need this. You know any good clubs near here?”

“I know plenty,” assured Stefon.

The two got up to leave.

“Whoa, wait. Where are you guys going?” questioned Colin.

Stefon answered enthusiastically, “We’ve had enough of your bullshit!”

“What?” Seth disputed.

Michael bewilderedly repeated, “Bullshit?”

“Yeah!” Articulated Leslie, “If you ‘Weekend Update’-ers want to keep carrying on like good ol’ pals, that’s fine with us. We’ll be out actually enjoying ourselves. I am a strong, independent, fine black woman. I do not need to take this!”

Stefon exclaimed, “Yeah!” as if every word Leslie said applied to him.

The two outlandish characters left the bar.

“Oh no,” Colin worriedly voiced.

Seth sighed. He was used to that particular situation. “Come on, let’s go after them.”

“What? No,” disagreed Amy, “They freaked out for no reason. They’re in the wrong here.”

Both Colin and Seth got out of their seats--much to Amy and Michael’s surprise.

Jost swallowed, “I don’t know...Were we too rude? Should we have included them more?”

Seth put his arm on Colin’s shoulder to try and council the man. “Hey. We don’t worry about that stuff now. What we do now is we go after them.”

Colin nodded, “Okay.”

“Why?” wondered a confused Michael Che. “Why would you go after them? Come to think of it, why even be in a relationship with them in the first place?”

Colin Jost was suddenly protective of his girlfriend, “Listen, Che--”

“Whoa there,” Seth almost had to hold Colin back. “Sorry guys, but we have to go. Let’s do this again.” Meyers paid for everyone, then he and Jost were out of there.

Out on the street, Jost turned to the more experienced man when it came to dating crazy people. “How the hell are going to find them? Do you have any ideas where Leslie and Stefon would go?”

“Hang on.” Seth stopped to think. “Let’s see. Stef was pissed, and when he’s pissed he wants to dance...He was in a tequila and Pepsi Fire mood...We’re on 43rd and 6th...Duck!”

Colin immediately plunged his whole body downward. “What?! Why?!”

“No, ‘Duck!’ The club. I know where they are.” Seth hailed a cab.

Ten minutes later, Seth and Colin pulled Stefon and Leslie out of the EDM club.

“Okay, okay! We’re out. What do you boys want?” Stefon took a sip from a drink of his own invention.

Leslie was less compliant. “Get your hands of me,” she ordered.

Colin backed off.

“Look, guys. We’re sorry,” conceded Seth.

Stefon played dumb. “Sorry about what?”

Again, Seth sighed, “Sorry about ignoring you at the bar.”

“Oh, you did?” tested Stefon, “I didn’t notice.”

Seth chuckled, “You didn’t?”

Stefon barely took a break from his drink. “Nope.”

“Not at all?” teased Seth.

The club-goer shook his head, but he was trying to hide a smile.

Seth scoffed tauntingly, “Yeah, right,” before moving to kiss his husband.

Colin looked to Leslie.

She wasn’t taking it. “Nope. Don’t even try that stuff with me.” Leslie started walking away.

Colin went after her again. “Leslie! I’m sorry.”

“Mmhm, sure you are,” was Leslie’s sarcastic response.

Colin sighed, “I am! You know I could never consciously make you feel like that.”

Leslie just eyed the man.

“Hey, I am sorry. That’s just how I am sometimes...You know me, baby. I’m forgetful.” Colin decided to push his luck with the nickname.

Fortunately, it made Leslie smile, “Yeah I know, you pineberry covered in white chocolate that I’m gonna eat for dinner.”

Inwardly, Colin sighed, happy he was back in his girlfriend’s good graces. “Good. Now how about we go back to my place and we make an Oreo with your thighs and my head.”

“Oo, Colin. I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

He just smirked, “I hope you will be later tonight.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I also would love a comment if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics about SNL over on my page. You should go check it out. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I take requests for one-shots, drabbles, multi-chapters, headcannons and preferences. No smut, please. I write for a variety of fandoms. If you’re wondering if I write for a specific fandom, please ask me. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you.<3

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 13

Chapter Summary - Tom tries to call Danielle but reaches Paul. Then he breaks up with Taylor but is that as easy as it seems.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1

“Hello?” Tom was about to speak until he heard the man’s voice on the other side of the line. “Hello?”

“Is this Elle’s phone?”

“Yes, she’s just in the shower at the moment. Is it important, I can get her if it is?” The man offered.

“No, it’s not important, well it can wait.”

“I see.” The other man did not sound overly convinced. “Will I tell her who called?”

“Please.”

“Right, so perhaps a name would be a place to start.” The man chuckled.

“Is my number not in her phone anymore?”

“It’s Tom, Diana’s son?” the voice seemed to realise then who he was.

“Yes, it is.”

“With all due respect Mr Hiddleston, Danni needs time, she is grateful for your statement, but you know, she’s a lot more vulnerable than she admits to being. What you exposed her to, it has caused her to be very upset, the kind that is not instantly fixed.”

“I know, I just want to make it better.”

“Then perhaps wait for her to contact you. I will tell her you called, but please do not do so again without her permission, if she wants to talk to you, can she call this number?”

“Yes.” Tom’s voice became and defeated. “Yes, she can.”

“I promise, I’ll tell her when she comes out.”

“You’re the doctor.”

“Paul, my name is Paul.” Paul corrected.

“I…I’m sorry for my rudeness the last time we met, for interrupting your day.”

“Somehow I do not think it was your intention to do so.” There seemed to be understanding in the other man's tone. “One moment.”

“Who are you talking to?” Tom heard as a hand went over the mouthpiece, having just heard a female voice muffled in the background, he recognised it as Elle’s, followed by a response and a small noise that could be accused of being a door closing.

“Sorry, I told her it was you, but she just walked away again.” Paul apologised. “When she is ready, I’m sure she’ll want to talk again.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, and thank you for trying to fix things.”

“It took me long enough.”

“As the saying goes, better late than never,” Paul commented. “Goodbye, Mr. Hiddleston.”

When Tom hung up the phone, he sighed. He wanted to apologise to Danielle, she had said that when he had righted things when he was the Tom she knew, she would talk with him again, but she had actively left the room when she knew it was him on the phone. He felt somewhat angry at her for that.

“So no instant fawning at your feet then? She’ll bide her time, make it seem real.” He turned to see Taylor taking her boots off behind him.

“I don’t want to hear it. She is with someone, he seems to know her enough to be in the adjoining room to where she is showering, so clearly they are serious, so whatever bullshit you keep trying to fill my head with can stop.”

Taylor studied him for a moment. “Wow,” she laughed. “You are so pathetic.”

“We’re done Taylor, I’m done.”

The smile fell from her face. “What?”

“This relationship is over, I am going home, to London, to my family and friends and I am going to pretend the last few months of humiliation and ridicule never happened and get on with my life.” He stated plainly.

“So you,” she pointed to him “are breaking up with me?” she pointed to herself; Tom nodded. “I did what you asked.”

“Because you lied about my friend.”

She looked at him and erupted in laughter causing Tom to frown. “Fine, shoo, off with you so.” She made an ushering motion with her hand. “I can have any guy I want, why would I want you and your receding hairline anyway?” That caused Tom to flinch slightly. His hairline was something he had tried to not let bother him, but as fans compared set pictures from the four Marvel films, Tom was forced to acknowledge the timeline of his hairline's receding. “The most pathetic thing about this is that she has someone else now, so you end up with no one.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was wrong before,” Taylor admitted. “I thought the attraction was one way, but clearly, it’s not. I really should be more insulted, but when I think about it, she is short, plain and in serious need of a personal trainer, I am none of those things, and I never am going to be, so if that is what gets you hard, then clearly it is not my fault.” She shrugged.

“I…”

“Oh please, you are so blind.” She scoffed. “Did talking to her boyfriend, knowing she is probably only showering because they were at it get you annoyed? I mean, he could still have been sitting on the bed, naked after screwing her when he picked up her phone, telling you to get stuffed when he was stuffing her a few minutes before.”

Tom swallowed hard, the idea causing him to feel nauseous, had he not noticed before, when his mother mentioned Paul, and after seeing him in his mother’s house, he had become shorter tempered. Had Taylor actually figured out why? “You need to get yourself together Taylor and grow up.”

“You mean turn old before my time like you Tommy?” she gave him a disgusted look as she eyed him up and down. “No thanks.”

Grabbing his wallet, phone, and his bag, he walked out of the room, turning to look at Taylor one last time as he did. “I really did not think you were the person the tabloids wrote about.”

“I really thought you had a decent sized dick from your photo’s, guess we were both sorely disappointed.” She dismissed. “Don’t bother coming back to me when she doesn’t leave Doctor Low Standards for you straight away, even she seems to be grateful to not have to deal with you, he’s better looking, and he may actually still have hair in ten years, and I never take an ex back.” She started to play on her phone.

Even though it was Tom’s hotel suite, he checked out immediately, before getting into the nearest cab and requesting JFK airport. He rather a night waiting in a departure lounge than staying around Taylor any longer. Her words circled his mind a few times as he sat in the VIP section of the departure area, having paid extortionately to get back to London, via Berlin just to get in the air quicker. In truth, he realised the reason she never was seen again with her ex’s, was probably because they were usually avoiding her, grateful to get away. There was one thing that concerned him, however, her PR spin, she would use the whole debacle to spin her again as a victim, he was sure of it. Taking out his phone, he scrolled to Luke’s number immediately.

“Well, you did it, but she still made it about her, she’s good,” Luke commented, the sounds around him telling Tom he was in public.

“I ended it.”

“Thank you, Jesus.” Luke declared loudly.

“You’re not holy.”

“I might be after this. So, what was the reception?”

“Scoffing, not to mention a couple of dick and hairline blows.”

“Nice classy lady then.”

“Luke, why did I do it?” Tom rubbed his face in his hands.

“I think it had something to do with dicks and blowing as you just stated.”

“Really, jokes?”

“I can’t say, I never saw her as anything but a Siren, beautiful, but all she wants is your doom. Her next album will be interesting; ‘Why British Men Are All Pigs’ or something to that effect.”

“You don’t think she will write about this?”

Luke scoffed. “Tom, she writes about everyone that has even been accused of sticking their dicks in her, it is all she does. Find a victim, fuck him a few times, get her ass kicked to the nearest proverbial curb, and bitch about it for five songs straight. Except with you, she will have hideous humiliating pictures to boot.”

“Jesus.”

“Well I have Cathy, Tia, and Jonathon all keeping an eye on all online media sources, social media included, we are also going to have to run an explanation ourselves.”

“Nothing cruel.”

“Are you actually joking?”

“Nothing on her level.”

“Tom, I would need to get onto the planning authority and hire a fracking company to get to her level,” Luke argued. “She will run you through the dirt, you are aware of that.”

“We are not her, Luke.”

“And that is why she is worth a quarter billion, and you have, well, less than she pays in tax a year.”

“But every penny I earned with hard work.”

“I dunno, it seems to be an awful lot of work to piss off the amount of people she does, her level of dedication to her actions is commendable,” Luke commented.

“Luke?”

“I have something done, effectively you are not willing to let any too close, the exposure was too much and that you are not ready to dedicate as much time as a woman deserves to a relationship yet, meaning you want to wait until you are to get serious.” Luke rattled off.

“Makes me sound distant.”

“It does, in a way, but caring also, not wanting to tag someone along, no false promises,” Luke explained.

“And Danielle?”

“What about her, you did everything you could, and trust me, that is the closest you are going to get out of Swift.”

“Will she go for her again now?”

“Why should she?”

“She thinks I have a thing for Elle.”

“Oh well, this is going to get interesting.” Luke barked sarcastically. “I am going to go grey from you, Tom, I really am.”

#I Hate you I Love You #chapter 13 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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gh0stcav1ty · 5 years ago

Note

do 14 for buggie prompts please :)

oh my goodness! this is a whole lot of wow in one prompt. (prompt is “Do you want to borrow a shirt? All of yours are in the wash.”)

Jughead Jones had started a food fight in the middle of the cafeteria. I choose to not get involved from the start, until he decided that it was completely necessary to shove an entire piece of cake into my boobs. Mind you, it was right on the River Vixen uniform I had received not even seconds prior, after Cheryl finally calmed her inner bitch and let me on the squad. Shock is not the word I would use to even begin to describe the way I reacted. A state of utter horror, maybe. As you can imagine, I was pissed.

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones The Third!” I fumed. Jughead gasped as an eruption of laughter flooded the room at the use of his true identity. I smirked lightly, knowing he had taken on my state of horror.

“We’re using full names now? It was one piece of cake at a food fight, get the fuck over it and loosen UP.” He crossed his arms, seeming content with himself. I was most definitely NOT in the mood to deal with his ignorant bullshit. Me and Jughead, have been rivals since we were little, never a reason to be rivals, but every reason to absolutely loathe each other. Of course though, our mothers were best friends.

“I am very loose,” I put in finger quotations; totally nailed it. “You’re just an ass who’s legs are so loose, you can’t keep anything in your pants when a girl over the age of 14 walks by!”

“Say’s the whore cheerleader!” It rang through the now silent lunchroom. Although me and Jughead are rivals, he does know when he’s met a boundary, he lives next door. He knows what makes me tic, and knows not to say anything my mother has said about me, knowing full well it’s something I can’t handle, and knows it’s a boundary he can never cross, even when we are going at it. He has his shit and I have mine and we stay out of it, rivalries and all. Jughead Jones however, had just crossed this boundary with his front forward.

I had been standing there for a good amount of time, and he immediately realized what he had said. I was frozen, all I could feel was a tear running down my face. I quickly came back to reality, blinked away my tears as I looked down, quickly turning to run out the door. I just kept running, no breathe entering or exiting my lungs, I had to get out. Out of this school, this world, my head. I pivoted as I ran, kept running till I slammed into the push doors, trying to find strength in the newfound weakness sweeping me.

It was raining, beneath the droopy scenery Riverdale loosely held together. It mixed beautifully with chilled fall air, in a mix of brown leaves rapidly flying throughout. The rain pelted my skin like bullets coming through me. It had awoken me from the state of asphyxiation I was in. I dropped to my knees, and finally, I was at peace.

Almost as if my moment had been detected, bursting through the door behind me comes Jughead Jones himself. I turn to see him, and quickly stand up and walk away from him.

“I am not doing this, Jug-” That asshole always has something to say.

“Betty please-”

“No!” I turn to look at him, he is now just as much of a mess as I am, both soaked, dripping with a mix of rain water and salty tear drops. “You of all people Jug! You should know when it is too far!”

“Betty, I didn’t want to do this in the first place! I didn’t want to continue this but here we are and I can’t-” I started to walk, if I had stayed much longer, my state of asphyxiation would’ve found its way back to me. “Let me just drive you home Betts. Please.”

“I’ll walk Jug.” He caught me by surprise, quickly walking forward and taking my head in his hands, pressing his forehead against mine.

“I don’t want to do this anymore. We’ve been acting too long.” I looked up cautiously.

Here’s something you don’t know about Jughead Jones.

We’ve been together for about a year now. I love him, but we have a lot of issues. We choose to act the way we used to in front of friends, because if we tell them, it could potentially fatal. Sometimes, including the happenings of this afternoon, I feel that it isn’t an act. I could very well be one of his ‘whores’, but i’d rather risk it being true than ever leave him.

I may walk out, but I could never leave him no matter how hard I fucking tried.

“We can’t keep acting to protect ourselves, and you can’t walk away from me, not now or ever. I don’t want to pretend anymore. Please, look at me in my eyes and tell me you don’t want that too.” I pulled his hands from my head and turn towards the street. At times like these, my trust issues get the best of me. Why would high school stud Jughead Jones want me when he can have all of them? I’m just not such a believer in his answers to that question anymore.

“Jug, you said it yourself. I may as well be one of your whores, I don’t mean anything to you.” He stood there, dumbfounded. Maybe, I was right.

“Elizabeth Cooper, are you fucking kidding me right now?” I turned back and he was staring bullets straight through me.

“Excuse me?” I practically squeaked, nervous on what I had done.

“You really think that you don’t mean anything to me?” I just simply nodded, bringing my head gaze back to my feet. He stepped forward to bring my chin back to its original state. “ I’m so in love with you, and I will never in my whole life someone like you. I don’t want whores baby, I want you.” Dumbfounded could be the word you could use to describe me at this moment. I grabbed his face and kissed him.

That kiss, it was something you couldn’t even find in the movies. I fell for him so quickly, it was like waking up on a normal day, but one day I was empty and the next day, I just wasn’t. I melted into his arms, his hands in my hair, rain pouring as puddles filled around our feet. The rain was chilled, but the adrenaline was being fed to me from him. It was intense, breathtaking even. When we did come up for air, all we wanted was more. I pulled away reluctantly.

“Just take me home Jug.” He nodded and I silently got on his bike, grabbing my helmet from under his. He mounted the bike in front of me, kicking the stand and starting the engine. I wrapped around his leather, and we rode. We took the long way around, seeing the trees absorb the mist around them, the evergreens thriving in the gloom. When we finally did come to a stop, I was slightly unhappy with the destination we had arrived in and started to tremble. It was the driveway of my own home. Of course, he lived next door, but even the thought of being alone at the time was not something I wanted to cross my mind.

He must of felt my subtle shake as he kicked the stand and rode into his driveway. He dropped the stand, took off his helmet, and silently walked towards the door. I wasn’t far behind, slipping on the leather seat under me. Once I made it through the door, he was already three steps ahead of my mind. He handed me an off colored blue towel and wiped himself off, clearly still sopping even after the fact. At this point in time, I could imagine Weatherbee’s state of anger, so I duly noted to bring him a box of cookies on Monday morning. Jughead was still trying to dry himself before sighing. He must’ve decided that inevitably, we both would have to change, especially with the mix of food, rain, and the gravel of Riverdale High’s parking lot.

“Do you want to borrow a shirt? All of yours are in the wash.”

“Who says I want any clothes at all?” I smirked, I was feeling daring and I could tell he enjoyed it, as his eyebrow quickly rose and he was officially distracted. He turned to me slowly, looking up to meet my eyes.

“You’re a naughty woman, Betty Cooper.”

And as if it were fate, Into the night we fell.

#buggie prompts #kazookidissosoabuggie #buggie #bughead #bughead fanfiction #fanfiction #betty x jughead #jones #cooper #cooper x jones #betty cooper x jughead jones #au #riverdale #riverdale au #riverdal3 #soft prompts #prompts #prompts list #bughead prompts

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merikathryn-blog · 6 years ago

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SOA: Sins of Our Fathers Part 5: Pig Trail

Deena and Kari loaded all of the stuff that they needed for a day long ride. Kari looked at Deena and said, “Do you think that Jax will be able to pull this off? Do you think he will be able to pretend to be Danny Weir?” Deena saw the looks of concern and fear in Kari’s face. She said, “Kari, Dahling! If anyone can pull this bullshit off, it will be Jackson Teller. I have faith in the kid. I also have faith in the woman training him. Remember, just raise him the way you want him to be.” Deena let a little smirk that implied something smutty. Kari said, “I can’t see him in that way. He has to be Danny, my best friend. Not Jax, a friend with benefits.” Deena said, “Girl, it has been a long time since you have had some benefits. I bet he could get your old engine tuned right up.” Kari pushed her back playfully, and said, “My old engine will be fine… I know how to perform system maintenance.” Deena and Kari both burst out in laughter as the Jax and Jigger exit the building.

Jigger looked at them and raised his eyebrows. He said, “Nothing scares me more than a couple of mean women cackling in the morning. It is worse than napalm!” Jax said, Yeah, I know! When napalm blows up, you only have to get hurt one time. A mean woman is a gift that keeps on giving.” He lets out a sexy little laugh with his sly grin. Jigger said, “You sound like a man that knows what he is talking about.” “Really?” Jax said, “You knew my mother and the women that I have had in my life are tough enough to survive her.” Jigger said, “Damn, Son! You have had some mean ass women in your life.” “You don’t have to tell me that, Brother. I lived through it.” Jigger yelled, “Okay, let’s mount up.” Everyone loaded up on the bikes and they pulled out of the parking lot.

It was a beautiful day for a ride. The sun was shining and the weather was perfect. Highway 23, or the Pig Trail as it is known, is a perfect road for a bike ride. The very scenic road was lined with tall trees and wildlife. There were many switchbacks down this rural two-lane roads. Scenic overlooks were everywhere. Jax had been on beautiful rides in California but he had never seen a ride this gorgeous. Jax felt so close to nature on this ride. He thought that God really does give second chances. He also felt safe and warm with Kari’s arms around him. He could not deny his physical attraction to Kari. She was the type of woman he had dreamed of. The loss of Tara, his children, his club, and his life were still way too fresh on his heart. He knew that he could not even begin to have any feelings for someone else until he figured out who he was to become. Jax took in this beautiful scenery and became overwhelmed by grief. He motioned to Jigger that he needed to pull over. They pulled over at the next scenic overlook they came to. Jax walked over to the edge of the road and just allowed the tears to flow down his cheeks. Kari walked over to Jax and put her arms around him so that he could cry. She just stood there and held him. Kari was starting to understand that Jax’s grief was even greater than her own. She had lost her husband and her best friend in the time span of a year. Jax, however, had lost his mother, his friends, his club, his children, and even his own life. She finally understood what grief he was going through. She did not know what she was going to do to help him heal. However, she had less than a month to figure it out. Jigger and Deena looked at them while they stood there. They understood that this was the first time that Jax and Kari had actually connected on a real level. Jigger and Deena finally believed that this hair-brained scheme from Danny Weir’s mind might actually work.

Jigger walked up to Jax and put his hand on his shoulder. Jax took a deep breath and let go of Kari. Jigger said, “We are only a few miles from Haw Creek Falls. It would be a great place for a little picnic and a nice walk in the woods. Hell, Deena and I might run out in the woods and do a little bit of romancing, if ya get me.” Jax nodded and everyone got back on the bikes and they rode to Haw Creek Falls. Jigger picked out a beautiful picnic spot, near a waterfall. Jigger said, “This place is perfect. A nice shady rock to picnic on, a nice place to cool ourselves off, secluded. Absolutely fucking perfect!” Deena said, “You are just hoping to get a few beers into us so we will go skinny-dipping, you dirty bastard.” Jigger said, “Guilty as charged. Punish me.” Deena shoved his horny old ass down onto the ground and said, “I gotta eat and stuff. You just sit there and think your perverted thoughts. It will all be okay.” Kari just stood there and shook her head, giggling. Jax let out a small laugh and looked down. He was ashamed of how weak he had seemed before. He wanted to erase that small break in his exterior. However, there was no way to go back in time. Kari, Deena, and Jigger all knew that Jax was vulnerable and emotional. “Fuck!” He thought, “What caused me to do that shit? I gotta get it together. Buck up and shut up!” Everyone sat down on the picnic blanket and Kari started emptying out the picnic basket while Deena dealt with the little cooler. Kari took out some freshly baked Italian bread, some cheese, some crispy cooked bacon, tomato slices, lettuce leaves, some homemade salt and vinegar potato chips, some mayonnaise, and some chocolate chip cookies. Deena said, “I got the best thing ever: Southern Sweetened Long Island Ice Tea with fresh lemon slices. Here is a gallon of it, Baby! I also have a Boozy Mudslide Icebox Cake. We are all set, y’all!” Jax said, “Y’all? I thought you were originally from Cali. You have been in these hills too long.” Jigger said, “Look around you, Brother. You have beautiful water, beautiful scenery, good food, great drinks, and gorgeous women. How could anyone say that they have been here too long? I hope I am here until I die, just like my brother, David. This is heaven, like he said. Enjoy heaven while you are here.” Jax looked around him and could not find one way to argue with Jigger. It really did look like heaven, compared to the concrete jungle where he lived in Charming. He had heard of places like this, but he had never seen one. He was struck by the beauty of living in the right now.

Kari handed out plates with the BLT Sandwiches, cookies, and chips on them. Deena handed out glasses of the Long Island Ice Tea. They just sat and ate, enjoying each other’s company, the scenery, and the amazing food. After everyone had finished eating, Jigger said, “Time to go skinny dipping. Hell the fuck yeah!” Kari said, “Look, I don’t have a swim suit and y’all don’t want to see this naked. I have gained like 15 pounds from drinking and eating all of this great food.” Jigger said, “Hell Kari! Have you not looked at me? I am not the picture of body perfection that the new Danny is.” Jax said, “How did I get brought into this? I was just drinking my tea and listening.” Deena said, “Kari, you and Danny are at least twenty years younger than me and I am going to do it.” Deena started to wiggle out of her clothes. Kari yelled, “I don’t have new titties like you do, Deena!” Jigger said, “Naked woman in the water. I have to take her wood as a life preserver.” He came out of his clothes as well. Kari looked at Jax and said, “Hey, if you want to go swimmin’, go ahead. Please do not let me stop you.” Jax said, “Are you trying to get me naked. Darlin’? All you have to do is ask.” He smirked and started removing his shirt. Kari got pissed off. She thought, “Yeah, I do want to see him naked. So what!” Then it hit her, “You have to treat this man as your best friend, not your best fuck. However, he probably would be my best fuck.” Kari did not date much growing up. Her dad was an abusive alcoholic and biker trash, not like the men she had in her circle. Her dad was a member of the Desperados, another outlaw motorcycle club. Her mom was a junkie. Kari raised herself. She did not have time to have very much fun. She put herself through school and took care of everything. David was only the second real relationship she had. She looked at Jax and knew that he had lots of experience. She yearned to feel a man’s hands all over her body and to feel truly wanted. Kari yelled, “What makes you think I want to see you naked? I am perfectly happy with you keeping your clothes on.” Jax playfully pulled at the loop of her jeans and said, “This does not have to be anything sexual. It is just a nice way to cool off on a hot day. I will even turn my head and get into the water. That way I don’t get to see you and you don’t get to see me. Fair?” Kari reluctantly agreed. Jax stripped off with no shame and jumped in the water. Kari hid behind a tree and took off her clothes. She knew that she was younger than Deena but she thought that she was ugly compared to Deena. Kari slipped into the water where no one could see her and swam over to join the group. Jigger said, “I am so glad you pulled that stick out of your ass and joined us, Ms. Federal Criminal Profiler.” Kari stuck her tongue out at him and splashed him with water. When Kari loosened up and was just herself, her natural beauty shown through. She had long wavy red hair that shimmered with the blue green of the water. Her hazel green eyes flickered with mischievousness. Her light freckled skin revealed that she was a natural redhead. Her figure was not perfect but her curves fell in a way that made her just as curvy and attractive as the road that they had just ridden on. Jigger said, “You are such a mean ass, even though you look like an angelic cherub.” Kari flipped him off and splashed him with water again. Jax looked at her and thought, “Jigger was right. This place is heaven and Kari looks just like one of those angel statues that you can get at any truck stop.” Jax realized in that moment that Kari was beautiful, beautiful in a way that he had not seen since he was with Tara. She was beautiful because she was smart, had a caring heart, wore a warm smile, and could kick your ass or slit your throat if you fucked with the ones she loved. Jax swam under water and grabbed Kari by the legs and threw her under the water. Kari’s mouth flew open and she nearly drowned because she involuntarily gasped because Jax had put his arms around her naked body and held her ass as he threw her. Kari was both embarrassed and stunned by her reflexes. She looked at the group still in the water. Jigger and Deena had slipped over to a rock just barely under water where the waterfall was spilling over them and began to have amazing looking sex. Kari felt so uncomfortable and exposed at that moment. She realized that she and Jax were basically alone in the water, naked. Kari said, “I guess I will get out of the water now. Jigger and Deena are off being Jigger and Deena. That just leaves you and me. You have to be my best friend so I cannot let this get confusing by putting sex into the mix.” Jax said, “Now wait! I did not bring up sex. I have not touched you sexually or anything. What makes you think that staying here in the water swimming with me is going to lead to sex?” Kari turned her back and stormed out of the water. She was pissed at herself. Kari put on her jeans and her bra behind the tree. She came out and just said the truth. “Jax, I mean Danny, I am the one thinking about sex. I have had a couple of one night stands since my husband died but I really have not had sex nor wanted to have sex with anyone I have a personal relationship with since David died until you came along and now my head is all fucked up. You are one of the hottest and most charming men I have ever met. I know I have to have a long-term professional relationship with you so I cannot be thinking this way. Sex just fucks everything up. Besides, once you get undercover and back into the club, there is no way that any of the Sons are going to believe I’m with you. I am not that pretty and I am not that savvy for anyone to believe that someone like me could be with someone like you. End of story.” Kari quickly fumbled with her boots and her t-shirt and headed into the woods. Jax jumped out of the water and put on his jeans and tried to follow her. The rocks on the ground were like little knives sticking into his feet. He had to go back and put on his boots before he could track off into the woods behind her.

Kari stopped running into the woods and stopped at the foot of a beautiful oak tree. She could see a squirrel in the tree next to it. She quietly cried. She had made an ass out of herself. She felt like the little abandoned kid that grew up in bars and strip clubs. She went back to being the kid that hid in the shadows because if she came out of the shadows, the monsters would see her. Monsters were real and she knew it. Not the supernatural kind, but the men who saw a little girl alone and thought he should have a sexual go at her. She was broken. She felt dirty and worthless, just like that little girl that hid in the shadows. How could she look Jax in the face again after that stupid display? In a way, she was longing for this beautiful and dangerous man to say that she was worthy to be with him and that he would always protect her from the monsters of the world, even if it meant that he had to be a scarier monster. She lowered her head and sobbed as she heard footsteps approaching her. She knew it was Jax. He had seen what a stupid little girl she actually was. She felt humiliated by her own actions.

Jax slowly approached Kari. She was sitting at the base of an oak tree and she had pulled her knees up to her chest and was holding them close with her head buried into the space between the knees and her body. He decided he would try to smooth things over with her without flaring up that infamous temper and emotional whirlwind. Jax said, “Hey, are you okay? Back there, what you said, you do not have to worry about it. I know that you only think of me as a job that has to be done. You have to mold me into Danny Weir. I have to remember that you do not see me as a man. You have to see me as a project that has to be completed. I get it. I am sorry that I pushed you to go skinny-dipping when it was obvious that you did not want to go. You can come back to the picnic area and we can watch Jigger and Deena go at it, but I tell ya, for a couple of older folks, they have the energy of young rabbits.” Kari giggled and finally looked up at him. Jax’s face looked truly concerned for her. The look on Jax’s face made it even worse. She looked up at him and said, “Thank you for being so nice to me when I am a broken mess.” Jax said, “Fuck, we are all broken. We are just lookin’ for people that have the same rough edges that we got so we can fit together.” Jax held out his hand and Kari took it. Jax helped her off the ground. Kari tripped and fell into his arms. Jax smiled and Kari just looked into those sparkling blue eyes. She said, “Fuck it.” She pulled Jax’s face to hers and kissed him. She fiercely kissed him with passion like she had been waiting to kiss him for every day of her life. Jax was startled but happily kissed her back. The kiss only lasted for a short while but it seemed like it was an eternity. Kari regained her logic and pulled away. Jax look at her confused. She started briskly walking back to the picnic site. Jax slowly followed her. He was stunned and a little let down that the kiss did not go any further.

When Kari got back to picnic area, Jigger and Deena had gotten out of the water. Jigger was standing there doing his best helicopter by whirling his limp dick in a circle. Deena had everything on but her shirt because she was showing off those titties that she was so proud of. Kari just looked at them and sighed, “These are the people I choose as friends. I am going to hell when I die.” Jigger said, “Nah, let me get this helicopter running and I will take you up to the clouds, Sweetie.” Deena said, “I’ll just stay here and give you a soft place to land.” They all just looked at each other and cracked up. The laughter was so loud another group started toward them so Jigger and Deena hurried and got dressed. Kari and Jax packed up the picnic and they all headed back to the bikes. They got back on the bikes and rode to complete the Pig Trail. Kari held on to Jax very tightly as they rode back to the Cathouse Lounge. Jax had such an eventful day that he did not even know what to say. The two of them rode home in silence and just enjoyed being close to each other on the bike. Kari knew that was all she could have with Jax. She had to accept it. When they arrived at the Cathouse Lounge, Kari told everyone that she was very tired and she was going to go on to bed. Jigger asked Jax to have a beer with him and Deena. Jax started after Kari but Jigger got him by the arm and said, “You really need to have a beer with us. It will only take a few minutes and it might save your life.” Jax said, “What the fuck, Bro?” Jigger just looked at him and said, “Give Kari a few minutes with her emotions and let her settle in. Then, you can go into there, Okay?” Jax reluctantly agreed. Jigger gave Jax a little background on Kari. Her father was the president of a club, the Desperados. They were serious bad asses back in the day. He was a complete motherfucker though. He did not do anything to protect her as a child. When a pretty redheaded child grew up in a strip club and a bar, perverts saw her and took advantage of the fact that she was an unattended child. He was running guns, bars, drugs, and hookers. He tried to love his daughter but he did not know what unconditional love was. He made Kari take care of the family. Her mom was a drug addict and kept falling off of the wagon. Kari learned from watching her family that she never wanted to be like them. When he died, it was a big relief for her. He no longer could manipulate and control her into giving him everything she had. David had mentioned that he wanted her dad to meet Mr. Mayhem. David was her original savior and Danny was her savior after David. Now she depends on Jax to save her. Jax had big fucking shoes to fill. Now, Kari made fucking sense to Jax. She was running from the life so she had to reinvent herself. Jax finished his beer and said, “I better get to bed. I don’t want to be embarrassed because she kicked my ass. Goodnight Jigger and Deena. It has been an amazing couple of days. I appreciate all that you have done for me. I will not forget it.” Jigger said, “I have one more thing that I am going to have to do for you. This is something I do not think you are going to like. Since your tattoo and kutt are both from SAMCO, I am going to have to contact that chapter and give you credibility. I know that you are dead and they voted for Mr. Mayhem. Who can I contact so I can have them vouch for you, Danny Weir, as a valued member of the club?” Jax took a big sigh and thought the only ones he could trust with this are Chibbs, Tig, and Happy. He told Jigger to talk to Chibbs and give him only broad information. Jax said, “Have them come here so I can talk to them face to face. That is the only way that I think I can get them to agree to what has to be done. It is really gonna fucking suck.” Jigger said that he would reach out to them tomorrow. Jax said his goodnights to Jigger and Deena and headed down the hall to see how Kari was. He slowly opened the door to room 5A.

Jax peeked into the room. Kari was awake and drinking a beer. Jax said, “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be getting some rest? I need a teacher who is refreshed and ready to take on an impossible task.” Kari said, “I was just sitting here, drinking beer, and working things out in my mind. You and I are going to have to really focus on who Danny was. I have to forget that you are Jax Teller. We have to do such a good job that even I call you Danny and believe that you are. What feelings I have for you will definitely have to go on the back burner. I really wanted to fuck you and get it over with but I know it would complicate things. Now, Danny, you need to hit the shower. I already have. When you get out, I will probably be asleep. The same rules that were in place last night still apply. You can sleep on the other slide of the bed as long as you keep your dick to yourself. Goodnight.” When Jax got out of the shower, he saw that Kari was already asleep and curled into a ball. He decided to crawl into the bed and put his arms around Kari. It felt like it was right: right girl, right place, and right action. All seemed right in the world as long as she was in his arms.

The next morning, Jigger talked to Chibbs by phone and told him that there was something that he needed to talk to him in person. Jigger said, “Chibbs, it is very important that you come here to discuss the problem I have. Do you think that you, Tig and Happy could also keep a very large secret that will change your world forever? If you can’t, then do not come. If you think that either of them cannot keep the secret, then leave them at home. I am so sorry that I have to ask you to come here to do this. I cannot think of any other way you can do this.” Chibbs said, “I am kinda scared and oddly curious. It must be a pretty big secret. I trust Tig and Happy with all information. We will be there in a few days. Do you have anything we can do while we are there to make a little money for the club? We are a little cash strapped at the moment.” Jigger said, “There is a little job that I know you can do. The Mongols want to talk with a guy that is hiding out near the Indian Hills charter. His name is Jimmy Farrow. He is a money laundering genius. Skinny, a legacy member of the Mongols, is the owner of the Cathouse Lounge in Eureka Springs. If you can deliver him to Skinny, he can pay you top dollar. It is not going to end in murder, I promise. They need him to do a little work for him. Once Jimmy gets here and cleans the money, we can pay the three of you $300,000. Are you interested? If so, I will let Skinny get the ball rolling. One other thing: you need to bring patches that a full member of the Redwood Originals would have on their kutt, including Men of Mayhem.” Chibbs said, “We are on, Brother. What the fuck do you need those for? I guess I will find out when I see you in five days. Have a good one and make sure you love on that pretty wife of yours.”

#SOA #original fanfiction #jax teller

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wordzeck · 7 years ago

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soothing

I had a conversation with a friend about politics today. I’ve heard my fair share of arguments over different ideologies. I’ve partaken in many of these arguments. I’ve partaken in a lot of arguments. I don’t know why we like to argue. It’s almost as if I go into conversations with this prideful notion that I am correct, and you are not. Anyways, my friend started to share his ideology, and I was angered. I quickly shut him off and I ranted on about how pointless these arguments. I raved about how we keep talking about things we don’t really care about. We just keep arguing to distract ourselves from whatever grim realities are in our lives. I got heated. I can get worked up, but this time I was angry.

In my argument of why these arguments are pointless I used an example that took my emotions by surprise. When I got back from Omaha (I was there for 3 months) I went to dinner with my parents. On the car ride up my mother was asking me questions, but my father kept talking about the news. He kept using the terms republicans and liberals. He spoke as if he was being interviewed on cable news. He didn’t once ask me about my summer. There was no “hey how was Omaha?”. He didn’t ask how I like my summer. If he did, I already forgot because it must have been a dialogue that was too insignificant. I rant on about how I hate political arguments mostly to serve my own pride. I am able to take a “position” without doing any research. And I am able to take a unique enough position that people can view me as “deep” and “original”. But this time I think I was just pissed. I was angry that the only interactions with my father these past few years have revolved around money, school, and news cycles.

I’ve been drowning in poison, and I can only speak to my dad about bullshit. I’ve been sobbing over addiction, and I only talk to my mother about morality and the Church. I’ve been uncomfortable around my family ever since I hired my first prostitute. I think that’s because I don’t think they can really handle it.

I medicate my woes, and I got hooked on my pills. I’ll admit, life loses its luster very easily for me. At one moment a family, a career, and a future all sound so sweet, and at the next moment I couldn’t care less. I see attractive women, and I want everything from them. I want their attention, their laughter, and their physical affection. I want them to find me worthwhile, and deep, and interesting. I’m clearly looking for salvation from them, but it never delivers. There is something deeply wrong with me (I think there is something deeply wrong with all of us). Some days I fucking hate the medication I have stumbled upon, and other days I start to grasp, what I think is, God somehow proving himself to me. I want my demons to become poetry. I want to recite them to inspire awe in others, and I want none of the consequences. I want my freedom, and my success, and my life (I purposely used my to indicate selfishness). I sometimes think God is purposely holding that all back because I’m some sort of “special project”.

I often think highly of myself. I’ve played around with the thought that I am the most authentic person that I know. Like I’m some sort of special “bad” Christian. Like I’m closer to God through my admission of horrible sin. This is all just my pride talking. If no one were compelled to listen to me, I would be a dead man.

I know now that at the end of the day I want to be soothed, and I keep choosing really shitty medication. I pray that I can really come to know that His burden is light and His yoke is easy.

I’m 2 days sober, and tomorrow I attend my first SAA meeting. Please sustain me God. I’ll leave off with a verse I read today.

For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases him.

-Philippians 2:13

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mredwinsmith · 7 years ago

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Howls of Arrogant Laughter

1987’s Championship featured the highest scoring game in Nationals history and ultimately led to David’s banishment from playing in Washington DC.The following is an excerpt from Ultimate Glory: Frisbee, Obsession and My Wild Youth available now on Amazon.

The semis of Nationals in 1987 pitted Boston versus Chicago. And I do mean pitted. It was a long and brutal affair with Chicago winning 25-24, the longest game, in terms of points, in the history of Nationals.

There were plenty of turnovers in the game, but the last one was mine. No regrets, people like to say. That is one of the most bullshit clichés of all time. In a larger sense I get it. As the father of a daughter I adore, I wouldn’t want to change any part of a life that has led to her. But what about cleaning up a few messy details? I regret not making a better throw at that moment, in fact would put it in the top ten of my life’s regrets. I guess that’s better than regretting having committed murder, but it is a regret still.

After Chicago scored I sunk onto the field. We all did.

Someone came up to me, patted me on the back, and said something nice about how I had played. Someone else, a player I respected, said, “You were a god out there.”

Then added: “Until the end.”

I saw no reason to reply, possibly no reason to live. But then I looked up and saw what hung from the player’s hand. A cooler.

“Any chance I could have a beer?” I asked.

“Sure, man.”

It had been thirty-two days without drinking, part of my fitness regimen that fall, and the beer was cold and I gulped it down. I would like to say I savored it but that would be a lie. I savored it about the same way a dog savors its breakfast. I asked for another beer and he gave it to me and I sucked that down too. A few more people gathered around and someone broke out a bowl and I did a hit. And drank another beer. I would continue to drink and smoke over the next hour with a deep aggressiveness, fending off what was sure to be a dismal off-season.

The one coherent thing I remember doing was wandering over to my backpack and taking off my Barbarians. Inside my pack was a T-shirt that my old teammate Hones had given me for just this moment. I tore off my Titanic shirt and pulled on the one he had given me.

“Instant Asshole: Just Add Alcohol,” it said.

It’s only in retrospect that we see that particular moments are huge turning points in our lives. Had I completed that throw I might be telling a different sort of story right now. Rather than singing the tales of heroes, I might have been a hero myself. I could have been a God of the game, a purveyor of arete. But instead I was about to solidify my role as a clown-prince.

Eventually I wandered over to the stadium to watch the finals between New York and Chicago. Steve Mooney was the captain of our team, Titanic, and all season long, to his chagrin, I had bellowed my obnoxious cheer: “Titanic, Titanic, our dicks are gigantic!” The cheer was meant to offend people, of course, but also to register my rebellion against our stupid choice of team name. I looked down at the field, now reduced to merely watching the finals, a finals that we could have been in had I made a better throw.

I skulked through the stadium, taking a piss on the grass behind the stands. Then I had an idea. Some folks from the UPA (Ultimate Players Association) were broadcasting from up in the booth near the top of the stadium, and I headed unsteadily up the steps. Outside the booth, I gathered myself, feigning sobriety. Then I opened the door, and making sure not to slur, told those inside that I wanted to ask a trivia question. I believe the question was “What player who played on the original Titanic team had played on the original Boston Aerodisc?” and that I told them the answer was Lief Larson. They thanked me and said they would announce it and then I asked, innocently, if there was any chance I could ask the question myself. Then they did something that no UPA official would ever willingly do again. They handed me the microphone.

I grabbed hold of it and was soon bellowing.

“Titanic, Titanic,” I yelled into the mic. And then, in a rare moment of self-editing, as if worried about shocking the few children in the stadium, I continued “Our Johnsons are gigantic!”

A great roar went up.

The rest of the night was a blur. My girlfriend’s team, Lady Godiva, had lost in the finals to the Lady Condors, and a few of my teammates and I piled in the van with the Boston women and rode back to our hotel on the beach. I played the drums on the van’s roof and led the passengers in rousing renditions of bad seventies songs. We sang “Delta Dawn” and “I am Woman” and of course, my old standby, “Brandy.”

“The sailors say Brandy you’re a fine girl,” we howled.

The next thing I knew I was on the balcony of a room on the 20th floor of our hotel on the beach, swaying too close to the edge, and then one of my teammates, Turbo I think, was steadying me and leading me back into the room. Around midnight we all headed down to the ocean for skinny dipping. About a dozen of us stripped off our clothes and dove into the powerful waves. I swam far out, hoping to wash away the day. I body-surfed my way back in and must have blacked out, because what I know of the rest of the story comes from its re-tellings by Turbo and Jeff Williams.

They were walking up the shore, with their clothes back on, talking about the day’s tough loss. Then they saw something thrown up on shore, and walking toward it, found me lying naked and unconscious just above the surfline.

* * *

I didn’t play competitive ultimate the next year, taking time off to work on my novel. But in 1989 I returned and played with Titanic once again. Once again the year ended with a crash. Once again we lost in the semis. If what you cared most about was winning, only one team was happy at season’s end, just like our rival from New York, Kenny Dobyns, said, and during that time period the happy team was always his.

I had played well but it didn’t matter. Unlike the last semis I’d played in, this time I felt we had been beaten by a better team. And they didn’t just beat us, but beat us soundly. Which is not to say I was not upset. Once again, I had failed at the one thing I was a success at.

After the loss, it was almost obligatory for me to create some sort of scene. I had left my “Instant Asshole” shirt at home, but that didn’t stop me from drinking hard. A small group of us—Bobby Harding, Turbo, Jeff Williams, Tom Watson and a few others—threw a party of our own out on one of the outlier fields, refusing to watch the finals between New York and the San Francisco Tsunami. But gradually we got bored with ourselves and, perhaps sensing the juvenility of our self-ostracism, migrated over the stadium where the finals were being held. We were sitting off to the side of where most of the fans were, when I noticed something. This time the game wasn’t being announced from a booth but right on the grass beyond one of the endzones, where three UPA officials stood around the mic. A notion formed in my head, which I excitedly communicated to my small band of friends. I need to get my hands on the mic. What would I do then? They wanted to know. I would sing “We are the Champions” to the New York team, now well ahead and on their way to their second title. But how would I get the microphone? The UPA authorities, the “regulators” as we had begun to call them, knew what I had done the last time with my “Titanic, Titanic” cheer and they wouldn’t let me anywhere near it.

A plan was hatched. The endzone where the game was being announced was clearly not a defensible position. There were only three announcers around the mic, so I put together a small war party, made up of Bobby Harding, Turbo and Jeff Williams, and after a drunken Patton-like speech, convinced them to storm the microphone. Or thought I convinced them. Half way through my charge I looked back and found myself alone. I could have quit of course, called off my raid, but what was this if not a chance for another stupid, futile quest? So of course I charged ahead and tried to wrestle the microphone from the announcers on my own.

Three UPA officials and a policeman grabbed me and pulled me away. I was not arrested however. Things did not work like that in our Dungeons-and-Dragons world. Instead I was henceforth banished from ever playing Frisbee again in the Washington area, an edict which holds to this day. In the official letter that Steve Goodwin, the local representative of the UPA, sent to Steve Mooney, he charged Titanic three hundred dollars for damage done to the microphone. He also said that though he understood “that while Steve personally tried to help give ultimate a clean image,” this sort of behavior reflected poorly on the team.

Then he turned his ire on me. Referring to me by my last name–“I know him only as Gessner,” Goodwin wrote: “Gessner is now barred from participating in any WAFC sponsored event. I’m sure that this news will be greeted by him with howls of arrogant laughter, and you yourself might think that we’re being a little too serious. Let me assure you, we have never been more serious. There will be future UPA events in Washington, and it is more than likely that your team will qualify. WAFC will suspend all play at any tournament in which Gessner appears. His team will forfeit all games. Disappointed players will be told exactly why the tournament was cancelled. We’ll show them this letter.”

So there it was. Banishment, at least from play in our nation’s capital.

I wish I could say that I was properly chastised, that I began, then and there, to finally grow up, but I’m afraid the truth is I greeted his letter just as Mr. Goodwin had predicted I would. Over beers, I read the letter to some old teammates and we howled with arrogant laughter.

The post Howls of Arrogant Laughter appeared first on Skyd Magazine.

from Skyd Magazine http://ift.tt/2C9uRVW

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feministshakedown-blog · 8 years ago

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Yesterday’s News

I started this article 16th April 2016. Now in Feb 2017, I’ll endeavour to finish it…Yesterday’s News finally written today.

16th April 2016

I picked up a Sunday paper’s supplement a while a go and the feature article was an account of body dysmorphia affecting teenagers. It interviewed a teenager and her mum alongside a profile of a mental health centre offering a short stay and a course of cognitive behavioural therapy as treatment for the teen.

The front cover of the magazine was of a white-but-a-bit-Barbie-tanned blond woman with her face airbrushed to remove all her facial features. She was a wash of immaculate white skin. The same kind of airbrushed skin that can be found on the legs, arms, lips and chins of however many models in however many countless images. The texture of the airbrushing carried aspirational associations because of where and how it is applied elsewhere to sell images of human beauty.

It was a similar image to this:

It was a jarring and uncomfortable image and I’m sure that this was the intended effect of the editors. However, the most piercing and upsetting effect was that through reading the article, I found out that the teenager being interviewed was mixed-race.

Dot. Dot. Dot. Open mouth. Dot. Sense of fuckery. Dot. Dot. Vomit inside. Dot. Dot. Dot. Cry for all. Dot. Dot.

The editors made a huge oversight or gesture of not seeing. No, not a gesture - that may wrongly imply a process of consideration. They were not actually hearing - fully hearing - the teenager’s tale so that her language may filter down and pierce their own privileges. They were representing her story by giving it the centre feature, but not enacting the knowledge gained by her bravery. They were making space but filling the space with the same bullshit that people of colour have to process where white speaks for non-white.

The bullshit we have to confront. It is an enforced warfare of confrontation. Forced into the position of being confrontational because of being confronted with whitewashes all the time. Being made to feel uncomfortable because information being relayed to you is telling you that you are doing uncomfortable things.

I wonder whether I need to lodge a formal complaint to The Observer on Sunday?

Complaint: Racism

Perpetuating the kind of white privilege that cancels out its own recognition of white privilege.

Complaint: Misinformation

I have never read that body dysmorphia includes the person experiencing an erasure of their features. Perhaps I would say instead that absence of self perception is present…

I identified with this teenager’s experiences. For me, every day involves multiple checking's of my appearance - mostly my face - to see its hideous monstrosity and figure out how I am going to deal with it today. Will I look at myself in the eyes or is it too hard this hour? So, perhaps sideways glances are all I can bear. At Laban, with the mirrors, I would look down at my feet or past my face into the distance - suppressing, or actively un-seeing my ugliness. I had the same gaze in a ballet class I took last week. My appearance can shock myself. Sometimes I recoil, sometimes I flinch. Sometimes I am surprised if what I see is bearable. I have learnt (somewhere - who knows where or how) to disregard comments on my beauty. It isn’t even conscious anymore but a harsh dismissal of other people’s words as lies. And coupled with that, any fleeting sense I might have that I am beautiful is a lie and I judge myself to be a fraud.

Have I been diagnosed with body dysmorphia? No. Something about the way I present myself in the chairs of doctors or psychiatrists seems to disagree. My ugliness is seen as laughable (actual, vocalised laughter) by partners and carer giving figures/doctors alike. For the better part of nineteen years.

My cells have renewed themselves countless times over this same time period but the indelible patterning of shame has remained. By now, my shame knows exactly how to perpetuate itself and my language habitually buries itself, feeling foolish and battle-worn all over again, again, again.

Sometimes it is a diagnosis that I think may help me shape and articulate my experiences. The anchor of a label or a community. Most of the time, I am relieved to no longer have these medical professionals any part of information I get about my identity. But I am still in two minds as to whether labelling will help me by giving me information that I am believed. I can rationally know that my view of myself is a distorted one and who am I to assign language to my experiences when others supposedly with more knowledge and insight haven’t seen or heard what I speak of?

Coming to understand that the systematic onslaught of images of women whose skin colour and features are ones I need to continuously leap reality in order connect to**, have been part of tapestry in my perceptions of my own ugliness has been its own journey of sadness. An anger too at being weakened by something I did not choose, kind of like a victim of my eyes. It’s disgusting and what do you do?

Well, I smile too much to compensate. To disguise, to misdirect those who may think me ugly, to signal that I’m not as hideous as I perceive. It’s a kind of perverse second-guessing. It makes me untrustworthy to some. I smile even when I am sad. Or when I have pissed someone off and they are looking for an explanation. Or when I am fighting with a friend of lover. It is a scary thing to feel your physiology shift beyond your control. And absurd to know that the resulting smile is a smile of frozen fear. The body thinks it is protecting you. But it is misplaced. And it is misused.

I made a dance piece called ‘One Nubian For The Boys’ last year. The responses were difficult for me. There was feedback of various kinds that it was ‘extreme’, some said ‘disturbing’. These comments made me feel incredibly isolated. I was trying to communicate a specific experience. One of the things I was trying to process in making the work was to challenge myself to look at my image for more than a minute. But communicating this motivation (in language outside of the work itself) would have brought more questions than I was comfortable asking. So I tried to engage with the idea that perhaps work was extreme or disturbing instead. But it isn’t! I cannot see it that way! what I continue to come back to is the extent to which these comments failed to recognise the viewers position - i.e. they felt disturbed not that the work was inherently disturbing. Or that my experience as a mixed race woman was in ‘extreme’ contrast to their experience as a white man…Is having your experience being labeled as extreme a form of gas lighting? I certainly began to doubt myself and the space I took up with a 5 minute video. How dare I? And if only we could have spoken about the vulnerability underneath. If only you could have looked at me, with me, instead of render my image as so polar opposite to you. So unsettling. Perhaps it was…

I did wonder with a friend if part of the disturbance felt was because I did not smile. But unpicking that is for another blogpost. And also once I have made a physical response (working title ‘Save The Children From Twerking’).

15th Feb 2017 (flex the writing muscle)

Something does need to get cleaned off of me. Making my body public is hard work. It’s a perverse occupation considering how debilitating my anxiety can be. How alone I can feel within it. How this mental health difficulty I experience can feel as unspeakable as racism. This is not a pity party but I’m trying to taste what ‘unashamed’ might be.

The disgust I feel is a place that overstuns me and I know that it is also a symptom of the systematic erasure of non-white, non-dominant cultures that makes me want to be blind - want not to see my own face.

And then the article layered a brutal truth - the mixed race woman’s story is not going to be visually represented. It will be unidentifiable, replaced with an image that is alien but everywhere. It will be made a mockery of. Don’t go telling your story because it will be unrepresentable or it will be twisted, morphed - just as I/the teenager/other sufferers from body dysmorphia morph ourselves, a larger structure will morph us. It starts at the editors desk and works its way into our consciousness - meeting, plaiting and binding with all the other strands of oppression.

With Project O (my on-going supernova collaboration with Jamila Johnson-Small), we are making a long durational work called Voodoo. We performed recently at In Between Time Festival and the week before, I was incredibly panicked about being seen for so long (the show is currently performed in two 2 hour loops - i.e. 4 hours a night). But I couldn’t speak this fear because it felt like failure. Also because I knew there was something important about engaging with being seen for so long. I am unquestionably drawn to performance and to embodying the politics of how important it is that bodies (like mine?) are seen within the matrix of majority white privileged visibility. I will protect the space I and others have carved out for dance and performance to reveal complexities of experience like a lioness protecting her pride. To ensure that experiences are heard, that our stories are written into the fabric of history. My presence is needed urgently. And I will be there as part of the vanguard (screw my fear of arrogance). And there is the paradox. Of wanting to disappear but knowing how important it is that I stay. Artists like Zinzi Minott have voiced that we are dying out, that artists of colour are buckling and looking around for support with self-care. I may also drop away for a while, a breath, a lie in, a long over due catch up with family and friends, a look inwards before returning to movement and to words.

I think of performance/dancing as a site where I can hook in to the morphing I experience as part of my reality - plug in and emit all the everything that shapes my body (and my imagination) moment to moment. Instead of destruction, the same deepening tunnel of dread I can feel when I look into the vortex of a mirror fuels something from the same source (me) but altogether different. Resilience? Wholeness? The strength to grapple? Moving past paralysis?

There is space within this work for healing. It is not the dominant narrative - by now, I distrust dominant anything. It is a part. A rare space that doesn’t exist too often. I haven’t really accepted how long I have lived with an image of myself that swells, twists, becomes unspeakably, literally nauseating. As I become aware of how deep the damage gets, I don’t know what it means for performing, for being in front of people, for going to meetings, for going the shops, for being asked to be in a photograph like its no big deal. I don’t know. I have been pretending that all these asks are ok. They don’t feel ok. I perform their ok-ness because it is what I am expected to do. I am grateful for many things. As I said, this isn’t a place where pity has a home.

It is something that has been on my mind and seeing that article threw me into a space where I realised what I was pretending, what I was battling was - upsettingly part of a larger war to make diverse ranges of narratives visible.

Thank you for reading

**I understand that for white women there is also a gap that needs to be crossed and causes its own damage. I do want to insist that the dominance of white skin tones almost everywhere in the UK makes the leap for people of colour a larger one and therefore the potential for severance from self-worth that bit more potent.

Image credit: Thomas Northcut and GNM Imaging

#dance #mental health #race #racism #white privilege

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milesperhorror · 8 years ago

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rough af seeder family details

(so i don’t forget this shit/edits on going lmao) florence seeder: the mother of our seeds. blessed with a tilted, wild beauty-- all big shoulders and wide swinging hips and her hippy hair that always stretched down to her ass. her father used to strike her with the back of his hand and threaten to cut it all off while her mother watched from her perch in the kitchen. a family with roots in the california fields and hands that were endlessly caked in dirt, florence used to stretch out in the socal sun with her stoner friends and say, “i’m the fucking grapes of wrath incarnate” topher, the first guy she’d ever kiss tenderly and who died while wandering drunk on a train trestle, laughed and blew smoke into her golden hair, “flo, none of us are shit-- none of us are ever gonna be shit, either.” florence had laughed like a maniac at that but the knowledge was already seeded inside her: topher was wrong-- she was going to be something, she was going to be something great. last name “cedar”, like the wood chips, but as a drunken twenty-something it didn’t sit well behind her first name and she scraped her tips until she could change it. ”i’m gonna plant something in this world”, she told the receptionist at the courthouse who rolled his eyes because when he was growing up, everyone was saying stupid shit like that and writing away the god fearing parts of themselves to be named after flowers and rivers. but florence knew better-- that was her one and only flaw: despite the drugs and impulsive, breathless way she ran her fingers through the swarms of male acquaintances, our girl always knew best. she knew when she said she loved someone-- her men, her kids-- she knew it was true. fillip seeder: first born, the only one whose birth certificate read “cedar” (if only for a few years of his life), and some would say a bad seed, though not bad enough that he didn’t manage to dig his roots deep in the other seeder kids’ hearts. he wasn’t taken from birth by devilishness or cruelty-- the kid just wanted to be liked and respected more than he’d ever figured out how to articulate. son of jimmy mccullen, sunless looking priest who was twice florence’s age when he called her over to his sedan and said “i’m so cold, girlie”. fillip was born out of that dark place and always seemed to shy away from the lights of greatness, no matter how often he talked about “being someone”. was he smart-- yes. talented-- kid could draw with charcoal like a university student the day he turned ten. hard-working-- only when he felt like he’d get noticed, which was never when ferris was alive. used to hunker down in his room to “study” but just ended up sketching out everything he was feeling instead. Told Florence, Ferris’s father, and his many foster parents-- “art doesn’t mean shit”, like if he said it enough he could trade in his clever hands for an ability he had deemed more useful. so determined was he to avoid being quiet and sensitive and mild: all the things florence had cooed to ferris, spinning prophecies about where such qualities would take her blond favorite. fillip refused to be the replacement, as far as he was concerned, his mom had already made her decision: laid the best of her love into the earth next to the son she adored most of all. he found a compromise in middle school: used his quick learning fingers and stunted size for fighting. he was fast and cruel-- an endless pale blur of energy and intuitive blows. his friends were budding dropouts, but they loved him-- and he loved the way they looked at him when he was speckled with bruises and blood. loved his mom like a son should but he never quite forgave her for ferris or what came after all that. when florence was laid in the ground though, the man knew he had to make it up for her-- despite his darkness, he didn’t want his sisters to be split down the middle like he and ferris had been. took them on at twenty three-- a benefactor with pale, greasy hair and arms that were always full of books. “read these,” he said, “we seeder’s gotta make something of ourselves before we die ” but that was our boy’s destiny after all-- a dark burnout who went in a silent flare of darker fire. ferris seeder: the second born, willowy little seeder. they say you have to pull up weeds by the root and life was intent on snatching up little ferris the second he pulled in his first shaky gulp of air. sickly, paler than fillip (which shouldn’t have been possible), and the only seeder child whose dad was in the room. chance graceson. sandy haired motherfucker who was like florence: really thought he loved people until he hung around them too long. split in the night three months after ferris came to be. florence didn’t mind-- the guy drank all her seltzer water and missed the toilet when he pissed. ferris, though, she adored. they say mothers don’t have favorites but everyone who wasn’t an orphan or an only child knows that’s bullshit. mothers love one kid with tens times the intensity they love all the others-- and god, florence though she’d been baptised in fire the moment she saw ferris. frail little boy. he needed her in a way fillip never would, and she bet everything on his tiny life-- lost her house to medical bills and went on the run with ferris, leaving fillip in foster care for two years. ferris was timid and sweet only for florence and he only lasted those three, dreamy years before his lungs and heart finally decided they’d had enough of fighting to function the same way all the other body parts did with effortlessness. no funeral. florence was broke and broken-- she buried him on the california coast, up by big sur, under a cypress tree she mistook for a cedar. then she stole back her firstborn who didn’t even ask where his brother was. fable seeder: our heroine, the tree whose roots folded up out of the ground like Tolkien’s ents-- a walking tree from a forest closing in on the scottish moor. fable’s father was the best of the bunch and our lucky girl became a container for the love both he and florence left with her. malcolm johnson-- with skin like rich, late-night laughter and eyes so brown they were almost black. he pulled florence up out of her misery and debt. man wasn’t successful at anything people admired, but what he lacked in traditional actualization, he made up for in raw, impossible luck. guy was banned from las vegas, though none of the casinos could ever file a suit against him for anything they could prove. in fact, the only time the world demanded even a hint of misfortune from him was when fable was born-- in a hurricane that kept the public transport stagnant and cut the power in the hospital where florence was. nurses elsewhere, fable was born by candle-light, the midwife an old woman in a wheelchair who’d answered to florence’s moans of pain. such humble means to florence were fantastical-- so “fable” it was. malcolm used to sit our girl on his knee and tell her, “you got something to give to the world, fable.” and then bounce her high and catch her in his large hands while she shrieked with laughter. she was freckled like with such nebulous impressiveness, fillip used to say she was her own tiny universe. florence always called her aesop, though. between starry skies and talking animals, little fable was showered from all sides with luck and laughter and love. perhaps she remembers it better than it was-- the way the cops were always on florence’s ass about fillip and the way malcolm would come home with wounds he never intended to see a doctor for-- maybe our girl blocked all that out. she remembers the polaroid, though, malcolm’s gift to her at age four. he told her, “show me how you see things” and so she spent the day taking pictures of the edges of tables and underside of the mastiff florence had found in a box on the side of the road. all these neat, developing squares fable took and arranged out on the kitchen floor. then she called malcolm and florence in. florence smiled and hugged her daughter, her swell of pride still hazy from grief that never seemed to sleep, but malcolm swept up fable and exclaimed, “so talented, so talented! you’re gonna be ansel adams two, baby fable!” fillip lingered in the doorway, old enough to understand he was passed the age where he could be jealous of his siblings. he said, “nice, star-girl” but did not mention anything about art being shit, and tried to keep his smile as steady as his mom’s. when elis was born, even fable knew she wasn’t malcolm’s, but the man never once mentioned it. held elis just as tightly as fable and cheered her on with the same dedication. fable was damn near obsessed with her little sister-- always showing her how to do things, giving her a million silly nicknames, and always taking polaroids of the little blonde’s furious screaming or delighted cries. but then came malcolm’s second brush with unluckiness-- there was the war overseas and malcolm’s own fervent patriotism (”florence, this country is the best one in the world-- even with it’s bad spots!”). foot got injured, then infected, and then fable lost her father like the two seeder’s before her. florence went wild. stared dressing in her high school clothes and drinking every waking moment. anything to keep the threat of reality at bay. if her love had died with ferris, her spirit was forever wrapped in an american flag-- side by side with the man she could have seen her future in. fable was scared. fable was sad. fable had to keep reminding herself of how a camera flash lit up the room, how it could preserve smiling faces forever. florence and malcolm’s and fillip’s and elis’ beaming faces, immortalized in the invincibility of black and white. it would take her years to look beyond these childhood memories-- years to crave the questions the photographs dangled in front of her. who were these smiling faces? where had they come from? and where had they gone-- really, truly: where were they now? her mother got her curious, her brother plunged her into the tepid waters of conspiracy, but when elis vanished into the great american wilds-- then and only then did she pack a bag and set out. felicity “elis” seeder: you wanna talk supposed “bad seeds” in the seeder family history and you can’t dodge elis. if the family bore the kind of curse some would become convinced it did, most of it had been heaped onto elis’ pale shoulders. exhibit a: she was the spitting image of her mother-- eyes, hair, the sturdy jaw and the wide hips. it was a resemblance she resented the hell out of-- strangers in public letting her know she looked just like her wasted, wailing mother. whoop-tee-fucking-doo. if florence loved ferris best and fable loved elis best, then elis adored fillip most of all. her dad was a mystery, even to florence, and though fable would turn up theories of ms. charlotte chen or mr. skip, elis decided pretty quickly that she didn’t need one. fillip would take care of her. and fable would pick up the slack when he was at work. after all, fillip was the one who had showed up first-- before the police or the prodding neighbors-- when florence died. oh poor elis, cursed ghost girl in a family of wandering ghosts-- she’d been the one who’d seen it happen. a dark figure in the hallway-- she called him “the person with ears”. the therapists thought she was psychotic and fillip and fable had been patient with elis’ “a monster killed mom” story, but then fillip found a job that could support the three of them. And then he stopped telling elis that “monsters don’t exist”. “i love her too, fillip, but do you actually beli--?” he’d hold up a hand and shake his head, “do your homework, star-girl. you have a lot of work to do probably.” elis was always eavesdropping through the thin walls of the apartment. fillip believed her, she could feel it in the core of herself-- and she loved him best of all for it. but seeing your mom die doesn’t make you a bad seed, after all-- elis’ restlessness, her wildness, her desire to find out how things broke and struggled and burned. that was the badness. the way she’d tell fable “to go fuck herself as soon as she could speak”, the way she’d smash her presents just see the look on florence’s face. “i’m cursed,” she used to cry into fable’s shoulder, “i just want to hurt people. i just want everything to die.” it was a mantra that, after fillip died, just became “we’re cursed. we’re cain, fable, we’re the fucking children of cain. i don’t know how mom fucked up or her dad or whatever but we’re all--” fable just let her cry. held her close and whispered “shh shh” until elis had screamed and rambled herself to sleep. she still wanted everything to burn, but held in her a new fear: that he appetite for destruction was predestined into some cruel deity’s master plan and not a wild extension of her own, home-grown depravity. after fillip was reported dead, the girls only got a few more months together-- foster care just couldn’t keep them in the same homes-- but fable could already feel elis slipping through her fingers. and at 17, the girl disappeared from the world altogether. of course, elis was fable’s wake up call-- the charge to take up her camera and whatever else she could carry from her past (malcolm’s polaroid camera, florence’s favorite flannel shirt, fillip’s copy of the plato’s republic, and elis’ shaky handed journal) and find her sister. and the rest of her family.

#fable seeder

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poisondrummag · 8 years ago

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Byron Bay Bluesfest 2015 Day 1-3

Bluesfest is a strange festival. Surrounded by around 100,000 people at Tyagarah Farm, no one seems to have a uniform or be from the same age group like Splendour. One minute I'm cooing over a freshly post-womb bub and the next a 65 year old woman is asking if I'm ready to throw my underwear on stage at Tom Jones. It's a beautiful kind of diversity that allows you to do and feel what you want out loud. Cry, laugh, sing, smile, embrace, the only thing no one seems to be is upset. The whole five days pass without a tint of anger or sadness and everyone revels in this bubble of responsibility free life. I'm still not quite ready to leave it behind for another year.

Scorching sun that shouldn't have stuck around for March follows us down the east coast and it's seems to get hotter the closer we get to the little campsite we’re invading for the second year in Mullumbimby. The tent is up in record time and drinks are cracked even quicker. It's Bluesfest baby and it's spectacular to be back.

Day one is about one man - Kendrick Lamar. Despite Cold War Kids putting on truly wonderful performances that left me breathless and clutching my chest (‘Hospital Beds’ always brings the tears), the moment he took the stage it became the Kendrick Lamar show and we are all very lucky to have access to that kind of cable. Silhouetted by a black background with “What The ______ Man Say?” splashed across it in stark white, the moment he looked up and eyeballed us I can confidently say I have never heard a crowd react like that.

It was like a bomb had gone off, screams, cheers, I swear the little b-boy next to me was sobbing, and then “THIS DICK AIN’T FREEEEE.” Here we go. Kendrick Lamar performs like he's never going to be on stage again. His style is impossible to pin down, sometimes melodic, others choppy and halting (if any other artist tried it you'd think they'd lost rhythm), with every sentence punctuated with a resounding beat of the drums. Watching Lamar perform is unlike anything I've seen. It's how I imagine watching The Beatles play on top of Apple Headquarters felt, how watching Hendrix play at Woodstock felt, how watching your favourite band play the best show of their career feels. It's weird and disconcerting because you want to sing and dance until your legs are numb, you also just want to stand still and take every part in. I chose the former.

The year Lamar released Good Kid, M.A.A.D City was the same year I turned 18 and last year when To Pimp A Butterfly was released I turned 21. Both records have ended up majorly defining those big milestone years for me. Whether it was silly moments like pre drinking to ‘Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe’ or heavier, quieter moments like listening to u for the first time

Mixing the best parts of his debut with tracks of the absolute masterpiece that is To Pimp A Butterfly (I'm still pissed he didn't win Record of the Year), Lamar set the night on fire. The crowd exploded to ‘m.A.Ad City’ and I've never seen a crowd dance like we did to ‘King Kunta’. When Kendrick strode off the stage the crowd howled in protest, and just like at every show he's played in Australia a chant of “We gonna be alright!” rose from the crowd with the kind of defiance that has come to define that song and it's connotations. Her emerges and launches into ‘Alright’ and I swear I black out for a few seconds from the sheer energy and rage he's throwing at the crowd. When it's all over, and our voices are raw and our limbs exhausted, I go find my friends. My best friend looks at me and very earnestly tells me “He’s huge. He defines our generation.” He's Kendrick Lamar, and there's no one like him.

I woke up on Good Friday expecting a horrific hangover and was immediately suspicious about how great I felt. The hangover never came, but The National were on their way. Clad firmly in my National t-shirt that has been worn by so many people it even went to Turkey with my roommate’s little Brother. Having pre-warned my friends about exactly what happens when I see The National live, I skipped through the crowds at the festival with a kind of morbid curiosity as to how distraught this set would make me. Planting myself firmly in the third row I lit a cigarette, closed my eyes and sunk into their set.

Fast forward an hour and a half and I’m left trying to articulate how a band that have built their (fake) empire on sad songs managed to whip this exhausted audience into sweaty, wide-eyed, frenzied animals. It’s as simple as this: The National are phenomenal live.

With their songs swelling and overflowing with the deepest, darkest version of sadness, the band captured the entire tent and dragged it down in the depression with them.. Lead singer Matt Berninger is a hard performer to sum up in just a few sentences. He’s tall, broad shouldered, with an expression permanently etched into his features that suggests he’s constantly brooding; for all his indie cred he dresses religiously in black three-piece suits and chunky prescription glasses. Combined with ruffled hair and a beard that makes him look like he’s carrying a monumental hangover, he’s not helped by the wine glass he’s taking long sips from. His presence is impossible to describe; he’s magnetic, enthralling and seems so heart wrenchingly sad that it can be difficult to watch. His deep baritone voice is mesmerising, lulling me into a dreamlike state where all I can feel is the raw, pure emotion radiating from these songs.

Sometimes it hurts, other times it doesn’t, but it’s rarely happy and there’s something intoxicating in revelling in utter misery. 'Bloodbuzz Ohio’ is heartstopping; the entire tent are singing, no, screaming the words back at the band because we’re all filled with the pain of the song and we’re grasping at the blunt reality of the sheer loneliness seeping from every syllable. We’re overwhelmed, drowning in the emptiness and there’s something to be said for the pleasure found in this kind of pain; for all the melancholy fervour that is inherently associated with this band, when I look around every person has an uncontrolled, feral smile on their face and are rejoicing in The National’s heartbreak. In a strange way it’s freeing to see this misery, laid out in front of your eyes. For there is no pretense, no false smiles, no cover; just pure, unadulterated misery.

It’s divine.

Day 3 was the unofficial day off. The sun hung in the sky pelting us with unrelenting 40 degree heat. We lazed around the campsite in mattresses soaking up the sun and playing increasingly volatile drinking games. After a particularly enthusiastic game of Bullshit we decided to make the two kilometre (albeit a little tipsy) walk to the dam on site and have some more drinks. Upon arriving and finding a boat next to the dam we immediately took it upon ourselves to get to the middle of the lake before realising the boat was sinking, and within ten minutes we all took an involuntary dip in the lake. Half cackling with laughter, half swallowing dam water, I felt young and silly and aware of how much I had missed my friends. It was a beautifully happy day.

Originally written for & published to Aphra Magazine.

#Bluesfest #Festival Review #Kendrick Lamar #The National #Cold War Kids

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