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afro-elf · 4 years

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fine, i’ll elaborate on my thoughts about tylor sift but they will be disorganized

disclaimer: i know a few people will read this and be like “op is a hozier fan can she really talk about the cultural obsession with mediocre white art?” and the answer is yes because a) i’m black and i have an english degree so can do whatever i fucking want, b) hozier is a better artist than taylor objectively, like his mediocre tracks would be considered her great ones, and c) the comparison of taylor to hozier is part of the problem Genuinely because i don’t even think white people like half the music they listen to, they just don’t wanna be left behind, we’ll get into this later. i’m sorry to everyone who is tired of hearing about him but hozier will be returning later in this post jsfglsjlgldsjlfd

second note: read this

i don’t just dislike taylor because she’s white. i don’t dislike taylor because she’s a woman. i don’t dislike her because she writes mean and petty lyrics about past relationships and people who wronged her. i don’t dislike taylor because her public circle of friends is almost exclusively blonde white celebrities with their own laundry lists of issues that includes ryan reynolds and blake lively who are poster children for white privilege and pseudo-excellence if i’ve ever seen them. i dislike taylor because the amalgamation of all of those things is so exemplary of a huge problem i have with the music industry in general but also like american society

fuck it, numbered list!

1. taylor swift consistently releases the same mediocre album but in different colors. every album is the same lyrically and tonally. her body of work rarely goes very far above “good for taylor swift”. folklore as both title and musical aesthetic is irrelevant to the actual content of the album, which is just every taylor swift album except set to folk pop and with a bit more cussing, congrats for baby’s first swear. i’ve seen folklore compared to much better bodies of work and even propped up by stans as album of the year, a distinction that rina sawayama and chloe x halle will be battling it out for if there is any justice in the world at all. the fact that she is allowed to do this and still be considered great when this is something that even white male artists are butchered critically for... astounds me. like we all know how well received all of coldplay’s similar sounding albums are.... Come on.

2. i don’t think taylor or her work is particularly feminist and yet for some reason every time she frowns an army of white women brings her kleenex. i’m not saying taylor’s anger has always been unjustified, but her feminism to me has always felt like “i can do whatever a man can do” feminism, which is utterly fucking useless to me as a black woman. it’s only useful to her because as a wealthy, white, straight, cis white woman her ONLY obstacle in life is her gender. and if she just didn’t have that tricky little bitch then maybe people would take her seriously. like, just think about her music video for the man... what was the thesis of that? what was the point of that? with all of her privileges she’d just be gaining a single extra privilege. she’s a blonde blue eyed thin white girl, the world kisses her feet. i have no interest in proving myself any better or any worse than white men, they are not the standard for how a person should be treated, they’re cautionary tales, and white women are too. i think taylor capitalizes off of white woman victimhood, and it’s all over her writing style. even when she’s trying to be empowered, like in mad woman for example, there is this tone to it of victimization, poking the bear, unleashing the beast if you will. she invokes the imagery of salem witches and even more boldly chooses a noose to write about in the song which is..... surely going to be a white tumblr staple for many gifsets to come but holy shit is it hollow. she also tends to come back to teenage memories in her music and she’s thirty. i don’t think about being seventeen unless i’m being held at gunpoint but she seems to think about it All The Time. and part of this is to keep herself young, at least in her music, which only further ingrains this image of fragile teeny bopper taylor into the mind of the listener, fueling her victim image. this imagery and language means nothing because the world always rallies around taylor. even when she was the butt of jokes for not being beyonce (which she is not and never can be) and writing about her exes (which she does), she was largely supported by the industry and by critics. look at how many fucking awards she has!

3. folk and indie and alternative music is in a moment of transition, where musicians of color are getting the chance to really speak about how they’ve been treated in these overwhelmingly white circles and create their own standards and their own voices. and for taylor swift to swoop in with aaron dessner and jack antonoff fantano and almost reassert that mid-2010s indie sound as The Sound of folk pop in the popular consciousness.... it makes me violent! it! makes! me! violent!

4. back to hozier! finally, i wanna talk about white standom, fandom, bandom, and womandom. i often see these very superficial comparisons between hozier and taylor (and hozier and florence and hozier and stevie nicks and hozier and whatever other white woman in fashion) and they frustrate me for more than one reason. i know that hozier has met taylor and said she’s cool, which is nice of him and he’s a nice man, but i’m not a nice man so i’m going to just say it: none of the people who have made those posts have listened to more than four hozier songs and it shows. the reason why this matters is because these posts catch on and create an image and preconception of hozier’s music that is divorced from reality and divorced from his influences and most importantly divorced from the deliberate and reverent blackness of his musical style. hozier has his white male privilege in the industry for sure but he’s not as towering of a giant as taylor and taylor’s music is an unsalted chicken, plain oatmeal, white paint drying on a white wall, a stick of unflavored gum. her music is so white it told me that its dad is a cop. i am, as a black hozier fan, exhausted with having to share space with white women who don’t know why hozier’s music kicks me in my lungs sometimes and think that taylor mentioning a tree ONCE in her 3 minute acoustic guitar slog about whatever suburb is the same when it simply is not. i swear some of you are pretending to love taylor because your friends love her and you don’t wanna be left out of the hot new musical discourse but she’s only the hot new musical discourse CONSTANTLY because she’s a white woman, she’s almost the Perfect white woman. like if someone asked me to describe a white woman, it would be taylor swift. her position at the top of the musical pyramid among people who eclipse her musically, vocally, and lyrically is only allowed because she’s The Perfect White Woman. she’s an ideal. white girls relate to her immediately because of it and now we have this unshakable mob of unbearable white women who think that the world has wronged someone who literally wrote fanfiction about the rich oil heiress white woman who owned her rhode island mansion before her aklghlghdhlgs it drives me fucking NUTS

anyway that’s all. if you made it this far, listen to adia victoria, kaia kater, samantha crain, valerie june, kelsey lu, corinne bailey rae, brittany howard, kimya dawson, japanese breakfast, cold specks, left at london, rhiannon giddens, aisha badru, shea diamond, nadine shah, xenia rubinos, karen o, mirel wagner.... Anyone

#me #taylor swift meanie hour #long post

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charlie-rulerofhell · 3 years

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For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

#måneskin #maneskin #måneskin interview #my stuff #i'm sorry if someone already translated it but i was working on this for the past 3 hours now so i'm still gonna share it #i know most of it is not very new but there were some quite interesting details in there #and it's just always great to read about those four dorks so i wanted to share it with all of you who wanted to read it but couldn't #enjoy and please ignore any possible mistakes i didn't have the time to proof-check everything

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edie-baby · 3 years

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Baby Boy Chapter 8 | Lando Norris

Summary: Milana Navratilova is the best friend of Victoria Verstappen, and is for lack of a better word, a minx. She can pull anyone into bed with her at any time. So when she attends the Austrian Grand Prix with Victoria, the drivers make for good bedfellows. Until she finds a man who makes her finally feel like herself. Her baby boy.

Taglist: @its-astrotea-love

Warnings: smut, swearing, non-con kiss (will be a chapter warning for that one), OC is a w h o r e and i love her.

Victoria and Milana walked through the bustling paddock on Thursday, reporters, journalists, PR reps, and drivers were all running around to fill their media duties, as after today, the sole focus would be on getting the best results before the short summer break. Victoria took a turn to visit Lewis in the Mercedes hospitality, and a few moments after, Milana spotted Lando sitting at a table on his own outside of his own team’s gorgeous facility. Milana walked up behind him, and after spotting how tensely he was sitting, she chuckled to herself - she was going to scare the shit out of him. Ensuring her footsteps were silent, she snuck up behind the driver and slid her hands over his shoulders and down to his chest, whispering a husky ‘boo’ into his ear as he leapt forward and squealed. Milana laughed loudly, the first time Lando had heard her laugh this hard, with no worries. She calmed down, a few giggles still escaping her maroon lips as she ushered him to sit back where he was.

“You’re mean.” Lando pouted, his voice sounding like a sulking child’s. Milana’s heart skipped a beat, admiring how adorable the boy seemed to be without even trying.

“I’m sorry, baby boy. I’ll make it up to you.” Milana apologised, beginning to rub his shoulders with her small hands. Lando’s shoulders immediately relaxed, his breath coming out in one long sigh as he forgot about the stress of the upcoming weekend, and simply focused on the euphoria this small, foreign woman was giving him.

“Fuck, you’re so good at that. Don’t stop.” Lando almost moaned. Milana felt her heart beat a little quicker, her stomach fluttering. She had never been affected by praise, as many of her previous bedfellows had attempted it, and it just never seemed to do anything for her. But from Lando, God it was so much better. Milana remained quiet, occasionally humming a song Victoria had played a few times over the few days they had been in Austria together. Her hands continued kneading into the tense muscles in Lando’s neck and shoulders.

“Thank you Mila. I didn’t know I needed that. Come sit down, I wanna get to know you more.” Lando stopped her after another few moments, rolling his neck around and sighing in relief. Milana smiled at the nickname, the only one she had ever been given from her name was Lana, so Lando having his own name for her released another round of butterflies into her stomach.

“There isn’t much to know, unfortunately. I’m pretty boring, baby boy.” Milana told him, taking a seat on the outdoor chair adjacent to his at the small square table.

“Why do you give everyone pet names? I don’t think I’ve heard you call anyone their names when you talk to them.” Lando’s head was tilted like a puppy, those light eyes of his filled with curiosity.

“It always made me feel special when I was younger when someone would call me pet names. I guess I just got so comfortable with them that I don’t really see the romanticism behind it anymore? But obviously, some I reserve for special people. Keep the integrity.” Milana spoke, looking off to the busy thoroughfare of the paddock.

“What are your special ones then?” Lando probed, his main purpose was to determine whether or not his name was sacred.

“Love, it’s one of my absolute favourites to be called, but not many people use it anymore. But other than that, it's just the baby’s. Obviously, Victoria is ‘baby girl’, and she calls me babe so it’s kind of our thing. And then, baby boy.” Milana’s face lit up as she imagined being called love by someone who truly meant it, but her voice got quieter as she continued. Lando heard everything though, and smirked when he saw just how shy Milana became when she revealed the significance of his pet name.

“Ok, enough with the pet names. I know literally zero about you, I should be able to ask questions too.” Milana pouted slightly, a very rare sight as she was usually smirking or biting her lip. Lando couldn’t resist her when she looked at him like that, her dark eyes staring up at him, bottom lip slightly pushed out, it made him weak at the knees. Lando nodded, so Milana began trying to think of a question to ask the man.

“Why do you race F1?” Milana asked after a few beats of silence. Lando’s eyebrows shot up, he wasn’t expecting a question like that, more along the lines of ‘what’s your favourite colour’ but he couldn’t complain, playing the standard 21 questions with girls got boring after ninth grade.

“The control. I am the only one that has the control to operate that car. It’s me. I thrive off the pressure, if I fuck up, it’s on me. But it's exhilarating, having all of the power, being the one in charge. It fuels me. There isn’t much else in the world I can control like I can an F1 car.” Lando’s fists were clenched tightly as he began talking about control, and Milana could see part of herself in that.

“You’re really cute when you talk about something you’re passionate about.” Milana stated, and Lando’s head snapped around to look at her, she looked completely comfortable with telling him he was cute, whereas Lando’s face was hot like fire, and he knew he probably looked ridiculous.

“Ok, so what do you do?” Lando moved on, his face was still hotter than hell, but he was determined to move on and try to come to terms with the fact that the most beautiful woman he had ever met thought he was cute.

“I work in an art gallery in Prague, and I’m studying anthropology.” Milana replied, unimpressed with her current occupations. She just wanted to be out in the anthropology field already, she loved everything she was learning and just wanted to put it into practice.

“How old are you? I just realised I have absolutely no idea.” Lando blurted, it was the first thing he thought of when Mila mentioned she was still at university.

“I’m 19.” She replied simply. Lando’s entire head moved forward, as if to say ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you, can you please say whatever insane thing you just said again?’. Milana giggled at his perplexed expression. Lando for sure thought the Czech was at least a year older than him, but now he has to find out that she’s actually two years younger.

“You’re so much more mature than I was when I was 19. I was still struggling to cook food for myself without burning the entire house down.” Lando laughed, and Milana couldn’t help but laugh along with the sounds of joy that made her heart flutter. Lando truly could not believe that the woman who was laughing freely in front of him was the same woman he met three days ago who seemed to be the flirtier, female version of the Iceman, Kimi Raikkonen. He preferred this bright, cheery girl over the seductive woman he met, because this was Mila, not Milana.

Their laughter faded away, Milana looked back toward the flood of people still moving back and forth between the makeshift buildings, and Lando just looked at her.

“Would you like to go for dinner with me?” Lando’s mouth seemed to be quicker than his brain, because when Milana looked at him in shock, his words caught up to him. Milana saw how shocked he was in himself, and nodded, a bright smile curling her lips. Lando nodded back, a large smile and a nervous giggle urged him out of his chair, waving to Milana as he ran to the Williams garage to ask George what to do.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #team lando #lando norris x oc #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris smut #mclaren f1 #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #call me eden

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jelliclewhiskers · 3 years

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Part two of me liveblogging this recording of the Mexico 1991 production of Cats !

The Moments of Happiness.

Coricopat, Tantomile, and Sillabub/Jemima have their moment. Jemima's voice is really nice here. This part always touches me, along with the instrumentals after.

Sillabub/Jemima snaps out of it a few beats after her solo and falls back down. Gets some pats from the Mystical Twins.

Damn this part. Solemn and somber is all I can call it.

Time for Gus and Jelly to sadden things up. Her voice is very gentle here, and she's pretty. Gus patted her paw on his shoulder with his own, nice detail. He nods as she sings. They look like a married couple here and I'm ip for it.

Gus' voice is a little gruff, old, and it's very telling. I can get the message without knowing what they're saying. I've memorized the lyrics anyhow.

Maybe it's the lighting, but I notice little pads on his paws? If they are there, that's another detail I like.

I like the second part of his song best, after he sings, when Jelly picks things up again.

Listening for him to say "Rumpus Cat" but they may be using another name. Or maybe he'll bust out as Growltiger?

He's gotten up and is passionate about his memories.

"I could do it again..."

GROWLTIGER !

OHHHH now that's an opening. Everything goes dark as something lowers and then he laughs, revealed as Growltiger when the spotlight illuminates him again ! Exciting. Maybe I won't skip the song this time.

They lowered an entire ship set, this is actually cool. I always do love this tune.

Raffish Crew fucking things up, kind of here for it honestly.

GROWLTIGER JUST SOCKED MISTO SQUARE IN THE FACE ! And Tugger and the others!

He's kicking ass. Racism bad though :( Can't understand the lyrics as they're sung but I know them.

In comes Griddlebone for their deut. She's so fluffy.

This number is really cool honestly, wish it could be rewritten to omit the objectifying parts.

They're not bringing out the cushion for them to practically fuck on, instead they're on the ship set. Really cool set.

Growltiger being an ass and touchy to Griddlebone who just loves him LOL.

I wish they'd sing Billy Mccaw.

This gives me the interpretation that Griddle was tricking him, serving as a distraction for them to get him. Then again, she took a fall off the ship, so who's to tell?

Getting some fighting action before finally Growltiger is put out of his misery. He falls off the ship too. Kind of deserved, not going to lie.

Woah, just noticed they lowered a new background along with the set. The moon is a crescent.

There's another cut and Gus' song ends with the melody from before Growltiger. He sings again, in the dark with a light shining solely on him. He saunters off the stage as the lighting returns. Ship set has lifted back up.

SKIMBLESHANKS THE RAILWAY CAT! THE CAT OF THE RAILWAY TRAIN!

They're so high energy and I love it !!!

Skimble shakes his finger at Victoria for causing a little ruckus.

The instrumentals are interesting. Loving the light chugging of a train they've replicated for it.

HIS EARS WIGGLE SO MUCH

They're making the train without the sheet and it's really cool to look at. A sheet comes down from one of the props to make the body of the train. It looks metal or something? Can't tell but it's cool.

Aaaaand it all falls apart as Skimble is showing Deut. But he doesn't care, he's on his merry way with the rest of the song.

I fear with the shortness of this video Misto's number may not be in it.

The number restarts before — CRASH! It all goes dark and Macavity's ominous laugh rings out. They're using another name for him, which Demeter shouts into the darkness.

Deuteronomy is kidnapped by his hench cats and him.

Macavity's number !

Demeter is giving a really good show. I like it, very sinister and telling of her times with him by the dance. Lore fuel IMO

Bombalurina is really attractive, as per usual. I see them as a great couple here.

Macavity's girls have come to dance

Holy shit the recording is glitching out and there's a ton of static visually and in the audio, very unexpected but very much like Macavity. There's a break and we get a glimpse of them still singing his song, but it's overtaken by more glitches of blue, black, and static. Audio gets wavy there. Creepy, but fitting.

Recording clears up and they mention Mungojerrie and Griddlebone, song continuing before finishes.

Recording cuts to Macavity "returning" Deuteronomy. Demeter instantly senses something is off with him and gets all the cats away from this fake Deut.

She pounces, revealing him as Macavity!

Evil King fucking things up and being the real life of the Ball LOL. He takes up Demeter, who is rescued from his grip.

Macavity Fight.

Intense. He's really going at them, Munk is crumpled on the ground in pain for a minute as another cat attacks him. Macavity runs up and cuts all the lights in a flash of electricity.

"Macavity's not there..."

Demeter and Munkustrap groom each other in front of the light source, recovering from that frightening encounter.

Tugger introduces Mistoffelees!

Only nine minutes of the recording left, will we get the full song? At least hoping to, it's my favorite.

It's really dark, asides from the light being shone on Tugger. Small cut, things are lighting up again as Mistoffelees enters the scene by wire.

No "Presto!" but I'm really happy to see this. Misto is blasting things up around the stage. Tugger affectionately removes his coat.

Munk is singing the verse, which is surprising. Love his two boys hyping him up. Might I add Mistoffelees looks really cool here?

Tugger also sings some parts with him.

Gay ribbon :D They dance together, arms linked !!!

Finally all the Misto shots I wanted. Even his chest fur is sparkly.

He does his little dance Thing with Tugger, dances some more, then comes over to him again. To which his loving boyfriend/#1 hype man ruffles his chest fur with his tail.

Conjuring Turns!! He's really holding the spins for a minute. Audience should've cheered.

Tugger is so excited.

Instead of a second verse after this pause, Misto cuts right to the chase and pulls the red sheet out of that hole in the old Ford.

Misto chooses a volunteer, Cassandra I'll assume. They do the version of the trick where he spreads the red sheet over where the pipe is, and drags it to the center of the stage.

He does some hand motions over the rising sheet before tugging it off to reveal Old Deuteronomy! All the lighting has returned.

Misto excitedly leaps into Deuteronomy's open arms without waiting for Tugger to finish his slow, "Oh, well, I never was there ever..."

Misto and Deut share a really sentimental look before he jumps down and the song picks up. All the cats swarm him, before they line up and link hands. Misto claims his spot between Tugger and Deut, while Munk is at Deut's other side.

This song makes me so happy. Deut is skipping to the tire with Munk and Tugger, and a cat does some flips across the stage.

More turns! Faster this time.

They end the song by lifting up the magical tuxedo, and then he does the light trick, blowing it out.

The recording ends just as Memory starts. I suppose thats it.

Overall, really good production. Super satisfied with it although we don't get to see the ending, probably since we got Misto's number to close it. I'm curious to see Jellicle Songs and the ending though. If anyone has recordings of those, please do send 'em my way.

If I had to rate it, I would give it a 9.5/10.

All the designs really grew on me, it's an amazing performance. Give it a watch sometime.

@eh-dot-dot-dot

#abrax rambles #liveblogging #part two

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childofsquidward · 2 years

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you can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to. put your favourite playlist on shuffle and list the first ten songs then tag ten people! no skipping!

I was tagged by @infp-obsessing-over-everything (thank you!!!) and I picked my ‘taani shekhawat vibes’ playlist for this because it’s a pretty solid mix of all my other playlists.

1) “Numb Little Bug” by Em Beihold (I kept switching this song back and forth from my ‘guess i’ll just cry then’ playlist to my ‘fuck this shit playlist’, so I eventually moved both this song and its piano version to the Taani playlist.)

2) “Stop The Rain” by Ed Sheeran (his new album is his best album)

3) “Paper Planes” by Elina (nobody talk to me, there’s a reason why I always skip this song, fuck, I’m gonna get kicked out of the library)

4) “Nicer” - Katelyn Tarver (the fact that she never got to sing on the BTR show is my villain origin story)

5) “Remember That Night?” by Sara Keys (I’m fine)

6) “Wanted” by Bullyheart (NO, not this, not now)

7) “Falling” by Harry Styles (you know WHAT- this hits so much harder when I remember Chapter 1 of Unwritten)

8) “Treat Myself” by Victoria Justice (this song is not about what you think it’s about, it’s actually kinda sad)

9) “Would You Be So Kind” by dodie (this is THE Taani song and also, I just really love dodie, I also have Secret For The Mad on this playlist)

10) “Nostalgic” by ROSIE (this is also THE Taani song... but this more the second half of her character arc where they ruined everything, it’s fine, I’m not bitter or anything, it’s not like this song keeps fueling my desire to keep writing D3 fics out of pure spite or anything like that, no, of course not)

I’m tagging: @salvatorestjohn @shaonharryandpannisim @andthatscanon @sassyfoxunknown @killervibe @chashmishh @lightninginmyeyes @m0hinii @temmie-loony @musiquesduciel and anyone else who wants to do this

#music #tag game #diya rambles

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years

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So tell me: What is there to do in Australia?

I’ve never been, but have always wanted to go there.

Oh! Really?? Well we’d be happy to have you!!

Hmmm, lemme try to do this without triangulating my location, haha XDD

Okay, so, I’ve been to Queensland, Victoria and NSW- the rest of the country is a complete mystery to me XD Also, I think most of it is desert and, like, 3 people plus an echidna anyway so that’s okay! Haha.

I’m no tour guide, and my family always stuck to camping out in the bush when we were vacationing so I know next to nothing about mainstream Australia hah XD *Sweat drop*. Of course, I recommend the obvious ones- the Sydney Opera House, Sea World and Movie World in Queensland, Luna Park either in Sydney or Melbourne, Q1, Australia Zoo (Fun Fact: My family visited there THE DAY that Steve Irwin died. ... yeah. Not so fun, but there you go. Scary coincidence that plagues me everyday that I live in a world without that man), Uluru, The Great Ocean Road and the Great Barrier Reef, Sydney Harbour Bridge, Melbourne for a culture boost, etc. I would also list the Blue Mountains but all our mountains basically look the same, so. And I’m not even gonna attempt to list any beaches cuz, well you’ll find plenty on your journey and they’re all basically the same. Not to say they aren't great though! I’ve grown up around beaches and they’re beautiful ^^ I could stand with my feet buried under water and sand for hours, in cold or hot weather and its always nice.

If you like more populated, normal society kinda areas, those are the places ^^ Lost of shopping, cultural enlightenment and beaches.

Now, stuff I know XD CAMPING, ROADTRIPS AND SMALL TOWNS. Okay okay okay, XD Its been forever since I’ve camped but as soon as I rope a friend who can drive in, I’m going. I love the bush, and I think everyone who likes fresh air, and wild life, and nature will too of course (And, I know people worry about this so just saying- I used to camp all the time and I’ve only come upon one snake. No sweat. You’re far more likely to get attacked by a giant freaken kangaroo or pecked by an emu then bitten by a snake or spider. My Dad made up this campfire horror story about the ‘Ghost Kangaroo’ that makes a ‘Shhh-THUMP’ sound because it had to replace one of its legs with a mop, and THAT scared us more then the possibility of a snake).

I bet you’ve heard of the Big Apple... but have you heard of the Big Pineapple? Probably not. Well its a thing we have in Woombye, Queensland and its just pineapple building thing that you can go inside, but is a fun touristy thing to do XD I think its reopening? Or its been reopened? I dunno.

My BIGGEST recommendation is Beechworth. This is a town in Victoria that is Ned Kelly crazy. My mum’ll deny it now but honestly I think she had a bit of obsession with the famous Bushranger when I was little but she totally was. He kinda dominates my childhood memories. Documentaries, the Old Melbourne Jail where he was hung, his armour... and this town. This is where he was caught with Harry Power and there’s a whole walk you can go on that follows his run from the police, including a little statue of him shot and all (This tour is one of the most memorable tours I’ve ever been on. Right next the one I went on with a bunch of other kids where they taught us how to identify animal poop). There's also a museum, of course (If you want to see his famous tin can armour, though, you’ll have to visit the State Library in Melbourne), the Beechworth Gaol, and giant motherfucking statue of the guy. Yeah... as a country we tend to romanticise him a bit. I even have a picture of little me and my brother grinning ear to ear at his huge boots.

Beechworth also has the b e s t Bee Stings you’ll ever find, and a good Gold Rush tour.

OH MY GOD SPEAKING OF THE GOLD RUSH. You MUST visit Sovereign Hill in Ballarat. Omg, I love that place so much. Its basically this town full of paid roll players like Disney Land where you can pretend you’re in the Gold Rush times and explore all the old fashioned shops and buildings (The Dentist is nightmare fuel), get dressed up in old fashioned clothes and get your picture taken, have high tea or, you know, pan for gold at the lake. I’ve been picked on by a roll players (A policeman. Both times.) both times I’ve been but its easy to avoid them if you aren't comfortable with that kinda thing ^^

Also- Food! Another recommendation for if you go to Australia? Go to a Bunnings if you’re hungry. They’ll likely have a sausage sizzle going and you can get a cheap, delicious lunch!! Plus the proceeds are usually for a charity, which is always good. I love sausage sizzles so much, haha XD

Oh, if you aren't in to camping out in the bush, or at all, then I toooootally recommend any Big 4 holiday park you find. They always have giant pillows (The trampoline things, not the bedding XD) and- come on. How can you say no to that? Haha.

Aussie movies to watch: Kangaroo Jack, Red Dog (Muahaha), Rogue, Crocodile Dundee and Nim’s Island.

We call our Prime Minister (Scott Morrison) ‘ScoMo’.

Enjoy the fun facts written on pad wrappers! (If you get periods, or your have a friend who gets periods)

And uhhhh... I think that’s all I can think of? XD Thanks for allowing me to rattle on about home! ^^

Parting advice: DO NOT besmirch milo. You’ll promptly be fed to the dingo’s, and there is nothing I can do to save you.

Also don’t talk shit about vegemite either, but that's mostly because you’ll be branded as an out-of-nation-er (?? Pft, haha) for the rest of your trip. Its hard to come back from that XD

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 31

Warning: Profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

Two days later he finds himself on a chartered plane to The Kimberley; paying handsomely and out of pocket for the privacy and security that a flight of that nature could...and would...provide him with. Contacting an old buddy from his SASR days that had started his own travel company flying people throughout the northern territory of Australia; mostly tourists wanting to spend their time roaming the remotest of places. Thrill seekers who wanted to try their hand at cliff diving or getting up close and personal with the prolific wildlife; exploring the waterfalls and the gorges and getting a taste of life in the outback. When Tyler had called and offered triple what one day of flights would bring in plus a bonus for fuel and for a vow silence, his buddy had jumped at the chance. Clearing his schedule for twenty-five hours and offering at be at Tyler’s beck and call, promising not to ask any questions or expect any answers or explanations. He was on a need to know basis, and he simply didn’t need to know.

He rents a vehicle in Broome under a fake name; paying cash and giving extra when he fails to provide any identification verifying who he is. He barely speaks; simple yes or no answers, never giving too much or too little. Keeping his sunglasses over his eyes and his ball cap on his head; beard trimmed close to his face; hair tightly cropped to the scalp. He wants to keep things on the down low just in case he is on someone’s radar. The less people who know his business, the better. Fewer bread crumbs left scattered about means he has a better chance of keeping things off the grid. If someone IS watching him and his family, it’s of dire importance to keep things quiet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t arouse suspicion. And most importantly, don’t put an even bigger target on your back.

He sits in the car rental parking lot; behind the wheel of a Range Rover that’s used to the roads and can handle the rugged and sometimes unforgiving terrain, checking his text messages and emails. The mystery of who Salena actually is continues to deepen; there’s no record of anyone with that name -first or last- having ever attended college of university anywhere in Australia within the past twenty years. Nothing found through the department of transport; no record of a driver’s license issued through them, no vehicle ownership, no tickets or other driving infractions. It’s going to take long than Tyler had anticipated or hoped; his contacts needing time to hack into government databases. Years on the job have left him a wealth of ‘friends’; people who respect and trust him ,who he in turn can rely on to not ask too many questions and he knows won’t turn him away when he shows up out of the blue asking for help.

There had been no luck on the Jeep; other than learning that the plates had been stolen three days before from a grocery store parking lot in Victoria. How they’d ended up on a vehicle in Cooktown presents an even bigger question. He’d wanted to avoid confronting Salena himself; hoping he’d get the answers he wanted -and needed-without resorting to calling her out. He plans to give it three more days. If he hears nothing by the end of the week, he will go over to the house and demand she tell him what the fuck is going on. No one puts his family in jeopardy. Perceived or not. And if he doesn’t hear what he wants, she will find out the hard way just how savage he can actually be.

He calls home. One of the ‘rules’ they’d adopted years ago -and stuck to - when they’d first gotten married was to always call when you reach your destination; so the other knows that you’ve arrived safe and sound. The other is that you never leave the house without saying ‘I love you’. Life is too short, and if Dhaka had taught them anything. it was how quickly and drastically things could go wrong; your entire existence dramatically -and permanently- altered. And although he hadn’t seen the Jeep or the driver in the past forty eight hours, the lack of leads and solid information have left a bitter taste in his mouth, along with the even more speculation and suspicion. Things are NOT what they seem. He’s one hundred percent sure of that. It isn’t paranoia or hypervigilance or a case of him being an overprotective husband and father; it’s fact. The neighbour and the Jeep driver both sounding the alarm and kicking his instincts into high gear.

He hasn’t said a word. Not wanting to spook her or the kids. For now he simply plays his cards close to his chest. Keeping an eye on everyone and everything; coming up with a game plan for every possible scenario.

“But when will you be home?” Tanner asks, sounding dangerously close to tears. He’d expected Millie or TJ to be the emotional and sensitive ones; they’ve always taken his absences a lot of harder than their brother. Tanner had always been the strong and stoic one; the emotional and moral support for his siblings. But since Tyler’s return from New Zealand, the dynamic between them has changed. Their relationship tighter and stronger than ever.

“I’ll be there when you get home from school tomorrow,” Tyler assures him, his own lump of emotion sitting squarely and solidly in his throat. It’s so fucking hard. Leaving them. Even when it’s just an overnight trip.

“You promise?”

“I promise. I just have a couple of things to do. An old friend to see. Then I’m coming right home.”

“”You’ll be here when we get off the bus?”

“I will. And I tell you, I’ll pick you guys up. We’ll go out and do something before going home. Just the three of us. Okay?”

“Okay daddy,” Tanner swallows noisily.

“You tell Millie and TJ what I said. That I’ll meet you guys at school. And you help out your mum, yeah? You do whatever she saw and whatever she asks. No giving her a hard time. Promise?”

“I promise. You promise, too? That you’ll be there to pick us up?”

“I promise, mate. I’ll be there.”

“I love you, daddy.”

“I love you too. And I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me talk to mommy.”

“Okay,” Tanner sniffles noisily, and there’s a slight rustling as the phone is passed from one person to the other, followed by Esme giving gentle yet firm orders about starting -and finishing- homework before anyone is allowed time on the beach.

“You got there okay?” She speaks to him now, voice quiet and tired.

“Safe and sound. It’ll take a couple of hours to get there. I don’t know how good the reception is going to be when I get there. It used to be shit when I lived there.”

“That must have been so disappointing for you and your harem of women,” she teases. “Hard to sext with unreliable reception.”

“You’re a smart ass, you know that?”

“So you tell me.”

“If the signal is decent later, I’ll sext you later.”

“Yeah?” she laughs. “I think I’d rather it happen over the phone. So I can hear your voice. I’d much rather hear you say disgustingly dirty things than type them. You’re a master of naughty talk. And in that voice, ” she sighs happily, then turns serious. “You sound tired.”

“I am. It wasn’t a good night last night.”

Another nightmare; a new one this time. Of masked and heavily armed men breaking into the house and binding him to a chair and forcing him to watch as they raped and murdered his wife. Then shooting him -non fatally- before taking off with the kids. He can still hear their voices; his children...his flesh and blood...screaming in terror and pleading with him to help them. He’d woken up with a choked sob; bolting into a sitting position, body covered head to toe in sweat, tears streaming down his face and his heart pounding and his chest aching. Somehow he’d managed to not wake Esme up, and for an hour he’d laid beside her watching her sleep. Marvelling in the way the moonlight bathed her skin in an ethereal glow and how her lips were curved into the smallest and softest of smiles; the ends of her eyelashes brushing against the top of her cheeks and her body rising and falling with each slow, steady breath.

And when she’d mentioned at breakfast how restless he’d been through the night, he’d lied and placed the blame on his shoulder and knee. She didn’t need to hear that; the horrific and grotesque details of some fucked up night terror. In the same way he’d never tell her about Gaspar’s real offer and the things Asif had planned for her.

“You’re okay now?” she asks. “Is it any better?”

He wants to tell her that physically he feels pretty damn good; nothing more than a dull ache in the shoulder and a stiff knee. Mentally he’s struggling. The cravings for the Oxy have diminished, but the ones for booze are powerful and nearly all consuming. It’s the stress of not knowing what’s happening; the worry of the unknown. Just exactly who is the new next door neighbor? Who was it that had been watching him and the kids? Is his family going to be safe while he’s gone? Ovi and Kyle are there; and while it gives him some piece of mind, they don’t stand a chance against the type of people that Tyler has faced.

“It’s better,” he replies. “Knee’s a bit stiff but that’s nothing new. I’m always going to hobble like I’m eighty. I’m used to it now.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I think your hobble is kind of cute,” she says.

“I’d like to tell you that that makes me feel better, but when you use the word cute…”

“You ARE cute though. In a lot of ways. And you can’t convince me otherwise. You call me cute.”

“Because you ARE cute. You were especially cute this morning when you were looking up at me while waking me up by sucking my…”

“Okay,” she interrupts with a giggle. “We do not need a play by play of this morning. Because it will only get me all hot and bothered and now is not a good time to be hot and bothered. Behave yourself, okay? Don’t get into any trouble.”

“I promise I will not get into any drunken bar brawls.”

“I’d like you stay sober, please. I know how much Koen likes his beer and he’s going to want a drinking buddy and he hasn’t seen you in a long time and...”

“I know how to say no. I’m forty years old. I won’t give in to peer pressure.”

“I just worry about you. I know you’re in a bad place right now and being away from home might make the urges stronger and…”

“ I’m not going to lose you. Or my kids. I’ve got this. It’s not going to beat me.”

“You’re a strong man, Tyler Rake. Regardless of what you think.”

He smiles. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too. Come home quick, play? We miss you. I miss you.”

“That soon?” He grins. “That’s gotta be a record.”

“Well I’ve gotten used to you being around. I know I sometimes bitch and moan about you…”

“Sometimes?”

“...but I still like having you here.”

“Yeah? Well I like being there. You make it pretty easy to stick around.”

“Even with all my bitching and moaning?”

“Even then.”

“Drive safe, okay? And don’t tell me not to worry about you because that will never happen. If you can get a signal, call me later. Just so I know how you are. I kind of like hearing your voice before I go to sleep.”

“I will,” Tyler promises. “I’ll be home tomorrow. My flight gets in at noon.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Esme, you don’t…”

“I’ll pick you up,” she insists. “Don’t give me a hard time about this. Just me do something nice for you, alright?”

He smiles. “Alright.”

“We’ll talk soon. I love you, Tyler.”

He’s always loved the way his name has sounded coming out of her mouth. Whether it’s sweet and loving like just now, or soft and sleepy when he wakes her up after she’s falling asleep against him on the couch. Or when she’s in the midst of a round of hysterical giggles when he’s tickling her mercilessly or when it’s interspersed with moans and sighs during more intimate moments or she’s screaming it loud enough to wake the dead.

“I love you, Esme,” he says in return. “So much. I’ll see you when I see you.”

She gives a small laugh. “You haven’t said that in a long time. That used to be our ‘thing’. Whenever you’d leave for a job, you never left without saying that. I’ve missed it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that she disconnects the call. And for several minutes he sits there in that dusty parking lot, tears stinging his eyes as he stares down at the phone clutched tightly in his hand.

****

The road is ragged and rough, but there’s a familiarity to it that Tyler has missed. The way the SUV rocks and slides; the crunch and pop of stone and dirt under the tires and the patter of pebbles against metal and the windshield. The plume of dust that is kicked up behind him. It’s been years since he’s been out this way; returning once shortly after he’d finished his stint in rehab after Dhaka. His counsellor convincing him that it would be beneficial to his progress if he visited one last time; the act of saying goodbye to that part of his past giving him a sense of closure, and making it easier for him to get on with the present AND the future. But he’d felt nothing upon his return; he’d never formed any kind of bond with the place, using it primarily as just somewhere to eat and lay his head. And drink himself into oblivion nearly every night.

His mind is much clearer now. It’s been years since he’d last taken Oxy, and six months since even a drop of booze. He feels a little more nostalgic; the mountain range and the sparse treeline coming into view, spying the rusted old gate that’s still standing after all these years.

He immediately thinks of that afternoon seven years ago when he’d returned home to find a helicopter sitting in his front yard and Nik waiting for him on the porch. He’d been irritated at first; all he’d wanted was to be alone and to wallow in his own self pity and maybe even drink and drug himself to death. Then he’d realized that Nik was likely bringing what he needed the most: an escape. That she had something big for him; a job he couldn’t -and wouldn’t- refuse. And he remembers standing in the kitchen as she sent into a spiel about one drug dealer snatching another drug dealer’s kid and how he was being held in Dhaka. The front door had been open and he’d let his mind wander as she spoke and that’s when he saw her: a tiny brunette with an impossibly tight and toned body in jean shorts, tank top, and flip flops, climbing out of the helicopter. Chatting and laughing over her shoulder with Yaz as she headed towards the shack. Pausing on the porch as Maggie -his old and faithful canine companion- happily greeted the newcomer; immediately flopping over onto her back and demanding stomach rubs.

He’d stood there watching; barely hearing a word Nik said as he noted all the tattoos and the piercings in her nose and and just below her bottom lip. The way one strap of the tank top kept slipping off her shoulder. Knowing that his life was about to change, but never imagining just how much.

Koen is standing on the front porch when Tyler steps out of the SUV; an Australian cattle dog with a yellow bandana tied around its neck sitting patiently as his friend’s side, tail wagging in excitement. Koen’s one of his oldest -and dearest- friends; serving together throughout their years in the SASR. Walking through hell together in war zones like Kabul and Kandahar; dodging bullets and escaping death and shedding blood, sweat, and tears. He’s a decade older than Tyler; grittier, weathered. Several inches shorter; stocky and wide, his youthful and more muscular days behind him. But he’s rough; tough as nails and fearless. And even now Tyler would still trust him to have his back in even the most dire and dangerous of situations.

“Jesus...Christ…” Koen grumbles as Tyler approaches, and then ruffles the scruff of the dog’s neck. “...Sadie, get the shotgun. We’ve got a sketchy bastard in our midst.”

“Is Sadie your right palm or your left?” Tyler inquires.

“Always were a smart ass little prick. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Nope. But I kiss yours.”

Koen smirks, and in two strides he’s off the porch and embracing Tyler warmly; a tight, affectionate huge that comes with years of surviving the worst together. “Holy shit…” he drawls, and gives Tyler’s hair a tussle and then holds him out at arms length. “...you’re a big bastard now, ain’t ya.”

“Two thirty, two thirty five. Maybe a bit heavier.”

Koen squeezes Tyler’s shoulders, then his biceps. “Like a fucking brick wall. What the hell she been feeding ya?”

“Lots of good shit. She treats me right. I can’t complain.”

“Can’t believe she’s still putting up with the likes of you. I gave her the chance, you know. When you were all laid up in that hospital with a tube in your dick. Told her if she wanted a real man, I was ready, willing, and able. She wouldn’t take me up on it, though. Already attached to you for some fucking reason. How you keeping? Things are good? You look good.”

“I feel good. What’s this?” He slaps the back of his hand against Koen’s stomach. “When ya due?”

“I oughta slap that shit eating grin clear off your face. And I would if I hadn’t missed your sorry face. Good to you, mate. Damn good to see you.” Koen embraces him once again. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it. Didn’t look too good for a while.”

“That was almost seven years ago,” Tyler points out.,

“Been that fucking long?” Koen gives a long, low whistle and shakes his head. “Sometimes feels like it was just yesterday. Getting that call. How she ever tracked me down while you were in a coma, I’ll never know.”

“A nurse gave her my phone. She just went through my contacts, picked a name, and hoped for the best.”

“You’re a fucking lucky bastard, you know. Having a girl like that. Any lady that will stick by your side like that...do the things she did...well that’s a lady worth keeping. You’ve been treating her right, I hope. Because I’m not above calling her and finding out. Or kicking your ass if she’s got bad tales to tell.”

“We’ve been through some shit,” Tyler admits. “But she’s still hanging in there. For some reason or another.”

“Needs her goddamn head read, if you ask me. Why should she be stuck with that,” he nods at Tyler. “When she could have this?”

Tyler just chuckles, and Koen slings an arm around him and leads the way inside.

****

The shack is more habitable now; the living area, bedroom, and kitchen are still open concept, but a wall now separates them from the bathroom. There’s insulation and sheetrock; no rickety wooden planks with gaps and holes that used to let in the rain and dirt when the wind storms picked up. It’s plain yet bright; light beige pint, a wood floor glazed over with a natural stain, hand constructed butcher block counter tops in the kitchen and a toilet, sink, and tub in sparkling condition. The roof is still tin though, and Tyler can vividly recall the sound of rain hammering against it; lonesome and depressing on the darkest and emptier of nights.

Koen gestures for him to take a seat at the kitchen table -the same one that had been there when Tyler had given him the place nearly seven years ago- and he takes a seat in one of the weathered and wobbly chairs. Watching as his old friend moves to the cupboard above the sink and takes out two glasses and a half empty bottle of whisky. Tyler doesn’t say anything at first; silent as Koen pours the amber coloured liquor into the glasses and then places one in front of him before taking a seat across the table.

He considers it; just ONE drink. Something to take the edge of. His fingertips against the cold, smooth surface of the glass; smelling it, tasting it on his lips and his tongue. The craving gnaws at his belly and preys on his mind; telling him he needs it. Deserves it. And the rim of the glass is pressed against his lips when the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window catches the white gold of his wedding band. The glint capturing his attention; a proverbial kick in the ass for even considering what he was about to do. And he sets the glass down on the table without taking a single sip.

Koen frowns. “Something wrong?”

“I don’t do this anymore,” Tyler says. “Drink. I haven’t for six months.”

He expects some kind of trash talking, or at least a laugh and incredulous shake of the head. But Koen just gives a nod of understanding and then stands up, carrying the glass to the sink and dumping the whisky down the drain.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something?” He asks, then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and then sets it down in front of Tyler before returning to his seat. “Sober, huh?”

“Half a year now.”

“Must have been hard.”

“Still is,” Tyler admits. “But I made a promise. To stay clean. To my wife and my kids. And that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

Koen grins. “Good man. About time you cleaned yourself up. You were on a pretty dangerous path there. Didn’t like the way you were headed. But you’re a stubborn bastard and you wouldn’t listen to a damn thing I had to say. Go figure it took a pretty girl to get through to you. She’s good?”

“She’s good,” he confirms. “Very good.”

“And the kids?”

“Getting big. Every day I look at them and I notice things changing about them. And they’re smart. Crazy smart. Especially Millie. So much like her mom.”

“Well thank God she got the brains from her momma because if she got the looks and the smarts from you, I’d pity the poor child. And the new one? How’s she doing?”

“Growing like a weed. Still tiny as hell though. Looks just like Esme.”

He reaches into the side pocket of his cargo short and takes out his phone; bringing up the photo gallery and then passing the cell to his friend.

“Now ain’t she a teeny thing,” Koen smiles, as he scrolls through the pictures. “How does something that small come from the likes of you? And Jesus, look at the twins. Spitting image of you. Especially this little bloke…” he holds the screen out towards Tyler, showing him a picture of Tanner taken just minutes after he’d gotten Tyler’s old hair cut; the one he’d been sporting when he’d met Esme. “...which one is he?”

“That’s Tanner. The youngest of the two.”

“Fucking looks just like you. Especially with that hair. That’s how I remember you looking. With that hair. Now you got a mini me wandering around out there. Hope all the parents lock their daughters up. Especially if he’s anything like you. You’re very fortunate, you know. Never thought I’d see you like this...a husband...a father...but I’m glad I did. If anyone deserved to get their shit together and deserved to have a second chance at life, it was you. And this…” he holds the phone out once again; a candid photo of Esme on the beach. A close up that Tyler had taken after he’d tried to teach her how to surf; her hair wet and dangling down the sides of her face, freckles of sand on her forehead and cheeks, a slight sunburn on the bridge of her nose, eyes sparkling as she smiled.

“You lucky fucker,” Koen scoffs. “You better keep on the straight and arrow, ‘cause I reckon there’s a lot of blokes that wouldn’t mind taking your place beside the likes of her.”

“She’s definitely a keeper,” Tyler agrees. “I’m not letting her go anytime soon.”

“Or ever,” his friend says, and he nods. “I was surprised when you called and said you were taking a trip out here. Didn’t expect to you see until next weekend when I gave up the place up for a couple of days. What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“I’ve got something I want to run by you. An idea. A business proposition. I thought it was best if I didn’t wait until next week. And that we should talk about it face to face.”

“Sounds pretty serious. You okay?”

“I’ve got some shit going on.” Tyler admits.

“The PTSD still?”

He nods.

“That shit is a fucking nightmare,” Koen mutters, and takes a long swallow of whisky. “So what’s this about? This idea? This business thing?”

“I’m getting back into the game.”

“The mercenary gig? Why the fuck would you want to do that? Didn’t learn your lesson the first time you took a bullet to the throat?”

“This won’t be like the last time. This is different. I’m different.”

“You’re fucking crazy is what you are. Wanting to get back into that shit. You’ve got a family now. Think that’s the best life for them? For a wife and kids? Especially five little ones. Why would you want to put them through that? Going away and leaving them to wonder if daddy’s ever coming home?”

“Leave my kids out of this. It has nothing to do with them.”

“It has everything to do with them,” Koen growls. “I can see why you’d want to do this if you were alone and had nothing to lose. But fuck, mate. You’ve got everything to lose. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Tyler scowls. “You going to listen to what I have to say or are you just going to keep lecturing me?”

“I should be beating your ass is what I should be doing. For being so fucking stupid.”

“You done? You going to let me talk or…”

“I need another drink to put up with the likes of you,” Koen mutters, then gets up from the table and pours himself another.

“I’m starting my own business,” Tyler tells him.

“Your own merc business?”

He nods.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Koen knocks back the whisky in one gulp. “Why the ever loving hell?”

“I’ve already started getting the word out. Reaching out to people I’ve done jobs for, guys I’ve worked with, contacts I’ve held onto. Once things really start spreading around, there won’t be a shortage of jobs. And guys willing to jump ship to come work for me.”

“So why you here? Why come talk to me?”

“I’m offering you a job.”

Koen’s eyes narrow. “As a merc?”

“A well paid one.”

“Holy...shit…” Koen chuckles and shakes his head. “What in the blue hell?”

“You and I go back a lot of years,” Tyler reminds him.

“A hell of a lot,” his friend agrees.

And I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t trust you. With my life I know a lot of guys...a lot of experienced mercs...and I still would want you having my back over any of them.”

“Don’t try and sweet talk me, blue eyes. Your pretty face won’t work its magic on me.”

“You’ve got the experience. You’ve put in a fuck of a lot of years with the SARS. Even more than me. So you’d be able to do this. You’re a hell of a good shot, you’ve got tons of combat experience, and you know your way around a tons of different weapons. Your hand to hand combat leaves a little to be desired, but…”

“A little to be desired, huh? How about we go outside right now and I show you how good my hands are.”

Tyler scoffs. “You wanting me to fight me or are you offering to jerk me off?”

Koen smirks.

“I know your military benefits are shit. Probably not much more than mine. You can’t live off that forever. I’m offering you a chance of a lifetime here. We’re talking big money.”

“How big?”

“These would be big jobs. High profile clients. You know that gig I had in Ireland? Right before we moved back here?”

Koen nods.

“I got five million for that. And that was only part of the job. I didn’t even need to see it through. Imagine the kind of payouts we’d bring in from big spenders?”

“Are you telling me I’m sitting across from a millionaire right now?”

Tyler just smiles.

“Jesus fuck. Are you serious?”

“I won’t tell you who paid me. That doesn’t matter. But we’d be attracting people with even more money and even bigger scores to settle. You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound like something you’d go for.”

“How many of us are there?”

“I’ve got three so far. An ex Marine, Ovi…”

“The kind you pulled out of Dhaka?”

“...and Rata.”

Koen’s glass is pressed against his lips. “You already talked to that rat bastard? Before me? When?”

“Last night he came by the house. He was in Cairns with that new girlfriend of his. Didn’t take much to get him to come on board.”

“Yeah, he’s always been a few bricks short a load, though.”

“I need you in on this,” Tyler insists. “You’d be the perfect fit. I know the things you can do. I saw them...for myself...in Kabul and Kandahar. This is right up your alley.”

“How the hell are you going to pull this off? Get everything you need? Guns, ammo, whatever the fuck else a merc uses.”

“You don’t spend years as a mercenary and not make contacts. Reliable ones. I’ve got a guy stopping here in the morning. He has a haul of stuff for me. Rifles, handguns, utility vests, grenades. You name it. And there’s more where that came from. A lot more.”

“You’re fucking insane, you know that? Getting mixed up with this shit again.”

“Maybe,” Tyler admits. “But it’s what I know. It’s who I am. Why piss away an opportunity like this?”

Koen sighs, then shakes his head and gets up to fetch himself another drink.

“So,” Tyler says, as he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. “You in or out?”

“Fuck it,” Koen growls, then downs his drink and slams the empty glass down on the counter top. “I’m in.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #best part of me #extraction #chris hemsworth character

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hobotalesaus · 4 years

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Episode 3: A Hesitating Pulse Is Good Company

I still remember the first time I came to Melbourne; I was about 18. Everything was foreign and weird and busy and sunny. ‘People are strange, when you're a stranger. Faces look ugly, when you're alone.’ I ended up in Collingwood, another planet to me back then. I found solace in a corner pub. The porch light was on and it was the closest thing to home as I could find.

Living in the big smoke isn't for everyone, but certain people just fucking thrive. Jay is one of those people. Totally sober in the spot he lives, figuratively speaking. When I first met the bloke, he showed me through his place in his moccasins (yeah I remember mate) and pointed out different pieces of art, memorabilia, just stuff. The stuff that we fill our spaces with because we love looking at it and it's a puzzle of what makes us, ‘us’. This was the shit that he loves and you could see it straight away. Outside, there was this faint buzz of the city, with a heartbeat and tyre noise and the smell of god knows what. Maybe a police siren or some shit. It reminded me of a song, with the line "A hesitating pulse is good company". If I was to sum up Collingwood, especially in that house on that day, it would be with that line. "A hesitating pulse is good company".

Firstly, Jay is a bloody good bloke. My old man would always tell me the best way to approach somebody is like this: If you think you're a good fella, I do too, until you prove me wrong. Something tells me that Jay hasn't proven anyone wrong.

Knowing this about him, we approached Jay recently about doing a story and he was more than happy to go with it, which actually sort of posed a problem; he's got so many fucking things on the go, and is equally good at all of them, that we were hard pressed to make room for it all. But we'll give it a red hot crack anyway.

Born in the early 90s, Jay spent most of his time as a young fella riding BMX like most of us did. Outside til dark, jumping kerbs, ruining your shoes by putting them in between the forks and the front tyre. Yeah we all did it. "How do you keep ruining your shoes so quickly??" the words rang out across the house and you knew you were about to get whooped. Street Sharks on the telly, poster of Matt Hoffman on the bedroom wall. How good was that? Then the natural transition (as if that isn't the best fucking pun I've ever heard) to skateboarding. "The first skate video I ever saw was a FLIP SORRY part. That got me so pumped up to go skate, the whole soundtrack and attitude was surreal! Skateboarding basically consumed my life from then all the way up til now," he says, and yeah, it fucking shows. "I tell you what, I had a few Margera decks growing up. But Geoff Rowley stood out for me, and still influences me for sure, even to this day."

There's always been this weird connection between skating and motorcycles; we're not talking your $40,000 BMW touring bike or your Hyabusa. We're talking about Triumphs, Harleys, chopped up Honda's. Making noise and pissing people off. Literally giving the finger to anyone who gives you that greasy look. "I got into motorcycles when I was about 21 or 22, after a trip to the US. All I'd ever wanted to do was go to the U.S and skate all the spots I'd seen in the videos. I had organized with a friend from Geroa (check a map) to head over; his old lady owned a condo in Oceanside, Cali. They were kind enough to invite me over to stay."

“We're talking about Triumphs, Harleys, chopped up Honda's. Making noise and pissing people off. Literally giving the finger to anyone who gives you that greasy look”

"I took some photos of that chopper on this 35mm Minolta 201 I got for $30 on eBay.”

"So there we are at a skate park in California, and a mate of Ray's rolled up on this bad-ass cone Shovel chopper that he built himself. I didn't grow up around parents or a cool uncle who rode motorcycles, so when I was confronted with this dirty, leaky machine, I was fascinated. No foot pegs, looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the 80s. We were in the car on highway, watching him haul ass, weaving in and out of lanes, skateboard strapped to the sissy bar. That was it for me" he says, and you know that you had the same moment at some point in your life where you went "Yep, that's what I'm all about". He continues, "I took some photos of that chopper on this 35mm Minolta 201 I got for $30 on eBay. Turned out the mechanism to eject the film was broken so I lost it all. Still have the memories though. I came home to Australia and maybe a month later I went and bought a 2016 Sporty 48; because what the fuck do I know about building old motorcycles?" But who the fuck cares what it is right, as long as it's not a street bike.

This leads us into another jack of all trades moment with Jay; photography. "Sometimes when I'm feeling frisky, I whip out the old Nikon D700. I take 6 photos or maybe 30, and sometimes 1 will come out good. I'm not a photographer, I just take photos sometimes.", which is pretty much enough to sum it up. "I'm stoked with a whole bunch of photos I've taken, and that's all that fuckin' matters." Too right bloke.

"Sometimes when I'm feeling frisky, I whip out the old Nikon D700. I take 6 photos or maybe 30, and sometimes 1 will come out good. I'm not a photographer, I just take photos sometimes."

"Sometimes I paint, sometimes I get angsty sitting there for long periods of time trying to figure out colour blending and all the rest. I did the Knucklehead painting and that's pretty much where that ends." I was actually lucky enough to grab said Knucklehead painting, which takes pride of place in my lounge room. It's a wicked, dusty, rusty painting that tells you that the motor is as old as sin. Just how we like it. "I can't draw to save my life, but I spent what felt like 3 months working on it here and there." That led us to a pretty significant point in the story, with what I guess I'm trying to capture with these interviews. "Expressing yourself is a great way to be heard; you can tell a story through an action, a photo, a drawing..whatever. And without self expression, the world is a pretty boring place."

“I was actually lucky enough to grab said Knucklehead painting, which takes pride of place in my lounge room”

So, as far as the nitty gritty, I think a lot of us have seen Jay's scoot by now. That 48 Sporty we mentioned earlier was written off "trying to pull a wheelie leaving work", which is a pretty standard outcome I reckon. So the white beast is a 72 Sporty, which was stripped down and and built back up by David at Primal Garage, with some work being done by Sean at Bar-None Moto. He cut the rear fender struts, and had some solid bar machined up to look like suspension, but it is actually hard-tailed. He also lifted the tank a little, modified the seat pan that Sean made, fit a new rear fender so it tucked nicely around the tire. He also freshened up the bike by re-painting the tins pearl white, with champagne stripes fading to silver. He also chucked the Leviathan cross on the tank at my request. He finished it all off with a set of bad ass up sweeps! Sean smashed out new bars, sissybar, license plate/ brake light bracket, and gave Dave a good start on the king/queen seat pan. Now I have a sweet ass looking bike that I’ve barely ridden this year. Covid has been a struggle", he says, and those of you in Victoria can attest to the fact that this year has been a total write off. Not being able to get out, hit some pubs, roll the swag out beside the bike and sleep in the dirt; that's our lockdown. "I’ve gone damn near everywhere on that bike, I love it to bits!"

“He cut the rear fender struts, and had some solid bar machined up to look like suspension, but it is actually hard-tailed.”

There aren’t too many ways to describe riding a motorcycle to somebody who hasn't done it. And there's a difference again between riding in total comfort, heated grips, perfect riding position, had vitamins this morning, has a go-pro strapped to his head, has every supply under the sun in his bags, middle aged dentist on a touring bike. I'm talking about being stripped down of all fancy equipment, burning your legs, can't hear anything, welts on your face, hot, cold, numb fingers, sore arse, no fuel left, phone is dead, you're still 50kms from where you think the camp spot is but you know what? You could keep riding for another 1000kms because fuck me, this is what it's about.

“..total comfort, heated grips, perfect riding position, had vitamins this morning, has a go-pro strapped to his head, has every supply under the sun in his bags, middle aged dentist on a touring bike.”

The smell of a campfire, the taste of a bug on your teeth, the spine shattering crack from a pothole on your hardtail, losing your house keys somewhere in the last 2 days riding, unpeeling yourself from the bike and finally being able to stretch your hips as the locals stare. "Passing out in the dirt, waking up in the rain. Skateboarding was my first love, but riding motorcycles is one big adventure, and the best one I've been on in years." says Jay, as I think we all for a moment realize that from now on, whenever anyone asks "Hey, lets skip town for a night on the bikes", you're going to say yes regardless, for fear of never being able to do it again.

"Passing out in the dirt, waking up in the rain. Skateboarding was my first love, but riding motorcycles is one big adventure, and the best one I've been on in years."

If our readers are anything like us, and I think they are, living in the city is doable if there's an escape in between the chaos. "Pre-Covid, my girlfriend (Asti) and our dog (Luna) and I would head up into the mountains every other weekend. Find a cool spot to park and just walk around for awhile, explore. We could let Luna off lead and she loved it. I like shooting photos in the forest. Nature is the best".

"Camping holds a special place in my heart. I love the smell of a campfire, endless banter between mates, NO RECEPTION. Not showering for awhile is also a guilty pleasure. We've all had our fair share of wet-wipe showers". I'll be honest, as long as there's water near by, that's good enough for me. Winter or not. Which reminds me, little tip for painting the town brown in the bush; dig two little holes for your heels, stick a log or the shovel in the ground, hang onto it and lean back. Opens up the bowels. (You'll thank me I reckon).

’’We've all had our fair share of wet-wipe showers"

Everyone has a favorite camping story. I think as time has gone on, they don’t stand out as much as they used to, they're all great. Even when you ended up broken down in the rain, lost, hungry, hungover. Still better than a night in the city if you ask me.

"My favorite camp spot was something not easily forgotten. My girlfriend and I tripped out to Wilson’s Promontory one weekend. We paid to spend the night in the camp site which was basically a grass car park with no fires allowed and we decided that it just wouldn’t fly with us. We packed a couple of backpacks with the tent, sleeping mat, sleeping bags etc. We hiked a trail for an hour or so, scouting a suitable place to set up shop along the way. We eventually decided to veer off the trail, and head down through the shrub toward the ocean. We ended up finding the most insane spot! On top of a cliff, a nice flat piece of land on some moss covered rocks. Looking over the ocean. We were even graced with a sunset, right over the water, directly in front of us. Romantic as fuck, it was amazing. Golden hour blew us away. Not a single person in sight, but us. We got a little fire going and just marveled at what we found and where we were. That was the best camp spot for sure. If it were possible to accompany that with motorcycles, shit. I could have died right there and then."

‘’Even when you ended up broken down in the rain, lost, hungry, hungover. Still better than a night in the city if you ask me’’

“We packed a couple of backpacks with the tent, sleeping mat, sleeping bags etc. We hiked a trail for an hour or so, scouting a suitable place to set up shop along the way.”

I reckon that's a pretty good image to leave this story on. I think there's something special about people who can find solace in nothing, in no-one, just being content with what's happening at that moment in time. A sunset, setting off a car alarm with your pipes, burning away from a servo with a full tank of fuel. The big picture is made up of a million little pictures.

We always ask people what their life motto is; what they stand by. Jay gave us this. "Do more of what makes you happy. Whatever it is.”

Thanks bloke, it's been a time and a half. First beer is on me once the wall comes down.

"Do more of what makes you happy. Whatever it is."

All photos by Jay except for top photo by Sean (Bar-None Moto).

#harley davidson #photography #camping #motorcycles #choppers #skateboard #skating

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endangered-liaison · 5 years

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Prompt #15: Snowbird

There are many discreet, quiet houses in Ala Mhigo.

Many places for people to hide away when they don't want to be found, especially after the wars.

This particular quiet, discreet house...rattles a little.

There's a yell from within, and one of the window shutters shakes. Another yell, and the sound of a spell being cast.

A muffled "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck y--"

The front door of the building shatters apart, and a hooded, cloaked woman crashes through it. She slides across the stone pavement of Ala Mhigo like a ragroll, groaning and muttering curse words.

A highlander arcanist steps out of the building, a book in one hand and a knuckle duster in the other.

"Nobody fuckin' told me Boartusk was a fuckin' fighter."

She staggers her way to her feet, one fist raised to fight while the other clutches her stomach. Behind her mask, she smirks.

"Let's fuckin' go, yeah?"

Another doorway opens, and half a dozen assorted Ala Mhigan goons wander their way out. A rifle, a sword. One of them has an honest-to-fuck spiked bat.

"Oh, come the fuck on."

Her vocabulary is getting more limited than usual. In her defence, this situation is fuckin' bullshit.

"Who the hells sent you?" Boartusk asks. His Mhigan brutes close in just a little more.

"See..." Maxima raises one of her hands slowly, as if to surrender. The other stays holding her side. "About that..."

Max seems to recover from her 'injury' remarkably quickly. She draws a revolver from her waistband, firing two rounds towards Boartusk.

His magicked barrier absorbs the first one, and the second is deflected, leaving a long gash across his arm. Fucking mages.

The one with the spiked bat swings for her, and she shoots him in the leg before shoving her way past him.

She'd love to stay and chat, really.

Nothing personal, yeah?

She's just got places to be.

She sprints out of the quiet alleyway and into the main street of Ala Mhigo.

It's at that point that she realises that she just sprinted into the main street of Ala Mhigo while holding a gun, right after three gunshots went off.

A Resistance... wait, Ala Mhigan Army soldier spots her, and yells something.

A rifle shot blasts over her shoulder, and she she shoves her way past the guard. No time to explain the situation right now this moment.

Which would be great, if not for the fact that everyone is running and screaming, and an alarum just sounded.

Fuck.

She really stirred up the wespe's nest, didn't she?

She's got about a minute until the whole fuckin' Resist-- Ala Mhig-- it's the fucking Resistance, okay?! - comes down on her head.

Right. Great.

She reaches the entrance to another alleyway and stops. Turns, raising her revolver. The first of Boartusk's enforcers rounds the corner from the alley she came from. A shot to the chest, and he drops. She hits the second in the leg, and he goes sprawling.

The man with the rifle rounds the corner, and Max aims towards him. She fires her last round.

The bullet skitters against a barrier.

Fucking mages!

She ducks around the corner as the enforcer retaliates, running again.

The corridor is long, and narrow, and an exceedingly straight shot for anyone who wants to shoot her in the back.

Max dives into cover behind a pillar as a Ruin spell almost blasts her head (or at least her hood) off. She fumbles a little then clicks the side of her mask, switching on the overly-expensive thing's vox unit. "III to Snowbird, that name's still stupid, come in Snowbird!" The Resistance have got to be closing in, and that damned caster and his lackeys are still on her tail.

"You're stupid," comes the languid response, half-garbled by static. "What do you want, Max?"

She snaps open her revolver, loading rounds in as quickly as she can manage. "Emergency pickup, on the uh..." a rifle blasts out a large chunk of the wall she's hiding behind. Okay. Three rounds will have to do. She snaps the revolver closed again. "East side of the city rooftops."

There comes a long pause. "What city?" the voice on the vox demands, exasperated. "If you need evac from Limsa, you're shit out of luck."

Another gunshot, another Ruin. "Y'think I'd get vox signal that far out?! Ala Mhigo, you shite!" Max breaks cover, firing three rounds towards the advancing brute squad (that fucking caster is the Brute Squad, she swears), before running.

"Ala Mhigo?! If you're trying to kill yourself, you're doing a magnificent job. You think the Alliance won't blow me out of the air the moment I show my face? Have you seen what dragoons do to fliers?"

"Nope. Seen what they do to cannons, though." It's a low blow. In Max's defence, she's being shot at. She slides below a merchant's cart, and the cart promptly shatters behind her as a spell blasts shitty Rhalgr charms in all directions.

She ducks into an alleyway. There's silence on the vox save for Max's perpetually-ragged breathing for a few moments, then a wooden crash and a bang. The background noise seems to die down, and Max lets herself wheeze more freely.

"...Laelia. Please." A please from Maxima Sawyer is rarer than a thank you, and almost, almost as rare as a sorry.

For a moment, there's just static.

"...Fine. You're lucky I have some spare nitro. Get to a high point and carry something bright. You're going to have maybe thirty seconds to jump on board. And afterwards you're paying me for the fuel cost one way or another. I have to steal this stuff now, you know." There comes another, longer pause, and then: "Don't you dare fucking die."

"No chance," Max whispers. There are voices, muffled, nearby. "I've got a date."

"Snowbird to III, you still kicking?" comes the voice at last over the vox.

Max lets out a sigh of relief. "Yeah." She's had to run a few times, her hiding places getting found out, and at one point she had to hit someone repeatedly in the face with the butt of her revolver. But she's still kicking. "Guessing I need to make my run for it now?"

"Yeeeeeeeeeep," Laelia drawls. "See that balcony to your northwest? Run like you're being chased by the Frumentarii."

Max groans. "Great. Fuckin' great." She holsters her revolver (it's out of ammo by now, anyway) and flexes her fingers. Takes a few slow, steady breaths. Then kicks open the door in front of her, and sprints out into the streets. She makes it almost a full twenty paces before someone yells "there she is!"

At the same time, the Delphinus descends like a great wyrm upon Ala Mhigo, burning bright and blue. Max sees it roar past her, just for a moment.

Max doesn't know if it's the Resistance or the goon squad yelling behind her, and she doesn't much care to stay and find out.

She leaps and grabs a loose stone on the side of the building to her left. Thank fuck for Mhigan building techniques. She clambers her way up the side of the building quickly, and looks around as soon as she reaches the rooftop. There. Aligned, pixel-perfect, with the balcony.

She's never been so happy to see an airship in her life.

A gunshot blasts the minaret next to her head and she yelps. "Seriously?!"

She starts running, slipping her bow from her back and nocking an arrow as she sprints across a wooden bridge between rooftops. Almost there. "Ten seconds out!"

"All you have is ten!" Laelia warns. Already dragoons begin to spring across the rooftops, and cannons train on the gunship from below.

Max shoots an arrow towards the Resistance marksman who seems determined to make her life miserable. It misses, but she wasn't exactly aiming for him. She isn't here to kill the Alliance, as weird as it is to even think that.

Another bridge between buildings, and she's one house from the right balcony. Her lungs are burning from her sprint, but she can't stop yet.

She leaps. The marksman peeks out of his cover again...and fires at her. Max stumbles on the landing, almost dropping to her knees before staggering the last few steps into the Delphinus. "GO!"

Laelia doesn't need to be told twice. She punches it, pulling away at such a harsh angle that gravity threatens to knock them both out. It doesn't, however, and they fly free, screaming over the alabaster salt-flats below.

"You okay back there?" she asks at last.

Max staggers towards the cockpit, gripping one of the handholds. She lifts her jacket a little, looking towards her back. A rifle bullet is digging into her armoured vest, and a small amount of blood trickles down to her pant leg. "Bastard shot me!" she grumbles.

"Dunno what you were expecting." Laelia doesn't turn, fully immersed in her flying. "So you wanna explain what madness made you decide that going to Ala Mhigo was a good idea, or do I just have to speculate?"

"New job for a cute cyclops." Max tugs off her hood and unclips her respirator. She gives Laelia a shit-eating grin. "Hey Belisar. Glad you could make it."

"You're a shit," comes the blunt response. Laelia still doesn't turn, though she's grinning. "You're lucky I like you. I wouldn't go out of this way for just anyone, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Max pauses. "...Thanks." She slumps into the co-pilot's seat and hisses as it jostles her injury.

Laelia finally glances aside, slowing some as they finally put distance from the danger. "We've got to find you a medicus."

"Careful; I might start thinkin' you care about me." Max grins again. "It's not bad. Barely pierced my armour."

Laelia stretches. "Nah, you're just useful. Either way, where should I take you?"

"Wherever you're calling home now. I can get the rest of the way back to Ul'dah. You gotta steal your fuel now, after all." Max seems to be mulling over her next words with considerably more care than she usually would. Finally, she seems to reach the decision point of sod it (her usual decision factor in life), and just says what's on her mind. "...Castellus is alive."

"'Wherever' is my home. I go as far as my fuel can take me. I don't know if they want us here but I'm going to guess no." Laelia frowns, her expression hardening more at the mention of Victoria. "...Is she...?" comes the quiet response.

"Survived the Reaper, just about. She's got some stylish scars and a missing bit of ear, but...she's okay. Working out of Ul'dah, keeping her head down." Max tugs a little at the collar of her coat and coughs. "...Got herself a girlfriend. Roegadyn, if you can believe that." She snorts, and that transforms into another cough.

"Roegadyn!" Laelia laughs, falling back into her chair. "So we've lost her to the savages. I knew she was hopeless." Despite her harsh words, there's humor to them. It's clear she's only joking. "I don't know. I've mingled some among the Eorzeans, pretending I'm a knife-ear. They've proven pretty boring thusfar."

Max cackles. "You've got the attitude to be an Elezen."

Laelia shrugs. "I'm only channeling our dear late emperor. He'd not have fired upon his own, I'll say that much."

Max winces at that particular statement. "...Yeah."

Laelia falls silent, flying them on. At last she pulls up in the East Shroud, landing them not far from Baelsar's Wall. "I don't want to send you too far on a hike, but this is the best I can do," she said. "If you travel west along the road from here you'll come upon a tiny homestead called the Hawthorne Hut. It's staffed with knowledgeable conjurers and they'll be able to patch you up."

Max nods, getting to her feet. She staggers, just a little, and clutches the injury. Alright, she might have been slightly downplaying how deeply the bullet pierced her armour.

She pauses, just for a moment.

"...Thanks, Lee."

"Anytime," Laelia murmurs, not able to reach her comrade's gaze. "Keep in touch, alright? I'll be around."

"Will do. I'll bring Vic over to see you sometime. Promise it won't be for an evac, next time." Max smiles, and it seems genuine, for once. "Stay safe, yeah?"

"Good. I'd love to see her again. Tell her to keep her chin up, kay?" She turns to glance behind her seat, smiling. "Like I said, don't die. I'd be pissed, and that's way too much effort."

"Really?" Max hits the 'open door' button with the side of her fist, and waits for the stairs to extend outwards. "Always felt like the easiest emotion for me to get a handle on." She smirks, and offers a lazy Imperial salute before stepping out of the Delphinus and into the Shroud.

Laelia chuckles. She waits until she's certain that Max has her feet on the ground and then pulls away. The Delphinus vanishes behind the canopy above.

((Featuring Laelia Belisar’s flying talents and snark.))

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2019 #Max Sawyer #Laelia Belisar #III Squad

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thestarrythoughts · 4 years

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Confronting My Anxiety Around Food

After all these years, I have finally come to accept that I do struggle with food. Growing up, similar to many other girls out there, I used to go on ridiculous fad diets, restricted my food intake while increasing the frequency and intensity of my exercise and would purposely avoid eating with people just to make sure that I get to eat something “healthy”. Somehow, I was able to sort of convince the people around me that I was just into healthy food and that i managed to find a balance. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a picky eater and naturally, I do enjoy my whole foods like vegetables and grains! I avoid fast food and fried food because I do not enjoy them for they are oily and they get my quiet bloated at times. However, I realised that my anxiety around food started to change as I started to get older. Allow me to share my story with you; In my teenage years, say around 13-15 years old, it was the era where tumblr was the prime website where everyone was on. Instagram started getting more popular too. During those period, I started seeing more photos of other girls out there with picture perfect bodies. Victoria Secret was a big thing as well! The Victoria Secret runway show was something that we all looked forward to! Seeing those curvy and long bodies sure made me realise that my body looks nothing like theirs and I really wanted to look like that. With that, there were many different “influencers” and platforms that were promoting and advocating fad diets, the ones who were meant to be quick and effective. The trending diet culture was already screaming at us to EAT LESS!!! RUN MORE!!! EXERCISE IS KEY!!! So, I started exercising more and eating less. At that time, i was also in a physically demanding team sport, netball, so I was training two to three times a week. On top of that, I would add on my own physical training. During recess, I would try to eat as little as possible by buying fruits or yoghurt or I would bring a tuna wrap from home to munch on. What I did not realise is that this led me down to a road of binge eating and a lot of self-hatred. Whenever I stood in front of a mirror, I was never satisfied. I never got that 6 pack abs or that thigh gap and it would always be my fault. Being in an all girls school also did not help. I was constantly surrounded by girls who were skinnier and prettier than me. I guess I just wanted to look like them as well. I could not help but to blame myself every single time that I failed to adhere to a diet.

As I grew older, as a result of training harder for sports, I realised that I had to eat more to fuel myself for the intensive trainings. I started educating myself with regards to food. I came to an understanding that I needed to eat more in order to perform better. The struggle was that I did not want to eat more but I knew that I had to. So instead of trying to restrict my diet as much, i became obsessed with eating healthier. I became very conscious about the way that the food I was having was being prepared. Also, if i ate out and ate something unhealthy, I would make it up the next day by eating super clean. And this would be the current struggle.

Growing older meant that my body was going through changes, changes that I did not welcome. I started to get slightly bigger, my hips definitely got bigger and generally, I started putting on more weight. In university, I started to become less active because I was no longer playing team sports as often and I was just overall physically less active. I was staying on campus which meant that I did not really have access to “clean” food and to save money, I ate whatever was offered. I had a bad coping mechanism with stress as well. Sometimes I would take the healthier route by exercising and going for runs, but other times, it was easier to grab a snack. On some days, I would be super conscious on what I was eating. On other days, especially when I felt like shit, I would just eat whatever I wanted to. I faced multiple set backs in university and I was very stressed. It’s not surprising that I gained so much weight but yet I was very surprised because I rarely ate supper (like less than 10 times in my whole 2 years of university) and I still tried to exercise regularly. As a result, whenever I could, I would try to be super obsessive about the food that I was eating because I wanted to take control. I wanted to feel like I was in control. Unfortunately, I was bouncing back and forth between restricting food intake, binge eating, self-blame, trying to eat clean, breaking the diet... I was devastated and tired.

Right now, by being in quarantine, I am forced to confront my unhealthy eating habits. I realised that I get super stressed out about food and I’m always thinking about how to make my next meal the “clean meal”. I get super uptight when my parents would buy food from outside. Choosing the healthier option is not wrong, but it was more than just that. It was the guilt that came with that. I celebrated my 21st birthday in quarantine which meant that I had cake at home. My lovely family and friends delivered cake and cupcakes to my place and that led to the fridge being full of sweet treats. Because I did not want to waste the food, I started snacking on the sweet treats here and there. Though it felt great at that moment, it would not be long before the feeling of guilt would consume me again. In this period, I felt like i was yoyo-ing between different mentalities. Sometimes i would be forgiving to myself for being a little less restrictive, sometimes i would be super uptight about it. I would skip full meals just to have a cheesecake... well because the calories do add up don’t they? During this period, a lot of “fitspo” influencers started speaking up as well. People were saying things like “oh don’t put yourself under a lot of stress, just be kind to yourself”, and others were like “now is the best time to watch what you eat! Transform yourself in 1 month!”. As well-meaning as the latter were, it did not help that a lot of them were promoting short term gains and fast results! I could do a whole post on this! But anyway, in the first few months, I was constantly in a bad mood because I was so fixated on my food intake! What am I going to eat? How can I make this healthier? Blah blah blah. And every morning, I would go and check myself out in the mirror!! Is that even healthy?

I realised that I had to confront the anxiety when my mood started to affect my family members. The people around me were very conscious that I was in a bad mood. But it was weird because I was normally someone who is cheerful and joyful. I realised that I did not want to affect my family like that because being stuck in quarantine was difficult already, what more with someone who was constantly in a bad mood! So I realised that I needed to change. Firstly, I started eating the food that my parents bought. I became more free with the choices that I ate. WOW, roast pork is REALLY good. I would still avoid the fatty parts, but allowing myself to take a few pieces was already a step of improvement for me. I also started to allow myself to be a bit more carefree with the snacks I ate by limiting my portions and spreading them out over the day than finishing everything in one shot. This really helped me to portion my food and to stop when I was satisfied. Next, I also started to watch more youtube videos by different fitness youtubers who focus a lot on science and nutrition. By watching more people, I had a better understanding of how science and nutrition comes hand in hand! A few of them would be like natacha oceane and jeremy ethier! I also started allowing myself to order foods that I wanted to eat when I started to crave things like noodles. As I said before, my food choices are naturally more on the healthier side, but I would now allow myself to eat more carbs like noodles! Even though from time to time, I still struggle with the way that I eat, I am thankful for the journey that I have gone through so far.

I may go into deeper details soon as I consolidate more thoughts but this is the gist of my journey around food. I am determined to overcome my fear and anxiety around food and I am determined to do so in a healthy way as well! This post became slightly messier than I expected but it felt good to be able to vocalise the thoughts on my mind. I hope that to those of you who stumble upon this page that you would have a safe quarantine period. To those of you who struggle with food, you are not alone. We are in this together :)

#food #quarantine #diet #diets #fitness #foods #writing #journal #thoughts #foodinspiration

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 5 years

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Bad Blood - Chapter 15

Read it here on AO3, or you can find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

______________

The books in Gerard’s study have all been unpacked, and are standing in serried leather ranks on the painted white shelves. Stiles has always loved the books—he can spend hours lost in them if he’s given the chance—but he’s a soldier, not a researcher. The Argents are matrilineal, though both Gerard and Kate buck that trend a little because Gerard is without question the leader, whereas Kate, who should be directing strategies from behind the front lines, is a soldier first and foremost. The latitude doesn’t extend to Stiles, tough. He’s a soldier and, until he can raise the Stilinski name from the mud, that’s all he’ll ever be.

It’s just after dawn. Stiles didn’t sleep well. He cut a slit in his mattress protector and slid the photograph of him and his mother inside, and then lay there with his fingers curled over the place it was hidden. He thought of his mom and tried not to think of her at the same time, because it’s impossible to divorce his memories of her from his memories of his father, and thinking about his father, thinking about seeing his face again after all these years, is too much. It’s confusing, and chaotic, a brainstorm of conflicting emotions, and Stiles hateshim, but the little boy locked away in the back of his head still cries for his daddy.

“I love you, kiddo. Please remember that.”

Stiles wonders if those words were intentionally crafted to cut the way they did, sharper than a werewolf’s claws at his throat.

Stiles fixes his gaze on the spines of the books on the shelf, and waits for Gerard to speak. It’s a little past dawn, and Stiles is hungry. He hasn’t eaten since Victoria’splacki ziemniaczane last night, and his body’s been through hell since. He got fuck all sleep, so he at least needs fuel, but he knows better than to ask.

Gerard is seated behind his desk, tapping away at his laptop as he makes Stiles wait. Kate is leaning on the edge of the desk. She’s the picture of relaxation. Her arms are folded over her chest, and her boots are crossed at the ankle. Kate’s always had the knack of looking totally put together and in control, whatever the hell is being thrown at her. Stiles has always envied her that.

Gerard taps at his keyboard a moment longer, and then closes his laptop. He looks up, and Stiles can’t read his expression. That’s the thing with Gerard though. He wears that same half smile whether he’s about to praise Stiles for a job well done, or beat the living shit out of him.

“Stiles,” he says. “Last night. Talk me through it.”

Stiles resists the urge to press his fingers to his bandage on his beck. “One of them came at me. Slashed me. I got away.” He worries, the longer he talks, that Gerard doesn’t believe a damn word but is content to let him dig his own grave here. “I was bleeding pretty bad, and I flagged down a car and they took me to the hospital.”

“Did you give them your name?” Kate asks.

“At the hospital?” Stiles shakes his head. “I was bleeding enough that they saw me right away. I didn’t have to wait or sign anything. Then I said I needed to go to the bathroom, and I left before they could call the police.”

It’d be a textbook move, if it wasn’t a lie.

And Stiles still doesn’t know why he’s telling the lie, exactly. He’s scared, he thinks. Scared of how Gerard will react if he knows the werewolves let him go, and that his father was there. Stiles didn’t do anything wrong, but Gerard won’t see it that way. He’ll see betrayal. Of course he will, because right now Stiles is looking into his own heart and even he can’t tell what he sees there.

A thread of hot panic twists through his gut.

He’s lying. He’s lying to Gerard, and it benefits him, but what if it also benefits the Hales pack and his father? And it must, because otherwise why would Derek have told him to lie? There’s a wall of leather-bound books behind Gerard that contain monsters, and Stiles can’t allow himself to forget that. He can’t, and yet he’s already told the lie.

Gerard’s gaze slides over him. “Hmm.”

Stiles fights the urge to fidget.

Gerard grunts. “And how the hell did a dog get its claws on you in the first place?”

Stiles blinks. “I tripped.”

“You tripped?” Gerard asks archly, exchanging a glance with Kate like Stiles is some kind of pathetic joke.

It was dark, Stiles wants to tell him. It was dark, and he didn’t have his night vision, and he wasn’t wearing his proper boots, and they were surrounded by werewolves, and Gerard had yelled at them to get back to the car and Stiles hadn’t even known where the fucking car was since he’d come in on foot from the other direction. This isn’t his fuck up. But he knows better than to say that, or even let it show on his face.

“I tripped,” he repeats.

There’s a moment of tension in the air so thick that Stiles can feel it vibrating between them like a guitar string.

Stiles tries to remember how to breathe.

And then Gerard barks out a laugh, and the tension shatters.

“Take him into the basement, Kate,” the old man says at last. “Don’t let him come up again until he’s proved to you he knows how to lift his feet.”

***

Stiles’s whole body is aching and his lungs are burning by the time Kate is finished with him. Kate’s a fucking tyrant with a jump rope, but she puts her hand on his lower back to keep him from stumbling as he climbs the basement stairs. He’s light-headed.

“Want some eggs, string bean?” Kate asks him as she ushers him into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, going to the sink to get some water. “You cooking them for me?”

“Oh, baby’s got sass!” Kate laughs, loud and brash.

Stiles wonders how that’s even possible. Was she the one who shot Scott McCall, or was it Gerard? Jesus. He has to stop thinking shit like this. He has to, or they’ll look at him and know he’s weak, and a liar, and maybe even a traitor like his father. And Stiles is a Stilinski, but he’s a better man than his father.

This is where he belongs, isn’t it?

“If I’m cooking, we’re having cereal,” he says, forcing a smile.

Kate laughs again.

She cooks the eggs.

***

Allison bursts into the house just before nine, distraught and tear-stained, and she pushes past Kate and goes straight for Stiles instead. Stiles hears a buzzing in his skull as Allison tearfully tells him the news she heard when she got to school—Scott McCall is dead.

Stiles hugs her, and stares at Kate over her shoulder.

There’s a warning in her gaze that he knows exactly how to read: say nothing. There’s shock as well, because Kate couldn’t have known whose heart she was breaking when she hunted Scott last night. Stiles hopes that Kate thinks she sees that same shock reflected in his face.

“Hey,” he says to Allison, his voice cracking. “Come on. Come upstairs.”

Kate flashes him an approving look, and Stiles is halfway up the stairs before he realises why: she thinks Stiles is taking Allison away so Kate has a chance to fill Gerard in on the werewolf’s true identity—and on the fact Allison knew him. Except Stiles isn’t doing this for Kate and Gerard. He’s doing this for Ally, and maybe—selfishly—for him. Maybe he’s afraid his mask will slip for real, and Kate will see him for who he really is. And she’ll remember the way he hesitated, remember the way he faltered when the werewolf’s face transformed into the goofy boy’s, and she’ll know, and then she’ll make him pay like he deserves.

He clutches Allison’s hand and leads her up the steps to his sparse bedroom.

“I don’t know what happened,” she says, her dark eyes swimming with tears. She’s caught between grief and outrage, her expression wavering uncertainly between them. “How could someone do this?”

Stiles thinks of all the monsters in Gerard’s leather-bound books, and doesn’t know how to reconcile that with the boy who did the happy dance in the parking lot of the cinema.

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice hollow.

Allison grabs the comforter off his bed and wraps it around herself before sinking down onto the floor. Stiles follows her down onto his knees, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

She stares at Stiles from behind tendrils of her dark hair. “The only reason he was out last night was because I asked him to sneak over to my house!” She covers her mouth with her hands in a vain attempt to stop another sob from breaking free. “Why would anyone hurt him like that?”

Stiles shakes his head, his eyes burning. He tries to swallow, and it hurts.

Allison’s grief is like a storm that must be weathered, and if every squall rips into him anew then it’s Stiles duty to suffer it. Allison is hurting, so Stiles wants to hurt too.

“I’m sorry, Ally,” he whispers to her, his voice hoarse, and he tells himself that’s a thing that people say. He tells himself it’s a platitude, and that can’t be guilt, hot and slick, twisting in his gut and rising like bile in his throat.

Because if the monsters aren’t really monsters, then…

Stiles shudders, and squeezes his eyes shut. He thinks of the little boy in the photograph hidden in his mattress protector. That little boy untouched by fear and darkness and horror, and untroubled by anything just as long as he was safe in his mom’s arms. Stiles thinks that little boy was happy.

“I don’t understand,” Allison murmurs. “Stiles, I don’t understand how anyone could do this!”

If the monsters aren’t really monsters, Stiles thinks, then they’re a lot closer than he’s ever suspected.

“I don’t know,” he lies, smoothing a shaking hand over Allison’s hair. “I don’t know either.”

He sits on the floor on his bedroom and stares at his reflection in the window. His reflection’s dark, hollow eyes stare back at him.

#sterek #steter senior #my fics #bad blood #discontentedwinter

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theawesomeraccoon · 6 years

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Just wrapping up my 14th chapter of the Wattpad series Social Manipulator! A huge thank you to everyone who help me make this and who is still aiding me.

@wildtendermythologia @valkyreskye you two are the ones that have had my back through thick and thin while making it all up to this point. I couldn't ask for more dedicated friends like you two. And the art works you guys have made??! Way to murder me thx xD

@gamrlinafrye you know so much man. Theories, angst ideas you've helped create, AU's, ships 👀.. The discord, you know the one!

@retro-remix where do I begin? You pretty much started everything! You were my first critic and because of you I met some amazing friends. You helped me become a better writer and I always looked forward to our conversations! You always helped fuel ideas I had and thanks for liking that Dragon!AU with Darkiplier and Victoria! :D I absolutely loved coming up with ideas for that one! Also I seriously need to edit that other story, I could do so much better rip.

@sarchopathic you Lil bastard if it weren't for the laws of this land I would've killed you, you little sinner. Imagining Mark screaming like Finn from Adventure Time when Victoria showed up was a priceless idea tho. Also thank you for staying with me during the 👀👌

@221biotchplease thank you for liking the moodboards I made for the story! I still can't believe you read through it so fast though??? Like holy shit dude!

@raimeyl I can't thank you enough man. You are so awesome and one hell of a talented artist! One of these days I need to pay you back for all the support you've given me. You are an amazing friend, one I at times feel like I don't deserve but I'm honestly glad I've met you man 💙

@mexicanesecat HOLY FUCK. You deserve so much praise with all the art you've created! Granted I know you haven't had a chance to make the drawing you wanted but your life comes first! And I'm still thankful you wanted to at all! You're a great friend and I hope you're getting plenty of rest man! 😊

@fairykats we don't really talk much about my story but I just wanted to appreciate you talking to me in general. I love talking to you about Supernatural and Mark and Jack! :D also I think your dog might need another haircut?? Too much floof dude

And finally @markiplier and @therealjacksepticeye, this literally couldn't have been created without you guys and your amazing ideas. Thank you guys for even making these characters and letting us have fun with them.

And for anyone else that wants to read it, there's a link on my profile page! Sorry but I wanted this to be specifically thanking people and it felt weird including a link.

-----

(some other people I wanted to thank!)

@erinacg @itsbigbunny @turquoisemagpie @fatesinthenight @amycampbell00 @mustachiomadness @jmweezy @nedahert @olive-is-a-jim @ivyrosequartz @thexscarletxwitchx @jenni-with-an-i @sketchygabz @chelseareferenced @liljoja-art @xmoonyxbunnyx @lum1natrix @itsjustkyss @mamataco @missgalaxygrump @ideasmadeofrandomness @d-structive @jellymadebutler @sweetie2136

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victorluvsalice · 6 years

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Happy Birthday Nebbychan!

@nebbychan As if Sims 4 Seasons coming out officially on your birthday wasn’t present enough, have a fic! This one’s based off that “Dead Rising” AU you came up with a while back -- I don’t know why that one inspired me this year, but here we are. For context, this is after Alice has met Victor during the initial zombie outbreak in London and brought him back to regroup with Lizzie and Emily at the library. Lizzie’s relieved to see her sister safe and sound -- especially since she’s been looking at the news, and found some disturbing footage on the zombification of Burtonsville. . .

"Oh my God. . . ."

Emily covered her mouth with her hands, tears glittering in her eyes as they watched the chaos unfold on Lizzie's phone. Alice didn't blame her -- her own stomach was churning with a mixture of disgust and horror as she watched the military wade through waves of zombies. "I can't believe -- it's -- it was always so quiet there. . ."

"Quiet doesn't mean safe," Lizzie murmured, putting a hand on Emily's shoulder. She glanced back at Victor. "I'm so sorry."

Victor nodded, head bowed. Alice winced as another gunshot echoed from the tinny speakers. "It's worse than Oxford was when we escaped," she said, shaking her head. "How does an entire village turn that fast?"

"It's a tiny village," Victor explained, voice soft. "Everyone packed in tight. . .it was only by the g-grace of God that my parents were able to get the Everglots and me out." He watched as an unlucky solider was dragged down by an slavering onion-headed man. "I'm surprised they don't just b-bomb the place, honestly. I don't think there's a single living person left within those walls."

"Probably there's some sort of protocol they have to follow, just in case there are survivors," Lizzie said, stopping the playback. Alice was glad -- there was enough of all that horrible moaning and groaning going on outside. She scrolled down. "Oh shit -- they're saying it might take a week to fully deal with the Burtonsville mess!"

"A week?!" Emily repeated, dropping her hands. "How are we supposed to last a week? It's barely been five hours and already everything is chaos!"

"We could hole up here, maybe," Alice suggested, looking around. "We've got the CCTV, and if we could tip a few over, those bookcases would make decent barricades. Lizzie, you've got your gun, I've got a knife, Victor's got his, er, fork. . ."

"Yeah, but the big thing we don't have is food," Lizzie pointed out as Victor blushed. "I checked the staff fridge -- only thing I see in there is a strawberry yogurt with a decent toupee. Supply runs would dangerous."

"That's true of anywhere."

"Still. . .ugh, if only I hadn't gotten that flat!" Lizzie groaned, rubbing her face. "I'd love to just gun it for the city limits."

"My car's definitely out of commission," Alice said, shivering as she recalled the bloody face groaning at her window, fingers scrabbling to wedge themselves in any useful crack.

"Mine's back at my apartment, and that's way away from here," Emily said. She rubbed her prosthetic arm. "Do you think we could steal a car?"

"I'd feel bad about stranding somebody else. . .and I don't think any of us know how to hotwire an ignition anyway," Lizzie added, looking around. Alice, Emily, and Victor all shook their heads. She brushed her hair back from her forehead, sighing. "You know what the funny thing is? We're actually not that far from Heathrow Airport. Would be easy if we could just grab a plane and fly out, but that isn't happening, is it?"

"Well, actually. . . ."

Alice blinked. Wait, what? She spun to face Victor, as did Lizzie and Emily. "I n-never did get a chance to properly i-introduce myself in all this mess, did I?" he continued with a sheepish smile. He held out his hand. "Hi. My name's Victor Van Dort."

Alice's body moved on autopilot to take the hand -- which was good, as her brain had completely frozen up. "Van Dort?" she repeated, aware she sounded like an idiot but unable to stop herself. "Of Van Dort's Fish?"

"You're the son!" Emily cried, bouncing on her heels. "I knew you looked familiar -- your picture was in the paper last month! That new cannery in Wales!"

"Yes -- Mother wasn't too pleased about having to pose in front of it," Victor said with a weak chuckle. "Said it wasn't 'dignified' -- made us look 'common.' Father was happy, though. Bragged about that cannery for weeks."

"I should think so -- I remember reading your name on a list of the top five richest families in England," Lizzie said, amazed. "Is it true you own your own island?"

Victor winced. "My father does -- a little one in the Caribbean," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "Mother talked him into it -- she's all about displaying our wealth. Things like a grand mansion back in Burtonsville, townhomes in London, New York, and Paris, a yacht that spends most of its time sitting at the dock. . ." He looked up, expression serious. "And a private jet that could rival most commercial ones."

Alice's heart almost leapt right out of her mouth. "That's how you got out. I was wondering after that zombie interrupted your narrative."

"It's still at the airport?" Lizzie confirmed, pointing a finger.

"It should be," Victor nodded. "Though we'll need a few things before we can take off."

Lizzie snatched up a pen and a scrap of paper. "Shoot."

"Well, the plane needs to be refueled -- I'm hoping there's still some airport employees who can help us with that," Victor told her. "And we need to track down my family's pilot, Mayhew -- there's no way I can fly the damn thing. And. . ." He swallowed, then stood up a little straighter. "And I'm not leaving before I find out if Victoria's all right or not."

"Victoria?" Alice repeated, tilting her head.

"Victoria Everglot -- she and her parents were at tea at my house when it all s-started, so we were able to get them onto the plane in time," Victor explained. "She's my across the street neighbor. Mother's been trying to get us to date for ages. . ." He shook his head. "She's a dear friend of mine, almost family, and -- and I can't just abandon her to this mess."

"Mama! Papa!" "No, Alice! We have to run! They wanted us to run!" Alice sucked in a breath, blinking back the threatening tears. "Right," she said with a firm nod. "Fuel, Mayhew, Victoria. I think we can handle a to-do list of that size. Do you have any idea where Miss Everglot might be?"

"She mentioned going to the Westfield London mall for a wander," Victor said, scratching his head. "She wanted to surround herself with n-normal people after. . ."

Alice bit her lip. "I don't think she succeeded. All right, Westfield London. . .Emily, can you check the CCTV? We need to find the safest route over there."

#nebbychan #Happy Birthday #tw: death mention #Dead Rising #fanfic #whoops I just reviewed the AU and realized they saw that stuff about Burtonsville on a TV #ah well a smartphone still makes sense right?#also I think in your initial write-up Alice knew Victor's full name right away #but I thought it made for a better snippet if he could do a big reveal #so a zombie broke into the pharmacy when they first met #and after they defeated it Alice decided it would be better to get to safety than discuss backstory #I double-checked and Westfield London mall IS kind of in the general vicinity of Heathrow #as are a few libraries #so I figured it was safe to use those specific names #I'm not good with distances living in RI soooo #just work with me here #also yes I gave the Van Dorts an island #you know Nell would want to buy an island if she could #gives her a place to run to in the bad ending #queued

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