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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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After reading your opinion on Molly Weasley, i want to know: What are you're opinions on the Weasley family? Besides Ron & Molly that is.

Five characters? In one post? Well, alright, here we go.

The Weasleys as a Whole

I’ve mentioned this before but JKR writes the Weasleys to clearly be a believable but ideal family. They’re all fiercely loyal, progressive per wizarding world standards, love each other and Harry deeply, and have this wonderful off-kilter joyous house where there’s always some rambunctious thing going on.

Harry comes to associate the Weasleys with family and, personally, I believe a large part of him marrying Ginny boils down to it will make him a Weasley for real.

That said, they’ve got some major issues. They’re very righteous people who, as a whole, will ice you out the moment they even suspect you do something that disagrees with them. You don’t even have to do it, what you did or didn’t do doesn’t even have to be something terrible or something bad, but god help you if the family decides they’re done with you.

They’re very resentful of people like the Malfoys. This isn’t just because Lucius is a smarmy, pompous, ass (he is) or that he indirectly almost murdered Ginny but seems to mostly be because Lucius has so much money. All of their interactions seem to boil down to the money. More than this though, the Weasleys seem fully supportive of laws that... well, used against themselves would be a travesty but used against the likes of the Malfoys it’s about damn time.

They’re unquestioningly loyal to Dumbledore. Granted, most people we see in canon are, Dumbledore’s very very very good at convincing people he’s a saint. However, these guys are practically his cult member to the point where they do things like refuse to have Harry over the summer, even before Voldemort returned, because Dumbledore told them not to.

They also never really adopt Harry into the family. Oh they give him a nice sweater, he comes over every once in a while to the house, he’s very good friends with Ron but he’s mostly treated just like that, a good friend. Now, there’s nothing wrong with this, except the way JKR sets it up we’re supposed to believe this is the family Harry found. It’s just that the family Harry’s found let’s him stay in a house with bars on his window where twelve-year-old Ron tells them, “Harry’s muggle family is really really awful” in a way that should have been raising red flags. Hermione practically lives at the Weasleys, Harry never does.

Now, are the Weasleys evil? No, far from it, they’re ordinary people who act in ways I’d expect ordinary people too. Technically they didn’t have to do anything more for Harry than they did, they didn’t have to hate Lucius Malfoy for better reasons, and they don’t have to be even slightly less worshipful of Dumbledore. They’re people, and they’re fine characters, but the overwhelming worship and love of the Weasleys we see across fandom does get on my nerves.

But you asked for individuals, so here we go.

Arthur Weasley

Arthur is the epitome of “Pretty Fly for a White Guy” in the worst of ways and is, frankly, a giant awful joke to me. He’s the white kid you see going around with dread locks, a beanie the color of the Jamaican flag, smoking weed, and attempting to speak like Bob Marley

Only, because he does it with muggle things, we’re supposed to find him funny and progressive.

Arthur is absolutely, albeit unwittingly, condescending in his love of muggle knickknacks. He has no idea how any of it actually works, not limited to how muggles could possible survive without the gold standard, but ardently believes he does because he can enchant the car to fly. Seriously, that he believes he’s an expert on muggle culture, as a pureblood wizard who heads an office in the ministry on it, is the worst part. His love of toasters comes across as, “Wow, look how cool it is that these poor little muggles made all this neat stuff. We should absolutely love the muggles because of it!” And that he heads an office in the ministry called “The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts” which is all about catching down Jackass style pranksters who think it would be hilarious of they enchanted toasters to bludgeon muggles to death...

Goddammit Arthur, why do you exist?

Right, otherwise, he’s got some pride issues going on. Part of the reason Percy is excommunicated is not so much that Percy doesn’t believe Harry, but because Percy dared to do better than Arthur in his own career. Arthur is stuck in his position as head of a joke of a department, he is an underling at its finest, and frankly likely only has that position because he’s a pureblood and the idea of putting a halfblood or even muggleborn at the head of a department dealing with muggles just made the higher ups shudder. (Don’t tell Arthur that though, he likes to think he’s not benefitting from nepotism).

Arthur goes so far to accuse Percy as Fudge’s secretary as spying on him. Arthur, the guy who heads “Misuse of Muggle Artifacts”. Yeah, Arthur, I’m sure Fudge is really wasting his time using his straight laced secretary to find out all your dirty secrets.

He also tends to see the world as very black and white. When Skeeter in book 4 writes an article after the Quidditch World Cup disaster complaining about the ministry’s lax security in enabling domestic terrorists to enter (something completely valid and true by the way) Arthur is so personally offended that both he and Percy go straight to the ministry to complain about Rita Skeeter and her daring to assume freedom of speech! HOW DARE SHE CALL THE MINISTRY’S NON-EXISTENT SECURITY AT THE WORLD CUP LAX! (To be fair, she also cited Arthur as having been in attendance at the event, a ministry employee, and having done nothing but, well, this is also true Arthur. You’re in a guerilla, underground, resistance movement. If I didn’t already think the Order was a joke this would kind of highlight it for me).

He’s also very resentful of Lucius Malfoy, and it seems to mostly be about the money. Arthur and Molly have a severe spending problem and actively resent that Lucius is swimming in money. That Arthur is ardently pleased about a law being passed in which the ministry without warrant can ransack Lucius Malfoy’s home...

Well, Arthur, imagine the slippery slope if the government decides that it would like to search the Weasley home without warrant? In fact, he doesn’t even have to imagine it, as the beloved government in a few short years turns against him and then it’s all about how corrupt the ministry is.

Arthur’s delightfully narrowminded, basically, and reminds us at nearly every opportunity.

Percy Weasley

Mostly, I just feel bad for Percy. Percy’s the son/brother that nobody likes and he’s painfully aware of that fact. He doesn’t fit in with the others, he has far too much ambition for the Gryffindor family and they resent him for it, and then he dares to say things like “I don’t know guys, Voldemort resurrecting from the dead after decades doesn’t sound plausible, we know Harry’s a little off kilter, and Dumbledore’s one shady dude”. Percy happens to be wrong about Voldemort resurrecting (and admits as much when the evidence is plainly visible), but he’s pretty on the money with the rest of it.

Regardless, growing up we see Ron constantly hating on Percy along with the rest of the siblings. I’m sure Percy is obnoxious, and certainly full of himself after making prefect and head boy, but he’s very clearly even before Order of the Phoenix the Least Favorite Brother (TM).

Then the Weasley family completely ices him out for a) getting a very high ranking position very quickly as Fudge’s secretary and b) not being gung ho about Dumbledore saying crazy things in the paper. Remember that to Percy Harry is Ron’s weird friend who seems to get into highly illegal activities every other week. From Percy’s point of view, it’s probably a matter of time before Harry becomes a crack head in Knockturn Alley (or given how behind the times wizards tend to be, an opium den).

He’s constantly getting Ron into not only trouble but life threatening situations, is erratic and apparently a parseltongue of all things, and now Harry’s flipped his lid and saying that Voldemort has been resurrected after having gone through a very traumatic experience of watching a classmate somehow die.

While we see Percy kind of (sort of) make up with the family it’s clear that for Percy to have any relation with these people he’s the one who will always, ALWAYS, have to come crawling back on his knees and begging for forgiveness. It’s the Weasley way or the highway and I imagine, at some point probably a little after/during that epilogue, Percy will just slowly drift away because it’s just not worth it anymore.

Percy’s very much the black sheep of the family.

Fred and George Weasley

You all are going to kill me, but I actually don’t care in the slightest about Fred and George Weasley. This is because they basically have no personality aside from “funny”.

They just have their weird, tandem, twin act and are either playing jokes on the school or else serving as Deus ex Machina in giving Harry magical items such as the Marauder’s Map for no apparent reason. The plot told them it was time, I guess.

Their jokes, while not as bad as Sirius and James’ “Let’s sexually harrass Severus Snape by pantsing and beating him at the edge of Hogwarts lake” or Sirius’ “Let’s get Snape eaten by a werewolf!” are still often needlessly cruel and... kind of pointless. They harass Slytherin house constantly just because they happen to be Slytherins, they’re acceptable victims (which of course makes house tension that much worse). Harry gets sent a toilet seat in the hospital because... that’s funny? Har de har?

They’re so indistinguishable from one another I routinely see people mistake which one got his ear chopped off and which one died. Because the point is, that we can’t tell the difference! It doesn’t matter who lived and who died because all we know is that Freorge is dead!

Similarly, you see tons of fics around where character of the day ends up in this weird twincestuous relationship with Fred and George and it’s not only for a) that delightful twincest but b) because they’re such a singular unit that any attempt to pair one with somebody else feels weird. So you just get these porn fics about Fred and George being weird rapey teenagers who seem like they’d be more interested dating each other.

Charlie Weasley

I really have no thoughts on Charlie. He raises dragons in Romania, the family loves him. Now, dragon raising feels like one of the most dangerous jobs in the Harry Potter universe, like Charlie had just gone and signed up to be a lumberjack but he seems to like it?

We really don’t see much of Charlie, he’s just the obligatory older Weasley son so that the Weasleys can be this ridiculously large family.

Bill Weasley

We see slightly more of Bill, but again, not enough to really leave an impression. We know that his marrying Fleur sent Molly into a complete state, and that they’re going to have awkward Christmas dinners forever because of it where Fleur just sits there and pretends not to loathe every second of Molly’s presence while Molly notes how bad it is that Victoire got stuck with that ugly pink hair instead of the Weasley red.

Bill doesn’t seem to really do anything about this. He still marries Fleur, but we don’t really see a major confrontation where he tells the family “Look, I’m marrying her, so grow up.” So, I imagine he just tries to smile pleasantly and tells Fleur to just endure it for another few hours. He loves his family, his family’s great, but they only have to see Fleur once a year at Christmas.

Ginny Weasley

Ginny is weird. She’s this weird, frankly, almost personality-less void whose sole obsession in life seems to be marrying Harry. She and Harry end up in the world’s weirdest relationship and I honestly have no idea how people ship it other than canon told them to.

Ginny’s... well, first off, she’s very much in love with an idea. She had always worshipped Harry Potter but then he personally saves her life in what was a horrifically traumatic year and so that feeling just grows even more. Despite being Ron’s sister, she barely seems to know Harry, and everything she seems to like about it are just things she made up.

I imagine her and Harry’s marriage will be littered with affairs on her end. Not divorce though, because Harry would never admit his wife is having affairs on him all the time even if someone directly confronted him. Harry also won’t admit he’s gay.

More than though we get hints of a personality. Ginny’s a fiery red-head tomboy with a temper. But... Well, it’s only ever hints. She never felt like a real person to me. She has I think one throwaway line about the Chamber of Secrets incident and how it personally affected her. We’re told she’s great at the bat boogey hex so we know she’s a fiery independent woman.

She feels more like a character sheet than an actual person.

Whenever she’s around I always had this nagging question in my head where I ask why Ginny’s here. She has a lot of potential but nothing’s ever done with her. And when something is, it’s to get her into this bizarre relationship with Harry where he imagines there’s a green rage monster in his chest that loves her skin.

Okay Harry, if you say so.

TL;DR: The Weasleys aren’t evil or anything, I’m not on Team Bash Them All, but they are shortsighted, ordinary, people who don’t deserve to be worshipped as all that is good in this world.

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gh0ulbunni · 3 years ago

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Aight bitches, headcanons for my version of the WATXM Cartoon's 'Mortimer Toynbee'

(TW: Death, suicide, depression, mental illness, body horror but it's not that bad)

-The stage we see Mortimer at in the show is most likely him as an 18 - 20 year old, still in the juvenile stages of his mutation as it occurred after the death of his mother Esmerelda. Esmerelda was a kind and meek but busy woman who ultimately died from a stroke caused by high blood pressure. She worked 3 high stress jobs in order to try and keep a roof over her and Mort's heads as his father gave up his rights because he "Didn't want a freak for a son and that he'd never be his son."

-When his mutation actually began to show after her death when he was 3, Mortimer's once ivory skin turned fully green and due to the neglect his hair became matted in chunks (the braids we see in the show), his hygiene dropped to little to no self-care because of the new allergic reactions he'd get when his new sensitive skin came into contact with the naturally chemical loaded body washes, deodorants, shampoo, and tooth pastes that he had. He turned to showering with just water and brushing his teeth with just water, but the water the brotherhood has access to was INCREDIBLY dirty and laced with chemicals that made him sick.

-Mortimer is actually incredibly smart, but others would feel threatened by him when he tried to show this so he mainly acts dumb and stupid as a way to avoid conflict and aggression from people (Specifically Pietro and Dominikos).

-At 22 he finally leaves the brotherhood after being there for 4 years and tries to take his own life only to realize he's developed superhuman durability and a healing factor. This immediately makes him frustrated because he feels he's been punished and forced to live a miserable life.. And in comes Spider-Man who talks him out of trying to jump and takes him to SHIELD.

-After a few days at SHIELD's holding cells he makes a bit of an impression on Fury who offers him a role as an agent. Mortimer, a people pleaser who'll take any chance to climb up the ladder in life, immediately agrees and sets to work training.

-As he trains, his mutation gets stronger and he unlocks more abilities he never thought he could have: Superhuman strength, durability, endurance, agility, senses, special eyesight, chemical and toxin production, flexible bone structure, superhuman lungs, telepathic communication with amphibians, acidic saliva, flaming tongue, and a venomous pheremone secretion that allows for mind control.

-The final step was when he fell extremely ill and it was discovered that his genetic makeup was severely broken due his involvement in an experiment called the Black Womb Project, ran by Charles Xavier's step-father/Juggernaut's father Kurt Marko. This left Mortimer's DNA and mutation severely unstable and it almost caused him to loose control of his new powers and have multiple mental breakdowns and even a manic episode where was on an extreme high before going through psychosis in which he believed Magneto was out to kill him for leaving his son's group.

-After having a hell of a few months, Mortimer is put through a new process called Genetic Rehabilitation designed for mutants who've been forced through experimentation programs and have had their DNA damaged.

-After a while his skin turns from 100% green to 40% green with lots of ivory patches. The tops of his hands, chest, stomach, inside of his legs, and the tops and bottoms of his feet are a pale ivory color while his back, neck, cheek and temples, arms, his sides, and the outsides of his legs are varying shades of soft green with patches of dark green ranging in sizes from small to giant patches on his joints and sockets (shoulders, elbows, knees, and hips) which he's self-concious about at first but comes to love his new look. The most shocking part is his eyes which become black with amber irises that have flicks of lime and gold in them.

-Along with getting therapy for his DNA and body, he gets therapy for his mental health which.. Hoo boy he was and still is strugglin (but not as bad). He has: BPD, C-PTSD, GAD, ODD, and Depression.

-Absolutely loves brushing and caring for his hair, which, after it's unmatted and cleaned of bugs and gunk is ass length and black with a silky shine to it. He still wears his old bandana thing

-Has picked up playing a musical instrument in his spare time. If he isn't working, tinkering with his suit, gear, and gadgets then he's playing... The violin?

-He's suprisingly good at it.

-After becoming a shield agent he starts to get more confidence before meeting a mutant who was currently in SHIELD's custody... Said mutant being the oc of @ohmygillygoshoppler

-Callista and Mortimer become close, he spends lunchbreaks with her, constantly volunteers to be her guard/escort when she's let out.

-Ok so, dad headcanons lETS GO

-Cal and Mort end up having a daughter named after his mom, and her thing is having her mom's monster mouth with mouths on her hands that can shoot out 13ft long flaming tongues. Esme (or Esmerelda) absolutely becomes a rescue hero

-Callie is into clown/circus lolita outfits and Mortimer is a grunge punk. Esme never gets dressed in the basic ass kids clothes, she looks like mini Wednesday Addams.

-This child never gets put down (physically), Mort or Cal are always holding her.

-Mort and Esme are the epitome of "Don't talk to me or my kid ever again" while Esme is copying her dad's glare.

-Alright, Mort's strong.

-Like, really strong. He didn't even know how strong until he was cornered on his first mission as a shield agent and he kicked his enemy with his leg so hard he decapitates them.

-He can kick hard enough to knock down concrete walls, snap people in half, crack and damage paved roads, and create enough air pressure to knock people over.

-His tongue can crush skulls

-He could get hit by a semi-truck and still walk away with a few bruises

-Develops a bite force of 1,000 PSI (Less than a polar bear)

-He bench presses 3 tons with his legs and 1 ton with his arms

-Develops retractable claws that can lengthen and shorten, he uses these to fight.

-Looks like he could kill you, can kill you but has the energy of a golden retriever puppy

-As he ages he becomes more.. Forgiving? Of the people who've hurt him, specifically Pietro. He'll forgive but never forget, it's like when you drop a mug. It won't ever be the same.

-I imagine he fights a lot like how Deku does? The leg based fighting and shoot style is a big part of his fight style.

-Legs for daaaaaaaays, they're so long. Also he's 5'8 now because Toad is canonically 5'8 - 5'10 and he'll hold it over Wolverine while snickering.

#headcanons #xmen headcanon #my headcanons #artists on tumblr #x-men #x men the animated series #x men first class #x men rp #marvel #character design #mortimer toynbee #this can also go for Todd too #todd tolansky #x-men toad #the brotherhood of evil mutants

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your-raifu-is-shit · 4 years ago

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Roast the primarchs

Alright, let’s do this -

Lion El’Johnson: Edgy loner, the epitome of That Guy we all knew in high school who insisted he just couldn’t get along with other people because he was “too different and special” but really was just an unlikable dick with a superiority complex.

REDACTED: Stupid fuck who REDACTED despite REDACTED, what a REDACTED mook.

Fulgrim: Narcissistic twat who could have avoided falling to Chaos if he spent 1/4th as much time engaged in critical thinking as he did on his hair.

Perturabo: Whiny bitch who never understood that other people have feelings too and aren’t just machines.

Jaghatai Khan: That douche who revs his goddamn Harley at 3am, just fuck off we’re trying to sleep you cunt. Also does not play well with others and expects his subordinates to make up for it.

Leman Russ: Broseidon, Lord of the Broceans and Primarch of the Frat Boys. Literally gave himself his own nickname of “The Emperor’s Executioner” despite Lion being the one with access all the fun doomsday toys. Also just a little bit too eager to commit genocide, even by Space Marine standards.

Rogal Dorn: Blandy McBlandface

Konrad Curze: Edgelord Supreme, all his furniture is probably that red-and-black Gamer™-style crap from the early 2000s.

Sanguinius: .... I got nothing, Glorious Hawk Boy is perfect and unroastable.

Ferrus Manus: So horrendously bad at teaching his sons that they literally took the exact opposite position of his stance on flesh vs machinery.

REDACTED: Even more of a REDACTED than REDACTED up above. Would have been cool despite that if not for REDACTED.

Angron: Dude, seriously, chill the fuck out.

Roboute Guilliman: DIRTY XENOS FUCKER

Mortarion: Smells like day 3 of an anime convention

Magnus the Red: Too headstrong to listen to other people, too much of a pussy to help his sons when they catch the heat for his fuckup.

Horus Lupercal: “WAAAAH, I’m so strong and smart and successful that now everyone expects things of me! WOE IS ME!” shut the fuck up you pissbaby, learn how to manage expectations.

Lorgar Aurelian: Shut-in NEET that spent literal millennia faffing about in his basement despite getting a bitchin’ upgrade to Demon Prince.

Vulkan: Actually a pretty cool guy, unless you’re an Eldar in which case it’s “If you didn’t want to be burned to death then why are you flammable?”

Corvus Corax: CRAAAAWLING IIIIIN MY SKIIIIIN

Alpharius: Fancies himself a master of 5-D hyper chess but gets played like a fiddle by the first people to give him a task more complex than “kill these backwoods rubes.”

Omegon: Still unironically shares “We are Anonymous, We Are Legion” memes from old /b/. Probably owns at least one fedora trilby and will get really mad if you get it wrong.

#roast post #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #space marines #primarchs #Anonymous

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guytransformedforever · 4 years ago

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I’m a huge nerd with an average body, 27 years old, and have a thing for hot guys in suits, so can I try on the tie you’re offering?

“Your interview is at 4: 30pm. Don’t be late” this is what flashed on your phone screen while raindrops were falling on it.

“Damn.” you swore. You were already very late for this interview, and as luck would have it, there was a nasty autumn rain that knocked down the remaining leaves and produced impassable mud under your feet. You left your umbrella at home when you were packing in a hurry, your jacket and hair were wet, and your shoes were dirty. When the rain suddenly increased and a gusty wind was added to it, you were forced to run into the first door of the store that you came across. The first thing you felt when you entered this old shop with all sorts of Souvenirs is the persistent aroma of burnt herbs. A young guy, a salesman, was sweeping the dust off the floor. He got distracted and looked at you.

“You look a little untidy. Can I help you?” he asked

“Hah, only if you have formal clothing for men who don’t already meet the demand for jobs,” you said with annoyance.

“I don’t understand you, sir”

“Hah, you see. You addressed me as Sir. And I’m only 27. I look a little older. That’s why I think I probably shouldn’t go to the interview today. They clearly need a young, energetic programmer. And I look like a forty-year-old man with a receding hairline” you didn’t know why you said all this to a strange guy in an old store. Maybe you were upset, or maybe it was his blue eyes that were so fascinating and mesmerizing…

“I think it’s all about the first impression. I can see that you are wearing a suit, but there is no tie to emphasize your business style. I can help you.” with that, he went to the back shelf, picked up someone’s gym bag, and rummaged through it until he found a narrow black tie.

“Put it on and you will feel how everything will change,” the guy said.As if you were under some kind of kumar, you reached out, took the tie, and automatically tied it around your neck. At that very moment, the dim autumn sun came out and you realized that the rain had stopped. You were about to take out your wallet to pay for your tie, but the salesman stopped you.

“These are old things. I give them away for free”

You thanked the guy for his help and stormed out of the store. You don’t remember how you managed to get to the company’s office in time. You flew up the stairs to the 3rd floor and ran to the interview room. The receptionist appraised you with a glance and motioned you in. A girl was sitting at a Desk in the office, sorting through papers. For the next 20 minutes, you talked about your achievements, work experience, and so on. Provided his portfolio and variants of written programs. The boss’s eyes were getting stricter and stricter by the minute, until she interrupted you.

“Young man, I see some inconsistencies in your case. First of all, I can’t find your photo in the database. Secondly, I find it hard to believe that such a thick and rich portfolio could be collected by such a young candidate for the position”

“Young? This is the first time they call you young… ” you thought.“But today I am favorable and will accept you for a trial period in our company. Welcome. Contact Elena at the exit, she will take a picture of you for a pass and a Board with the names of employees”

A little confused, you left the office with your files and documents. The receptionist leaned you against a gray wall and snapped a photo. Minutes later, she printed out your pass and escorted you to the exit, saying, “ we’ll See you at the office tomorrow.”

Only then did you realize what was wrong. You weren’t in the photo on the pass. The young guy, who looked no more than 18 years old, was wearing your clothes and the tie you bought. But he didn’t have your beer belly, he didn’t have your thick, hairy arms, His hair was thick and beautiful, and his face was the epitome of youthful beauty and cuteness. It’s like he blushes at every touch and glance in his direction. You might not believe that this is your pass and think that you were given someone else’s by mistake. But there is one thing…. The guy in the photo was just looking at you from the mirrored window of the bakery…

#newgame #tfs #age regression

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meepmoopfanfics · 4 years ago

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you don’t get a win unless you’re playing the game: Daveed Diggs x Reader Chapter 6 Part 2

The familiar sound of Alexander Hamilton blares through your phone speakers waking you from your deep, restful sleep. You reach over to snooze it but are almost too excited to continue rehearsals to even close your eyes again. It’s 7:30am. Monday. It’s finally here. The day you would rehearse for your dream show in front of your dream cast. The sunlight peeks through your window, shining warm, bright light on your cheeks, filling your soul with positive energy for the day. You reach over to your nightstand to flip through your script to make sure you’re able to nail all of the alto harmonies in front of the whole cast today.

You had your rehearsal outfit laid out from the night before. You weren’t one to be this organized or prepared... but for Hamilton?! You were instantly on top of your shit. You pulled on your favorite black Lululemon leggings, a camo sports bra (you’re ready for battle here!), and a cute cropped burgundy shirt from Urban Outfitters. You threw on a white Nike hoodie over top to keep you warm when you weren’t dancing. You giggled at the thought of potentially wearing your copy of Daveed’s signature Purple Oaklandish hoodie to rehearsal that you got as a gag gift from your parents on your last birthday. One day that would have to happen. Would be fangirling at its finest. Maybe you would eventually just burn it so no one saw.

Your subway ride to the Richard Rogers was not as chaotic as usual. The trains were on time and you felt like the universe was finally on your side. You stopped into the coffee shop across the street to grab a large black coffee and a classic bacon, egg, and cheese on an English muffin with avocado to get you going. You were there a little early so you could foam roll and stretch while listening to chill music. You always needed your “me” time to get into your groove before facing the day. You walked into your dressing room and were so happy to see Michelle already there, devouring her favorite Panera bagel, the cinnamon crunch. Mid-bite, she squeals at seeing you.

“Y/N!!! You have me on the edge of my freakin seat here. What in the HELL happened after brunch?”

You giggled and felt the heat come over your face.

“Let me tell you Michelle... it was everything.”

“Was it good?!” Michelle immediately blurted out.

“...yeeeeeeeah...” You said through a smirk.

“WAS HE BIG?!” Michelle yelled.

“SHHHHH” You said to shut her up while snickering.

You both laughed so hard you felt tears coming to your eyes. Thankfully there was no one else in the dressing rooms near you yet so you weren’t that worried.

Until two seconds later when you heard a knock from wall next to you.

Michelle and you screamed and continued to die laughing.

“Laaaaaadieeees!! What’s goin oooon?” Anthony bursts into your dressing room without warning. “What are ya laughin’ about?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing!” You said quickly back, continuing the laughter.

“Oh yeah?! Nothin at all to do with Diggs, right?” Anthony’s signature grin came across his face as his face turned red as he held back laughter. He nudged your arm a couple of times. “I heard the whole thing, Y/N, the walls are paper thin. But it’s chill! It’s chill!” He waved his hands signaling that he would keep a secret and would have your back. Then out of no where he whisper taunts “Diggs is after the bullet! Diggs is after the buuuulleeeeet!!!”

Thankfully Anthony’s actual dressing room was upstairs next to Diggs. Ant was only visiting the PT room to warm up.

“You’re the absolute worst!” You responded.

“Enjoy your breakfast ladies!” Anthony waved goodbye in the silliest way and headed back out.

You and Michelle caught up over your breakfast sandwiches. You showed her the note you wrote on your phone about your hookup, trying not to miss out on any details when telling her. Your attentiveness to details and your photographic memory were so helpful when it came to choreography, but when it came to remembering events, it was both a blessing and a curse. Re-reading it, however, was having you break a sweat more than if you started warming up.

Michelle then filled you in on her evening with Cedric. You knew the two of them were bound to become a thing even though she was hesitant about it. And thankfully you wouldn’t have to worry about Cedric coming on to you in any way.

Time passed and both you and Michelle warmed up together, foam rolled, and got ready to go. You started to get butterflies thinking about dancing for Lin Manuel Miranda. He was having his alternate, Javier, stand in for rehearsals so he could watch from the theater. He was going to see your every move of Act 1. You were proud of yourself for how well you knew the show and felt perfectly comfortable with your castmates.

“Alright good morning everyone!” You heard from the loud speaker that reached all rooms backstage. “You all can make your way to the stage for our first run through of Act 1! Make sure you grab your mic belts and mics from sound. Thank you! Everyone to stage, please, everyone to stage.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” You said aloud.

You made your way to the stage. Even though you already had seen the set and the majestic view of the theater seats in the Richard Rogers, it still gave you chills every time. The intricate detailing in the set design was something you could stare at for hours and continue to find something new.

You walked out of your comfort zone to stand next to Anthony who was giving Jasmine a shoulder massage. They were so sweet and truly the epitome of what love/healthy relationships should be and look like.

You looked around at everyone chatting to each other in awe. There was Oak making Michelle and Cedric laugh as if they’d been best friends for years, Renee and Philippa giggling and rubbing each others arms to stay warm, and Leslie pacing already in his craft, perfecting every last detail to ensure he still had that Tony winning performance in him.

Stephanie was seated a few rows back to get a good view of the full stage and balcony. Andy, the choreographer, wasn’t there this week since he was working on some other projects, but he would be coming to watch soon. You couldn’t wait to dance for Andy again, your dream choreographer. She sat next to Alex Lacamoire with the “god mic” which she would be shouting out notes and corrections from during the run.

“Check check...” Stephanie said in a low, radio-esque voice. “It’s me, God.”

The entire cast and crew erupted in laughter.

“Just jooooking it's Steph. WHAT’S UP WOLF PAAACKKK?!”

The OBC woo’d, shouted, and clapped.

Then you heard a familiar raspy voice shout, just about an inside voice, “It’s too early SK.”

You looked over to see Daveed looking hella hot with his hair pulled up a-la Lafayette style with his glasses on, scratching the scruff of his freshly trimmed beard.

“It’s too early for shots out the grammy hangovers, Diggs.” Stephanie responded playfully. You hoped one day you’d get to take one out of the grammy.

Daveed looked tired, but so sexy as expected. He was dessed in a Black Oaklandish tank and red sweats, with a black hoodie tied around his waist. You instantly you got a sour feeling in your stomach. You imagined him partying out late with other women, hooking up with them after he threw back a few Belvedere shots with Rafa... wait. Your mind was making up situations that were not even real. Shit... I guess you were starting to like this idiot. You rolled your eyes at yourself and focused back on his bulging biceps to snap out of it.

Gotta pay attention, gotta pay attention. You thought.

“I can guess who he was out late with!!” Anthony softly whispered in your ear. Jasmine instantly hit him on the shoulder giving him a dirty, yet playful look.

“Oh shut it, A.” You whispered back as you elbowed him in the side.

Daveed looked over at you and Ant but had no idea what you both said. His eyes then met yours, sending a heartbeat to your core. He winked at you quickly and smirked. You winked back.

“I see you, Y/N...” Jazzy whispered. “You guys are acting like Ant and I did when we started this shindig.”

“It’s nothing, really.” You said while breaking eye contact, trying to sound chill.

“Y/N... don’t you dare lie to me!” She giggled. You were dumbfounded by her perfectly clear skin.

“Well, we’re just two super flirty people, it’s nothing, well, nothing more than that on his end I don’t think.”

“Girl just be patient. Enjoy it. He really isn’t openly flirty with many people. He sees what he likes and takes it. You’ll see. If anyone knows that, we do.” Jazzy mentioned while pointing at her and A. She then started softly warming up her vocal chords and gave you a pat on your shoulder. She was so sweet and the positive, chill energy she brought into the room was contagious.

“Lets take it from the top y'all!” Stephanie shouted on her mic.

You headed backstage to get ready for opening. You and Daveed started backstage Left together. You approached him and he gently placed his warm hand on your lower back as you passed him.

“Morning, (Y/Nickname). Merde, babygirl.” He said as you walked to your wing.

“Mornin, Lafayette.” You said as you snickered. “Loving the hair.”

He smiled and shook his little poofball on top of his head back at you as you both settled into your spots.

The piano keys pounded the same melody as you heard from your alarm waking up this morning. An unreal moment for you. After Leslie sung his solo, one by one the principals started rapping the words to Alexander Hamilton. It was hard not to mouth them under your breath. It went perfectly. Aaron Burr, Sir went through quickly since you weren’t on stage really. You didn’t get a single note during My Shot. The little moments you had together bantering with Daveed were cute and he “shoved you with love” as the chorus says during rehearsals if you know someone’s in the wrong spot. One after one, you all nailed your dances. You and Cedric nailed your partnering with only one slight mishap with the basket toss lifts in Helpless, since it was your first time using the rehearsal skirts. They were heavy as hell.

Then came time for Stay Alive. Your first moment as the Bullet in front of Lin. You counted and perfectly grabbed the bullet from M4′s rifle causing Stephanie to come on the mic and say “You better work, Y/N!” You smiled as you mimicked the bullet just surpassing Javier’s skull. You respected Javier so much because he took his work so seriously. That’s how you wanted to be known. The quick change into the British army coat was going to be difficult, but you know the dressers backstage were on top of it a and would make sure you’d get to stage on time once the show premiered.

The rest of the run through was a sheer blur of running back stage through the wings, mimicking where your quick changes would be, staring at awe at Daveed as he rapped 19 words in 3 seconds, even while completely hungover, and chugging water bottle after water bottle. This was tough stuff. Non stop was a cardio routine essentially, and pushing Chris as Washington on the moving stairs was way tougher that you thought. You didn’t want to hurt the set so you were extra gentle with it. The way Stephanie responded to the cast was so positive. You all were knockouts. She gave some notes to Michelle about her mother lift, which she corrected and perfected immediately. You were so thankful to be part of such a talented and intelligent cast who were quick on their feet and no nonsense.

“If that were in costume, that would’ve been a near perfect first run for your cast.” Stephanie said.

“EXCEPT I WASN’T IN IT.” Lin said as he snatched the mic. The cast giggled as they plopped onto the stage floor, panting from the run. “My new cinnamon rolls are perfect. PERFECT I tell you. I can feel all of your energy beaming from the stage. I can’t wait to perform with you all. This is truly an honor.”

Everyone clapped together. Just so happy to be performing after such a long time apart. You’ve never felt more proud.

“Now OBC’s... make sure we don’t let our comfortability tinge our performance okay? Remember when the material was fresh and fun? We need to make it fresh and fun for our audiences. Jazz watch the eye contact with Ant, you’re gonna ruin it for the LAM fans if John Laurens looks like he's straight.” Everyone laughed. “Also Daveed, quit milking your side moments with Y/N.”

“I noticed that too...” Steph chimed in in a tone which sounded like she had discovered a secret.

You began to feel embarrassed and covered your face with your hands.

“I was shoving with love!” Daveed shouted, trying to make the situation less awkward. He didn’t look back at you, no recognition, no nothing. Your stomach started to churn with nerves again. Could he not admit he was flirting with you? I guess it was a professional setting, but still sort of upsetting.

“Alright let’s take a twenty minute break. New ensemble, we’ll go a little more in depth with minuscule notes and changes. Wolfpack, take a half hour before music brushup with Alex.” Steph turned off the mic and people dispersed into their dressing rooms, the green rooms, or into the audience to grab snacks/ foam roll.

Your Burgundy top was slightly sweat drenched from the hard work you put in. You got back up to your dressing room with Michelle and saw your phone light up with a text.

Diggs: You looked hella good out there, Y/N. Couldn’t take my eyes off of you

Y/N: Thanks, Diggs. You weren’t too shabby yourself ;)”

Diggs: Like I said before, even though I’m not technically the bullet, I still got ammo... and you have a twenty...

Your eyes widened. A quickie? Right now of all times? You couldn't. Not with the professionals in the room.

Diggs: My dressing room in 5?

Well I’ll be damned, Lafayette’s on my side... you sung in your mind.

Y/N: Here? You sure it’ll be okay?

Diggs: I don’t share a room. Only if you’re comfortable, babygirl

You felt a pulse go to your opening when he said that. Also him calling you babygirl drew you over the edge. You also didn’t realize how much of a turn on it would be to potentially hookup in the very place the most respected people who’ve ever worked on Hamilton would be simultaneously working, unfazed at what would soon happen behind Daveed’s dressing room walls.

Y/N: I’m in

You checked yourself out in the mirror without saying a word to Michelle, made sure your flyaways were sprayed back, put some more deodorant on and gave yourself a splash of your fave perfume.

“And where the hell are you in a hurry to go to, missy?” Michelle said as you began to briskly exit out of the dressing room.

“Can’t talk, will update you later. Love ya.” You winked in her direction. Her eyes widened and she started laughing to herself as you closed the door behind you while ferociously typing a new text to get Diggs excited.

Y/N: Your shirt better be off by the time I get to your dressing room.

Diggs: Way ahead of you

Diggs: Can’t wait to hear you struggle not to moan

God damn, Diggs.

Y/N: Oh yeah? How cocky of you to assume you’d make me moan ;)

Diggs: You know I will

Diggs: And I know just how I can muffle them ;)

Fuck.

Your brisk walk turned into a light jog as you became desperate. You climbed the last set of stairs to his dressing room and stood outside of the door that was slightly cracked ajar. Here you were again, with one inch of barrier between you two. You couldn’t wait any longer.

You lightly knocked on the door and waited.

@alexander-hamilhoe

@riiyy

@lonelydance

@braidedchallah

@ohsoverykeri-blog

@roman0ffxnat

@lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

@i-know-i-can

@vemazing

@ramp-it-up

#daveed x reader #Daveed Diggs x reader #fanfic #Hamilton fanfic #hamiltrash

60 notes · View notes

phykios · 4 years ago

Text

honesty and promise me, part 2 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Goth isn’t really Annabeth’s scene—hasn’t been since she was twelve, hiding in her room and blasting Evanescence or Avril Lavigne so she didn’t have to spend quality time with her brothers, or even talk to her stepmother at all—but Percy had insisted. She could almost picture his pathetic, baby seal-eyed face as he wheedled and whined at her over text, until she eventually (not at all reluctantly) gave in.

She’s only known him for a few weeks. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly her willpower had crumbled.

Thalia, for whatever reason, had decidedly not been game, even when presented with a large, post-bartending hangover coffee as an opening salvo. “This is a bad idea,” she had said, glaring at the sun so intensely that, were it not for her thick, black sunglasses, she probably would have vaporized it.

“We don’t have to go.”

“No, the show will be great. Pluto’s Daughter is great,” she said between sips of her too-bitter-to-be-real black coffee. “You and Percy, is a bad idea.”

“Protective of your baby cousin?” Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow, her eyebrow ring awkwardly bumping up against her hair, sorely in need of a shave. She was thinking of getting a second ring. Her mother had once told her that they were the epitome of trash—but Thalia had two, and they looked so badass.

She scoffed. “He’s not the baby.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

Thalia narrowed her eyes, really considering Annabeth. Annabeth’s own eyes had been described more often than not as storm clouds, dark and heavy. If hers were storm clouds, then Thalia’s were lightning, electric blue, piercing, beautiful, and dangerous, with a temper to match. “Before you started seeing him,” she said, “I’d have said that you’d eat him alive.”

Annabeth smirked. “I have done no eating yet.”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, now I’m going to be honest with you. He’s going to eat you alive—and your self-esteem is never going to be able to recover. Honestly, I shouldn’t even let you two within ten feet of each other.”

She scoffed, taking a long drink of her own coffee, black but with just enough sugar to make it bearable.

As if a ballerina would ever intimidate her. A fucking ballerina.

The conversation hadn’t exactly ended the way either of them wanted, but Annabeth was still going to keep fucking Percy for the time being, and Thalia was going to let herself be dragged to the damn concert.

The night of, the bar has a line, but Thalia alternately sweet-talks and intimidates the bouncer, and he lets them in. Having tended bar for any place that would take her and not put her on the payroll, Annabeth assumes that she just has dirt on everyone in the service industry in New York City, so they skip a lot of cover charges, and get a lot of free drinks.

It's fucking crowded inside, too, packed to the brim with sweaty bodies and heavy boots. Just another day in paradise.

Thalia glances at her phone. “They’re at the bar, up front?”

“They?”

Thalia doesn’t hear her, apparently, just wraps her mesh covered hand over Annabeth’s wrist and pulls her through the crush of people. Annabeth has her eyes peeled for Percy’s typical blue hoodie or orange muscle tees, thinking that they would stand out like a sore thumb in this place, but she can’t see a goddamned thing.

Now, punks aren’t exactly known for their radical use of color, but this was another thing entirely, a sea of black and lace and leather. Looking for his black hair is a waste of her time. “So many bad bottle jobs,” she murmurs.

Thalia pauses for a second, frowning at her. “What?”

“Everyone here has decided that they just had to dye their hair black. How original.”

She is silent for a moment, squinting, then looks away. “I see them, come on.”

Her blunt nails dig into Annabeth’s arm as she yanks her even harder.

There, at the end of the bar, a tall guy stands, dressed to the nines—the nines of this particular scene, anyway.

He looks kind of familiar: curly black hair in a sharp undercut that Annabeth definitely admires, extremely tight, black skinny jeans that leave nothing to the imagination and really went out of style with My Chemical Romance, a t-shirt with a skull on it (because goths, obviously), and a leather jacket, covered in patches. She spots the Italian flag, several for Pluto’s Daughter and a handful of other bands, a pride flag, a couple of music notes, and one that says, “Not gay as in happy, queer as in fuck you.”

“Annabeth,” says Thalia, “you remember Nico.”

Annabeth blinks. The last time she’d met Nico, he’d been wearing a three-piece suit that had cost as much as her rent. Now the hand she shakes has black fingernails and a skull ring, leading up to a face with eyes lined heavier than either Thalia’s or Annabeth’s, with a septum ring and a line of studs up one ear. “Hey.”

“Where’s our prima ballerina?” Thalia asks as Nico offers her a glass of something brown.

Thalia likes—and cannot often afford—expensive booze, which means that Nico must be paying. Unwilling to be caught in another embarrassing little social snafu, Annabeth tries really hard to remember what it is that he does. Hadn’t he sold his soul to some law firm or other?

“He went to consign himself to a slow and agonizing death,” says Nico.

“What?” Annabeth asks, glancing between the cousins.

Thalia rolls her eyes. “He means Percy went out for a smoke. Nico doesn’t approve.”

“It’s bad for you! This is not a controversial topic,” he says. “I don’t like that he does it, I don’t like that he got you to start, and I’m not going to like it when I go to both of your funerals. But I am going to tell you I told you so.” Then, seemingly as if to undermine his point, he throws back the rest of his own drink, holding up the empty glass to the bartender. “Another,” he calls, “Godfather, if you please.”

If drinks were on Nico tonight, maybe Annabeth could use the cover of the goth crowd to order a glass of red wine instead. It would certainly be a nice change of pace from the shit-ass beer she sucks down on the regular.

“There he is!” Thalia calls, bursting into applause. “The hell took you so long? Wardrobe malfunction?”

“Yeah,” she hears Percy’s voice. “Someone stole my best pair of tights.”

Turning, Annabeth is suddenly very glad she hadn’t yet ordered a drink, because then she would have dropped it, spilling it all over not only the dirty bar floor, but also her second favorite pair of boots.

It’s definitely Percy, but she never would have spotted him. Having gone to a dozen or so shows with her and Thalia so far, he had always dressed pretty consistently in baggy jeans and whatever stupid dance pun t-shirt Annabeth hadn’t pilfered already to wear to breakfast: very normal, and just a little bit out of place for the goth/punk scene.

Tonight, he is not dressed like that.

She can’t focus on everything all at once, so she starts with his too tight t-shirt, with the logo for Pluto’s Daughter splashed across it, like the artist had taken paint and hurled it at the fabric from a mile away. Ripped and sleeveless, she can see every single ridge and line of his biceps, his forearms, his shoulders, even a bit of his decolletage. His pants are black, per the unspoken dress code, and baggy, but he has belts wrapped up and down his legs, emphasizing the size of his muscular thighs and calves. And that isn’t even the worst part. Neither are the studs in his ears, or the black liner around his eyes.

The worst part is the blue lipstick painting his mouth, making his eyes pop, making his troublemaker smile look that much more depraved.

The worst part is how that blue lipstick will almost certainly be all over her thighs by the end of the night.

Thalia’s advice was never going to win out, but now it has no chance.

Despite being dressed up like the goth ballet prince of her dreams, the hero of an angsty, middle school novel Annabeth might have dreamed up instead of paying attention in class but had been too embarrassed to ever write it down, he smiles at her, cheery and bright as ever, kissing her so deeply her mouth must turn blue. In the corner of her eye, she sees Thalia and Nico exchange a capital-L look, one that Percy can’t see, because all of his attention is focused on her. She doesn’t know what that means, but she’s too far gone to ask.

Percy moves away, still close, still oriented around her, but she has to clasp her own hands together to keep herself from reaching out and pulling him back to her, biting her tongue, rubbing the ring along the inside of her teeth to keep from letting the word “please” escape her lips.

She doesn’t think she’s ever been so instantly taken with any guy—ever. Not even the almost one night stand her sophomore year was college, nineteen and fresh-faced and totally unprepared for the heartbreak that would follow. Last time, Luke had suggested wine to help her get over her mystery man, so that’s what she orders now, taking too big sips and ignoring the slight concern in Percy’s too pretty eyes.

It’s all packaging, she thinks, packaging designed to make the product more desirable. Basic marketing and design. She knows him, and she knows what he can do with his teeth and his tongue and his hand and his dick. She recognizes it, sees it coming, so she won’t be affected by it.

“I didn’t know you were coming, Nico,” she says, wrangling her thoughts together. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Never miss a show,” he says.

“Flew back from London just for it,” Thalia says, bumping him with her shoulder.

“I flew back because my business trip was over,” he corrects. “…But I did take the redeye so I’d be here on time.”

Percy beams at that, so hard she can actually feel it. “Anyone else joining us I should know about?” Annabeth asks.

It’s so weird to look at them all together—all dark hair, strong jaws, cheekbones carved from stone, sexy and just a little bit intimidating. “Any other cousins, maybe?”

Nico glances at Percy, suddenly apprehensive. “Actually, Percy,” he says, “I’m pretty sure I saw—”

“Perseus Jackson!” A whirlwind of blue-green silk assaults her senses as a woman sweeps over to them, headed straight for Percy, almost knocking Annabeth out of the way, wrapping him up in a hug and ignoring everyone else. “How’s my darling little brother?”

Percy awkwardly pats her on the back, shooting a grimace at the rest of them. “Uh, hey, Kym. I… didn’t know you’d be here.”

“It was a last minute thing, I had a free night for once in my life and was casting about for something to do, you know how much I hate not working, and I thought I’d come by and support our dear Hazel.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “Since when have you been into goth rock?”

It’s not an unwarranted question. She looks wildly out of place here, in her sleek, silk dress and the scent of Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue coming off her like waves, in sharp contrast to the sea of ripped jeans and sewed up shirts that surround them.

Kym, again, ignores him. “Mojito, Perseus? I know it’s your favorite.”

Annabeth’s eyebrows shoot up past her hairline. Percy? Percy half-a-cider-no-thank-you-I-don’t-care-for-any-more Jackson likes to drink mojitos? “Ah—” He grimaces, trying to extract himself from her grip, “no, thank you—"

“Oh, you’re no fun anymore.”

“I just don’t like to—”

“Well it’s not like this place will have any rum worth drinking anyway,” she sniffs.

Thalia rolls her eyes.

“Here, take a selfie with me.” Her phone is already raised, thumb poised for action.

“Kym, come on—”

But she pulls Percy close, shoving his head against hers, mouth already pouting. Thalia sighs, turning back to the bar.

After a moment of refusal, Percy sighs too, giving into his fate, and mustering his best vogue for the camera. They make an odd pair, her with her perfect Instaglam and him with his blue lipstick and smudged liner, but with the two of them pressed together like this, it’s easy to tell that this Kym is another cousin. Same eyes, same brow, same inky black hair, she looks exactly like Percy, only whiter.

Satisfied with her selfie, it’s only then that she notices Annabeth staring at her. “And you are?”

Percy sighs, rubbing his eye. “Kym, this is Annabeth. Annabeth, this is my sister Kymopoleia.”

Kym does not reach out her hand. “And what do you do?”

Thalia, from nowhere, slings an arm over Annabeth’s shoulder, whisky in hand. “Nothing that would interest you, leech.”

“I’m an architect,” Annabeth offers.

“My friend studies at Bartlett, in London. Did you go there?” Kym asks.

“No,” Annabeth says, biting back an automatic retort about Bartlett’s global ranking in Forbes. Ninth in the world, not even top five.

Kym curls her lip a little, like she knew what Annabeth would have said anyway. “What have you designed? Anything I would know?”

“She designs community gardens and stages for festivals.” Thalia says.

“Oh, so not a real architect, then.”

“The Man doesn’t have to approve of something to make it real. No, her name isn’t on file in some state office. She’s an anarchist architect.” Thalia says. Annabeth bits back a line of her own retorts.

Kym sniffs again. “Thrilling.” Then she turns back to Percy, writing her off entirely. “Perseus, it was lovely to see you again—will you be coming to Santorini this year?”

“Depends on my rehearsal schedule.” The words sound very rehearsed. He’s said this exact phrase a lot.

“Well get that sorted out! You know how mother likes her itineraries.”

He nods, beleaguered. “As soon as I can, promise.”

“See that you do.” Then with a final kiss on Percy’s cheek, off she flounces, disappearing into the dirty, grungy crowd, leaving silence in her wake like the wreckage after a storm.

“Okay,” says Annabeth.

Percy sighs, turning to the bar to order his own drink.

“Sorry about that,” says Nico. “If I had known she was coming, I swear I would have told you.”

“You can’t just go around saying the word ‘cousin,’ Annabeth,” says Thalia, returning to her own space. “It’s like Beetlejuice. Say it three times and you summon one of Percy’s douchey relatives.”

“They’re your relatives, too.”

Thalia scoffs. “Barely.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Percy. “How’s Hercules?”

“Hopefully dead.”

“At least he doesn’t show up out of the blue in wildly incongruous places,” Nico points out.

Percy takes a pull of his drink, and Annabeth does not watch his neck as he swallows. “Yeah, what was up with that? Since when has Kym been into goth rock?”

“That’s what I said!”

“She’s planning something,” Thalia mutters, glaring angrily into her drink. “I don’t know what it is, but she’s planning something.”

“So, I’m guessing this isn’t usually her scene?” Annabeth asks.

“Art is her scene,” Thalia replies, gesturing widely, nearly smacking someone in the shoulder. “The whole of the New York art world.”

Looking back around to the half-lit bar full of badly dressed goths, she thinks maybe calling this the “art world” might be a little bit generous.

“She’s kind of like an art world barometer,” says Percy. “Wherever she goes, the critics follow—like little baby ducklings.”

“Too bad she’s a fucking snob about it.” Thalia tosses back the rest of her drink, slamming the glass down on the wood, signaling for another with a toss of her head.

“Shame she has such good taste,” Nico muses.

“She has such good taste!” Despite her bravado, Thalia is absolutely a tiny bit of a lightweight, the whisky already going to her head, slurring her speech just a little. “Whole fucking family’s so goddammed good at art.”

“Not the whole family,” says Percy, shaking his head. “Kym can’t make art, she just appreciates it, like Jason. And Triton can’t do either.”

Annabeth has never seen Thalia so much as draw a picture or pick a song at karaoke, but she had been left out of Percy’s little list. In all Annabeth’s years of knowing Thalia, she never even thought that it had bothered her. “I mean,” she says, “if you like art, you could—”

As one, Nico and Percy both shake their heads. Insistently. Violently.

Staring at her empty glass, Thalia doesn’t notice. Nico replaces hers with his half-finished one, and Thalia drinks without missing a beat. “What about you?” she turns to Annabeth, blue eyes wide. That’s another thing that the cousins all have in common; their eyes are a variety of colors, but they’re all the same wide, almond shape, made more pronounced with heavy, grungy liner. “Got any artistic cousins?”

“No,” she says, wondering how little she can get away with saying. “I only have one, and he’s not.”

Everyone stares at her.

She capitulates, just a little. “His partner is an artist,” she offers. “Alex is a sculptor.”

Percy looks at her, half-smile on his face. “What does your cousin do if he isn’t an artist?”

His question makes it sound like there are only two types of people in the world to him: artists and non-artists. Given that Annabeth had been sketching buildings since the time she had the dexterity to hold a crayon, it might be true. “He’s in med school,” she says, “fourth year, at Harvard.”

“Ew.” He wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, smartass,” she says, “you talk to your podiatrist like that?”

“You still fucking that med student?” Thalia asks Nico.

“Dating him, actually.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Dinner,” Nico says. “Sometimes lunch. This is going to shock you, but you can actually spend time with the people you sleep with, and even develop feelings for them.”

They glare at each other for a long moment, then, as one, turn and glare at Percy.

“No,” he says, “I am not getting in between this.”

Nico, somehow, glares even harder. “Come on, you’re—”

“I’m not talking about this,” Percy says, his face a hard mask, lips set firmly in a frown.

For the first time ever, it occurs to Annabeth that this ballet dancer could be scary if he wanted to be.

That is… so not a problem.

The cousins continue glaring at each other, the family telepathy practically brimming with unspoken pasts. A part of her really, really wants to hear where it’s going. She wants to know what Percy’s feelings are on romance, just to make sure that they are on the same page. Casual sex, fun nights, the occasional concert—that’s where they are now. If the arrangement is going to change, she’s going to need to know about it.

Then, the lights flicker, dimming. A roar takes over the crowd, and when Annabeth can see again, Pluto’s Daughter is onstage.

There’s no introduction, no greeting, the band diving right into their first number, an intense, high-octane whirlwind of drums and bass and screaming. Percy screams right alongside them, hands raised and jumping, Nico and Thalia close behind, every unintelligible lyric learned by heart. Even Annabeth can’t help but get swept up in it, her typical aloofness melting away into the crowd.

It really is a great show.

“That was amazing!” Annabeth is almost breathless at the end of it. Her throat feels raw, like sandpaper, her cheeks aching from smiling.

Percy hands her one of those little plastic cups of water, knocking his own back like a shot, wiping his mouth with his knuckles. “Aren’t they awesome?”

“I had no idea you were such a fan,” she says. “Your Spotify Wrapped must be a mess.”

“I like all music,” he replies, glib. “Even rap and country.”

“Oh, how well-rounded of you.”

“But Pluto’s Daughter is special,” he says. “You know the drummer is my cousin?”

“Very funny.”

“No, really,” says Percy. “Hazel is Nico’s half-sister.”

She blinks at him. “You have too many cousins.”

He just laughs, throwing his head back. “Tell that to our parents.”

Whatever else he might have said gets lost as a small bundle of leather and fishnet emerges from the crowd, launching herself at Percy. “You came!” cries the drummer for Pluto’s Daughter--Hazel. “Oh, I’m so happy you came!”

In stark, stark opposition to how he had been Kym, Percy swings his little cousin around in a big hug. He probably has close to a foot on her, even in her black platform boots, their broad smiles so uncharacteristic in such a dour crowd. Annabeth hadn’t been able to get a good look at her up on stage, but now she’s flush with adrenaline, her dark skin glistening with equal parts sweat and glitter, baby hairs escape from the artful crown of bantu knots, septum ring shining in the dim light of the bar.

“Of course I came,” says Percy, somehow still hugging her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Ms. Hazel Levesque!” Thalia crows, well and truly wasted. “There’s my gal!” And she rushes over to join them, almost bowling them both over.

A truly affectionate Thalia is rare, like a four-leaf clover or snow on Christmas. It does happen on occasion, if she’s gotten enough sleep or enough to drink, but the moment is usually fleeting, meant to be treasured, kept close to the heart. Annabeth can count the number of times Thalia has been sweet to her on one hand--never cruel, or mean, but just… brusque. Sarcastic. And yeah, sometimes mean, but never in a demeaning way. Just in a Thalia way. It’s one of the many, many things she loves about her.

The only downside to affectionate Thalia right now is that it leaves her alone with Nico.

She doesn’t not like Nico, she just doesn’t really know him. He’s swaying a little, not dangerously so, just vibing to the noise and the booze he’s already had.

“Hey,” he says, lurching over to her. “Got a question for you.”

“Okay?”

“I was. Working on those permits. For your show.” He waves a hand. “Whatever. You know that stage set up for that show in the West Village last winter?"

The first time she had met Nico, Annabeth and Thalia had been helping out one of her friends with their outdoor theater, and had needed a little legal assistance with getting the venue all squared away, as they were technically trespassing on some private property. It was nice to flex her creative muscles, though. She didn’t always get the chance these days.

She nods. “Yeah?”

"Your New York State architect license was on the paperwork."

Annabeth's blood runs cold.

Swallowing away her anxiety, she takes another sip of her water, hoping he’s too buzzed to notice. "What, was I supposed to try and impress Kym with my license?"

Nico snorts. "God, no.” Taking another sip of his drink, he goes to hug his sister, and Annabeth quietly berates herself for not taking care of that sooner.

Yes, her license is still on file with the state, because it’s so much more convenient to leave it like that, rather than let it lapse and reapply every time she has to do something bigger than a birdbath in a tiny community garden, and being registered still means she has access to the network and can apply for certain grants and it always looks good on her portfolio and she didn’t think the two worlds would ever collide, especially not in a place where Thalia, of all people, would ever find out--

“So,” says Percy, sidling back over to her. “Working on anything good?”

She blinks, the spiral of her thoughts coming to a screeching halt. “Huh?”

“Any cool projects on the docket?”

Projects. Right. “Sorta in between projects right now,” she says, tapping her fingers against the bar. “I finished up that community garden a couple months ago, now I’m just… waiting for the next thing coming along.”

He nods. “I feel that. The precarity’s a bitch, isn’t it.”

“Totally. Almost makes you want to work a 9 to 5 just for job security, right?”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “Wouldn’t give up ballet for the world. I could never work in an office; sitting for so long might actually kill me.”

It might--even now he can’t help but move, shifting around on heel to toe and back again. Everything about him is about movement. Even an office where everyone was on their feet, like hers had been, wouldn’t have been enough for Percy Jackson, she thinks.

“What about you?” he asks. “How would you fair in an office?”

“Been there, done that,” she says, before she can even think it through.

“Really?” She sees him scan her. Normally when he does that, he’s thinking of her without her clothes on, but now, she’s pretty sure he’s thinking of the ink that runs up and down her legs, and how that might all look forced into some sort of pencil skirt.

"Once upon a time,” she says.

“Was that before or after you decided to become an anarchist architect?”

Long after she decided to become an architect, but before anything about an anarchist crossed her mind, though her freshman Poli Sci professor, or maybe that sophomore philosophy TA, would probably argue that she isn’t actually an anarchist now. “Before,” she says. “I once tried to be very very different.” Tried and failed, oh so very spectacularly.

“How so?”

She looks at him for a moment. There are layers of mystery that need to be upheld. But she can’t spill her life’s story to Percy after only a few weeks of knowing him, no matter how easy and disarming he may be. She isn’t that girl anymore, and she doesn’t want people to know she ever was. Especially not these people: Thalia, Percy, Nico, even Hazel, who she hasn’t properly met. She can see, standing here, how very genuine and clear they are about themselves. They probably have actual skeletons in their closets, real, agonizing pasts, so much worse than her own.

She doesn’t want them to know she had an honest to god debutante ball. Murder would be vastly preferable. But still, Percy’s eyes are so bright, even in the dark light. His smile is so non-judgmental.

“I used to dream about adding to the skyline,” she says, eventually, “designing something so cool and so fresh that even after I died, everyone would look up and they would know my name.” For a second she thinks he might actually understand. And then she remembers Kym, and his utter distaste for his own sister, whose friend had only managed to get into Bartlett. “But I realized that kind of ego wasn't going to do me any good. And office work wasn’t going to take me anywhere I wanted to go.”

That bruise to her ego still stings, on occasion. That, and the loss of the only thing she’d ever wanted as much as something permanent. They were separate dreams, really, but two years ago, in that little Upper East Side café, they had seemed like one and the same. Failing so spectacularly in one had felt like she might as well throw in the towel about the other.

Percy in blue lipstick, eye liner, and a very tight shirt makes her think it might have been the right choice.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Assuming she never got another call. Though after that award she and Leo got earlier this year…

No, she reminds herself. She shouldn’t dream big anymore. She wasn’t going to get there, and she had to be ok with that.

He smiles, lopsided, sympathetic. “I know what you mean. Like, after so many amazing dancers, you have to be crazy to think that you can add something to the canon, something that’s never been done before. But here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” She clinks her glass against his, and they drink.

He finishes with a long gasp, licking his lips.

“Wanna go be somewhere else?” she asks.

“Damn right I do,” he says, grabbing her hand, lacing her fingers together with his.

An hour or so and a few orgasms each later, they lie side by side on Percy’s bed, soft and sweaty.

“So your sister is kind of… intense,” Annabeth says.

Percy snorts so hard, Annabeth can feel it vibrating into her. “Yeah. That’s a word for it.”

“What was it like, growing up with her?”

“Oh, I didn’t grow up with her. I grew up here with my mom; she grew up in Athens with our father.”

“In Athens? Cool.” She’d done a study abroad in Rome, but she’d never made it out to Athens like she had wanted. Too much Pantheon, not enough Parthenon. “Have you ever been?”

He screws up his face, thinking cutely. “A few times. They’re not… great memories, exactly. In retrospect, it’s nice that my dad wanted me to feel included, but bringing his mistress’ kid on the annual family vacation to Santorini probably wasn’t his brightest idea.”

Annabeth’s eyes shoot up to her hairline. “Wow.”

“Kym was actually always pretty cool about it,” he continues, thoughtfully. “She likes to pretend she’s this ice queen alpha bitch type, but she’s got a secret soft spot. And my dad’s wife eventually came around--she even sends me a birthday card each year. My half-brother, though.” Percy blows out a breath. “He’s always been a douchebag.”

Dropping a kiss to his bare shoulder, she squeezes him. There’s a story there, but she knows better than anyone about not wanting to talk about bad family relationships. Percy likes Kym, though, and that makes her safe territory. “Tell me more about Kym. You said she was some kind of art collector or something?”

“No, she’s not a collector.” Percy bites his lip, considering. “It’s kind of hard to explain. I guess you could say that she’s, like… a professional socialite?”

Annabeth sits up, squinting down at Percy. “Are you trying to tell me that your sister is a courtesan?”

He sputters, completely taken by surprise, choking on his inhale. After thirty seconds, Annabeth is afraid she’s going to have to try CPR, before Percy starts to calm down. “No,” he wheezes, coughing. “No, she’s not a courtesan.”

“So, what does a ‘professional socialite’ even do?”

“You know, she… socializes.” Percy waves a hand in front of him. “She goes to parties, meets people, facilitates meetings--she socializes.”

Annabeth frowns. “What does that even mean?”

“I literally don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

“What, is she a spy?”

He opens his mouth to argue, then pauses. “Not… technically.”

“Not technically?”

“Think more corporate, less political.”

Okay, now she’s even more confused. “Huh?”

Percy sighs. “My dad runs this big shipping company that does business all over the Mediterranean. Pretty much the whole family works for him in some way: Triton is some kind of assistant executive, and Kym and my step-mom do, you know, outreach or fundraising or whatever.”

She’s silent for a moment, collecting the information presented to her. “Is this some kind of mob thing?”

He grimaces. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

“Is your dad a mob boss, Percy?” Objectively, she knows that the mob is a terrible organization responsible for many different types of atrocities, but honestly, the idea is kind of exciting, Annabeth hooking up with the secret lovechild of a mob boss. It’s romantic and sexy in a film noir kind of way.

“No, he just--does some light smuggling. I think.”

“How does one engage in ‘light’ smuggling?”

“Okay, so his business is totally legitimate, but he may also smuggle art on the side. Or oil. Or both. I don’t know and I’ve been told never to ask.”

And she thought her family was weird. She tells him as much. “That’s wild.”

“Honestly? That’s not even the wildest thing about my family.”

She flops back down on the bed, already exhausted. “Percy, I don’t know how many more revelations about your mob family I can take.”

“They’re not part of the mob!” He laughs. “But,” he smirks, looming over her with a familiar desire, “I can neither confirm nor deny that I had to swear a blood oath to the family when I turned eighteen.”

Rolling her eyes, she still easily submits to the heady feeling of his lips on hers, tilting her head back as he travels down her neck. “Okay, I did not sign up for any Don Corleone bullshit.”

“But you’d make such a great mob wife. Though we would have to kill the rest of my immediate family.”

Annabeth giggles, only partly at the ticklish feeling of his lips between her breasts. “I’d help you kill your douchey half-brother any day.”

He glances up at her from her belly button, long lashes fluttering. “That is legitimately one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Full disclosure, Thalia has already called dibs.”

“That’s fair.” Then she pushes his head down further. “Now get to work, Godfather.”

#IT'S ALIVE #my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #honesty and promise me #darkmagyk #we took a detour to 15th century europe but we're back babeyyy

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firstdegreefangirl · 4 years ago

Text

Eddie Week Day Five: Eddie and His Idiot Husband

Word Count: 2291

Original Pub Date: 19 June 2020

Relationships: Eddie Diaz & Christopher Diaz, Eddie Diaz & Abuela

Author's Note: Me? Writing Christmas fic in June? More likely than you think.

Read on ao3 here

Usual suspects: @eddiediazweek @hearteyesforbuck @rebeccaofsbfarm @thisissirius @hearteyesforbuck @dramamineontopofme @twinien @meloingly @myemergence

It started out simply enough: Eddie was picking Buck up from the car dealership, taking him to lunch with Christopher while he waited on an oil change. As soon as Buck swung himself up into the truck seat, Chris started giggling.

“What? What’s so funny, little dude?” Buck turns around in the seat to watch him laughing, and Eddie looked up in the rearview mirror to see his son practically doubled over against his seatbelt.

“You-you guys are … you guys are TWINS!” He can hardly get the words out, but as soon as Eddie realizes what he’s said, he glances across the console at Buck

Sure enough, they’re both wearing blue jeans and the same T-shirt: plain black with the LAFD logo on the chest.

It’s an easy coincidence, especially given how many shirts they both have that are identical, city-issued for special events or fundraisers. They’re not technically uniform, but everyone wears them to work, so it only takes a few months to accumulate a pretty big collection.

Eddie can see the moment when Buck realizes what’s happened, and he feels his heart swell at the way his face lights up.

“Well,” Buck exaggerates the way he winks at Eddie, makes sure Christopher can see the gesture, and looks to the backseat again. “One of us is going to have to change.”

It happens again three weeks later, just a couple of days after they take Christopher to the aquarium.

(Eddie had tried to call it a “family day,” but he saw the way Buck squirmed at the notion of being part of a family, of having a family so unlike the one where he grew up, one that does things together, has special days and events for no particular reason.

So he’d dropped it, but knows it’s something that will come up again later, something for them to work on as a family, even if they don’t call it that just yet.)

Because they are a family, and if it weren’t obvious enough, when the got through to the giftshop, Christopher had insisted on a set of three identical Stingray Bay T-shirts to commemorate the occasion. And neither of them have ever been able to tell him no, not for something as simple as that, so Buck had dropped a small fortune on them, insisted on paying after Eddie had bought the ice cream earlier in the day.

Eddie knows he should have seen this coming, should have anticipated that Buck would show up wearing his stingray shirt on Tuesday when they met at the school to surprise Chris with lunch.

Buck does this; every single time Christopher gives him something, he makes a point of showing it off, using it when he knows he’ll be able to see how much Buck loved the gift.

So Eddie should have known he’d pick today to debut the new shirt, should have planned ahead and picked something else, literally anything else, from his closet.

Not that he doesn’t love the idea of matching clothes with Buck, but that he’d at least like to be a little bit more subtle about it than a pair of blue and grey tie-dye swirled T-shirts with bright yellow lettering and a cartoon stingray. He couldn’t possibly be happier than he is when he’s with Buck; the last year and a half have been the best of his life.

But he’d rather show it off with the way they can't stop smiling when they’re together, the way they’re constantly touching, always seeking each other out. It’s a quieter, more honest demonstration of their relationship.

But there’s not much he can do about it when he meets Buck out front of the building and they’re both wearing the shirts. It’s not like he has a closet in his truck with extra clothes, so all he can do is grin and bear it.

It’s worth it though, for the way Buck pulls his sunglasses down and whistles as Eddie approaches.

“Nice shirt, babe. Where’d you get it?”

“Just this place I know.” Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. “My kid picked it out, and the hottest guy I’ve ever seen bought it for me.”

“Oh, a hot guy? Should I be jealous?” Buck laughs and pulls the door open, settling his hand low on Eddie’s back as he kisses him gently and walks into the building.

“Only because I’m the one holding the French fries, and you know how Chris picks his favorite dad for the day.”

A month later, Eddie starts a massive load of laundry before he gets dressed for work, having put it off for long enough that he knows it’ll probably need two cycles in the dryer. Only after the machine had started filling with water did he realize that he hadn’t remembered to set aside the least-dirty shirt in the pile so he had something to wear into the station.

Which leaves him scrambling to find a shirt, any shirt he can wear until he gets to work and puts his uniform on. There’s one left, stuck way at the back of his drawer.

It’s the very epitome of a Laundry Day shirt, covered in garish black and white stripes. In one of his finer moments as a father, Eddie had let Christopher rope him into dressing up as a zebra for the station Halloween party so he could be a zookeeper.

(There had been no need to rope Buck in. In fact, the whole thing had been Buck’s idea, after he’d gone with Chris on the field trip to the zoo and sat next to him while they watched the zebra feeding.)

The costume had been great, he has to admit. But as soon as the party was over, the shirt went to the back of the drawer, waiting for yardwork season.

Or, laundry day.

Reluctantly, he pulls the shirt over his head and hopes that he’s running late enough to make it into the locker room before anyone sees him.

But why would that go in his favor when nothing else this morning has? Eddie has just made it into the station when he collides with a black and white striped blur.

“What? Ed—” Buck steadies them both and looks Eddie up and down, checking for any injuries. “I leave you alone for one night, and you hardly make it to work on—”

Eddie watches his face as Buck realizes which shirt he’s wearing, and he’s sure it must match his own expression when he sees the same garment pulled taut across Buck’s chest.

“—time.” Buck finishes, amusement shining in his eyes.

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be running late if someone hadn’t insisted on ‘saying goodbye’ before he went home last night.” Eddie raises an eyebrow and Buck flushes at the memory of how … thorough … his parting kiss had been. “Could’ve had the laundry in the machine last night, maybe even had a regular shirt to wear today.”

“I’ll have you know that I happen to think this is an excellent shirt on you.” Buck runs his hand up Eddie’s torso to wrap his fingers over his shoulders.

“Mm, there’s no way it looks better than yours does.” Eddie mirrors the gesture with a smirk. “You know my excuse; why’d you pick it out?”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting Buck to say, knows it’s nothing to do with seeing Chris since he’s at a sleepover after school tonight. But Buck still manages to surprise him when he shrugs, and responds like he’s saying the most obvious thing in the world.

“Couldn’t decide if I wanted to wear a white shirt or a black shirt today. So, both.” With his free hand, he waves up and down his body.

Eddie’s got a response all ready to go, is ready to watch the look on Buck’s face when he asks why he didn’t just split the difference and wear grey, but before he can say anything, Hen rounds the corner and bursts out laughing.

“OK,” She gasps out when she’s finally able to control her chuckles again. “Are you two only going to wear clothes from Christopher from now on? Because I’m telling you both, that is a mistake. He’s a cute kid, but the fashion doesn’t translate well to grown men.”

Neither of them respond, and she walks away after a few moments, calling out for Chimney, who “isn’t going to believe what these idiots managed today!” Once she’s gone, they look at each other and smile.

“Laundry day?”

“Only way I was going to have a shirt for tomorrow that doesn’t have the style sense of a nine-year-old.”

After that, the spell seems to be broken, whatever wardrobe-wavelength he and Buck were on shifted far enough that they’re dressing independently again.

Before Eddie knows it, there’s a chill in the air – as much as there ever is in LA – and he and Buck are taking Christopher back to the mall to see Santa again.

This year, there’s nothing stopping him from leaning against Buck while they wait in line, no reason for Buck not to tuck three of his fingers into the back pocket of Eddie’s jeans.

While they’re waiting for Chris to come back out of the little cardboard village house, something catches Eddie’s eye in the window of the nearby department store. He turns to face Buck, putting just enough distance between them for Buck’s hand to drop back to his own side.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Long as that kid’s list is, you’ll still be waiting, but if not, meet you guys right here?”

“Sure.” Buck smiles, clearly unconcerned as Eddie walks away. He doesn’t waste any time, quickly finds what he’s looking for and waits in a miraculously short pre-Christmas line to check out and join Buck back in the winter wonderland.

He sits the paper gift bag by their feet, rebuffs Buck’s attempts to find out what’s inside.

“Would you be patient?” But he’s smiling as he nudges Buck away from him. “You’ll find out in … 18 days.”

“Fine.” Buck rolls his eyes. “But I’m not telling you what your present is either.”

Eddie picks up a few other things along the way, loves nothing more than spoiling Buck when he has the chance, but there’s no gift he’s more excited about than the one from the mall. It had been such a hit last year that the 118 decides to celebrate en masse again, so he slips the presents into a large box and slides it into the bed of his truck before making sure Christopher's ready to go.

They make it through dinner and two rounds of presents before Eddie can’t wait any longer. When it’s Buck’s turn to unwrap something again, Eddie passes him a slim, flat package.

“Open this one. You’ve waited patiently enough.”

He watches closely as Buck peels away the paper and shakes the box to reveal a silk necktie the exact same color as his eyes. He beams at Eddie, then gasps and stands up in a hurry.

“Bobby! Eddie needs to open the next gift!”

“Why? He gets to go again in two turns.” Bobby, ever the father figure, has been keeping track, making sure everything is handled diplomatically. Buck steps carefully through the children spread out in the middle of the floor, making his way across the room to whisper something in Bobby’s ear. His eyes widen as he considers whatever case it is that Buck’s making, and he nods. “Alright, I think we can make an exception just this once. Go get your present, son.”

He bounds across the room and fishes a tiny, firecracker-shaped package from underneath the tree then tosses it to Eddie.

“Your turn, honeybunches.” The over-the-top pet name elicits eye rolls from around the room – Eddie included – and Buck grins as he settles himself back in the seat beside him.

Eddie turns the present over in his hand, tries to figure out what Buck might have come up with that would be shaped like this. Finally, he gives up on trying to guess and just pulls the ribbon loose at one end, folds the wrapping back to reveal –

An identical blue necktie.

Maddie puts it together first, claps a hand over her mouth to muffle her delighted squeal.

“You bought me … your necktie?” Eddie holds it up, trying to gauge if they really are the same shade of blue.

“No. Well, yes, I did. But that wasn’t … I didn’t know you’d bought one for me. You just always look at things this color when we’re at the mall, so I figured you must like it.”

“It’s my favorite color,” Eddie replies, his voice thick with quiet wonder. “It matches your eyes.”

On Maddie’s other side, Chimney leans in to stage-whisper, loud enough for the whole group to hear. “Gee, wonder why it’s his favorite. Could it be? Do you think? Nah …"

She swats his arm and he yelps, but stops talking.

“Your favorite color … is my eyes?”

“Yeah, they’re ... blue.” There are a million other thoughts going through Eddie’s head, moving so fast that he can’t pin any one of them down enough to elaborate.

He looks up from the tie, stares into Buck’s eyes and marvels at how a ribbon of fabric was able to match the color so perfectly. As Christmas gifts go, a necktie is pretty unremarkable, but Eddie knows right away that he’ll treasure this one forever.

As the party goes on around them, Eddie’s mind wanders to the little velvet box in his pocket.

Maybe just once, he and Buck can plan to coordinate their outfits, right down to matching neckties.

#eddie diaz week #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buckley x eddie diaz #eddie diaz x evan buckley #buddie #911 #911 fox #911 fanfic #9-1-1 #9-1-1 fox #9-1-1 fanfic #buddie fanfic #katie writes #kw20 #originalcontentfirstdegreefangirl

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jcmorrigan · 4 years ago

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Can you explain a little about each of your OCs fashion taste and maybe add a pic of the epitome of their style? I want to see which one is most like my own fashion preferences (if I wasn't too lazy to dress up lol)

All right, what I’m going to do is the rapid-fire. I’m gonna tell you names and what they dress like, since you were interested in finding out who matched, and then you (or anyone else) can ask further asks about anyone who looks interesting one at a time and I will GUSH

Venley (protag hero): Wears deep blues (but not navy). Likes swishy skirts, flowing sleeves, and layering. So much layering, especially leggings under short skirts.

Sophira (hero): Has a style I like to call The Worst(TM). Wears non-complementary colors. Patchwork sweaters and miniskirts. Loves rainbow tie-dye. Will not take fashion advice from Axeline and this is going to be the death of Axeline

Axeline (hero): Mostly sticks to red palettes with long coats and corset lacing but will try anything once.

Siademina (hero): Likes to pair cute blouses with bouncy short skirts. Tends to wear warmer colors or pastels.

Zefiraduc (hero): Purple and glitzy. She wants to be a famous pop star and dresses like one.

Arain (hero): Blacks and reds. If the outfit can allow her to blend pants with something skirt-ish, like a side panel, it’s an extra bonus. Always wears the fantasy equivalent of a baseball cap to go with it (and has emo bangs AND a huge ponytail).

Ailuen (hero): Mostly dresses in comfy things, tees and jeans, but when she wants to go all-out, she will pick a pink prom dress with ruffles and sparkles. A nice compromise is if she puts a fancy pink blouse over the jeans. During the planned arc where she becomes a Lawful Evil for a while, wears a white military uniform.

Alivain (deuteragonist villain): Mostly likes red, but occasionally blue or purple. Is a villain and dresses like a villain. Outfits are very bright and flamboyant. I’m toying with an “evil circus” aesthetic for the entire team and have written down some of him acting as the ringmaster, so go ahead and add a red ringmaster’s uniform to his most-worn. I also want him to have gloves with little claws built in at one point. Capes. And he wears high heels because he likes to feel tall and glamorous.

Versafina (villain): All black all the time. Lots of leather. Prefers pants vastly over skirts because she’s a dancer/martial artist who needs the mobility; also she just doesn’t like the femme aesthetic so much. Though she does enjoy wearing the highest of high heels specifically because training in them makes her more balanced and agile, and if she takes them off, you are dead where you stand.

Phantasia (villain): White cocktail dresses. Swanky and glamorous. Usually more pencil-skirt style or form-fitting than anything that has ruffle. Slits that show off the leg are a fave style of hers. High heels for her too.

Zangary (villain): I’m not entirely happy with his design, but for now, I have him in kinda generic dark clothes with an ostentatious long lavender jacket and a black wide-brimmed hat.

Dweixyn (villain): Pink minidresses/blouses and skirts. Has a favorite trench coat that has pink lining on the inside and is darker on the outside. Always wears sunglasses, even indoors and at night, for the aesthetic and no other reason. High heels for her too.

Belador/Belladore (villain): They’re kind of a rave-themed villain so I imagine lots of mesh tops and glow sticks.

Yridel (villain): I’m not entirely sure what her style is, but it needs to show off her cybernetic limbs. That is a must.

Sherida (villain): A form-fitting red bodysuit with a black motorcycle helmet that prevents you from seeing her face. Heavy-soled boots. Steal aesthetics from Vanitas Kingdomhearts? Me? Nooooo

Lirian (villain): “Sun” palettes, with pinks and yellows and reds. But also blue sweaters and skirts (dull in hue). I toy with one of her quirks being wearing ballet shoes everywhere she goes but I’m not sure if that’s silly.

Rachneira (villain): Wears lots of black. Not just a Goth but THAT Hot Topic Goth.

Tomagi (villain): Pink sundresses, particularly with gold lining.

Calpurniko (villain): Jumpsuits, overalls, beiges and dull colors, white tees, anything she can get dirty and not cry over.

Diamandian (villain): White lace. He is cis male but comfortable enough with his masculinity that he adores ruffles and lace hems. Has a matching white parasol and a white top hat.

Maraya (villain): Victorian-esque dress...blue?...and a big ol’ black cloak that hides her appearance. Her design is still kinda under construction because I started out going one direction and then made a hard left on her character

Anastasios (villain): Tunics and breeches. Greens and browns.

Kaxhalen (villain): He is an alien warlord so I’m trying to design a silver extraterrestrial battlesuit but not sure how to make it look unique

Osmend Osmodias (villain): Shiny golden suits. Fedora that’s pulled down to cover his eyes.

Orianelle (villain): black leather that shows a lot of skin. Tanks and shorts that bare midriff. Tall black boots with heavy soles.

Siersyrei (villain): Navy blue and that’s about all I know for now, though there are reasons I’d like her to have a skirt with shorts underneath.

Clancette (B-team hero): When in civvies, wears a lot of pink “kawaii” clothing. Jackets over tanks. Lots of pins with the fantasy equivalent of Sanrio characters. Rainbow stockings. As a Magical Girl, is associated with the color pink and element of wind; her outfit has a short and wide ruffly skirt and any way a breeze can be implemented into the design is welcome.

Xar/chelyna (B-team hero): When in civvies, he wears button-down shirts and blue pants. As a Magical Girl, she is associated with blue and water, so skirts that are long and wavy and any ocean motifs. Also enjoys a blue top hat.

Loveleigh (B-team hero): Both civvies and Magical Girl clothing are red/fire-associated. Likes slinky skirts and low-cut blouses.

Fernamele (B-team hero): Both civvies and Magical Girl clothing are yellow/lightning-associated. Another pop star wannabe who dresses in glitz and glitter, with swishy short skirts.

Zelladane (B-team hero): Civvies are sweatshirts, jeans, and heavy rubber boots with a lot of dirt built on them from her gardening. Magical Girl clothing is green/plant-associated, but with pink accents. Any piece that’s green with pink flower decorations on it automatically makes me think of her.

Aoliaoma (B-team hero): Undecided on civvies, but her big character quirk is that she seems perpetually sleepy, so I could see her just forgetting to change out of her full-length pajamas that are probably black satin. As a Magical Girl, her association is black/the void, and she has a short dress meant to look like that of a traditional witch, with a pointed witch’s hat on top.

Ravenille (antihero): Denim jackets and pants. Lots of denim. Silver face piercings and LOTS of them.

Arisia (antihero): I specifically see her in a blue tank top, a brown skirt/shorts and chain mail overlays. Anything with chain mail makes me think of her. Also, tall heeled boots. She might also wear a mask made of chain mail that covers the lower half of her face.

Lunisia (antihero): Pink. Skirts with leggings beneath. Quirky shoes, like black patent-leather with buckles.

Rhodelton (antihero): The ugliest yellow jacket you can imagine over a T-shirt and jeans.

Phaeley (minor character, could be moved to antihero squad): Black tanks and long skirts. Slightly Goth but not that much. Always wears a black newsboy hat.

Sylvisa (minor character, could be moved to antihero squad): Almost exactly Versafina’s style except more masculine. I should probably refine his.

Dashorra (minor character): Anything that’s split right down the middle as black/white is fair game.

Victorique (minor character): Shiny silver dresses with long skirts.

Isisa (minor character): White toga and gold hair ornamentation.

Phil (minor character): Is literally a sentient pile of green slime and never wears clothes, but if he did, it’d be business suits with tacky striped ties.

Tristabelle (minor character): I usually picture her in a dark blue low-cut dress with a loose, flowing skirt, but I feel like it needs refinement.

Madwyn (minor character): I usually picture her in a form-fitting black cocktail dress, but I also feel like this could be more special.

Diceanne (minor character): I usually picture her in a pink bodysuit with gold accents that lacks sleeves or legs, so I kind of want to do something with this and the concept of tackling the issue of revealing clothing and sexism and how much choice is had in the matter so I guess her final outfit will come to me once I’ve got the arc in mind

Beccatrice (minor character): I usually picture her in a white toga, but unless she and Isisa are part of the same order or class or something, I should probably make hers different.

Sharamantha (minor character): Brightly-colored overalls (pink, green, purple) over white tees. Sneakers.

Eudarmence (minor character): Shiny gold gowns. Any shiny gold gown. Also likes shiny gold hair ornamentation. Has to be the shiniest thing in the room.

Ilyènne (minor character): Either yellow dresses with loose skirts or this specific pink blouse with a huge ostentatious ribbon on the chest that I got in my mind’s eye once.

Riaudne (plot-device character): Pink-and-silver dresses. She’s royalty, but I want to play with her culture not being Eurocentric, so I want to shake up this design somehow but I’m not yet sure how

Aelistene (plot-device character): Brightly colored minidresses (mint green or deep purple), likes hair ornaments.

Magnus (Lawful Evil villain): All white all the time. Looks very regal - jackets, waistcoats. Very masculine as well.

Janiel and Tjeron are both mooks of the Lawful Evil faction and will eventually renounce their ways, but I have literally never pictured them in anything other than military uniforms that I originally designed as black but now have changed to white for symbolic deconstruction reasons

The following characters are still under construction to where I’m not sure of their fashion style at all: Valencindri (villain sidekick), Dr. Hope Lessness (villain), Mercy Lessness (villain sidekick), Lainnhartt (villain), Soligeo (villain sidekick), Khairic Kajé (antihero), Aerokai (antihero), Tredwulfall (antihero), Burqueley (antihero), Liodax (minor character), Ririko (minor character), Ayali (minor character, possibly antihero), Lilianet (minor character), Spectra (minor character), Prettiza and Kyista (minor characters who have to wear the same outfit), Rewnoki (minor character), Delena (minor character), Jaydrey (minor character), Mejame (minor character), Shananadel (minor character), Veline (Lawful Evil), Keiandra (Lawful Evil), or Oquian (Lawful Evil).

I hope this has helped you figure out whose style you match and also see how many freaking characters I have designed and I don’t intend to stop until I have enough to fill a huge fantasy world but then I’ll probably keep going anyway because my mind is apparently hooked on designing now

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dilettantereviews · 6 years ago

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Here is my delayed but finalized 2018 EP list!

Princess Nokia- For this EP, Princess Nokia switched to an emo rap style popular on Soundcloud. I thought I wouldn’t like or even understand this EP because I don’t listen to Soundcloud rap, I didn’t really have Fueled by Ramen fever in middle school, and I never liked nu metal (which Princess Nokia says this EP is inspired by but I don’t personally hear it). I listened to the songs ironically until they began to grow on me. Those warbly vocals. The repeated Smash my heart to pieces line. How For the Night sounds like Frere Jacques instrumentally. And now I can proudly say it holds my top spot in my 2018 EP list. I’d like to say something about “in a world where we’re always told to look like we’re unbothered and #winning and other people are always pressed, Princess Nokia tells us it’s okay to feel normal human emotions” but that’s not close. 2018 was the year of Princess Nokia for me, so it’s only natural her new EP would be my favorite. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be with a wink and a nudge but let’s ask all the other Soundcloud rappers first.

Kilo Kish- While Kilo Kish’s sound is the epitome of chill, her lyrics are bizarrely accurate portraits of millennial anxiety and contemplations. This time, she changes her ambient spoken word poems for outsider electronic music that is neither PC music nor generic tropical house. In one interview, she said that her biggest regret was that she didn’t go as experimental as she could’ve on this project, so here’s to wondering what the multi hyphenate will do for her next project.

Ojerimie- I feel like 2018 is the year that alt r&B became oversaturated. Personally, I think as long as there will be sad and lonely late night texters, there will be an audience for musicians who can’t always sing, use electronic production, and claim to be influenced by Sade. Artists like The Weeknd and Beyonce who used to receive more commercial attention (or at least better first week numbers) were unable to meet previously set high expectations; Drake, who set the tone for alt r&b in 2011, turned out to be a secret father, cementing his status as f***boi supreme with several years of worst behavior including streaming schemes, Spotify takeovers, cultural appropriation, mental health misstatements, age gaps, and celebrating human traffickers, showing us that sensitive isn’t always good. Genre gentrifiers like Disclosure, The 1975, Justin Timberlake, Years and Years, and Ryan Hemsworth left to do other sounds; critical darlings like Blood Orange and The Internet have less hype for their albums this time around, newcomer Jorja Smith was completely clowned upon by Twitter for her vocals, and artists like Zayn, Tinashe, and Indiana all had albums all pushed back and compromised (all on Sony), so hearing a newcomer have late night red wine R&B music is a great pleasure. Highlights include drum and bass 2003, 80’s sophisti pop sounding Heat, and camming theme song 4U. Do yourself a favor and check out her great back catalogue as well.

Ravyn Lenae- I listened to Ravyn’s EP back in February, but what made me really remember her now was her performance on the now cancelled Rundown with Robin Thede on BET. Not only was it a good place for politics, but also a good venue for smaller artists. SNL is only decent for white hipster bands so it’s nice for black artists who aren’t that huge yet to have places to perform on television. Ravyn is from the Chicago scene and has put out 2 projects before this. EP highlights include the chill Night Song, the uplifting Sticky, and her stellar collaborations with Steve Lacy. With catchy hooks, sweet vocals, and a short track list that leaves you craving for more, Ravyn Lenae is the real Sweetener of 2018.

Hatchie- I once read that shoegaze and noise pop are popular because the whirring and noises from the guitars make it sound like people are talking, which makes people feel less lonely. I can’t say whether or not that’s true as a fact, but I can admit that Hatchie does make me feel happy. The shoegazer from the South has toured with Kylie Minogue and worked with Robin Guthrie already. Her songs have a joyful warmth to them and remind me of 90’s artists like The Cranberries, Drop Nineteens, and Madder Rose. Don’t incubate- hatch today.

Disclosure- I once read about the 2nd album UK artist curse, where an artist who had a specific UK niche tries to go too general for their sophomore album and end up losing everyone, with Katy B and Duffy being some examples of it. I still loved Caracal by Disclosure, but other people thought it was just a straightforward pop album rather than a forward thinking electronic album. Then another bad EP in 2016 made me lose interest in them until their new EP this year. It’s more sample heavy and very retro inspired but I think anyone would like it, but in a good way and not like Maroon 5.

Kitten- 2 years after their most recent EP, Kitten is back with their first fan funded project. Truth be told, I don’t really see why their had to be an independent label, because it stays in the same 80’s goth synthpop atmosphere as their previous songs. That doesn’t mean it’s derivative, but I’d like to know what happened at the label. Tracks include the Halloweenish Pink Champagne, the Robert Smith sounding I Did It!, and the vulnerable Abigail.

Kaytranada- More straightforward R&B/synth than his albums and remixes but good stuff to chill to.

Childlike Sound- I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know too much about them. I always saw @emoblackthot promote them on Twitter which encouraged me to try them out. Although they’re self produced, they go above and far beyond most bedroom pop acts. Some of their songs sound nu disco while others would fit right in on Solange’s True. Remember, why act grown when you can be Childlike?

St Beauty- A duo of singer songwriters on Janelle Monae’s label, St Beauty released a promising debut EP this year. Maybe this is because I had no expectations, but I preferred this to Dirty Computer because they were more concise and didn’t try too hard with the concept. I enjoyed Stone Mountain, a niece to Cranes in the Sky by Solange. Tides is a nice pseudo trip hop song (well, at least it sounds more trip hop than whatever the hell Morcheeba and Hooverphonic have been putting out for a decade), and Colors is a nice summery dancehall song.

Channel Tres- He joins Princess Nokia’s Versace Hottie as the only non Azealia Banks or Drag Race contestant hip house song that came out after the year 2000 and is actually good. Minimal camp value though, if that’s what you’re looking for.

Shygirl- Bombastic club music perfect for a night out or the last night on earth. A cross between Jlin and Charli XCX, has enough bite in it to keep you going the whole night. Bring your steel toe boots.

Yuno- How someone this catchy flew past me is a complete mystery, but I’m glad I know about him now. If you liked when Tame Impala remixed Miguel, you would enjoy this. It’s perfect enough to soundtrack your summer to, or at least a soundtrack for cruise line commercials and martinis in a can. Some slight unconventional moments like pitched vocals.

The Marias- Lofi, chill, jazzy, summer, outdoorsy music. I’m still waiting for an a ha moment song but for now, I’m enjoying the nice psychedelic vibes that they give me.

Alina Baraz- I was almost finished with this list, but I thought 14 was an ugly number and some Russian collusion lead me to putting Alina Baraz on my EP list! I didn’t listen to this too much yet, but I can always appreciate minimal electronic music with pleasant vocals and decent features, especially now that Sabrina Fraudio has been exposed.

#best of 2018 #princess nokia #kilo kish #ojerime #ravyn lenae #hatchie #disclosure #kitten #kaytranada #childlike sound #st beauty #channel tres #shygirl #yuno #the marias #alina baraz

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zombageddon · 7 years ago

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Well wendy's gang, mabel's gang, and dipper and bill would be great, but if that's a bit much, dipper and bill is fine. Thanks!

Okay, so this might get a bit long for an ask, but I’m gonna do it anyway! I always feel weird describing characters in story, especially when I know the readers probably already have ideas about how they might look, but describing them here will probably be a good exercise for me, so, follow them if you want, or tweak them to suit your own headcanons, it’s all up to you as readers because I suck at putting this stuff on story.

Wendy: My version of Wendy looks a lot like an older version of who was in the show, with a few noticeable differences. Her hair is cut into a bob, and she’s got a bit more muscle now, instead of just being lanky. She’s lost her hat, but her outfits still favor rundown jeans, loose flannel over a tank top (or sometimes tied around her waist, when she gets hot or needs to move freely), and ankle boots. She’s also got a pseudo holster for her hatchet attached to her belt, it’s basically just a couple straps that button together around head to keep it secure. She’s also got a few leather bracelets, because can anyone truly be a badass without them?Robbie: Our awkward goth boy has grown up to be a nearly respectable gentleman! Since entering medical school, Robbie’s worked to make his look a little more professional. His bangs are shorter, and his acne has cleared up. He doesn’t have any facial piercings, but he’s still got both ears pierced, plus a few extra rings on the shell of his right ear. Snice it’s summertime, his outfits have started slipping back into goth tendencies, but his wardrobe has still changed. His jeans no longer have rips in them, and they’re not quite skin tight anymore, though his converse are still old and ratty with little skulls drawn on in sharpie. He also still has his trademark hoodie, and he wears it over various band t-shirts that come out whenever it gets too hot to wear the hoodie, or when the need for mobility outweighs the need to be a goth.

Tambry: Tambry has really just gotten more scene in college. Her hair is still purple, though it’s gotten a bit shorter, and she’s got her ears double pierced on both sides plus a bar on the left side. She also has a nose piercing. She did have to change her style a little bit for the apocalypse. Originally she was in a tight dress with combat boots and fishnets, but after stopping at her apartment for supplies she changed into jeans and a t-shirt that she stole from Robbie at some point. She also wears her pepper spray clipped onto her belt loop.

Thompson: Pretty much the epitome of a gentle giant, Thompson is still the only member of the gang that really nails the “upstanding citizen” look. He tends towards cargo shorts, polo shirts, and Vans. The downside of his look is that whenever he gets splattered in blood, the stains are super visible. Honestly, he kinda looks like a stereotypical horror movie frat boy, just nicer. Thompson is also super big though, he’s the tallest of the gang by a good two heads (three is you’re Tambry and Lee), and he’s pretty bulky too from spending the last few years weight lifting. He’s not quite bodybuilder ripped, but he’s still pretty strong. (Ngl I’m picturing a very similar build to that of Hunk from the new Voltron)

Nate: So, fun fact. When I first started writing thing, I got Nate and Lee confused. And while I did try to switch them back in my head, I couldn’t do it, and honestly? Nate looks like a Lee and Lee looks like a Nate. So I’m pulling a swap a la Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and ya’ll can’t stop me, and hopefully none of you care. So my Nate is the lanky blond guy who looks like he belongs in a band that operates out of a basement. His hair is still pretty long, and his image isn’t being helped by hours in a car with no comb. He wears Metallica tees and ripped up jeans, and the kind of converse that are so ratty that your mother is constantly telling you to throw them out, and that was before they got exposed to a zombie apocalypse.

Lee: So there is an aesthetic for Lee, but fuck if I remember what it’s called, so bear with me, because while you probably know the look I’m talking about, it’s hard to describe. Nate is that short, skinny boy with rubber band bracelets and a snapback. He wear skinny jeans and v necks (blue, in Lee’s case), and plain black Vans. He listens to a lot of EDM and knows all the Top 40 hits, and he can absolutely dance to all of them. He keeps his hair short, and on days when he doesn’t have the snapback he’ll gel it. He looks like a douchebag. That’s what this look is called, I just remembered.

Mabel: Mabel has grown up a bit since she was a kid, but her style hasn’t changed much. She still wears cute sweaters with hand sewn pictures, though they tend to fit better now (yarn is fucking expensive and oversized sweaters are unrealistic on a college budget). She also still wears her hair long, though she started braiding it for the apocalypse. Under the sweater is a plain t-shirt, and on bottom she’s got a short skirt with colored leggings that go down to about mid calf, plus some diy bedazzled converse. Everything is colorful, but nothing clashes. I’m thinking teal, orange, and pink, but let’s be real she totally packed multiple outfits so feel free to experiment.

Pacifica: Purple is still her signature color, even if it does get a little bloodier. She’s got a light, tan leather jacket over a purple v-neck and white capris, plus white sneakers. Now, nothing white will stay white (damn apocalypse), but Paz has more important things on her mind than fashion...mostly. Her makeup is still beyond reproach, and her eyeliner is so on point she could stab a zombie with it. She still has long hair, but she wears it in a tinkerbell bun for practicality. She also has bangs, so that’s a pretty cute look too.

Candy: Candy’s hair is bobbed, and her glasses are black with those cute wings on the edge of the lenses. She’s one of the few people who decided to dress appropriately for an apocalypse too, so her outfit is more function than fashion. Cargo pants, loose T, and a bomber jacket. And I’m talking about a real bomber jacket, not one of those fashion ones from Hot Topic (love them, but not great for movement). If anyone watches Z Nation, Candy is pretty much trying to emulate Warren, because that woman is a badass.

Grenda: Grenda has grown up as a bit of a gym rat. She was studying to be a personal trainer, and the girl is fucking ripped these days. She also wears a lot of athletic wear, so her apocalypse wear consists of running leggings and rainbow Nikes, plus graphic tees. Her hair has gotten a bit longer since her childhood, but for the purposes of the apocalypse she keeps it in a ponytail.

Dipper: Dipper is a scrawny little nerd, and while he’s not completely helpless, his biggest strength is endurance running from years of being chased by bullies in school. He also has a tendency to border on hipster with his fashion choices. Open flannel, graphic tee, jeans, and converse tendencies. Dipper also has a blue hoodie, and his old pine tree ballcap, just for old times sake. His hair is curly and kind of a mess though.

Bill: Bill’s idea of practical comes from a childhood of being dragged on hunting trips, and his outfits now reflect that. Red and black flannel, jeans, and hiking boots. He tends to wear his crossbow over one shoulder, with a quiver on the other. As for what he looks like...this is hard, because I know that everyone and their dog has a head canon for this. But important things, he’s human, he’s got two eyes, and he’s attractive. And he’s got a good jaw, because Dipper may punch him at some point (just for being annoying, probably), and if he did that would hurt. But as for everything else? I picture a white guy light brown eyes and dirty blond hair, but you guys shouldn’t limit yourselves to that! Bill is cool because he has no standard, so play around with him a bit if you want to.

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britneyreviewed-blog · 7 years ago

Text

"Gimme More”

Dignity, Dirty Dancing, and Defending Britney Spears (Also, Conspiracy Theories)

Released 10/5/2007 Directed by Jake Safarty Rating: 3.75/5

Previous posts: “Toxic” “Womanizer” “From The Bottom Of My Broken Heart”

This blog has turned out to be darker than I expected. I guess I just didn’t pay attention when I was younger, but Britney got so much hate. I watched the infamous Chris Crocker “Leave Britney alone!” video, and honestly, it isn’t that funny in 2018. “I know it’s hard to see Britney as a human being, but trust me, she is,” he says at one point, and like, he’s not wrong. Yes, the tears are overwhelming and excessive, but when reading an article like the one by Alec Hanley Bemis I discussed last week, the vitriol is overwhelming and excessive as well; it was an absolute avalanche of derision that spanned at least a decade. I’m not sure if we are necessarily any kinder to pop stars today, but I’d like to think that we wouldn’t do that again.

I chose “Gimme More” this week because it seemed like an obvious next choice in terms of the direction of the blog. To start with, Chris Crocker made that video following Britney’s performance of Gimme More at the 2007 VMAs as a response to the huuuge backlash she received for a supposedly lackluster performance. Rewatching it as I write this blog, I honestly don’t think it’s that bad. Definitely not so bad to warrant the amount of notoriety it has and had. Critics called her listless, dazed, lumbering. Part of me wonders if they hated it so much because she wasn’t rail thin and still dared to put on a bikini. Anyway, you can watch it here if you’d like to refresh your memory.

“Gimme More” also pairs nicely with last week’s discussion surrounding “From The Bottom Of My Broken Heart.” As I previously wrote, back in 2000 Bemis was horrified that Britney had worked with a director who had formally made adult films; he predicted that she would turn into a porn star herself. Now, roughly seven years later, she was starring in a music video as a stripper! I wonder what he’d have to say about that? (Just kidding, I’d rather not know--the thought of how smug and righteous he’d be makes me gag.)

The thing is, I think Britney is being ironic in her choice to play that role. And it was her idea! Like other music videos, the concept for “Gimme More” was Britney’s. According to the on-set makeup artist Mikal Sky, Britney “sabotaged the director by refusing to perform and follow the script,” which I find a bit strange if she came up with or at least significantly contributed to the script, and additionally according to Wikipedia Britney handpicked director Jake Sarfaty, but whatever. The point is, it seems safe to assume that Britney had some control over playing a stripper in this video, and I think it’s actually subversive. But I guess I can get more into that when I go over the video itself.

One last thing before we get started: there’s at least three different versions of this video floating around: two or three “official” versions with varying levels of censorship in terms of how much skin is shown, and a director’s cut from 2011. There’s also this really weird Internet rumor/borderline conspiracy theory about an unreleased version, which sounds interesting and something closer to what Britney herself would come up with for a video than what was released publicly. It’s something like, Britney goes to a funeral except it turns out she’s in the coffin and she’s burying her old self and starting anew, predating Taylor Swift’s zombie “The old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now” thing for “Look What You Made Me Do.” It’s believable but I found no credible sources supporting it. However, I’ll link to a YouTube video at the bottom which has leaked stills and such and builds a somewhat convincing case, although it’s poorly made and if anything just serves as an example of how intense the rumors were about the video. I’ll also link to the comparison of four different “Gimme More” videos, which features three “official” versions and the director’s cut. The "official” versions are all so similar that I didn’t have the patience to watch all the way through.

The director’s cut is similar enough, but there are some key differences: the club goers (which I will talk about below) have been edited out and replaced with shots of Britney lounging on a bed and walking down a sidewalk in black and white. It’s often referred to as the “funeral version” because these new shots were filmed for the alleged “original” version of the video. With all the rumors swirling around the filming of the video, I can see why there would be a new version released four years later, but I find these shots to be boring. They don’t contribute anything, and overall this version seems to focus on being titillating more than the official version. This is an important difference because I argue that in both the song and the video Britney is not trying to simply arouse but also to draw attention to you as a voyeur. OK, let’s just roll the video!

This song is the origin of “It’s Britney, bitch.” And honestly, while spoken word stuff in pop song usually makes me cringe, here it’s pretty badass. As the song opens, we see Britney in a blonde wig (having shaved her head just eight months prior to the release of this video) laughing with some friends at the bar. We get a quick get to Stripper Britney in a bowler hat and fishnets sitting on a couch, who says, “I see you,” and causes Blonde Britney to look over in curiosity.

I find this exchange between the two Britneys interesting. While the song can is very much about media scrutiny, she cuts out the media (and the male gaze) in the video by making it a performance dedicated to herself, from herself. I think this is one of the most subversive things about it. Blonde Britney is fascinated by and attracted to Stripper Britney--a bit heavy-handed but given the context of 2007 a poignant metaphor for loving yourself.

The video kicks off, and for the most part it’s Stripper Britney swinging around on the pole. A lot of people complained about how unsexy or unskilled her pole-dancing was, which to me is the epitome of how Britney Can’t Win, because you can bet your butts that if she’d put on a “proper” routing on the pole, everyone would be clutching their pearls over how Britney was still on the road to destruction. This was the first single that had come out since her breakdown, and so all eyes were on her.

I don’t really analyze the lyrics on this blog, because it’s more about the videos, but I think they’re really important in this case. “Feels like the crowd is saying, ‘gimme gimme more, gimme more,’” is so spot-on. While some of the lyrics point to this being a hot-and-heavy love song, to me it’s a song to the media. “Every time they turn the lights down, just want to go that extra mile for you,” sounds a bit sarcastic when the “you” is more literal--YOU, the person watching this video, the person watching this woman who just had a very humiliating year and is now performing a strip tease for you. “They keep on watching.” Her lack of enthusiasm or skill or sexiness or whatever you want to call it just draws further attention to the viewer’s voyeurstic position, and what your expectations are. More, more, more.

The first 45 seconds of the video are just Britney dancing on the pole, but the cuts are really fast and the colors change a lot, so it’s visually interesting enough.

At a certain point, she starts dancing against the nearby wall mirror, which I think only further underscores the dual concept of self-love and voyeurism. Then the bowler hat comes off for certain shots.

With her hair down, her dancing does get noticeably more suggestive, with more shots of her body, especially her butt and legs.

It was hard to get any flattering or even clear screenshots of this video, because the cuts are so fast and both Britney the camera moves around a lot.

I think Britney with the bowler hat is an interesting choice for a couple reasons; first, on its own, it gives her a masculine appearance with clashes with the stripper aesthetic, and second, it is then juxtaposed with her long black hair flowing, which is much more feminine. It’s like she’s playing around with her appearance since she shaved her head. It gives her more flexibility and again it toys with the viewer’s curiosity--since she shaved her head, what’s under that hat? Overall, though, the video is shot in a gritty style, even in black and white at times, including her feminine shots, which further subverts your expectations of what Britney as a stripper would be. The blur effect that is frequently used obscures her body, once again making the viewer self-aware as you are frustrated by your attempts to visually consume her body.

Blonde Britney returns to the screen, still watching from the bar.

I think it’s interesting that Blonde Britney appears to gossip about the performance with her friends, laugh, and makes a face, but she’s still watching.

Then out of nowhere, this guy appears on screen!

There’s no explanation given about him--they just show his face and go back to Stripper Britney. Obviously he’s like a bar patron or something, but he serves no purpose other than I guess to hetero the place up a little bit. Can’t have Britney love herself too much without a man showing up!!

Back to the pole, where Stripper Britney is joined by other dancers.

Then the song shifts to the middle spoken word part, where Britney says, “They want more? I’ll give them more,” and she takes her top off!

Then the rest of the video cuts together all the different shots: her dancing alone with her top on, dancing alone with her top off, and dancing together with all the other dancers. The last minute of the video is pretty unremarkable, just a repeat of what we’ve seen before. Britney seems to be having fun, and there’s a couple nice shots of her smiling, particularly when Danja says in the outro, “The legendary Miss Britney Spears.”

The random man from before shows back up, again just for a few seconds, this time not even seeming to be watching Britney at all. I think these shots build the strongest case for that alternate unreleased version, because they seem so out of place.

The final shot is of Blonde Britney, still laughing, but still watching.

This is a great song. I remember finding the chorus a bit annoying when it came out, but now I think it’s quite good. On top of that though, the verse melody is a jam. The synth production is dark but still poppy. And I like the video, too. I can understand some criticism of it, but I think the layered meaning intended or not really saves it. However, it’s still really repetitive and the visuals get old fast, and regardless of what the truth is about the funeral version or not, there’s something off about the way the crowd is shown in relation to Britney. Because of that, I give this video a 3.75 out of 5.

After all that, I want to do something a little more light-hearted. The more I research for these videos, the darker this stuff gets, so I could use a week off. Stay tuned next week for “Criminal.”

Resources “Gimme More” official music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elueA2rofoo Comparison of four different versions of “Gimme More”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CjTrfPVGsZs “Gimme More: The Story of the Unreleased Video”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTKtgqfm3Sc

#britney spears #gimme more #toxic #womanizer #music video #music videos #music video review #from the bottom of my broken heart

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thevintageconnection · 5 years ago

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My Favorite Vintage Music: Part II

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Hey, guys! Welcome to Part II of My Favorite Vintage Music! Today, we're continuing with the 1970s and 1980s. Let's jump right in!

So… I tried to narrow this list down. I really did. But the 70s has some of my favorite music ever, and it would be an absolute CRIME to not share all of these songs with you. You’re welcome.

Fleetwood Mac - “Landslide”, “Dreams”, and “Go Your Own Way”

What better way to begin the list than with one of the most iconic bands ever. Listening to any of their music, but especially these songs, makes me want to dress like a hippie/flower child and run through a field of flowers. And run around in a thunderstorm. And also close my eyes and sway to the music forever.

Stevie Nicks remains one of the queens of the world who we do not deserve.

I love how all of these tracks sound so different from each other. “Landslide” puts you in your sad and reflective feelings, “Dreams” makes you want to start swaying and levitating, and “Go Your Own Way” makes you want to find someone from your past to scream the lyrics to.

Eagles - “Take It Easy”

Definitely a wanderlust type of song. This one never fails to make me smile and feel lighter. I loooove listening to this when I’m on a long drive. It definitely makes my driving anxiety a little better.

Queen - “Fat Bottomed Girls”, “Don’t Stop Me Now”, “Killer Queen”, “Bohemian Rhapsody”

Alright, don’t judge me for picking so many. I could have included more. These are straight-up JAMS. I didn’t mean to put them in a particular order, but Bohemian Rhapsody is definitely at the bottom of my list right now. I used to adore the song and thought I could never get tired of it, but then I had to edit videos of two dance routines to this song this summer. So I heard it probably 50 times. I’m giving it a break and hopefully when I come back to it, I’ll love it again! The song is revolutionary and so genius and it deserves all the respect. The other tracks are so fun and make me feel empowered.

Don McLean - “Vincent”

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I don’t know how I can effectively describe how much I love this song. I just heard it for the first time earlier this year, but it has become one of my top favorites of all time. Vincent Van Gogh is one of my favorite painters, with Starry Night being my favorite painting ever. Before I heard this song, I only knew Don McLean for “American Pie”. “Vincent” is underappreciated and seems to fit with the slow and calming style on the album that features those two songs. Some of my favorite music includes songs that feel like pure magic, and that is definitely the most fitting word for this piece. It sounds like a lullaby. It paints vivid pictures in your mind. I love “Vincent” for not only its stunning lyrics and imagery but also the sweet and calming guitar that accompanies the entire track.

Van Morrison - “Into the Mystic”

Keeping this talk of magic going, next up is Van Morrison! This song is the epitome of my Flower Child playlist on Spotify. I was so excited to get the Moondance album on vinyl specifically to see how this song sounded on it. The result? It sounds gorgeous.

James Taylor - “Fire and Rain”

I guess I’m often a simple girl when it comes to music. Sometimes I can’t resist a slow and peaceful song with a guitar and some piano. Listening to this while it’s raining is always a beautiful idea. This is another piece that I can listen to nonstop and I always sing along.

Billy Joel - “She’s Always a Woman” and “Vienna”

Sometimes, you need some moody and sad songs. I have a bad habit of listening to this kind of music when I’m down. However, you don’t have to be in a bad mood to love these tracks!

John Denver - “The Music Is You”

Okay, so my overused word for my previous post was “dreamy”. Now it’s “magic”. How can you listen to this song and not feel so e n c h a n t e d? This is another piece that makes me want to run through a field of flowers.

Tanya Tucker - “Delta Dawn”

This one might seem a little different from my other favorites, but at least going from John Denver to this created was a fairly smooth transition. While our mom often played her favorite 80s music for my sister and me, our dad loved playing his old country favorites.

I love the story behind the lyrics. Listening to this song is almost like reading a book, so it’s perfect for this bookworm right here. Tanya Tucker’s voice is so unique and always made my sister and I sing along. My favorite part of “Delta Dawn” is definitely the beginning with the chorus of voices. So powerful. So transcendent.

Commodores - “Easy”

What a fluid and breeeeeeezy song. It’s actually on my playlist called “Sunday Morning”. The name was obviously inspired by the lyrics of this song and is full of similar light tracks from all decades.

Most of my favorite vintage music comes from the 1940s to the 1970s, but I grew up listening to my mom’s favorites hits from the 80s. I do have my own favorites as well, so I had to include this decade! I’m not a huge fan of a lot of the synth-pop music that dominated the decade, but here are some of my favorites!

Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes - (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life

I think we all know what movie scene this song is from, so you should know why this track makes me so happy. Dirty Dancing is one of my favorite movies and this song always puts me in a good, dancing mood. I can’t help but picture the final scene of the movie, so I can’t help but smile.

Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

Like I said, I’m not a huge fan of music with a lot of synth, but I’m totally on board with this song. It’s so mysterious and catchy.

Bonnie Tyler - Total Eclipse of the Heart

This is one of my mom’s favorites, so my sister and I grew up jamming to this song. The emotion and power behind Bonnie Tyler’s voice amaze me every time. Another great number to yell the lyrics to.

Phil Collins - In the Air Tonight

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A MASTERPIECE. A POWERFUL, ANSTY MASTERPIECE.

I don’t love a ton of angry songs, but this one is so good. I love acting so dramatic while singing along to this one, especially with my mom. This is our song. She’s not super emotional and touchy-feely, but listening to this song is one way that we can bond and have a good time together. Our favorite part is the iconic drums at around 3:16 (in the music video above). We always play the air drums and headbang.

Joan Jett and the Blackhearts - I Love Rock ‘n Roll

I don’t listen to a lot of the same music that other people my age listen to, so when there’s a song that most people know, it makes listening to music in a public environment so much more fun! Most people I know also know this song. I love it. In contrast with my hippie and flower child songs, this track makes me want to dress in all black, maybe even some (faux) leather.

I grew up with a lot of this music, so I love how some of these artists are still popular today. I’ve noticed that more people my age are beginning to become huge fans of artists like Fleetwood Mac and Queen. That makes me so excited! Sometimes I tend to love the more popular tracks that I grew up listening to, like the ones I chose for this list. Those are the songs that still stick with people today. If you have any suggestions for underappreciated songs by any of the artists on the lists, don’t be afraid to send them my way! I live for music recommendations.

While writing down some of these songs, I thought of covers done by current artists who I love. Isaac Waddington has done great covers of “She’s Always a Woman” that I will listen to on repeat.

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He first performed it in 2015 for an audition on Britain’s Got Talent. Here’s his 2019 cover! I’m so obsessed.

Ansel Elgort’s voice is so. smooth. in his cover of “Easy” that he performed in a Riff-Off on an episode of The Late Late Show with James Corden and Jamie Foxx in 2017.

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*Breaks replay button*

The only acceptable reaction to have to this video is James’ reaction.

I actually found “The Music Is You” from seeing Greta Van Fleet cover it on YouTube! When I got to see them live in September in Kansas City, I was one of the only people around me who knew the lyrics, and that made me sad. I love the love that Greta Van Fleet has for John Denver, and how much they share his music.

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They sing “The Music Is You” as an intro to their original song “You’re the One”. So angelic.

I have updated my Spotify playlist, “Top Vintage Favs”, with the songs I mentioned in this post. Feel free to play it in order to go throughout the decades, or have some fun with playing it on shuffle and travel back and forth through time!

Thanks for reading,

Morgan ♥️

Twitter: @connect_vintage

Insta: @connect_vintage

(Personal) Spotify: Morgan Krull

#vintage #vintagemusic #fleetwood mac #john denver #eagles #queen #1970s #1980s #greta van fleet #thevintageconnection

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timclymer · 5 years ago

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Miss Brick House

At nineteen, in 1975, I was selling advertising for the OSU college paper, The Lantern, and submitting stories and getting published in the student “fringe” paper: Our Choking Times. The one where I won their respect as a budding radical, then went flying over the lines of professionalism to date Gil Scott-Heron.

I not only wrote about the older and otherworldly genius radical rapper, I threw caution in my hometown wind, hit the road with him, and well, you know. Ditching college for nearly a week, I boarded a tour bus with Gil, soaking up his celebrity and smiling a smug smile, when other girls stared with hungry eyes. Mostly I watched him read and read and read.

Now I knew why his lyrics were so intriguing. He devoured news magazines and books, speed-reading, thoughts on fire. I tried to be ready with an intelligent comment or witticism, while keeping the goal of my article in mind.

“I like talking to you,” he once said approvingly, eyes smiling as he looked up from U.S. News and World Report. And well my heart did little flips as the bus clipped along.

In 1976, I would have flashbacks of our recent time together: Gil, handsome, angular-faced and charmingly disheveled sat backwards on a chair across from me, as I lay robed in his hotel bed and dreamily drank wine. He enthusiastically entertained his enraptured audience of one. I alternated between laughter and awe, as he tossed off brilliant dialogue and humor with an upturned finger, woven in with his trademark political rhapsody and a wacked, uncombed, uncared-about afro.

My merriment only slightly dimmed by an shadowy sense of foreboding when Gil made a point of taking frequent “artistic time-outs” to do copious lines of cocaine from an album cover on The Holiday Inn hotel dresser. Credit to him, he didn’t corrupt me with his coke, which I had turned down the first day. I was still terrified by cocaine–then. And he let me stay happily “in my cups”, replenishing my drink stash at every rest stop. Back in that day, a man who never let my drink run out, was the epitome of a gentleman to me, which made it hard to focus on diamonds and more upscale amenities.

Wrenching myself away from that rendezvous for a season, I became the sometimes-faux, oft-times truly-dedicated student again and dove into my college classes for another year or so.

Mostly I wrote from the soul, without getting intimately involved–all in preparation for my coming career in broadcast journalism. That is until I got sidetracked again, but by this time I was twenty-one. Hey, I was grown! But my grown self was running a semester behind my scheduled graduation date. My degree had to wait for spells of heavy drinking, the local party scene and manic depression hovering in the wings.

At least school was out for a season, because it was the smoking-hot Summer of 77″!! A friend of a friend, a concert promoter, borderline dirty old man. (he was late 40’s which at 21 seemed pretty ancient.) This guy submitted my name to a contest, then told my friend that I’d be perfect with some coaching and could probably win.

It was a beauty contest, but sort of an invented one for publicity to launch Lionel Richie and The Commodores’ concert tour and promote the hit record du jour. The song soaring up the charts was “Brick House”–helping to make The Commodores one of Motown’s hottest groups. The contest was for Miss Columbus (Ohio) Brick House.

The winner at the national level it was promised, would also snag a movie role with the exceedingly cool, Billy Dee Williams in his next movie. I was jazzed beyond rhythm-and-blues. Fifteen girls competed at “Ciro’s”, the popular Columbus dance club, sort of Miss America style, in swimsuits and heels and then revealed their “intellect” or “wit” when asked a serious question.

To be honest, there was a girl who was a Brick House bombshell, with a sensational eye-popping figure, judging by the collective stares of the men in the audience, but the dear bombshell appeared dumb as a bag of hammers! (She wasn’t, just shy.) I was pretty adept at stringing a sentence together, and she fumbled over her name. Since they wanted a kind of spokesmodel winner, I won.

Sandi, the Bombshell, became the runner-up and we became fast friends, because at that point, The Commodore’s management closed down the contest and picked the two of us to go on Tour with the group.

We won gift certificates and free travel, limo rides, meals, money for clothes. We stood behind barricades in record stores in swimsuits, high heels and fake furs and signed autographs, along with The Commodores. I always wore a pair of slacks over my swimsuits in public when offstage, because I didn’t want to look sluttish. I was actually aiming for something sophisticated, sexy and upscale. Years later, Beyonce’ pulled it off.

Sandi and I roomed together, giggled, gossiped and drank champagne while we traveled to Philadelphia, Hartford, Connecticut, Boston, and made a pit stop in Dayton before the tour was to have a huge concert at Madison Square Garden in New York City.

It was at a packed arena in Philadelphia that I was “crowned” the official stage dancer on tour and I was ecstatic to be onstage with Lionel Richie and The Commodores.

“She’s a Brick House–she’s mighty, mighty!” they sung in snug, glittering military-style suits–a vision for testosterone-deprived eyes. And I’d do a wham-bam funky yet feminine, hip thrust as I wound my provocative dance to position myself in between Lionel Richie and William King.

“A-A-O-O-W”, I would think while William Orange actually sang it.

I was developing a serious crush on Lionel, but would try to reign it in whenever his pretty wife, Brenda, stage left, arms folded, looked at us, sullen from the sidelines. I was told by the road manager, she had been doing that for the last two years, but now it seemed definitely directed at me. That angst and heady excitement became a combustible mix that changed the show’s routine it seemed during one concert.

The routine was that Sandi would dance solo from stage right and I’d dance solo from stage left. Once during a concert the air charged with anti-matter, the routine was interrupted at the pit stop in Dayton. There was a rustling, a din, and then complete clamor and chaos.

Suddenly a “boo” erupted from the back. What had started as a tiny disturbance, quickly became something monstrous. 10,000 people packed in the arena began booing in a huge roar for almost a full, tortuous minute.

I was mortified, spinning dizzily as I finally stumbled offstage when the song was over, almost tripping over my sky-high heels. Try hiding wearing a neon-orange bathing suit. I ran into a photographer who was stage side, who became one of my best friends over the years.

“Why did they boo?” I broke out in little-girl sobs, heaving in-between blurted words, “I was thinking I did my best Chaka Khan dance moves,”

“I was in the back of the arena earlier,” Chuckie laughed, “and I heard a loud, crazy protest, people complaining—Miss Brick House is white! Miss Brick House is white!”. Then everyone started booing, not even knowing why they were booing,” he said. “Just really stupid.”

“But I’m not white!” I wailed, “I’m a black woman, a light-skinned black woman.” (African-American was not yet in vogue.)

“Oh, of course I can see that,” said Chuckie, “but wa-a-ay in the back with bright lights washing out your skin tone and the fact that you sometimes wear that straightened Farrah Fawcett-looking hairdo—well, I guess they just couldn’t tell.” Tears of laughter brimmed Chuckie’s eyes and he wiped them away with his knuckles.

I found it hard to laugh with him or even chuckle. To be booed by 10,000 people in a roar of disapproval back then, made me wish the earth would quake, open up and consume me quickly, no matter what the reason.

The next morning on the road again, I had washed and curled and frizzed my hair, letting it dry naturally. But I continued to whimper about the night before. Yet it seemed to disturb nobody but me, which I found amazing. I thought they would send me home. Then I remembered the performer’s mantra:

“The show must go on.”

I also thought of Lionel Richie’s smile. Did I care he was married? Only when I examined his wife’s face did I feel a wave of guilt. She seemed so unhappy about the nightly crush of women. Yet I wasn’t a groupie, I sniffed to myself. ‘Hey, I’m Miss Brick House! I’m not only with the band, I’m in the show!’

That sense of entitlement combined with the bitter-sweetness of an early hallway smile beamed in my direction. And light conversation between Lionel and me–and I only cared for my own selfish joy.

That summed up a 21-year old woman-child, with a dusty Bible and a neon orange bathing suit strutting nightly onstage with a supergroup, led by a friendly, incredibly talented, rich and famous man. I was dancing a dream and anything seemed possible. And so I danced.

Source by Tory Connolly

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/miss-brick-house/ via Home Solutions on WordPress from Home Solutions FOREV https://homesolutionsforev.tumblr.com/post/188020942960 via Tim Clymer on Wordpress

#Home Solutions FOREV

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homesolutionsforev · 5 years ago

Text

Miss Brick House

“I like talking to you,” he once said approvingly, eyes smiling as he looked up from U.S. News and World Report. And well my heart did little flips as the bus clipped along.

Wrenching myself away from that rendezvous for a season, I became the sometimes-faux, oft-times truly-dedicated student again and dove into my college classes for another year or so.

It was at a packed arena in Philadelphia that I was “crowned” the official stage dancer on tour and I was ecstatic to be onstage with Lionel Richie and The Commodores.

“A-A-O-O-W”, I would think while William Orange actually sang it.

“Why did they boo?” I broke out in little-girl sobs, heaving in-between blurted words, “I was thinking I did my best Chaka Khan dance moves,”

“But I’m not white!” I wailed, “I’m a black woman, a light-skinned black woman.” (African-American was not yet in vogue.)

“The show must go on.”

That sense of entitlement combined with the bitter-sweetness of an early hallway smile beamed in my direction. And light conversation between Lionel and me–and I only cared for my own selfish joy.

Source by Tory Connolly

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/miss-brick-house/ via Home Solutions on WordPress

#Home Solutions Forev

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