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steepgan · 4 years ago

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t. oikawa - the balcony

in which you befriend your neighbor during quarantine. gn reader.

To put it briefly, your neighbor across from you will not be quiet.

Everyone is cooped up in their respective apartments due to a pandemic, and this guy decides to have a party every goddamn day. You can hear his music when you’re in the shower, and sometimes you don’t want to listen to Firework by Katy Perry. Sometimes you want to listen to One Direction.

Your apartment is situated oddly. The neighbor you speak of is not across the hall from you (if he was, you might have already filed a complaint). Instead, your apartment is given a balcony that directly faces the neighbor in question’s balcony.

Below the balconies is a small street that has passerbyers and chatting people that are looking for a shortcut. You get the occasional street cat that yowls in the trash cans at night and fights with raccoons. They are far more pleasant company than your neighbor.

In other words, the loud neighbor lives in a different apartment complex from you.

Every day is a new horror. Once, there was nonstop playing of Lorde’s Melodrama album (to which you were so concerned to the point of finding your neighbor a therapist), and the next day, there were strange trumpet noises (where did this guy find a trumpet during Covid?)

After the third week of the neighbor’s incessant noise, you take it upon yourself to ask your neighbors if they, too, are perturbed by the loudness. To this day, they do not mind the noise.

You’ll get used to it, they say. We’re neighbors. Sometimes we make noises, too, [L/N].

The noises are seemingly getting louder and louder. You swear you hear a chainsaw at some point. Not even your poor headphones can cancel out the sound. You wonder how your neighbors are faring with this sort of noise.

You hope that they are annoyed as you are this time. If they are, you can laugh at their face and ask who is getting used to the noise now. However, you suck up all your annoyance and pretend that you don’t mind the noise.

Then one day, you snap.

You open your balcony doors and march to the railing that is only a few feet away from your noisy neighbor’s balcony. You clear your throat and try to yell.

“Dude!” you shout. “Hello? Mind turning it down a bit?”

There is no response.

“Hey, man!” you persist. “Turn it down! No one wants to listen to the Backstreet Boys at 6 A.M. in the morning!”

The neighbor who lives beside you opens his balcony door. He sleepily pokes his head through and says, “I, actually, find it quite ni—”

“Go back to bed, Jorge,” you snap. “No one cares.”

Jorge retreats back into his apartment.

Grumbling, you go into your apartment as well. If shouting will not catch the neighbor’s attention, you need to find something tangible. You need something that will physically grab your neighbor’s stupid attention away from the Backstreet Boys.

You pick up the nearest object that you could find and return to your balcony. Without further ado, you throw it over. You aim at your neighbor’s balcony window, hoping to alert the neighbor without completely shattering his apartment and getting sued.

As luck would have it, the infamous neighbor himself opens the balcony door just then. He is rubbing the back of his neck with his lazy brown locks of hair falling here and there, perfectly framing his face.

Unfortunately, you do not manage to get a good look at his actual feature, as the object you chose to throw at him hits him smack in the face. He is taken aback by the sudden force and staggers before falling backward.

You wince.

He groans.

You let out a meek voice. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

The man stands back up, and you flinch as if he rises from the dead. He holds the object in hand and stares at you. He seems a little groggy (rightfully so) as he asks, “did you just throw a purse at me?”

He speaks the truth. You chose to throw a purse at him.

Your neighbor looks more put together than you thought. He maintains a broad, athletic frame and stands at a decent height enough to impress. He leans against his balcony door, and the rising sun peeks over the apartment buildings, shining generously on his face.

The rays illuminated his cheekbones and rich, brown eyes. He tilts his head, his skin pulled smooth over his jaw down to his collarbone. He looks otherworldly. Ethereal, even. It must be golden hour, you quickly convince yourself. It’s just the golden hour.

“It was empty,” you say, not helping your case. You scramble closer to the railing. “Sorry! Super sorry. I just needed to get your attention.”

“You most certainly got it,” the neighbor says, amused. You hope he is not too annoyed. Most of your pent-up annoyance is melted away because you threw a bag at him. “Do you want this back or—”

“Of course I want it back,” you say. “I was just wondering if you could turn down the music a bit. You play it all the time, and it’s disturbing me.”

The neighbor gives you a blank stare. It’s as if he’s never been asked this before. He sheepishly admits, “I’ve never been asked this before.”

Bingo.

“Oh, well, do you mind being a little considerate?” you ask. “And give my bag back?”

“Sorry,” the neighbor says. “I’ll be sure to turn the volume down.”

He does not intend to throw the bag over the balcony as you foolishly did. Instead, he reaches out with the bag in his hand. Your bag dangles over the street, precariously close to falling down.

You stretch over the railing. Your fingers briefly brush your neighbor’s. Warmth crawls up your cheeks, but you blame it on the fact that you’ve kept human contact to a minimum ever since quarantine started.

He gives you the bag, and you hold it in your arms. You are tempted to crack a joke about Covid and ask if he washes his hands regularly, but your neighbor seems like the type of man who knows how to take care of himself properly.

“Say, do you have a party or something every day?” you ask. “You play it so loud, so I’m just wondering if you hold small kickbacks.”

“Every day?” the man goes. He shakes his head and laughs while crossing his arms. “Nah. I try to follow Covid procedures as well as I can. Oh, but, umm, I do have the occasional party to myself.”

“You throw parties by yourself?”

“Why do you look and sound so disappointed?”

True to his word, the neighbor keeps his music down for you to concentrate. You are extremely grateful, as you can now listen to your own television and study for your online classes.

Although you hear the faint drumming beat of music sometimes, you decide that it was far worse last time he blasted his music all over the place so you let it slide. There are a few neighbors who pass you in the hall and thank you as well.

Unable to rest one night, you walk out onto your balcony for some fresh air. After this, you will finally go to bed at 4 A.M. in the morning. In the dim light of the lanterns, you can see a silhouette of a person on your neighbor’s balcony.

Oh, if it isn’t your good neighbor!

(Well, who else would be on your neighbor’s balcony?)

He is on his phone while leaning on the railing. The bright screen reflects on his face, showing his concentration. His athletic build is slightly hunched over his phone as he hums leisurely, scrolling innocently.

“So,” you say, “do you usually stay up until 4 A.M.?”

The man, slightly startled, looks up from his phone and sees you. He cracks a grin that’s more brilliant than the fact that his house plants are still alive despite you never seeing him water them.

“Well, hello, there,” the neighbor says. “I actually get up at 4 A.M.”

You still. “You what.”

“I get up at 4 A.M.”

“No, I don’t think I heard you right. Mind repeating it again?”

“I get up at 4 A.M.,” the man repeats, and although he has said it three times already, your mind cannot process it. While you’re going to bed at 4 A.M., this guy was waking up at 4 A.M. How insane! “I’m an athlete, so I wake up and use an elliptical. Feeling sluggish isn’t good for me.”

It was then you catch his name: Toru Oikawa of Club Athletico San Juan. You can’t bother to be gobsmacked as you do not catch up with sports news, but you keep in touch with old friends who are still involved in sports. You believe that they’ve mentioned the San Juan club a few times.

“Jesus Christ,” you say.

“No, not Jesus,” Oikawa pipes up, “although I’ve been told about the similarities.”

“I’m [F/N] [L/N],” you offer. “It’s very nice to meet you, Toru Oikawa.”

“Likewise,” he says, “unless you're throwing a purse at me.”

“Again, I’m super sorry—”

You and he talk for some time about anything that comes to mind. You ask him to show you a few of his volleyball videos, as you want to see how he plays. You assume that because of social distancing, he’s been unable to practice.

He obtains your phone number and sends you a few videos with a snarky little comment at the bottom, which you choose to ignore. You watch his videos, and you realize that this Oikawa guy is actually really good.

It seems your friendship with him is on feebly, baby-doe legs. There are days where you do not talk to him at all, as you are more of a night owl and Oikawa is the physical embodiment of carpe diem. There are some days where you and he do not let a single hour slip by without texting each other (you must admit that Oikawa is very entertaining).

Your neighbors tease you, constantly reminding you of your previous hatred for Oikawa (back when you did not know what his name was). You tell them that it was perfectly sensible to be mad, especially since he had been so loud, but they wave you off with a smirk of their faces you’d gladly wipe off. You can tell that they think you like Toru Oikawa.

You tell them that the day Oikawa calls you enchanting and thinks of you as a goddess is the day you might consider him as something more than a neighbor friend.

A month and a half flies by, and you are dawdling on your balcony with Oikawa. He is sitting with his legs swinging back and forth through the rails of the railing. His volleyball hands grip the top of the railing as he chats with you aimlessly, the same smile that he typically wears is upon his face.

“You must have a lot of experience,” you note, watching Oikawa’s videos on your phone. “It’s super impressive.”

Oikawa laughs. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you say incredulously. “I was watching one of your old high school videos, and I compared it to one of your more recent ones. Your growth is to die for. I super admire your skills, Toru.”

“My skills?”

I wish I could say more, you think. You believe your words are not enough to describe how you feel. Nothing is able to amount to the pride you feel towards your newfound friend, and it aches to keep your words to yourself. You can tell that he has suffered, and you can tell that he is suffering even now. You smile thinking about how far he has come, how far he has gone to be standing across from you with such a moonlit smile on his face.

You know how he fights, and you are so proud.

Of course, there is no non-cheesy way to say this, so you hope that Oikawa can read your eyes well enough. You hope that Oikawa knows that you are being more genuine now than ever, and you hope that he does not mistake your authenticity for pity.

“I think you are very great,” you say to him truthfully.

Oikawa’s voice is shaky. “Thank you.”

It feels as if years are going by with you locked in your apartment. Oikawa becomes an integral part in your life and in your everyday habits. You text him nearly every day and find yourself rising early in the morning just to talk to him for a few minutes before collapsing back on your bed.

Your neighbors suggest that you and he have a forbidden lovers thing going on. You ask them where they got that from. They bring up the fact that you and he are from different apartment complexes that just-so-happen to be facing each other.

If your neighbors want their own drama, they might as well try throwing a purse at their neighbor’s window and hope the neighbors are as amicable and handsome as Toru Oikawa. You struck gold with him.

He is easy to get along with. He tells you a lot of stories in the middle of the night and whenever he can. Every experience he tells you about seems to be linked with another experience, which is linked to another and then another. The conversations are flowing out of him, and sometimes, the most you can do is keep giving him positive affirmations so he will keep talking to you.

You like it when he talks to you.

“No phone, Toru?” you note, seeing his empty hands. Oikawa usually has his phone when he talks to you on the balcony. It is strange to see him without it, but Oikawa is a strange guy, you figure. He’s a total dork.

Oikawa is in love with a sport.

You have many athlete friends. Ordinarily, they complain about waking up early and never getting enough sleep—especially when balancing it with schoolwork. They enjoy their sport to a degree, but it pales in comparison to what Oikawa feels toward volleyball.

To Oikawa, and to people like Oikawa, volleyball is a practice. They turn volleyball into a habit. It becomes a habit that they care for the sport, and most importantly, it becomes a habit that they, in turn, take care of themselves.

“Too much blue light,” Oikawa says, shaking his head. “I’m cutting down my phone time. It’ll be better for my eyes, too. You ought to do the same.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you joke. “I have to look at screens all day, even if my eyesight deteriorates in the long run.”

“What will you do if you end up blind?” Oikawa leans on the railing. It’s as if he is trying to get close to you. However, the distance between the balconies is six feet apart. Whether you and Oikawa like it or not, you and he are following safety procedures. “You won’t be able to look for aliens with me.”

You laugh. “I don’t believe in aliens.”

“Well, they don’t believe in you, either.”

You make a sad face.

Oikawa is taken aback. He starts speaking quickly. “They don’t have to believe in you. It’s their loss. I’ll believe in you instead. You don’t need the approval of aliens, and you don’t need their opinions. They’re not even on Earth! The Earth is grand enough with you on it, [F/N]. As long as one person—me, or yourself, even!—believes in you, you’ll achieve greater things than aliens.”

It is then you smile. Oikawa is so silly, you think to yourself. You doubt there is anything else in the world that can replicate the neighbor across from you. He is truly one of a kind. “Thanks, Toru. You’re such a loser.”

“Hey,” he says, “love me or hate me. Don’t do both. Make it make sense.”

With Oikawa cutting back his screen time, you do not receive as many volleyball videos or texts from him. You miss his texts, of course, but this only spurs you to catch him in the mornings or in the late evenings when he gets back from practice. Your whole sleep schedule now revolves around the man. He is your friend, after all.

You slightly envy the man, as he seems dead set on becoming better than the person he was yesterday. However, you and he carry different morals. You do not mind not knowing what to do at all; you live from one day to the next, happily taking whatever life gives you. You are content not knowing what the future holds because you know that it is scary, but nothing is fun without being scary.

You do not need to follow Oikawa’s beliefs. Everyone raises themselves differently than the next person, and that does not make them any less productive. As each experience goes by, people take a different lesson from it, learning and learning and learning. That is human thought.

Of course, you learn a thing or two from Oikawa. You learn that there is always someone better, and that should only move you forward. You come to realize that if life does not lead you along, life will drag you, and you are far too pretty to be dragged.

With this in mind, you finish your project in time.

More weeks fly by, and Oikawa greets you as you walk out on your balcony. He is dressed in his practice clothes, and you are dressed in pajamas. You wrap your coat around yourself tighter, as the colder seasons are approaching and you aren’t so keen on freezing to death.

Oikawa’s brown hair feathers the tips of his reddened ears and touches the nape of his neck. He gives you a small wave, and you groggily wave back in response. It is far too early to meet Oikawa, but it seems you and he have an unspoken meeting time at 4 A.M. You have set many alarms for this man, and you hope he appreciates your efforts.

He holds something in his hands. You ask him what it is for, and he calls it a phone. It is not a phone. It is two cups, and they are held together by string. Oikawa tells you that one of the cups belongs to him and the other you. He stretches over the balcony, and you do so as well.

Your fingers barely whisper over his as you grab the cup from him. Oikawa quickly pulls away, nearly making you drop the cup. You swear you felt as if you were on the verge of a heart attack. You angrily curse out Oikawa for scaring you like that, and he only laughs in return.

That is the second time you’ve touched Toru Oikawa.

What a douche.

“Let’s test out the phone,” Oikawa says, putting his mouth to the cup.

You settle your ear to the cup, awaiting Oikawa’s message to you from your balcony. You wait, you wait, and you wait. Your ear is warm with anticipation, and just as you are about to tear your ear away from the cup to yell at Oikawa for joking with you, you hear something.

It is soft and quiet. If not for the stillness of the morning, you would not have been able to hear it. The voice is very faint, and the voice is very, very him.

“[F/N],” he says. He says your name like a prayer, like something he has kept lodged in his throat. He says it with apprehensiveness and doubt, as if he isn’t sure that it will reach you, as if he isn’t sure that it’ll work—but it does. But it does.

You smile, and you hold the cup to your mouth.

“Toru,” you say. You say his name again. “Toru.”

You flit your eyes up to see Oikawa, to see what he thinks of your personal message. In the dim light of the lanterns that hang on his apartment, you see that Oikawa is blushing. The red of his ears has spread across his cheeks.

He realizes that you are looking at him, and he turns his cheek to the side—a poor attempt of hiding. It is really impossible to keep his expressions from you, as it is only him and you outside. Even your neighbors recognize that there is an hour designated for you and Oikawa.

You put the cup down. Excited, you ask him, “did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says, regaining his composure. “Your breath stinks—”

You then throw the cup at his head. Oikawa falls back.

It is every day that you and he speak through the string-cup-phone-thing. You and he speak through it in the mornings when he wants to tell you a secret about his coworkers. Oikawa tells you that he has returned to work, as his team mates (including himself) have tested negative for Covid. You are entertained by his stories.

Oikawa has some of your habits, you realize. He must have picked them up from you during the duration of your friendship with him. When he eats candy, he saves his favorite color for last and eats his least favorite first. When he speaks, he crosses his arms—a habit that you have only because of your easy annoyance. He takes some of your jokes as well and repeats them to his coworkers (and you only know this because he tells you; at least he gives his credit to you).

He finds satisfaction in the littlest of things now. He will bring up how pretty the lights in the street below are, and when you are slightly pissed at anything, he will tell you how those aforementioned lights are nothing compared to you. He likes the smell of the bakery down the street, and he promises that he’ll take you there one day because it’s his favorite.

When he tells you a joke, he looks at your face to see if you are laughing. You think he likes your laugh. Or maybe he likes your time and appreciation. Whatever it is, Oikawa does not grow tired of seeing you laugh.

Toru Oikawa is as strange as you, you believe, and strange people stick together.

“Today,” Oikawa says through the string-cup-phone-thing, “I saw a skunk, and I thought of you.”

You blink. “I hate you.”

“Skunks are cute!” he insists through the cup. “I’m talking about its eyes. It had beautiful eyes. Take it as a compliment! The skunk’s beautiful eyes were so astounding that they seemed to—”

“Don’t try to redeem yourself.”

There are some days where Oikawa is too tired to talk to you, and although you are hurt by it, you realize that he needs time to himself. He sits on his bed, visible through the balcony window doors and buries his face in his hands. He looks defeated. All you can do is watch and pretend you do not see.

The thing about character is that one has to keep building it.

Oikawa constantly compares himself to others. At first it is not visible, but it becomes painstakingly obvious to those who are close to him. Oikawa brings up other volleyball players all the time, and he says that he wishes that he can serve like him or receive like her. You tell him that he can, and he laughs.

His envy is tiny, and you can see it in the way he praises this person’s sets and in that person’s passes. All you say in response is that they have to grow to get there, and that he, too, can grow.

So you wait by the string-cup-phone-thing. The cup hangs from you railing and dangles near your ear. It is too late in the day, but you force your eyes awake every time you feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

You will be here for Toru Oikawa. You will be here for him.

Oikawa steps outside today, and he sees you by the string-cup-phone-thing. You are curled up in a ball, dozing off near your respective cup. There is a lopsided grin on his face that appears whenever he sees you. He feels dizzy.

He sits down on the balcony, reaching for his cup that dangles from his railing. He starts talking. He tells you about his day, and he tells you about what he’s worried about. Although you are barely awake to hear it, Oikawa is glad that you are here anyway. You have this unspoken determination about you that makes Oikawa feel jumpy.

The months pass by, and you realize that you have a strong connection with Oikawa. Although having never spoken before quarantine and having never seen him closer than six feet away, you feel closer to him than ever. You do not need to be holding him; you do not need to be near him.

All you have to do is be there.

There are nights where it is you and him and silence. You and he seem to forget that the other is there with them, but if one were to leave, then you and he would feel as if something was wrong. The Earth will not be the same without the other, and you come to the profound realization that the universe is built upon one thing missing the other.

You are humming, and Oikawa is rolling around his volleyball. There is nothing but the sound of the concrete underneath the leather ball and your broken humming. You hum quietly, and it is breathy and choppy.

Then you hear something from your string-cup-phone-thing. You quickly snatch the cup and motion for Oikawa to repeat what he said.

It is quiet and apprehensive. “Do you want to spend Christmas with me?”

You drop the cup. It dangles. You stare at Oikawa, whose ball was rolling away toward the panel of the balcony window door. He is sheepishly carrying his cup and looking at you, expecting an answer.

“Just reject me already,” Oikawa says. So his invitation has more connotations that you realize. Your heart is like that of a jackrabbit. “Then you’ll never hear me bring this up again, if you don’t want me to.”

He stands there, his hair looking like shiny lucky pennies on sidewalks. His smile is as genuine as ever, and it tells you that even if you tell him no, he will still be there with you because that is what friends do.

If Toru Oikawa were to look in a mirror, he will see a hero.

He is glowing, you think. You don’t know if anyone else can see it. You want everyone to look at Oikawa and see how beautiful he is glowing. He is like the moon. The noisy neighbor whom you once hated is now the person who is most cherished across from you. You believe you can find no one close to Oikawa.

You don’t think you can ever stop appreciating the pillar that is Toru Oikawa, and you don’t think you ever want to. You have a thousand things you want to say, and you do not know which one to say right now. You do not think that this is the right time, either.

Maybe you will say these things later, if you have time.

During the most unfortunate of times, human beings are desperate. Thus, you can say with your utmost confidence that you are here for Oikawa, and that is all.

You grab the cup and scramble to your feet. It is then you lean over your railing and hold the cup to your mouth. You are happy. You are indescribably, ardently, and passionately happy. There is an answer that rips from your throat when you open your mouth. You say something along the lines of hoping that it better be the best Christmas you will ever have.

Oikawa laughs, and he says, “you’re a delight, [Y/N]. I think you’re like a goddess.”

“Delight is a lousy way to describe me,” you say. “Call me mesmerizing, jaw-dropping, and radiant.”

“How about enchanting?”

You think about it. “I think enchanting will do just fine.”

“Right then,” Oikawa says, “[F/N], you are absolutely enchanting.”

#oikawa toru #oikawa x reader #oikawa scenario #oikawa x you #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #oikawa one shot #haikyuu one shot #oikawa #oikawa imagine #haikyuu fluff #i went like philosophical midway BYE #i wrote this for a little collab on quotev dot hell #haikyuu!!#no beta we die like men

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abdifarah · 6 years ago

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Hotel Pennsylvania

Central Pennsylvania is weird. Homeowners string confederates flags as nonchalantly as Christmas lights. My mom, who moved to Central Pennsylvania against my protests, lives about ten miles from Spring Grove, PA, which we have to drive through whenever we visit my Aunt Darlene and Uncle Kenny right below the Pennsylvania–Maryland line. Spring Grove is a cruel joke of a name as the town perpetually smells of rancid cabbage. The smell emanates from the Glatfelter Paper Mill at the heart of the town. All the shops and services in the town either bear the Glatfelter name or use some corny paper pun in their signage. The old brick row homes that line Main Street have porches but no one sits on them. If you do see someone on the street they have an exhausted expression well beyond their years, perhaps from too many cigarettes, or possibly from years of hopelessly working at the paper mill. A cloud – both literal and spiritual – hangs over Spring Grove.

But there is another kind of small town in Central Pennsylvania. All the companies in this town are higher tech with little pollution to diffuse the sun. Power washed brick houses with immaculately manicured lawns line the small streets of Lititz, Pennsylvania. Voted the Best Small Town in America by AARP, every block has either an ice cream stand, or a guitar shop, or a quaint bed and breakfast. On any summer afternoon the sidewalks and streets are filled with happy people. Kids in their bathing suits weave through older pedestrians on Razor scooters. Fit and fresh faced adults in Tevas and Birkenstocks walk dogs, and still active older couples in Brooks Brothers hold hands while taking an evening stroll. It's the kind of town that takes the Fourth of July very seriously. Year round every house has the same 4 x 6 foot American flag fixed at the same 45 degree angle from a post of the white painted porches that wrap each facade, so as to clear up any confusion with one’s neighbor. “Oh, you’re American? I’m American too! What are the chances?” But around the Fourth somehow more American flags appear. They break out those pleated half-circle numbers with the concentric red, white, and blue ring with the star in the middle, and drape them over their porch railings. Little old ladies plant entire fields of miniature flags in public green spaces, in memory of fallen soldiers. (When exactly did the 4th of July merge with Memorial Day? Let there be no question, Lititz, Pennsylvania loves the troops. In Lititz the 4th alone cannot contain the fireworks, but anytime for about a week before and after you can expect to hear a random boom and see a starburst of red white or blue sparks in the sky.

Unlike Spring Grove, Lititz is thriving, bolstered by a constellation of steady companies offering both good paying blue collar work as well as more tech driven white collar jobs. There is a Rolex factory here. Lititz is what I assume Trump supporters envision when they pray Make America Great Again. Surprisingly, despite the overt patriotism and trappings of Americana, Lititz is not Trump Country. The cute coffee shops and overpriced bistros are populated by salt and pepper haired businessmen pissed that Trump’s steel tariffs are cutting into the bottom line, as well as woke college kids home for summer break shedding genuine tears over the separation of immigrant families at the border. Turns out a lot of white folks despise Trump as much if not more than us various minorities.

Despite the friendly faces and preponderance of liberal allies, my skin still crawls in this still uber-white small town. I am usually the only brown person in sight and while the eyes are kind I do feel all eyes on me wherever I go. I imagine walking into a dark divey bar in depressed Spring Grove and the proverbial record screeches and some grisled bartender asks acerbically, “What are you doing here!?” In Lititz the look on peoples’ faces asks the same “What are you doing here?” without the coldness, but rather with concern or surprise, as if to ask “Are you lost?” “How did you stumble upon our white oasis?” I come to Lititz regularly for work as a subcontractor for one of the big companies fueling the prosperity of Lititz, a company called Tait Towers. Most people will never hear about Tait Towers but they are ubiquitous. If you have gone to a big arena concert in the last 30 years you have seen their work, as they are the foremost supplier of decking and stage equipment for rock and pop concert tours. Anything sleek and shiny and automated that adorned the stage of that last concert you attended was probably Tait. I get called in when they are working on something a little weirder, handmade, idiosyncratic. Over the years assisting Tait’s in-house Scenic Department, we have built a gold vinyl wrapped tiger and lion for Katy Perry, sculpted a 30 foot jungle Tree for Britney Spears, and created an ice crystal themed stage for Lady Gaga. Turns out the ladies of pop like hand made props to counteract their synthesized sound, for which me and my bank account are grateful. It's not the most avantgarde work, but the pay is decent. They put me up in hotel while I am there. For a while I had Hilton Diamond Status after a particularly long five month stay designing and building an inflatable tree for Cirque du Soleil’s Avatar themed show, Toruk. Strangely, I get asked to make a lot of trees.

This past Saturday I was leaving the local laundromat. My hotel has a washer and dryer but I still jump at any opportunity show my black face in town and mix it up with the townspeople. However awkward, I am a glutton for punishment. As I was turning the corner out of the laundromat parking lot I almost shocked myself into an accident as I witnessed a Chinese family on their porch within a row of houses. Where had these people been during those homogeneous 4th of July celebrations or during those awkward evenings I spent at the bar of the Bull’s Head, a local tavern? I suspected that there was a whole unseen community of minorities in Lititz. I remembered the handful of other black and brown people that worked at Tait. Why had I not seen this more diverse crowd during my daily coffee runs to the local bakery, Dosie Dough, or out walking their dogs or playing with their children in the evening? It seemed that the other people of color went to work, did their job, and immediately jetted home as soon as the day was done. Also, a lot of them probably chose to forego small town living in favor of the more urban Lancaster, Pennsylvania about seven miles south of Lititz.

After a few weeks in Lititz, I too found myself retreating to my hotel room after the work day. Should I go out for dinner for a little more ambiance or grab a drink at the bar with its potential for conversation. The pessimistic belief that I would be the only black person and the sole vessel to absorb the awkward stares proved exhausting. I would instead microwave an Amy’s Mexican casserole bowl for dinner and catch up on the last season of The Americans. At some point myself and the other people of color of Lititz made an unspoken pact with the white people of this sleepy town that we would do our jobs and go home immediately in order to perpetuate the belief that this was one of those ideal small towns, the kind that could be voted Best Small Town in America. When I imagine the best small town in America sadly I do not see a Chinese family, black welders, or even myself.

After years of coming to work with Tait I can confidently say that I hate classic rock. Tait is all about classic rock. The founder, Michael Tait, an Australian expat, got his start building stages for the band Yes in the 60’s. As an independent artist, my short stints with Tait represent my only times working in a real workplace with set hours. For years the shop was haunted by an omnipresent Muzak system that played classic rock incessantly. Everyday at around 4pm the Eagles’ “Hotel California”, a song written by Satan himself, would torment us. Working 10 to 12 to 14 hour days to meet a deadline, 4 o’ clock was our witching hour; too late in the day to bring any new energy or insights to the project, much too early to begin cleaning up for the day. The lyrics, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave” taunted me, less because of their spot on description of my current predicament but more because they’re just stupid. Hearing the same “classic” songs day after day I realized the utter mediocrity of classic rock as whole. Just competently melodic enough to be easy to listen to, unlike say punk or metal (both far superior). Lyrically the stories ranged from completely meaningless, to embarrassingly infantile, to undeniably problematic. Somehow we decided that this was the American music, over jazz, blues, funk, and r&b. Classic rock will be playing on the space shuttle we board after we successfully destroy earth and it will be playing on whatever outpost we establish on the faraway planet we colonize.

Currently, I am working on a set of nine sculptures of Elton John that will array the proscenium arch above the stage for his upcoming tour. Overall, I enjoy this work. At least it is not another tree. And as far as pop music goes I dig Elton John’s music more than some of the other pop stars for whom I have made art. However, at the end of a long day sculpting his strange bulbous nose and thin lips for the seventh, eighth or ninth time I begin to sour a bit on Sir Elton. Elton John is 73 years old (probably older since, like most performers, I assume he gave a younger age when he started out) and we are building a stage for him for a projected three year tour that will net him millions of dollars. How many black artists or other musicians of color are still relevant and can sell out arenas into their 60’s and 70’s? Maybe Stevie Wonder? I can easily name 20 white (male) musicians. We already mentioned Elton John; how about Billy Joel, Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon, The Rolling Stones, The Eagles, The Who, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bon Jovi, Eric Clapton, Rod Stewart, Aerosmith, Sting, Ozzy Osbourne, Jimmy Buffett? I can keep going. Were these giants of rock undeniably better than their female contemporaries or artists of color working at the same time so as to secure an undying career into infinity?

I read in an article years ago detailing some of the financial troubles of T-Boz and Chilli of TLC, that they did not have much money coming in outside of the $1200 royalty check they received monthly. TLC was a group notoriously mistreated and shortchanged by their management and record labels yet they still had $1200 a month in royalties arriving like clockwork. I can barely begin to fathom what a group like the Rolling Stones receives in regular royalties. At any moment a Rolling Stones song plays somewhere on this blue planet. I hypothesize that the proliferation of classic rock around the world may be the biggest form of white welfare. According to the website, Inside Philanthropy, Jimmy Buffett is worth $550 million. He has one terrible song that he has somehow parlayed into a fortune! He is then free to spread that money among various causes or toward organizations like the NRA. Or take rock and roll’s running joke that the Rolling Stones, despite their hard living are somehow, immortal. While humorous and perplexing we all know the reason for these artist’s longevity. Being wanted, having work to do, being asked to perform, and the monetary and emotional support they afford sustains one’s life. I cannot help but feel that the melancholy that we collectively share when a giant of black music dies – Prince a few years back and Aretha Franklin most recently – stems from the understanding that despite their great fame and success their talent deserved more. They deserved Rolling Stones level treatment. Is there a better rock and roll song that Franklin’s “Respect” or “Chain of Fools?” I should have been in Lititz making nine life-size sculptures of Aretha Franklin and not Elton John.

The last time I arrived at Tait to work on a project I noticed the absence of the Muzak system. Every department now controlled their own music. Sometimes someone plays from their Spotify or Apple Music or we just put on the radio. Much to my chagrin and confusion, somehow the Freddy Kruger of classic rock continues to haunt me even with my mostly young coworkers choosing the music. Someone will mindlessly put on the “Beatles Radio” on Pandora, or WXPN, a Philly radio station, will have a “Throwback Thursday” traversing the entire discography of the Rolling Stones. One day during WXPN’s regular offerings (usually a mix of new rock with a few eclectic curve balls thrown every now and then) Childish Gambino AKA Donald Glover’s “This is America” came on (I too am surprised by the ubiquity of this song as I viewed it less as something to casually listen to and more as the multi-level artwork that I was initially presented with through its graphic video. But alas, the song bumps). Almost instinctively, without prompt, fanfare, or commotion one of my coworkers changed the channel. After hours of absorbing banal rock something mysterious sparked a station change. I tried to put this incident out of my mind. Soon after someone put on an Itunes 80’s playlist. Somehow 80’s music has come to mean “White 80’s”; Culture Club, Billy Idol, and all that other Breakfast Club, Top Gun, Say Anything music, completely omitting black acts, save titans like Michael Jackson and Prince. Surprisingly, a Janet Jackson song slipped onto this mostly vanilla playlist, but almost as soon as I started bouncing my shoulders and popping my neck along with Jackson’s “Pleasure Principle” someone calmly put down their tools, walked to the computer and skipped to the next song!

I work with genuinely good people. The same liberal minded white people that I would overhear furiously denouncing Trump in the coffee shop. But there was something unconsciously disturbing about a black voice coming out of the office speakers, and conversely something calming and reassuring about A-Ha’s “Take On Me,” which restored the stasis after Janet’s interruption. Was the promulgation of classic rock and other culturally white genres part of some conspiracy to entrench whiteness as the default and everything else an aberration? The truth was probably less insidious and more banal, but no less effective. Sometimes I’ll muster the courage to take over DJ duties and I will attempt to put on a more colorful station or playlist, but even I find myself squirming with embarrassment if a particular black song plays. I am conscious that, unlike those classic rock songs that we all know to the point of no longer hearing them, every word of an unfamiliar song from an unfamiliar voice conspicuously grabs the attention and appears in bold text before ones eyes, complete with a bouncing ball keeping place. This can become awkward when, say, Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me” comes on during a 90’s Jams Playlist. I want a freak in the morning/ A freak in the evening, just like me/ I need a roughneck nigga/ That can satisfy me. Why should a song that boldly expresses black female sexuality be awkward for me? I listen to plenty of songs all day that foreground white male sexuality: AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” or Rod Stewart’s “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy.” Or why should a rap song with explicit lyrics put the room in a frenzy? Eric Clapton literally has a song called, “Cocaine.”

White supremacy resides not only within the purview of avowed white supremacists; that resident of Spring Grove or Dover with truck nuts hanging off his gun metal grey Ford Raptor with the giant confederate flag waving. We are all complicit. The MAGA white supremacist is not the only one lying to themselves about America’s past. The liberal resident of Lititz is as well. So am I. Somewhere we all believed the wonderfully illustrative mid-century American propaganda that America was a white family behind a white picket fence and that everyone else is just borrowing space, when in reality people from all ethnic backgrounds have shared this country since day one. And to be more factual there was a time on this land mass before white people; before genocide, theft, and slavery. Us people of color need to combat this as well. We may be mathematical minorities, but we are not new here. We are not the cousin crashing on the couch, lying awake and hungry, afraid to go to the kitchen and make food, so as not to disturb the owners of the house. We need to not be ashamed of our music, our existence. We need to show up and be seen; at those corny 4th of July celebrations and especially at the voting booth, reminding all onlookers that we are just as American. Only then might we all imagine a more diverse picture when we think of the Best Small Town in America, and only then might I be freed from the hell of “Hotel California” playing on my radio into eternity.

#music #aretha franklin #elton john #pennsylvania #america #rocknroll

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almaasi · 8 years ago

Text

reaction post typed while watching the JIBcon 2017 Jensen & Misha panel

um............this is........ kind of gay

under the cut: my casual thoughts on Cockles, Jensen in heat, a lil bit of Destiel, and a small dose of toxic masculinity because man it just keeps coming back to that

08:00pm

PART 1

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esVT4rZ1F0M&ab_channel=thiniassk

i’m not fucking prepared honestly oh god

08:12pm

i have petted my cat diezel and i am slightly more prepared

08:14

it STARTS with them singing to each other?!?!?!

jensen gets so much of his energy from misha he can’t address a crowd without first staring deeply into misha’s eyes??? IS THIS THEM SOULBONDING BEFOREHAND SO THEY MAKE A BETTER TEAM

miSHA TURNS AWAY IT’S JUST JENSEN SERENADING MISH OH GOD

jensen: *leans in for no reason*

08:17

HE DOES SO MUCH OPEN-HANDED REACHING

08:18

j: “the hairs on my arms are standing up”

m: “he was just showing me his freckles”

j: “who don’t love freckles *winky face* know what i’m saying”

m: “you wanna hear something weird”

J: “SHUT UP”

MISHA WAS GONNA SAY FRECKLES ARE ANGEL KISSES AND JENSEN VETOED IT

THIS IS THE ONLY OPTION

08:20

YES MISHA putting a chair backwards stops you worrying about crotch-staring

j: “oh no, i enjoy showing my crotch the entire time”

m: “i know”

j: “i don’t have to hide it”

...........................surely this is illegal

08:2

j: “let’s see how deep it goes”

(talking about the crowd size?)

m: “by which she means it’s an innie”

(talking about navels maybe?? not sure how we got here?)

(OR DICK FORESKIN WHO KNOWS)

JENSEN YOUR FACE

WHAT

08:25

? i think jensen moved to cover his crotch jokingly aND MISHA REACHES IN TO UN-COVER HIS CROTCH

;A;

08:28

j: *faces misha and spreads his legs* “here’s the thing. pick a leg”

WAT THE FIDSAHFSF I???

08:29

jensen wants misha to choose between his bowlegs??? OH NO

I JUST GOT IT

HE STANDS UP TO DO THE DICK-ADJUSTMENT DANCE

RIGHT NEXT TO MISHA

“PICK A LEG” IS ABOUT WHICH LEG HIS DICK SITS AGAINST

why the fuck does he want MISHA to choose what the fuck this is so fucking gay what the fuck

misha claims out loud he’s uncomfortable but frankly he doesn’t look that uncomfortable

08:32

jesus christ jensen is flat-out turning everything into flirtation

j: “you have big dolls?”

(regarding the mini-dads misha has in his house)

JENSEN HOW BADLY DO YOU WANT THIS GUY TO FUCK YOU

WOW

08:34

such blush

...and jensen starts hitting himself in the head as self-chastisement for flirting????????????????????????????????????????????????

08:36

https://youtu.be/esVT4rZ1F0M?t=4m8s

fig 1: jensen believably pretending he doesn’t know what “firework[s]” by katy perry is

fig 2: telling the truth “of course i know what ‘firework’ is, i have a 4 year old daughter” (correcting misha’s addition of the ‘s’ at the end, i must note) “i DANCE to firework”

....but like.......jensen’s process of ”i don’t know what this potentially emasculating thing is at all”.... “did i mention this thing is close to my heart and know it intimately”

does that sound like “talk about cutting the fat”/”who’s cas?”/”misha who?” to anyone else? hurr

THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT DEAN DOES. BLAH BLAH BLAH THEY’RE DIFFERENT PEOPLE But tHEY DO THE SAME SHIT WHEN IT COMES TO ~EMASCULATING~ THINGS

granted jensen does it easier and more jokingly than dean does, but he STILL DOES IT

(also? jensen asked misha what’s on west’s playlist and requested he be honest, probably knowing full-well what’s on there (and there’s something dodgy there to be honest about). jensen pretends he doesn’t know the song, misha reaches in to touch him and says “you would be off on a lot of [these songs]-- AND THAT’S WHEN JENSEN REVEALS THE TRUTH TO PROVE HE’S NOT ALL COUNTRY FOLK SINGER and then blames his knowledge of popular songs on his daughter rather than the fact it’s impossible to go through modern life without having heard that song)

(he serenades misha with a few lines before mocking the song)

(i wonder if he’s ever sung it to misha in private)

08:50

jensen: *finger over his lips as misha’s talking about his kids singing carry on wayward son in the car* i.e. ~don’t say the thing~

j: “is what you told me earlier public knowledge? ‘cause that’s kind of a nice segue”

it’s nice that he asks

m: *high pitched voice* whyyy did i tell him

SO HE CAN RELAY YOUR CUTE STORIES TO US WITH HIS PRETTY POUTY BLABBERMOUTH, THAT’S WHY

j: *leans in to whisper and ask about the story he wants to tell*

m: NO NO ON ON O

wow that’s gotta be a damning story holy shit

m: “i am actually having palpitations right now”

I REALLY WANT TO KNOWWWWW AAAH

08:56

j: “real men have twins”

....wtf

j: *looking apologetically at misha* “aaah it’s just a shirt somebody sent me, it was pretty cool”

...........wtf even more because why are you apologising to misha wtf

(after the panel i came back and read this and I JUST GOT IT. i thought “have twins” meant the man in question has a human duplicate sibling. but it actually means the man in question has two offspring who are born at the same time. welp.)

08:58

bless daniella for getting these boys so fucking drunk

drunk!jensen is kind of.... look i dont wanna say it as a slur but also i do really wanna say it.... he’s kind of a slut?

god i love how much he’s enjoying himself aaah

09:00pm

here we have jensen laughing way too hard at misha’s “i am not a spy... which is exactly what spies say” accent

j: “that one got me. i dunno why”

BECAUSE YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE AND ALSO DRUNK

09:03

rip fluffy unicorn

jensen for someone with a 4 year old daughter you very quickly, very unnecessarily, AND VERY VIOLENTLY reject soft fluffy cute things your daughter would like

someone tell me again how he’s not fuelled at least 25% by toxic masculinity

j: *to the unicorn* “fuck you steven”

what did steven ever do to you

see this is where dean and jensen differ. dean would maybe sneer at the unicorn but he’d keep it if it was given to him by someone who cared about him (the in-show version of daniella?). he’d give it to a little kid. smile, play with it for 10 seconds if no-one else was watching. but jensen? THROWS IT AND INSULTS IT AND HATES IT FOR EXISTING

like dean and jensen are both haters of soft cute things (in front of people) but in totally different ways

jensen’s hatred seems kinda disingenuous to me ?

and waaaaay over the top, maybe just because there’s a crowd

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PROVE

who exactly in that room would think any less of him if he said “aw cute” and hugged the thing on his lap, y’know? the room would be full of cheering. i feel like he’s only doing the act for self-comfort idk

it’s a soft unicorn .........i don’t get it

it’s a kicking machine with a death spike

IF IT WAS MADE OF PLASTIC AND LOOKED LIKE A ROBOT WOULD HE REACT THE SAME WAY THOUGH

(not that i dislike him for this, i’m just commenting on what i observe. he fascinates me. how did he get like this? WHAT COTTON CANDY PLUSHIE ABUSED HIM IN A PREVIOUS LIFE)

09:16

regarding superstitions: jensen steps right foot first onto airplanes, it hasn’t failed him yet. misha “always wears something akin to orange underwear”

OH NO HERE WE GO

j: “wait seriously?”

jensen looks fascinated...and awed

does he not know this stuff already? do they not talk about weird personal stuff outside of conventions?

okay well jensen is definitely adding “lucky orange underwear” to his list of things to imagine while he’s lying in bed with his hand between his legs

09:23

jensen’s lil finger wiggle to encourage misha to take his pants off?????

09:26

k but why did the convention crew turn the lights pink when jensen dropped his pants for misha

jensen to misha: “you can’t unsee that”

misha, kinda shaken: “no, i’m trying”

WHAT THE FUCK WAS JENSEN WEARING

AND WHY WAS IT SO BAD THAT WE COULDN’T SEE TOO

my current theory: a cock sock (maybe so jensen doesn’t get visible boners and/or panty lines??)

like this (WARNING NSFW NSFW)

j to misha: “rawr”

........................STOP

j: “you didn’t even get the full picture”

OKAY THAT’S IT IT’S GOTTA BE A COCK SOCK RIGHT ASDFSJF

m: “now would be a good time to take a 10 minute break”

AND WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE YOU AND JENSEN DO IN THAT TIME SIR

KINDLY DO SHARE

09:32

fan: “[jared] was kind of away with the fairies”

j: “no he’s been a fairy all day”

and THEN HE LOOKS AT MISHA EXPECTING A REACTION

is it just me or is jensen perfectly aware when his jokes are potentially homophobic and he’s checking with misha to see if it’s okay?? because i guess misha is the in-house feminist and if jensen goes a minute without misha’s approval he knows he needs to start sucking up and grovelling

J: “misha kept us out late” MORE RAWRING

like does he just wanna go behind the curtain and blow him ‘case i think we’d all wait patiently

(apparently completely unrelated, except by connection of “they wanna bang”) jensen: “by the way they go down to here” *points to mid-thigh*

someone mentioned maybe he was wearing a brand called ethika underwear on some post i made yesterday, i had a look at their website and it just seemed like perfectly normal boxers just with some funky prints

idk why that would make misha gawp so madly though, if it was just a loud print. or why that would mean the audience can’t see. it had to be something about the cut of them, too. (unless there was a tiger or something on them. i think i saw cat faces on the website)

also why is jensen so keen on telling misha about his underwear

...this is some exposure kink bullshit honestly

he’s not shy in the slightest, he’s getting off on making misha squirm

09:42

fan: “people who work together frequently develop habits/quirks”

j: “undoing your pants in front of each other”

fan: “probably not as many people do that”

j: “no”

they know how gay they are. they know. they know we think they’re fucking. they don’t care. they encourage it. why. jensen is absolutely revelling in this. he has not one single problem with people shipping him with misha

and i am dying because of it

09:45

fan: “i was wondering if there’s anything that doesn’t involve your pants--”

*jensen shakes his head*

fan: “--that you only do around each other”

jensen covers his mouth ~don’t say the thing~

oh no

(bless this question-asker)

09:49

AND HERE MISHA GOES CHANGING THE TONE BECAUSE JENSEN CAN ONLY THINK OF INAPPROPRIATE THINGS

PART 2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0BnSu26yjE&ab_channel=thiniassk

09:53

m: “jensen came in, his eyes were red, i gave him a hug... jensen said - i’m quoting here - don’t do that”

(jensen smiles)

m: “we have these brief interstitials”

OOH interstitials. what a good word

09:55

when misha is talking, jensen listens. he LISTENS. he reacts in real time.

when jared talks, he zones out so much more often, or at least acts like he does (”i’m sorry, what were you saying? i zoned out”)

idk what to make of it

10:01

jensen’s lil speech <3

also bless daniella for always being the hero we need

10:05

jensen’s like ~welp i just spilled my heart out!! time for a circus act and some unicorn violence

10:06

DAT NECK SQUISH THO

i wasn’t expecting it to turn into this

... this panel has so much more jensen than misha. misha’s so quiet and still. and jensen’s so animated and talkative and aggressive and affectionate ??

is misha sick, tired, or upset?

10:10

https://youtu.be/T0BnSu26yjE?t=9m5s

fan asks what dean and cas would do together on a scooter in rome

m: “WHEN IN ROME”

and jensen looks at him like his gay innuendo alarm is flashing red

.....but like. they’re in rome. when in rome. gay things happen in rome. yes?

m: “NAUGHH NO you’re taking this the wrong way, i just mean ‘when in rome’ i just mean, show each other our underwear”

NOT ANY LESS GAY

AND NOW IT’S COCKLES AS WELL AS DESTIEL

++ misha referring to dean and castiel’s underwear as “our” underwear

m: “NOT ANYTHING WEIRD.”

what’s weird misha. what would you classify as weird. tell us.

*jensen’s dead eyed blue steel*

m: “YOU CAN’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT ANY MORE BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID” (misha’s voice breaks)

MISHA RAWRS

OH NO

.........................jensen sPREADS his legs

oh no

JENSEN COULD YOU LITERALLY ACT ANY MORE LIKE YOU’RE IN HEAT

FUCK

10:18

this person’s head is blocking my goddamn view

but

jensen

what is the purpose of your face

10:20

https://youtu.be/T0BnSu26yjE?t=10m47s

fan: what would dean and cas do in rome, “a holiday” ?

m: *to jensen* “where do you GO with that?”

j *flirty*: “i know where i’m goin’~”

IN WHAT WAY EXACTLY COULD THIS BE INTERPRETED IN A NON-DESTIEL NON-GAY WAY

I‘M TRULY, TRULY STRUGGLING

look why don’t they just say “dean and cas would rent a hotel room and fuck the shit out of each other for five days straight” OH YEAH BECAUSE THAT’S TOO CLOSE TO THE TRUTH RIGHT

BUT THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE BASICALLY SAYING ANYWAY

they could’ve said “eat all the italian food” and “check out some of the monuments, dean and cas probably haven’t seen a lot of that stuff, cas knows all the history since he was alive in ancient times, and jensen would really appreciate a holiday spn episode in the future” BUT NO

THEY DELIBERATELY LEAVE IT OPEN AND MAKE SURE EVERYONE’S THINKING ABOUT ROMANTIC GAY SEX

forget the underwear exposure, i need all the gifs of this and all the meta

THIS IS WAY GAYER

i’mma puke rainbows brb

10:28

misha tries to save it with “the colosseum” BUT JENSEN’S FACE IS ALREADY LIKE “I SAID A GAY THING DIDN’T I”

misha: *rushed* “yes great question thank you”

THAT WAS IN NO WAY THEM AVOIDING “DEAN AND CAS WOULD MAKE LOVE”

NGHGHNH

m: “i don’t know how you’d answer that. i feel like there’s a lot of..”

daniella: *says something*

m: “go to the vatican?”

nope. hopeless. it’s too late, you can’t save this misha, it’s already gay.

fan: “can you explain why cas is driving the motorcycle and not dean?”

i love this person and their suspiciously gay questions

https://youtu.be/T0BnSu26yjE?t=11m49s

(can anyone figure out what jensen says when misha’s saying “dean actually drives the impala but...”)

PART 3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xr1d_7fG5zA&ab_channel=thiniassk

10:36

AW MAN EVERYONE RUSHED ON STAGE AND I WANTED TO HEAR JENSEN’S ANSWER TO WHATEVER THE QUESTION WAS!!!! he did comedy elbows followed by throat stroking and lots of thinking I WANTED TO KNOW WHAT WAS SO DIFFICULT TO EXPRESS

10:40

https://youtu.be/Xr1d_7fG5zA?t=3m7s

MISHA DUCKS AND HE PUTS HIS FINGERS IN HIS EARS

gimme the gifs friends i need them

10:42

THIS IS THE LAST JIBCON??????? NOOOOOOOOO WHAT

WAit wait---- wait............

DANIELLA says: “LOOKS LIKE THERE’S GOING TO BE ANOTHER ONE”

YYYYYAAAAAAAAAAYYYYY MORE COCKLES

fsjdgfd that was scary

daniella’s crying

oh god i love her so much

YESSS SHE DESERVES TO HAVE HER NAME CHANTED BY A CROWD

10:46

did jensen and misha leave the stage? i’ve lost them

did they go off for a bathroom quickie or what

10:48

the endddddddd

ahh i’m exhausted now

in short: jensen’s head over heels in love, horny, in heat, and definitely spreads his legs in bed

misha? seems a lil upset. quiet. not as energetic as he usually is, which was surprising given jensen’s highkey flirtation. this panel was a lot of jensen and not a whole lot of misha, or misha+jensen as a pair. jensen was throwing a ton of sexual energy at misha and not getting much of anything back.

idk how to feel about it, but a tiny bit of me is disappointed? and maybe a tad concerned. however, that said, they did make it fun and interesting AND SUPER FUCKING GAY

this panel reiterated to me that romantic destiel is a thing and they know it, and anything jensen says against that is just consciously-created bullshit

also? he lies really easily and really well. and it’s usually to protect some kind of face-value manly-man thing. even if he counteracts it within seconds.

but i find it very interesting how he looks to misha as his source of how much masculinity he’s required to protect. he asks misha “too much?” regarding the unicorn violence, and looks at him any time he made a gay or unfeminist joke that was a little risque (the “fairy” thing about jared, the “real men have twins” shirt)

it’s like misha’s his gatekeeper for gayness and softness, jensen clearly trusts him implicitly, and vice versa (although misha seems shaky on that, second-guessing why he told jensen a private story which jensen wanted to tell but misha was all NO NO NO OMFG)

but IMAGINE HOW MANY SECRETS THEY HAVE TOGETHER

OH NO

hopefully there’ll be some more cockles soon ...but at least we have hawaiicon to look forward to in november!! =u=

#Cockles #Cockles meta #jibcon #jibcon 2017 #conventions #my Cockles meta #Elmie watches things #post of postiness #Jensen's sexuality #Jensen Ackles #Misha Collins

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salytierra · 8 years ago

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@hetaliafandomhub EMBASSY : SPAIN

WRITING REFERENCE: REGIONS & CHARACTER TRAITS

Spain Works a little bit like a federation… except not really. The different Spanish regions are called “Autonomous Communities” and are semi-self-governing territories that were established following cultural and historical reasons, almost 40 years ago.

This has brought some problems, but also a lot of hilarity, because the rivalry between some of the regions created a ton of funny jokes and stereotypes.

There are 17 Autonomous communities and 2 autonomous cities.

So there’s no such thing as one and only, defined, version of Spain and Spanish people, rather Spain is a sum of all its differences. Like a real person, our country is polyfacetic, complex, and often contradictory in its behavior, preferences and personality. But at the core, there’s just something that we all have in common and that sets us apart.

I prepared a little, humorous piece on each region, highlighting its traits and most common stereotypes. Of course, this is oriented towards writers that want to make their character representation richer and more extensive.

You can use any of the following for Antonio and combine them at your like:

THE AUTONOMOUS COMMUNITIES

Aragón: Legend has it, that not long ago the people from the aragonese Pyrenees still communicated with each other by yelling over the mountains. Whether that’s true or not, Aragón is considered the land of loud and headstrong people. And when I say headstrong I mean so stubborn that they will rather change the laws of physics than admit that they were wrong about something.

Their capital is Zaragoza and the cold is manufactured in its train&bus station. Seriously, its manufactured there and then exported to the rest of the world, I shit you not!

C. Valenciana: If orange trees disappeared from the face of the earth Valencia would cease to exist.

It’s the birth land of the paella and they won’t let you go until you’ve understood that. They are known for their corrupt politicians and have more metrosexuals for square meter than a gay gym. Speak catalan but call it “valenciano” and demand it to be treated like a completely different language. Collectively healthy and well-groomed. Valencian people are carefree, a little bit arrogant, and enjoy living the good life.

They also adore gunpowder; whether it’s a wedding or a funeral – there’s gonna be fireworks!

Asturias: “Spain is Asturias and the rest is reconquered land” and no Astur will ever let you forget that. They consider themselves the reason Spain exists in the first place and love reminding it to the rest of the country, whether it’s in the parliament or heavy metal songs. They really love their land, carry an Asturian flag everywhere they go, take pride in their history, landscapes, nature and… milk.

Anyway, their superiority complex is legendary and the worst part is that you can’t even pick on them for that because it’s all mostly true.

La Rioja: If you’ve got a wine mom, have ever been in the alcohol section of any supermarket, or studied the wine selection in a restaurant menu out of boredom, you probably know the word Rioja. It’s one of the most famous Designations of Origin in the world, which often leads to the assumption that Riojanos are drunk 90% of the time. Wrong. They are only drunk 70% of the time. They’ve also got a festival that is just like one giant water battle… but with wine instead.

Okay, jokes apart. Rioja has a lot more than just wine; its people will take you in with open arms no matter where you are from and make sure you never want to leave.

Andalucía: What the rest of the world thinks is Spain. Every stereotype you can think of? Surprise! Turns out it’s only applicable to Andalucía. Flamenco, frilly dresses and women called Carmen come from there. Sadly, they are often treated like a joke by the rest of the country, but to give them credit: take it really well.

Although in the rest of Spain we are convinced that the religious devotion is actually an excuse for huge parties and let’s be fair – you’d also siesta if the temperature outside got to 50ºC in summer afternoons. Andalusians are also everywhere; wherever you go you’ll find hordes of them and recognize them by their funny accent.

Galicia: Other countries have china-town. We have one giant Ireland-town and it takes up this entire region. Galicia is extremely beautiful, has a lot of forests and a very unique culture, not to mention a very sticky accent and their own language; which is so closely related to Portuguese it’s difficult to tell them apart.

Now, the Galicians are the human form of “to be or not to be”; or alternatively the object of Katy Perry’s “hot’n’cold” song. You won’t find more indecisive bunch on the face of the earth. They’ve also got collective “morriña” which nobody is really sure what it means but it’s sort of a good-melancholic feeling.

Cantabria: In Cantabria, one in every four habitants is a cow. Also, the last time something metal happened there, it was in the times of the Roman invasion.

They have the best anchovies and will not tolerate any offense against them. Apart from that, they are fine people that may be a little bit cold but talk in sing-song and work very hard and a lot. A little bit hard to crack maybe, or that might just have been my former housemate.

C. de Madrid: So… turns out there’s an entire Autonomous Community surrounding the capital. Although, to be fair, the city takes up most of it.

The Madrileños are always stressed out, always! They are always rushing everywhere like devil’s got their pants on fire and still get there too late. In an eternal competition with Barcelona about literally everything. They are also really prideful, but I’ve said that just about any region till now. Also, it’s the capital, they are supposed to believe themselves the shit xDDD

País Vasco/Euskadi: The special snowflake of Spain and the entire Europe now that we are at it. Actually rumored to be aliens. Their language doesn’t come from indo-european, their genetic code is different, there’s a hereditary disease similar to chronic insomnia that only affects Basques… What even are these creatures?

It doesn’t matter; we still love their pinchos, and making jokes about their brute strength. Because believe me when I tell you: there’re no humans on earth as BRUTE as the Basques. Yes, I also thought that was an exaggeration, until I started sharing an apartment with one.

Navarra: Are they actually Basques? Are Basques actually Navarros? We might never know. The truth is that the Kingdom of Navarra was one of the cool territories during medieval Iberia and now they are famous for their Asparagus.

Okay that was mean. Navarra is actually a beautiful place (with fiscal privileges) full of history and people that might never win a subtlety and delicacy contest, but party like no-one else on the face of the earth!

Murcia: When Spanish kids are little and learning the Autonomous Communities they always forget one while counting on their fingers. That one is always Murcia. Nobody knows why it’s even a region on its own. Maybe it’s because of the language? Although make no mistake, they don’t have another language, they speak Castilian… probably, but nobody understands them anyway.

I know I’m being quite rough, but my former step-dad, the man that raised me, was originally from Murcia. They are admirably good at making jokes on their own expense. Let’s give them credit for that, at least.

Islas Baleares: *currently under the occupation of German tourists*

There’s not much to say about the Balearic Islands. As any overly-touristic place, they’ve lost a bit their essence, but some charm still remains. They are also paradisaically beautiful. I remember Formentera looking like a real-life movie poster with see-through water and marine animals swimming between your feet.

But if you really want to learn about Spain, our culture and people – don’t choose Mallorca for your vacation. I’m sure at this point the locals will thank you for that too.

Castilla-León: The buffer between the green north and the barren south. Those scholars that are trying to discredit the “Duero Desert” theory obviously never had to drive through the area itself for hours. It is still pretty much a desert full of wheat and olive trees. And the occasional city from time to time.

Now, that region is old Spain, Valladolid used to be the capital before it got shifted to Madrid, as León was before that. If you want a lungful of history – just visit any town in that region, it’s bursting with it. Also they are supposed to have the most perfect, correct Spanish and its people love visitors.

Castilla-La Mancha: Even more wheat fields… wheat fields as far as the eye can see. Finally, after days of wheat fields you see a town on the top of a hill, it’s surrounded by a medieval wall and in its heart a castle stands tall and mighty. You climb the hill and enter the city. Everyone is carrying a sword.

You stand there thinking whether you are hallucinating from the heat or just time travelled. Until a fuckboy with a Vespa almost runs you over. Turns out that’s only their aesthetic™ and you haven’t left civilization at all. Enjoy your stay, it’s f*cking magical. (srsly tho: I really want to visit Toledo again)

Extremadura: I don’t know what’s in the water in Extremadura but its natives are always ready for battle. Seriously, almost all the famous (and universally despised) Spanish conquerors in history were from Extremadura. They are direct, opinionated and blame Portugal’s entire existence for not having a beach.

I mean it, never cross an extremeño, but having one as a friend is probably the best investment you can make. They also work the earth a lot, remain unusually religious and have a weird obsession with making dick jokes about their own region’s name. Oh, and they also make ham!!

Islas Canarias: Their days last 23 hours, shipping companies ignore them, the magazines are more expensive, and you never know how to find them on a map. No, I mean they are pretty visible on a map of Spain, there down in a small square shape reserved only for them. But try to find them on a world map, I dare you…

Anyway, they officially have the best climate on earth, receive loads of tourism, and grow the famous “plátanos” – Spanish-branded bananas, and I’m pretty sure also that weird bunch-y shape on the top of Toño’s bangs – along with many other things. The highest mountain in Spain is there and it’s a volcano.

Cataluña: Saving the best for last. And if that sentence is not the epitome of Catalan character then I don’t know what is. Seriously, my dearest home region needs to chill and a lesson in humility, but we are not that bad. The bit about us being hard workers is relatively true, as well as the stingy bit. We’ve got 99 problems but a lack of imagination is not one of them, for better or worse. Hipsters be here.

And finally; we like taking risks, as evidenced by our “castellers”: human towers as high as possible and on the top, 15m from the ground – a four year old kid with a bike helmet.

Take that one, Spiderman!

THE AUTONOMOUS CITIES

Ceuta and Melilla: Established like at VII B.C. by the Phoenicians, they passed through a lot of hands.

Melilla became Spanish in the latest stage of La Reconquista, in 1497. Since it used to be a Visigoth territory too, it was symbolically important for the Catholic Monarchs to take particularly that one city, and so they did.

But the custody of Ceuta was won in the divorce from Portugal. When in 1640 Portugal decided that the Iberian Union sucked, Ceuta, a formerly Portuguese territory, demanded to stay with Spain. Aww, such a cutie!

So this is it! I hope you enjoyed this wild ride. Aren’t we just a lovely bunch? xDD Anyway, as I already said – you can combine and extrapolate from any of these to form your preferred version of Spain. Just don’t forget that they are still only stereotypes! ;)

Please reblog to spread the word (and so I don’t feel sad because this was quite hard to make...)

Header and references: (x)(x)(x)(x)

And now a private word to the Spanish people around here:

¡Que nadie me venga ahora quejándose, que esto lo he hecho pa hacer guasa! Y si no os gusta, pues no haber dejado la imágen del país en manos de una catalana, cony xDDD

Será posible, que algunos países tienen como de 3 a 5 representantes y a mí me habéis dejado sola, panda de vagos. Venga, que presentarse a portavoz no cuesta nada… (porfii~ me siento solita 😢)

#aph ambassador #aph spain #btw: the mapping is from wiki #hetalia fanfiction #hetaliafandomhub #me he dejado alguna? creo que no #open to use #reference #si he puesto a murcia esque están todas xDD #spain #writing reference #embassy board

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skeleton-closet-writers-blog · 7 years ago

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✫Start of Something New✫ | JonTron x Female!Reader

(Screenshot from this video on YouTube)

Word Count: 1,818

Author: moonshine ❤

Description: As requested by an anonymous user on Tumblr, I present yet another JonTron fanfiction! The anon didn’t give me any details regarding the actual content for the fic, so I just wrote whatever came to mind. The prompt I made up for this fic –> “You sing karaoke with JonTron at VidCon.”

Author’s Note: For the sake of the plot, the reader can sing/act/perform very well. Also, you have to look at this, and any fic I write, like an AU of our world…because a lot of real-life facts I put in here doesn’t exactly coincide with real life’s timeline.

What is Interactive Fics? It’s a Google Chrome extension that you can get [HERE]. With this, you’ll see your actual name and other info instead of seeing these abbreviations littering fanfictions; Y/n, L/n, E/c, etc.

I kinda left this one open in case any of you are interested in having more added to it. I know lots of people read these fics for him, and they all say “there’s not enough JonTron reader inserts out there!” Honestly, I was one of those people until I got stubborn and impatient, so here I am, writing my own JonTron fics so that there’s more out there. Let me know if you’re interested in reading more parts? Ta-ta for now!

You and your best friend were finally at VidCon, the place where YouTubers come to meet their fans and speak at panels about upcoming content. You were never able to go before with travel expenses and being able to actually get the weekend booked off of work. You and your friend planned for this trip for a few months now, and now that you’re finally here, you can’t get the hamster’s doing somersaults out of your stomach.

You both walk through a big room with multiple stands set up for various YouTube channels. The room is bigger than any banquet hall you’ve ever been to; it compares to the size of a warehouse. A small stage with a simple sound system and generic backdrop catches your friend’s attention, and they tug on your arm to get you to notice it.

“What do you think the mini stage is for?” your friend wonders out loud.

“I dunno,” you cross your arms, “I’m assuming you wanna check it out though.”

Your friend smiles and nods, and you both slowly approach the front of the stage. There’s a small crowd loitering in front of the stage, but nobody seems to even know what it’s set up for. Everyone is just waiting around, talking amongst themselves as they all wait for the big reveal of the stage’s purpose.

After standing with your friend in the front of the small crowd for five minutes, you turn over to them saying, “maybe we should leave. It doesn’t look like much is happening here –”

Just then, a guy walks on stage with a microphone, tapping it to get everyone’s attention.

“Hey, everyone! Welcome to a new fun thing we run here at VidCon! It’s a little thing called karaoke!” the guy says with a huge smile. Everyone laughs, sarcastically groaning and rolling their eyes at the reveal. You and your friend look at each other, laughing at the unsuspected surprise.

“Now, to kick this off, I’m gonna pick two random people to sing for us,” he explains while holding his hand over his eyes, scanning the crowd for two unfortunate souls to embarrass themselves. He stops, pointing in the general direction far behind you to the left. Everyone turns to face where the guy is pointing as he says, “hey, JonTron! You can sing! Come here and help start this karaoke party, will ya?”

“No thanks, I’ll pass,” you hear Jon respond. You are subscribed JonTron, but you wouldn’t describe yourself as a super fan or anything. You hear some people cheer him on, urging him to go on stage, and you and your friend decide to join the audience. If there has to be one thing that you and your friend like the most about this YouTuber; it would have be his talent for singing.

“C’mon, Jon. They all wanna hear your amazing voice!” the guy urges on. You haven’t figured out if this guy is just a YouTuber you haven’t heard of, or if he just works at VidCon as some sort of activity director.

“Karaoke isn’t for singing well, it’s something you do while you’re completely drunk out of your mind,” Jon rebuttals, causing everyone to laugh.

“Sing well - don’t sing well, I don’t care. Just c'mon!” the guy urges one last time. Just then, you hear Jon struggling while Arin from GameGrumps drags Jon to the stage with a hilarious smirk on his face. The small crowd roars with applause as Jon stumbles on the stage, looking out at the crowd like a deer caught in the headlights. The guy on stage leads Jon to one of the mic stands set up, and then leans on the other one.

“Alright, who’s gonna be our lucky candidate the to sing with the one and only, JonTron?”

Suddenly, a couple dozen hands shoot up with some loud screaming from many eager fans. Most of the fans waving their hands and screaming are female, but you notice a few eager male voices in the crowd as well. You didn’t realize your friend was eagerly pointing at you as quickly as the guy on stage did. He suddenly grabs your hand, and pulls you on the small stage, catching you off guard. You shoot your friend a bitch face as you’re positioned behind the microphone to Jon’s left. The guy quickly asks for your name, and you give it with a blank expression. The nerves start kicking in, and you don’t know if you should let yourself sing horribly or actually try.

“Alright, we have Jon and Y/n here to start off karaoke at VidCon!” the guy receives a loud cheer from the crowd that has gotten much larger since the guy first stepped on stage. You notice more people in the distance watching from afar, and some even manoeuvre their way into the ever-growing crowd.

You gulp nervously as the guy walks off stage to his DJ stand, which you realize probably controls all of the instrumental tracks. You notice the two screens in front of you and Jon off stage turn on, and you realize the screen appears behind you as well since everyone laughs at the song displayed.

The instrumental of “Start of Something New” from “High School Musical” starts playing over the PA system, and you nervously look at Jon for a moment. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, looking like he’s gonna quit at any given moment. You shoot your glance back at the screen in front of you, counting down to the start of the song.

5…4…3…2…1

“Livin’ in my own world, didn’t understand,” you hear Jon’s voice echo through the speakers. He’s not really trying to sing at all; it’s sounds more like a monotone talk-sing. Laughter erupts the room as more people flood into the crowd.

‘Oh, God…’

“That anything could happen, didn’t take the chance.”

You have to make a quick decision as he sings the end of his part.

‘Do I actually try to sing? Or do I talk-sing like Jon to emphasize how awkward this is?’

��Fuck it…’

“I never believed in, what I couldn’t see,” the crowd’s laughter dwindles down gradually as they realize your voice isn’t half bad. Jon even double takes, looking at you with a small smile on his face, “I never opened my heart,” you feel Jon’s eyes on you still as he sings an ‘Ohh’, “… to other possibilities…ooh…”

“I know, that something has changed…” Both of your voices sound harmonious, causing some people to whistle and cheer at how nice you two sound together. Most people, including yourself and Jon, chuckle at the cheesy irony of the moment with the song.

‘This is so cliche. The guy clearly put this song on as a joke, and we both end up doing a decent job at the song…exactly like what happens in the movie… How ironic?’

Throughout the song, you and Jon mockingly recreate the scene from the movie with perfect attention to detail. You both even recreate the part where he causes you to back up to the edge of the stage, almost falling over like in the movie. The guy running the show catches on to what you two are doing, and gives you a good shove back onto the stage, causing more uproars of cheers and laughter. You two also start belting at some point, still singing harmoniously together.

By the end of the song, you both lower your microphones, looking deeply in each other’s eyes to recreate the movie moment. The crowd roars, and you both burst out laughing with crimson faces. You finally look back out at the crowd, and notice that it has gotten much larger; so large, in fact, that the surrounding booths are almost blocked off because of people trying to squeeze into the audience.

People suddenly start chanting incoherently for a few moments until it becomes loud and clear. “Encore! Encore! Encore!”

You look over at Jon with a crooked smile.

“Are you up for another?” Jon asks you through the microphone.

“I’m in if you’re in,” you reply with a shrug. The crowd erupts in another wave of cheering, and you and Jon look over to the guy running the show.

“Do we at least get to pick the song this time?” Jon asks.

“No,” the guy says with a knowing smirk. Everyone, including you and Jon, burst into a fit of laughter. Suddenly, Arin approaches the guy, whispering what you assume is a song request in his ear before the guy nods and searches through the music library. You notice the screen change color as a new song title pops up. You all laugh as “Firework” by “Katy Perry” appears on the screen. The instrumental track starts playing, and you and Jon take a breath to calm yourselves before another performance.

You both harmonize again; this allows Jon to not strain his voice as he sings an octave lower than you. By the final chorus, you both basically scream it, making ridiculous faces at each “ah, ah, ah” part. And then, you both knowingly look at one another as the ending approaches, and you both scream, “DINO CITY IS A GA-AH-AME!”

The crowd loses it, laughing instead of cheering as the song comes to an end. The laughter soon transitions into another round of applause, and Jon reaches out to gesture for a high five. You eagerly give him a high five, and then you both put you mics on their designated stands.

Before leaving the stage, Jon grabs your hand for a handshake. He quickly leans in, catching you off guard as his lips ghost your right ear.

“You’re very talented. What’s your name, again?” Jon yells in your ear so you can hear him over the crowd. He backs up a bit so you can lean towards his left ear to respond.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n,” you say matter-of-factly before backing up to look into his eyes. You both smile as you finish your handshake, not breaking eye contact in that moment.

In reality, you two maybe starred for three seconds, but you’re pounding heartbeat made time stand still in those three seconds. His skin looks smooth, and very youthful for someone in their late twenties. His eyes are dark brown, but the lights in the room causes them to have a golden shimmer around the outer rim of his irises. Based off of where you stand in height, you guess he must be a few inches under six feet. ‘Maybe 5’11?’, you silently ask yourself. His smile is hypnotizing; it charms you into feeling warm and fuzzy in your core. You’ve never let loose like that with a stranger before, but it was so easy to be yourself around Jon for some reason. You both have the same sense of humor, and you both clearly know how to entertain a large crowd. You were a theater kid in high school, always wanting to entertain people so they can forget about suffering in life for a little while.

Before you know it, you both part ways, and return to your friend while he wanders off to his small crew. Your friend shakes you excitedly, saying how amazing you were and how they also made new friends in the audience while you were singing with JonTron.

You politely introduce yourself to the group your friend has befriended, however, your mind is still on the stage with Jon as they all converse with one another. You silently wish to yourself that you can perform something with him again as you and your friend walk towards the cafeteria with your new buddies.

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dylanowhy · 8 years ago

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You’re A Firework - Dylan O’Brien Imagine

Author: Dylanowhy (me)

Summary: Dylan O’Brien was your first kiss, your first love, that is until fame hit him like a truck. Now after years of not speaking and being apart, you decide to stay in his old room for a summer while figuring some things out. Coincidentally Dylan just so happens to be taking a break during that time.

Pairings: Dylan O’Brien x Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Kissing.

Word Count: 3,457

A/N: This is the first chapter of my new story Start Of Something New! I hope you guys enjoy.

Soft hums of Katy Perry played in the background, the smell of BBQ filled the air. Kids ran around as the parents all stood in various places, talking about things that interested them and the teens sat on the stairs, watching all the madness while waiting on the food. You were holding some of Julia’s famous lemonade, her brother’s body slightly leaning against yours. “I bet you ten dollars Uncle Mike is going to light himself on fire tonight.” His voice was slowly turning into low and smooth as he was getting older, it had gotten to the point where your breath would hitch when he spoke to you. He was around two years older than you, but for some reason you two became friends, clicking together instantly. Him and his family had been quick to make you feel like part of the family, hence why you were at their family cookout for the 4th of July instead of being at home with yours. “Why wait until tonight? Two more steps closer to the grill and he will be in flames.” Your words made Dylan laugh, his head falling back as he did so. Julia glanced up at you two, smile on her face as she shook her head. Julia knew you had a crush on her brother, she had confronted you about it probably around a month ago.

“You’re looking at him different.” She had said, arms crossed upon her chest, eyes narrowing down at you. “I am looking at him like the goofball he is.” You said defensively, confused look on your face. You didn’t know exactly when you started developing feelings for Dylan, but it made you worry. If Julia could see it, could he? “Like a goofball you’re in love with.” She mumbled, but you still heard her, it took a lot out of you to wipe the concerned looked on you face as Dylan walked out of the dressing room, striking some ridiculous pose in his slacks. School pictures were coming up for the end of the year and you had agreed to go shopping with him. “I am feeling these.” He said, smoothing down his jeans, making a face that cause you to laugh, shaking your head at his childish acts. “You look like a grandpa.” You commented, his face scrunching up at the idea. “Do not.” For someone who was older than you he really did act like a child most of the time, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown.

“I think Dad shelled out around two hundred for fireworks tonight, which I know you’re excited for.” The smile in his eyes matched his sarcastic smirk planted ever so adorably on his face. He had found out New Year’s Eve about your fear of fireworks. It was nothing to do with the noises or anything, it just so happens that fireworks always decided to find their way to you, one way or another. “Oh yeah, can’t wait for that.” Your voice was monotone, eyes rolling as the lightly tanned boy placed his arm around your shoulder. Although the temperature outside was almost unbearable, his touch still caused goosebumps to appear on your skin, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Remember New Year’s Eve? When we were at the beach and Dan decided to break all the laws and light up those firecrackers. One landed on your foot and I don’t think I have ever seen someone jump up so fast before in my life.” He let out another booming laugh, and if it wasn’t so cute you would have probably narrowed your eyes at him by now. “Excuse me, that really hurt.” You reminded him, it faltered his smile a little.

“Dylan, can you help me in the kitchen?” Mrs. O’Brien yelled from the porch above you guys. Dylan gave you a look, one that read ‘of course’ as he removed himself from you to go help out with whatever was needed. You sighed, watching after him, you almost didn’t hear Julia taking his place beside you. “He likes you, you know.” Her voice was solid and filled with honesty and yet you still couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. “No, he doesn’t.” You told her, fiddling with your fingers as you starred down at him. It didn’t make sense. If he did truly like you, wouldn’t he had made a move by now? It did add up. Julia sighed, you didn’t have to see her eyes rolling to know what was happening. “You know why he remembers that New Year’s Eve so much?” You looked up at her with confusion. “You two were cuddled up in that old blanket, kind of in a distance, alone. He told me he wanted to time with you that night, to talk to you about things. About each other.” --- “He said something about a kiss if I’m not mistaken, but before he could say anything or do anything because he is a true idiot. Dan decided that it would hilarious to ruin whatever moment you were having and throw that firecracker at you. The reason why he remembers it so clearly is because of the moment he wanted to share with you.” She stood, her dad yelling out that the food was grabbing almost everyone’s attention. “But you know what they say about the 4th of July.” Her eyes widened in play as she walked off, leaving you just as confused as you were when she sat down. What do they say about the 4th of July? Did that mean that he was going to try something again tonight? Your eyebrows furrowed together, snapping out of your thoughts just as Dylan called out. “Y/N! Better hurry up or there will be no food left!” With a small smile, you stood to join the others.

The dinner went by nice and easy, occasional jokes coming from Uncle Mike that were not age appropriate and a little more lude than normal. Of course, it caused most of the people at the table to snicker, but Lisa, Dylan’s mom was quick to correct him. Yelling how this was a family dinner and kids were present, and that no one wanted to hear his so-called jokes. Dylan’s family always made you smile. To say they were out there would be an understatement, but it was all in good context. His family were loving and caring people, who obviously knew how to have a good time. They always made you feel welcomed, which you constantly wondered if they regretted. At the beginning, you were this shy girl who came over every once and a while, hanging out with Dylan, him helping you with homework or possibly coming over to swim. It really did start so innocent and sweet, it made you laugh sometimes how much it changed in just a matter of months. Dylan would have you over almost every day, even if it was just sit in silence, you had gotten so comfortable with each other. You even remembered a few nights where he snuck you in to stay over.

“It is too high!” You hissed, trying to keep your voice down so that his parents wouldn’t here. “We went over this last week, we even did a mock trial, you can do this.” He was telling the truth, but now that you were faced with the task at hand, this all looked a little more difficult than originally thought. It also didn’t help that it was dark now, the only light coming faintly form the moon and Dylan’s room. “I think I should just go home.” You starred at the fence like structure that lead up to the roof. “Y/N. You don’t need to go there, just come one up. I have popcorn and sodas and movies. You need this.” You knew he was right, and that’s what caused you to take a step onto the fence, pulling yourself up until you were finally on the roof. You held your arms out to balance yourself as you walked your way other to Dylan. He reached, strong hand gripping your waist as the other takes your hand leading you inside. He had everything set up in such a presentable way, “You did all of this?” You asked, voice soft. It was sweet, no one had ever gone out of their way like this for you. “I know you have been having a hard time at home, and things are no going so great. So, since we planned this, I thought I would make it a little more special for you.” It was that night that you two fell asleep next to each other on the carpet, popcorn everywhere with hot soda half empty nearby, his arm was draped around you, keeping you close. You remember his hot breath on the side of your neck, the way he softly snored in your ear. It was one of the best nights of your life.

It even got to the point where you would just walk into the home, no knocking needed as you had become that close to everyone. “Water balloons!” Dylan’s little cousin yelled, dinner was now over and it was time for the fun and games. It was like the Olympics during events like this, the O’Brien’s came up with small competitive game for all of the family and friends to play. “Y/N is on my team!” Julia yelled from a distance, and you stood up to get yourself ready. “You’re going down, D.” You announced to Dylan and you slid by him making your way to the small bucket filled with fun colored balloons. You took a small blue one, throwing it up in the air as one hit you on the back. You shrieked at the feeling of cold water and turned to see Dylan snickering as he tried to act innocent. “Oh, two can play this game.” You grabbed another balloon, catapulting one at Dylan, hitting him square on the chest. “Hey, no fair!” Dylan went for another balloon, but you didn’t give him any time to throw it, already hauling your second one at him, his hair becoming damp as the balloon splatted onto his head. You were laughing now, the soft pink on Dylan’s cheeks showing has irritated he was. Of course, it was all in a friendly way, but the cuteness level was beyond belief. “Oh, you’re going to get it now.” With that the chase began, he grabbed to water balloons and started to sprint after you. “Be careful!” You heard Lisa call out, but you were way beyond caring, your laugh loud mimicking Dylan’s behind you.

You ended up toppling over in the backyard, Dylan’s body tripping over yours causing the balloons to pop in his hands, covering his own self with water. “Smooth Dyl, super smooth.” You said between laughed, bringing yourself to sit up in an upright position. He gave you anger eyes, but there was something behind them, something that made you smile. “Have I ever told you that you have the best sense of style.” He was closer than usual; his eyes were looking at you in a way you’ve never experienced before. You took a breath, looking down at your clothes. It was a joke considering you and Dylan were both supporting the same t shirt. It apparently was O’Brien tradition that every family member dressed in the same shirt for events like this, it cracked you up because it was some kind of inside joke they all had, you felt very special to be a part of it. “I was just thinking the same about you.” You replied, coy smile on your face. “So, you were thinking about me?” So close, he was so close that if you lifted your head just right your noses would touch, so you kept your head down, scared of what might happen if you didn’t. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, caring, and you responded to that, looking up and into golden orbs as they searched your eyes for something you couldn’t full grasp.

Before you knew it, he was leaning in, and although there wasn’t much room between you two, it felt like it was taking forever for your lips to touch. When they did, it was like a whole new world. It didn’t last long, maybe a few seconds, the echo of Julia’s voice calling out causing you two to pull apart quickly. You looked at him under his lashes, confusion dancing on his face, it worried you. He stood, lending a hand for you to help you up. “We should head back.” He said slowly, starting the walk back to the rest of the party. You took a mental note on how he never let go of your hand, holding it as you made your way back. It sound embarrassing but the kiss you had just shared was your first kiss. Not that you were complaining, it was just something you thought would never happen. Especially with Dylan. When you got back, no one asked about your hands that were interwind with one another, but the looks were endless.

For the rest of the night, you spoke casually. He spent a lot of time with his cousins who he basically treated like his best friends who you sat and talked to Julia most of the time. You were happy she didn’t bring anything up or mention that fact you were acting slightly different. You didn’t feel like Dylan was ignoring what happened, because he didn’t ignore you, he didn’t deny it. You felt like he didn’t know how to fully approach it, maybe he didn’t want to make it awkward if the outcome was not what he wanted. But he didn’t have to worry about that, because he was all that you wanted. “I have the perfect place picked out for us to watch the fireworks.” They had just announced they would be setting them off within the next ten minutes, Dylan smiled down at you in a sweet way that made you heart flutter. “Inside?” You asked playfully, and there was that laugh you had grown to love. “No, but I promise you won’t die. Not on my watch.” He held his hand out, and for the second time that day you took his hand, letting him lead you off to wherever he may.

“Doesn’t this just bring me closer to them?” You asked, you were now sitting Indian style on the roof of the house, arms crossed at the idea that Dylan had. “Theoretically, yes. But, at least we are away from them.” He was talking about his family. This was normal, it always started off as a good day but by the end of it, Dylan usually just wanted some alone time with you, and you were perfectly fine with that. “If I get caught on fire.” You warned, and Dylan smiled crookedly, letting his arm take its familiar place around your shoulder. “Then you would be beating Uncle Mike to the punch, and we all know how he feels about that.” He said matter of fact, and you gave him a look of disapproval, causing nothing but a laugh from him. Things were quiet for a moment before he finally spoke again, licking his lips, “About earlier----“ His brows furrowed, trying to find the right words, “Are you okay with what happened?” His voice was unsure, but it was enough to make you smile. The actual fact that he asked, it was cute.

“No.” He looked at you, fear in his eyes. “It was too quick, you know I expect my first kiss to be a little bit longer than four seconds, but I guess you can’t choose, huh?” He let out a sigh of relief as you giggled. “Of course I was okay with it.” With those words, the first boom set off for the night, sparkly pinks and purples filled the air, you could hear to coos from the rest of the guest beneath you. “Julia has been telling me for a while to go for it, I just didn’t want to mess up what we have. I really like you, but not just in that way but as a person as well.” – Another boom. -- “Like, you’re my best friend and I didn’t want to do anything to lose you or make things awkward and weird.” You found yourself starring, blocking out the noises that were ongoing and loud. “I can’t believe Julia told you.” You always had a way to make certain situations light hearted. “I am happy she did, reading your signals is horrible.” He admitted, earning a slap to the shoulder from you. “Means I am doing my job.”

It was then when you found his eyes, they were boring into yours, waiting for the perfect moment that had just been found. Just like before, he leaned his body into yours, stopping just before he leaned all the way in to make sure this was what you wanted. You smiled, giving him the clearance. His lips touched yours, this time it was not as gentle as before, and that was a good thing. You didn’t know what you were doing, but you hoped that didn’t show. You moved your lips along with his, enjoying the way they fit perfectly with yours. They were so soft and a lot fuller than you expected. His hand moved to your cheek, holding you close as the arm around your shoulder moved its way down to the small of your back. He obviously knew what he was doing, or at least in your eyes he did. When he pulled away, it left you gasping for air, you almost felt light headed and yet you wanted more. The sight of his glistening lips almost being enough for you to lean in for more. However, before you could say anything some fell and hit you on your arm. “Ow!” You picked up a warm feeling piece of something that was completely chard. “What is that?” You asked, which was followed by laughter. “Fireworks.”

You sat on a familiar bed sighing, you could remember that day like a movie. It was the start to an end. You were sixteen at the time when all of this went down, a year before Dylan got recognized for the talent he was. A year before the tears of him leaving and you having to be okay with that. He had the opportunity of a lifetime, and he needed to take it. It hurt to see him go, to watch him become something so amazing while you lived on in a world without Dylan. It wasn’t that he forgot about you, but it got hard to keep in touch when his life was as crazy as it was. You first heard about him moving on through a website, and that was probably what hurt the most, but you had to be strong during that.

But now you sat in his old room, looking at how much of it hadn’t changed a bit. You had memories in this room that kept you up sometimes at night. Part of you doesn’t know why you agreed to this, things hadn’t been going well for you lately and while Julia was home for the summer, she offered Dylan’s room to you until you could get yourself back up on your feet. You took the offer, it being the best at the time and at first you were excited. You thought about how great it would have been to see your old friends again and hang out, but what you didn’t expect is what walked in the door earlier that morning.

“I thought you were filming?” I heard Julia asked, a deep voice responding. “I just needed a break, ya know? Plus. I never get to see you guys.” It was Dylan, he had returned for a few weeks while he was taking a small break. You could feel your jaw drop at the news. “Well, we have a guest.” Julia sounded excited, but you could hear the small amount of worry placed somewhere in her voice. “Who?” Dylan sounded slightly upset, confused, and like this was not going to go well. You decided that it was time to stop ease dropping at that point and make yourself known. With some sort of confidence, you didn’t know you had, you finished your way down the stairs, presenting yourself in front of the siblings. “Me.” You responded for Julia, arms crossing in front of your chest. You didn’t know what was better, the look of approval on Julia’s face or the look of shock on Dylan’s.

#dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #You're A Firework #dylanowhy

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thejourneymaninn · 8 years ago

Text

Firework and Needlework

Fenders, fluff

@selfmadeelf asked for a New Year’s Eve sequel to ‘For what is still to come’, and I can never resist a prompt, so…

Read on AO3

Anders was…well, a more (as in: excessively so) generous soul might have called it “singing”, but Fenris couldn’t, not for all the love he felt for the man – and there was a lot of love, he thought with a smile as he watched his off-key fool wriggling his hips and bellowing at the top of his lungs. It was a miracle Anders hadn’t (yet) dropped any of the food he was currently carrying into the living room. His contribution, as he had announced when he had returned from work, with dark-ringed eyes, caffeine breath, and the stubborn resolve to have an enjoyable evening regardless, “You prepared dinner, I’ll set the table. Fair’s fair.”

Fenris had indeed been in charge of the night’s culinary aspects, since Anders had, once again, been needed at work all day. Admittedly, the opulent meal Fenris had prepared consisted pretty much entirely of bowls filled with snacks that came ready-to-serve in bags and boxes, with a select few that required the additional effort of defrosting or microwaving. A well-balanced mix of sweet and savoury, salt, sugar and flavour enhancers. Fenris had no intention of wasting even a second of their time together on cutlery and tables. With Anders work hours having been hell all month, they had decided to have a quiet (or as Anders had called it, going almost cross-eyed trying to examine the loose strands of hair falling into his face for new signs of grey, “an old men’s”) New Year’s Eve.

A night of cuddling, unhealthy amounts of food, Netflix - and, most importantly, just the two of them. There had been way too little of that lately. Of course, the announcement that they weren’t going to attend their traditional end-of-the-year party and its famous “The last straw” drinking contest had been met with loud protests, but eventually, their friends had relented and agreed to meet them on New Year’s Day instead, for a “Fools rush in” brunch in the Hanged Man. As Hawke had put it, “What better way to start a New Year than with a nice little food poisoning?”

Thus, they had secured themselves a night of peace and togetherness. Fenris was very much looking forward to snuggling up on the couch with a bowl of snacks between them and not a single vitamin in sight, and he was fairly certain Anders felt the same way. Having the rest of the week off seemed to have taken a whole world of tension off his shoulders; after months of long hours and little to no sleep, he finally looked relaxed again.

Relaxed enough to shimmy through their house and torture Fenris’ sensitive ears with…well, whatever this was.

With a fond shake of his head, he sneaked up on Anders, wrapped his arms around his waist – causing him to nearly drop a bowl of bugles – and murmured, playfully nipping on his neck, ”What is this cacophony?”

Anders stopped singing (although he kept wiggling his ass in a rather enticing manner) to cast a haughty glance over his shoulder. "That, you ignorant philistine, is Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’."

“I am aware of that,” Fenris huffed around another teasing little bite, “but what you are doing to it can hardly be called ‘singing’.”

“Well, good, I'm close to the original then.”

Fenris couldn’t really argue with that.

“Besides”, Anders added, disentangling himself from Fenris’ arms, placing the bowl safely on the coffee table and turning to look at him with a broad grin, "We’re engaged now, so you’re required by law to put up with my singing. I'm sorry, love, those are the rules. In sickness and in health, through atonality and dad jokes."

Pausing a moment for emphasis, Fenris raised his eyebrows and waggled a finger in front of Anders’ face. He didn’t quite manage to suppress a grin as he said, “I do recall your…unique proposal, but – and please correct me if I am mistaken – as far as I can see, this is still bare?”

“Well, if you want something to adorn that lovely hand of yours…” Anders picked up a bugle and stuck it on top of Fenris’ ring finger. “Here you go. Looks dashing - and it’s so practical, too! Don’t say I don’t provide for you, an emergency ration and a weapon. You know, like some sort of spiky gauntlet.”

“Gauntlet. Of course. That sounds practical.”

Instead of replying, Anders bent and pulled the bugle off Fenris’ finger - with his teeth. He followed the motion up with his tongue slowly circling around the tip, licking up every last bit of salt and grease while he made a show of flicking and swirling it in languid, suggestive movements.

Fenris’ inner voice had quite a few things to say to that.

I could bend him over the back of the sofa, tear off his trousers, spread him, lick along...

He kept his actual voice even. “Our promise of eternal love, devoured in an instant. So much for ‘providing’. Perhaps you could at least manage to keep me warm?”

“Oh, I’m sure I can think of something…”

“Perfect. I left my sweater in the bedroom.”

Anders’ smug grin gave way to a pout. With a dramatic sigh, “Alright, but only because it’s you,” he pressed a final kiss on Fenris finger, darted out of the room and stomped up the stairs in his usual manner, a noisy giraffe with poor coordination.

Fenris followed him, on quiet feet - quiet enough so that Anders did not notice he was right behind him until he came to a sudden halt in the doorway.

“Anything the matter?” Fenris innocently addressed his back.

He turned around, his expression somewhere between shock, awe, and amusement.

“Did...did you seriously stick a hundred syringes into our mattress?”

“The evidence points to it.”

Anders’ eyes gleamed as he chuckled, blushing and radiant. “Fenris....my god Fenris...you are just....Where did you even get that many syringes? Did you raid a drugstore? Or a drug den?”

“Merrill helped me out.”

“Ah, of course,” he nodded, “that makes sense. She’s good with bloodwork.”

“I figured she would be, given her field of study.”

“Yes… I don’t know how she does it. What they have to put their patients through, often not even to save them but just for a few more months…It must feel like making a deal with a demon. I mean, not that I never see suffering, but all in all, I get to help people…She mostly sees death…” Anders sighed, shaking his head slightly, then suddenly whipping it back towards Fenris. “Wait...what did you tell her they were for?”

“I said it was for you, and that it was a surprise. Which caused her to smile and exclaim that you love surprises. Then she got me the syringes and I left. Unlike others, she does not ask when she knows she will not get an answer. You have to give her that, even if her general level of excitement is disturbing.”

“So, she doesn’t…know about this?”

Feeling Anders flicker like a dying lightbulb of anxiousness, Fenris took his hand in his and squeezed it. “Of course not. We agreed to tell the others together. But what is more important…” he continued, suddenly nervous despite himself, “Do you have anything to say to the shape I arranged them in?”

A bright, warm smile spread over Anders’ face and, if Fenris was not mistaken, there was a little moisture around the corners of his eyes. “Yes, I will marry you.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

“Comes as a surprise, I’m sure. This is just amazing, love…” Anders said, taking a step closer to the bed, “Not for our mattress, mind you, but...you went through all this trouble…And there's,” he exclaimed suddenly, “even a ring!”

There was indeed. Fenris had made certain to tape it to one of the syringes somewhere near the centre of the whole thing.

“There is. I hope you like it.”

“Are you kidding?” Anders’ face scrunched up as he turned the ring over in his fingers. “I love it. It’s from you; I'd love it even if it wasn't gorgeous, which it totally is, by the way…You've really thought of everything, haven't you?” he said with a faraway look in his eyes. “You even set up candles…flowers...”

“Of course. You mentioned there should have been ten percent more of them. Considering you had none, I am not certain as to the exact amount required; so this will have to do.”

“Yes, yes, I admit this beats my proposal on every level, no argument there,” Anders said, not seeming to mind his defeat all that much.

“Now, don’t be so modest. Only a select few are capable of finding the romantic aspects of telling their friends to exert violence on their lover. Although,” he added with a smirk, “I did also fill the freezer with ice cream, for you…Or for me, had you decided to ditch me after all.”

“Not a chance, love.” Anders wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him flush against him. “You already said yes to me when I proposed on Christmas; you’re not getting out of this. I'm yours until the end. And now,” he smiled, “get that ring on my finger already.”

With a soft chuckle, Fenris did just that, pressing a kiss on Anders’ lips as he slid the ring on...or rather, as he struggled to push it into position; the movement wasn't quite as smooth as he would have wished and had Anders wincing a little.

“Ouch...Is that your revenge for my asking people to punch you?”

Fenris grinned up at him through his lashes. “If I wanted to take revenge, I would have found another way to use those syringes…”

“Well, well, well…I must say, I'm not sure whether to be appalled or aroused. And here I was thinking I already knew all your deep, dark, desires......” Anders stuck his tongue out at him.

“In that case, better prepare yourself,” Fenris said, grabbing his face in a flash and returning his tongue back into his mouth with company. “You have merely begun to scratch the surface. And you’ve bound yourself to me. With,” he flashed him a smug grin, “the ring I remembered to get you.”

“Speaking of which…” Anders pulled back and walked over to their closet, kneeling on the floor and rummaging through the jumbled heap at the bottom until he found the horribly shiny dress shoes Fenris adamantly refused to wear. “I thought this was the last place you'd look,” he explained as he reached inside and pulled out a small velvet box. His knees gave a protesting creek as he got up and walked back over to Fenris with hesitant steps. "I wasn't sure if you wanted a ring, and you definitely don't have to wear it if you don't but...I got you this one just in case. I went with ironbark. I know elven traditions also aren't quite your thing, but it's pretty and rare and, you know...it reminds me of indomitable strength in places where you wouldn't expect it, so I thought you might like it, and if you don't..."

Fenris chose this moment to silence him with a kiss, mimicking Anders' tone exactly as he said, "Just put it on me already."

“So...you want to wear it?”

His heart ached at the sight of Anders’ uncertain, hopeful smile.

“What make you think I would not? It is not a chain. It is a sign of belonging. And I belong with you.”

There was no uncertainty in the nod that followed. “You do. And I hope you’re aware that tonight, this means you belong on the couch with me. I need to take at least fifty pictures of this,” Anders gestured to the bed, “now, and another hundred tomorrow morning, by daylight. Everyone needs to see it! All our future cats need to see it - Pounce needs to see it!”

“I assure you, he has seen it. And sniffed it. He also licked it, kicked it, vomited on it, knocked over a few candles and nearly set his tail on fire, chewed on your flowers…”

“We…should probably keep the door closed for the night…”

“I knew I wasn’t marrying you solely for your looks. Now, take your pictures, and then let us go back downstairs. I can think of a few enjoyable things to do on that couch you mentioned...”

Anders flashed him a broad grin. “You mean cocooning ourselves in each other’s arms and fifteen blankets, eating until we’re incapable of getting up and falling asleep long before midnight?”

“You forgot ‘incessantly complaining about films no one is forcing us to watch’.”

“Well, the list wasn’t meant to be exhaustive…there’s of course also drink too much, whinge about my job, fuck your brains out, argue over what to watch next, have an ice cream eating contest, read Pounce a Goodnight story…”

“…You have two minutes before I snuff out the candles and drag you out of the room.”

The following morning, they entered the Hanged Man, smiling and casually holding hands. They exchanged a brief smirk as they sat down next to their smelly, hungover friends, then slipped back into their nonchalant expressions. There was a bet to be decided – which of their friends would be the first to notice the rings, and how long would it take them?

#dragon age #fenders #dragon age fanfiction #anders #fenris #fluff #fics #my fics #brief mentions of #blood #illness #needles #proposals #da2

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