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laurenairay · 1 year ago

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gotta trust how you feel inside - J. Skinner

Summary: Jeff Skinner had never met anyone like Cameron Marlow before. Turns out, he had a lot to learn.

A story of accepting someone for who they are, as well as accepting yourself.

This is my entry for @wyattjohnston’s summer fic exchange 2k23, for @nhl-stories! I decided to do something a little different than I’ve ever done before, based off of your prompts and answers to my questions, so I really hope you like this. I researched so many articles and blog posts and videos on coming out and acceptance and all the different ways people have felt and reacted in their own journeys, so I really hope I did Cam’s story justice. Also heavily inspired by Mae Martin and their wonderful self!

Warnings: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers, fear of coming out as non-binary, change of pronouns part-way through.

Words: 4.8k

Title from Green Eyes by Arlo Parks.

Thank you to @tippedbykreider for being a wonderful beta reader!

Some of these folks wanna make you cry, But you gotta trust how you feel inside, And shine, and shi-ine, yeah, yeah, yeah.

“Jeff! Pizza or tacos?”

“Tacos please!”

“On it!”

Jeff smiled to himself as his neighbour Cameron disappeared from her balcony, back into the apartment below his. Their Friday night tradition of take-out and movies – whenever he was in town, that was – was something he treasured. Most of his teammates over 30 years old had a wife and kids at home for their Friday nights, but not Jeff. Maybe it was something that bothered him a lot when he was younger, not having someone to come back home to like everyone else seemed to, but since he’d been traded to Buffalo, it was something he was learning to let go of. There were plenty of other things in his life, plenty of other people, to fill what society deemed him missing, and he appreciated all of them. Loved all of them.

Cameron Marlow included.

She had been a breath of fresh air when he’d first moved into their shared apartment building back in summer 2018. Single, like he was, and only a year younger, so at least he didn’t feel completely out of place. And she was an introvert much like he was slowly growing into, meaning he didn’t have to put on a fake extroverted energy all the time, didn’t have to be ‘on’ 100%. The two of them bonded over just wanting someone to hang out with sometimes, someone who wouldn’t judge a depleted social battery. He knew that her work was intense, that she was damn good at her job too, and that the hyper-focus she had to have on all the time during her workdays left her pretty drained by the time she got home, much like hockey sometimes left him socially inept, so he appreciated having her as a friend he could just be himself with.

It didn’t hurt that she was blonde, blue-eyed, and completely & utterly beautiful. But that wasn’t something he wanted to think about right now. Cameron was so out of his league it wasn’t funny. Her intense corporate work aside, she was so interesting as a person that he barely felt like he could keep up. She was part of a book club, reading fiction about all kinds of different topics that he barely understood, leaving him feeling like more of a dumbass every time he attempted to follow along. She always volunteered during Pride month at the parade, making sure teenagers felt safe and secure and hopeful. She introduced him to plays and movies and poetry readings that he never would’ve thought of going to. He tried to keep up with her, loving the time they spent together too much not to, and it always seemed like she appreciated it anyway.

At least her dating life was as much of a disaster as his was. That was always something he could console himself with. Her type seemed to be tall blonde beefcakes, typical douchey gym bros, and every time a series of dates ended with the two of them eating ice-cream on one of their sofas, Jeff felt their friendship bond grow just that little bit more. He knew that his friendship with her was one of the best and closest and most genuine friendships he’d ever had, and over the past five years he’d grown to cherish it over anything else.

Cameron Marlow was in his life to stay, and there was nothing he ever wanted to change about that.

“Alright, tacos should be here in 30 minutes. Do you have beer?”

“Of course, I’m not a heathen,” Jeff scoffed.

Cameron just laughed, blonde waves swinging over her shoulder as she shut his apartment door behind her. She was dressed similar to him, tank top and sweatpants with fluffy socks, and she wasted no time in pulling her hair back in a messy bun after passing him a beer and sitting down next to him on his oversized sofa.

By the time their tacos arrived – Jeff went down to the lobby to pick them up, of course – Cameron had all but sunk into the sofa, all tension disappearing from her body. It was a good look for her, to be honest, peaceful and relaxed and content. And the fact that it was in his apartment that she was able to feel this way? Well, that meant everything to him.

However, by the time they’d finished eating, Cameron had flicked through her phone a few times, and a frown had grown on her face, her body a line of stiff tension again. He didn’t think it was because of him – he knew he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary to her – but it still concerned him all the same.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” Jeff said, “Want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know if you’d want to hear it?”

Jeff found himself frowning as he shook his head. Why would he not want to hear what she had to say?

“I always want to hear what you have to say? Why would I not?”

Cameron seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyes filled with something that he couldn’t read. Despite their five years of friendship, there was still so much he didn’t know about her, he knew that much. But why would she think he wouldn’t want to know what was bothering her?

“It’s just…okay, so you know I’m part of a book club, right?” Cameron blurted.

“Yes.”

He didn’t have a clue where this was going, but he was just going to roll with it. The book club met every other Sunday, he knew that much.

“Well we’re reading I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver, and naturally the conversation turned political,” Cameron started.

“As it would, sure,” Jeff nodded.

He didn’t know if it would be rude to pull out his phone to google what the book was about while she was talking, so he just decided to wait to see if she would explain.

“And like, a few of the group can relate to the main character Ben’s struggle, right? Coming out as non-binary to his parents only to be immediately kicked out of the house, so the topic was pretty personal for some of my friends…”

So that was what the book was about. Huh. He could only imagine how difficult that kind of situation would be. And Cameron said it had also happened to some of her friends? Damn.

“…and with the political climate right now, things just got so heated. As it would.”

“As it would,” Jeff agreed.

Well, not that he actually knew much about the political climate around gender. It was gender she was talking about, right?

“Gender is always an emotionally difficult topic,” he said, hedging his bet.

“Exactly!” she nodded.

Oh good, he’d gotten it right.

“The discussion is still bothering you though?” he prompted, eyes flicking to the phone she’d put down on the coffee table.

“Well, yeah, because New York still has so far to go in terms of making things equal for non-binary people. Like, shit, it took until late 2021 for driving licenses to get non-binary options on, and even now official government departments might not have options for all forms until 2024!”

“That seems unfairly restrictive?” Jeff said, frowning.

“It is! And of course, it’s started so many debates and discussions from hate groups and just generally horrible people about whether any of it should even be allowed. Like, what the fuck? All these absolute fuck-up debates about non-binary recognition, how non-binary people are basically invisible, it makes me so mad! How is it okay that a tiny group of people decide that I don’t exist?”

As she wound herself up angrier and angrier, Jeff froze slightly at Cameron’s words. That I don’t exist.

Not they.

Cameron was talking about herself.

No, if Cameron was talking about herself then that would mean she was non-binary…

Whatever was showing on his face made Cameron stop in confusion, before absolute horror flooded her expression.

“I mean, I, heh-”

Cameron cut herself off with a whimper, eyes desperately darting around like she was looking around for an exit from his apartment, and in that moment, Jeff’s heart broke a little. Cameron was trying to get away from him, because she was scared of his reaction. Scared of him. That was the last thing he ever wanted.

Jeff swallowed heavily, before smiling lightly. “I can’t imagine you ever being invisible. No-one should ever make you feel that way.”

The tears that filled Cameron’s eyes caused Jeff to panic slightly. Had he said the wrong thing? Had he ruined their friendship? Had he ruined…everything else?

“Fuck. Fuck, that wasn’t how I ever wanted it to come out,” Cameron murmured, “You don’t hate me?”

The last few whispered words broke his heart all over again. Jeff quickly shook his head as he put his beer down, taking Cameron’s hands in his.

“I could never hate you. I may not understand much about what you’re going through. Like, as a non-binary person. But I could never hate you, okay? You’re still Cameron to me,” Jeff said firmly.

Because it was true.

He might not know much about what it meant to be non-binary, or understand Cameron’s struggles, but the fact that she was scared he would hate her said all that he needed to know. Cameron was still his friend, still the same person he’d always known – he just knew a little more now, that was all, right?

Cameron bit her bottom lip for a moment, seeming to hesitate about something, so Jeff just squeezed her hands reassuringly.

“Actually, I prefer just Cam,” Cameron said.

“Okay. Okay, Cam it is,” Jeff nodded.

“And they/them pronouns,” Cameron added.

Cam.

They/Them.

Cam. They/Them.

He could absolutely do that.

“Cam. They/Them. Got it,” Jeff said firmly, still smiling.

Cam seemed to hesitate for a moment again, looking confused now.

“Just like that? You have no questions or reluctance or anything?” Cam asked, frowning.

“Well, no? Not really? I mean, you know yourself better than I do, right? So if you tell me that you won’t be using she/her any more then that’s not my choice? It’s you and how you are in yourself. It’s only right that I follow what you need,” Jeff said, frowning in response, “Is that not okay? I know I’ve probably been getting things wrong for years now, but I’ll do better?”

Cam laughed softly in disbelief, shaking their head.

“Of course it’s okay. And it’s only been a couple of years really but that’s because I purposely didn’t tell you. Haven’t really told many people, if I’m being honest. I just…I wasn’t expecting you to just accept it straight away? Like, you’re a hockey player right, and…”

“And hockey players have a reputation of being homophobic assholes? There’s a few prominent names popping out lately, yeah. But that’s not me. My older sisters played hockey on women’s teams while we were growing up and there were a few lesbians out and proud with their friends, so it’s not like I haven’t been around the LGBTQ+ community? And I know that non-binary is your gender, not anything with your sexuality, but what I mean is that I’m not that kind of asshole?” Jeff explained, “I might be a dumbass hockey player most the time but I’m not that full stereotype.”

“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have painted you with that brush. I’m sorry,” Cam said, wincing.

“It’s okay. No, really it is. I get that you have to expect the worst from people and I hate that you have to, but you don’t have to with me, okay? I’ve got a lot to learn, I know that. So much. But you don’t have to be scared or nervous around me. I promise,” Jeff said, smiling.

Cam smiled shakily, nodding their head, finally losing a bit of tension in their shoulders.

“Thank you. I just…thank you,”

“I accept you for who you are, Cam Marlow. Exactly how you are,” Jeff said firmly.

Cam choked out a sob, hand flying up to cover their mouth, and it was all Jeff could do to let go of their hands and open his arms wide. Cam wasted no time in flinging themselves forward into his body, letting Jeff hug them as they cried into the crook of his neck. Jeff felt tears sting at his own eyes, but he just held them tight, rubbing their back to reassure them.

Everything would change from here, he knew that. But he wasn’t going anywhere.

Skinner Siblings

Jeff: A friend of mine recently came out to me as non-binary. Obviously I support them and I'm so proud of them but I haven't got a clue where to start to understand it all better? I just want to be a good friend.

Andrea: Firstly, congrats to your friend. I won't ask who because that's none of my business. Secondly, do you want some resources?

Jeff: Yeah I won't say their name because they haven't said I could. But yes please to resources!

Erica: Good start on using their correct pronouns Jeffy.

Jeff: I'm trying. It's literally the least I can do.

Erica: More than a lot of people would! Just as a tip, more than anything else, follow whatever your friend says is right for them. And if you mess up, correct yourself and move on. You are a good friend, even just by wanting to learn.

Jillian: Love you Jeffy. Proud of you!

Andrea: I’m proud of you too. I found a bunch of resources for definitions and reading material and even blog posts. Let me email you.

“Sex is what you’re assigned at birth, based on bodily characteristics. Gender can be completely separate from the sex you’ve been assigned at birth. That’s the best thing about gender: it’s free, flexible and completely yours to decide.”

“A recent Stonewall study found that 31% of nonbinary people have experienced hate crime as a result of their gender identity.”

“60% of Americans have at least heard about gender-neutral pronouns, many people may still be kind of unsure of what to say or do. According to the survey results, 52% of Americans report that they would be somewhat or very comfortable using gender-neutral pronouns with someone they know. But 47% said that they would be somewhat or very uncomfortable doing so.”

“A common misconception is that all non-binary identities sit somewhere in the middle of male and female, and that if you’re non-binary you’ll fit neatly into a box labelled ‘androgynous’. But this really isn’t the case – and one of the most liberating things about being non-binary is that there are no set rules around how you express or experience your gender.”

Jeff’s head spun as he read through all the resources that his sister Andrea sent over to him. There was so much new information to digest, and yet still not enough somehow. Sure, GLAAD was a great place to start for definitions, but he knew there was still so much further for him to go.

Baby steps though, right?

If Cam could take things step by step, so could he.

One of the first things that Jeff did was to add his pronouns to his twitter and Instagram bios. A simple he/him. It wasn’t much, but it was a start – and at least hopefully, if anyone asked him (not that he expected they would), then he could start a positive conversation about pronouns and representation. It was, quite literally, the least he could do. It was also likely that Cam would never notice either, but if they did then he wanted them to know that this was another way he could support them – it was important that everyone and anyone could use the pronouns they knew were correct for themselves, he knew that now. So if he could show people that with his level of publicity then he absolutely would.

He had to use his privilege for something good, right?

In the weeks following Cam’s accidental non-binary announcement, aside from his own research journey, it seemed like a new side of Cam’s life opened that he’d never been privy to before. Sure, he’d liked and treasured the time that the two of them spent alone over the past five years, but now it seemed like they were comfortable enough to let him into a whole new level. He wasn’t entitled to it in the slightest, he knew that, so he made that they knew exactly how much he appreciated these new steps they were taking.

Cam also opened up more to him about their discovery journey. About how they had felt just ever-so-slightly wrong in their body for so long, not understanding why until they stumbled across an LGBTQ+ poetry slam one night not long after he had moved into their apartment building, not knowing what to do about how they felt until a few years ago. Cam had insisted that they hadn’t kept things separate from him maliciously – it was more of a case that they had still been figuring it out for themselves while they were getting to know him too, and part of their process had been compartmentalising. He wasn’t mad. He literally had no right to be, but he genuinely wasn’t mad. The fact that they finally felt comfortable enough with him and within themselves to take down those barriers? That was all that he cared about.

They had even introduced him openly to a few of their friends. Jeff hadn’t understood the side-eyes and the smirks or even the money exchanged between a couple of the group, but he finally in on the jokes about Cam being a social disaster, finally able to have them smiling at him like he was in on the secret. He was part of a whole new world – one that confused him heavily sometimes, but one that he appreciated being able to be within – and he loved that his friendship with Cam had only grown from strength to strength with each new thing he learned about them.

None of that changed how their smile still gave him butterflies.

“You cut your hair.”

That was the first thing that came out of his mouth when Cam opened the front door of their apartment. It had been only a little over a month since their unintentional coming out, but it seemed like each day Cam was a little more settled in their skin, and it made Jeff feel so happy that he got to be part of that. Their hair though – that was a big change.

“I…did. Is it bad?” Cam asked, a little nervous.

Cam’s hair had previously been down to their waist, naturally tousled and dirty blonde. But now…now it was short. Super short. A pixie cut, maybe? At least that’s what he remembered from one of his sister’s magazines. A white-blonde pixie cut. Huh.

“Not bad. Like, at all. It really suits you,” Jeff said firmly, as he walked past them into their apartment.

“You’re not just saying that?” Cam asked hopefully.

“I’m a really bad liar, you know that,” Jeff shrugged, smiling a little sheepishly as Cam laughed, “And I wouldn’t lie to you about this. It’s different, sure. But it feels like you.”

Cam exhaled shakily, shoulders losing a little tension as they nodded. “That’s what I thought. That it feels like me, more than anything else ever has.”

Jeff hesitated slightly as some of the reading he’d done came back to him, before he took a deep breath to steel himself.

“Was this a gender dysphoria thing? Is there still anything else you want to do to feel more comfortable in your body?” he asked.

Cam’s eyes widened slightly before they smiled fondly at him. “You really have done your reading, haven’t you?”

“I just…wanted to be a good friend,” Jeff said, feeling a little awkward.

Was he not meant to have tried to learn more? Did Cam not want that?

“Oh Jeff, you are one of the best friends a person could ever ask for,” Cam said, shaking their head as they smiled, letting Jeff breathe a little sigh of relief.

“You deserve it,” Jeff shrugged.

Interestingly, Cam blushed a little, before they laughed softly, moving to pull some coffee mugs out of the kitchen cupboard.

“Right, to answer your questions. The hair was kind of a gender dysphoria thing? My long hair just felt so feminine, and that obviously isn’t me anymore. Or maybe was never me? I don’t know, I’m still figuring out how I feel about it. In terms of anything else…I’m not trans. I don’t want to transition from female to male, because I genuinely don’t feel like either of them. That isn’t my journey. I’ve been dressing pretty androgynously for a few years so that covers most of what I feel like I need? And it’s not like my boobs are particularly big anyway so I can just wear a tighter tank top if I have days where they are a trigger,” Cam explained.

Jeff’s eyes dropped to their chest before he could even stop himself, and he felt his cheeks flare in horror at his reaction as he quickly looked back up to their face. What was wrong with him? Why would he…bleurgh.

Cam politely ignored his reaction, their mouth quirking in a slight smile.

“Periods might be an issue I’ll have to face at some point, but that’s something I’ll deal with as I get to it,” they shrugged.

He’d heard all the horrors of periods over the years from his sisters, so while he wasn’t quite desensitised, he didn’t grimace.

“There’s birth control you can go on to stop them for a few years though, right? Like, the implant or the coil?” Jeff said, tilting his head, “That’s always an option.”

Cam’s eyes widened slightly again, before they shook their head. “You are a gem, Jeff Skinner. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.”

Jeff found his cheeks heating up again, but he just smiled, shrugging. It’s not like he was looking for a gold star for being a half-decent human being after all.

Cam finally finished making their coffees, sliding Jeff’s over the counter to him while they sat down on the stool opposite.

“Oh, here, I got you something,” Jeff said, reaching into his bag, “It’s a little lame now that I think about it, but I already bought it so here we go.”

“This is…a cupcake?”

“A coming out cupcake. In your colours,” Jeff nodded, smiling.

White, yellow, purple and black swirled icing on a vanilla cupcake, the colours of the non-binary flag, from a tiny LGBTQ+ friendly bakery that he’d found in the city. The day he’d ordered it, he remembered the tiny smile that cracked on the terrifying butch woman’s face behind the counter, probably because he’d been rambling about wanting to celebrate and support Cam. He’d tried to find a date in the last month that felt right, but with Cam still settling into themselves publicly combined with his travelling schedule, it had taken longer than he wanted. But when he’d picked it up this morning he felt good about it. It might only be a silly little thing, but Cam loved cupcakes, right? So it felt good just to show Cam a little appreciation.

“This might be the sweetest thing ever. My god, Jeff. Why?”

“You deserve something nice? To mark this new chapter? The world is full of terrifying things that happen to people when they come out as non-binary. I’ve read some really awful blog posts about people whose lives were turned upside down just for being brave enough to be themselves. And I know you’re going to have to keep coming out over and over and over again even in just the tiniest of ways, so this is just me saying that I see you and I appreciate you.”

“Damn it Jeff, you’re going to make me cry again,” Cam

“Sorry?” he offered.

Cam just laughed, shaking their head as tears sprung to their eyes.

“I just hope that coming out to my parents will be as smooth as coming out to you was,” Cam said softly.

“You aren’t out to your parents?”

“No,” Cam murmured, shaking their head, “I’m so nervous.”

“Hey, no, don’t be, okay? Your parents love you,” Jeff said, frowning.

“You know just as well as I do how badly parents can react. It’s such an unknown reaction. And it’s not like they would’ve had any kind of idea that this is how I felt about myself over the past few years, right? No build up or lead in that they would have to prepare themselves,” Cam sighed.

They were right. Jeff had read the blog posts, the articles, the statistics. He hated that Cam had to go through this, but it wasn’t his place to pretend that everything was going to be a-okay.

“All you can do is be honest with them. That’s literally it,” Jeff said softly.

“I’m 30 years old, I shouldn’t be this scared to tell my parents who I really am,” they said, laughing a little dryly.

“It’s a natural reaction, Cam. From what I understand anyway. You love them – they’re your parents. You don’t want to lose them, it makes sense. But you also wouldn’t be doing yourself justice in not living your truth,” Jeff said, smiling sadly, “I’m here for you, no matter what happens, okay?”

They nodded, sniffing slightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything and more. Never let anyone tell you differently,” Jeff said fiercely.

Cam choked out a laugh, blinking away their tears as they nodded again.

“Alright, if Jeff Skinner says it, then it must be true,” they said, wry smile on their face.

Jeff just grinned, making them laugh properly this time. He couldn’t bear the thought of them feeling like they didn’t deserve the whole world. Even if it wasn’t him that was able to give it to them, he still wanted them to be happy. That was all that mattered, right?

Then Cam’s smile slid into something a little more serious. A little more earnest. Jeff finished his coffee, sliding the cup to the side as he waited for them to collect their thoughts, knowing they would speak when they were ready.

“You make me want to be brave,” Cam said softly.

Well that was the last thing he expected. Those sweet simple words made his whole chest warm with happiness. He made them want to be brave? They were already so brave all on their own.

“Me?” Jeff asked, surprised.

But Cam just nodded, glancing over at him with their big blue eyes as they bit their bottom lip, and the look in their eyes made his heart start beating a little faster. Oh. Oh. Him?

“Me? Really?” he asked, a little breathless.

“Yeah, Jeff. Who else?” Cam said, cheeks flushing lightly.

Jeff inhaled sharply, reaching his hand across the kitchen counter to rest on theirs, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he felt like it would fly out. Was this what his sisters meant when they’d described how it felt when they fell in love? Was he finally getting his chance to love someone too? When Cam clutched his hand back, smiling back at him so sweetly and shyly, he knew he had his answer. This was Cam – his heart had fallen for them a long time ago.

“You make me want to be brave too.”

He knew that this wasn’t going to be easy. He knew that the two of them would face so many questions, so much scrutiny, and most likely so much hatred. But what Jeff knew most of all was that he wanted to try. Cam was worth that. Cam was worth everything.

“Hey Cap, do you mind if I bring my partner Cam to the end of season barbecue?”

“Cameron? Your neighbour? Of course bud, glad the two of you finally got your shit together. How is she?”

“They.”

“What?”

“They. Not she. And it’s Cam, not Cameron.”

“Huh. Okay, good to know. Do you want me to say anything to the guys?”

“No, I’m just going to introduce them as they are. If anyone is shitty, I’ll deal with it.”

“Alright bud, but let me know if you want any help. You’re not alone, okay? Either of you. I look forward to meeting Cam. And Jeff? I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. And, uh, thanks.”

“Any time.”

Baby steps.

#my writing #jeff skinner fic #summer fic exchange 2k23 #jeff skinner fanfic #jeff skinner imagine #jeff skinner x oc #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey imagine #non-binary oc

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go-to-the-mirror · 2 years ago

Text

MAG 160.11 - Season 5 Trailer

ARCHIVIST I'm sorry, Martin. (dry laugh, humourless) Things don't work like that anymore MARTIN Like what? ARCHIVIST Like normal. This isn't a world where you can trust- MARTIN Tea? ARCHIVIST Comfort.

A Non-Exhaustive List of Comfort That's a Lie

MAG 32 - Hive

You can’t help me. I don’t think so, at least. But whatever it is that calls to me, that wants me for its own, it hates you. It hates what you are and what you do. And if it hates you, then maybe you can help me. If I wanted to be helped. I don’t know if I do. You must understand, it sings so sweetly, and I need it, but I am afraid. It isn’t right and I need help.

Maybe it was her who was the maddened illusion the hides the sick squirming reality of what I am. Of what we all are, when you strip away the pretence that are there is more to a person than a warm, wet habitat for the billion crawling things that need a home. That love us in their way.

Was that it? Was I swayed and drawn simply by the prospect of being genuinely loved? Not loved as you would understand it. A deeper, more primal love. A need as much as a feeling. Love that consumes you in all ways.

I do not know why the hive chose me, but it did. And I think that it always had. The song is loud and beautiful and I am so very afraid. There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. Perhaps it can soothe my itching soul.

MAG 150 - Cul-de-Sac

Just street after street of identical, blandly pleasant houses, all winding around each other in dead ends and cul-de-sacs and one-way streets, making sure every house has plenty of inoffensive garden. I’ve never seen people happily living in a place so obviously dead.

Two years we lived there : two years imprisoned in that beige, comfortable house with the man I loved, watching our relationship turn to sniping and snapping and bitter passive aggression. I’d say that cheating on him was a foolish act of past me, but honestly, it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand. I didn’t even try to hide it, not really, and when he found out and it all ended, I kind of hated myself for just how relieved I was that I’d finally be able to leave that place, to get in my car and drive away from that gentle suburban nightmare.

How many corpses lay waiting behind the placid façade of this endless false suburbia?

The Lonely is possibly the most insidious of the powers, I believe. Certainly, it is the one that most delights in having you do its work for it. Even the spiders seem to have a hard time matching it for sheer seductiveness. Time to yourself, self-care, putting yourself first, not being a burden on those you care about. It doesn’t even need to tell you any lies. It just waits for the lies you tell yourself.

MAG 159 - The Last

MARTIN This is where I should be. It feels right. ARCHIVIST Martin don’t say that. MARTIN Nothing hurts here. It’s just quiet. Even the fear is gentle here.

ARCHIVIST Listen, I know you think you want to be here. I know you think it’s safer, and… well maybe it is. But we need you. I need you. MARTIN No you don’t. Not really. Everyone’s alone but we all survive. ARCHIVIST I don’t just want to survive.

MAG 161 - Dwelling

MARTIN We seem safe enough in here, at least. ARCHIVIST I suppose so. MARTIN Bit of a hideaway? ARCHIVIST Or a prison.

MAG 162 - A Cosy Cabin

There is a place, deep in the heart of fear, where you trap yourself and claim that it is safety.

It was once a cabin and professes still to be such, but as with all in this new world that promises respite, it is a trap.

The screams may linger on the distant breeze, and your Eye may wander beyond the curtains from time to time, but you and the one you love are, it seems, safe. If you had need to eat, no doubt there would be food; if you had need to sleep, no doubt the beds would be welcoming. But you have need of neither, and so you sit in your meagre comfort and belief of security with nothing to do, nothing to distract your mind from the agonies that lie just beyond your window. And those diversions you do find will offer no relief, but simply numb the mind into mournful nostalgia for a time when the world you inhabited seemed to make sense.

Close your eyes. Ignore the sounds. You, at least, are safe.

Hold each other, it croons. Be happy. But know always that this happiness is a lie, built on the squirming bones of those whose suffering you have caused. It will not let you feel the warmth and joy that this love may claim to gift. It is only a mouldy treasure to be clung to. Something to fear the loss of as you hold it so tight that it withers and warps. It is a rotten sanctuary of lonely companionship.

Stay, the cabin says. [A clap of thunder] Stay within my false defences, cling so close to what you desperately wish to save, and live in shaking fear of the things beyond that may take it from you. Throw another log on the fire and curl up close. There are always more logs for the fire here. This is your home, and here you can be safe, as you putrefy, body and soul.

MAG 170 - Recollection

This… this chair— [Chair scraping back] —really isn't comfortable. I had a look round for better places to sit, did I tell you that? But it's, it's big house. My house, I think, heh, nowhere comfortable. So I suppose this is it. It is my house, isn't it? Must be. Must be. But I don't really remember.

So much of what's behind the fog hurts. So much of it just makes me wanna curl up with pain and embarrassment and— Maybe the fog's here because I want it here. Is that why I opened the windows? Maybe I asked the fog to come.

ARCHIVIST M-Martin, if you did. I-if you wanted to forget a-all of it, stay here and just, escape. I, I would understand. MARTIN …N-no. It's comforting here, leaving all those painful memories behind but, it's not a good comfort, it's, it’s it's the kind that makes you fade, makes you dim and distant.

MAG 181 - Ignorance

ARCHIVIST I’m sorry. It would have been nice to stay. MARTIN (Wistfully) Yeah. I’d almost forgotten what it was like, you know? A bit of peace. ARCHIVIST I mean, you could have— MARTIN No, don’t say it, Jon. You know I never would. I c-can’t just forget about all the people out here. Besides, I’d rather be trapped in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with you than spend one more moment in paradise with her.

MAG 186 - Quiet

MARTIN Hm. D’you have an umbrella? ALSO MARTIN No. But you don’t want one. We like the rain. MARTIN True. ALSO MARTIN Because it makes the sadness feel at home. It turns it from a burden into– MARTIN (Sigh) –an indulgence. ALSO MARTIN That’s right.

ALSO MARTIN Look, if you want to leave, you can. It’s not a problem. MARTIN You won’t try stop me? ALSO MARTIN I mean, it really doesn’t matter to me. You leave and I’m just you again. It’s all the same to me really. MARTIN So why do you want me to stay then? Hmm? ALSO MARTIN Because you want to stay. Because you want to have a real rest. To just breathe and… (sigh) be quietly sad I guess. [The rain gets a little heavier] (Long beat) MARTIN It’s not healthy. ALSO MARTIN Maybe not, but I’m not entirely sure what healthy options are even left at this point.

MARTIN There’s nothing wrong with comforting people. ALSO MARTIN A cup of tea isn’t a resolution. At best it’s a… a plaster. At worst… a muzzle.

The rain pricks his skin though there is no comfort in it. Because he knows he can never be warm and dry again. The wall is too high.

MAG 187 - Checking Out

HELEN Oh Jon! This existence can be wonderful, if you just let it. ARCHIVIST (Sadly) I know.

HELEN You are so difficult to like sometimes. I’ve been nothing but nice to you. ARCHIVIST Maybe that’s why I never trusted you.

ARCHIVIST No. You’re dangerous because for all the torture and cruelty, you still somehow got us to think you’re our friend. HELEN I am your friend. ARCHIVIST No. You’re not. That’s just what you distort. It’s why you spin but you never quite lie. The corridors, the warped body, it’s all just set dressing, isn’t it? It’s not the reality of what you actually are. HELEN And what, actually, am I? ARCHIVIST You’re a question. HELEN What lurks behind the door? ARCHIVIST To some. But that would be The Stranger or The Dark — no, you are the question of what lurks behind a smile? Is a friendship true, or is it reaching out with hands that cut you?

ARCHIVIST You worked to hurt us and help us, all with the same smile, until we can barely tell one from the other. Keeping us off-balance, constantly second-guessing our own opinions of you. Never quite crossing a line we could never forgive, but never putting yourself on the line either. And when one face finally stopped smiling, you just changed the face.

HELEN No. No! No! No, Archivist! Stop! Jon, it’s me, it’s Helen. It’s me. I’ve always been your friend. Don’t do this to me. I have always helped you. I have always helped you and lent you doors. Think of all that I have done for you. If you do this, everyone inside me is dead!

MAG 188 - Centre of Attention

MARTIN I guess. Seems a bit, I don’t know… a bit tame compared to some of the other stuff, though. ARCHIVIST I mean, not to be, uh… That isn’t exactly a surprise, is it? That The Lonely seems comfortable to you?

MARTIN So all that talk of wanting to be friends, she was just, what, lying? ARCHIVIST No… That was real. She did want to be friends. But she also wanted us suspicious, off-balance, uncomfortable. She wanted to be able to hurt us. MARTIN I mean… bit of a contradiction, surely? ARCHIVIST Is it? She wanted to be our friend, she just didn’t want to be a good friend.

#mag 160.11 #mag 32 #mag 150 #mag 159 #mag 161 #mag 162 #mag 170 #mag 186 #mag 187 #mag 188 #tma #just felt like compiling this a while back #i'll probably edit it and add more as i find more #but i'll include old versions and change logs in rbs #enjoy this tumblr #landscaping-your-mind-chapter-one

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jokerislandgirl32 · 1 year ago

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Malfunction AU?

Zach Varmitech tampers with Aviva’s Creature Power Disks and Creature Power Suits, resulting in an unthinkable tragedy.

So this is a new fic idea I’ve been working on. It’s an angst driven Ziolet fic, no surprise, right? But in this Au/fic, Zach’s life is ripped apart after he tampers with Aviva’s technology, severing his connection with Violet and their daughters Varina and Vera. See the snippet below! Please note mentions of harm, depression, angst, and scarring.

I hope you all enjoy, feel free to let me know what you think and/or ask questions about the Au!

“Vari!” My little sister Vera yelled, running to me with a small box in her hand, her small mouth was still covered in the green icing from the Tortuga shaped birthday cake Jimmy Z made for me, “you forgot one present!”

I smiled at her, taking it out of her hand, guessing it was one she’d made for me, maybe it was another friendship bracelet. Aviva, Koki, and her made them together all the time.

She eagerly bounced beside me, her green eyes shining and her dark brown curls bobbing with each little leap, “go on and open it!”

“Why are you so excited for me to open it, what did you make me?” I asked pulling off the red ribbon and ripping the black paper to find a simple blue jewelry box.

“I didn’t make it, daddy sent it…” Vera explained, smiling, and all at once everyone went quiet.

“Daddy sent me a gift?” I asked looking at the Wild Kratts, Amy, Paige, Nathaniel, and Todd for support.

“The wrapping paper has Zach’s colors…” Martin noted, coming to stand beside me and putting his hand on my shoulder, “why don’t you see what’s inside Vari?”

“But daddy’s bad right, what if it’s something bad?” I whispered, I felt like crying, I loved my dad, but ever since IT happened…ever since dad had his break down and couldn’t take care of us…ever since mom had…well, ever since IT had happened I was scared of him.

Aviva came to my other side and looked at Martin and the rest of the team before she wrapped her arm around me, “Varina, your daddy wouldn’t ever hurt you or Vera.”

I started crying, “But…but he hurt mommy!”

“He didn’t mean to hurt her!” Vera interjected, crying herself, she didn’t remember much about mom or dad, but she always defended dad.

Aviva agreed with Vera, “Vera’s right, it was a terrible accident, you’re mommy even admitted it before…”

“I don’t wanna think about it,” I sniffed, throwing the box to the ground in anger. The lid popped off to reveal none other than my mother’s butterfly necklace.

“Mommy’s necklace…” Vera and I breathed in unison, locking eyes.

VvvvvvVvvvvvV

I checked the monitors to ensure everything was stable with Violet’s health. For the past three years I’d rarely left my headquarters for longer than a few hours, rarely left this room for longer than it took me to sleep, eat, etc. Most of the time I’d ended up crawling into this bed and falling asleep beside her.

For the past three years I’d hated myself for what I’d done to her and our girls…I’d ruined all of our lives just because I was trying to outdo the Wild Rats.

Today was our Vari’s tenth birthday, but I still couldn’t bring myself to face the girls, I didn’t trust myself around them after what had happened to Violet. I couldn’t hurt my beautiful daughters like I’d hurt my perfect wife…Instead of going to her birthday party, I’d sent Violet’s necklace to her. After three years, and no signs of improvement, I figured Violet didn’t really need it anymore.

I curled up beside Violet on the bed and wrapped my arm around her, I’d hired nurses to care for her and Zachbots and myself also tended her, so she still looked as healthy, beautiful, and youthful as ever. If I didn’t know she was in a coma I’d have thought she was sleeping.

“Varina’s ten today, Vi…she’s so beautiful, she looks just like you, minus the dark hair and pale skin of course…Vera’s 6 now…she keeps sending me friendship bracelets she makes with the Wild Rats, that kind of reminds me of someone else I know…hehe” I stroked her perfect face as I spoke to her.

“I wish you were here…I gave Vari your necklace because…I don’t know if you’re ever gonna wake up…I hope you’re not mad, I hope she’ll love it…”

I buried my face into the crook of her scarred neck as a wave of sobs overtook me, “I’m so sorry Vi, I’m so sorry for doing this to you, and our girls…”

“Za-zachhh…”

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paramoursoul · 1 year ago

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A faint clap of Thunder

HELLLLLLOOOOO TUMBLR ARE YOU READY TO ROCCK!??

hm? owo?

Oh right I have no tags for this.. and I don't need them! To whom ever finds my story by the tumblr algorithm god- Let it dazzle you with my current love complex, or rather MY PARAMOUR!!!

[Isn't that crazy? I just found out the meaning of the word and it describe my journey exactly!!!]

What does my life mean?

My name is Cecilia! An young adult that beat up my trauma, befriended it, and now I'm preparing to move out to become the person I've always wanted to be...A FUCKING MAGICAL GIRL!

So~ How the hell am I gonna do that? Move out of course. I'm about to be 24 in May and That's my year: The Year of the Dragon. You know how you have a core memory that probably shaped you as a person today? Well for me I turned that into a core form, like, when I was 12 that was a really big year for because I know that's when I started to be me so what's gonna happen when I turn 24? I'm already 23 and the best progress I've done was make people smile. That's not enough for me.. My goal in life is to live but how can I eat crab with root beer when the people who's working are unhappy which obviously leads them to destroying the planet. Cigarettes and littering you know? I can't let that happen. I LOVE EATING CRAB!! THE WORLD HAS TO FUNCTION IN ORDER TO KEEP LIVING. i may not be Martin Luther King Jr. and that's good because I actually like me! and it's good to be me because really good people die and I don't wanna die QwQ If the person I smile at today can feel my pure intentions then maybe that energy will make them pass it along! Then everyone will be happy and take life seriously! Yes.. Take life seriously....

In this life though.. Money is very important. I'm not strong enough to leave all that I've known behind. Who doesn't want a cottage lifestyle? I want- even the bad things that comes with it because that's how humans were supposed to be.. But I'm not. I'm on my computer. And that's okay. If I try to fight my demons alone/traditionally I'll go mad [again]

I don't need that. I need Love and Family. That's what I need.. and if that means having a job then SO BE IT and you know what? I think.. I think that's where I'm finding love.

R+18 Warning! if you can handle reddit don't read this.

How can you have Romance without the Rumbles of logic.

Classicism and Romanticism. It's the prefect yin and yang.

How can I advice a Family if I can find love, hollywood is giving real love a bad rep!

Hollywood is a cult for keen dolts who's favorite interests are drugs, carnage, pedophilia, and time. How can they get access to this stuff? Us. Regular people. By showing us the "stars" they influence the commoners heavily and their main tactics are action and romance! We all want action but how can the world grow without romance. Yes it's very true that kissing, cuddling, and beauty is wonderful but how can you feel that when your given a obvious scamy brochure. What's the point of kissing if you don't know there health is like? Why cuddle if they're not comfortable? and why focus on the beauty of others!? don't you know anything about fashion!?!?!?!

You see, I dream that true love is exactly what hollywood depicts but of course they leave out the traditional and PERSONAL part of it out.

I can feel him near. My soul sparks when his presence is close. whether or not the universe tells me go for it my heart will always be decide. She's been through the most, my heart, she's the one that pumps my blood so of course she'll know how's the one. Does he smell nice? [thump] Can my eyes lock on to him? [crack] Does he accepts..me? [BOOOOOOOOM]

THAT'S THE ONE!

But what happens when you're scared? It feels just like your staring at ghost. It's not the dark you're afraid of...it's what's hiding in it. Do you dare? Intrusive thoughts.. jump, Jump, JUMP!

I can't remember when it happened. I just know every time we were near each other we locked eyes, my eyes bolted to him immediately. AND MY HEART, oh, It jumped like I watched a thriller! It's my favorite genre even though I don't watch media often since nothing interests me. He interested me. oh but he's too beautiful..so alluring.. You know those type of people look they way they do because they keep up with themselves. I know everyone have struggles yet beautiful people finds the strength to remove the pressure. How inspiring. He has style, his hair is well kept, and by the way he has his lanyard he has a car. [even now I sigh releasing my bones from the tension] He's way out of my league. Besides I have someone... Someone very very difficult but, you know, if we grow together then maybe our love will spark again? surely? but each day I saw him and our eyes greet.. I wouldn't dart my eyes away anymore. I dreamed each time hearing his voice. Him smiling at me. Morning hugs, long walks, holding hands, eating out, expressing our distress, kissing goodbye, moaning for more, UGHHHHH. The months of dreaming simple romantic desires started to make me into a dinner plan! Could I really have someone who knows how to start there adult life? Could I even be near him? At the time my attempt rescue of first love aid started draining. Why bother explaining when it's so painful?

"I don't need to do this when you already know how I feel about you, I don't need to express it and I'm not changing for anyone"

It's true. Those were Marcello words for me. I wanted so much that didn't need to be done. That was my love language though, right? Why can't I have it.. Don't I deserve it? I'm alive keeping good balancing.. why can I get more? How can it be too much? It helps me! This is bad right? I'm not trying to be bad I'm just trying to reason.. Think straight. Everyone has to think straight...

I do feel like a star. Without know I can already do amazing things. You know true stars- up in the sky are shapeless well not really, they're spheres but still they're plasma there fore they are shapeless! But everyone always draw them with five points. I know when you see light from afar it bends depending on the lens showing you such points.. However.. Evenso...no one can see me like how I do.

So yeah I can't think straight. it's not like me. I want what I want and I can't keep bending. I want to maintain one form right now. I want to become a magical girl and when I do, I'll finally be able to start a family and since I made it, it'll a family meant for me! I spend the beginning of my life being confused and hated but now I know I deserve love! so fuck you! This time I won't be hesitant, this time I'll do dare!

I do love how exotic of a person I am in spirit and appearance but certain people on the internet decides to call girls like me a 'pick me girl' DDDX is it like that trope of stupid blondes? That's just people being bullies though! so- so what if I am @-@ they're don't understand the struggles! No one has ever called me that but I do feel like they are mocking me.. SO WHAT!? I've been bullied and stared at my whole life [I can still barely handle it] but who cares! THEY DONT KNOW MEEEEEE. They're probably some pedophile or murder anyways! I'm neither of those things THEREFORE I AM A BETTER PERSON THAN MOST OF THESE CLOTHED PSYCHOS, Everyone is a suspect!! EVERYONEEEE

oh owo but that doesn't mean friendship shouldn't exist, you see I think that there's many types of realties- not just dreams and this shared reality no. I'm talking about the personal! The 2D Dimensional! Technology baby!! In my dream reality I love myself so much that being alone is great!! AND I'll have 2 lovely people that forms a friend group! 1 grand friend I can hang out with! Co-worker mates! and obviously A LOVER! and this is finally the story of my

Paramour with Soul!!!

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incorrectprodigalsonquotes · 7 months ago

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Okay, so a couple people said they would be interested in hearing my thoughts so lemme start with what I think would happen with Season 3 and I have 2 versions:

Version 1:

Martin dies and things happen more or less the way they do in my fic "Carved in the Cradle" (yes, this is a shameless plug lol)

Version 2:

Martin is in a coma for most of the season.

Malcolm goes on a spiral and locks himself away from the world for months.

Dani and Gil, maybe with Jessica, go to have a real talk with him and Malcolm just looks disheveled. Not like he's been attacked, but he's just numb and self-loathing.

Dani is the one to ultimately bring him back by just saying the specific phrase, "Defending yourself against a serial killer doesn't make you a bad person" because she separates the fact that it was his father and focuses on the fact that father or not, Martin Whitly is a serial killer who tried to kill Malcolm.

Malcolm returns to work, and we get a couple of normal case episodes, maybe some focused on the rest of the team like Edrisa and her firefighter guy, JT struggling with being a tired new dad, maybe an episode about fathers and daughters and we get a flashback episode about the day Dani’s father died (I'm convinced it was an unexpected death), and of course, a Jackie episode.

All the while, Martin is in a coma but is completely in Malcolm’s head, like in 2x09.

We definitely get a Christmas episode this season, we get Brightwell moments until they have a cheesy kiss under the mistletoe moment and that's when they unofficially get together.

I say unofficially because they don't talk about how it changes things between them until the episode that would come after.

Malcolm also comes clean to her about what happened to Endicott. At first Dani is rightfully upset about being lied to but tells him to continue with the rest of the story because she knows it's been eating away at him. She gets legitimately angry when she finds out about Ainsley’s stunt with the pig's blood because messing with someone in that way is never okay, especially when that someone was just trying to do what they could in the moment. Malcolm tells Dani that he understands if she doesn't want to be with him now, but he felt wrong starting anything with her without her knowing everything.

And of course, Dani says that she still wants to be with him, to try this out between the two of them because all she's ever really wanted from him that he wasn't already giving was full honesty. She's still a little miffed at him for lying but she does understand why he did it, doesn't condone, but understands.

There would be revelations that call back to Season 1 and how perhaps Jessica, assuming that Martin was having an affair, wasn't completely off base.

An episode with Edrisa’s parents involved in a case or having useful info about their victim, but we also learn how she became who she is.

We have a theater episode and find out JT's mom is actually a successful Broadway actress and she's even more bombastic than Jessica. It makes Malcolm more confused when JT says that Malcolm’s mom has a good calm energy but then he meets JT's mom and understands.

A beauty pagent case episode for sure, and Dani and Malcolm both go undercover. They've been keeping their relationship under wraps (maybe only Gil knows because if they didn't tell him, he'd figure it out). There are a lot of Brightwell heavy moments, and Malcolm is reminded of his dream he had a year prior. Both Dani and Malcolm experience jealousy for the first time. It was different when they were just friends because neither felt like they had reason to be jealous but now that they're taking things slow, neither like the idea of someone else trying to get romantically involved with them.

Where is Ainsley in all this, you might ask?

She's taken up a six month job overseas to just get away from it all. She doesn't want to come to terms with the fact that Martin tried to kill Malcolm, she's mad at Malcolm for stabbing their father (again), and she's mad at Jessica because no matter how much she loves her mom, she always has beef with Jessica.

When she gets back after the New Year, she still will not talk to Malcolm and Dani can see that it hurts him.

Ainsley tries to get between Malcolm and Dani because how dare he even try to be happy when their father is still in a coma. It doesn't work, of course. This isn't the end of it.

If you were wondering about Gil and Jessica, no worries, they've been smooth sailings the whole time, even with the Jackie episode. It's revealed that Jessica never disliked Jackie but the reason she didn't go to her funeral was because she didn't want to see them put her friend and her son's second mother (the only one who could get him to actually eat anything when he refused to) in the ground, it was selfish but it hurt too much. She also stayed away from Gil because she had feelings for him and out of respect for both him and Jackie, she didn't want to seem like she was going after him immediately after Jackie passed but then the weeks turned into months and the months turned into years.

Gil and Jessica have a really healthy relationship now and that's what matters.

The season ends with an episode of a case of a young woman who was almost murdered. She was raised by a single mother and she's also recently married, having married someone in the Whitlys rich circle of society. She's a bit of a social outcasr because of her past (or her mother’s past) and she never knew her father, she doesn't even know his name.

They catch her attacker but not before they try killing her again but she does land in hospital. She's in need of a blood transfusion and Malcom happens to be the same blood type so he offers to help.

They find out a few important things.

The girl was born in either late 1999 or early in the early 2000 (I haven't decided yet lol), and she and Malcolm happen to share more than a bloodtype, they share DNA. The reason she never knew her father was because her mother never wanted her to know that dear old dad was arrested in 1999... for killing 23 people.

The season ends with Martin's eyes shooting open and man, he looks pissed!

You know I often wonder if there is like a parallel universe where the show did get picked up for Season 3 and would go on to like Season 10 with an actual ending and wrap up to the series.

And I wonder where the show would have gone by this point because we'd be nearing the end of Season 5 by now...

I have a couple of theories, but I dunno how popular they would be lol

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #dani powell #gil arroyo #jessica whitly #edrisa tanaka #jt tarmel #ainsley whitly #martin whitly #brightwell #gillica #prodigal son season 3 #headcanon

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trensu · 3 years ago

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Jon's Creeping Terror Fun Fact Corner!

You know how Cecil has his Fun Fact Science Corner segment on his radio show? Well, Jon has his own show produced by The Magnus Studio. It's an educational kids show all about the Entities of Fear!! It's a very specific kind of kids show. You know the ones. Those kids shows that children are absolutely mad for but any adult in their vicinity is left deeply unsettled by them? Yep. On the surface, the show seems fine but if any adult dwells on the content for more than five minutes, they are left feeling very very unnerved, especially since the host, one Jonathan Sims, seems more than a little unhinged half the time.

The show is so popular it gets almost 15 whole episodes! (It gets cancelled at 14 bc at that point it had received far too many retrospective complaints from parents to continue any further). Sometimes, the episodes even have special guests!! Although it got cancelled, you can obviously still find it on the internet if you know where to look. There's even compilations of all the show's best Unhinged moments.

The Vast Episode

Jon: Today's episode is about the Vast! And to tell us more about it we have Simon Fairchild visiting us. Kids, if you ever see this man in person, please run very far in the opposite direction.

Simon: Thank you for that warm introduction, Jon. Now children, who here likes ROLLER COASTERS?

Jon: And that's it for our special guest [proceeds to literally kick an old man until he's off screen] Do not trust this man and please be careful when going on roller coasters in the future.

The Lonely Episode

Jon, reading from the teleprompter: We have an expert of the Lonely with us, Mr. Peter Lu--what? No!! Why's he here? Get him off my set! What do you mean no? I don't care how much funding he gives the studio!! He tried to take Martin away!

[scene cuts off and starts back up with Martin sitting next to Jon, looking particularly sweet and cuddly in a knitted jumper]

Jon: Here we have m-my Martin, I-I mean my ASSISTANT Martin Blackwood. Say hi to Mr. Blackwood, children.

[Jon is a twitchy mess and cannot even look at Martin's direction. Martin looks flushed]

Martin: Er, yes, h-hello.

Jon: Martin has experience [this is hissed with all the venom he can muster] with the Lonely. He's going to teach us the best way to avoid that evil, conniving bast--

Martin, hastily cuts in: Yes, well! Kids, who do you have in your life that you love? It can be anyone! Your siblings, your pets, your friends! Anyone at all!

[at the edge of the set, just barely visible, Peter can be seen crammed into a cage gleefully guarded by Daisy]

(it's during this episode Jon finds out that he's not allowed to use naughty words on the show. All the stuff with the murder and the skinning and the worms and such is fine! Just no cussing. Jon is befuddled and aghast. This is why Hopworth was not allowed as a guest; he's a very swear-y man)

The Corruption Episode

[Jon is seen clutching a jar of ashes throughout the entire episode with absolutely no explanation as to what it is or why it's there]

Jon, gesturing manically: and that's why it's important to see a doctor when you're sick and have an exterminator on speed dial.

[Martin comes onto the scene with a worried look on his face. The screen goes to black for a moment, then reappears with Jon still clutching his jar but looking significantly calmer. He smiles at the camera and it almost looks normal]

Jon: To finish the episode, can you demonstrate the proper handwashing technique we taught you at the start? Be sure to tell your parents what you've learned about infection control and have them show you where the CO2 is kept in your home!

The Hunt Episode

Jon, earnestly happy: This is my best friend Daisy! She's going to help us learn about the Hunt. She's one of the bravest people I know.

[Daisy turns away to hide a shy smile before clearing her throat and starting in on a rehearsed lecture. The episode ends with her and Jon making the children repeat the "don't listen to the blood, listen to the quiet" mantra and also "all cops are bastards."]

(Basira, in post production: ...yeah, that's fair.)

The Flesh Episode

Parents are horrified when they hear their children singing "you are what you eat, meat is meat!" whenever they play after that episode airs.

(Martin: Just to be clear, we're encouraging cannibalism??

Jon: no! ...maybe? i don't know, Martin, they told me it tested well with the focus group children

Martin: yes, okay, but WHY did you come up with that jingle?

Jon: Don't look at me like that, I'm not crazy, Martin! I wouldn't just eat a person. But, well, if someone asked me to eat them like, after they died, I wouldn't necessarily say no...?

This conversation was recorded and leaked somehow. And that's how Actual Cannibal Jon Sims became a trending meme. He has to do a PR statement confirming that he "has never knowingly eaten a person" and that that was "a completely hypothetical discussion." This convinces as many people as you think it would.)

The Stranger Episode

Nikola: I don't much like children. Not enough skin on them to do anything really fun.

Jon: Why are you--how did you even get in?? S-Security! Someone come get her out of--

Nikola: oh, but I have information for the little ones! [she pulls out a basket of high-end skincare products and looks directly into the camera with her featureless face] These are the lotions that are best for Archivist flesh but I'm sure they work for the kiddies as well! You all want to grow up to have lots of beautiful skin don't you? Here, let me show you how to use them! [attempt to lotion Jon]

Jon: [flinches away] Security! O-or Daisy. DAISY!

[growling is heard and we get a flash of a wolfish Daisy body-slamming Nikola to the ground. The rest of the episode has Tim shoving Jon off screen and going on a rant about circuses and how to best explode them. This becomes one of their most popular episode amongst the children]

Breekon and Hope show up occasionally in the background of various episodes and become something like an Easter egg for fans of the show.

Anyway, I love the idea of kids adoring socially awkward, neurotic mess of a man Jonathan Sims. Jon is completely confounded by his popularity but also, he's glad of it bc that means the children will be more prepared if they ever encounter any of the Entities (most parents think it's all fiction, except for the ones who've had Encounters with one of the entities; Jon ends up with a sort of underground cult following comprised of survivors of fear encounters)

I blame @lemonisinplay (and Jonny Sims) for the entirety of this post, tbh. She came up with the name and half the stuff here XD

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #basira hussain #tim stoker #peter lukas #simon fairchild #nikola orsinov #jonmartin #trensu tells stories #jon's creeping terror fun fact corner

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tawneybel · 3 years ago

Photo

Note: Ten favorite monsters, part four. Part three. Once a month sounds good for a top ten list, yeah? Only it’s hard for me to actually rank cool monsters. Cuphead has an absurd amount of great character designs. I’ve decided to limit one Disney entry per monster list. Oh, and it was hard to get a good photo of the Time Dragon. This one doesn’t show his horns, multi-story theatre, or the mob of Munchkinlanders.

1. Aylmer from Brain Damage

Vaguely phallic… brain eating parasite drug metaphor.

2. Two-Mouthed Wall from Cuphead

Architectural monsters are a fave of mine in their own right. (See Baba Yaga’s house.) Bonus points for being part of a funhouse and letting his friends drive through him.

3. nuts from Face Like a Frog

This is one of my favorite cartoon shorts. It came out before Rugrats, but its music and deranged animation reminds me of my childhood fave, only more surreal. And Face Like a Frog’s surreality is easily explained: the house is occupied by nuts.

4. Planet Remina from Hellstar Remina

Look, I’m headcanoning this planet as a lady. Because there needs to be more female eldritch abomination representation. Also, she has a pretty name. Like, yeah, she was named after the daughter of the male astronomer who discovered her. Anyway, like Junji Ito manga in general, it’s better just to see for yourself how horrifying the antagonist is.

5. siren from Martin Mystery

They opted to make her whole body more avian, so there’s a mass of feathers covering her mammaries. (If she even has those in her true form.) The addition of a beak is another feature I like. Also, the reptilian tail is a nice “ancient” touch.

6-8. werewolves

Ginger Snaps trilogy: If you want interesting female-led horror, watch the first two films. Unleashed is one of the best horror films ever just for the characters’ multilayered moralities.

Hemlock Grove: The dialogue is so odd. But it contains one of the best gruesome transformations. And male nudity.

Teen Wolf: You’d think I wouldn’t like a series where most werewolves can’t fully transform into a wolf. Or the fact they’re vaguely cat-like, with roaring and retractable claws. The Alpha-Beta-Omega hierarchy is clearly (wolf)man-made, but still fun. A supernatural drama that doesn’t take itself too seriously is a beautiful thing. Maybe I should add the Chimeras to another list, because I love “mix-and-match” monstrous humans.

9. Clock of the Time Dragon from the Wicked Years

Clockpunk meets puppet theatre and dark fantasy.

10. Heffalumps from Winnie the Pooh

The spooky ones from “Heffalumps and Woozles” as well as Lumpy and co. The Hundred Acre Woods has cute living stuffed animals.

Note: I didn’t realize Remina’s eye was so yonic. XD Clawdeen Wolf is a runner-up for werewolves because she’s a hairy-legged fashionista. Expect more wereanimals on future lists.

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sporticus1234 · 3 years ago

Text

Catch Me if You Can-Laws of Attraction (Part 1)

Summary: After weeks of flirting, teasing, and close calls, Tessa is ready to take the plunge, but can Gabe overcome his own worse fears and join her?

Pairing: Gabe Ricci x Main Character (Tessa Michaels)

Link to my Master-List and Other works will be added once they have been re-edited and re-uploaded.

Perma-Tags and LOA Tags: @choices-addict @choiceskatie @lady-calypso @chemist-ana @kat-tia801 @chrissythadon @nishas-paradise @blainehellyes @mm2305 @suitfer @thegreentwin @pixelnutrookie

I hope you all enjoy it and see you soon for some...adventures...in part 2.

__________________________________

Rather than clumsy words, it’s your action that I believe. Don’t stop. Go past the limit. Go faster. I’m going to find my heart. So catch me if you can.

-Girls Generation, Catch Me if You Can (Korean Ver.)

__________________________________

The once glittering ballroom filled with stimulating conversation, flowing bubbles of champagne, and decadent hor-dourves was now deserted and quiet, signaling the end of the extravagant weekend legal conference. As the last person Tessa was speaking to excused herself for the evening, she looked around the empty space littered with discarded champagne flutes and linen napkins, her spirits deflating at the sight. The conference ended as quickly as it began, and come Monday morning, she would be back in the office, the competition still at the forefront of everyone’s minds.

It may have been a short weekend, but Tessa was grateful for the time away from the office. The past few weeks were filled with nothing else but case after case coming one after another and nonstop talk about the competition, particularly from Martin. But for a tiny period of time, all of that vanished out of sight and out of mind. She laughed and joked with her colleagues and bosses like they were all good friends. She camped and ate smores in a beautiful forest, and she finally got her first full night of sleep since she started working at McGraw Byrne. She truly felt like she had been transported to a completely different world, one she found hesitant to leave behind for an entire year.

Stifling the yawn sneaking up on her, she left the ballroom behind, her spirits still thrumming with excitement from the evening, but her body yearning for a soak in a hot bath and some sleep in the oversized hotel bed. She was halfway across the empty lobby, gilded elevator doors in sight, when her feet came to a stop outside of the hotel’s bar. She didn’t even have to look to know exactly who was sitting in that dimly lit bar. He had a larger-than-life presence, no matter what room he was in, that was like a magnet, drawing everyone’s attention, even if he was just randomly passing by on the sidewalk.

Her tiredness completely forgotten, she hovers near the entryway and discretely watches him. He’s sitting by himself at the bar, nursing what Tessa knows is a glass of scotch on the rocks along with a basket of half-eaten chips and dip, his eyes occasionally flicking up to the large screen TV showing a basketball game taking place on the other side of the country. His jacket is discarded on the back of his chair, his tie loosened slightly and the buttons of his shirt rakishly undone at the top. Despite his disheveled, executive blowing off steam look, he is still just as handsome and attractive as he was just a short time ago when he was polished and buttoned up. Maybe even more.

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she watches him. Gabe was such a surprise when she first came to New York, and she never expected to become so charmed by him. The man has such a lavish and lively personality on the outside, but on the inside is a man driven to be the best and passionate about using his vast knowledge to help everyone. His heart is as big as his office, a welcoming, refreshing contrast to the selfishness Tessa sees too often in this line of work. They have only known each other for a short time, but every time he came around, he put a smile on her face and made her stomach flip-flop. She couldn’t explain why he has such a pleasant effect on her. Perhaps it’s the way that when she flirts with him, he flirts right back with the same energy she gives him, maybe even more. Maybe it’s the way the two of them click when they’re together. Or maybe it’s the way he continues to keep her on her toes and excite her yet still make her feel a sense of comfort and familiarity at the same time. Regardless of the reasons, the one thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want this fluttering feeling to stop. Ever.

“Of course, you would be alone at a bar,” Tessa teases as she steps towards him.

Gabe swivels his head around at the sound of her voice, his eyes immediately catching hers as she approaches him. His lips twist into a grin, his spirits lifting like they always do whenever she is around. “Am I really that predictable?”

Tessa shrugs. “Maybe a little. But you wouldn’t be the Gabe Ricci we all know and love if you weren’t.”

Gabe chuckles. “Most people wouldn’t agree with you on that statement.”

“I’m not most people,” she fires back with a wink.

No, you are most definitely not Gabe thought. “What exactly are you doing still wandering around?” He glances down towards his watch, mildly surprised to find it still somewhat early. “The cocktail party ended almost an hour ago. I figured you would be in bed like everyone else.”

“I planned on it, but then I saw this guy sitting all by himself in this empty hotel bar and thought he could use some company.”

Gabe’s eyes twinkle with delightful mischief as he takes another sip of his scotch. He was hoping the two of them could spend some more time together before the madness hit them Monday morning. “I think I know who you’re talking about. And I, for one, know that he would love to have some company, especially if the company happens to be you.”

Tessa gives him a shy smile as she slips into the bar stool next to him. An electrical, buzzing warmth fills up the space around them as butterflies flutter in her stomach at the near closeness to him, the scent of his cologne invading her senses and tempting her to come even closer. As she peruses the small menu, the lone bartender comes over and places a napkin down in front of her.

“Anything to eat or drink?”

“A Manhattan please.”

The bartender nods before turning to Gabe. “Another refill for you, sir?”

“Please,” Gabe replies. “And put her Manhattan on my tab as well.”

The bartender grabs Gabe’s empty glass and heads down to the other end of the bar. Once he’s fully out of hearing range, Tessa turns to face Gabe. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “I am more than capable of paying for my own drinks.”

“I know you could pay for it,” Gabe responds before his lips curl into his trademark sly smirk, “or you could let Sadie pay for it.”

“Wait, what?”

Gabe nods, his smirk growing bigger. “Consider it another partner-only secret. This conference is one of the few events Sadie lets us have more…leeway…with the company credit card. Any food or drinks we buy at this conference gets covered by the firm.”

“And something tells me you’re taking full advantage of that offer,” Tessa says.

Gabe gives her a wink. “What can I say? A good attorney knows a good offer when they see it.”

“In that case,” Tessa flags down the bartender again. “I’ll do an order of the spicy fried pickle chips with that Manhattan.” The bartender nods and disappears into a back room. Tessa turns her head, seeing Gabe looking at her with an amused expression on his face. “What’s that look for?”

Gabe chuckles, shaking his head. “Just wondering if I’m going to regret sharing that secret with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Tessa grins at him. “Your secret is safe with me. But if Sadie cuts us off or starts questioning anything on the credit card bills, I’m placing the full blame on you.”

The two of them continue to make small talk until the bartender comes back a few minutes later. He places their drinks and her basket of food down before excusing himself and shuffling into the back room once again. Tessa grabs her glass and holds it up in a toast, prompting Gabe to do the same.

“To drinks on someone else’s dime,” she states.

The two of them share a laugh as they clink their glasses together. Tessa takes a sip of her drink, the whiskey a sharp contrast to the bubbly champagne of the reception. The liquid pools like fire in her stomach and flows throughout her body, warming her up and loosening her muscles. “Best Manhattan I’ve ever had.”

Gabe cocks his eyebrow. “Is it really the best?”

“Oh, not by a long shot. But since I didn’t have to pay for it, I consider it the best in my book.”

“You really are a woman after my own heart,” Gabe replies. Tessa tucks her gaze away from him, feeling her face grow hot at the combination of the whiskey and his spell-binding charm. She takes another sip of her drink before sliding the basket of pickle chips towards him. He throws her an appreciative “thanks”, taking a chip and popping it into his mouth before continuing their conversation. “How did you enjoy the conference?”

“I really liked it,” Tessa answers. “I never got the chance to do things like this with my old law firm.”

“What? Have free food and drinks on someone else’s dime with a devastatingly handsome senior partner?”

Tessa shoves him with a laugh. “No, you complete smart ass. I meant going out to events and connecting with other people.” She absentmindedly picks the coating off a pickle chip, her mind reminiscing. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my hometown, but there was no excitement in my life. It was the same boring routine every single day.”

“Sounds like you and McGraw Byrne are a perfect match.”

Tessa nods. “Honestly, I really have you to thank. If you didn’t recommend hiring me to Sadie, I still would be stuck in the same boring routine. It sounds really sappy, but you really did change my life for the better…in more ways than one.”

The raw honesty in her voice tugs at his heartstrings, his lips twitching into another smile. He’s used to hearing those words come from his clients, but hearing those words come from her just felt…different, and it made him feel something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

“You’re very welcome,” Gabe earnestly tells her. “I wouldn’t have recommended you if I didn’t think you were a stellar attorney. You deserve to be here just as much as everyone else, and I truly mean that. McGraw Byrne needed someone like you. Hell, the legal world needs more attorneys like you.”

“What? Sappy and sentimental ones?”

“No,” Gabe says, stifling his chuckle. “I meant attorneys who are passionate about their job and passionate about connecting with people. So many attorneys don’t take the time to really understand or listen to their clients. Having someone like you, someone who actually connects with clients and goes above and beyond to help them, really does make a world of difference.” Gabe takes a pickle chip and pops it into his mouth. “But I really am happy you decided to take Sadie up on her offer to join us, even if the past few days have given you plenty of good reasons to quit.”

Tessa blows out a harsh breath, knowing exactly what Gabe was referring to. “Yeah, they have been quite…challenging.”

“I meant to ask you earlier, but how’re you holding up?”

Tessa sighs, dragging her fingertip over the rim of her glass. “Honestly, I’m still pissed that Beau stole the credit from me in front of everyone, but I should’ve expected someone to pull that stunt sooner or later.” She blinks back a tear trying to escape. “It just sucks to be the one it happens to.”

“I know, and I truly am sorry Beau pulled such a dick move on you.” He sympathetically lays a gentle hand on her bare shoulder, the touch sending comfort through her veins. “If I could’ve done something to make it better, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”

“I know you would’ve, but I do appreciate you not saying anything to Sadie.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t my place to tell her. Besides,” he takes his hand off her shoulder, already missing the feel of her smooth, soft skin, “the only thing it would’ve done was make you and me look bad in front of Sadie.”

“Sounds like someone has personal experience.”

Gabe runs a hand through his hair. “Happened to me once back in my early legal days, but instead of getting the credit and respect that I rightfully deserved, I got told off for being a bad ‘team player’ and trying to take someone else’s credit.”

“That’s so unfair,” she practically spits.

Gabe lets out a bitter, humorless guffaw. “Preaching to the choir on that one. You’ll find that every group will have one person who will do none of the work or the one person that will take credit for anything and everything. Fortunately for us, Beau happens to be both of those assholes wrapped up in one, so we save a lot on payroll.”

Tessa laughs weakly at his joke, the sting of Beau’s betrayal still fresh in her mind. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better. It just sucks knowing that Sadie is always going to believe that Beau solved the case.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m still incredibly proud of you, even if Sadie never knows the truth.”

“You…are?” she asks, surprise etched on her face as she turns her body towards him.

“Absolutely,” Gabe says, no hesitation in his voice. “Without you, we possibly would’ve never solved it to begin with, nor would Lydia have thought to make Joey sign a prenup. But what really impressed me was how you were the only one to step up and take initiative when needed. Not many of the senior partners would go to such lengths for a teenager like Lydia, but you did.”

“I guess,” Tessa mutters. “I just hope it will be enough come Monday.”

“It will be,” Gabe assures her as he steals another pickle chip.

“Really? I figured Sadie would shove Beau to the top of the rankings after he basically saved the firm.”

“Everyone in that room knows who really saved the firm, and it wasn’t Beau,” Gabe points out. “Even if Sadie believes he did, she’s also smart enough to know that one win, no matter how big it is, isn’t enough to judge how good an attorney is or will become. Beau may have stolen one win, but you’re still the one to beat.”

“I guess that’s true…”

“Plus, you showed her tonight how well you bounce back after taking a loss.”

“What do you mean?”

“Between moot court, the pro bono cases, the vaccine trial, and everything else we’ve observed, you had a major winning streak that Beau decided to snap. Most people would sulk in their losses, but you didn’t. You showed up tonight, looking incredible might I add, and managed to put everything behind you to impress the right group of people.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so,” Gabe confidently replies. He reaches out and covers her hand with his, trying to ignore the tingling buzzes on his skin. “You’re a wickedly smart attorney, Tessa. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks Gabe,” she says, the goofy smile plastering on her face at his heartfelt compliment. “That…that really means a lot to me.”

“It should,” Gabe tells her, reluctantly pulling his hand away again. “I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t the absolute truth. Just forget about Vegas and the Rothswells and continue onto the next case.”

Tessa nods and takes another sip of her drink as the conversation between them dies down. She may have already forgotten the Rothswells and was slowly getting over from Beau’s stolen win, but Vegas was still on her mind. It wasn’t just the city that occupied her thoughts, but rather, it was the small wedding chapel and the night she played fiancée to the man sitting next to her. That night was an intense roller coaster of emotions, desires, and confusion; it was a night where lines became blurred and questions began to arise at the nature of her and Gabe’s relationship. It was one specific little interaction that made Tessa not only sense a shift in their relationship, but triggered her to start over analyzing and over thinking every little action from their first meeting up until now.

“Nothing but the best for the most stunning woman on the Strip.”

“Alvin’s gone, you know. You don’t have to—”

He raises a finger to her lips, laying it softly against them as he gives her a smoldering look that makes her throat dry up. “What if I want to, Tessa?”

Tessa truly felt at that moment they were no longer pretending. The things he said to her that night with such conviction in his eyes and voice. The way he softly caressed and touched her with such adoration and tenderness. The way his breath tickled her lips and sent shivers throughout her body at their near-kisses. They were not things done by someone just “pretending”; no one was that good of an actor. However, despite his actions in the wedding chapel, there was one moment that made her second guess herself completely. Just as she was about to admit her feelings for him, he brusquely cut her off and completely changed the direction of the conversation. What punctuated that gut-wrenching action was him dropping her hand quickly, as if he had been burned by her touch. The cocktail of mixed signals made her head pound in dizzying confusion, and it was becoming difficult to ignore for much longer.

She glances over at Gabe, worrying her lip between her teeth and mentally debating whether or not to step into that territory of complete openness. She has a nice, working relationship with him, and she doesn’t want to risk making it awkward to be around him if he truly doesn’t feel anything towards her. On the other hand, she wants to know for her own sake of mind; she has to know if Gabe’s confusing behavior and mixed signals mean anything. They’re off the clock, away from the office, with no interruptions coming between them. It’s the perfect opportunity to air everything out, and hopefully come Monday, there would be no more confusion or misunderstandings.

“Speaking of Vegas…” Tessa mumbles, carefully avoiding his eyes. “I think we should talk.”

Gabe’s spine stiffens in alert at the sudden shift in her demeanor. “About…what, exactly?”

She takes a deep breath, knowing it was too late to steer this conversation in another direction. “About what happened at the wedding chapel.”

“Ah,” Gabe interjects, “that was some brilliant thinking on your part, with the rat and all.”

“That wasn’t the part I wanted to talk about.” She turns her head to look at him. “I wanted to talk about the whole ‘pretend’ couple in love situation.”

“What was wrong with it?” he asks her, his nerves starting to creep up on him.

“Nothing,” she quickly replies. “I was just thinking…what you said…” She takes another deep breath, preparing herself to blurt it out before she lost her nerve. “Did you ever have a moment where…you didn’t think it was pretend?”

Depends on what your answer is going to be. “What do you mean?”

“I know the whole situation was supposed to be pretend in order to get a copy of Lydia’s marriage license, but…some of the things you said…and did…” her ears grow hot as a shiver races down her spine at the memory of Gabe’s gentle caress on her wrist, the pure intimacy behind it.

“Didn’t seem like pretend?” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“And what do you think?”

Tessa sits there silently contemplating her answer. Up until this point, Tessa never had any reason to doubt Gabe. He is a man who never makes anyone second guess his true intentions or meanings. Every word he speaks is nothing short of the truth. But his reaction on the Strip was the first time she questioned his true intentions. If Gabe did mean what he said, then why did he quickly divert the conversation and act like he couldn’t stand to be around her? Her inner conscience was waving a massive red flag in front of her, but when Gabe gripped her chin and turned her head to focus on him, she caught herself slipping back into the warm pools of his chocolate-colored orbs.

“I really hope you weren’t pretending,” she softly says, voice barely above a whisper.

Gabe feels his stomach lurch at her confession, and the corners of his mouth tug up into a small smile at her answer. Gabe wasn’t going to lie. From the minute she stepped into the office, he became fascinated with her. She was beautiful, but what caught his attention was the way she introduced herself to the others. She was the only one who stood up and spoke with such confidence and conviction about winning the partnership that he would’ve given the spot to her immediately if his name was on the building.

“That’s because I wasn’t.”

Her eyes widen. “Wh…what?”

His thumb skates over her bottom lip, gently tugging it downwards, her breath hitching at the intense, smoldering look in his eyes. “I wasn’t pretending in the wedding chapel. I truly wanted to tell you that you were the most stunning woman on the Strip because you were, and I will always think you’re the most stunning woman I will ever come across.”

“And last night?”

“I still mean it,” he tells her, taking his hand away. “I really do enjoy spending time with you, and I want to spend whatever time I have with you and only you.”

“Good.” Tessa covers his hand with hers, the electric current running between them turning into tingling shivers chasing each other up and down her spine. “Because I really, really like spending time with you too.”

The smile on his face grows bigger, turning into the most genuine one he’s ever had with someone else. Their fingers tentatively move and twist together, the air buzzing with energy just waiting to be released. A sigh of relief floods through him once he sees their hands joined together. He feared he overstepped that night in Vegas, especially since he was sharply reminded of how Tessa flirted with the fireman a few weeks ago for her eviction case. But sitting here now, their confessions out in the open, their hands joined together, made all of it real.

“So where do we go from here?”

Gabe furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“We just admitted we like each other, Gabe,” Tessa states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The question is, what comes next? Are we together? Do we see where this goes?”

Gabe bit the inside of his cheek at her question, the bliss from earlier now getting replaced with dread and guilt. He knows exactly what he wants to do next. He wants to invite her to his hotel room tonight, spend hours tangled in the silk sheets together, then wake up and do it all again tomorrow morning. He wants to take her out to dinner tomorrow night and treat her to the most decadent food in the city while he teases and touches her until she can no longer bear it. He wants to be openly affectionate with her in the office…and maybe do a few more things behind the closed doors of his office. But he can’t, and he knew the exact reasons why.

The first reason was the more obvious one. She is currently in the competition for a junior partnership, and he is the one overseeing it and potentially making the final decision on who takes his former position. They are co-workers, and while Sadie has no real binding rule that co-workers cannot date or see each other outside of work, Gabe knows there will always be a cloud of doubt and speculation hovering over Tessa if the office discovers they are seeing each other and she wins the junior partnership. Gabe was already beating himself up for what happened between her and Beau; he would never be able to forgive himself if he was the cause of ruining her reputation and the potential she has at becoming the next great attorney. How could he look himself in the mirror every morning if this blows back up in their faces?

But the less obvious reason was a hidden secret, one that he hasn’t shared with anyone else. It was the one reason that stopped him from taking her up to his penthouse in Vegas and doing all the things he fantasizes about doing with her. It was the one reason for the walls Gabe built up over the years that no one else has been able to break down. It was the one reason that prevented Gabe from crossing the lines he wanted to cross. As easy as it would be to cross them tonight with nothing stopping them, he knows he has to make the tough decision, not only to protect her, but also to protect himself. He just hopes it doesn’t change anything between them.

“As much as I would love for us to be together,” he runs his thumb soothingly over her knuckles, already feeling guilty for what he was about to say to her, “I don’t think it would be wise to pursue it.”

“O…oh,” the smile on her face falters at his stinging rejection.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” Gabe quickly assures her.

“Sure feels that way,” she blurts out with a bitter laugh.

Gabe sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re stunning Tessa, and whatever would happen between us would be so goddamn mind-blowing, because I know exactly what I’d do with a girl like you.”

As much as his rejection stings, the dark tendrils of desire twist and twirl together inside at the sound of that highly promising and exciting invitation, the rush of desire making her shift in her seat at the tingling sensation. However, his tone tells her he was about to say one little three-letter word that was going to take the invitation back and make the rejection even worse.

"But...?"

Gabe shakes his head and averts his eyes from the pain blooming in hers. “We can’t act on it. I can’t act on it.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I…can’t,” he relents. He untangles their fingers and pulls his hand back to his side of the bar, no matter how painful it is for him to do so. “You already saw how low Sadie’s own blood would go to push himself ahead. Just imagine how low the others would go if they suspected—”

“You and I were seeing each other?”

Gabe nods, a small twinge of relief pricking his heart at her understanding. “Opportunities like this bring the worst out in people.”

“Considering I just had firsthand experience on how shitty people can be, I do understand it.” She takes another drink of her Manhattan, the sting now turning into simmering annoyance. “What I don’t understand is why us being together is now such a big deal for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, you didn’t seem too concerned with people seeing us together or what they thought when we went to Hoi On and that business dinner you specifically invited me to,” Tessa shrugs. “I’m just curious about the change of heart all of a sudden.”

“I didn’t have a change of heart. Those situations were entirely different.”

“Different how?”

Gabe pauses for a second to gather his thoughts. He had to tread lightly going forward, or else any chance the two of them had with each other in the future was going to be destroyed. “When I invited you to Hoi On, the other associates weren’t in the office. I knew Aislinn wasn’t going to say anything to Sadie, so no one was going to question why I brought you there.”

“And the business dinner?”

“It truly was supposed to be a business dinner and an opportunity for you to network yourself,” Gabe admits. “I didn’t know beforehand that he was going to cancel on me, and as far as the office is concerned, no one knows that he canceled on me, so everyone still suspects the three of us had that business dinner.”

“But then…oh…” Tessa trails off, another wave of disappointment crashing into her chest. “I get it.”

“You do?”

She nods. “You’re embarrassed to be seen with me. I get it. The senior associate and the top senior partner being seen together would hurt your image with the other partners.”

A tinge of frustration punches his gut. “That’s not what I mean. I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you. If I was, I wouldn’t have invited you to join me at the lake.”

“Good point,” Tessa tells him. “You certainly didn’t mind taking me out to the lake last night with Sadie and the other associates sitting around.”

“That was different too,” Gabe bluntly responds. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me to understand,” she sighs, exasperated.

“There’s no point in tell you,” Gabe shoots back. “You’re intelligent and observant, Tessa. You know exactly why we can’t pursue…whatever there is between us.”

“The only thing standing in the way of pursuing whatever is between us is you,” Tessa points out.

He runs his hands through his disheveled hair again. “It’s not that I want to stand in the way of us. There’s so many reasons on why we shouldn’t pursue this.”

“Well, so far, you haven’t given me one that we can’t find a way to work around. So please enlighten me, Mr. Ricci,” she crosses her arms over her chest and gives him a hard stare. “Is your reasoning really about the partnership and my reputation, or is it about something more?”

As Gabe sits there in silence, Tessa’s mind flashes back to their previous interactions. Last night was the most unguarded she has seen Gabe since she started working at McGraw Byrne. The business dinner was the first time the two of them ever got physically close to each other. Vegas was the first time the two of them were fixing to jump across those boundaries and become one. But each time, Gabe pulled back, and his action spoke volumes. And with the way Gabe was currently avoiding meeting her gaze head on and how his fingers are tightly gripping his empty scotch glass makes the light bulb go off in her head. There was another reason Gabe was hiding, one that has to do entirely with himself. She just has to hope that she is important enough for him to be honest with her.

“Well?”

Gabe sighs. “It really is about the partnership,” he lies, firmly keeping his gaze locked on the bar top. “The partnership is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you shouldn’t waste it or throw it away.”

The air turns icy and frigid at his words. Tessa grabs her clutch off the bar top, knowing there was no more reason for her to still be around. “You may be able to bullshit other people, Gabe, but you’re not going to bullshit me. You and I both know this is more than just the partnership, and out of respect for your privacy, I’m not going to pry. Only you can make the decision to share it with me, but until you do, I think it’s best to forget whatever we feel for each other.”

Tessa gives his hand a soft pat before downing the rest of her drink and sliding off the bar stool. Before she could go far, Gabe’s hand reaches out and wraps around her wrist.

“Tessa…”

“Don’t worry about it, Gabe,” she says, gently prying his fingers off her wrist. “I’m honestly a little hurt and disappointed that you can’t be honest with me, but I’m not mad at you.” She places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I really do like you, Gabe, but I also like and respect myself too much to go after someone who isn’t as crazy about me as I am about them, nor will I go after someone who keeps pulling back when I want to get closer.”

“That’s not—"

She ignores his plea, digging into her clutch and pulling out a platinum-looking card. “You know where to find me when you make up your mind and have an answer for me, but don’t expect me to be waiting around forever for it.”

She places the card down on the bar top; with a sad smile, she brushes past him and heads out of the hotel bar, the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Gabe watches her figure retreat until she disappears behind the gilded elevator doors.

“Dammit!” he slams a fist against the bar top. The empty glasses jump a little at the impact, but what catches his attention was the quick flash of light reflected on the platinum card as it jumped into the air. Gabe reaches out and slides it towards him, his spirits deflating even more when he sees what she left.

The spare key to her room.

To anyone else, it may be just a room key, but Gabe knows that it is so much more meaningful than that. It symbolizes the key to her heart and the key to their future together, a key that would only work for a short amount of time until Tessa closes both of those doors on him. The decision to walk through those open doors was entirely in his hands, but before he could do that, he has to make one other decision. The time had come for him to do the one thing he has avoided doing for years, the one decision he found easy to avoid until tonight.

It was time for him to confront himself and his fears.

__________________________________

This was going to go up a lot sooner, but because my job decided to go through some technology changes recently, it meant something that previously worked is now broken and no longer works. Unfortunately, that was me this time around, so my usual break times where I work on stories was used to help fix what someone else broke.

Sorry about the delay, but I really do anticipate part 2 being uploaded soon, much sooner than LOA coming back from its hiatus.

For all of you who have read this story and made it this far, thank you so much for your support! It means more to me than you could ever imagine!

I love you all so much!

Second Chance Tagging in case Tumblr becomes Tumbroke again: @choices-addict @choiceskatie @lady-calypso @chemist-ana @kat-tia801 @chrissythadon @nishas-paradise @blainehellyes @mm2305 @suitfer @thegreentwin @pixelnutrookie

#choices #laws of attraction #choices laws of attraction #gabe ricci x mc #gabe x mc #loa #choices loa

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flaminpumpkin · 4 years ago

Text

Small treasures

“Five more minutes,” Bruce grumbled as he distantly heard the door open through his sleepy haze.

There was some shuffling sound around the room and then it was flooded with bright morning light as Alfred mercilessly opened the heavy curtains, the rays of sunshine hitting the Bat right in the face, making him scramble for the covers to hide his sensitive eyes.

“Very well, Master Bruce. Breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

He was so used to Alfred’s barely hidden exasperation after all these years that his words took longer than usual to register with Bruce. A frown appeared on his face as he finally realized what was wrong with the butler’s statement.

Alfred never served breakfast – or any meal for that matter – in the kitchen.

He would rather shoo everyone out with a spatula full off batter than let anyone eat where he cooked. Bruce couldn’t even count the number of times he had seen Dick or Tim appear in the dining room with a sheepish look, a thoroughly exasperated Alfred hot on their heels.

Pushing the sheets away just enough to uncover his head, Bruce peeked over his shoulder at the still open door, eyebrows knitting further in confusion.

“What?”

Something caught his eyes.

There was a piece of yellow paper on the nightstand. An origami bat, he realized after finally deciding to emerge from the sea of sheets and pillows he had buried himself in during his sleep. He reached for it and took the little paper animal gingerly between his fingers, eyes focusing enough to read “unfold me” written in elegant cursive right at its center.

Bruce did as he was told.

Dear Master Bruce,

My words most probably confused you as the kitchen is a place I do not tolerate for anyone to eat in. But, need I remind you, there always has been one peculiar occasion where I allowed you to do so.

Bruce stared at the note, confusion growing.

Oh.

His eyebrows raised a bit, pleasantly amused. There was indeed one occasion Alfred would let him eat in the kitchen while he worked. What did the kids put Alfred to this time?

Led by his curiosity, Bruce climbed off the bed, fully awake now as he put on a shirt, and padded out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen.

No one was there when he arrived, which wasn’t odd per say but he had learned to be cautious over years of attempted surprise parties. There was a plate though, on the little table, with French toasts that smelled like butter and cinnamon and a cup of coffee with probably enough sugar and cream that it didn’t even taste like coffee anymore.

It was a breakfast Alfred had always prepared for him on the morning of his birthday after his parents’ death. He would put the plate on this same table and work silently as Bruce happily ate, the two of them sharing the same space in the simplest way. It wasn’t a grand gesture but it had meant the world to him nonetheless.

Another little origami bat was waiting for him, propped against the cup. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Bruce put it aside before starting to eat, careful not to stain the paper with coffee or grease, only taking it again once he had cleared the table and washed his hands. He unfolded it with the same care as the first.

My happy place.

(Took a piece of bread. Alfred said yes. Thank you.)

Cass

The dance studio on the third floor.

A while back, Bruce had decided to redesign one of the biggest rooms on that floor in a place where Cass could dance that wasn’t the ball room. He had wanted for it to be a place only for her, where she could express herself and spend time however she pleased, without anyone bothering her. His greatest recompense had been the radiant smile on her face before she had locked himself in there and played music until late that night.

The next course of action wasn’t too hard to guess so Bruce quickly folded the paper back into its bat form, slid it in the pocket of his pajama pants, along the first one, and headed for the next place.

As expected, he found another bat in Cass’s dance studio, tucked into the folds of a bright orange knitted scarf. There was a running joke between his kids saying that it was because Bruce always forgot to take a scarf with him during winter that his Batman voice sounded so bad.

One thing was for sure, he would not forget this one.

Hey B, remember that time you told me you were proud of me and then proceeded to suffocate me with your muscles? Just kidding, you give great hugs. Like, super comfy, 10/10. But yeah, go there next.

Steph :p

He huffed at Stephanie’s words, eyes rolling with fondness. He remembered perfectly what she was referring to.

The young woman had been staying in the manor for a few days that time, Alfred being keen on keeping her under careful observation after she had been hit with a new type of fear gas while on patrol with Dick. She had continuously apologized to Bruce, blaming herself for Dick’s injuries.

Until the third day, where he had found her reading in the library, curled up in one of the love seats. Before she could utter a word, he had crouched down and grabbed her hands firmly.

“You do not need to apologize or blame yourself for anything, do you hear me? You managed to drag Dick and yourself out of this building while under the influence of fear gas when most would have stayed frozen in place. I’m sure he will agree that a few scratches and broken bones are far better than what would have awaited him if you hadn’t been there. I’m proud of you, Stephanie Brown. More than you’ll ever know.”

After that, she had thrown herself at him and Bruce had hugged her for the better part of an hour until Alfred had come to fetch her for some blood analysis.

This time, when he walked into the next place of this little treasure hunt, he found a laptop, sitting open on the table next to one of the windows. The windows of the library were wide and high and the spot where the next gift awaited was one of his favorites.

So he let himself sink in the armchairs cushions and started to play the video.

“You better not ruin this, Todd,” Damian was saying, standing next to the piano in the lounge of the west wing, violin already positioned on his shoulder.

Jason was scowling at the piano in front of him, focused.

“Just take the lead, brat. I’ll follow.”

“Could you two focus, please?” Tim said off camera.

The other two huffed with the same affronted look towards the camera.

Then the melody started and both of their faces softened. It was gentle, melancholic. Almost sad if you asked Bruce. But he listened with a smile on his face, bemused at the sight of his two quick tempered sons playing with a soft kind of intensity together, Jason following Damian’s lead flawlessly – probably the result of hours of practice. It was truly beautiful and he knew that the melody was one of Damian’s compositions.

But it was over too soon for Bruce’s taste so he played it a second time, closing his eyes. And then a third as he read the next message, only heading for the next place once it was over.

Blah blah blah, some cute shit about us bonding, blah blah blah. Just get your ass to the garage old man.

Ps: Remember your Aston Martin? I think I scratched it a bit but I’ll blame it on Timmy anyway.

Jay.

Bruce knew exactly which car Jason was talking about (and knew perfectly that he didn't scratch it). An Aston Martin DB5 he had inherited from his father. Nobody had driven it in ages when Jason had brought it up during dinner one evening, not long after he had taken him in.

“Isn’t that James Bond's car?”

“It is. But it’s been so long since the last time I used it, I’ll probably need to pop open the hood before anything else if I want to drive it again.”

“Can I help you fix it?”

Jason’s eyes had been so full of hope and excitement when he had asked Bruce. He had laughed before agreeing. The next day, Alfred had had to come and pry them away from the car for lunch because both of them had forgotten about eating in their eagerness.

He noticed a tape case on the board as he approached, in front of the wheel. Bruce opened the door and climbed in so he could reach for it easily. On the piece of paper tucked between the clear case and the tape, Bruce could see every song scribbled, one in each of his children’s handwriting. He recognized a song by The Clash in Tim’s handwriting – of course – and Midnight Sonata in Damian’s. The other titles and artists were mostly lost on him, except maybe for that Belgian one Cass listened to a lot.

I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep there while you worked and you had to carry me back to my room.

Dick

Bruce couldn’t recount either.

Although he remembered fondly the first time Dick had fallen asleep in his study, curled up in one of the seats across his desk while he worked on some urgent papers for WE. They both had been so young. Bruce being completely new to parenthood, he had seeked out Alfred who had only fixed him with a blank stare before sending him back.

“Don’t you dare wake up this child, Master Bruce.”

He had actually managed to pick up the gangly child without waking him up, even if rather awkwardly, and had carried him all the way to his bedroom uneventfully. Only to trip on one of Dick’s schoolbooks once there, nearly dropping him.

They had both elected not to mention it to Alfred and, to this day, it was still something only the two of them knew about.

When he arrived at his study, another message was waiting for him in the seat Dick used to sleep in, along with a gift card for that 24 hours coffee shop that had opened recently in downtown Gotham. Bruce let out a breathy laugh at that.

I know you always listen when I play, Father. Why do you think I leave my door open when I do?

D. Wayne

And here he thought he had been smooth. However, he should have expected that his son would pick up on his habit of passing by his room while he rehearsed with his violin.

But Bruce couldn’t resist the pull in his chest. Damian was a gifted player, just like Jason, able to translate raw emotions in barely a few notes. It always put his mind at ease, smoothed out his most troubled thoughts even for only a few moments. He had caught everyone at least once, standing outside of his youngest’s door, listening to soft melodies in a rare moment of peace.

It was silent moments shared with everyone, brought together by Damian's deft fingers. Something he had been doing knowingly and willingly apparently. It made it all the more special for Bruce.

There was no gift when he went searching for the next clue in Damian’s room. Or so he thought.

Sitting on his son’s music-stand along with yet another yellow origami bat, was an open partition. It was still in work, Bruce could tell. Notes were hastily written with a pencil, a few stains where some had been erased. Nothing out of the ordinary for Damian and his creative mind. Except for the title.

Ode to Family.

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the shuddering breath that escaped him as he read. He exited the room still unable to breathe normally, heart so full he almost felt like suffocating, and walked towards his next – and probably last – location.

You spent hours trying to teach me how to dance the waltz there after I told you I wanted to take Steph dancing for her birthday. I still don’t know how to dance but we had fun.

Tim

Indeed, Bruce still regularly caught Tim stepping on his partner’s toes during charity galas and other events. But he suspected the young man of going to great lengths to not learn how to dance correctly because it usually dissuaded most people from asking him to dance with them. And god knew how much his son disliked dancing.

That was why it had greatly surprised him when Tim had asked him for help.

“I wasn’t really the best boyfriend to her so I just… I thought I could at least be a good friend and take her dancing? She loves it when Cass takes her in the studio and they dance so I just thought… Yeah…”

Five hours later, Tim had made absolutely no progress. He had known the steps by heart at this point, had it memorized and yet, he couldn’t seem to stop stomping on Bruce’s toes. To both Dick’s and Alfred’s delight.

His eldest son probably still had videos of it, he thought as he entered the vast and empty ballroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary or out of place and Bruce almost expected for his family to sneak up on him and surprise him when he noticed one last, black origami bat on the wooden floor, right in the center of the room.

He crouched down and unfolded it slowly, warily even, some would say.

Terrace on the second floor. You know, the one where I inelegantly asked you to marry me and you just stared for a good five minutes before laughing. (And saying yes, of course.)

It wasn’t signed and even if the message wasn’t telling enough, he would recognize that hasty scribble everywhere.

Bruce took off, climbing stairs two by two and running down hallways. His heart was pounding in his chest.

He had been gone for six months. Six excruciatingly long months of absolutely no contact, of not having any means to make sure his husband-to-be – yes, that idiot had asked him to marry him just before leaving – was still alive and well. Six months of worrying, of his children asking nervously if he had any news of his whereabouts.

Bruce barged through the French doors leading to the wide terrace on the second floor of the manor and, surely enough, everyone was there. Absolutely everyone.

“Happy birthday, Spooky. Half a century, we gotta celebrate,” Hal drawled with an easy grin.

“Someone take the cake away from Hal. Right now, before they ruin it!” Bruce heard someone say distantly and, next thing he knew, he had taken the few steps still separating them and was kissing Hal, holding him close by the lapels on his jacket.

There were groans, cheers and something that sounded a lot like someone telling them to get a room. Hal laughed against his lips, pecked him one last time before pulling away, opening his arms widely with a grin. A clear invitation for everyone to pile up on them which everyone took with great enthusiasm, barreling into them and crushing Bruce and Hal under their combined weight.

#batfam #bruce and his kids #that's it #batlantern #at the end #as a treat #cuz I love these old men #bruce wayne #batman #happy birthday batsy #this was supposed to be a short drabble i don't know what happened #clemwrites

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years ago

Text

Band of Brothers-

Cute/charming things they say when they walk into a room and see you/you walk into a room and they see you:

Babe:

“oh SHIIIIIT! There’s my BABY! Do you see her, fellas? GodDAMN, I’m a lucky sonofabitch!”

(you blush so hard and are just like Babe, we’re at work stahp it but he dgaf).

It’s embarrassing and always makes Martin glare so imploringly at you that you’ll go over to Babe just to make him be quiet. Because, you know, YOU’RE AT WORK.

This bitch is shameless when it comes to loving on you, having once come to stand next to you when Sink was giving an important announcement and straight-up PINCHED. YOUR. ASS.

how you didn’t yelp is a miracle, and how no one else seemed to notice was equally astounding

(oh, the boys noticed. They kinda shipped it tho, so it was more a matter of hiding their joy).

Needless to say, it only happened the once, something you made Babe swear after you pulled him aside and punched him in the arm.

Don’t worry, you kissed it better.

Roe:

bb boy doesn’t say anything at first,

the smile he saves just for you is playing at his lips as you walk up to meet him, tho.

The moment you’re close enough that he can smell the sweet mint of your gum, he’ll whisper something sweet like “hey you” or “mon amor”, or maybe just your name

(bc let’s be honest, his accent is 10 out of 10 and he could read me the dictionary and I’d still rock an ugly giggle/snort combo).

If it’s a more serious situation, like if you’re hurt oh lordy

he will literally shout your name until either you shout back or someone tells him where you are.

I could see him being a face holder, in the sense that he does it to reassure himself that you’re okay and make sure he has your undivided attention.

Since getting injured in Carentan, you hadn’t been as close to the frontlines as you had been, so when you were needed you are REALLY NEEDED,

and even if he didn’t like it Gene knew you were the best at what you did.

Gene also feels better if he knows where you are.

Even when you eventually return to Easy, he will feel better knowing which Foxhole you’re in, and knowing he’s seen to it your first aid kit was fully stocked.

Liebgott:

THAT FUCKER’S SMIRKING AT YOU SO OPENLY that whoever he had been talking to instantly goes

*sigh* y/n’s just came in, didn’t she?

And he won’t even ANSWER because he’s already shoving past them to walk up and eye you with obvious satisfaction.

“Bout time you showed up,” he’d say casually, hands finding your hips giving them a quick squeeze.

“Sooner we get briefed, sooner we can get outta here.”

(You’re not fully sure what ‘getting outta here’ entails, but if the way he looked at you was any indication, you had a feeling it didn’t involve anything less than PG-13 sexy times.)

Bull:

“Hey, little lady.”

He’ll say it no matter how tall or short you are, how wide or how narrow.

He will always say it to you that when you first see each other in the morning

(sometimes, you wake up to Hey, little lady being kissed into the soft skin behind your ear.)

(Once while on a 48 hour pass, he’d woken you up that way in a REAL bed and the two of you had nearly gotten him sent up Curahee for being late coming back because you’d ended up spending more time in that bed than either of you anticipated Whoops)

(Even if he had been late, he definitely wouldnt have minded, tbh. He fully considered going AWOL if it mean neither of you had to leave the bed)

but throughout the day he’s more concerned about getting his hands on some part of you whenever the two of you had been apart-

even if it was for like five minutes.

Nothing over the top- holding his arm up and out so you can step into his side, a press of his lips to your temple.

Idk guys i just feel like he’d just love you so much that everyone would be able to see, which they do and they all think it’s fucking cute

Buck:

He doesn’t always call out when he sees you, mostly because your eyes always seem to find his.

The two of you could be across a field from one another with a thousand angry Germans between you, guns blazing, and the two of you would always spot each other like two honing beacons.

If its downtime and you guys don’t have to be on your guard he’ll ABSOLUTELY wolf whistle in at you,

You’ll see a stupid grin lighting up his face as he nods in your direction.

“Take a look, boys. I think we’ve got ourselves a…”

and he always waits until you’re close enough that he can wrap a quick arm around your waist and pat your hip.

“Certified babe-asaurus!”

(in a foxhole somewhere, a wild Babe’s head pokes up in confusion).

You groan and boo him, and whoever he was with inevitably ends up booing him too.

But he doesn’t care because seeing you smile makes him so happy you guys.

Lipton:

If you’re in public, he will quietly step up beside you and place his hand gently between your shoulder blades.

He’s not super into PDA, which you didn’t mind because what he didn’t show in physical touch he more than made up for in open admiration.

He is in awe of you

sometimes he worries you forget how highly he thinks of you, how highly everybody thinks of you

(you don’t forget, but he’s just one of those people who will get intrusive thoughts like that and sometimes has a hard time shaking them so plz just let him say it ok?)

so he always whispers some praise with his greeting

(Hey, beautiful...Doin’ okay, love?...What’re you thinking, brilliant girl?).

It’d probably seem like overkill if anyone else did it but Carwood is just so goddamn sincere that you can’t help but duck a quick kiss to his shoulder.

HOWEVER!

If you two kids are alone….

OH BOI.

He is handsy, coming up and caging you with his arms,

probably pulling you close quickly so you lose your balance and he can hold you a lil bit.

(He likes to sweep you off your feet im so sorry)

That’s when his praises are hushed and sighed between long slow kisses.

Nixon:

Like Liebgott, he’s a snarky motherfucker who will get the most self-satisfied grin on his face the moment he sees you, instantly turning on the famous Lewis Nixon charm ( something he’d long since decided belonged to you and you alone.)

“Uh oh,” he’d say, looking you up and down before raising an eyebrow.

(bc your hot but also he doesn’t want to get all flirty if you’re hurt or sick or something’s up bc ur not just something to flirt with- YOU ARE A BADASS WITH BADASS RESPONSIBILITIES AND THAT WAS SOMETHING HE very often and sometimes FOUND SO HOT THAT IT MADE HIM THINK HE MAY HAVE AN AUTHORITY FETISH this has been a PSA)

“Here comes trouble.”

you roll your eyes, the behavior you once found cocky and arrogant having becoming endearing somewhere between Toccoa and England.

He has absolutely no qualms about PDA (verbal or physical), so it’s up to you to reign him in

(especially if he’s a lil tipsy, poor Luz didn’t need to hear Lewis’s sloppy and shameless plea for you to let him eat you out on top of piano he’d found in the attic of the billet he’d been assigned. You weren’t able to look at George for a week without wanting to die of embarrassment and Lewis Nixon didn’t get any for two weeks. He was sure to never make such a mistake ever again)

And Dick had probably grown blind to how Lewis liked to pull you his lap and run his hands up and down your thighs while you played with his hair.

Also, like Lipton, he probably saves the more explicit acts of PDA for when the company has scheduled downtime

(but only bc you told him he needed to keep it in his pants any other time he tried to get cute with you)

but you can bet your ass his hand will always try to tap it (your ass, that is.)at least once

a day when he isn’t supposed to.

That’s when you get to punish him whoopsies

Dick:

since the day you were introduced to Dick in Georgia, the boy always made sure to stand when you entered a room and will call you “ma’am”,

(you know, LIKE HE DOES ONLY BECAUSE HE HAS TO FOR SOBEL BC RANKS. I feel like he has a “we salute the woman, not the rank” speech queued up for anyone who tried to give him shit for it BUT THAT’s JUST ME)

but he has a knowing look in his eye that makes the term ‘ma’am’ feel anything but impersonal.

It confused the shit out of replacements, who would automatically stand because their superior officer (that would be Big Dick Winters) did- only to see you standing there in your fatigues with a coffee in each hand with a look of mutual confusion on your face.

(bc while they like you, but they’re confused still bc while you’re a boss ass bitch, you didn’t outrank him...or at least they theink you dont?)

Babe had been the one to ask you about the longing looks and lingering glances, and when you didn’t know how to answer him you’d gone to Nixon,

He’d burst into tearful laughter and was unable to get it together enough to explain anything.

Dick had been the one to bring it up the next time they were alone, weirdly enough, as she proofread his report for errors that didn’t exist.

Because you warrant it, he’d said when pressed for a reason why he greeted her like a ranking officer, looking down at his boots as they both blushed like teenagers at a school dance.

After that, he still stood wherever you walked in

but now he made a point to brush his fingers against yours at some point during the time you were together.

He’s the definition of a slow burn friends-to-lovers story, and boi can get spicy LEMME TELL YOU.

(this is my first writing thing ever plz let a sister know if there are any glaring typos. Also i’m roughly 97 years late to fandom but I brought y’all some starbucks so plz let me in thank you)

#band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #babe heffron x reader #eugene roe x reader #joe liebgott x reader #bull randleman x reader #carwood lipton x reader #lewis nixon x reader #dick winters x reader #hbo war x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography #buck compton x reader

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jerrylevitch · 3 years ago

Text

Jane McCormick on her experiences with Jerry Lewis

Here’s her excerpts on Jerry Lewis from both books she authored, but first background info on her:

“I was beaten, raped, my leg has been broke, my neck has been broke, I’ve been shot at twice and left in the desert,” McCormick said in a recent interview. “I was like a freelancer in the casinos. I was introduced by the owners and pit bosses of the casinos. After being in Las Vegas for three months, everyone knew me.”

Being a pretty blonde with an outgoing personality and quick wit put her in the top 2% of prostitutes in Vegas, the ones who didn’t ever have to walk the streets.

She had champagne blonde hair, a knock-out figure, and a vivacious smile. But the glamour was all for show. But life as one of Las Vegas; top call girls was lonely, sad and marked by abuse. “The men always went home to their wives, to their homes, their families–and you are left alone.”.

She was 29 when she left the life and has had a lot of ups and downs since. She admitted it was a hard life to walk away from because of the money. For someone like her who never graduated high school, being a prostitute was a way to survive and support her 2 little girls.

She ALWAYS talks about Jerry in articles and interviews that she does, with nothing but good things to say about him.

And she points out some of his quirky beliefs on “cheating”…Apparently, Jerry believed that if he pulled out before he climaxed, no matter what type of relations he had with her~ he felt he wasn’t cheating. That was during his trying to be a better man for Patti phase that happened during the 60′s. Definitely he didn’t always do this while cheating.

Anyway here’s the chapter:

“Back at my apartment, I lay on my bed and cried. Every day I asked God to help me get out of this life. But then I stopped crying, took a shower, swallowed some pills, and went back to the casinos. My first stop was the Sands. I stood and talked a few minutes to Bucky Harris, a pit boss there.

‘You know who’s here in the hotel’ Bucky asked.

‘I didn’t notice the billboard who is it’

‘Jerry Lewis’

‘Oh that crazy guy? He’s so funny!’

‘He is a fun guy. He’s in his room now. Why don’t you go surprise him? He starts his show tomorrow night, so he might have time for a pretty little thing like you. Let me call and see if he wants me to send you to the cottage.’

Bucky went to call Jerry’s room from the house phone in the pit, the place where the bosses stand to watch the transactions of money and gambling. He came back saying ‘Go on over there.’

I was a little nervous. I had always thought Jerry Lewis was a great entertainer, never dreaming I would meet him, much less turn a trick with him. He opened the door to his suite.

‘Well, come on in sweetie. What’s your name?’

‘Jane Harvey’

‘That’s a pretty name. It fits that pretty face, Jerry said. ‘Sit down. Let’s have a drink.’

We sat there about two hours, laughing and telling jokes. I said I had always wanted to meet him, that I thought he was one of the greatest comedians in the world.

‘Do you like it when I do this?’ he asked. He stood then, stumbling around the room, being clumsy, feet and legs of jelly, doing his nerd routine. He cracked me up.

Jerry said I reminded him of someone he had noticed among the fans hanging around after his shows in New York. On his way from the building was a staircase where the fans gathered to get his autograph. In the crowd, over a period of time, was a girl with a beautiful face, blonde hair, and green eyes. Jerry said he had never met her or talked with her, but she had always stuck in his mind.

‘And you, my dear, have that same face,’ he said. Then he did a little song and dance routine: ‘That face, that fabulous face…’ he chortled, doing a soft shoe shuffle across the carpet.

By this time, we’d had a few drinks and I’d noticed how soft-spoken he was, how serious he was off stage. He wasn’t at all the zany, crazy guy I’d thought. He told me how much he loved his family, and how hard he worked for the causes he promoted. He said he felt lonely on the road, and he was glad to meet such a sweet girl. Maybe, for a few moments, I could take some of the loneliness away. I was thinking about how handsome he was when he was serious, how sincere. I wished he weren’t attached because I felt attracted to him. I just loved him then, and I do to this day.

Jerry was almost bashful when it came to having sex, but he thoroughly enjoyed it. Still, he had a quirky way of dealing with his loyalty to his wife. He would not climax inside me, no matter what kind of sex we had.

Afterward, we had drinks, and Jerry took me to his car, a Lincoln, I think, and we went for a drive downtown. He showed me the recording equipment he had installed in his car. He said he practiced many of his routines using that tape recorder, and played them back when he was driving. As we head back on Las Vegas Boulevard toward the Sands, we saw the sun coming up over Sunrise Mountain.

It was breathtaking! Jerry pulled his car to the side of the street, and we simply watched. Jerry said he loved the morning hours more than any part of the day. I told him I did too, but that I never got to see much of morning because I was just going to bed. He laughed. I think he liked my sense of humor.

‘I wish I had my airplane here. I love to go flying in the morning. It’s the most beautiful time of the day,’ he said.

At the Sands, Jerry drove into the circle drive in the wrong direction. He was still pretty drunk, and he was being crazy. He headed the Lincoln toward the curb, and drove up onto the sidewalk near the entrance of the casino.

‘I think we’ve landed,’ he screamed in his crazy, nerdy voice. Laughing like crazy, we jumped out of the car, ran into the casino, and out the side door by the pool. We both ran around the pool twice, yelling, before heading back to our room. We fell onto the bed in stitches. We had another drink. The Jerry said we’d better eat something, and sent for some sandwiches. I could tell he was tired, and I said I had to leave, that I had some important things to do.

Jerry invited me to his show that night. I accepted and really enjoyed it. He saw me in the crowd, and looked right down at me. He directed of the lines and antics in his routine straight at me. He was one of the nicest men I’d ever met.

Jerry just liked me. He liked to talk, and he felt comfortable with me. I knew that being a celebrity on the road could be hard and lonely. I think guys like Jerry thought of me as a breath of fresh air, because I saw them as the persons they were, and I talked down to earth with them as if we’d known each other for years."

-Breaking My Silence - Jane McCormick

" I was thinking about how handsome Jerry was when he was serious and sincere. He just liked me and my sense of humor. At the Sands, Jerry drove into the circle drive in the wrong direction. He headed the Lincoln toward the curb and drove up onto the sidewalk near the entrance of the casino. Laughing like crazy, we jumped out of the car, ran into the casino, and out the side door by the pool. We both ran yelling around the pool twice before heading back to the room. We fell onto the bed in stitches. We had another drink. Then Jerry sent for sandwiches. When I told him I'd been molested as a little girl, Jerry told me it was the most horrible thing he'd ever heard. He held me in his arms while I cried and he cried with me. I just loved him then, and I do to this day. Jerry was almost bashful when it came to having sex, but he thoroughly enjoyed it. He didn't go all the way, though, to preserve his loyalty to his wife. As we returned to the Sands on Las Vegas Boulevard, we quietly enjoyed the sunrise over Sunrise Mountain. Jerry Lewis was one of the nicest men I have ever met”. —"Rat Pack Party Girl" (2017) by Jane McCormick”

Here is a link of her talking in person. She mentions Frank Sinatra and Jerry in this part and in part 2 she talks about Dean Martin. It’s here that she says she would’ve loved to marry Jerry out of all the men that she had slept with, and apparently she’s slept with a couple of thousand in her estimation.

She mentions Jerry starting at 10:07 in part 1

Part 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSbPQ4482gE

Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QDmVyR7Flqg

#Jerry Lewis #Jane McCormick #Jane Harvey #I decided to post this in an actual post instead of the ask it was in and altogether

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malikmata · 3 years ago

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Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

#diary #photoblog #photo diary #midwest #kansas #travel diaries

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harianasavenue · 4 years ago

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i like you || jeff wittek

summary: you’re the new girl in the vlog squad, and jeff likes you. so he decides to hang out with you alot, until he can’t take it anymore.

idk wassup wit me but i’m obsessed with mr. wittek. HEHAHDHW okay, enjoy baes asf 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

warnings: none

a/n: i used lyrics from ariana grande, saying they’re your lyrics, but I DON’T OWN THE SONGS / LYRICS! and y’all are basically ariana grande but like just ur name LOL. ok bye

word count: 1,261

you were a singer, and david found out about your songs about 2 months ago. he decided he wanted to reach out to you, just to be on the vlog maybe once or twice.

instagram:

david: Hey! I just wanted to reach out and say my friendgroup and I are huge fans of you. Would you want to maybe be in a vlog with us? ☺️

you: hey hi! yes i would love to!! i’m a fan of yours! when can we meet?

david: tomorrow is good.

you: omg yes, i’ll be there!

he sends you his information, and that’s how you met david. after that you came over often and he just decided you were a new member in the vlog squad.

after about a month of coming over once a week, you come over more and more. every 4 days, every 2 days and it became to everyday. even if it was just for 10 minutes.

you come over one day, and you greet everyone with a hug and kiss on the cheek.

you sit next to carly and erin, talking to them about you writing a new song. they seem interested in your music and it feels great. you decide to invite them to the studio later that day.

“omg yes! we would love to, can we film in there?” erin says excitedly.

“yes, you can. anyone is welcome to come with me!” you say when you hear the door shut. you look at the man who enters the house and see the most handsome man ever.

“oh, this is jeff, y/n.” david introduces you to jeff.

“hi, i’m y/n.” you go in for a hug. you get flustered so you decide you should get going to the studio.

“is anyone else coming to the studio?” you say, breaking the tension you feel.

almost everyone decided to go except jonah.

* at the studio*

“alright, you guys can film in here, but please be accommodating to those around. this isn’t my studio, so please do not damage anything.” you explain to the squad.

you open the door, and say hi to max martin. everyone greets him and you get to writing something.

aint got no tears in my body

i ran out but, boy, i like it, i like it, i like it

don’t matter how, what, when, who tries it

we out here vibin, we vibin, we vibin.

about 2 hours of your friends filming and laughing, it’s time to record something.

after recording, all of their faces are shocked and amazed from your vocals. it happens often, but they look like their eyes are about to come out of their head and it cracks you up. you were the shy type, so it surprised you. that’s the moment jeff had an interest in you.

you exchange numbers with everyone and go to your penthouse. you were fortunate enough to buy whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. you loved your life, but it gets lonely sometimes. you invite carly, erin, corinna, natalie and mariah over just to hang out and get to know each other.

they all come over and get comfortable on the couch. you get into your pajamas, which are silk.

“can you get any richer?” natalie speaks up and you laugh. you offer them wine and pajamas since they asked to sleep over. they all had silk pajamas on, which made you crack up and want to take picture. you took a picture in the mirror with all the girls and post in on instagram for your 200 million followers to see.

“so y/n, do you have a crush on anyone in the squad?” mariah asks politely. you want to say jeff, but you barely know the man.

“no, i don’t. i don’t know any of them too much, so.” you say.

you all eventually fall asleep on your huge couch.

you wake up and see natalie left because of david, but the rest were still here. you get into ready and get into an outfit.

you go to david’s house with the girls and you ask david if you can have a water bottle, too scared to just intrude into his house. he says yes, and tells natalie to get me a water bottle. you let your dog go, and you sit on the couch.

you hang out with them for a while, and then jeff comes in the house. your dog runs to the door and you chase after him, afraid he’ll run out of the house. you grab toulouse before he can bother jeff. you go back to standing straight and see him staring at you with his dog in his hands. you let go of toulouse and he runs away back to the couch.

“aww, that’s such a cutie” you go to pet him and you talk in a baby voice, basically falling in love with him.

“his name is nerf, we’re getting ready to go on a hike. “ he explains and asks david, carly and erin to come along, and they agree.

“do you wanna come, y/n?” he asks politely.

“sure i just need to stop by my place to change, if that’s okay?” you ask and he says sure. they decide to just go in your car and go to your place.

you walk into your place and you tell them to grab a water bottle if they need to. you walk into your room and change into your workout outfit.

you take a picture quickly and head out. you see jeff stare at you and you feel judged. you go get your dogs collar and you put it on him.

“let’s get going, yeah?” you say, ready to get out of your place.

so that’s how it’s been for about 1 month. you got to know jeff and you really liked him. you hung out almost everyday. you guys went on a hike and then he went to boxing and you went to dance. you guys met up at davids after, go separate ways for the night and it repeats.

until you had to skip a few days because you had to shoot a music video. it all went by so slowly because you missed him, but he came on set to talk to you for a while and he came with food for you. it all made you feel loved.

he comes over one day, bringing you food and a smoothie; healthy one at that. you hug him and he goes in for a kiss.

you kiss him back as if it was so casual. you liked him a lot and you hoped he liked you too. you blush and eat your food, talking about each others days.

“hey i wanted to talk to you about something.” he speaks up. you instantly get nervous, thinking of the worst things possible.

“what’s that, jeffrey?” you say teasingly. you look at his beautiful brown eyes, it makes you want to just kiss him for days on end.

“i know we have been talking and hanging out for almost everyday, so i just wanted to say this. i like you, and i hope i cantakeyououtonadate?” he says super fast and your heart jumps in happiness. you jump up out of your seat and jump on him and hug him.

“yesyesyes, i’ve been waiting for this for so long, why’d you take so long?” you ask, joking around.

“oh shut up and kiss me, loser” he says, and you comply with his demand.

#jeff wittek #jeff wittek x reader #vlog squad #jeff wittek fanfiction #todd smith fanfiction #toddy smith #todd smith #todd smith x reader #david dobrik #david dobrik x you #david dobrik vlogs #fanfiction

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romancandlemagazine · 3 years ago

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An Interview with Al Baker

I first came across Al Baker’s photography whilst looking through an old copy of a magazine called Flux I’d snaffled from Manchester’s world-famous second-hand wonderland, Empire Exchange.

Hidden in the magazine’s pages, between an interview with Mark E Smith and a review of a newly-released sci-fi film called The Matrix, were two black-and-white photos, snapped from the window of an ice-cream van, showing kids lined up for a bit of frozen respite from the summer heat. Reading the fairly minimal bit of text below, it turned out the photos were part of a series called ‘Ice Cream You Scream’.

I’d missed the exhibition by approximately 20 years, but thanks to the high-speed time-machine known as the internet, I managed to track him down. Here’s an interview about his fine photos, his time living in Hulme Crescents and the benefits of carrying cameras in a Kwik Save bag...

Classic ‘start of an interview’ question here, but when did you get into photography? Was there something in particular that set you off?

Like a lot of young people, I knew that I was creative but hadn’t quite found my place. I didn’t know whether I wanted to be a writer or in a band. I used to doodle, copy Picasso’s in biro, so off I went to art college and tried my hand at different things. All it really taught me was that I had neither the patience, technique or talent to become a painter. Photography seemed a much easier way to make images, a more instant result. Of course, the more you get into it you realise that whether you’re any good or not does rely upon patience, technique and talent after all.

Was ‘being a photographer’ something that people did in Manchester in the early 90s? Who did you look up to back then?

Not really. It was very rare to see another person wandering around with a camera back then. Even years later when I began photographing the club scene in Manchester no-one else seemed to be doing the same thing. Not at the night clubs I went to anyway.

Now it’s very different. These days you see people with cameras everywhere. Club nights almost always have a photographer. People are far more image-conscious due to social media. Today most people are busy documenting their own nights out with their phones. Look at footage from any major gig these days and half the room is filming it. Back in the 90s no-one seemed to care about documenting anything like that. You were very unlikely to see the photos that someone might be taking the next day or, in fact, ever. People often used to ask ‘What are you taking photos for?’ with genuine surprise or distain.

In terms of photographers whom I looked up to there are so many! There are great image masters like Cartier-Bresson or Elliott Erwitt. Photographers of war and social upheaval like Don McCullin and Phillip Jones-Griffiths. I liked Alexander Rodchenko and Andre Kertez, how they broke the conventions of their day with wit and invention.

I loved the dark and dirty images of Bill Brandt, and his inspiring nude studies too. I loved the city at night recorded by Brassai. Paris in the 1930s definitely seemed to be the place to be. Diane Arbus, Jane Bown and Shirley Baker. American street photographer Gary Winogrand was a huge influence on me, as was Nick Waplington’s book ‘Living Room’.

I was also quite lucky to be living in Manchester at that time. Daniel Meadows and Martin Parr had both attended Manchester Polytechnic. Denis Thorpe had worked for the Guardian in Manchester. I saw Kevin Cummins iconic Joy Division images, Ian Tilton documenting The Stone Roses. Both were regularly in among the inky pages of the NME.

I also saw an exhibition of Clement Cooper’s photographs of the Robin Hood pub in Moss Side, which was another big influence. I was also very lucky in that my very first photography tutor was Mark Warner, who produced very beautiful images, did a lot of work for Factory Records. He shot The Durutti Column’s (1989) Vini Reilly album sleeve. He was probably the first person who ever really encouraged me.

I really like that series of photos you took from inside an ice-cream van in the late 90s. What was the story behind that?

The initial idea for that project came from my friend Steve Hillman, who is an actor. At the time he was ‘between jobs’, which is an actor’s euphemism for being unemployed, so he was working an ice-cream round to help to pay the rent. I was at his flat one night, thinking aloud about where I might go next with my camera. I’d spent quite a long time following graffiti artists work around Hulme, and had my first exhibition based around that. But it only seemed to lead to offers of more work with graffiti artists, and I wanted to do something else.

I’d done a 2nd exhibition based around portraits of my friends in Hulme. I’d flirted with some one-day projects, like Belle Vue dog track, Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. Anyway, while I was talking, not really knowing what I was going to do next, Steve simply stated ‘You should come out on the ice-cream round with me. No-one ever comes to the van without a smile on their face.’ And it just struck me as a beautiful & simple idea. So, one day we just set off. 4 or 5 rolls of film and all the free ice-cream I could eat, which I discovered wasn’t very much!

What was the logistical side of those photos? Were they taken from the same van?

They were all shot on the same day, the same van, all around Salford. It was good fun, but actually very hard work. Trying to constantly find new angles, different framing and working on a hot August day in such a small confined space. By the end of the day I felt that I had enough strong images for my next exhibition. They were much jollier images than ones I’d made before. As a result, because it had more universal appeal, I got quite a lot of good publicity out of it, and Walls gave us hundreds of free Magnum ice-creams to give away on the opening night!

These days I could think of more than a few reasons why you probably shouldn’t drive around Salford photographing other people’s children without permission haha (in fact, I’m surprised that I wasn’t hung from the nearest lamppost!) but I was much younger and far more naive back then. Besides, that was something that I’d learned from living in Hulme. You don’t ask for permission. Someone will only say ‘No’. Just crack on and do it anyway.

You also documented the last years of the Hulme Crescents. A lot of people talk about that time and place in Manchester, even now—but what was the reality of it? What was a normal weekend there like?

It was quite unlike anywhere that I’d ever lived before. It looked like a fascist dystopian nightmare, only one peopled by Rastas and anarchists. Bleak concrete interconnecting walkways. No through roads whatsoever. A fortress feel to the place. The entire estate was earmarked for demolition before I arrived. Everyone else seemed to be busy moving out. But I was already spending a lot of time there, post-Hacienda, parties, friends, lost weekends.

There were lots of young people living there. Families had mainly moved out as the heating didn’t work properly, flats were cold & damp, often infested with cockroaches. There were traces of old Irish families, the Windrush generation, interwoven with punks and drop-outs.

There was a cultural & artistic flowering among the ruins. A Certain Ratio, Dub Sex, A Guy Called Gerald, Edward Barton, Ian Brown, Dave Haslam, Mick Hucknall, Lemn Sissay, all lived there at one time. It was the original home of Factory, where all the post-punk bands played. In turn that led to Factory Records, New Order, and the Hacienda. The PSV club later hosted raves and notorious Jungle nights. It was a good time to be young.

You lived there as well as shooting it. Do you think it’s important to be a part of the thing you’re photographing, rather than just an outsider with a camera?

I don’t know that it’s important to be a part of the thing you’re photographing, ‘embedded’ is what the war photographers call it, but you definitely capture different images. Certain things that might have been shocking to an outsider were commonplace, normal & every day to me. Boring even. On the other hand, I was much less likely to be robbed walking around. That meant I could take my camera places that other people couldn’t, or maybe shouldn’t!

I used to wear my camera beneath my coat so it couldn’t be seen, and I carried my film and lenses in a Kwik Save shopping bag so as not to attract unwanted attention. I got into the habit of handing that bag over the bar at the pubs I went in. I would collect it the next day if I could remember where I’d been the night before. Bless you, saintly barmaids of old Hulme.

If you look at my images of Hulme people they’re usually reacting to me and not the camera. Either that or they’re not reacting at all. They’re ignoring the fact that I’m taking a picture. That’s what gives them that ‘fly-on-the-wall’ feeling.

This is something that I put to greater effect later when I was photographing in night clubs, skulking stage side or hiding in a DJ booth. When DJs & MCs see you week in week out at the club doing the same thing they stop posing for the camera and just get used to you being there. You become part of the furniture. And when people stop being conscious of the camera, when they ignore that you’re even present, you can step in much closer. Put simply, you get better pictures. They’re much less performative and far more honest. It’s not often people can say they like it when they’re being ignored, but for photographers it’s a gift.

Do you think somewhere the Crescents could exist now, or was it just a case of the perfect accidental recipe for that kind of creative, DIY activity?

No, I don’t think anywhere like Hulme will ever happen again. I think the city council learned that lesson a long time ago. It was a dystopian utopia for us, but it grew out of failure. When I 1st went to university they warned us never to set foot there. I said, ‘But what if you live there already?’ and there was an embarrassed silence. They really hadn’t expected a poor boy from Hulme to be in the room. Now they own half of it and it’s all student Halls of Residence.

The city centre has been regenerated, redeveloped & gentrified. We can’t afford to live there anymore, and people like me are pushed out. Hulme was a failed social housing experiment, an eyesore & an embarrassment to the people who had commissioned it. People like me moved in & we made it our own. They’re never going to allow anything like that to happen again. Every quaint old fashioned pub that closes becomes a block of flats. The footprint is too valuable to property developers. One day all we will have will be faded photographs to bear witness to a very different way of living.

Was it through the Crescents that you started shooting graffiti? 

When I first arrived in Hulme I’d just spent 3 years living with mates in a couple of houses elsewhere in the city. It suddenly struck me that that part of my life was over and I had very few photographs of that time. I’d been too busy learning photography, taking the kind of photos that every art student takes: Broken windows; abandoned buildings, and bits of burnt wood. I vowed I wouldn’t do that again. I began documenting the life that was around me.

I started with the architecture, as it was quite unlike any other place I’d ever seen. It had a desperate, faded beauty even then. The whole estate had been condemned for demolition before I arrived, but the city council had given up on the place long before that.

I started to notice graffiti pieces going up, seeing the same names repeated. It was obvious that there was a small group of writers trying out their styles on a large canvas for the 1st time. Wanting to claim this derelict space as their own Hall Of Fame. I started to document them as they sprang up. Then I noted that context was crucial, and so I began to include the soon-to-be-derelict buildings in the images also. The shapes & colours of the graffiti looked positively psychedelic beside the drab monochrome of the setting.

With your graffiti shots, you show a lot more than just the pieces. Was it an intentional thing to show the act behind it a bit?

Because it was Hulme and no-one cared, these guys weren’t working in the dead of night like most graffiti writers do in the train yards and what-have-you. They were working during the day, right out in the open. So, documenting their work, it wasn’t long before I ran into Kelzo. He really didn’t trust me at first, but I kept coming back. So, I got to know them. They started to let me know where they were going to be painting next.

In 1995 Kelzo organised the 1st SMEAR JAM event (named after a young aspiring writer who used to come down to Hulme to learn, and had died suddenly from a nut allergy). That was such good fun that another event arrived the following year, another & another. Graf writers came from London, Edinburgh, Leeds, Sheffield, and as far afield as Spain. The local community came out to support and, as usual, it turned into a party that lasted all weekend.

I got into the habit of taking 2 cameras. One loaded with B&W film to capture the event itself, and another with colour transparency to document the finished artwork.

Graffiti… hip-hop… kids getting ice cream… I suppose there’s a few different subjects there, but was there an underlying thing or theme you wanted to show with your photos? Maybe getting a bit philosophical, but they’re all quite free acts—is it about enjoying what’s there?

It was more about documenting the life I saw around me. Moving to Hulme was what led to me capturing graffiti, and graffiti led to hip-hop events. Once Hulme was demolished I moved my camera into the city centre and began photographing club nights. House and hip-hop turned into Drum’n’Bass, and then dubstep. Residents and warm-up acts have now become headliners in their own right. Manchester has always been a great city for music, and it kept me busy throughout the naughty Noughties. I’ve pretty much retired from all of that now. I’d had enough after over 15 years of it. I no longer feel compelled to document something as ephemeral as a club night anymore when half of the audience are doing it themselves anyway. Then coronavirus came & properly killed it all off. I don’t know what it’s going to be like now going forward, but it’ll be someone else’s turn to document whatever that is.

What do you think makes a good photograph? 

You need to have a good eye. You need to notice & be aware of the world around you. You always see an image before you create one. You don’t require expensive equipment. Mine never was. And you don’t need to be trained. It’s one of those areas where you really can educate yourself. A certain amount of technique and technical understanding goes a long way but, again, you can pick those things up as you go along.

There are different kinds of photography, of course, but for me it was always about capturing a moment. The Decisive Moment, as Cartier-Bresson so eloquently put it. It’s something that the camera has over the canvas. For me the camera has always been a time machine. Like an evocative love song on the radio, it can transport you back immediately to a time & place long gone. It also acts as a witness for those people who were not there. Images tell stories. And we all like to hear and tell stories.

A couple of years ago I was invited to talk at the University of Lancaster for a symposium on documentary photography, which is a tradition that I had always considered my photographs sat within. But oddly, as I gave my slide-show presentation, images that I have seen and shown many times before, and thought I knew very well, I suddenly saw in a brand-new light. I could see myself in every image. Almost like a self-portrait from which I was absent but my own shadow cast large. I realised that I haven’t been documenting anything other than my own life. 25 year old images suddenly had something new to say, something new to tell me.

Do you still take photos today? What kind of things are you into shooting these days?

I don’t really do a lot of photography these days. I teach and facilitate as part of my job now. I still do the odd event but night club photography is a much younger man’s game. I really don’t have the levels of commitment, energy or enthusiasm I once did. I feel like I’ve taken enough images. If I never took another photograph ever again, that’s OK. Maybe, perhaps, I’ll get into a different kind of image making in my twilight years … but for now I’m trying to reassess the images I made 25 years ago. People are far more interested in them now than they ever were at the time. Now they have become documents of a time and place which has gone. The graffiti and the walls that they were written on have disappeared. Many of those night clubs have closed. Time moves on. The images and the memories are all that is left.

Over all those years, how has the art of photography changed for you?

Back when I started taking photographs, where I lived in Hulme, the kind of music that I was into, the magic of a night club moment, there were very few people I knew of who were doing the same thing. Now I am aware of others who were. Almost everyone is their own photographer now. Mobile phones & social media have given a platform for anyone to make & share images of their individual lives, whether it be their friends & families, holidays, public events or more private & intimate moments. Anyone can document their own lives now, so I no longer feel that I have to. I do still love photography, it’s still my favourite form of art, but I don’t feel compelled to capture it all anymore.

I suppose I’ve pestered you with questions for a while now. Have you got any wise words to wind this up with?

If you want to become a photographer you must learn your craft. Keep doing it, and you will get better. But you must remember to always be honest. Make honest images. Listen to the voice of your own integrity. Don’t worry too much if no-one sees any value in what you do. If you’re any good people will eventually see it. It may take years, it did for me, but images of the ordinary & everyday will one day become historical, meaningful & extraordinary.

We live in a world today mediated by images, a Society of the Spectacle, but we still need photographers: People who have a good eye, an innate feel for the decisive moment; what to point the camera at and when to press the shutter. The images that you make today will be the memories of the future.

See more of Al’s photos here.

#Photography #Interview #Al Baker #Manchester #Hulme Crescents

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