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negasonicimagines · 3 years ago

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Love Shouldn't Hurt

trigger warnings: abuse, self-hatred, depression, and any other content warnings that come with the Deadpool franchise

request: Love love love your fics!! Can you please do one where Reader is a human and Ellie saves her from an abusive relationship and they fall in love?

notes: this was… a hard one to write. as someone who’s experienced abuse on a few different levels from a partner, you aren’t alone. you may feel like no one else would’ve loved you before, and that no one else will love you after what you’ve been through, but they will. if you’re struggling with abuse, please reach out to someone, anyone. even me, if you really don’t feel comfortable talking to someone you know. it can and will get better. things might not be okay now, but they will be. you are so loved.

i modified the request a bit, i hope that’s ok. i just adore a good best friends-to-lovers piece. sorry for the cheesy title, but i hope y'all are glad i'm semi-back. trying to write more since i'm in a better place and this is a good creative outlet for me.

synopsis: Ellie’s thrilled to return to her hometown after her senior year at Xavier’s is complete. She’s most excited to see you again. But, what happens when you aren’t the you she knows and (secretly) loves?

Ellie’s favorite part about coming home in the summer is seeing you.

Maybe that’s wrong; maybe she should be excited to see her family, or to be back in her own room, or to be away from the chaos at Xavier’s…

But it’s true.

This time, though, as you come out of your house (next door to hers, the only perk of living in suburbia is that you’re so close) you don’t skip along like you used to. Your smile is… Different.

“Hey, Ellie,” you say, and even your voice sounds different. Normally you’re grinning like an idiot, brimming with a puppy dog disposition that acts as a foil to her catlike aloofness. At the risk of sounding like a creepy teenage boy, where’s her hug?

“Are you okay?’ she blurts.

“Yeah, of course,” you laugh it off, your fake smile growing wider. You don’t wanna tell her? Odd. The two of you had drifted apart over this last school year, more than usual. It was normal for one or both of you to get carried away with your studies or other friends and forget to respond to a text every once in a while, so she hadn’t thought much of it. She knew once summer came, you two would fall right back into your routine of slumber parties nearly every night, catching up on all the crazy shit that’s happened in your lives during your time apart and making some more crazy shit happen together.

“...Okay,” Ellie decides to respond. Your phone vibrates, and you flinch, instantly pulling it out and quickly texting back. Your fingers are like lightning. You quickly lock your phone and slip it back into your pocket.

“How’ve you been?” you ask her. “How are things with Yukio?”

“Oh, we broke up almost as soon as we started fucking dating. Thought we’d work out as more, but decided pretty quickly that we were better off as just friends. Our future plans didn’t really line up, among other things. Other than that, I’ve been pretty good.”

“That makes sense,” you say, but you sound even more tense. “Uh, if we happen to run into Vivien, can you not tell her that? She’s the jealous type, and she knows we’re close, so…”

Ellie feels an odd twinge at that, more than just jealousy. Her mom always told her she had good intuition, so she presses further.

“How are things with you two?” she wonders.

“Oh, just great! She really is the best, words aren’t enough to describe it,” you answer enthusiastically, but it still feels so… Off. Maybe it is just jealousy making Ellie feel awkward. Envy was always her worst sin, coveting what she can’t; what she shouldn’t have. You’re her best friend, you always have been. It would probably end like it did with Yukio, burning fast and bright, but once the initial excitement is over… It’s over.

“That’s awesome,” Ellie says. “So, what were you thinking of doing today?”

“Oh, uh, whatever you want is fine,” you chirp.

“Breadstix?”

“They don’t have a lot of vegan options,” you remind her.

“You like it, though. I’ll cope.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts,’” she insists. “I don’t know why you like that place so much, the breadsticks they’re named for are pure shit, but I’ll just cope and get a salad.”

“Last time you ordered it, they put cheese on it, even though-”

“I remember. I’ll just send it back again, it’s not a big deal,” she insists once more. “Why are you arguing so much? It’s your favorite local place that isn’t fast food.”

You sigh.

“Fine, let’s go,” you cave, letting her pull you along to her car. You sit in the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt as she starts it. She buckles her own, passing you her phone. You look at it as if it’s a foreign object.

“You always pick the music. What’s with you?”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t like making all the decisions all of the time?” you bite back.

Ellie stammers, not sure how to respond.

“Hangry, huh?” She decides that must be the reason for your change in attitude. It’s already eleven, and you’re an earlier bird than she is. You likely skipped breakfast knowing the two of you would be eating when you hung out. She takes her phone back and just picks one of your playlists on Spotify.

You’re quiet on the short drive there, and it makes Ellie feel even more uneasy. Your chatter-- which she usually pretends is meaningless to her --is sorely missed.

You’re texting again, intently focused on the screen as if the task is difficult.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I said that I’m fine,” you quickly answer, locking your phone again and tucking it back in your pocket.

“I’ll drop it for now, but… If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?” Ellie asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you agree, but she doesn’t feel better.

“Cool,” she replies, parking outside of the restaurant. The two of you get out, it’s early in the lunch rush so you’re still able to be seated pretty quickly. Your drinks arrive just as swiftly, and Ellie catches you texting with that determined expression on your face again. “Seriously. What’s going on?”

“Just Vivien. She wanted to hang out today, but I didn’t know that until I told her I was gonna be with you. She’s just a little disappointed.”

“Well, she can join us, I’m sure-”

“No, no, it’s really alright,” you quickly reassure her. “I- These days, I don’t really spend time with anybody but her. I’m surprised she even let me- That came out wrong, she-”

As you continue to stumble over your words, the pieces continue to fall into place for Ellie, brows knitting closer and closer together.

“Is she hurting you?” Ellie asks. Xavier’s sex education isn’t just about the mechanics, it’s a pretty progressive class. They had a whole unit on abuse. Ellie’s pretty sure she’s seeing signs of it right now.

“No, of course not! I mean, every relationship has its challenges, but-”

“She is, isn’t she? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“‘Cause I knew you’d look at me like that,” you sigh, giving up on the lie.

“Like what?”

“Like… That. So disappointed in how pathetic I turned out to be. I mean, you’re Negasonic Teenage Warhead, for fuck’s sake, I… It must be so- I-”

“Hey, hey, no, that’s not it at all. I’m disappointed in myself, I should’ve fucking known something was wrong, I mean, I did, the second you came out of your house, but before that… I should’ve checked on you more. I’m- I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault I let it get this bad. She- She’s just- When it’s good, it’s good, y’know, but- I don’t know. I love her.”

“Those PSAs are right, though. Love shouldn’t hurt.”

“It always does,” you murmur, and you give her a meaningful look. If only she knew what the meaning of it was.

“Well, it shouldn’t,” Ellie insists. You’re picking at your pasta. You usually inhale it. Ellie almost asks what’s wrong, but she knows what it is. She’s sure Vivien’s taken every opportunity to break you down. “Eat, please. Or it’ll be a waste of my money.”

“Who said that you’re paying? You don’t even like this place.”

“I said I’m paying. Making a decision so that you don’t have to make them, isn’t that what you complained about earlier?”

You sigh in defeat, eating an actual bite instead of just twirling it around on your fork.

Ellie digs into her salad, she can’t help but fondly smile at you despite the situation. She’s missed you so much.

“When are you gonna do it?” she asks.

“Do what?” you wonder, as if you’ve forgotten the context of the question.

“Leave her.”

“I can’t,” you quickly say, but Ellie still catches a fearful tremor.

“Why not?”

“There’s nobody else. I mean, yeah, you and I are still friends, but… When you reject so many offers to hang out, people stop asking. They stop talking to you altogether, eventually. And… She’s the only person who’s ever wanted me, y’know? And now she’s the only one who ever will.”

“That’s not true,” Ellie says.

“It is.”

“It’s not, I swear,” Ellie insists. “I- You’re gonna need some time to heal, after everything, but… I do.”

“You’re just saying that. There’s no way, after all these years, that you finally-“ you stop yourself.

“Finally?” Ellie asks.

“That you finally love me the way I love you.”

“You mean…? I just thought… I’ve loved you just as long, but I thought you only saw me as a friend, and I didn’t wanna ruin that. The way things went with Yukio just reinforced that- That fear.”

You nod.

“Well, I guess that settles it. You’ll- I’ll call her. I can’t do it in person, she’ll… Y’know.”

“I know,” she gently responds.

You call Vivien.

“Hey, I… I can’t do this anymore. Us.”

You flinch. Ellie can hear the sounds. The yelling. And then the crying. And then the yelling again.

“I mean it. You’re right, you can do better, so… Go do better. We’re not good for each other,” you say with a shaky sigh. “Mhm. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. I know. I know. It’s not like that. Yeah. Goodbye, Vivien.”

“I’m proud of you,” Ellie says softly, and you just scoff, rolling your eyes before you sink your teeth in your bottom lip. You cover your mouth. “Hey, hey, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Will I?”

“Yeah. I might be ‘Negasonic Teenage Warhead,’ but you’re Y/N. Twice as strong without the annoyingly long codename.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff again, eyes watering. “I just- I just don’t know why I wasn’t good enough.”

“You’re perfect, she’s just… Some people just don’t… It’s hard to explain. I have a- He’s not my friend, I can’t believe I almost said that, thank the fuckin’ lord he didn’t hear me… I know a guy who deals with those kinds of people. He told me that most of them, they… They don’t ever change. Maybe they could, with help, but due to the ego that makes them abusive in the first place, they’re never gonna get that help. The world’s better off without them. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“That- That makes sense,” you admit. “I just wish we lived in a world where love was enough.”

“Me too,” Ellie sighs, and you take a sip of your drink. She mirrors your action, realizing that she’s actually quite thirsty. The two of you finish your brunch in a heavy silence. It feels like you both should be talking, but nothing feels right to say. That’s okay, though, Ellie’s just missed you so much. As depressing as the current mood is, there’s a bit of hope. You’ll be back to your regular self eventually; a stronger, more mature version, and Ellie will be there to shower you with the respect and affection you deserve when you’re ready.

#tw abuse #cw abuse #negasonic teenage warhead #negasonic teenage warhead x reader #negasonic teenage warhead imagine #ellie phimister #ellie phimister x reader #ellie phimister imagine #lesbian x reader #lesbian imagine #lesbian fanfiction #wlw x reader #wlw imagine #negasonicteenageimagines

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anonil88 · 4 years ago

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Malcolm and Marie live blog

I don't usually do liveblogs for movies but yea.

Spoilers ahead!!

I love that its modern timed but very 70s stylized.

A tune indeed.

When you are high and drunk on success and

How the white critic reacts is why I feel like gatekeeping my scripts. At the same time some things I do make are about race or involve.

Marie sitting on the patio smoking is a mood whenever men are talking.

So he's pretentious and unaware.

Whoever chose the music for this, I feel like we would be Spotify mutuals.

Can this nigga stop pacing.

Also can he stop talking;

Marie is so tired and unimpressed.

Also little booties matter and are to be bitten.

Oooo the tension and the jazz.

Title Card over mac and cheese.

Shitty boxes mac and cheese but still mac and cheese.

Tbh i always wonder if spouses/significant others get upset when their spouses don't acknowledge them during speeches.

John sounds so much like his dad but I really hope his acting style differs from his dad a lot.

Guilty confession?

He did not profit off of his partners backstory and then not even acknowledge her.....I.....

If that ever happened to me catch me cussing my partner out during the beginning credits, the end credits, in the car, and at home.

GASLIGHTER!

The way I'm excited for Zendaya to give me some, oooo can she work with Regina King. Please on my knees I pray.

Um no that's not your job to coddle your lead.

He's a dick and the type of dick who makes himself look like a good person around other people.

If Sam Levinson is trying to make his viewers more of misandrist, it's working.

I feel like Marie has her flaws probably a lot of them and we will surely see as this continues, but Malcolm needs to learn how to apologize sincerely.

70s vibes! 70s vibes!

Them kissing and talking about criticism and dreams makes me miss a partner. A partner that I've had and haven't had.

Women really are behind every great man.

Yea sir you fucked a happy moment.

Oh visual allegories for looking in from the outside and cat and mouse chasing and looking from the outside in.

She's saying she doesn't feel noticed by you.

Gas lighter :0 he called her an emotional support dog, bruh.

I would LOVE to co-write or take a writing class held by Sam Levinson. The fights i write are very much in this same realm of reflection and anger and monologue.

Sam.....sam.....are all the sides inside of you doing okay sir?

The ugly side of dating and being in a relationship with someone who struggles with their own demons.

Honestly I could close my eyes and listen to this script being read without seeing these characters visually. Just close my eyes and get a sense of these characters like it was a radio story.

Oh. Oh this is a new wheelhouse of Zendaya acting; a different voice is like breaking through here and her expressions aren't the same we are used to. You can literally hear another character in there....hmm.

Mans is outside really fighting with his invisible demons lmfao.

Selfish ass, how after everything she said you came out of it thinking about your own craft and self instead of how you hurt her.

So she's conditional.

Me: did sam (a white man) say nigga this many times in his script or are the actors adding their own inflections. Not just the lingo used but the topic of race and directing etc. being written by a white writer about black characters is always gonna be a critique when you're writer is a white person.

Alexa play Broken Girls by Saba

He is so hurtful.

A clown nigga a clown look in the fucking mirror you bozo head ass looking like you need some Mehron clown white and a size 16 in clown shoes.

John is doing a really swell performance and reading of these lines.

He is reading her for her insecurities by bringing up his experiences with other women and that.....is yikes.

Arguments can get messy like this in real life but it takes a lot of maturity and control to either not let it get to this point or have a healthy conversation afterwards.

This film is really shot on some very crisp lenses.

They sitting there like 🚬🧍‍♀️🧍‍♂️.

Leftover Mac and Cheese and unfinished cigarettes.

The nyt etc. pay walls are so annoying, but there is a work around look at the articles on incognito or add a period at the end of the url.

He sounds like his daddy so much here, weird, this is the only part I'm eh on the dialogue it feels real but a bit out of pace in how they are bouncing off one another.

Nail scissors? So the end is not the only part he based off of Marie. 🙄

ITS A GOOD REVIEW YOU DINGUS but also its a full review they are going to critique things. She isn't wrong though he did profit off of a woman's story that was not his own to profit from.

Yes Malcolm because unfortunately all marginalized people look through a lens of life that is inherently political because of the world they live in.

He is so mad and upset and had a lot on his chest. But I think he Malcolm and Sam are talking about something thats an issue and a non issue. Being critiqued for you art is hard but also Malcolm is not super self aware. He's like a stand in figure of for example rich depop sellers who wanna be oppressed so badly they yell at others instead of examining their own personal behaviors and ethics.

Oh Marie, when you know the spark is gone and you pick fights because.

He ain't even ask her to read?

One critic I have for most of hollywood actors is they learn their cry and that is it. A change from this is Margot Robbie, I adore her fluctuations of crying being similar but the crying is carried differently for each character. If I had to say any actor that does a cry scene amazing its this woman right here (Amy Adams)

You stole her story from her and gave it away, she has a right to be upset and angry and a rubber band ball of emotions.

Citizen Kane, not the cinematography, but the story is it even that good? (Unpopular opinion but meh, maybe in my rewatch it will be better.)

But that is what people want authenticity and whatever authenticity means to them. What is real for one is false for another.

To be honest look at the criticism of Euphoria, well earned, but a lot of people were like this isn't real even though he literally wrote about his own life. People said it was inauthentic like....wtf.

Ahh the smoking is just a habit, he quit and she didn't.

CAST ZENDAYA IN A HORROR MOVIE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING. Get Lupita and Zendaya and some more black actors preferably less known ones in a horror movie. One with a interesting script and story, directed by Regina King. Please and thankyou.

I love Marie yep that was amazing.

Behind every great man is a greater woman, one that deserves her credit for how she has stood behind. I wonder the stories of those women, what they have sacrificed or not sacrificed. Their thoughts and feelings when the world is surrounding their partner and views them as a plus one. (I'd write a short script about this but I think do I have the time, can I, or am I equipped ?)

He is a shitty person for bringing up his exes, like she even said I don't wanna know any of that.

Imagine being on anti depressents and rarely having a sex drive and then when you do your partner starts talking about their exes and tearing you apart for all your faults.

I love when you see peaks of Zendaya's cadence in roles.

Tension, what if's and he didn't even bring her up in his speech.

Marie to herself and the audience:

He is not afraid that he will loose her but as my character says in my unreleased story, "i can't wait til you give me a fucking reason to leave your ass." Malcolm expects everything in order for not even doing the bare minimum and she is only asking him for something as simple as consideration. She just wants him to be considerate. He wants to get married and considers their relationship like rolling down a hill at full speed and he cannot apologize, he cannot be considerate, and he cannot admit his wrongs. He can only offer her I love yous that he probably does mean but he does not back up outside of what he's done for her in the past. The past which was more of her experience than his and he sees his part in it as a burden. He doesn't use his own vantage point of the past to further his career he uses her. He does all of these things without a real apology or thankyou because he is not afraid to loose her.

The restrictions of quarantine and the panorama have made Sam's writing very no frills. I wonder how other films from other directors and writers that are filmed in small contained crews like this will be structured. But this was a very good movie gonna add to my letter box 3.3-3.5

Oh shit this is my song,

Ratings/overall thoughts:

Script is like a C+, B- : I could go into my heavier big brain thoughts on the script but I don't feel like it. You catch hints of it above it centers conversation on race and privilege, mainly the writers and questions i have that won't be answered but Sam did make me grow disdain for Malcolm over a short time. Which is sometimes hard to do because im one sympathetic person but the sympathy i have for Malcolm is at 0. Maybe a 2 at some scenes but then it quickly goes back to 0. Some parts of the dialogue miss the mark or hit the are off balanced. While some of it like Malcolm's bathroom speech albeit mean is really strong or their conversation when he comes back from peeing really shines for me.

Performances: B+ to A- because they carried the script further than it could of gone with less talented actors. The monologues do well to showcase their current skill levels which are already high af and leave room for anticipation in where these actors go next.

Zendaya holding a knife: A+ with a gold star. That switch on and off and on is delectable.

John being a shitty boyfriend but following Marie like a lost puppy: B+ with a good job written at the bottom of the paper, Malcolm being nervous a frantic dialed up with more realistic nervousness would have sold me completely on Malcolm's anxious waiting.

Cinematography: A and a participation award.

The mac and cheese: A+ for the easy mac. Wish it was like Annie's or Velveeta.

Cigarettes: Participation award and their picture hung up for student of the month. Why the grill lighter? Everytime Malcolm opened up his mouth Marie was like sparks fly.

The music: A++ with a prize. Whoever picked the music probably makes good Spotify playlists.

#Malcolm & Marie #malcolm and marie #zendaya coleman #zendaya #john david washington #liveblog #mine

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emotions-ew · 4 years ago

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A Collection of Queer Country Artists and Songs for anyone who doesn’t feel like there’s country music they can relate to...

There is this idea that country music is like just Republican men singing about beer, and trucks and also Jesus, and that is kind of fair because loads of it is but there are some cool as hell queer/lgbtq+ country artists. Finding those and finding that representation in a genre of music I was literally raised on kind of changed my life in a tiny way and I wanted to share that.

(This is by no means a comprehensive list and also I’m basing the “Country” part of this sometimes on my subjective opinion/limited music knowledge so yuh please don’t hate me if I get some wrong)

Also link below for a Spotify playlist of my favourite gay/gayish country music, some mentioned in this post some not, (with a title that isn’t obviously gay for anyone who can’t openly listen to gay stuff on their public accounts for whatever reason) so feel free to skip the massive essay and just jump straight to that. And pretty please repost if I missed anyone/ any songs you love.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7KB6PmUxnpkU7lih8Bysvw

Artists To Follow:

Chely Wright

- Right off the bat, Chely Wright is a legend and I’m in love with her. So, in the 90′s Chely Wright was kind of a huge deal. She started her career as a singer/songwriter and released her first album in ‘94, which was critically acclaimed although never reached the commercial success of her later works. By ‘97 she was really hitting her stride, dropping her breakout hit “Shut up and Drive” (a personal favourite of mine) followed two years later by the biggest hit of her career “Single White Female”. Throughout all that Chely Wright was, to the world, a good old fashioned, heterosexual southern gal. Privately it was a bit of a different story. She had public relationships with male country artists, all while pursuing a secret decade long relationship with a woman.

I hadn’t ever really heard a Chely Wright song until a few years ago so I never knew about her music or career pre-coming out but I do know that even though by the time she came out in 2010 she was by no means at the height of her fame Chely Wright is kind of one of the biggest names in country music to be out and proud (in my opinion) and I love her like an insane amount. I literally play her music in my car when I have passengers just so I can be like “fun fact this singer is actually gay-” and then subject them to a lengthy explanation of her entire career. She came out with an album and a memoir and the album is my favourite of her work because it’s so fucking raw and because I relate to most of it immensely. Anyways Chely Wright went fucking through it in her journey to being her authentic self and now she’s out and proud and married to a woman and they have a family together and I’m a fucking sucker for a happy ending and y’all should add her to every playlist you have. And on top of that her music is genuinely good. Coming out undoubtedly damaged her career but I think that

Brandi Carlile

- As far as I can tell Brandi Carlile has been out her whole career. I feel like this list is just going to be me saying “I’m in love with her” about a bunch of women old enough to be my mother but in my defence, I am honestly in love with her. She’s been making music since she was like, seventeen, and has had a bunch of massive hits, as a singer, songwriter, and producer. If you want to cry kind of happy tears listen to her performance of “Bring my Flowers Now” with Tanya Tucker. She’s won Grammy’s and CMT awards and she’s done it all as an out Queer woman. She’s also a founding member of The Highwomen, an all-female country music group who released their first album in 2019, comprised of Carlile, Marren Morris, Natalie Hemby and Amanda Shires. I really love this band because they’re four artists who are immensely successfully in their own right collabing, much like the Highwaymen, and their music is phenomenal while also being a fuck you to mainstream country music and their inability to properly represent women in country music spaces.

She’s been married to a woman (smoking hot and also brilliant) since 2012 and they have two kids together and if you want to cry (again) then you have to listen to her song “Mother” about her eldest daughter. A queer country artist absolutely worth adding to all your playlists.

Brooke Eden

- As I understand it Eden came out publicly in January of this year. She’s engaged to Hilary Hoover, who she’s been dating since 2015 apparently. I can’t even imagine the pressure that must be on a person and how stressful it would be to keep a relationship secret from the whole world for years and personally I think they’re a cute as hell couple and I wish them literally all the happiness in the world.

Brooke Eden has a few older songs that I think are really good, my favourite being “Act Like You Don’t”, and while her new stuff isn’t my usual country vibe I am a sucker for literally anything gay and it is legally my gay duty to stream any song that she releases to support my fellow queer. It’s quite different to anything Wright or Carlile sing but I actually kind of love that because it shows that country music of all different shapes and sizes and styles can be sung by queer artists.

Amythyst Kiah

- Okay so I am a very new listener to Amythyst Kiah, but her music is literally so beautiful it would be a straight up sin to not include her on this list. Her music is country-blues-roots esq (more roots than country, I think?) and her voice is so unique. She grew up in Chattanooga and has been playing music since childhood. She recently made her Opry debut which is fucking awesome. She also belongs to a band called Our Native Daughters, described as “A supergroup of Black women in traditional music”. Their debut album “Songs of Our Native Daughters” did numbers and I haven’t listened to the whole thing but my favourite so far are “Black Myself” and “I Knew I Could Fly” so y’all add that to your playlists along with “Wild Turkey” by Amythyst Kiah because holy hell her voice on that will blow your mind.

Steve Grand

- The first man to make this list, he should frankly be honoured. Grand has been an out and proud gay man making country music since like 2013, and I have so much respect for an artist who chose to simply never be in, choosing instead to simply write gay ass songs about being in love with men and letting the chips fall where they man. His music is always going to have a special place in my heart and, he’s cute so if you’re into men and music by men give him a google. add him to your playlists, his All-American Boy album is literally just a dozen songs that are perfect to yell-sing along to.

Katie Pruitt

- Not hugely knowledgeable on Katie Pruitt but her music makes me feel crazy intense emotions and is absolutely gay

Honorable Mention Artists I haven’t Really Listened to But Who I Know to be gay thanks to google and might be your thing so totally check them out:

Brandy Clark

Ty Herndon

Shelly Fairchild

Lavendar Country

Trixie Mattel

Cameron Hawthorn

Drop any other names of artists or songs you know of

Specific Songs That Make Me Fucking Cry or (in good and bad ways (but always in a gay way)) or basically are just gay as hell:

If She Ever Leaves Me; The Highwomen

- So, this album came out about a week before my first (and only) girlfriend broke up with me. The general gist of the song is a woman singing about how her loved isn’t ever going to leave her but if she does it sure as hell won’t be for a creepy man in a bar. A little ironic that I felt I related to it so intensely, considering she did in fact leave me. There’s this one lyric that goes “I’ve loved her in secret/I’ve lover here out loud/the sky hasn’t always been blue” and my girlfriend and I were crazy deep in the closet so I drew her a cute little picture of a grey cloud and on the back I wrote that lyric and I gave it to her and to me it was kind of a promise that one day I’d get a chance to love her out loud and even though I never actually did this song is forever going to make me cry because of the little bit of hope that lyric gave me and the way it’s inclusion on this overwhelmingly mainstream country album made me feel like acceptance was just that little bit closer.

All American Boy; Steve Grand

- Definitely one of the first gay country songs I ever heard, and Steve Grand didn’t once sacrifice a scrap of country for the gay. It’s beautiful, it’s a little sad, it’s hopeful. It’s forever going to hold a special place in my heart and the music videos is kind of one of my favourites ever. I found this song before I found myself and the way it made my heart warm should have been a stronger sign than I took it to be.

Like Me; Chely Wright

- When you love someone you kind of make it your mission to know them in a way that no one else can. This song by Chely Wright is sort of an ode to that, and how even once you lost someone, you’re still going to know every little thing about them. On top of that it sort of speaks to the idea that all these things Wright learned about this woman, she learned in secret and she knew her and loved her in secret and now that they’re gone from each other she’s left with all of this knowledge and all of these questions and no one to answer them. I love the way it’s so slow and the melody and her voice, the way it’s low and a little raspy, make this one of my favourite Chely Wright songs.

The Mother; Brandi Carlile

- Sorry but a song about being a mother by a queer woman is going to make me cry every time and actually I’m not that sorry. It’s quite a simple song, if any song written by Brandi Carlile can ever be described as ‘simple’, it’s an ode to her daughter. My favourite line is “you are not an accident/where no one thought it through” because it speaks to the fact that in order for queer women to have a kid together they have to want it so damn bad and also I just like the way her voice sounds on that line. This song is also the perfect thing to listen to if you ever for a second feel like being gay/queer is going to stand in the way of you having a family because it absolutely doesn’t have to and if that’s something you want, you can have it. Don’t let people try and convince you otherwise.

Loving Her; Katie Pruitt

- Unapologetic gay love. Opening a song with “If loving hers a sin, I don’t wanna go to heaven” is a fucking baller move and she went there. The lyrics are beautiful, and her voice is phenomenal. It could be a sad song, about confronting religious repression and grappling with what that means for your love, but instead its triumphant. Katie Pruitt doesn’t give a fuck if you have a problem because she’s going to write songs for her lover.

Jesus From Texas; Semler

- Not actually totally sure this is a country song, but it has the words ‘Jesus’ and ‘Texas’ in the title so I feel safe including it in this list. Honestly, I don’t really know why I relate so hard to this song. Like, I wasn’t really raised with religion, so I don’t know what it is about this funky little tune that makes me want to sob but there’s something about this tune that makes me want to do whatever the opposite of get up and dance is, but like, in a good way.

Lovin’ Again; Steve Grand

- Breakup song that ends kind of positively? So good to sing along to at high, high volumes. The idea that losing someone doesn’t have to mean losing yourself and just because you can’t love them doesn’t mean you’re not ever going to love again. But also kind of about how it’s hard to get over someone, I don’t know it’s just good.

Cryin’ These Cocksucking Tears; Lavender Country

- Jesus christ if this isn’t the coolest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. Sorry but a gay country group formed in 1972 who dropped possibly the first gay themed country album, and this was the title of one of the songs. God I am in love.

Songs that (to me) are a little fruity or that I just relate to in a gay way:

Picket Fences; Chely Wright

- Chely Wright is gay but this song came out long before she did and when she wrote it, it wasn’t supposed to be gay which is why it’s in this section and not the previous. The reason it’s included at all is because frankly ma’am, Mrs Wright, it’s a little fruity. And I feel a little bad for joking because honestly to me, the way I hear this song and knowing the context (that Wright was deeply closeted at the time she wrote and released it), it’s kind of just sad. The general gist of the song is Wright asking what’s so great about a traditional lifestyle anyways. It could be read as a woman genuinely questioning why we push that expectation that she’ll have two kids and a husband and a picket fence lifestyle, or even could be read as a woman who’s trying to deflect how much she does in fact want that, you have to listen and form your own opinion. But to me, it feels like a woman who’s desperately trying to justify why she doesn’t want that life not because she can’t have it, but she knows it will never be right for her. I don’t know it’s hard to explain I just feel like this song is a little bit gay even though I’m sure she didn’t intend that.

Sinning with You; Sam Hunt

- Sorry but this song is gay. Sorry but you can’t write the lines “I never felt like I was sinning with you/Always felt like I could talk to God in the morning” and “if it’s so wrong why did it feel so right” and “But I never felt shame, never felt sorry/Never felt guilty touching your body” and not to mention the opening line of “raised in the first pew/praises for yeshua/case of a small town repression”, and expect to not sit in my car sobbing as I realised that while I never felt like what we did was a sin she absolutely did, and wishing I could have told her that I was sorry for making her carry the weight of both our souls but also that it wasn’t a sin and nothing in the world could feel that good and be that bad and it isn’t right that she had to be so ashamed of something that was just so good. Sam Hunt actually said after he wrote the song that while it was reflection on his own relationship with faith he genuinely hopes that people in the lgbtq community can like find comfort or whatever in his words and like go off king, we stan an ally.

How do I Get There; Deana Carter

- This ones easy, it’s about falling in love with your best friend and suddenly realising you want more than just friendship with them. Sorry Deana, that’s gay. In my Deana Carter of like Year 10 I played this song on repeat and screamed along to the lyrics as though singing it hard enough would make her like me back.

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wayward-dreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Life’s Lessons - Part 11

Title: Life’s Lessons - A Lesson in Moving Forward

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Female!Teacher!Reader

Other characters: OFCs: Katie (Y/N’s best friend) Kathleen (Y/N’s therapist), OMC: Neil (Katie’s boyfriend)

Word Count: 5,770 (texts, thoughts, song lyrics in italics).

Part Summary: New Year’s Eve night finds Dean and Y/N still separated, but it’s nothing a little fun over the phone can’t fix. After a visit to her therapist, Y/N returns to Lawrence to have an important conversation with Dean, before they can embark on their journey as a couple.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut: Phone sex, Dirty talk, Male masturbation/Hand job, Female masturbation/Vaginal fingering. 18+ ONLY. Therapy session, Insecurities, Self image/worth issues, Mentions of reader’s ex, Mention of physical altercation against reader, Dean’s self deprecation rears it’s ugly head (slightly), Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Dean being sweet (yes, that’s a warning)

Music: This Is How by Louden Swain (Y/N post therapy session scene), Something by The Beatles (Dean and Y/N end scene).

Life’s Lessons Spotify Playlist

A/N: You guys are seriously the best! Thank you so much for all the love for this series. It really means the absolute world to me. There’s only 4 chapters and an epilogue left after this. I hate counting down, but I just want everyone to be prepared for the inevitable end. I can’t wait for you all see where this goes! Happy reading and enjoy! :)

Life’s Lessons Masterlist

Dividers by the wonderful @firefly-graphics! Check her out for all your AU needs!!!

Y/N concentrated as she applied her eyeliner, her face as close to the mirror as she could get it. She had given herself a smokey eye look, with a plum lipstick to match the colour of her sequin full-sleeve, backless dress. Katie sat on Y/N’s bed of the hotel room, dressed in a black dress and heels, just watching her friend as they talked.

It was New Year’s Eve, and Katie had booked her and her boyfriend one room at a fancy hotel in the city, and another for Y/N. Katie’s boyfriend, Neil had friends who were having a big party in the penthouse and asked him to bring anyone he knew along to the party. Y/N had protested at the start, given that it wasn’t really her scene, but Katie had insisted. Somehow, they managed to find a room once Y/N had agreed.

Y/N packed up all her make-up and put it back in her make-up bag. She slipped into her black heels, fixing her hair a little as she tossed it over one shoulder and turned back to Katie.

“I mean, it’s not really our scene either, but Neil knows these guys from work. I’m sure it’ll be fun” Katie said, still trying to convince Y/N even though she was almost ready. She had just never been a fan of New Year’s. It was always a letdown.

“I know” Y/N sighed. “I’m just going to feel like a third wheel.” She hated that she couldn’t be with Dean on this night, wanting to start the new year with him. As much as she had needed to see her family and she was so glad she got to spend this time with them, she regretted not scheduling the flight back to Kansas before New Year’s.

Katie frowned, knowing what she was thinking about. “You know I’d never make you feel like that. And besides, you’ll see Dean when you get back in a few more days. So, you’ll still be starting the new year with him.”

Y/N told Katie everything when she had come over to their house before Christmas Eve, and her friend had been incredibly happy for her and the prospect of a relationship with the neighbor she had been crazy about for months.

“I guess you’re right” Y/N shrugged.

“I’m always right” Katie said, laughing. “We’re going to have a great time and bring in the new year.”

Y/N laughed at her enthusiasm, shaking her head.

Once she was ready, she grabbed her clutch purse and put her phone and lipstick inside. She opened the door and they walked out into the hallway, Y/N locking the door and placing her key card in her clutch. Katie and Neil were one floor above her, and Neil had already gone up to the penthouse, so the girls decided they would meet him up there.

Once they got inside, Y/N and Katie smiled at each other, as people danced to music, drinks were being served from the small bar set-up, and waiters walked around with them and small canapes as well. Katie spotted Neil and they walked over, and he immediately took them both to the middle of the room, where people were dancing. Y/N bopped along, but knew she needed a drink before she lost herself in the music. She got herself a gin and tonic, standing off to the side where it wasn’t too crowded. Katie gestured she’d be over in a minute, and Y/N nodded, laughing slightly.

Y/N people watched, sipping her drink. Just as she was about to move and maybe decide to join Katie and Neil rather than stand off to the side, a tall man approached her. He was wearing a fancy sweater and dress pants, his dark hair slicked back.

��Hi” he flashed her smile, but Y/N wasn’t going to do anything about it. “You all alone over here?”

“No, I’m just waiting on some friends” she replied, politely, hoping he’d move on soon.

“Okay, but are you here by yourself? Got a boyfriend?” he asked.

“I do, he’s just not here” she lied. Dean wasn’t her boyfriend, not yet at least, but she needed to get this guy far away from her.

“Well, he won’t mind if-” he started to insinuate something, and she cut him off; shut him down.

“Actually, he would” she said, glaring at him. She walked off before he could say anything, walking over to her friends.

The rest of the night went on, as Y/N ate and drank a little more, and even danced a little with Katie and Neil. Katie took a bunch of pictures, only posting the appropriate ones of her. Life of a teacher meant you couldn’t really post drinking photos, so those were avoided. She was surprised, but she had a great time, and before everyone knew it, it was twenty minutes to midnight and to the beginning of the new year. However, as much fun as she had, there was someone who she really wanted to talk to and bring the new year in with. Even if he was in Kansas, which was an hour behind New York. She explained herself to Katie, who completely understood, and they wished each other a happy new year early, before Y/N left.

As soon as she entered her hotel room, she tossed her purse on the bed and kicked off her heels. She took out her phone and tried to connect FaceTime, but the hotel’s Wi-Fi was being crappy. She dialled his number, waiting for him to pick up as she sat on the bed.

“Hey” his cheery voice came through, a little loud as she heard music in the background.

“Hey” she said, smiling. “Where are you?”

“At Sam’s. They’re having a party and invited everyone over. The girls miss you” he told her, and she guessed he found a slightly quieter room, the music now muffled in the background.

“I miss them too” she said, frowning. “And… I miss you.”

“God, you have no idea how much I wish you were here. Pretty sure I’m the only one who doesn’t have someone to kiss at midnight” he chuckled, but she frowned knowing he was definitely trying to lighten his own mood.

“Well, I left the party early. It’s nearly midnight here, and I wanted to bring it in with you” she smiled, looking out the large window of her room.

Dean smirked as he sat down on Sam and Eileen’s bed. He really missed her and was so happy when he saw her name flash up on his screen. He snuck into a quiet room so that he could hear her properly.

“What? No good-looking New York men to kiss at midnight?” he teased, but really hoping he was right.

“You know you’re the only one I want to kiss from now on” she smiled, biting her lip.

Dean licked his lips, as he smirked. “Yeah, same here, sweetheart.”

Y/N hummed, leaning back against the pillows. “Good to know.”

There was a short pause before Dean spoke next. “So… you look amazing. Your friend posted a photo on Facebook.”

“Of course she did” she laughed, slightly.

“You uh… you still dressed?” he asked, hesitantly. He didn’t know if she’d be offended by where he was going with that question.

Luckily, Y/N knew exactly where he was going with it and was very much on board. “I don’t have to be.”

She stood up from the bed and unzipped the small zip at the dip in the back of the dress. She slipped her arms out and wiggled out of the dress, dropping it to the floor. Dean smirked as he heard the rustling of fabric. Y/N picked up her phone and laid back down on the bed in just her black thong, having forgone a bra because of her backless dress.

“I wish you were here” she said, softly.

“Me too, sweetheart. You… you wanna know what I’d do if I was?” he asked, closing his eyes as he heard her whimper.

“Yeah” she said, nodding.

Dean smirked, excited about where this was going. “I’d… kiss your breasts… and lick your nipples. I’d roll them between my fingers to get them hard.”

She sighed, as she brought her free hand to her right breast, rolling the nipple between her thumb and fore-finger.

“Are you touching yourself, Y/N?” he asked, his voice husky and downright seductive.

“Yeah” she sighed, licking her lips as she closed her eyes. She could feel her arousal growing between her legs, just from her ministrations and his voice.

“Good girl” he complemented her, trying to imagine her on the bed as he talked to her. He heard her whimper when he said that and smirked as he stored it away that she was into that.

“I’d love to see you right now. See you pinching your nipples, see your hand move down your beautiful body to your pussy…” he trailed off, his own arousal building.

Y/N breathed deep, as her hand skimmed over her stomach and down to her thong, pulling it to one side. She turned her speaker phone on to free her hand, moving it to her left breast, and paying it the same attention as her right. Her fingers dipped in between her folds, feeling the wetness there.

“Dean” she moaned, softly. “I’m…”

Dean felt himself getting hard as he heard her say his name. He had longed to hear it like that for so long, and he wished he could be there to do something about it.

“You what, sweetheart? Talk to me.” His voice was low and gravelly, turning her on even more.

“I’m so wet” she gasped, as she continued to move her fingers over the folds and up and around her clit.

“Fuck” he breathed out. “Are you wet for me, Y/N? Is it all for me?”

“Yes, you. Only you, Dean” she said, smiling.

Dean groaned, palming the outside of his jeans as he felt his hard on throbbing against the fabric. He looked between the bedroom door and the master bathroom, knowing that was the only way to avoid being walked in on. He rushed over to the bathroom, closing the door and locking it. He pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder, as he undid his belt and unzipped his jeans, leaning back against the door.

“Keep touching yourself for me, gorgeous. Move those fingers inside you. Tell me how it feels” he instructed her.

She moved her fingers to her entrance, inserting one first, then another when she adjusted, pumping them in and out. She rubbed the pads of her fingers against her wall, moaning as the pleasure pulsed through her. She smiled when she heard his belt and zipper over the phone and decided to have a little fun with him in return.

“Dean, it feels so good. My fingers feel so good inside my tight, wet pussy. I… I wish they were your fingers inside me” she moaned loudly, as she writhed on the bed.

“Me too, Y/N, me too. Picture it, sweetheart. Imagine it’s my fingers fucking you, making you feel so good” he whispered, closing his eyes, imagining it himself. He pushed his boxers aside, taking hold of his aching cock, and began pumping his hand along the shaft.

“You’re touching yourself, too aren’t you, Dean?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Yeah” he groaned, as he moved his hand along his cock.

“I bet you wish it was my hand, don’t you?” she moaned, as she continued to move her fingers within her core.

“Fuck, yeah I do, sweetheart. Wish it was your fingers… wish it was your tight little pussy wrapped around my cock, squeezing around me as you take me in” he grunted, gripping himself a little tighter.

“Dean” she moaned loudly. “Oh fuck, you’d feel so good inside me, filling me up, making me feel so full.”

Dean huffed at her words. Damn she was good at this. He threw his head back, hitting the door. His jaw clenched as he moved his hand faster, chasing his release.

“Dean. Dean, fuck… oh, fuck, Dean!” she shrieked, throwing her head back as her legs shook.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You sound so fucking beautiful, fucking yourself on your fingers” he growled. “Rub your clit, baby.”

Her thumb moved over her clit, circling the bundle of nerves, causing a string of loud moans to leave her lips.

“Dean, oh my god! I-I-I I’m gonna cum… Dean, I’m gonna cum” she stammered, overwhelmed by what she was feeling.

“Do it, sweetheart. Make yourself cum on your fingers. Make yourself cum for me” he groaned.

She moved her fingers and her thumb, faster as the waves of pleasure finally crashed over her. “Ah, fuck! Dean! Dean!” she moaned loudly, not caring if people in the other rooms around her heard anything. She came hard, her fingers soaked in her release.

“Fuck… shit… Y/N.” Dean held himself tightly, pumping faster and biting back a loud groan, as spurts of cum filled the palm of his hand.

They both breathed heavily, hearing each other come down from their high over the phone. Dean smirked, chuckling to himself. This girl was really something to get him that riled up that he had to do something about it right there, in his brother’s master bathroom at a New Year’s Eve party.

He heard her breathing heavily, probably still too blissed out to talk, causing him to grin. “Y/N?”

“That… was…” she kept pausing as she tried to catch her breath. She chuckled slightly, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe she just did that with him. She had never done that before.

“That was so fucking hot” he laughed, softly.

She hummed, still running her fingers over her folds, slowly. “Yeah, it was.”

“You’re welcome” he said, a cocky grin on his face.

She laughed, shaking her head, before it slowly died down. “I’ve… I’ve never done that before. You know… over the phone.”

“Coulda fooled me, sweetheart” he smirked, as he remembered everything she said. He needed to stop thinking about it, knowing it would get him hard all over again.

“I guess when it comes to you… I just know what I want to say or hear” she shrugged, holding the phone to her ear again.

Dean smiled. “Me too.”

Before she could say something, Y/N gasped as the fireworks started. She quickly sat up and smiled brightly as she saw all the beautiful colors outside her window, high in the sky as the fireworks erupted from the bridge.

“Happy New Year, Dean” she smiled, happier than she had been in a long, long time.

Knowing that it was already time there, Dean smiled. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“I can’t wait to come home to you” she told him.

“I can’t wait for that either” he smirked, his heart exploding with happiness. It scared him, not knowing what could happen in the future worried him, but he had to make sure things would be okay now. He knew they would be because they were going to be in it together. They were going to be a team and work hard to make a life for themselves. Together.

“Want me to call when it’s your turn?” she asked.

“No, you just get some sleep” he replied, quietly.

“Okay” she nodded. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N” he smiled as they both hung up the phone.

Dean smirked to himself, waiting a few minutes to calm down as he cleaned up, made himself presentable again and went back out to the main room where the party was. He had done that with women before, but it was the first time in a long, long time that he had felt that satisfied without anything more. It was about them being there for each other, even if they couldn’t physically be together. That was just the beginning, and he really couldn’t wait to find out where they went from there.

Y/N’s leg bounced up and down, nervously as she waited. The waiting room was familiar, having come here every week for a year after her break-up with Ethan. Being back there brought up old feelings, but she quickly put them to bed. She wanted to go there to get her thoughts properly aligned, be sure that she was in a better headspace before she and Dean went any further than they had. She smiled to herself as thought about what happened a couple of nights ago. She had never done that with any of the other guys she had been with. She never trusted them enough to do that. With Dean, she felt like she could do anything, but she also felt like he would never judge her if she didn’t want to.

The door across from her opened, a woman walking out and down the hall, leaving the waiting room. She smiled as she saw her old therapist, Kathleen waiting with the door open. She stood up, fixed her boots over her knee and picked up her brown coat. She walked in, as Kathleen closed the door.

“Y/N” she smiled, shaking her hand. “It’s good to see you, after so long.”

“It has been a while” Y/N agreed. She knew that she could’ve seen someone in Kansas, but she knew that she needed to see Kathleen for familiarity and comfortability. She already knew her past struggles and would be able to help with her new ones based on her past experience. She didn’t want to have to repeat everything to someone new.

As they sat down across from each other, Kathleen turned to Y/N. “So… how have you been?”

Y/N looked around the office. Nothing had changed except for a few more photos of Kathleen’s kids. Kathleen was in her mid 40s now, the roots of her dark hair were beginning to grey, but she was as stylish as ever as she wore all black with chunky jewellery.

“I’ve been… good. Better than I have been in a long time” Y/N replied, with a soft smile. “I just know that I want to clear some things out of my head before I start to move on with my life.”

“Alright, so tell me what’s going on” Kathleen said, putting a glass of water in front of her.

Y/N went on to explain everything to Kathleen, stopping to clarify things when she asked. She knew about Y/N getting the job in Lawrence, that was the reason she had obviously stopped coming to see her. She told her about school, about Mark, about Lisa and of course, Dean. She told her everything, about the kiss, about giving him time with Lisa, about Mark being an asshole, about Dean being there for her when she needed him, and about their kiss before she left to come home for the holidays. She told her about the trust she had with him, but how she did fear that something would go wrong.

“I keep thinking about all the things I use to think when I was with Ethan. Like I’m not good enough, like I’ll never be able to make anyone happy. That I deserve to be alone. It all resurfaced again after Mark and now… I can’t shut it off” she explained, sadly.

“Has Dean ever made you feel that way? The way Ethan did?” Kathleen asked, her face neutral as it should be.

“No, never. Not once” Y/N said, firmly.

“He’s never said anything like that to you? Treated you that way?” Kathleen confirmed.

“No” Y/N shook her head. “He’s just… he’s so different. He’s… he’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then what scares you?” Kathleen questioned, looking at her.

Y/N huffed as thought about that question for a moment. “That… I might not be what he wants. Which is weird to even think because he’s told me that I’m it for him.”

“Have you spoken to him about this?” her therapist asked.

“No, not yet. I know I need to, though” Y/N replied, feeling tears brim against her lower lids.

“Do you think Dean would be open to having this conversation with you?” Kathleen wondered.

“I think so” Y/N nodded.

“Then, that’s your exercise. Having the conversation. Then, and only then, can you truly move forward with your life, Y/N. If Dean is the one that you want to be with, you have to make sure the past won’t creep into this relationship. You have to make sure he really knows how you feel, really knows what you’re thinking. A conversation over the phone is much different to one in person. Once he really sees you, sees how you’re feeling, that’s when you’ll know where you both stand” Kathleen explained.

Y/N sighed in relief. “You’re right. We just have to talk.”

Kathleen nodded, finally a very small smile on her face. “I’m afraid our time is up, but I’m very glad you came to see me.”

“Thank you so much, Kathleen” Y/N smiled.

“Don’t hesitate to go to someone in Kansas now. It’s difficult to repeat your past to a new person, but if you need the help… it’ll be worth it” Kathleen advised.

Y/N nodded, determined to look for someone once she got home. She might not see them straight away, but she would do her research just in case.

As Y/N left the therapist’s office and walked down the busy New York street, she smiled to herself, feeling lighter than she had in years. It was as if she had found a new voice, wanting to shout from the rooftops that she was happy. Content. She couldn’t wait to get home and see Dean. Yes, the conversation would be daunting but she was determined to do it. It would be the first step in moving forward for them, and she knew things were going to be better than ever once they spoke about this.

This is how your story is unfolding

Try to grab a hold and slow it down

Here and now the sun is also rising

Day in and out, it offers no relief

I find my voice and sing it from the rooftops

Stand up tall and slowly take a bow

This is how

Y/N unlocked the door of her house, sighing happily as she walked in. It was a tearful goodbye at the airport back home, with little Evie clinging to her, not wanting her aunt to leave. With a promise to be back or the promise from her sister that they would come and visit, it was set in motion that the family would see each other again, soon enough. She dropped her keys on the table by the door, unwrapping her scarf from her neck as she took off her loose-fitting grey coat. Dean had messaged her, saying he was on his way back from work while she was in the cab, and her heart was racing, knowing he’d be home any minute.

Settling her bags in the bedroom, ready to unpack later, the doorbell ringing frantically and three loud knocks alerted her. She dashed out of her room and ran down the hallway to the front door. She flung the door open, squealing as she saw his gorgeous face beaming at her. She jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck, his automatically coming around her waist. She leaned in and kissed him, feverishly, not wanting to let go. They were locked in passion for a few moments, until the cold started to get to them. Dean walked her backwards, shutting the door behind him, blindly as he entered the house still locked in her embrace.

They slowly pulled away from each other, smiling as they took a few deep breaths.

“Hi” she sighed, smiling up at him.

“Hi” he said, smirking. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you too” she said, against his lips, kissing him again.

They continued their passionate embrace, as Y/N shuffled back towards the couch. She laid down, wrapping herself around him when he joined her. They locked lips, their hands roaming over each other, exploring each other. Her fingers scraped against his scalp as she combed her hands through his hair, his lips nipping at her neck. However, knowing there were things she needed to say to him, she gently pushed him up, smiling softly at his confused look.

“I think we should stop” she said, gently.

Not looking disappointed at all, he leaned down and pecked her lips, once. “Okay.”

He sat up on the couch and faced her, smiling softly. She smiled back at him, taking his hand in hers.

“There’s actually a few things I wanted to talk to you about” she said, trying not to show how nervous she was. “Maybe we can make dinner together tonight, then talk?”

“Yeah, of course, sweetheart” he replied, nodding. “Is… is everything okay?” His concerned expression made her smile, reassuringly.

“Yeah, everything’s good. I just need you to know some things I still have to tell you about Ethan” she replied, knowing she still hadn’t told him a few things, like she said she would when she was ready. And she was ready. “And I just think I need to air out what I’m feeling, before we continue with what we have.”

“Okay” he nodded, but still wondering what she was going to say. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings very well, but he was going to try for Y/N. He needed her to know that this was it for him, even if he had already said it. He needed to show her now, by being there for her while she said what she needed to.

They spent the rest of the evening relaxing, watching crap TV before they started cooking. They made some fried chicken, cornbread and gravy, all of which Dean mostly did while she helped him with things in her kitchen. He insisted on doing most of it, and she was glad because even though she was a pretty decent cook herself, Dean was incredible. They talked and laughed over dinner, as they both relayed to each other their holidays and time with family, reiterating how much they missed each other.

As they moved over to the couch, Y/N with her wine and Dean with his whiskey, they sat down facing each other, the smallest of gaps between them.

“So…” she trailed off, her nerves bubbling up.

Dean took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart.”

She nodded, quiet as she thought about her words. She sighed as she felt ready to talk, ready to tell him the last thing she needed to about Ethan, before she voiced her fears.

“You know most of what happened with Ethan. You know how controlling he was, how he’d tell me what I could and couldn’t do, but… you don’t know how he started telling me how I should look and dress. That dressing up meant I was trying to get attention from other men, but if I dressed down, he’d tell me I wasn’t attractive. He’d say things in the most convincing ways… and I’d believe him. I’d believe I wasn’t good enough for him… for anyone” she told him, as she avoided eye contact.

Dean looked at her as he tried to keep his anger at bay. He squeezed her hand tighter to let her know he wouldn’t let go. It was like the first time she told him about her ex. She finally looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“It went on for a while before my family realized what was happening. They kept telling me I had to leave him, but I couldn’t see it myself, yet. I thought he was trying to make me better. I thought he loved me. We kept seeing each other, eventually moving in together. One night, we were about to head out for dinner, and he said that I should change what I was wearing. I told him it was fine, and we started arguing. He kept saying that I never listened to him, that I never did what he told me to do. I knew that wasn’t true because I always did what he asked me. Things started to get really bad and he… um…” she stopped, taking a deep breath before she continued. “He pushed me, and I fell, hit my head on the coffee table. I managed to scramble up from the floor and call the cops.”

“Fuck, Y/N” Dean whispered, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe how anyone could do that to her.

“I blacked out on the way to the hospital, so I had to stay there for a while because of a concussion. My parents helped me move things out of the apartment and move back in with them. I pressed charges and got a restraining order, but I still saw him every now and then. His family has money, so they probably bailed him out. He kept trying to apologize to me, but I was done with him. It had been a year since we broke up, but with the multiple run-ins with him before he left… I knew I had to leave. There were just too many reminders of what I had been through and I needed to go” she finished what she needed to say, taking another breath to keep from crying.

A silence fell between them, their hands still intertwined. Dean lifted hers up and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. She smiled tentatively at him, feeling like she might explode from that gesture. He turned slightly, making sure he was really facing her properly, to look her directly in the eyes.

“I’ll never do that to you” he vowed. That statement pierced her heart as she saw a tear roll down his cheek. She knew it to be true. She knew he was the most beautiful man she could ever be lucky enough to have in her life.

“I know” she choked out, nodding to let him know she agreed as her voice gave out.

“Is that what you’re scared of?” he asked, fear making his chest tighten.

“No” she let out in a soft cry. “I’m just scared I won’t be good enough for you. That I’ll never be what you need, that this” she said, gesturing to herself and to her head, “this won’t be good enough for you. I’m a mess.”

He took the glass out of her hand and put it down on the coffee table, along with his. He cupped her face in his hands to make her look at him.

“Y/N, I need you to really hear me, okay?” he said, looking into her tear-brimmed eyes. “I want you, exactly as you are. Everything you’ve been through, it’s never gonna stop me from wanting you. You’re beautiful, smart, freaking hilarious. Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking hot, you should know that from how much you turned me on that night we got each other off over the phone.”

One side of her mouth turned up in a half smile. “Really?”

“Yes” he said, without missing a beat. “Y/N… I meant it when I said this is it. You’re it for me, and I promise you that I will never make you feel like you’re anything less than the fucking goddess that you are.”

He moved forward, pressing his lips to hers, the kiss searing hot and imprinting onto her lips. She pushed herself into him, wrapping around him, never wanting to let go. She quickly pulled away, however, to look into his eyes again.

“I promise I’ll never let you go a minute without knowing how much you mean to me” she promised him.

“That’s good because… if you have worries, then I do, too” he said, shrugging.

“Tell me” she said, cupping his jaw.

“I feel like I don’t deserve you. Like, I’m not good enough for you. You’re so smart and have so much going for you… and I’m just a mechanic from a family of mechanics” he said, quietly, voicing his own fears as he looked away from her.

She shook her head, turning his head to make her look at him. “No, you’re not.”

“No?” he asked, slightly amused at how confident she was in her statement.

“No” she said, firmly. “You’re talented, and passionate and care about what you do. You’re so smart, Dean. Look at everything you’re about to accomplish with the new site. You’re amazing and I’ll never tell you you’re anything less than that.”

He smirked at her, pressing his forehead to hers. “Thank-fucking-god I helped you with your furniture.”

She laughed, as she remembered that day. The start of their story, even if they didn’t know it then. “I know.”

“So… can I take you out tomorrow night?” he asked, smirking.

“Are you asking me out, Dean Winchester?” she asked in return, playfully.

“You’re damn right I am, Y/N Y/L/N” he said, the smirk never leaving his face.

“I’d love for you to take me out” she said, kissing him, softly.

Dean slowly moved away from her, and she frowned as he walked over to the record player. He stood there for a minute, trying to decide what to play before his eyes landed on one of The Beatles albums he had. He picked it up and took it out carefully, putting it on. She smiled as he walked over to her, his hand out.

He smirked at her, offering his hand. She slipped her hand into his, loving the feel of their fingers intertwined. She pushed herself up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck as he wrapped his around her waist. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as she did the same.

Something in the way she moves

Attracts me like no other lover

Something in the way she woos me

I don’t want to leave her now

You know I believe and how

Somewhere in her smile she knows

That I don’t need no other lover

Something in her style that shows me

I don’t want to leave her now

You know I believe and how

Sometime after, they caught up on their favourite show for the rest of the night, slightly wrapped around each other, stealing kisses every now and then.

They both knew they would have struggles in the future, it was naïve to think they wouldn’t. They knew, however, that they could handle it because of one thing.

They were together now.

And together they could take on absolutely anything.

-x-

Tags: @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @katehuntington @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05 @kyjey @halesandy @440mxs-wife @stoneyggirl @deanswaywardgirl @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @redbarn1995 @marianita195 @babypink224221 @deans-baby-momma @parinarain @thoughts-and-funnies @mandalou29 @castiels-a-winchester @ellewritesfix05 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @supraveng @roonyxx @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624 @prettyboyswow @lunarmoon8 @supernatural-bellawinchester

#Life's Lessons #Dean x Female!Reader #Dean x Female!Reader Series #Dean x Female!Reader Fanfiction #Female!Reader Insert #Mechanic!Dean #Teacher!Reader #Dean x Reader Fanfiction #Dean Winchester Series #Dean Winchester Fanfiction #Dean Winchester Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfiction

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retrievablememories · 4 years ago

Text

the second time around | jaehyun

title: the second time around pairing: jaehyun x reader genre: fluff, some angst request: “Hi! Here’s a suggestion for a story or add-on to another story you wrote. I really liked moonlight w/ jaehyun! Could you do a follow up with him not seeing her for awhile and him (and her secretly) being pissed about it but wants to reconnect with her but outside of being a customer. Ty and keep up the good work with your writing.” word count: 2.9k warnings: a couple mentions of sex a/n: hmm...the sequel to moonlight...sequels are scary to write but here we are lol. this could’ve been posted last sunday really but i’ve been stalling oof

Despite getting Jaehyun’s number after that night at the strip club, you’ve seen and heard a lot less of him than you’d like. On his end, Jaehyun isn’t so pleased about losing touch either, but you wouldn’t know that with the lack of communication.

Both of you are ultimately busy with your own lives, and it’s not like he can just drop in whenever he wants to visit you. Not just because he’s busy, but also because of where you work. The men keep their visits to the club on a once-a-month basis for a reason—to avoid tipping off any stalkers who’d find out and leak their whereabouts.

You’ve texted each other a few times since your first meeting, and you enjoyed the conversations you got to have within that timespan, but the time between responses kept getting longer—on both of your ends—until things eventually dropped off.

You were unhappy about this, though you tried not to be so obvious about it to the other girls. Getting attached to customers was not a good look. Even if they were handsome and nice and had good dick.

However, Anya was the first to notice your slightly sour mood despite your best efforts to project an unphased demeanor. And, being her usual nosy self, she managed to pry it out of you before you could even think about denying it.

“Don’t stress about it,” she’d told you on the night you finally spilled the beans. She’d wrapped her arms around your shoulders and tipped your chin up, making you hold your head up higher and look at yourself in the mirror reflection facing you. “There will be many more men where he came from. And if you don’t wanna deal with any more men right now, that’s fine too. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, anyway.”

“I’m not stressing over it,” you’d argued, sighing. “We don’t stress over men who aren’t boyfriends, remember?”

Anya grinned then, though you could tell it was the kind of smile you give when a friend is doing something they shouldn’t be—or indulging in something they think is good for them when it’s not. “Duh. But you might wanna start following your own advice if you’re gonna be dishing it out!” And then she’d gone off to do her own thing, probably to finish getting ready for her set later that night or to go bother one of her favorite bartenders.

You’d looked at yourself in the mirror more closely, frowning at the truthfulness of her statement and wishing you had not been quite so easy to read. You’d had a show right after that, which allowed you to take your mind off the mess for at least a few hours. But in the small moments when you weren’t thinking about work or school or anything else you had to do, Jaehyun crept back into your mind like a specter, wanting you to acknowledge him even though you weren’t getting the same.

When you head out to the parking lot after a particularly long night, you slow your steps when you see a man leaning against his car, his cap pulled over his eyes and his head low. In any other scenario, you probably would’ve alerted one of the bouncers, thinking he was some creep waiting until after your stage to try to corner you in a shady area. However, you hold off on calling anybody because you can clearly recognize him even if he thinks he’s being inconspicuous—it’s Jaehyun.

He lifts his head when he hears your shoes on the ground, and his lips turn up into something of a smile.

“If you wanted another dance, you’re a bit late. We just closed,” you say jokingly, raising an eyebrow at him. Jaehyun shakes his head.

“Tempting idea, but that’s not what I came here for.” He turns to face you fully now, observing you in your casual, after-work clothes. In the back of your mind, you realize this is the first time he’s seen you outside the context of performing. Then he sighs. “It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”

“I know.” Your familiar irritation rises again. Sure, maybe him coming to see you or you going to see him more often isn’t feasible. A text or a call, though...would be decidedly less effort, and not difficult to do. You’re not sure whether to be more irritated with him or yourself about not trying to reach out again, though you decide to aim your annoyance at him just because you can.

Jaehyun nods to your agreement. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine,” you say. “Work is...work. It has its ups and downs. How are you? Busy with the idol life?”

Jaehyun sighs. “Yeah...it just gets…stressful sometimes.” He bites his lip and shakes his head, seeming bothered about whatever’s going on with his job but not wanting to say much more about it.

“I’m sure,” you respond, and you don’t really know what to say afterwards. It’s been a while since either of you talked, and it’s strangely hard to try to pick up where you left off as if nothing happened. Jaehyun realizes this, too, and appears distressed at not knowing how to keep the conversation going with you—and possibly wasting your time.

You nod to yourself and shift on your feet. “Well, the Uber will probably be here soon, so—”

“I don’t know what things will look like between us, but I don’t want us to fall out of contact again,” Jaehyun blurts out, then winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just...don’t want either of us to leave before we...sort this out, I guess.”

You think to yourself, wondering if this is really worth trying to pursue. You’ve yet to deal with a man with the level of fame that Jaehyun has, yet with such a strict image to keep, which makes things exponentially more complicated. But despite your apprehension, you still want to know where this could lead. After a moment, you say, “Well, if you’re willing...I’d like the same.”

Jaehyun nods and stands up a little straighter, like that response just gave him the energy he needed. “Do you wanna….go somewhere? Just to like, hang out.” His proposition is abrupt, and you didn’t expect it.

“Now?” You check your phone, and it’s 18 minutes past 2 a.m. There aren’t too many places that will still be open at this hour, other than establishments similar to your line of work, but you aren’t in the mood for any more of that tonight. Your driver, too, is only a few minutes away, but you already find yourself with your finger hovering over the Cancel button. “We could.”

Jaehyun goes around to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for you. You get into his car, noting its sleek interior. Once he gets in, he asks you what you want to hear, and you notice he’s looking through his Spotify. You shrug.

“I don’t know. Show me something you like,” you say. You cringe at sounding so disinterested, which makes you realize you might just be a little more upset about being ghosted than you thought you were. You almost want to curse at how this dude is taking you off your usual game. “I mean, I like hearing new music anyway, so…”

Jaehyun starts the car and grins slightly. “Alright, then let me show you the best of the best…” You both end up listening and vibing to a playlist he’s made, which is good. Not that you didn’t expect it to be, but you end up liking most of the songs he shows you, which usually doesn’t happen with other people’s playlists.

Jaehyun ends up taking you to an ice cream place that’s still open this late, to your surprise. The sitting area inside the store is closed, though they’ve kept the drive-thru open for late-night travelers like yourselves who want a quick treat. You don’t question it, though; you definitely won’t pass up a chance for some ice cream.

You end up eating the ice cream while sitting in his car and listening to the rest of his playlist. Neither of you say much other than commenting on the songs or talking about your favorite ice cream flavors or making other non-committal small talk. You kind of prefer it this way, at least for the moment—just listening to the music and watching the headlights and taillights of cars that pass by.

You and Jaehyun ride around the city for a while longer after finishing the ice cream, not intending to go anywhere in particular but just coasting on the highways. It might be an excuse to keep listening to this new playlist he’s put on, or maybe more reason to pretend that awkward period between you never happened. Acknowledging it in a way, but not speaking any life into it.

Eventually, though, it has to arise back to the surface. Jaehyun taps his fingers against the steering wheel at a red light, like he’s impatient to get somewhere, and you wonder what he’s feeling until he comes out and says,

“I think it was...ultimately my fault for not contacting you more. Or not trying to stay in contact.”

The words hang in the air for a moment. “Well, I won’t argue with that,” you finally respond.

“It’s just hard to get close to anyone and be an idol at the same time. Sometimes I sabotage myself when I shouldn’t, and…” He trails off, though you don’t know whether he’s searching for the words or has decided to leave his sentence at that.

“You’d rather not be embarrassed by dating a stripper, or something along those lines?” Your tone is nonchalant, though you’re a little bothered by saying it. He wouldn’t be the first or the last person to feel some type of way about your job, though you’ve mostly gotten used to the judgment at this point.

Jaehyun seems a bit startled by the statement. “If you like doing it, then I don’t care what you do. You should live your life however you want to.”

“I see,” you say slowly. “Most men I meet outside of the club are not receptive to it, so you ain’t gotta lie if you feel some other way about it, seriously...”

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You told me that day that you liked it, and I believed you. I just think...we should all be able to do things we enjoy without worrying about what others think of it.”

Jaehyun turns to look at you for a moment, and his features are lit up by the street light as it turns green. His face, which is simultaneously painted with shadows and glowing with light, appears to be just as genuine as he sounds. Or maybe this late-night atmosphere just has you feeling more receptive and sentimental than usual. Then he broaches the next subject carefully, steering you back to where the conversation began. “You didn’t text me anymore, either.”

“I figured you’d moved on or something, maybe started talking to someone else…” you reply. “And, you know, if that was the case...so be it. There wouldn’t be a point to chasing someone who wasn’t interested anymore.”

“I am interested.” Jaehyun rushes the words out, like he’s eager to dispel the uncertainty before you get the wrong idea; not that that hasn’t already happened, but still. It isn’t too late to change your mind. “I want to like, know you as a person...not just while being a customer at the club, or something like that.”

You nod, looking at your hands and considering his words. “We can do that...yeah, we can.” Then you hold your hand out to him, a grin playing on your lips. “Nice to meet you, then. I’m Y/N.”

He smiles too, and takes your hand in one of his. “I’m Jaehyun.”

The conversation after that seems to reach a turning point, like somehow you’ve broken the ice and can finally talk to each other on a deeper level without worrying about the issue that’s been lingering over your heads all night. You think you could talk to him like this for hours if you wanted to, if there was enough time in the world for it.

Unfortunately, though, you don’t have as much time as you’d like, and once it starts edging on 4 AM, you both decide it’s probably best to call it a night. Jaehyun takes you back to your apartment after you tell him where it is.

He parks in front of the apartment complex, and you’re prepared to thank him for the night and get out, but he insists on walking you up to your apartment—something about it being too dangerous for women to walk alone at night.

“It’s not that far.” You laugh, but you aren’t going to argue about it if it means getting a few more moments with him.

Jaehyun follows you up the steps after you both get out of the car. You walk a little slower to prolong the moment, but eventually you have to get up to your apartment door. You also take your time with taking your keys out of your bag and putting them in the lock. And maybe you’re not as slick as you thought, because Jaehyun notices. He laughs quietly behind you, but the sound isn’t low enough to escape your hearing.

You turn around to look at him, your hand on the doorknob. “Well, I guess that’s it. Thanks for the ride...and for the ice cream, you know.”

He nods, and one of his dimples pokes out. “You didn’t have to entertain me tonight, but I’m glad you did...so, thanks.”

Both of you linger in your doorway for a few more moments. Jaehyun wants to come in, and you know it, but you also know he probably won’t say it because he technically shouldn’t. His members are expecting him back at the dorm. He doesn’t want to impose, and he didn’t even bring any extra clothes. But you know he wants to come in, and you want it, too.

You tilt your head to the side. “Would it be bad if I asked you to stay?” you say tentatively.

A slow smile spreads on his face. “No, it wouldn’t.”

You open the door wider so he can step inside and take his shoes off at the entrance. You lead him to your living room by the hand. “What do you wanna do?” you ask, looking at him imploringly. You want to be sure you’re both on the same page concerning your intentions.

“Whatever you wanna do,” he echoes, holding your hand a bit tighter. You expect to see lust or some similar desire in his expression and had already figured you might end up having sex again tonight, but his eyes expect nothing from you. He only smiles in the dim light of your apartment and waits for you to make the next move.

You laugh, and it comes out as an airy chuckle. “Well, then...I want to lay down. It’s been a long day.” From your tone, Jaehyun understands that you really just want to lie down and not think about much of anything else right now. He follows you when you lead him into your bedroom and sits patiently on your bed while you go to the bathroom to change into your night clothes. You’re thankful you already took a shower at the club, because you’re not sure you’d have the energy to do all that now.

He’s taken his jeans off when you come back into the room, though he still keeps his shirt on. You get onto the bed and lean over him, hooking your finger into the collar of his shirt, and he looks up at you. “You can take this off if you want, I don’t care.”

“Is this you saying you want to see me shirtless?” He grins, though he readily takes the invitation and pulls his shirt off, placing it to the side along with his pants.

You shake your head good-naturedly, a smile on your face. “I promise it’s innocent…but the view never hurts.”

You peel the sheets back and you both climb underneath them, lying across from each other and looking at each other like you want to say something more but aren’t sure what. There isn’t much light in the room except for the street lights coming from your bedroom window, muted slightly by the blinds.

Jaehyun laughs suddenly, breaking the silence, and you do the same. You’re not sure why either of you are laughing, but you do so anyway, simply enjoying the moment for what it is. After your laughter dies down, he takes your hand from where it’s resting on the pillow and slips his pinky around yours. “I’ll try not to lose you this time.”

You lean a little closer to his face so you can plant a kiss on his lips—just a short and soft touch. He tastes like ice cream, and somehow you know there will be many more kisses like this in the future. “You better not.”

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denimbex1986 · 4 years ago

Link

(Sebastian’s interview plays from from 49.26)

“It was a wild time because I, I had made like three different audition tapes. I was shooting this tiny movie in Germany and I was making tapes, sending them from there - and, I made a tape for Steve, all, all for Steve, and, and they didn’t say no, they kept giving me notes so I was re-doing them, and then I didn’t hear anything for a while and I was gonna actually go to Romania, where I’m from, after Germany, and instead like, this is where I’m like, I don’t know if, you know, life could’ve gone a very different way had I gone, I don’t know, but instead I, I actually ended up coming back to LA, and then I heard that they were like; ‘Oh, you’re in LA?’ So then, so then I finally went in for like a fourth audition, you know in Sarah’s office, and I did the audition there with her, and then they called me to do a screen test and, which was for Steve, and - and I was like ‘a screen test?’ I had never even - I did one other screen test in my life which was for Star Trek, with JJ Abrams, and it was like - and I, and I obviously did not get that but, but it was like in a, you know it was like in an office with, with, a regular office. I mean this apparently was, we were actually gonna shoot like a scene - you shoot like a whole scene; you put on a costume and everything, you know - I put on this 1940′s like, whatever that suit that Chris has in the, in the movie, in the first Captain America movie, and I, you know you have hair and make-up done, like, it’s like a big tease but you still don’t have the job, you know, it’s crazy. And then you go in there and you’re like, “Oh my God” at the lighting and the camera, and, and I remember doing that, and it was me and like a bunch of other people and, and as soon as I got out of that, like four days later they were like, “You know, it’s not gonna go any further” - you always hear that; “It’s not going any further”, and then, so I was kinda like “Ah fuck after all that..” you know, I was really bummed. And then I got a call saying, “But maybe you shou - maybe we can talk about this character” and, and I never even knew anything about a James ‘Bucky’ Barnes ‘cos what I did like, even for the - I never knew anything about Captain America, I never knew anything about - you know, I never read the comics - so I, and I didn’t wanna read any of it before the audition anyway; there was no script, there was just this scene, and so I really didn’t know anything about Bucky Barnes.”

“Well, so we had that meeting right, like where they, they were like, telling me about James ‘Bucky’ Barnes; again; I don’t have a job. Like, I’m like listening going, ‘Are they - like, this sounds fantastic - but like what, are they just seeing if I’m interested?’ Well yeah, I am interested, like, I wanna be in a movie. But um, they were telling me about his story and they said yeah, and then you know, he becomes The Winter Soldier, he ends up sort of being captured, he falls off this train, he loses an arm, gets recaptured, they they brainwash him, they turn him into this assassin and he comes back, and you know, eventually you know, he comes back around, he gets his memories - like they, they told me the whole story but that was it, there was no more. And then we - and then we were shooting the first movie and, I fall off the train in the movie, and I realised when I went in for a costume fitting, they had given me a costume that was missing the left arm so I was like, ‘*Gasp* Okay that means that they’re - they’re gonna do it’”, you know like - and then, suddenly we were gonna shoot this scene and I had the costume that had both arms and I was like, “Err, why’s not the arm?” and they’re like, “Ah you know what? They just decided that they’ll see if anything - you know, they’d rather have both arms just in case and stuff”, and I was like, “Oh fuck, maybe they’re not gonna do it”, you know? So then I fell off the train in the movie and, the movie comes out, everything’s, you know, cool; 2011, I’m at the premiere of Captain America The First Avenger, and meanwhile like, I’m not, you know, I’m still like, really fighting for a job, like 2011 was one of the hardest years of my life. Like, you know, I was going to this premiere but I, Iike, it was - I needed a job, I was running out of money, like, it was like all this stuff was happening and, and then it wasn’t really until I wanna say like, whenever the San Diego Comic Con in San Diego happened, and a friend of mine called me and said; “Dude, they just - they just, uh, let out the new, uh, title for the sequel and it says ‘Captain America The Winter Soldier.’ in it.” And I was like “What?” That’s how I sort of found out and then a call happened and we were like, ‘Okay we’re gonna do this sequel’ - that’s how that sort of happened. I mean, I never knew.”

“Well, I mean I think, I think the only thing, uh what’s different is, is the level of experience, right like, I feel I’ve grown so much as a, obviously as a human, you know from experience, but also just as an actor, like how I’m approaching things now is on such an deeper, more specific level than I did ten years ago, you know? I mean, like I’d gone to school and I knew what I was doing and you know, but, but then I think you just learn yourself better, you know, you learn to access yourself in, in different ways, so I feel for me, the work is always deeper now. Like, so I, I guess that sort of changes approaching the character but also the character had - had evolved, you know, cos he’d sort of gone from - through that whole Winter Soldier journey, and then we kind of had him, you know, on these redemption paths like all through Captain America Civil War and into the Infinity War, Endgame stuff. But it was really for me like the, The Winter Soldier movie and the Civil War movie were, were probably the biggest character development moments that he had right? ‘Cos he didn’t really in the - in Endgame and Infinity War; he was there and, and it was still- it was still travelling towards something, and, and, really the show now - like, this show was the first time we kind of really dove into more things with him, deeply, um, and yeah, I just think, it’s just a life experience to kind of come back to a character, and in a way, you know you add to it. Like, I, I don’t know what filming - I mean it’s not like A Boy’s Life, right, that movie that Ethan Hawke did, but they came back through the years, and there was maturity there and a growth and I, I can’t help but think that to some extent, if I sat down and I watched Captain America First Avenger, and I watched all of the movies with that, this character’s in, including our show, I, I 100% would probably see a character that’s has grown because the actor that’s playing him has, you know?”

“Um, I think we all discussed that we wanted to find a way back for him towards a more stable place, or a better sense of self, you know? He’s gotta own everything he’s experienced; he’s gotta kind of like, The Winter Soldier persona per se is - it’s like a demon that’s a part of him that he’s somehow come to terms with and, and he’s learned how to turn it into a strength, rather than it you know, suddenly like he’s just gonna be cured of this thing because; they are comic book heroes but like, and some more than others, but they all have these emotional complexities to them and, and, and one of the things that I love, like I was lucky with this character, is that he really does have this sort of relatable arc, you know? Um, we’ve all kind of go through - we all have to like face our pasts, we, we’re all haunted by things that have happened to us; trauma, things that we’re trying to like overcome or, you know, people deal with addictions, people deal with - you know so, so there’s all these pieces to that character kind of as he’s like trying to find a better way of life, you know, and fit into the world better - and also give him, give him - give him a new life so to speak, uh, without you know, in, in the shadow of Steve Rogers, you know, and, and exploring how that character now can be in the world, you know, um, and properly function, even for audiences. I think for both of them that was - that was also, uh, another piece.”

“Well I just, but again, like for me like, I knew, I knew this character really well. Uh, like I feel like the preparation that before you start shooting is the most crucial time ever because and, as you know like with you what I’m currently doing, like, it’s just like, you can see, others can’t - yet. Um, it’s insane to try to become someone else or whatev - like, you’re always trying to find ways to relate, you’re always trying to understand; the whole thing is a big sort of study project. Uh, with this character, I mean I was very, yeah I was very protective you know, while we were shooting and there were things that we were trying out, that, that had been tried out on the page that weren’t working, you know, and things that needed to be reshaped you know with us now being kind of like getting into the dialogue - getting in, getting there on set, you know, dynamics, and, and it was great that we had, we were allotted the freedom, Anthony and I, to really take what was on the page and make it our own you know, and kind of bring our own experience from the movies to this, you know? And there were times when I was like, ‘Hey listen, like, he wouldn’t do that or he wouldn’t say that here. He would - he would do this - we haven’t earned this yet.’ You know? I think; I can’t speak for everybody, but you know, for me, I, I wanted to really explore a different side of him. Obviously one that was comedic with Anthony right, the dynamic of what that is, and it really, I started looking at it going like, ‘Oh my God, they’re like the - it’s, it’s the Odd Couple.’ That’s what it is. Like, Anthony’s you know, Walter Matthau and I’m Jack Lemmon, like that or it’s like the other way around. Like, that’s the bickering thing, that’s the comedy, you know and, and Bucky is a guy out of time who’s like an old guy trapped in this body trying to fucking figure out what the hell’s going on. And, and, uh, that’s the comedy - like that’s where; and that’s also where the truth is with him, you know? Um, but I was, I was like always reminding them being like ‘Guys, just remember he was a fucking assassin’, you know; he’s always have this chip on his shoulder you know, to some extent, and, you know - and also he’s really gonna - he is, at the beginning of the season, he’s coming from a very defensive place because his - his sort of big purpose up until that point right, like had been, ‘I know I’m not a perfect individual, right, but I know this guy, my best friend, the guy who’s been by my side since I fucking remember anything, Steve Rogers, is a good man, and I’m gonna do everything I can to try to make sure that guy’s okay, you know, and, and follow his lead’, and, and I know like that was like the, the moral compass; Steve Rogers was his moral compass right, and now you’ve taken that out, so he’s going, it kind of is a little bit like, ‘Well now what do I compare - what do I base myself off of? Like what do I, what’s my target, what’s my purpose, what’s my direction? What’s my sense of, where’s my GPS?’ You know like, it’s a little but like that and, and he’s in a very defensive place at the beginning because he’s - he hasn’t confronted the emotional implications of that yet, and throughout the season obviously he does, you know, but you see that he’s sort of like, instead of confronting, he’s kind of hunting certain questions and fears like further down the road and kind of trying to drive an agenda and, and for a minute, you know, before he actually takes a step back and go, and goes, ‘Wait a minute, what does Sam Wilson really want? Like, who, you know, who is Sam and, and therefore who am I?’ and like ‘What do we really want and what is it really about?’, you know, and so I guess those were all the things we were tackling.”

“I always thought there was a conversation that took place you know, before that scene, that, before the final scene of Avengers Endgame, where you see Steve Rogers much older and there’s a sort of right of passage you know that, that happens, that I - I always feel thought there was a conversation between him and Bucky before that happened, you know, and in that conversation, where it was like, ‘Bucky, you don’t have to worry anymore. I found my - my peace you know? I’m - I’m, I, I finally got that life I wanted, you know, I took, I’m - I’m taking one for me, you know, and I’m good. Now it’s your turn to go and take one for you, you know? We both served this thing, the shield, this ideal, whatever you wanna call it, like, we’ve done our time - like, let’s find our life like before like, while we still have it’ And, you know, I think Bucky kind of honoured that, and I think, and I think, essentially it was goodbye. It was like, ‘Okay buddy, like, you know, it was a good run, like let’s, good luck and, and let’s go and see what happens’ you know?’ And so I don’t think it’s - does Bucky know where Steve Rogers is? That’s a good question. Um, maybe, maybe not, you know? Uh, I mean I, I don’t even know if I have the answer to that question and I, and I definitely don’t. Yeah, so, so, so I, I treated the season very much like, ‘Alright, this is where it’s at, you know, and how good - I don’t have to, thank God I’m not, I’m not standing over a coffin, you know, I’m, I’m, I’m looking at my friend who’s smiling into the sunset and, and, and being like ‘Yo I had a great life, like, I’m good, you know, so now what is it about? You know what? It’s about the legacy he left behind, you know, I’ll protect that.’ But again, he’s not making it about - Bucky’s not making it about Bucky - he’s again making it about Steve, and of course as you see the season, Sam goes, ‘No, you gotta look at you. You gotta, you gotta make it about you. What do you want?’”

“That was before. And, and it was one of the - episode 5 was like really the first one we were, we were filming. I mean, we all - the whole thing was like a movie; we never broke up the episodes. Like, but that sequence in, at Sam’s house was all at the very beginning of the, of the show, you know, and, and it was crazy because we were shooting a really important scene very quickly, not having had, you know, a lot of the journey yet. That was literally probably day three, you know and, and I that think one of the things that was so wild is, obviously we were shooting the show and then, you know, we were supposed to be the first show out and stuff, and then the pandemic happened; all the tragic events of the pandemic, everything, you know, that was happening in this country, everything we were witnessing, all the way up until this January, you know what I mean? And we were going ‘My God’, like, how, how relevant our show sort of suddenly even became even more you know, because there was a lot of questions that were being asked even before anything had happened.”

“Well yeah, I mean Kevin and I; you know, I, I, yeah, I, I remember having a really good long chat with him before we started you know, just to, just to talk about Bucky and, and kind of like, you know, making sure we were on the same page and everything, and, and I love that. I love talking to him, I mean he’s, he’s like an encyclopedia. You know, I mean there’s just - there’s so much he knows about everything, um, so I, that was my main source, and then, and then Kari and I spent a lot of time talking.”

“Well yeah, I mean. Unless a role requires a certain kind of, whether it’s like gaining weight or losing weight or whatever - I usually, I, for my own, like, I just, the, the workout regimen has just always been part of my life and, and really started with Mar - like, with this character and Marvel ten years ago, you know what I mean, just, is when I really, really - I was trying so hard to get into such good shape around those movies that it just kind of - I mean, I, I don’t go as crazy def-con 5 about it as I do when we’re shooting something or when we’re preparing, but yeah, going back to it, of course. I always try to go back, get really - get into the gym, and, and into the diet specifically like three months before, and um, and it’s a whole process uh, and, but I’ve gotten a little bit more comfortable now, in my, sort of my strengths versus my weak points, you know. Uh, I think like in some - somewhere around the Civil War movie I was just, I was like, ‘I just want to be as massive as I can’ or something, like I was just really - and now I’m kind of more, ‘Okay, I, I know what works for me a little bit better and not’, but yeah, it’s always - especially because of the stunt stuff. And yeah, you know, I, like it’s a, it’s a - it’s a blessing really because, in a lot of ways, you know, I don’t have - Bucky doesn’t have any head covering, anything. Since we started, I’ve managed to do a lot of stunt stuff. Whenever there’s a physical sequence, like we, we always get passes at that, you know what I mean, and it really is on us like how much we wanna be involved or not and I always want to be as involved as possible and it’s been amazing. I mean I think what happens is - when you do it so many times, like I was so obsessed with it on the Civil War I would even go up to the Russos and even if like the camera wasn’t on me, I’d still wanna do it. You know what I’m saying? Like at one time I like pulled my back. Because you can’t - like, if you’re doing that sequence like 30 times, or whatever, like, even like, you’re exhausted, You’re, I don’t care, how, what - you know, maybe a super-trained athlete, whatever, like, they’re training for that fight, right, they’re training for that two hours like for months, but we’re going eight hours a day. Like, I think, even some of the stuff like it’s - I’ve always had a good amount of stuff that I was allowed to do, and that for me is super fun because he’s much more hand-to-hand combat. You know, he’s got his arm; like he can’t fly, he’s not throwing hammers and spiderwebs and stuff like, he’s just, it’s much more hand to hand and, and, and it’s because I wanna be in shape to be able to do that. So for the pandemic, I was running - a lot, and then what I did was, um, I had pull-up bar in my apartment and I was literally running up and down stairways and then I was doing 100 - I was doing 100, 200 push-ups a day, 100 pull-ups a day, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, like I would just do that over and over again. And yeah, that was the only way.”

“Oh God, that scene is like - you know, those are the scenes that when you read a script you’re like, ‘Oh yes, this is gonna be amazing’, like you’re like, ‘oh I love that, that’s amazing, it’s gonna be like the moment’, and then it starts to be like this iceberg ahead, that you’re like slowly going closer and closer to it. It’s like, ‘Oh God that scene, oh God that scene’s coming up’ - and then you just have it marked on your calendar like, ‘two weeks until -.’ You know, and it’s just - and even up until that point, it’s just always - it’s a scary thing to always be thinking about because you know, you have to go to these places and you have to go there - and um, yeah, we did it, we did it a few times and, it was a good day.”

“Oh my God, absolutely. Absolutely. I mean, just like thinking about it now, with like the whole Chadwick thing is just so crazy. I’m like - with him I was always like really enamored, because I remember on that Civil War movie we met and, and um, you know, he had come in and, and he new and he - it was sort of like the introduction of his character and I was like, ‘Oh my God, this guy is gonna, he’s blow everyone away.’ You know what I mean? Like it was - there was such, like a commitment and dedication to everything he was doing; it was just so crazy, and we had a lot of these fight sequences and I remember being terrified of going in those scenes with him, um and, and, and we went for it - like we went - we really went for it. ‘Cos I was like, ‘Okay, he’s really showing up, I gotta, I gotta stand tall, I gotta show up’ you know, and then afterwards, we would just do these little fist bumps, you know like, ‘Cool, we’re good.’, you know, like, and then after we shot, you know I spent some time, a little bit, on the press tours and we would be laughing, and it was really cool, and I just, in my head, I would always hope that there was just gonna be more. And so, it’s just crazy to even wrap my mind around the idea of being in any world without him there, you know? I just can’t even imagine it really in my mind, you know, but obviously, I always felt like, I always - in my little scene, you know in my little scene at the end of Black Panther, I was always like ‘Aah, I’m part of the worl - I’m part of that movie.’ I always - I felt, I felt so good, you know, with that little scene and I, and I just loved working with Ryan Coogler, you know on that, he - it was so cool, ‘cos that was, he directed that scene and I remember being there that day, and, and so I kind of got to work with him a little bit, and, and I just, it was a really cool experience. Like, I really, really liked him as a director. And I loved Fruitvale Station; I loved all of his movies, um, I love Creed, I, I - so, so the idea of working with him again in some capacity is really cool and, and you can bet, I’ve, I’ve definitely raised my hand and I’ve said, ‘Hey man, whatever I can do, I’m in.’, but it’s just, it’s gonna be wild to tackle you know any - any of that going forward - I’ve no idea. I could just keep sending - I could, you know what, I should just send him an email once a week just ‘Wakanda.’ But it’s kind of cool, you know like, I love, I, I, again like, I felt really, like, grateful and proud that I was included even with that little scene, ‘cos sometimes, like you know, like I’ve, I’ve told this story before but I don’t know, I, I love telling it, you know, like I was on this airplane one time, and I was flying home, and, and I remember the stewardess came up to me and she gave me - she just handed me this tiny piece of paper and like walked away. And I was like ‘What?’ So, I was like, I don’t know, maybe it was a number, I’ve no idea what - you know, and, and I open it and it just said ‘Wakanda Forever.’ You know and then I like turn around to look down the aisle and she just goes (makes Wakanda symbol). And I was like, ‘Oh my God, okay’, like but it was - so I know, um, I, I love that, that people remember that Bucky’s a part of that in some way, so, you know hopefully, maybe there’ll be more.”

#Sebastian Stan #falcon and the winter soldier #captain america the first avenger #captain america the winter soldier #captain america civil war #Bucky Barnes #sam wilson #avengers infinity war #avengers: endgame #Wakanda

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iwanthermidnightz · 4 years ago

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What Swift is doing might seem more like an attempt to win her longstanding battle against Braun than a calculated business move. But according to several industry veterans who spoke with VICE, if Swift pulls this off, she stands to make an unthinkable amount of money—and decimate the value of her old recordings in the process.

You'd think Swift's contract with Big Machine might prevent her from re-recording her old music, but she can legally do so for two reasons, according to Dina LaPolt, an entertainment attorney who represents Steven Tyler, 21 Savage, and several other high-profile artists. Firstly, while Shamrock Capital owns the master rights to Swift's first six albums—or in other words, the sound recordings on those albums—Swift owns the publishing rights. (Because she wrote her own songs, she retains the rights to the lyrics, melodies, and compositions that comprise them, and she doesn't have to ask permission from or pay anyone to use them how she sees fit.) Secondly, the "re-recording restriction" in her contract with Big Machine—a standard part of any record deal, which long prohibited her from recording new versions of the songs she released through the label—has reportedly expired. When Swift releases new versions of her old songs, she'll own both their master rights and their publishing rights, earning every penny they bring in and securing unilateral control over how they're used.

She's almost inevitably going to yield that power to license her music to advertising agencies and film and TV studios, according to Guillermo Page, a former record label executive who's worked for BMG, EMI, Sony, and Universal, and who now teaches in the University of Miami's music business program. To license (or "synchronize") a song, you need permission from the record company who owns it and the songwriter who wrote it. Swift has always said no to licensing offers on the grounds that they would profit Braun—but now that she's cut him out of the equation, she can strike those deals herself, and take home 100 percent of the profits they reap.

"She has all the leverage, and all the control," Page said. "Even if the current owners of the old catalog want to do some type of deal for synchronization, without her approval as a songwriter, they wouldn't be able to do it. By recording the masters herself, it opens the door for her to do those deals directly."

In all likelihood, Swift's collaboration with Match.com, which used her re-recorded version of "Love Story" in its latest ad campaign, wasn't a one-off; it was the first of countless licensing deals Swift is going to make with her re-recorded music. According to LaPolt, Swift will easily be able to convince companies to come to her when they want to license her masters instead of paying Shamrock Capital for them.

"I have some clients who have re-recorded their big hits," LaPolt said. "We have management companies that are very, very savvy in this area, and they went out to all the music supervisors at all the film and TV companies. These companies all know to come to the management company and license the re-records, because it'll be a lot cheaper, and the artist wants that."

Ad agencies and film studios interested in Swift's music will want to use her as a one-stop shop: By going to her directly, they can secure a license to both the publishing and master rights to her music in one fell swoop, as opposed to licensing the publishing rights from Swift and the master rights from Shamrock. Additionally, according to Tonya Butler, a former label executive and the current chair of Berklee's music business program, Swift will probably cut her licensees a deal.

"If she knows how much the record companies are charging, she's going to undercut them at every opportunity," Butler said. "Record companies are notoriously much more expensive than the publisher would be. It's much easier—and cheaper—to license from one party that controls both sides."

Butler raised the possibility that Shamrock may try to turn the tables on Swift: Instead of allowing her to undercut them, they could opt to license her songs at cost, making it cheaper to acquire them from the private equity firm. But because Swift controls her publishing rights, she could ostensibly revoke a company's clearance to use her music if they try to work with Shamrock. In the battle over synchronization, Swift seems guaranteed to come out on top. But Butler cautioned that Shamrock may already have a strategy in place for that.

"Just because we don't know what's up their sleeve doesn't mean that there's nothing there," Butler said. "We've known that she's wanted to re-record since 2019. [If you're Shamrock Capital], you don't spend that kind of money without having some kind of plan."

Swift stands to rake in hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of dollars through licensing deals—but when it comes to streaming revenues, Shamrock may have the upper hand. When the average listener wants to hear a Taylor Swift song, they'll generally opt for the old version as opposed to the new, especially if Swift's re-recordings sound significantly different than her original masters, according to Page. (It's worth noting that Swift recently said her re-recorded music will contain "plenty of surprises.")

"One of the things that you will find when artists re-record their songs is that they want to change certain things," Page said. "When they do that, they don't realize that they are changing a masterpiece—they're changing a song that is already known in a certain way. The moment you change it, it's not the same song. And that is a risk that she's taking."

Even if Swift tries to replicate her old recordings note for note, she might not be able to do so flawlessly, Page said. She was 16 when her self-titled debut came out; at 30, her voice doesn't sound the same as it did back then. Additionally, producers have changed the way they record music, and the technology they use has evolved.

"She can try to drive consumption by letting her fans know that the new versions are there, but that will be applicable for only the most hardcore fans," Page said. "The reality is that she will be competing against herself on all of those platforms. And it will be very difficult, because the other songs are already out there, sitting in thousands and thousands of playlists, on all the different platforms and services."

There's a chance that Swift could try to either sweet-talk or strong-arm DSPs like Spotify and Apple Music into prioritizing her re-recorded music on their platforms. Imagine, for instance, that Swift wants Spotify to remove the original master recording of one of her songs from a popular playlist, and replace it with her re-recorded version. She could threaten to withhold her new recordings from Spotify altogether—along with all of her future releases—if they don't oblige. But according to Butler, a streaming service like Spotify would probably balk at that.

"I cannot see Spotify switching out those songs," Butler said. "Shamrock could sue. If I have a license with you and we both agree that for however many years, you are going to distribute my music on your platform, and then somebody else comes along and you replace my music with theirs, then you have breached your agreement with me. That would be a huge mess."

Assuming DSPs like Spotify stay out of the fray, the odds are that most listeners will continue to stream Swift's original recordings instead of her new ones. Then again, her fanbase is fiercely loyal; there's a chance her re-recordings wind up dwarfing the old versions. Ultimately, it doesn't really matter: Because she's still entitled to royalty payments on her old recordings, Swift makes money either way. She can't lose.

Considering how foolproof, how lucrative, and how simple Swift's ploy to own her masters seems to be, you have to wonder if other artists might mimic it. So many musicians have spoken out about being infuriated that they don't own their masters, and have fought—almost always unsuccessfully—to reclaim them. If all it takes to win that fight is getting back in the studio and making new versions of their old songs, why can't every artist do it?

The answer, in short: because they're not Taylor Swift.

"You have to have what Taylor Swift has, which is an enormous audience and an enormous brand," Butler said. "It's working for her because she's got all the pieces of the puzzle. If you don't have that social media voice, if you don't have that brand, if you don't have her money, if you don't have all of the things that she has, it may not work for you."

Butler said she has no doubt that other artists will try to follow in Swift's footsteps, only for many to find something standing in the way. If they didn't write their own songs—or even if they wrote part, but not all of them—they won't have the legal right to re-record them. If they're not wealthy enough, they won't be able to cover the high cost of recording, especially not in a way that produces a carbon copy of their old music. If they haven't cultivated a rabidly devoted fanbase, they won't be able to convince people to stream their re-recordings instead of the original versions. Still, Butler said, many artists are going to try to replicate what Swift is doing—and record labels know it.

"The first thing that's going to happen is label contracts are going to change," Butler said. "They're going to try to set it up to where this cannot happen to this extent."

The way major labels would do that, according to LaPolt, is by making re-recording restrictions more stringent. As it stands, an artist is typically prohibited from re-recording music they make for a label for three to seven years after it's released. Going forward, labels could try to bump up the term of that restriction to 20 or 30 years, if not extend it in perpetuity. It's almost a given that they'll try, LaPolt said.

"Every time there is an amazing thing that an artist does to get out of their deal, or get their IP back, [record companies] come up with some dastardly, ugly thing to make sure that doesn't happen again," LaPolt said. "I can tell you right now, we would fight tooth and nail against that."

In some ways, what Swift is doing seems like a turning point for the music industry, one that could inspire an untold number of artists to take control of their master rights and irrevocably reshape the way record contracts are written. It's possible that we'll look back on this moment as a major landmark. What's more likely, however, is that it will prove to be nothing more than yet another shrewd move by a pop star who's risen to the top of her field by making so many of them, creating opportunities for herself that almost none of her peers are wealthy, successful, or cunning enough to secure.

"Is this a watershed, where everybody starts doing it—no way," Butler said. "I don't think that the majority of artists will be able to pull it off to the extent that Taylor Swift has. Is this a unicorn? No. But it's a horse with, like, five legs."

#good read #2020 articles #taylor swift

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not-saying-revolution-but · 4 years ago

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on the artistry of Loïc Nottet's "Mr/Mme"

We open to a cobbled, deserted Brussels intersection. The title appears in old-timey yellow against the grayscale. A white-clad Loïc Nottet enters as a piano teases the opening, and it starts.

I have a lot of emotions about "Mr/Mme," the last track on Nottet's second studio album (Sillygomania) and, to my knowledge, his first song fully en français. "Mr/Mme" dropped in April of 2020, which was still near the start of the pandemic in Europe and North America. I, for one, did not anticipate what the next year would hold. And yet when this song appeared in Spotify’s suggestions (as the algorithm knows my weakness for Nottet's vocal range and off-pop sound), it touched a nerve that has pulsed for the last 12 months.

To be clear, I'm not going to present any new revelations about this song. Nottet is indisputably a phenomenal artist, "Mr/Mme" is a perfect example of his skill, and that's that on that. I'm more interested in the raw emotions that this song explores and how the piece indicates a radical departure from Nottet's previous body of work. Or does it?

Born in 1996, Loïc Nottet is a Belgian singer/songwriter/dancer who made a name for himself on The Voice Belgique and ESC 2015. You can look up his Wikipedia page if you like. His first album, "Selfocracy," is entirely in English and handles themes of bullying, selfishness, the corruptibility of society, and related. I don't know what the Belgian and French reviewers said, but the album was fairly well received in the English-speaking places I inhabit. The songs are punchy and get stuck in your head. The lyrics feel clever but maybe a little strained. A Youtube star dropping his first studio album.

And then "Mr/Mme" came out. Nottet greets his audience with a "bonsoir Monsieur, Madame / aujourd'hui, j'te dis tout" (good evening sir, madame / today, I'll tell you everything). He proceeds to do just that. Nottet describes a living hell, a world that "m'étrangle, m'écrase et me brûle" (strangles me, crushes me, and burns me). The ensuing musical monologue swivels from individual anguish to a broader critique of humanity, described as nothing but a bully without love. Those who cannot afford morphine are refused the moon. Children turn into monsters and the rest of us pay rent.

About halfway through the song (which lacks a chorus), Nottet tells the listener how alone he feels while walking the glorious road to fame. He copes by drinking, poking fun at his youth, and grappling in the darkness for any sense of meaning (he's in his 20s after all). Despite living out his childhood dreams, Nottet admits to his own unhappiness.

While Nottet sings all of this, alternating between confessional and belting tones, the camera tracks his wanderings through the streets of Brussels. It looks utterly empty until we see another figure walking past. They look over their shoulder as they pass this strange young man who sings, skips, and spreads his arms in the way of music videos. With a bitter twinge of irony, his oversized white dress shirt has "enjoy yourself" written on the breast pocket.

Nottet takes us down the narrow, shuttered, and graffitied alleyways that spread out from La Grand-Place. He carefully avoids the Baroque square, though, taking rapid turns just when you think you're nearing it. The camera follows in its shaky way. The crowds increase as the song swells, now showing other young people in their sparkling little groups. Nottet breaks through, and everything stops as he sings "je n'sais plus qui je suis, j'suis perdu" (I no longer know who I am, I am lost).

And finally, finally. We reach La Grand-Place, and the lyrics shift. Nottet tells us how he feels when he’s on stage, which is far from the horrific picture he just described:

Car j'écris quand j'me plante

Et je ris quand je danse

Et je vis quand je chante

Et pour tout ça, j'te dis :

Merci

(Because I write when I mess up, and I laugh when I dance, and I live when I sing. And for all of that, I say to you: Thank you.)

Nottet’s figure paints a bright absence on the darkened Grand-Place. The song is officially over but Nottet launches into a series of ethereal "oohs" that transcend this mortal realm. He now shows off his dancing and spreads himself open as the "oohs" reach their highest pitch. Nottet looks like a broken bird, splayed open in La Grand-Place and suspended by his rib cage. The video ends with a few more leg kicks and spins before Nottet wanders out of frame. Everything was done in one take.

So what makes this song and music video so special? Is it not another artsy, indie production about a young singer struggling with fame?

I say to that nay. In "Mr/Mme," Nottet uses his extraordinary voice to access an emotion that is often trivialized. “A young man makes it big and then feels lonely, so what,” we could say. “Life is hard.” This is both true and not. Nottet's struggles are different from most of ours, but he speaks in terms that feel familiar. How many of us realize too late that success isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? "Mr/Mme" holds extremes that more often coexist than contradict in real life, including "humanity is fucked and we should burn everything to the ground" and "there are moments when life is worth living." I know of few other songs that capture both emotions in such a poignant way.

Moreover, the video is carefully done. Directed by Hugo Jouxtel, it seems almost self-conscious about its artsy look. The passersby may be hired extras, I don't know, but they react organically. It's almost embarrassing to see them hastily cross the street and give the singer funny looks. There’s a bit of self-recognition through the other, if you will, particularly if you’ve ever had a breakdown in public (hands, anyone? just me?). It is one thing to sing about feeling alone and quite another to be alone amid the crowds of La Grand-Place. La Grand-Place, a tourist attraction with very few things to do. A place that is good for milling about, snapping a picture, and then hurrying on with your life, oblivious.

Besides the video being aesthetically pleasing, it feels real. Nottet cannot step beyond the gated storefronts as he laments. Sometimes the camera captures an unflattering angle as he tilts up his chin in anguish. It's pretty but gritty. Like the song. Like fame. Like life.

The view from my chair is this: "Mr/Mme" signals a new moment of maturity for an artist who (I am convinced) will one day be known worldwide. It acknowledges the darker threads present in "Selfocracy" (the darkness inside us, the ever-watching “million eyes”) but strips it all down to the bare essentials. The song is honest. And for a popular artist like Nottet, who has already proven himself many times over, honesty might be the rarest thing.

*All translations are from yours truly. Any errors are, of course, my own.

#loïc nottet #mr/mme #n-s-r-b.doc #n-s-r-b.gif #whatever you followed me for i can assume it wasn't this #once upon a time i had a proper blog where this could have gone #it is unfortunately lost to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune #not to mention the sea of troubles #so tumblr it is!#anyway #i don't usually write on here #but sometimes the spirit moves me #and by the spirit i do indeed mean loic nottet's falsetto #bisous to angelxhunter for beta-ing

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ingek73 · 4 years ago

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Fairytales for fuckwits: Meghan, a children's book, and the school bully tactics of the British tabloids...

Piers Morgan's obsession with Meghan Markle continues, while Mike Graham appears worried there may be too many big words for him to understand.

Mic Wright

May 6

On May the 4th, there was a great disturbance in the force, as if thousands of tabloid reporters and talk radio pundits cried out at once: The Duchess of Sussex had announced she was writing a children’s book.

Since the earth-shattering news that Meghan has written a story about the relationship between father’s and their sons — apparently based on a poem she wrote for Prince Harry — the tabloid press and talk radio stations have gone into meltdown.

The Sun has managed to crank out seven hysterically-pitched stories on the announcement since it dropped — the book isn’t out until June 8th — with each more unhinged than the last:

MEG TO PAPER Meghan Markle writes children’s book inspired by Prince Harry and baby Archie about ‘bond between father and son’

MEG-A MOVE Meghan Markle’s first priority should be mending broken relationships with royals not writing kids’ book, expert claims

SOUNDS A BIT WOODEN ‘Schmaltzy’ Meghan Markle ‘on dodgy ground’ with kids’ book celebrating fathers ‘after own bust-up with dad’ says author

DOUBLE DUCH Meghan Markle accused of copying her kids’ book The Bench from another story – but author defends her

NOT WRITE Piers Morgan slams ‘hypocrite’ Meghan Markle for kids’ book on ‘father-son bond’ after ‘ruining Harry and Charles’ ties’

'RIDICULOUS' Meghan Markle using Duchess of Sussex as author name ‘laughable’ after she wanted to cut Royal ties, says royal expert

CUT PRICE Meghan Markle’s kids’ book has price slashed already at Amazon and Waterstones

You’ll notice that Piers Morgan — a man who has turned one drink with Meghan after which he claims she “ghosted him”, which took place in 2016, into a five year and counting obsession — gets his own story there. That’s The Sun filleting Morgan’s spittle-flecked Daily Mail column on the book for its own news piece.

Morgan, who trails his columns on Twitter like they are exciting new releases rather than the tabloid equivalent of a letter scrawled in faeces forced through your letterbox, dashed out his thoughts on The Bench with the indecent haste of a man running along while his trousers fall down.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @BreeNewsome

DEFUND & ABOLISH POLICE, REFUND OUR COMMUNITIES

@BreeNewsome

Piers Morgan’s obsession with Meghan Markle is genuinely disturbing. He’s really just using the guise of journalism to be a public stalker and harasser.

May 5th 2021

1,414 Retweets10,252 Likes”

Beneath a typically screaming Mail headline — How the hell can Meghan 'I hate royalty but call me Duchess' Markle preach about father-child relationships when she's disowned her own Dad, and wrecked her husband's relationship with his? — Morgan howled:

… she continues to cynically exploit her royal titles because she knows that's the only reason anyone is paying her vast sums of money to spew her uniquely unctuous brand of pious hectoring gibberish in Netflix documentaries, Spotify podcasts or children's books.

Of course, her equally cynical publishers don't give a damn about any of this shocking double standard.

Forget the fact that Meghan had a good degree of personal fame before she ever met Prince Harry, Piers Morgan accusing anyone else of being a cynical fame chaser is beyond parody. From his earliest days as a gossip hack, Morgan has muscled into pictures with the rich and famous, desperate to be someone.

When Meghan was willing to indulge him, he showered her with praise, but once she stopped taking his calls, he turned into the Tinder match from hell. That he has been married to his second wife, fellow controversialist columnist Celia Walden since 2010 seemingly did nothing to dampen his obsession.

Having repeatedly interviewed Meghan’s estranged father Thomas Markle — another man aggrieved because a woman would rather not spend time with him — Morgan sneers:

If she really cared about father-child relationships, she'd take a chauffeur-driven limousine on the hour-long trip to see her own father who's never even met either Harry or Archie.

It’s projection again: Piers Morgan’s ego is so egg-shell thin that after Meghan decided that one drink was more than enough, he’s spent 5 years seeking revenge and convinced that he’s been wronged, just like her ‘poor old dad’. That’s the ‘poor old dad’ that insists on talking about his daughter to journalists at every possible occasion.

At the end of an article that implies Harry and Meghan contributed to the death of Prince Philip — he died of natural causes — and rants on about “the woke”, Morgan ends with this:

But then as we've seen from her gruesomely self-interested behaviour during a pandemic that's caused so much devastation and pain to billions around the world, Meghan Markle doesn't really care about anyone but herself.

Remember, the Duchess of Sussex’s only ‘crime’ here is to write a children’s book which people will be free to buy or ignore with equal ease. But, as ever, Piers Morgan treats the news with all the proportionality of a US drone strike.

The real story here is about how Morgan — the bittiest of bit-part players in the narrative of Meghan and Harry’s lives — is so desperate to upgrade his place in the cast list that he will rant and rave to stay relevant. His departure from Good Morning Britain came after his last stream of invective about Meghan and he knows this schtick gets him the attention and money he craves.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @MariaLRoach

Maria Roach

@MariaLRoach

Meghan Markle inside the tiny space called Piers Morgan’s head. #duchessofsussex Tap Dance GIF by Miss America

May 5th 2021

122 Retweets1,619 Likes”

Aside from Morgan’s column, MailOnline has published 9 other news stories on or related to the book announcement. The most telling of them is one that links the Duchess of Sussex’s book to another one… by the Duchess of Cambridge.

Headlined Bookshelf battle royale! Kate Middleton shares a glimpse inside her Hold Still photobook just a day after Meghan Markle unveiled her own £12.99 children's story, the story unsurprisingly treats Kate with kid gloves while continuing to imply that Meghan is the kind of person who would make gloves out of kids if it suited her devilish schemes.

There’s no shade thrown at the Duchess of Cambridge for revealing further details of her book just hours after Meghan’s announcement. Instead, the story — lavishly illustrated with images from the book — gushes:

The Duchess of Cambridge has shared a glimpse of her photography book Hold Still ahead of its release on Friday…

… Kate, 39, a keen photographer, launched a campaign during the first lockdown last year to ask the public to submit images which captured the period.

It even includes a mention of an image of a BLM protestor saying:

Over the course of the project, the Duchess shared a number of her favourite images on the Kensington Royal Instagram page, including a Black Lives Matter protester holding a sign reading: 'Be on the right side of history.'

If Meghan had done the same she would have been decried for “supporting extremists”. Remember the contrasting way their mutual taste for avocado was covered?

15 Headlines Show How Differently The British Press Treat Meghan Markle Vs Kate Middleton | Bored Panda

Over at The Daily Telegraph, Spiked alumna Ella Whelan offered her thoughts on a book that isn’t released until next month under the headline Meghan Markle’s fun-free children’s book may put an entire generation off reading, which makes it sound like a grimoire full of dark magic rather than a gentle children’s book about kids and their dads.

Just as with the Mail’s story on Kate’s book, it’s worth imagining what Whelan would say if the Duchess of Cambridge had written The Bench. Look at the following section…

It reveals something of the political superficiality of Harry and Meghan’s activism that an “inclusive” book would use the military father as its promotional message. Perhaps it’s a cultural thing, but if my kids have to read about soldiers, I’d prefer Hans Christian Andersen’s tin version rather than the woke posturing of a former royal.

… and notice that because Meghan is the author including a father who is in the military is “political superficiality”. If Kate had written a story that featured an analogue for Prince William — who also spent time in uniform, though in less dangerous circumstances than his ‘spare’ brother — Whelan would likely deem it a ‘touching tribute to their love’.

Similarly, Sarah Ferguson — the ex-wife of Prince Andrew, top Yelp! reviewer for Jeffrey Epstein’s houses and noted avoider of FBI questioning — uses the title Duchess of York on her many execrable children’s books.

Now that Meghan is the tabloid’s new monster in the monarchy, Fergie’s antics are pointed to as a positive with her books flattered even as Meghan’s as-yet-unpublished book is panned.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @talkRADIO

talkRADIO

@talkRADIO

Meghan Markle is releasing a new children's book about father-son relationships.

Mike Graham: "It's so juvenile. This is somebody who acts like she's still in high school... it's not exactly Tennyson, is it?

@mrmarkdolan | @Iromg Image

May 5th 2021

36 Retweets221 Likes”

Over on talkRADIO, Mike Graham — a melting mass of expired meat — ranted about a children’s book, worried perhaps that it will contain too many long words. Speaking to his colleague, Mark Dolan — Dennis Pennis without the charm — Graham crowed:

It’s so juvenile. This is somebody who acts like she’s still in high school… I don’t have anything against her for any particular reason, other than she’s a bit too American, you know. She thinks everything is just great and cheesy. Rhyming the words ‘joy’ and ‘boy’. It’s not exactly Tennyson, is it?

Ah yes, that famous children’s author, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, known for such devastating rhymes as this one from The Lady of Shallot: “She left the web/ She left the loom/ She made three paces through the room.”

I’m not saying The Lady of Shalott is rubbish — though I do still hold a grudge against Tennyson after some very tedious teaching in high school — but that focusing on one rhyme in a poem is an easy trick if you want to say its shit. That Graham cannot see the irony in decrying writing a children’s book as “juvenile” is just one of the reasons he’s employed by a station with less than 1% reach.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @NadimJBaba

Nadim Baba

@NadimJBaba

Piers Morgan ranting about the one who got away in 5, 4, 3.......

Media Guardian @mediaguardian

Meghan wins copyright claim against Mail on Sunday over letter https://t.co/cJZTgDMvgz

May 5th 2021

1 Like”

There’ll be a new round of these columns, stories, and talk radio segments when the book is released, particularly as The Mail on Sunday just lost the second part of Meghan’s copyright claim against it.

There’s nothing that either Meghan or Harry could do that wouldn’t drive these rats in a sack rabid. If they did nothing, they’d be called lazy. When they make things, take jobs, or really say anything the very media that benefits hugely from stories about them scream that it’s a cry for attention. And yet Piers Morgan regularly pissing himself in public is “commentary”.

#meghan markle #prince harry #duchess of sussex #duke of sussex #piers morgan #brokenbottleboy #toxic tabloids #uk press

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anthropwashere · 4 years ago

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deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/

@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.

Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—

(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)

—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened.

You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.

You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.

You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—

(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)

—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.

When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you?

Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.

Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.

Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—

(can’t)

—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—

(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)

—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.

But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way.

There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be.

You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—

(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)

—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.

You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—

(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)

—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.

He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.

But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits.

Sure you managed to outwit him—

(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)

—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—

(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)

—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.

Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—

(unluckily?)

—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—

(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)

—so you stop.

Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.

You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—

(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)

—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off.

It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.

Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.

You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.

When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.

What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?

You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—

(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)

—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.

But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—

(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)

—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day.

That kind of thinking should worry you, probably.

But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that.

Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.

People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?

But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.

Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—

(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)

—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.

Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—

(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)

—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.

For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—

(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)

—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.

What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.

It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.

Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—

(you)

—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—

(you)

—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—

(you)

—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—

(you)

—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.

After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.

Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real.

Sam Manson—

(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)

—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]

In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—

(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)

—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]

Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.

Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone.

Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.

Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?

You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?

You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—

(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)

—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.

What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—

(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)

—well, you might as well be different species.

Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—

(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)

—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.

You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—

(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)

—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—

(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)

—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.

Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.

Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.

Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.

If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—

(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)

—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.

Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.

After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—

(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)

—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.

Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—

(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)

—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—

(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)

—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.

But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.

She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.

You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.

She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.

Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—

(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)

—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on?

What could cause something like this?

It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.

Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks.

Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.

Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.

No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.

Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—

(somebody)

—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.

Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—

(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)

—oh.

You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.

But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.

Except it never does.

You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?

They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.

The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.

But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.

They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—

(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)

—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]

Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.

#danny phantom #my writing #deadfic #past me did present me dirty with all these FUCKING italics #you can take my 'danny's got serious anxiety' headcanon from my cold dead hands

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trashcreatyre · 4 years ago

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I'm gonna explain one of my TMA playlists bc I've been wanting to do that for several months, and how else am I supposed to procrastinate my animatic project at one in the morning?

(here's the link to the playlist bc I think its pretty slappin')

General:

Body Terror Song By AJJ-

I know that it could technically be a flesh song, but I feel like its a bit more vague than that? if that makes sense?

The Afternoon By Lemon Demon-

there's gonna be a lot of Lemon Demon songs in this lol- This one is also pretty vague, but for some reason it kinda reminds me of Michael specifically? I don't 100% know how to describe it.

thrifted youth By dalynn-

Most of the descriptions/reasonings in the general section are pretty simplistic and vague huh? I guess it just kinda fits the vibe? I might be saying that for a lot of the general ones-

Aurora Borealis By Lemon Demon-

this one reminds me of the season five, kinda feels like a jmart song. (also you'll probably notice that there's not much in the ship theme in this playlist. I like to keep my ship playlists separate from my more general ones, don't know why.)

Under My Skin By Jukebox The Ghost-

just kinda fits the vibe y'know? other than that I don't really know.

Turn the Lights Off By Tally Hall-

i can't actually remember why I put this one specifically- that's a bit unfortunate-

When He Died By Lemon Demon-

This one mostly just fits the vibe, makes me think about the really old Victorian era statements.

Ancient Aliens By Lemon Demon-

again, fits the vibe.

She Doesn't Sleep By Anthony Amorim-

Feels like a random statement tbh. also reminds me of Not!Sasha too.

Nightmare Fuel By Lemon Demon-

funky song- fits the vibe- I don't know what more I can say-

Everybody Loves Me by OneRepublic-

I don't remember actually???? I think It was an Elias one??? but thinking about it now that doesn't really make much sense???? I'm gonna keep it tho, fits the vibe, at least it does to me.

Bloody Nose By Jack Conte-

fits the vibe :)

Christmas Kids By Roar-

I think I saw an animatic to this one time? now I can only think of the season one archival staff,,,, my beloveds,,,,

La nuit en matin By OH MU-

imma be honest, I have no idea what this one's actually about, but It lowkey reminds me of the intro music during end of season three- y'know, the clown vibes :D

9 to 5 By Dolly Parton-

Archival staff moment

American Healthcare By Penelope Scott-

I guess it could technically be seen as an End themed one? but I put it on bc I felt like it fit the vibes (are you getting sick of reading vibes? i'm getting sick of typing it)

Butch 4 Butch By Rio Romeo-

mostly just the rat filled piano line,,,,,, and also it fits the vibes to me.

Oblivion By Grimes-

Kinda feels like a statement?? In a way?

Murders By Miracle Musical-

the vibes. hopefully thats the last time i type that for this-

oh yeah woo yeah, we're onto the specific Entities now B) lets start with the one that probably has the most, if not, it sure feels like it-

The Spiral:

Spiral Eyes By Rewenge-

yeahhhh,,,, I know it doesn't really fit the vibes all that well, But the title fits and I like it so-

The Distortionist By Ghost and Pals-

this one is SUPER obvious, but it fits REALLY well in my mind.

Out of Her Head (Outerlude) [From The Film Possibly in Michigan] By Korban Baxter-

I can literally picture this one- I lowkey wanna do an animatic of this one one day.

A Crow's Trial By Vane Lily-

OKAY- so this last one is because it's the song from an absolutely GORGEOUS animation/animatic by Akidachi on YouTube, I ADORE this animation. please watch it omg-

again, I'm like, 90% sure that The Spiral has the most songs on this playlist, definitely not a bias or anything. next up is the mf uhhhh-

The Corruption:

Spiral of Ants By Lemon Demon-

no explanation needed.

Maggot By Slutever-

Mostly just the name, but it's a good song too so-

Sick On Seventh Street By Sarah and the Safe Word-

fits the vibe title and actual song wise.

in retrospect under my skin probably could be here-

The Web:

Redesign Your Logo (Bonus Track) By Lemon Demon-

Feels like a very web song,,,

Boris The Spider By The Who-

Spider,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Spider Dance By Toby Fox-

Yes,,, like from undertale,,,,,,,

i think thats it for the web (i swore there were more,,,,)

The Lonely:

Nobody By Mitski-

C'mon, you didn't think I WOULDN'T put this one on, did you?

This December By Ricky Montgomery-

idk what it is exactly about this one, just,,,, feels correct?

Blue Jay Way By The Beatles-

MANNNNNNN- i love this song, my mom hates it- that's unrelated- but I always just feel like there's fog or like, an eerie sea, or something- while listening to it. it feels very lonely-

I'm a Member of the Midnight Crew (1909) By Eddie Morton-

I have no idea why spotify suggested this song to me, but I will never not find it funny. Anyway- reminds me of the crew on Peter's ship :)

The Stranger:

Rattlesnake By Kabaret Sybarit-

Idk, feels like smth Nikola would sing at jon- idk how else to explain it-

A Mask of My Own Face By Lemon Demon-

pretty self explanatory lolll

The Slaughter:

War Pigs By Black Sabbath-

war.

The Hunt:

The Hunter By Slaves-

maybe this one is because it's because it's litterally called the hunter, and that they say hunter a bunch, but it is fun to listen to-

Teeth By 8 Graves-

I cannot remember my reasoning at this current moment-

The Flesh:

Body By Mother Mother-

the lyrics do be fittin doe

The Dark:

Everything Goes Dark By The Hoosiers-

i mean- everything goes dark- what more do you want me to say-

Dr.Sunshine Is Dead By Will Wood and the Tapeworms-

i think its mostly the song's vibe and the title.

The End:

The Trick to life By The Hoosiers-

the trick to life is not to get too attached to it.

Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world By Will Wood-

remember death.

YOOO OKAY NOW WE'RE ON THE ONES THAT I HAVE ACTUAL THINGS TO SAY ABOUT NOW- at least for the most part-

Characters:

i think i'm gonna go from least to most for this- (spoilers, Jon has the most ones because I care him)

Cryptid Hunt- Demo By Averno, Sushi Soucy-

this one makes me think of the WTGFs,,,,,

You're at the Party (Bonus Track) By Lemon Demon-

makes me think about Micheal Shelley,,,,,,,

Saint Bernard By Lincoln-

Alice "daisy" Toner moment-

Mary By The Happy Fits-

mary keay,,,,,,

there used to be a gerry one too, but the more I heard it in the context of the playlist and him, It just didn't fit,,,,,

Ew it's Elias/jonah time-

The Fine Print By The Stupendium-

capitalism- jk- kinda- Idk, just feels like it fits because he really just kinda,,, doesn't care about his employees-

How Bad Can I Be? from the lorax-

I had to-

Boss 3 from the terraria soundtrack-

Listen- I don't know why- but- it has elias/jonah vibes- the vibes are fowl, but the song is good.

Ruler of Everything By Tally Hill-

Panopticon/eyepocolypes time-

Ayooo it's jon time- I really hope I can write out my thoughts in a way that makes any kind of sense- /foreshadowing

A Sadness Runs Through Him By The Hoosiers-

Goddddd,,,,, he's just kinda filled with sadness and survivors guilt, just like, all the time huh?

Home By Cavetown-

the lyrics are just- very him- like- I just gjbdjgsflkjns-

Broken Crown By Mumford & Sons-

frick- the foreshadowing was accurate- the best I can describe it is that the lyrics just???? y'know??? hhh why am I like this sometimes-

Sweet HIbiscus Tea By Penelope Scott-

i'm willing to bet that he never wanted to be the main character-

Honey I'm Home By Ghost and Pals-

I saw a Jon centric animatic to this one time- I can't for the life of me remember who by, But everytime I hear the moth lines, my brain goes ":0" Because I remember there was a time when people kept drawing moth jon- I don't know where that came from but I thought it was very cool.

Who Are You, Really? By Mikky Ekko-

I'm like- actually starting to get frustrated with how poorly im articulating my thoughts right now- this just isn't funny anymore-

Sleep By My Chemical Romance-

I'm not actually sure why for this one- I just remeber putting on my black parade CD, hearing this, and being like, "damn, that do kinda be jon tho-"

I hope you enjoyed my ramblings- tbh, all this sounded and read out better in my head. My words might not make sense, but I do like how the playlist is. also im very tired, maybe this would've been written better if I wasn't struggling to keep my eyes open lol. I'm gonna fall asleep now- or maybe i'll post a spiral themed doodle dump again, who knows. I don't know.

#tma #oh god im literally too tired to put so many tags #i just cant #the magnus archives #playlist #spotify #spotify playlist #my brain actually hurts #im so tired

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onyourzeus · 4 years ago

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11:48 am | pjh

title: 11:48am pairing: park jaehyung (of day6) & you genre: fluff, bullet style words: 2.1k

author’s note: mmm i’m kind of meh about this but i jus really needed to write so i don’t lose motivation, but this is just a short fic requested by this anon asking for a lazy day scenario with jae. hope it’s still an okay read.

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

once you receive a specific text from jae on a regular day

“whatchu doinnnn”

you know he’s wondering if you’re not busy, and if you come hang out at his place

which, for the majority of the time, you always tell him “not much. y?”

even though you’re 99% sure of what he wants out of you

you have already made your way to a coffee shop before he had replied

“same. wanna do nothing together? :)”

so u get two coffees: one americano and one vanilla latte (as much as you want to cut down calories here, there is no way you can drink just water and espresso by itself

you decide on getting two sandwiches as well, it’s close to noon and there’s a high probability that jae just woke up and he hasn’t even moved from the bed

you’re lowkey happy that jae texts you first (assumingly) during days like this because, honestly you miss the 6 foot lanky nerdy soft boy a lot

jae has a habit of keeping to himself during his downtime, especially now

but with him streaming and having new friends through the platform has helped him socialize and feel a sense of normalcy from the world, which you are really glad for

he’s mentioned how much he misses doing band activities but doesn’t really elaborate on them

he think he talks about it too much and that you wouldn’t want to hear his repetitive whining

you don’t have the needed bravery in your heart (yet) to tell him you will never get bored or feel burdened by his thoughts, no matter what they entail

so for now, when he asks of your presence in his lovely abode— you make time for him. always.

even if it’s just a lazy day of doing nothing

you knock on his door and text him at the same time. you look around his neighborhood and enjoy the peace and quiet outside. you wonder if jae’s soundproof walls work well enough for his next door neighbors this time. you had told him multiple times that sungjin wouldn’t appreciate the noise too much, and he if he wanted to play he can do so at your place

however you never suggested that last thought. it swam in the sea of your thoughts one too many times but it never came to shore. you thought too much about the implications of that idea

besides, what good came out of reminding him of his streamer noises is that he finally has an apartment of his own

and you don’t feel as shy or out of place whenever you came over to the one he shared with the boys

“oh hey, wasn’t expecting you,” jae had opened the door and you snap out of your wondering

he greets you with drowsy eyes, a full yawn and long strands of hair sticking out everywhere

you huff out a breath and show the goods in your hands. “you’re definitely gonna need this.”

his eyes light up as he recognizes the contents of the paper bag

“whaaaat you shouldn’t have, i was about to order for delivery,” he tries for an innocent tone but the goofy smile on his face makes that extra trip to the cafe worth it

“you’re welcome, jae.”

lazy days with jae come in two ways

number one: absolutely the title. you crash on the bed, he scolds you for it but then you feel his crushing weight on top of you for revenge or

you hog the couch, splay your legs until jae does the same thing and entangles all your limbs together it becomes a semi wrestling match

number two: he’d end up wanting to do something all this time, either jam on his guitar or play WoW with you in the background, just watching

commenting on things you have 0 knowledge about, and him dismissing every words you say with a random scream from his end

“you’re so bad at this lmao”

“NONONO STOPSTOPSTOP NONONO”

“is the riff supposed to sound like that? ew”

“you want your face to meet my guitar? :)”

yeah, banter between you can be brutal like this which is why it gets a little embarrassing to be your true self with him when the others are involved

today, jae seems to just enjoy sipping on his iced coffee while tippy tapping on the floor to sit next to you on the couch

??? how can a grown man do something puppies so effortlessly pull out… just as cute if not even better???

usually, silence isn’t how the two of you spend lazy days together. once he’s thought of a topic to talk about, however out of this world or mundane it could be— the conversations you share are what you cherish the most bonding with jae

“you ever think about the first piece of a roll of sliced bread?”

“you mean the weird looking pieces no one ever chooses first and leaves it there until there’s none of the good slices left?”

“the very one” “what about it?”

“you’re that slice of bread”

“well yeah? jokes on you, you’re the OTHER piece. there’s two in a pack dumbass”

one would mistake this as insulting, but this is how jae shows his affection to you, and you wouldn’t want it any other way

there’s a certain comfort in just.. not deliberating whether you’d overstep a line or say something that would be misconstrued. with jae, you appreciate the candid friendship you mutually benefit from

his sarcastic personality can be a pain at times when not needed, of course, but when you’ve missed him so much it just feels right

“jae your legs are too long for the couch get a new one.” he had taken over the other end of the couch with his legs over yours, and you’re trying your best to make the position comfortable

but being inches close to his socks and noticing that he’s intentionally moving his feet about just to annoy you

“you get me a new couch so we both fit here”

“bro do you know how empty my wallet is rn”

“as empty as your love life?”

“oh we’re talking about ourselves right now? ok cool”

he scoffs at your comeback, but he remains speechless and gives you room to breathe. you panic for a second thinking maybe, this is the unexplained boundary he has to draw a line on? love?

but he puts down his already finished americano, and looks back at you a deadpan expression

you sit up as well, nerves creeping up on your arm. you didn’t want to take it too far and in your defense, this isn’t the first time you teased each other about your, well, non-existent romantic endeavors

“jae, i—”

“oh my god did you see your face?? i was kidding chilllll” he starts to burst into a fit of laughter, the kind where he loses air and lolls his head back

this time you pout, reaching over to flick him on the forehead. his 6th sense had improved a lot overtime being with you as he blocks your hand away from his face, and sticks a tongue out

“you think i wasn’t prepared for that anymore?” he taunt, locking his grip around your wrist

“now you’re just making fun of me” >:(

“you get really puffy cheeks and look adorable when you’re mad”

“THAT IS NOT A VALID REASON!!”

eventually he lets you go, pats your head then proceeds to just ruffle it as messy as his, and in an instant your mood changes again

you shouldn’t lie to yourself anymore, you love jae’s company and it would kill you if he’d one day decide he’s too old or too “mature” for moments like this

you get winded up with denial of having a crush on your best friend, and you’re so sure he knows at this point

because he reels you back into the present and challenges you to a game os super smash bros

and when he loses, he does it again. and you win again, and this time he says it was just a warm-up and he shouldn’t go easy on you anymore

and then you win again, and you’re the one cackling in the air at his look of defeat as well as the 6 losses he had endured during the matches

“man you’re getting rusty”

“am not! i’ve just been playing WoW too much i’m not used to switch controls anymore…”

“sure buddy”

“HEY, 1v1 me in league right now, i dare you”

“no”

“WHY?”

“you only have one desktop, stupid. i didn’t bring my laptop”

“oh so by default I win :D”

nothing can ever get away with jae, he always needs to have the last laugh with you and at times it’s frustrating, but his carefree charisma has grown on you so much that you anticipate what else he has in store to give you a hard time

jokes on him, you fall for jae just an inch deeper the more he treats you comfortably this way

it’s only been an hour or two, but jae had decided that he’s done enough productive stuff for the day (read: losing too many times) and invited you over to chill on his bed

it’s not an uncommon sight for the both of you to lie next to each other, taking turns with queueing up music on spotify. songs you and jae love together, and those that are new to your ears

sometimes, you’d talk over the playlist— it becomes more of background noise as jae asks you about your day, the days before that, and what you’re planning on doing in the future

he doesn’t ask for specific answers, he likes to hear how you’ve been feeling, emotionally so

jae has always been intrigued by other people’s perception of themselves, of the things around them, and of what they think of the universe in the back of their minds

it was a little too much to handle, those questions of his, when you first were just getting to know each other

but he eased into it naturally, confessing about his love for the moon— its beauty in appearance, and the beauty of its purpose

which made you think… you’re in love with the moon too, not just what you see in the sky

but what you see right next to you right now

jae had given you enough time before to open up about your own thoughts, struggles, and share secrets with him. it didn’t take long until you found the trust between you and held onto it for dear life

lazy days with jae can be just that— lazy, loafing around the house, stealing a chip or two from each other’s bag, falling asleep to the sound of lofi music on the speaker

but it can go this way too: with jae explaining how good this one song can be, the metaphors every verse carries with the melody. “you’ve always heard of chocolate eyes or whatever, but blueberry? and to describe the setting sun as strawberry skies? amazing, GENIUS”

and you laugh, and listen to the same song over and over as per jae’s request until he overpowers the original vocals— and you don’t complain, there’s not a sound you love to hear on a lazy afternoon than his low register, the kind of singing he does just for the heck of it. he’s not exerting too much range, too much work on the words he sings— he’s just doing so to comfort him, to bring life to the room, to dwell on each poetic verse’s meaning

i’m so lost in your blueberry eyes

he finishes singing, and the playlist shuffles to an instrumental lofi track with an upbeat, charming rhythm to it

jae keeps his eyes closed, smiling to himself probably proud for his faux performance

“you done gloating in your head yet, jae?”

“shut up i’m feeling the moment”

you poke his shoulder with yours, and you’re suddenly hyper aware at how close the two of you are.. physically, right now

he turns his head towards you, eyes fluttering, lips slightly open. he catches you staring, and it’s too sudden for you to look away and pretend it’s not awkward at all

“what are you doing?” he asks, a lilt of teasing on his voice but his eyes never leave yours

“sh..shut up,” you quip in a small voice, looking down on your laying bodies before turning away, cheeks warm

“wait what? what i was asking a genuine question—”

“i was.. feeling the moment, okay? god jae you’re annoying” you mutter under your breath, a lousy response to cover up the pounding in your chest

“this moment feels really nice, doesn’t it?” he says next to you, quiet but gentle

you pause for a second, taking in his words and letting go of the smile you’re trying to hold off on

your heart is still racing, but there wasn’t a need to worry about stumbling with your feelings

if jae himself is enjoying your own company right now

“it is. if it’s with you, it really is.”

#day6 imagines #day6 scenarios #day6 au #day6 x reader #park jaehyung imagines #park jaehyung scenarios #park jaehyung x reader #park jaehyung au #day6 jae #dot series #by:jiae

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