#projects i am liable to never finish | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skyriderwednesday · 3 years ago

Text

Hair

There's always an unmanageable phase to growing out your hair, and Havelock has hit it. Fortunately, Sybil is very keen to offer her services.

(The fabled 'Sybil brushes Havelock's hair fic', G rated but a teensy bit spicy for a moment or two, background VetSybVimes, 1835 words)

Also on AO3

Havelock's hair was... becoming a problem. It wasn't unruly as such, and the weather this year was not yet humid enough to affect it - his hair was used to humidity. No, the main issues he was facing could all be attributed to length. His hair had been longer. It had been far longer -- but he had been fourteen when his hair had reached his waist and he had not had the concerns of leading an entire city. Presently, it was just reaching the bottom of his shoulder-blades. He could hardly tie it tight enough, it would come loose after a handful of hours when it never had before. It would fall in his eyes, tangle with his glasses, tangle with itself... Put simply, more needed doing to it. He could not any longer simply comb out the most obvious tangles and tie it flat away, his hair had volume and (metaphorically) a life of its own. He could not remember how he had managed it as a teen. He might have braided it. Sybil had said last night that she liked it long, that it suited him, and given he deeply disliked having it cut... "If you were the one to have to deal with it my dear, you may not be as fond of it," he had replied. That had been in error. Sybil always liked a challenge. She also had always greatly enjoyed his hair.

"Hello darling," she said warmly as she swept into the room. Havelock looked up wearily from his desk. "Good morning Sybil," he said, pushing loose hair out of his face. Sybil advanced across the office, conventions of politics and rules of tyranny meaning nothing against the tide of determination she exerted. Havelock let it overtake him, not having slept well enough to summon an effectual barricade of stubbornness. Sybil represented the theoretical unstoppable force by default, and presently he felt like a perfectly moveable object. "I see I've arrived in good time..." she said, reaching immediately for his hair. He lamely leaned away from her, knowing full well there was no point to doing so. "It would appear so." Havelock pulled a face as Sybil kissed his temple. "Oh, you are miserable dear," she said, touching his hair again. I wonder why that could be? He did not say out loud. Silently he moved his inkwell to where it was not liable to be knocked over. "Darling," Sybil said firmly. He had long noted that Sybil appeared to be able to read his mind at times. He turned his eyes heavily towards her. "Yes?" "I can come back if I've interrupted you," she said calmly. "No," he shook his head, and loose hair tickled his nose. "We had best have it sorted." "Right," she patted his shoulder, causing him to fail in an endeavour not to sneeze. Rather loudly. "Bless you, dear." "...thank you," he said, blinking. Sybil moved back a little, studying him. "Darling, you look as if your brain just fell out of your ears." "It feels that way," he replied, still a little dazed. "Well, stuff it back in and we'll get to your hair. I'm sure you haven't got all day." Havelock made a mildly disgusted noise. Sybil laughed. "Come on, dear." She walked around the front of the desk towards the fireplace. Havelock stayed where he was and shut his eyes. He wasn't having the best of mornings. He hadn't slept well, his back hurt, his leg was stiff… he had gotten nowhere with the backlog of yesterday, and now Sybil had decided they were going to do his hair. There was a noise. He looked over. She was moving the coffee table. "Sybil…" "I'll put it back when we're finished dear," she said, dusting off her hands – though if there had been any dust on the coffee table, he would have had to have a stern word with the servants. He watched her sit on one of the sofas with her legs out in front of her and open her handbag. She started to take things out of it. Multiple combs, a hairbrush, hair ties, pins… To think he ordinarily managed with a single comb, a piece of ribbon, and his fingers. "Darling," Sybil said warningly.

Havelock tried not to sigh as he got to his feet and laboured across the room. Sybil took his arm gently and guided him to sit against her legs. He put his head back into her lap and folded his hands onto his lower chest. She gathered his hair out from under him and smiled fondly. "Now this is an angle I haven't seen you from in a long time," she said. "You haven't needed to," he replied softly. "It used to be every week when I was home," she mused, picking at the ribbon that had been vaguely holding back his hair. "Glasses, dear." He took them off and relaxed into the process. That's right… Sybil had managed his hair when it had reached his waist. She must have tried to teach him, but he had a strong sense that he had usually been half asleep the moment she picked up the hairbrush. He tuned back in to her muttering to herself. "Gods, Havelock, what kind of pig's ear–-" Sybil made a triumphant noise as she managed to untie the ribbon with the aid of a sturdy pin. "I apologise for that," he said. "No worries dear," Sybil dropped the twisted ribbon onto his hands. Flattening it was now his project for the next ten minutes. "No, I haven't needed to," she said, resuming the previous train of thought as she weighed a wide comb versus the hairbrush. "You would have thought that someone would have taught you to properly care for your hair at some point, but…" "It's not a skill they teach to boys," he said, echoing a similar conversation that had been held between them long ago. "No," Sybil said, choosing the comb and beginning to detangle from the ends up towards his roots. "They should though," he replied, holding the ribbon close to his eyes as he worked to smooth it. "Exactly," Sybil said. "And then you went away for so long and when you came back you had cut it. I half-thought I'd never forgive you for that." "I couldn't manage it," he said, tilting his head back, "and the image was important." "Oh the image," Havelock could hear her rolling her eyes. "Everything was about the image. Is that why you stopped seeing me?" He sat up and turned around to her, the ribbon forgotten about. "Of course not. Our paths had diverged, and there was so much mess to clean up, and–-" Sybil's fingers brushed around his jaw and under his chin, gently closing his mouth. "Hush, darling, I didn't mean it." She turned him round and lay him back against her knees. She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. "I understand. At the time, I was alone in a big house and angry, and I thought I hated you… but I'm glad to have you again now." He sighed deeply. "I am too…" "I love you darling," Sybil said, "I've always loved you. Now, I think I should finish your hair before one of us starts crying." "'One of us'?" he said. "Come now, we both know it would be me." Sybil snorted, "Havelock!" "I can cry if I want to," he said mock sulkily, "it's my office." "Well don't start now, I need that ribbon straightened out." He retrieved it from the carpet, "Yes ma'am." "Don't start that either." He smiled at her innocently. "I don't know what you mean." "Behave," she said, gently hitting him with the brush, "or I might pull your hair." She meant it. Yes ma'am, he resisted saying aloud for a second time. The first stroke of the brush tugged his hair anyway. He glanced back at her. "Sorry, dear."

He melted into the sensation of subsequent strokes, silently revelling in the odd scrape of the bristles against his scalp. The task of smoothing the ribbon continued autonomously, and his breathing deepened in content. Then the brushing stopped. Sybil's fingers entered his hair. He hummed in query. She shushed him. Then she began to massage his scalp, down into his neck, relieving tension he hadn't known his muscles had been holding. He moaned in quiet bliss. Sybil hummed. Her warmth increased as she leant over and pressed her lips to the top of his head. "Don't you think we should do this more often?" she whispered. Havelock had to remember how to speak. "Yes…" he breathed, "I do." "Good," Sybil kissed his head again, "though not in your office." She withdrew, leaving him with a pang of loss. She was right. As uncomplicated as their arrangement felt from the inside, it could result in unfathomable complications if walked in upon. After all, onlookers would see the leader of the city and a married woman. There would be scandal, words such as 'taking advantage' would be used…

"Have you finished with that ribbon, dear?" she asked. Havelock looked down at it in his hands. He had forgotten he was holding it. "Ah… it appears to have become crumpled again." Sybil looked down over him. "Well, it's better than it was," she said, faintly amused. "I won't need it for a few more minutes anyway." He nodded, and Sybil brushed out the tangles her fingers had caused. She sectioned his hair, gently straightening his head before beginning to braid it intricately from his crown to the top of his neck. It was tight, sturdy, but not uncomfortable. He felt pins and ties weaved into it. It was a style that locked his hair in place, and would keep it there until she could do it again or until he decided to take it down. Most likely the former. "Ribbon please, dear," Sybil said and he dutifully passed it up to her to tie the last loose portions of his hair at the base of his neck.

She sat back to admire her handiwork, "Beautiful, darling, even if I am saying so myself." He hummed warmly. "Thank you so very much." "You're always welcome," Sybil said and kissed the top of his head a last time. "Now..." she looked at him analytically, "we do now have to get you up from down there." "Ah," he said. "I had… neglected to think of that." "So had I… It makes it harder that you're sitting on my feet." He half shook his head and enjoyed that his hair wouldn't make him sneeze this time. "It would be harder if I were between them." "Could you turn around?" "That would involve crawling and may appear compromising." Sybil hummed in deep thought. "I should have allowed you to do this last night," he said. She shook her head, "Sam would have laughed at us for twenty minutes before helping." "Yes, he would..." "...under your arms?" Sybil suggested.

#discworld #discworld fic #havelock vetinari #sybil ramkin #there's a reason they're HER boys you know #this is my only attempt at cross-posting and my hopes are LOW lmao

11 notes · View notes

musedblues · 5 years ago

Text

Hello Again

Part 1 of (maybe 2?)

W/C: 8k

Summary: Gwilym has always been around, somewhere in the background of your fast-moving life. But when summer comes along, you finally slow down enough to take a closer look.

Warnings: Allusion to/ Mentions of alcoholism? Nothing too horrific!

A/N: I’m writing again! Rather, finally getting around to uploading things I’ve had written for ages. There will be a second part to this in the very near future! Please enjoy my hopeless fantasizing, gang! (and don’t be afraid to let me know if you do!) _

You had nearly forgotten all about your past twenty-three years of living, on your rampage through the American desert: and that was your mission... To focus on nothing besides soaking up every the last ray of the blistering hot sun before summer vacation was over, and you had to start senior year of college. You were a history major and initially had big dreams of becoming a librarian or a museum director, so that you could enjoy immense hushed quiet all day before going out with your best girlfriends at night.

You loved to take it easy, especially after a night of partying so hard. You and your friends had established yourselves as the college's most wild group up until earlier this year when you nearly KO'd after staying in the hospital for a month due to alcohol poisoning. You took the school year slow, and when summer came, you piled your three closest friends and took off on a stereotypical road trip. Good, clean fun.

When you weren't driving, your trip was mainly spent poolside, humming along to the static radio Francine toted along with her everywhere. The battery-powered thing would even work in the car sometimes, which came in handy as your vintage mustang wasn't equipped with a port for an aux cord or a radio that worked any longer.

Francine spread her gangly legs across Emma's lap in the back while Tilly sat in your passenger seat, flexing her map reading muscle on a mission to be totally directionally literate by the end of the road trip across the southwest. But then your car broke down forty miles deep into death valley and you all had to cram your belongings and yourselves into the back of a cab. Other friends might not have survived being squished together like sardines. But you made it to the Vegas airport without a foul word between the bunch of you.

Granted, Emma started to cry because the cab smelt of ham and Tilly's beloved map blew across the sandy horizon as you sat on the roadside, waiting to be rescued. You all relied on each other to keep a cool head, like always.

Your three roommates were sometimes too much to handle at once, but over the past three years of college and dates and sickness and flunked classes, you'd be lost without your best friends.

Once you all got back home to California with a bundle of stories to tell and a lot of left over time to fill up, the only thing to do was crash.

Luckily, your brother's fancy new home was the closest and coolest stop. So you decided to take over his pool house like you were still on some kind of adventure.

"How's your brother so well off? And is he well off.. in other areas?" Francine pipped up. She blew away some of her frizzy strands of hair that made her seem like the coolest hippie alive, with a name to match. Her boldness never faltered in style or speak.

"Hm, strange I've suddenly lost my hearing." You quipped, grossed out by the thought of your brother being lusted after.

"Just don't bother him, okay? I'm welcome in the pool house without question so none of you are allowed to mess this up for us!" You informed. Your brother, Daniel, bought the house earlier in the year sometime when a film project he was apart of paid off pretty well. You'd forgotten anything to do with his big winnings in your previously alcoholic state.

"Oh, just go shower! We're gonna search through the movie cabinet and bask in the glow of this projector." Emma beamed.

The pool house was a studio with a tiny square marble kitchen, a living room complete with a bunch over oversized beanbags, and two twin beds hidden in the sunken pit lounge area. The space was designed in the '70s and the golden shag carpet still remained to prove it. This was the faux frat house your brother escaped to when the fancy chandelier in his adjacent home shone a little too brightly for his liking. The best part of the pool house was the film projector and the massive pull-down screen, like a tiny personal movie theater. Though your brother was a bigger fan of dated television series', a few classic films found their way into his collection on the wall-length shelf.

You left the hip space to take a breather in the grey tiled bathroom, taking your time washing off the sheen of dust and sweat your road trip disaster left you in. When you returned to the living room to take Emma's place on the sofa while she scampered to the shower, the girls had popped in some movie of their liking.

"Top End Wedding. I've never heard of it." Tilly called from the floor, crawling around to put the disc in the player. She had already placed the cover back into its rightful spot on the shelf.

"What's that even mean?" Francine wondered, snuggling under a furry blanket.

"Shut up and find out like the rest of us." Tilly offered, plopping back against a florescent bean bag.

You chuckled as the movie started, but turned your attention your cell phone after it started too buzz. There was an email from the death valley mechanic addressing the problems he had to fix in order to get your car running again. You typed back a response in a hurry. When your friend's giggles cut through your focus, you clicked your phone off and turned your attention back to the film.

You'd completely missed the first scene, catching only glimpses of lush green islands and a lady with a broken high heeled shoe. But then a familiar voice spoke up.

"I have to take her to court?" Gwilym Lee was on the screen. Of course, he was. He appeared unmistakably himself... but much different from the last time you recalled seeing the man.

You silently chuckled to yourself, wondering whatever became of your brother's best friend. After Daniel and Gwilym finished grad school together, Gwilym was apparently apart of a few major British productions and a well off guy. But between your focus on college and some extra wild nights out, you'd barely seen your brother outside of holiday celebrations. So Gwyilm was hardly ever brought up in conversation. Or maybe he was, and you were just too maxed out to register. Be that as it may, the blue-eyed man was on the screen now... looking rather grown-up.

"My God he's a catch am I right?" Tilly pipped up, sipping vodka she'd found in the mini-fridge. Did she really think so? Dear old Gwilym?

"Look at him! That actress is so tiny next to him, God. Imagine being pinned between him and a wall." Francine swooned, in her usual lovestruck wonder.

And the intrusive thought was frightening to you. Because it seemed almost appealing. Gwilym hugged you goodbye once, some odd years ago. His strong arms were certainly brought a comfort you could still recollect.

"Confirmation that we're all hot for this Ned character?" Tilly turned her pretty feathery head of hair to you. You were busy bitting your thumbnail and wondering when Gwilym had gotten so buff.

"Huh? Oh yeah, Ned's cool." You nodded emptily.

"Pfft!" Francine spat, sitting up and leaning across a pillow toward you. "Get your head out of your car troubles and look at this fine British hunk!"

"I thought this was an Austrian film?" Tilly wondered.

"He's clearly British! Listen up! Haven't you paid attention during the world's fair week?" Francine rang, lifting her own glass of vodka toward the screen.

Your phone buzzed again and you desperately hoped it was the man who would assure your car was liable and you could pick it up and drive it through the desert some more before summer vacation ended. But instead, your brother's name blinked across your dim screen.

Daniel: Are you in the pool house? Come inside for a second. Leave the sorority behind. (No offense)

"I'll be right back. Pools open! Just don't come in the house!" You called out the rules your brother gave you the first time you stayed here. Your friends groaned. You scurried out the window paneled door and across the stone packed pathway to Daniel's deck. The back porch light was on and its reflection glistened off the pool. Was he going to be pissed that you remembered where he hid the spare key and tell your gang to leave? Did he just want to say hello? If he did, why wouldn't he just come out to greet you?

You knocked a couple of times to warn of your requested intrusion. The kitchen was empty and dark but there was a chatter coming from the living room. Your brother must have had company. Why did you need to come in here?

That's when Vinny and Violet came bounding up the basement staircase toward you in a fluffy flurry. They were sibling Burmese Mountain dogs whose nails were clicking against the cherry wood floor as they pranced below your feet; a very excitable greeting.

"Y/N? Come in here!" Daniel's low timbre was heard in from the living room and the sound of clinking glasses followed. Your brother Daniel was standing from his luxurious leather sofa, smiling and gesturing you into the room. On the other side of the sofa was a man you hadn't seen in years, but had just been reminded of only moments ago.

"Gwil is in town! I thought I heard you outside and we were just talking about you."

Oh my God. He was hot. You tried to stifle your shock at the stone-carved beauty of a brother's best friend that rose to his feet before you.

"Hello, again Y/N! Looking very comfortable." Gwil's voice was silky and wonderfully British. The accent would always catch you off guard. But his enchanting voice only reminded you how silly you must have looked in your sad excuse for pajamas. You wore tattered sweat pants and a torn-up tshirt that bared too much of your collar bone to be deemed appropriate.

And the angelic Gwilym was in well-fitted slacks and a dress shirt, blue eyes glimmering, muscles rippling past his perfect clothes.

"Hi, Gwil!" You chimed, really mustering the strength to sound normal. But what was normal between the pair of you? You'd met him a total of three times.

"Why are you all the way over in this part of town?" Daniel wondered, shifting his weight and glancing at you.

"My car broke down in death valley and your place was closest. Hope it's alright if we crash for the night?"

"I left the pool house key out for a reason! It's never a bother. I like that you're comfortable enough to stay. Roxanne never even comes over." Daniel complained about your middle sister. Roxanne was an unassuming girl with an interest in botany that left her camped out in national parks for weeks at a time. Your sister would talk about plants little to nothing else, besides her terrible crush on Gwilym Lee. A shameless attraction you'd all too suddenly understood.

"How's she?" Gwilym asked with a knowing smile. She could never hide the way she melted in Gwil's presence.

"She's been the movies this year, if that's what you're asking." Daniel chortled. You wondered for a moment if the film your friends had found in the cabinet was one that made it to theaters. Was Gwilym finally featured on the big screen? And did Roxanne really still have that girlish crush?

"She's been seeing a lot of that Max guy, actually. I know because she does, in fact, call me every weekend." You chided, looking to Daniel with a smile.

"Yeah to make sure you're not dead." Daniel retorted. He was never a fan of your wild streak. Bless him. "She's always up to something crazy. Practically Instagram famous." Daniel buffed your confidence, gushing over his very own kid sister.

"I have a few thousand followers, it's really not uncommon." You assured your brother, who'd never gotten more than twelve likes on his own posts.

"Cute." Gwilym smiled. He looked you up and down and if you weren't sporting the world's nastiest pajamas. You'd dare to wonder if he liked what he saw.

"Well I better get back were-" You caught your breath and tore your curious gaze away from your brother's best friend. "...having quite the girls night."

Daniel nodded in response.

"You staying for a while? See you around?" You asked Gwilym. You were a naturally curious girl, and Gwilym Lee was extremely easy on the eyes. Why wouldn't you want to look a little longer?

"Yeah, I'll be in town. See ya around, kid." Gwilym's perfect smile was photograph worthy. But that remark stung. You were just Daniel's littlest sister, to Gwilym.

Later that evening you excused your bout of absence with some white lie about your brother needing help with his dogs after a bath.

The death valley mechanic eventually emailed you with good news, so you text your brother and asked if he could take you through the desert on a mission to get your car back. He happily agreed to take you and to let the girls take over the pool house for the day.

///

Your eyes fluttered open, blinded by the sharp white rays of sun boomeranging off the pool and into the window by your bed. Emma was passed out on the adjacent bed, snoring peacefully. There were more shuffles and chatter from the level above you and you knew the other girls were awake. You heard muted squeals and high pitched whispers floating through the pool house, and among them, a lower voice grumbled.

"Y/N! Ned's here!" Francine's unmistakably excited voice rang out.

"Oh, lovely!" You heard Gwilym let out a far off chortle.

Shit. What! Why? You bolted out of the twin bed and up the couple of steps, feet flying over the inexplicable shag carpet toward the double doors.

Gwilym was dressed for the day, in khaki shorts, a white short-sleeved button-up, and turtle framed glasses hiding the sparkle of his sea-blue eyes. And he was standing in the doorway with that stupid smirk, looking right at you.

"Gwil! Hi?" You reasoned, shouldering past Francine who was clutching the open door frame with her jaw hovering just above the floor.

"I texted you a bunch- but I see you were still asleep." Gwilym grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Is everything alright?" You wondered suddenly. You didn't even care that your hair was sticking in different directions, and the man had already seen your atrocious excuse for pajamas.

"Well, Dan got called into work. Left in a big hurry and asked if I'd help you out today. Fancy a lift? He took his SUV. Left the Buick." Gwil actually smirked, like he was making a sweet deal.

That's when Emma let out a gasp from somewhere behind you. She'd spent the first half of Top End Wedding in the shower, but quickly joined your friends to gush over the main character upon her joining the film

Gwilym's eyes left yours for a moment to glance over your shoulder to the house full of girls.

"Uh... alright." You gave a nervous grin, realizing you didn't really have another option. Daniel trusted Gwilym with his vehicle. If he caught one of your college friends behind the wheel of his car, he'd blow a gasket for certain.

"Uh, give me a minute to get my self together?" You nodded to Gwilym. The pair of you had never really spent any kind of quality time with each other. Only sat beside each other during dinners out with your brother's friends and across the living room sharing jokes. This was very different. Did you trust Gwil?

"Sure. I'll wait here if you lot don't mind." Gwil turned his bright gaze to Francine who's chipped nails were still digging into the open door. The girl gave a subtle nod, watching Gwil creep toward the kitchen counter.

"What the hell is going on?" Tilly laughed as you gestured past her.

"Secrets out! Gwil is a family friend. Please don't freak him out." You groaned, scooting to the bathroom. Tilly gapped at you as you spun into the bathroom to pull yourself together.

After finding an old Sargent Pepper tshirt in your bag and managing your hair into a suitable fashion, you hurried back out of the bathroom to hit the road; praying that your friends hadn't corned Gwilym.

The girls were scattered around the kitchen, leaning against counters with their eyes plastered on Gwil. He was like a wonder of the world. An uncovered treasure splayed out in the open.

You had spotted your sandals by the counter and were stepping into them as Tilly asked daft questions to Gwilym about how he knew me, and just exactly how rich he was. The man answered Tilly with grace and caution. Was he really so easy-going? After apologizing profusely and shooting daggers to your girlfriends it was time to go.

"You can use the pool and the dogs will probably hang out. Francine, you're in charge of disaster prevention!" You pointed your way out of the door, as Gwilym followed with a chuckle. Funnily enough, the brash girl was the clearest head in times of trouble.

Gwilym shuffled toward the garage and as you passed into the musty room, feeling a little sick to your stomach.

"Gwil, are you sure this is how you want to spend your day? I don't want to ask too much of you."

"Oh get in the car. I haven't got a thing to do until Dan gets back tonight. There's no harm in a little road trip, is there?"

"Three hours one way. This is your last chance to back out."

Gwilym was already behind the wheel, buckling his seat belt with a smile. You had no choice but to shrug and scramble in the passenger. At least this ride had a radio.

Five minutes in.

"Where's my turn?" Gwilym panicked, steering the wheel sharply to swerve out of the way of roadkill.

"Next exit. When did you learn to drive in the States? Yesterday?" He was almost too quick to react.

"Ha. Ha." Gwilym produced a dry laugh, speeding up ever so slightly. "Last year. A couple of mates and I spent the summer driving around this very desert, I'll have you know."

"Hmm, I see." You smiled as you tried to picture Gwilym going on some great adventure. As far as you knew, his work was his life. Must be some pretty important pals to have tricked the tall man into having a little long-lasting fun. Was he always so cute when he smiled like that?

20 minutes later.

"It's too late now Gwilym. We're already on the freeway and the next exit is only a private ranch."

"But I want a soda so bad." The Englishman whined. For some reason, that surprised you. You realized you really didn't know this guy at all. But you really wanted too. So you promised Gwilym you'd track down the closest fast-food spot and started into an easy-going conversation.

"What would you be doing today if I wasn't in such desperate need?" You teased but you really wanted to know more about the man. The pretty, pretty man.

"Back home? Probably spending the day at a sports game. Having a few drinks at night. Maybe a film to wrap up the evening? That or working I'm sure."

"Yeah, I'm sure." These were things you already knew about Gwil. But you could have listened to him drone on in that delicatessen accent forever and a day.

"What about you? Still out till the odd hours? Still dating that Rodney fellow?"

You couldn't help but let a snort escape you as you turned your head toward Gwil. Had it really been so long since you'd seen him?

"I broke Rodney's heart three years ago, Gwil. I dated around for a while but it's been a busy time. I've not even had time to drink myself sick all year." You smirked. Gwil let out a shocked chuckle. He was right to do so. You used to have a little too much fun.

"No time to do anything but cram. I've not even been to the movies. What do you know about those?" You grinned. It was his dream to act. You felt a little bad for not keeping better track of the local theater. Surely Gwilym had made it to the big screen by now.

"I heard you saw a certain one last night." Gwil pipped up gently. Ah yes, Francine introduced the man at the door as 'Ned.'

"Yeah, that... We found the tape in the cupboard. Your character was a total catch by the way. Any others I've missed out on?"

Your conversation was flowing, and you felt real true ease between your brother's best friend and yourself. Whether it was circumstantial or genuine, you let yourself sink into an appreciation for the magnetic moment.

"Uh... a few," Gwilym spoke. "Do you like the Beatles?"

"Why were you cast as Mr. Harrison or something?" You giggled at Gwil's change of subject.

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't a fraud." Gwilym smiled, gesturing to your Sargent Pepper shirt.

"I'm no fraud!" You assured. "I love all that old rock and roll stuff." You'd scored tickets to see Ringo Starr before college kicked off. It was the best damn day of your life.

"Good. Let's have at it then, aye?" Gwil managed to uncover an aux chord from bellow the counsel and plugged it into his phone. The man reached out and cranked the radio up to the tune of Do You Want To Know A Secret. And for just a moment as you sang along, you pretended that Gwilym knew you were singing to him.

2 hours in

You stopped at the In-n-Out one hundred miles inward. Gwyilm finally got his soda and a whole lot more. The pair of you split a giant order of fries and traded burgers when you discovered you liked each other's orders better. You both thought about splitting a shake but you convinced Gwilym to get his own. He downed the sweet treat in minutes, but yours sat beading with sweat in the cup holder now. A couple of inches of the frozen drink rippled in a melted puddle as the Buick crept toward a gas station.

Gwilym stood in the heat to fill the car as you disposed of the collection of fast-food trash.

"Should I get more snacks?" You called out to Gwil from across the otherwise empty lot.

"Why don't we just agree to a nice dinner on the way home?" He shouted back. It sounded like a joke but you knew it wasn't. You went on to purchase some sunflower seeds anyway because you'd want to stash some in your car.

"Don't act like you don't want some of these." You prodded Gwils ribs as you both settled back into your brother's car. He shook his head with a grin as you tore open the packet of sunflower seeds.

"You're unbelievable. I guess I'll have a few." Gwil reached a hand out after revving the engine.

"Alright. How much was gas, while we're at it?" You gave the bag of seeds to Gwilym as you reached into your purse for your wallet.

"It's none of your business. My treat, really. Thank you for sharing." Gwil laid the bag of seeds to rest in your lap as he turned the wheel out of the gas station.

"I'll let you have that one but I'll get you back when you least expect it." You grumbled, snatching the seeds for your own again.

"Let's get back to your opinion on American football. We've got a lot to dissect here." Gwilym smirked, hands lose on the wheel, tires steady on the road. He was getting the hang of this yet!

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." It was the unsexiest innuendo of all time, but with gentle prodding, Gwil had begun to easily open up to you.

///

The car dealership was just outside Vegas and your beloved mustang was roasting in the hot sun, ready to be driven back to safer grounds.

You practically fell to your knees before the mechanic who ordered special parts and offered you a discount for all your troubles.

"Just follow behind, I know the way back." You smiled to Gwilym, admiring the way the soft breeze tousled his hair. "Thanks again for this." He was really a good sport.

You had settled into your old mustang, fingers fitting into the worn-out divots in the steering wheel. But you cursed when you reached for the radio. You had really been pampered all day, in your brothers Buick, with groovy tunes and a whole lot of eye candy.

That's when your phone rang. It was Gwilym.

The desert road was wide open, but you still decided to put the call on speaker and rest the phone on your dash.

"Hello?" You laughed, checking your rearview mirror. Gwil drove your brothers Buick a safe distance behind. You swore you could see Gwilym's bright white teeth as he responded.

"Hello! I've just realized that I promised to take to dinner, but I can't very well do that with you leading the way."

"Oh, that's what this is about?" You snorted, eyeing the mountains across the horizon.

"Where shall we go?" His voice crackled from your dashboard.

"There's an exit in about forty minutes with a few suitable options. Nothing movie star worthy though." You clicked your tongue, wondering if this was all some fever dream brought on by the ninety-degree day.

"Oh stop it. Is there an IHop? I love IHop."

"You do?" You chuckled. Gwilym hummed with certainty.

"Alright." You spoke up, glancing in the rearview once more. Was he looking? "I'm sure we can track one down."

"Thanks, kid." There it was again, that pesky pet name. You didn't like it at all.

"Am I liable to call you old man?" You jabbed, making your feelings known in a light-hearted manner.

"Whoa now, I'll hang up and leave you alone with your broken radio." Gwil threatened. He remembered your telling him your radio was broken? You glanced in the rearview once more and noticed Gwilym holding up his middle finger.

"Hey!" You laughed.

"Eyes on the road!" Gwilym challenged. There were, in fact, shiny cars popcorning over the horizon.

"Alright, alright! Can you Google and drive? I'll be your eyes." You offered, driving ahead of the man.

"Hang on," Gwilym spoke. You smiled and bit your lip to withhold the burst of joy you wanted to scream out. "I've got one. I'm gonna pass you and take this adventure into my own hands if you don't mind."

You could hear Gwilym smile as his car sped up past yours in an instant.

"See ya at IHop old man!" You shouted, swiping the phone call to end before Gwilym could shout back.

Your brothers Buick zoomed past you and began to blend in with the waves of heat on the horizon. You prayed under your breath that the man leading your way wasn't just a mirage.

///

You sat across from your brother's best friend in a sticky old IHop booth while a family of six and an old married couple filled out the other corners of the restaurant. One waitress floated through the otherwise empty diner to cater to all of you as the sun set.

Gwilym ordered a tea and you warned he was going to be disappointed in the Americanized beverage. He shooed off your comment and relaxed in the booth while you sipped your coffee. You wondered how you ended up here, then you wondered how Gwilym ended up here.

"Have you really just come to town for my brother's silly party?" You suddenly quizzed. Dan threw what he called a "mixer" once every year, where all the friends he'd ever known were invited to drink bourbon and pretend it was fun being an adult. This year was a bit of a house warming party, and your whole family was invited.

"Sort of. I wanted to see him anyway and some other friends around LA." Gwilym offered, resting his head on the heel of his hand while he gazed at you.

"I see, I forgot you were a big rom-com star now." You chuckled. Of course, he was in Hollywood to mingle with other bright eyed up and comers.

But Gwilym just rolled his eyes and smiled as the waitress floated by to fill up your coffee cup.

"The last time I saw you was Easter in 2015, do you remember that?" Gwilym sat up a little, twirling his finger around the rim of his mug of tea. You tried really hard not to notice.

"I'm surprised you do. I was late to brunch and you left not long after I showed up." You recalled. That was when he hugged you goodbye, as he was leaving and you were just joining the rest of your family. He lingered around the dining table to finish some conversation with your father, but you don't remember him leaving.

"'Course I remember. You poured something from a flask into your coffee when your mum wasn't looking." Gwil gestured toward your warm cup and you winced in remembrance.

"Those were the days, huh?" You furrowed your brow even though you smiled, a little sick at the thought of drinking anything.

"They aren't anymore?" Gwil seemed to gently pry, and you weren't about to lie to him.

"No, I learned my lesson in the hospital." You shrugged, hoping to never stay that long on an IV drip ever again.

"What?" Gwilym asked. He seemed genuinely concerned and you hadn't realized he didn't know. Dan would usually warn anyone to keep an eye out on you in case you keeled over like you always used to morning noon and night.

"Yeah, I drank myself silly." You laughed, but it wasn't silly at all. That month was shit. "I haven't drank since January."

"Christ." Gwil shot his wide eyes toward you.

"It's a good thing! I like coffee much more, anyway."

"Than this," Gwil gestured around the eatery, "was the perfect choice."

Gwilym's smile was ultraviolet. You admired him in a way you might have anyone else, but the longer you took in his features, they became prettier by the second. You caught yourself staring, but that was usually the case. What caught you further off guard was the way Gwilym seemed to be just as in tune to your conversation as you were. LIke he really wanted to right here, in the middle of nowhere, with his best friend's kid sister.

He was too good to be true. Why had it taken you so long to realize?

///

That same night, you drove your friends back to your flat to the tune of their incessant teasing. You guessed you'd be shocked if Colin Firth showed up to crash your spontaneous slumber party, after watching Love Actually. So, you couldn't blame them, but you could block them out. You found your mind wandering to the weekend. You found yourself thinking of Gwilym.

Your brother's annual gala was three days later. Your parents swung by your flat and gave you a lift all the way across one town to the next so you could all attend your brother's first party in his new home.

You wore torn up mom jeans and a decent blouse, unbothered by most of the guests sporting their finest black-tie looks, like this was the waiting block for Mad Men auditions or something. Everyone was drinking and the smell alone made your blood curdle. You slinked through plastic Hollywood types and decided you didn't need to drink to have fun, or waste your time mingling.

You wound up in the posh den, in a leather recliner, directing your brother's dogs to do tricks. You got Vinny to start barking at his reflection in the flat screen tv , much to the annoyance of the passing guests. But someone was charmed by your antics. Gwyilm leaned against the door frame with a now-familiar smile.

"Vinny, look!" You pointed to the flatscreen while the giant dog spun around to start whining. Gwilym laughed at you, and you whipped your head to find him watching on, drink in hand.

"Are you having a good time?" Gwilym comically quizzed, scooting further into the room. He sat on the arm of the chair you occupied, holding his glass between his legs. You looked up at the British hunk and smiled.

"We are. Violet just learned to shake hands!" You quipped. The dog bounced over at the sound of her name and sat in front of you, ready to show off her new skills.

"Nice to meet you, lady." You teased, holding your palm in front of your brother's dog. Violet raised her paw into your hand and you smiled as you shook it.

"Well before we call the circus and send you off, you better say goodbye to your family. Your mum's been looking for you." Gwilym laughed, shaking his head as he sipped something dark.

God, how embarrassing. Did she send him to find you? Did she think you were passed out in the bushes or worse? With a pursed smile you stood and left the den to find your mother lounging in the living room with a few other, older guests.

"Oh, this is my youngest, Y/N. A very bright girl." Your mother gushed, grabbing on to your writs and pulling you toward the sofa as some middle-aged blonde lady smiled widely at you. Her name was Dawn and she was busy trying to one-up your mother in housewife points. You just gave a fake grin and spun around to find your father asking about your car troubles.

"It's all fixed and fine now." You assured. Dan appeared on the scene, boasting about how his friend Gwilym was kind enough to take you on that trip. Gwil was sitting back on the sofa, smiling at your father as Dan boosted his ego. But he deserved the praise.

"Gwil practically saved my life!" You pointed, spinning toward where the man was settled onto the love seat. In your classic dramatic flare, you flung yourself into Gwilym's lap without thinking. The time you'd spent with the man had stripped away the layer if unfamiliarity between the two of you. And you would have plopped into anyone of your friend's laps. You made sure to bring your hand to your forehead to ensure your swooning was just for show. Even if you happened to feel a swoop of endearment at the prospect of being so close to Gwil. He was stunning. And his fingers were cautiously hovering around you, as if he wanted to hold you but knew better. And as you scooted out of the man's lap toward the cushion beside him, you swore you saw a hunger in his sea-blue eyes.

"Alright, leave the acting to him, you're no good." Daniel batted your hair on his way across the room at the sound of his name being called.

Moments after you peeled yourself off of Gwilym Lee's lap, your sister showed up. You hadn't seen Roxanne in what felt like ages. On her arm, an unassuming botanist called Max, who seemed to be totally head over heels for your older sister. Boy was he in for a treat.

"Hello, Roxy." Gwilym smiled, resting his glass on the coffee table as he stood to greet your sister. And just like that, the usually demure girl practically melted. You couldn't blame her, not anymore. Not after you caught a glimpse at how warm Gwil's smile really was.

"This, uh, this is Max." Roxanne shoved her boyfriend between herself and Gwilym, a human shield. The equally as meek fellow seemed to look up to Gwilym with wonder in his eye. You realized that no one was safe from doing a double-take. Gwilym was just that great.

The party fizzled out. Before the last guests even left, Roxanne kissed her beau and skipped out to the pool house with you, deciding to spend the night for some much-needed one on one time. You stole some of Daniel's sweatshirts and snacks from your brother's home and locked yourselves into the private little hut in his back yard.

After nearly a full hour of listening to your sister gush over how much she liked Max and how their relationship was taking off, Roxanne got quiet.

"I didn't realize Gwil was in town." Roxanne sheepishly admitted, reaching to the bowl of popcorn between the two of you.

"Yeah, I was surprised too." You realized. "I can't believe you still have a thing for him."

Roxanne laughed and shook her head as if that was all behind her now. But then she bit her lip and looked at you to tell her secret.

"No harm in looking, right?" She shrugged. Roxanne really did seem happy with her new boyfriend. But anyone with eyes could see Gwilym's glow and would probably long to bask in it all the same. You weren't blind to that any longer.

///

Emma and Francine were busy sitting around your apartment doing nothing, terribly bored of it all. Tilly had gone back to visit her family while the summer raged on, leaving the three of you to your own usual devices. Your brother had asked you to stay a little while longer, but he and Gwil took the dogs to a hiking trail and you got bored alone in the pool house after your sister went home. So you drove back to your flat where your roommates decided to waste away together.

"There's nothing good on tv. And I don't wanna go out. Why is nothing fun anymore?" You complained. The days of dancing the night away seemed like a waste of time to you now. There had been lots of fun last year, and the ones before. Maybe too much fun. When you weren't drinking you were asleep in someone else's bed. Casual dating turned into some kind of game. And it all started when Francine challenged you to get with as many people as you could take a shot for. And naturally, you were down to take the drinking challenge, but you took way too many shots that night. And you started zipping through one night stands like it was your job and you needed extra rent. You felt nothing, numbed by so many drinks. And near the end of your manic episode, you thought that maybe the more people you shagged, you'd eventually feel for one of them. But that never happened. Even when you brought some of them home and tried to mold them into a little perfect box.

You had a lot of time to reevaluate in the hospital. You hoped with your new lease on life that meaning would seep back through your cracks. But sitting around your old dusty apartment bored you. Wasn't there any balance anymore? Your phone buzzed you out of deep thought.

Gwil: How'd you get Violet to shake your hand? She won't listen to me or Dan!

You: I'm a dog whisperer. ;)

"We could do arts and crafts!" Emma chirped like a hopeful preschooler.

"It's too hot to think of having fun." Francine moaned, sprawled across the sofa with her upper half sliding down toward the floor.

Your phone buzzed again. Gwilym responded with the meme of the angry-looking cat sitting at the dinner table. You let out a breathy laugh that fanned through your nose. Before you could think of responding Gwilym had sent another text.

Gwil: I'll find out your secret one day.

You: Take a hike!

He should have been trekking through scenic California mountains instead of sending you memes.

"Earth to Y/N! Why are you smiling at your phone like that when we're in the middle of a boredom crisis meeting?"

"What?" You blanched. Had you really been lost in the short-lived conversation between Gwilym and yourself? He was just too good to be true. Of course, you were transfixed by the lad.

"Yeah, who are you talking to? Is Stu back from Ibiza? Are you two hooking up again?" Francine challenged, sitting up on the sofa with a knowing grin.

"God no, not Stu. He stole my underwear. That fucking creep." You shivered at the memory of your very last and longest hookup. Emma grimaced in response, but Francine, like always, wasn't satisfied.

"So who is it then?" The girl's honey-brown eyes filled with mischief as she reached for your phone.

"Why do you think it has to be anybody?" You whined, trying to lean further back before Francine could launch her self toward you. But it was too late, she latched onto your cell like a falcon, and scanned the screen. Her lips turned into a wild smile while Emma turned her head in anticipation.

"It's Ned!" Francine let out a burst of laughter as you dove back toward her to rescue your stolen device.

"Ned from the movie?" Emma questioned.

"What other Ned's do you know, Emma?" Francine rang, allowing you to take back your phone.

"The dad from the Try Guys." Emma shrugged. You would have laughed if you didn't feel your stomach fall away. What was there to be so nervous about?

"Why is movie star Ned sending you memes? How do you even know him, again?" Francine sat straight up against some throw pillows to begin her interrogation.

"When Daniel moved to London for college, he and Gwilym became the best of friends." You sighed, reminding Francine of the name of the man she kept referring to.

"He sent you a meme, Y/N." Francine rose her brows like she was alluding to something more.

"After he drove you across the desert and back," Emma added, pointing your way.

"Yeah, I guess he's my friend too." You gapped. Well he was, wasn't he? Your phone buzzed again and everyone's eyes filled with curiosity as you kept your phone clutched to your chest.

"He's also a movie star!" Francine rang.

"Just because he was in some Australian rom-com doesn't mean anything-"

"What other movies has he been in? Maybe he's loaded and you guys can be Hollywoods new it couple." Emma cooed like she was dreaming for herself.

"I don't know- the last time I saw Gwil was years ago I hardly think-"

"Babe. I can tell you're into him so do away with excuses!" Francine leaned over the sofa to rest a hand on your knee.

"Guys, I'm just now really getting to know him..." You reasoned, trying like mad to pretend his gloriously pretty face wasn't always on your mind.

"He's hot. I'm talking mega beautiful. I don't blame you. And he basically already took you on a date." Francine remained trying to get you to crack.

"Uh, guys..." Emma was fixated on her phone screen when you and Francine whipped your heads toward the girl. She began to squeal through her teeth as she bolted from the pull out bed and skipped toward the coffee table to snatch the remote.

"What are you doing, Emma?" You asked but it sounded more like a warning. She only giggled as the tv buzzed to life. After a quick search on your shared Amazon account, a film from last year started to play.

"Are you trying to tell us that Gwilym is in Bohemian Rhapsody? Wasn't that nominated for a bunch of awards?" Francine focused on Emma who was staring at the screen in anticipation.

"Oh my God." You sighed. Not only did were you turned off by the thrill of seeing Gwil on screen, you felt horrible for not knowing your brother's best friend was in a damn blockbuster. Had you really been so far gone in party land that you were that blinded to the world around you? Francine picked up on your unease and tried to talk you into the spirit.

"He's probably just in the background for a second. But we have to watch it, so, Let's just get it over with."

Emma let out a nervous giggle as an actor opened his eyes on the screen. You literally held your breath while the film crept through the introduction. And then you saw him. Dawning a curly black wig and a smile that belonged to someone else.

"Oh no." You groaned at the exact moment Francine let out an excitable laugh.

"Your boyfriend is Brian May!" She squealed. Gwilym wasn't your boyfriend, but he was nearly identical to the guitarist of Queen. You loved their music. You loved their story. But you had totally missed the posters and promotions for the film that featured Gwil's name in lights. You decided then and there that you would never drink again. You and your friends watched the rest of the film in total rapture. Emma decided the blonde playing Roger was the new love of her life. Francine started to cry when the lad playing Freddie walked out of the doctor's office. You held her hand as the band kicked off Live Aid and when the credits rolled, Emma hit mute and you three stared at each other for a beat, lost for words.

"I sort of forgot all about Ned. He's a proper actor, isn't he?" Francine looked to you like she'd just seen a ghost. You could only muster a stunned nod of exact agreement.

"I just remembered something... my sister in law saw this in theaters like four times. She's totally obsessed with it. Let's call her!" Emma reached across the pull out bed to claim her cell phone before you could stop her.

"No, Emma this is ridiculous! It's not like I don't know Gwil." You reasoned.

"You just said that you were just getting to know him. And trust me when I say that no one knows an actor better than the fandom." Francine lifted her brow as if to prove a point. The girl was still obsessed with Supernatural, and would spout off info about the actors she kept up learning online. But it was all hearsay, wasn't it?

"That's insanely untrue, just so you know." You nodded to Francine, hoping to coax her out of that toxic mindset. The phone was ringing through Emma's speaker and before anyone could day more, someone answered.

"Susan! What do you know about Gwilym Lee?" Emma giggled, resting her phone on the bed with her speaker's volume all the way up. You buried your head in your hands as Francine wrapped an encouraging arm around your shoulder.

"You mean Brian May's clone?" Susan the sister in law crackled through the cell phone. She wasn't wrong. Halfway through the film, you'd nearly forgotten the real members of Queen weren't actually there.

"Is that a compliment? I mean really tell me about this guy. Sell him to me." Emma bargained, propping herself up on her elbows and kicking her feet behind her.

"Okay..." The girl on the phone breathed and suspense built up in your stomach while you waited for a stranger to list of facts about your brother's best friend. "Gwilym is perfect for starters. He's into sports and he's totally obsessed with his castmates. They still see each other all the time. Gwil seems totally devoted and passionate. Rumor has it he's engaged. The good ones are always taken."

You suddenly felt like a ghost of your former giddy self. Why should you have felt so sick? So what if he was engaged? He was just your friend. But friends were supposed to tell each other these sorts of things, weren't they?

"Engaged?" Emma squealed, practically causing the silky pull out bed to ripple from her risen octave.

"Well, it's just a rumor. There are no pictures of a ring or a girl or anything. But where there's smoke there's fire. Anyway, can I tell you about the rest of the cast?"

Francine sat up beside you, casting fiery eyes into yours as she reached for her phone to begin investigating for herself.

"No, I've gotta go." Emma hung up with no explanation, flinging her legs over the edge of the rickety couch bed.

"She's right, there's no evidence." Francine rang, turning her phone to me with a slim Google result list.

"Not to be a downer but I feel like there's gotta be something going on, right?" Emma glanced at you with big sad eyes.

"I- I don't know. Maybe he is? He's talked for ages about his family. Never said a word about a girl."

"That's because he's into you and he's on a great American fling. If there's a girl he's not going to say so." Francine reasoned. She was right. She had to be. Gwilym was too beautiful and endearing to have been single. You were just a good flirt.

I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no satisfaction... 'cause I try and I...

Your phone was ringing. And your friend's eyes were glued to your every move. You were only a little shocked to find Gwilym's name flickering across your dim screen now. But as you snatched the phone to answer you felt your chest tighten between a rope of anxious nerves.

"Hi, Gwil." You tried to sound nonchalant as you stood up and pointed a warning finger to your friends. But they, of course, couldn't be expected to hold back their bursts of excitable chirps.

"Hi-"

"Hang on!" You warned, making a break for your bedroom. There was little hope your friends would settle their giggles because as they chased after you to beg to eavesdrop, they were squealing far too loudly. After dramatically flinging yourself behind your locked bedroom door you answered the phone once more.

"Okay! Hi!" You sighed, trying desperately to even out your breathing.

"Is this a bad time?" Gwilym quizzed over the phone. You cast your eyes across your well-kept room with a smile.

"No! Just... what's up?" You wondered in turn. No time was a bad time for Gwilym.

"Alright." The man let out a chuckle before continuing. "Well, this might be a stretch, but here it goes. I was going to bring Dan with me to a premier tomorrow. He had to cancel last minute for work, yet again. I've already got a plus one, so, would you like to come with me?"

"I'm second best, huh?" You laughed, stepping further into the room, past a stack of books around the corner.

"Well, first if you think about it! Dan called dibs, but I... well I called you."

Oh dear. You had to remind yourself to breathe as Gwilym went on to say,

"I think you'd get on well with my mates is all, and you seemed to have a free week. Asking seemed worth a shot."

"I see." You bit your lip. Was he really being as forward as he sounded? Was he really engaged? "Well, I'd love a night out. Only if you're sure though."

"Oh, I'm sure. Come round Dan's by seven?" You could hear him smile.

"Okay." You agreed while still holding your breath. "See you soon, Gwil."

What do I wear?

#gwilym x reader #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee #borhap fanfic

56 notes · View notes

shadowofthelamp · 5 years ago

Note

Can I get a basic run down of each of your au’s? It’s really hard to keep track and I wanna understand what people are talking about

*cracks knuckles* Alright, let’s do this. I’ll probably just link this in my sidebar at this point, because these are getting built up pretty rapidfire and if you aren’t on tumblr as much as I am you’re pretty liable to miss something.

Now with tag links, going chronologically so you can catch up if you want to! Some of them have a lot of posts, though, just as a warning.

-Time AU: The original. Twix is accidentally sent back in time- why is still a bit fuzzy but I think it involves the Voot malfunctioning when a time machine is installed. She runs into Dib when rummaging around in the basement lab in his house for parts, and lets it slip that she’s his daughter from the future. Her skin is just not-green enough to slip past his radar, and a DNA text confirms that she is in fact related to him, but her lips are sealed about who her other parent is.

She needs to break into Zim’s base to get the necessary tools to finish fixing the Voot to go back home, and Dib assumes she wants to expose Zim like she does, so she has to keep on his good side to get what she needs. It’s weird to say the least, seeing her parents fighting and Dib as a kid- especially since Zim looks basically the same.

After she finally fixes the Voot, it starts jumping through alternate dimensions before she finally makes it home, and she meets several alternate versions of herself.

The tag needs to be cleaned up on this one- it was the first au and has scattered posts of the others still in it but it’s going to take a while to edit down to the individual ones, fair warning.

-Tallest AU: Zim is “co-Tallest” with Tak, and Dib is a rebel fighter trying to take down the empire- sort of a bounty hunter on the side too. Twix is created during a fight when Zim tries to rip Dib’s throat out with his teeth, as you do. Zim is yanked out of public view while pregnant- can’t let the Empire know one of the Tallests has a defect that allows him to reproduce naturally. When he comes back, Twix is declared an experiment of his to create an heir with alien DNA to help her be taller, stronger, and more resilient. She’s kind of a spoiled brat in this one, and has absolutely no idea who Dib is.

When she’s about 12, Dib as a bounty hunter was enlisted to kidnap her in an attempt to rile up Zim and get rid of his heir in one fell swoops, having no idea that she’s his daughter. Eventually, that’s discovered, and she slowly learns what life is like for everyone who isn’t her, while Dib learns to be a parent and care for her instead of having to just rely on himself all the time. Things are pretty tense at first, though.

Eventually, after Zim gets her back, she’s injured during a fight and Zim and Dib make a reluctant truce while she heals, eventually becoming sort of ‘rivals with benefits’- Zim won’t kill him if he’s captured, and Dib won’t take headshots. Dib also gets a collar so he can walk around the Massive without somebody sniping his head off, although he’s very grumpy about this.

Eventually, Dib manages to convince Zim that he’s nothing more than a mascot for the empire, there to blow shit up to show their power. (Tak is the real leader, Zim doesn’t really have the power he thinks he does, and Tak was brought in as co-Tallest to do most of the real ruling and give an air of competence, with the Control Brains doing the rest.) This takes ages, and involves Zim being so deep in denial he literally shoots Dib in the leg to get him to shut up, but it needles at him until he accepts it. Needless to say, pisses him off. They run off together, something Tak’s actually pretty happy about because she figures he’ll just die without the protection being a Tallest gives him. Twix comes with them, and start causing problems for the Empire wherever they can.

Dib gets a robot arm at one point, we haven’t 100% decided on how, and they end up having a second kid, a boy named Kit. (Kit Kat. Thank the discord for that one.)

-WLOD AU: Based on the alternate future in Dib’s Wonderful Life of Doom. Dib is the villain in this one- Twix was made when Zim attempted to escape captivity and bit Dib in the process. She’s kind of a nervous, timid wreck, and Zim is incredibly protective of her. She doesn’t see the world outside of the lab until main!Twix stumbles across this world and helps break her and Zim out, bringing them to her reality and asking Membrane to help her ‘cousins’. They end up settled somewhere else. (She ends up good friends with Moth!Twix.)

The running joke with this one is if the other Dibs meet this guy they just beat the crap out of him.

When Twix eventually dies of health complications from being experimented on, Zim pretty much snaps. He goes back to his home dimension and burns down everything even remotely related to Earth and Dib and ends up conquering the Empire, his grief giving him laser focus and allowing him to work past his defects. He goes on pretty much on a multi-decade rampage, twice as ruthless as anyone else and blowing up planets with ease. One day, though, while he’s with the ground troops he sees a scared child who was orphaned by his attacks and sort of snaps back to himself. He ends up adopting them, and several others in an attempt to atone for himself. He trains them up, fully expecting one of them to end up killing him when they find out he was the one that orphaned them, but when they find out about Twix they tend to just leave over killing him.

He ends up dying near her grave of illness/old age.

-Human AU: This one’s gotten revamped. The old one is after the line, to explain the old fanart in that tag. (I… never really liked this one as much as the others because it didn’t feel Zim-like to me and Dib was barely a presence- and he was barely himself too.)

Honestly this one is still a bit of a joke, but Zim’s got a more mad-scientist edge to him, primarily with strange toys, furbies in particular. He makes lots of them and their house is overrun- Twix has no idea it isn’t normal. He enjoys making people squirm with his creations and ends up having a bit of a rivalry with Swap Zim.

______

Old version: Zim and Dib were both sort of academic rivals at school, but ended up paired together for a science pair project and became friends. They’re roommates at college and begin dating, and Twix just comes from a regular old broken condom, oops. Zim was kind of a party animal but cuts back for her sake. His water actually breaks during an important exam but he insists on finishing it, despite Dib’s blood pressure going up about 500%. Zim’s a Bio major, I haven’t really settled on Dib yet. Zim ends up working at Membrane Labs, though.

Zim’s also a big fan of musical theater, and gets roped into subbing in as Billy Flynn on the campus production of Chicago while four months pregnant. Gir is his younger brother and currently in high school.

-Irken AU: This one’s set a bit earlier in the timeline, when Zim was still working at the labs for military research. (See the canceled episode The Trial.) He met Dib there, and at one point they ended up locked in for a whole weekend on accident. At one point they got into a fight, one thing led to another, and Zim ended up pregnant. He only found out when he started getting sick and went to the hospital. The problem? That’s a defect that hasn’t happened in a long time- he’s whisked to the Control Brains, labeled defective in both mind and body, and sent off to Foodcourtia so no one has to deal with him.

When Dib finds out, he steals a ship and goes to rescue him. Zim is completely miserable, exhausted, overworked, and all around pissed this is happening. He lashes out at Dib for doing this to him before completely collapsing since his body hasn’t gotten a chance to rest in too long, and his instincts tell him that Dib is safe because he’s the other parent. Gir is a malfunctioning food service drone that snuck aboard the ship. They have to figure out what’s going on because this kind of thing hasn’t happened in centuries.

Dib was initially only interested in studying Zim because of the rarity of natural-born smeets, but as time goes on they end up getting closer, especially because Zim gets clingy as time goes on. There are two endings to this one- either they keep wandering around space, or they end up on Earth since it’s uncharted and no one will bug them there. Twix comes from an egg and has three siblings (possibly more) in this one!

-Pilot AU: Related to the Time AU- while jumping around, she gets stuck in the pilot universe. She very much doesn’t like it, especially since Dib starts stalking her instead. When he finds out she’s his daughter, he gets even more obsessive about how and why she came back, and she has to escape him to keep going home.

-Adoption AU: This is the angstfest one kicked off by a particular anon- Zim has a miscarriage, but at some point afterwards when Twix is jumping through the multiverse, she runs into them. After realizing what happened, she finds a version of herself that lost both of her parents and brings her to meet the ones that never had her, and they’re all happy.

-Zimvoid AU: Twix lands in the Zimvoid from the few most recent comics. Not a lot of plot to this one, it’s just fun to imagine. The Zims meeting after Twix is born is under PZA Au, and the Dibs meeting is ‘Meet me in the dibpit’ which is the best tag out of all of these lmao

-Species Swap AU: Dib is, similar to in the irken au, there to study local flora and find uses for them. Gaz is the invader, sent here for her catastrophic body count on every other mission she’s had. She finds out Earth has good games and is just ‘eh, whatever’ and basically puts the mission on hold, letting Dib start stalking the one human that truly interests him- Zim. He’s almost irken-like, and clearly incredibly intelligent- and destructive!

I made a whole plot explanation for this one here.

Dib is actually the one to have her in this au. It’s also a running joke and I’m heavily considering making it canon that this Zim is the one that actually succeeds in taking over the world.

-Mothman AU: Dib is an actual mothman, and so is his family. Variation on this one: One has irken Zim, one has human Zim. Other Dibs find this version of Dib hot. Twix is raised in the woods and her only real friends are her parents, Gir, and Tulip. (Keef’s adopted daughter.)

In the irken au, Zim is actually accepted relatively fast by Membrane who thinks he’s just a strange, stunted moth. After having Twix he ends up growing wings and neck fluff because mothmen are actually a very distant cousin of irkens that diverged millions of years ago, and carrying Dib’s kid kickstarted the process. He also dies for like two minutes because giving birth to an egg a third of your size really sucks. (He’s fine, once Dib got him to the recharging chamber he woke back up when his Pak reactivated him, he was just really low on charge after a birth lasting like two days.)

In the human au, he’s not so lucky- Dib has to keep his relationship a secret, and Membrane only finds out when he sees Zim, already pregnant. Dib gets into a big fight with him because humans killed his mom and Membrane is pissed he’d get into a relationship with one. Things do end up working out eventually, once Twix is born Membrane is fascinated by her, but tensions are still pretty high for a while. Earlier in this version, Zim actually found out he was pregnant when he gets accidentally shot by someone who was aiming at Dib and had to go to the hospital and they took a pregnancy test before doing the x-ray. (In all aus where Zim is human, including swap, he’s a trans guy, and this one is set in the 1970′s/80′s. He ran away to live in the woods for a reason.)

-SU AU: Steven Universe AU! This one’s covering most of the plot of Steven Universe up to this point, so it got long. Link here. (For the aesthetic, think more Gravity Falls and late over early SU: Deep woods and dark colors.)

-Capture AU: A sort of flip of the WLOD au. Zim wins and keeps Dib prisoner, although he enjoys riling him up so Dib is much more of a firecracker than WLOD Zim is. Zim gets the itching feeling he’s missing something and uses a blood sample from Dib to get himself pregnant, but he realizes he can’t raise the kid alone without killing her (and plays it off as making Dib help with something he’s made it clear he hates) so he lets Dib out but on a very tight leash. This one is definitely on the darker end.

-Scandal AU: Zim is Tallest, Dib is an irken scientist. They ‘grew up’ together but Zim shot up and forgot about Dib because- well, his memory’s canonically pretty garbage and besides he often misremembers things anyway. Dib is hauled in front of him for causing problems at the labs like letting the specimens free because he hates his coworkers, and they just kept shoving him at successively more important people because he managed to keep slipping away before being fully punished and it ends up getting all the way to the Tallest.

Dib gets pissy at Zim because he’s expecting to get thrown out the airlock or whatever, before realizing just how terrible of an idea that is and that Zim could do something a lot worse. Mostly he’s just mad that Zim left him behind, but Zim, who only has faint inklings of Dib being familiar, decides to keep him around on basically a whim.

Things evolve from there, with Zim doting over his new ‘toy’ who treats him like an equal (which he didn’t realize he wanted, because duh, he’s the Tallest, why would he want to be anything other than shallowly worshipped?) while Dib has to walk the VERY careful tightrope of staying alive by not pissing Zim off while also not rolling over completely and betraying himself. (And that might lose Zim’s interest as well.) Things get even messier when oops, there’s eggs now.

-Treasure Planet AU: What it says on the tin, an au based off the movie Treasure Planet! Plot summary here, AU mostly belongs to @64bit-trash and @yeehawimscared.

-Dibbrane AU: Dib turns out to be a much better clone of his father and doesn’t realize that Zim is an alien. Zim ends up getting attatched to him because he takes him seriously as a fellow scientist and genuinely enjoys his company, and eventually they get married- all without Dib finding out what he really is. Twix ends up more like show-Dib, determined to prove to the world that there’s a world hidden underneath their own, and Zim ends up her ‘alien rival’ in order to train her. She doesn’t realize she’s half-alien… yet. Fuller synopsis here.

-Amnesia AU: Zim was a personal pet project of Tallest Miyuki’s, and treated him as a son, planning to raise him to succeed her, taking down the heightarchy in the process. She ends up assassinated by Red and Purple in an attempt to get enough power to laze around for the rest of their lives, and Zim is blamed for it. A lot of irkens are bitter and jealous for the attention he got, especially for someone so short, so it’s easy enough to do.

While imprisoned, he tore up his Pak in an attempt to get rid of the grief and trauma of seeing his mother dead and ended up more defective, having mostly forgotten who he was before. The timeline ‘syncs up’ with iz show canon. He crashes OID2 and gets sent to Earth, and over the years enters a relationship with Dib and gets pregnant. When that’s discovered, he gets pulled back and his memory is wiped again, and when the baby is born, she’s taken away to see if they can shape her into a soldier.

Zim is used for more tests and Skoodge tries to help him, and ‘Brid’ is shuffled between career tracts before being sent out with the soldiers while still 11- practically a smeet. She meets Dib, who’s been looking for both Zim and his lost child. She promises to take him to Zim, but is going to try and bring him as a new species of alien to her superiors to get brownie points because she’s treated kind of like shit by the other trainees for being such a freak. (She always wears a helmet to cover her nose and hair.)

Eventually their paths cross as they get arrested and thrown into a cell near Zim’s, but Zim doesn’t realize he’s even got a daughter, much less this one, so there’s a while to figure things out.

All this time, Miyuki uploaded herself before her death into a side control brain that only Skoodge knows, and they stumble across her, and she helps fill in the gaps.

Aaaaaand I’ll go back and add more to this post if we get more, if I forgot one feel free to tell me.

#iz #aip #Anonymous #asks

63 notes · View notes

setaripendragon · 5 years ago

Text

OT3 Drabble: Hush

[Masterlist] AAAAAAAND WE’RE DONE!!! -insert maniacal cackling here- This, my lovely followers, is the last OT3 drabble. I AM NOW DONE with this monster collection of insanity, and I even managed to finish it before the five year anniversary! (Just. Five years for fifty drabbles. That’s not even one a month, gdi.) Gimme a couple of weeks and I’m probably going to pick up another stupidly long challenge, but for now, I’m freeeeeee~! =D And, okay, I probably got a little carried away with this one, it’s my longest drabble yet, and honestly it’s probably too long to really be called a drabble, but I don’t care, because I saved the best for last. I’m so proud of this one, and I love this ship so much, you have no idea. So I hope you all enjoy this ridiculous schmoop for my current favourite obscure OT3 that no one else seems to ship.

OT3 for this prompt: John Childermass/John Segundus/Arabella Strange from Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.

The evening was young, but the students of Starecross Hall were used to the triumvirate of head teachers retiring early. Most assumed it was to discuss the day’s lessons and the students’ performances in privacy, but there was always some scandalous gossip going around about why it was, exactly, that they required such a strong silencing spell around their private parlour.

Mr Segundus, who was, at that very moment, on his way up the stairs to retire to said private parlour, was mostly oblivious to said gossip. He maintained the happy conviction that the three of them had been quite discreet enough to avoid any suspicion. (His lovers knew better, but as Arabella did not care, and Childermass found it all very amusing, neither of them was particularly interested in making a fuss about it.) However, Segundus was aware enough to know that they owed no small amount of their success at discretion to the silencing spells the three of them had woven around their private parlour – and the even more private bedroom it led to.

To Segundus, the spells appeared as a trellis of white roses, growing thick and verdant along the lintel and jamb of the door. It had taken him a small while to stop flinching at the sight of them, at the beginning, after everything that had happened that had inextricably linked white roses and silence in his mind, but after the roses had done such a good job of shielding him and his lovers from scrutiny and scorn, he’d warmed to them considerably. Now, as he pushed the door open, he gave one of the spectral roses a grateful caress – they were not truly there, and so could not truly be touched, but the intent of the motion and the bolstering of the spells did translate itself as the sensation of petals brushing against skin, so it might as well be called real – and breathed the lingering scent of roses with appreciation.

And was met with an altogether different magical scent inside the room. He blinked, for a moment quite disoriented, before he managed to drag his mind back to itself and recognised that the magic was Arabella’s, and that the lady herself was sitting by the window, intently focused on a bundle of greenery in her lap. “Arabella, dear?” He asked, curiously. “What are you working on?”

Arabella startled a little, then looked up with a smile, although her hands moved as if to hide whatever spell she was weaving. “Oh, John, I didn’t hear you.” She explained, and then glanced back down at her project with a secretive smile. “And you shall have to wait for John to get here before I show you.”

Segundus was all but burning with curiosity as he seated himself at the table before the fire and resolved himself not to press for answers. Arabella had a certain gift for the most beautifully subtle and discreet magics. He distracted himself for the moment by recalling how Childermass had been the first to spot it in her drawings. The way they would breathe, move with winds unfelt, or sometimes even change far more dramatically when one was not looking.

It was not long before Childermass arrived, slinking in like a shadow, and startling them both. “Ah, you’re here.” Segundus said delightedly. Childermass gave him a sardonic look, as if to say ‘no, really?’ but Segundus no longer took such things to heart. “Arabella has a surprise for us, it seems, and she refused to tell me anything until you arrived.” He explained.

Childermass glanced at her. “I had wondered at the magic. I can’t place what it’s for.”

Arabella looked startled. “Magic?” She questioned, then looked down to consider her project with a bemused tilt of her head.

“You had not intended to create an enchantment?” Segundus questioned.

“No, I had not, although I had not intended not to, either.” Arabella mused, before laughing a little. “I suppose when one pours all one’s heart and soul into so magical a thing, there is bound to be some sort of magical consequence.”

“So magical a thing?” Childermass questioned, and then made a sound of understanding as Arabella rose and turned, presenting them with what she had been making.

They were crowns, of a sort, made of vines of ivy, twisted and woven to form a band that was thick with the iconic leaves on the outside, but more bare on the inner side, so that it may be worn about the head without squashing any part of it. There were three of them in her hands, Segundus marked, one for each of them.

He caught himself smiling, and there was a smile in Childermass’s voice, too, when he spoke again. A smile, and a touch of wry humour. “Ivy crowns for the three magician rulers of Starecross Hall? A bit more grandiose than your usual, love.”

Arabella smiled; a smug, laughing thing, though Segundus had never been able to read anything unkind in it. “Ivy has other meanings, John.” She chided lightly. “But yes, it’s because we are magicians that I thought of it.” Her smile dimmed into something pained as she came and set the crowns upon the table, and paused there to lightly stroke her fingers over the leaves. “I know that our love must always be concealed behind our white roses…” She began, and Segundus abruptly remembered the other old legend about ivy. About it growing from the graves of sundered lovers to intertwine, and bring them together even in death.

“But perhaps there, at least, we might be bound together with ivy?” Segundus finished for her softly, his heart feeling suddenly as though it had become a little starling, light and fluttering and liable to fly off if spooked. Childermass, still standing in the middle of the room, drew in a sharp breath, and when Segundus looked to him, he saw a mirror of his own startled awe in his eyes.

Arabella laughed a little breathlessly, and Segundus recognised then that they were all caught in the same nervous excitement, the same disbelieving awe. “I know it is not precisely the done thing, but…” She paused, and then lifted one of the crowns, presenting it to them as though it truly were a coronation. “Will you marry me? If not in the Christian way, since that would be impossible, then at least in the way of magicians…” She trailed off hopefully.

Childermass stepped forward before Segundus could scrape words together out of the dazed mess his thoughts had become, and lifted the crown out of Arabella’s hands. He was as careful with it as he was with his battered old cards, and lifted it to rest it upon Arabella’s beautiful dark hair. Arabella breathed in, sharp and shaky, and blinked over a tentative, joyful smile. “The pair of you have ruled my heart for a good long while now, I see no reason you shouldn’t have actual crowns to go with your kingdom.” Childermass told her, casting a pointed look over his shoulder at Segundus, as well.

It was that which prompted Segundus, finally, to action. “Well said.” He murmured as he stood, and then plucked up the second crown, and lifted it up to Childermass, who was forced to bow his head to accept it, being as tall as he was. While he had been doing that, Arabella had retrieved the final crown, and Segundus bowed his own head to let her press it lightly down to settle over his curls.

The moment it was in place, he felt it. It was no very powerful spell. Like all of Arabella’s magic, it was subtle and unobtrusive. A warm, comforting blanket about his shoulders, a quiet melodic hum against the chill of the silence they were forced to hide behind. “A geis.” Childermass murmured.

“A magical vow.” Segundus agreed. “I think perhaps this is the most perfect wedding we could ever have had.” He mused, delighted. They had not spoken any words of love or fidelity, perhaps, but then they hadn’t needed to. The ivy had said it all for them, under the secret, safe silence of their roses.

#Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell #John Childermass #John Segundus #Arabella Strange #johnsquared #childermass x arabella #segundus x arabella #OT3 drabble #yes arabella calls them both john #she thinks it's very funny when they get confused who she's talking to #SHE always knows which john she means #ivy will always mean marriage to my brain thanks to sansukh #so reading JSaMN and having it represent magicians was an adventure #and did you know white roses do actually mean silence in victorian flower language?#that's why the emphasis on white in this fic #you will pry the headcanon of arabella the magician #out of my cold dead hands #after all how else is she supposed to drag jonathan home by the ear?

13 notes · View notes

coffeemusicmusings · 6 years ago

Text

Tackling depression and a lack of productivity

Working from home has been both a blessing and a curse. I now have the freedom to spend my days as I wish, as long as I meet my obligations to my clients. This can be an issue for my level of productivity. As a person that suffers intermittently with depression (and pretty consistently with anxiety), I can often find myself hiding from responsibility. It doesn’t do great things for my budget.

Finding work-arounds and ways to bypass these issues has been difficult, but I’ve managed to stumble across a few ways to beat mental blocks and continue to make great content.

1.) Making My Bed- I know this sounds played-out but stay with me. It actually works for me. When I’m having a hard time getting started for the day, I talk myself into doing at least one thing that’s productive, and that’s usually making my bed. I choose this activity for two reasons: it’s simple enough to do, and it makes my wife happy. Even if that’s all I do for the day, at least I’ve done something that will make her smile.

Usually, once I’ve finished making the bed, my mindset has begun to come around. I now have this attitude that since I’ve already started doing stuff, I might as well continue and get some more stuff done. Maybe Newton was onto something.

2.) Remind Myself of My Purpose- As a married man, it’s not all about me anymore. While my wife and I do not have any children, we do have pets, and a house, and responsibilities. When I fail to meet my obligations, I’m not only letting myself down, I’m letting down my family. I’m very passionate about caring for my family and taking care of my responsibilities in my marriage, and I know that I can’t do that if I don’t get my paid work done. My wife deserves a partner that pulls his own weight and brings assets to the table of our marriage. I need to be that husband to her.

This approach may not work for everyone, as it may feel like undue pressure is being placed. This is simply how I deal with motivation issues. It’s not that my wife demands greatness from me, or that I’m afraid of what she’ll think if I don’t get everything done. It’s that I love and respect her on a level that says I want to do things so she’s proud of me, and so that she can have the life she deserves. It gives me joy to take care of her, even though she does not need me to take care of her. Reminding myself that spoiling her and being her support system is important to me, helps me to keep life in perspective.

3.) Taking Breaks- If getting overwhelmed and stressed out was an Olympic event, I’d be a gold medalist. I often feel crushed under the weight of my responsibilities and can choose to avoid everything to make myself feel better. This is neither helpful for my work, nor a healthy coping mechanism. 0/10, do not recommend.

Instead, I give myself structured breaks. I can take them at any time of day, but I only get a certain amount of minutes. Without this structure, I’m liable to not get back to work at all. Ever. I’d lay on the couch and avoid the world.

Giving myself breaks allows me to take a step back and compose my thoughts, or, to forget about work completely for a few minutes and just breathe.

4.) Diversify- Being a freelancer is great for freedom but terrible for security. Breaking into this line of work takes courage, perseverance, and planning. It can be a slow start, but, if it works out, can be a very rewarding way of life.

The main problem with freelancing is that work is never guaranteed. Clients can dry up with little-to-no notice, and if you don’t have other jobs lined up, you can quickly find yourself with no source of income. It’s scary.

For a long time, I was a registered ride share driver. That way, on weeks when the work wasn’t flowing as freely as I would like, I could go drive passengers around and still have money coming in. Right now, I live in an area where that’s not exactly practical, but we are planning a move shortly that will put me back in a place where I can have that, as well.

Because I don’t have that backup, I have to look for other things to keep on the back burner to allow me to make money. Currently, I have one main client from which I make most of my money. It’s very good money for what I’m doing, but they aren’t super reliable. It’s a very informal arrangement, and it often results in me not getting paid on time. Because I do not have anything that says when I’m supposed to get paid, I have no real course of action (totally not recommended, I didn’t realize when I started doing work for them that it was going to get so big. I started doing $15 worth of work for them a week, so I wasn’t super concerned about establishing harsh guidelines). Not getting paid on time can cause issues within my family’s budget, so I try to also find other things to do for money, albeit not as much, but just to ensure I have something coming in, in case that client flakes.

In addition to my main client, I have 3-5 others at any given time for whom I can complete small projects. It may not be enough to pay the bills long term, but it at least buys time while I find something else to generate livable work.

5.) Be Grateful- There are very few people in the world who have a working environment like I do. For instance, I am currently sitting on my couch, with my dog lying next to me, in sweatpants with the TV on in the background. While I’m not getting paid for this specific piece of writing, I do get paid for most of the time I spend in this very position. I’m extremely lucky.

When I first entered this line of work, I really thought that most of my stresses would go away. I was working full-time (with mandatory overtime) at a job that I hated and where I was underappreciated. I wanted out. Now, I make the same, if not more money per week, and I don’t have to leave the house or deal with an overbearing boss. While the scenery and conditions have changed, it does not mean there’s no stress.

I have a lot of stress. It’s different from anything I was experiencing previously, but it’s not less. Just different.

When I worked outside of the home, I got paid just for showing up. Depending on the season, or even just the day, I could get paid for a full work day, but having actually only done a total of 5 hours of work. My hourly wage was paid even if no customers came in and my checks generally looked similar. Now, the amount I get paid is directly related to the amount of effort I put in. If I’m not working, I’m not making money. Doesn’t matter if my computer is open and my hands are on the keyboard. If I am not putting words on paper, I’m not making money.

It’s freeing to know that, on a great day when I’m super motivated and clear-headed, I can make full-time money in a very part-time hours, but days like that are elusive. At least for me. Others may be able to bang out everything they need to for the week by Wednesday afternoon, but I’m sometimes staying up until 5:00 AM the night before a deadline to ensure I’ve got everything turned in and will get paid for what I need to get paid.

Even with all that stress, I still would not trade this life for going back to full-time work outside of the home. I maintain that this was the best decision for my mental health that I ever made.

Finding the motivation to fight through depression, or even just laziness can be incredibly difficult, but it’s something we must each do. I hope that sharing my process with you all will help you to be the best, most productive versions of yourself you can be. Even if my tips don’t work, I hope they inspire you to find your own process. Responsibilities are not often fun, but when they have been tackled, it can instill a sense of pride and renewed energy in us.

Thanks for reading! Keep an eye out for more content coming on a more regular basis, and my YouTube channel will be launching soon, where I’ll let you guys in on what’s going on in my life, how I handle my work, my transition, and home. I’ll let you know as soon as it goes live.

Until next time, keep the coffee on.

#motivation #depression #productivity #freelance #self employed #strategies & tips #tips #writing tips #purpose #fighting depression #overcome #empowerment #work from home

1 note · View note

delicatebelief · 3 years ago

Text

How Seriously Should You Take Yourself?

Everyone says never take yourself or life too seriously. And while I agree with the merits of this worldview, I have found freedom in a healthy balance.

Perhaps it first stemmed from a resentment to the phrases of ‘don’t take it too seriously’ or ‘it’s just a joke,’ often spoken to me from family members or friends or even strangers, often in a mocking tone while my own personal boundaries were being crossed. If you grew up as someone as those around you saw as a girl, you likely can imagine what I mean.

Because of that a docile personality was not only encouraged, but often felt enforced. Any outward display of emotion in any form was seen as ‘moody’ or ‘having an attitude’ or ‘too aggressive.’ Even now as an adult people in my life remark on how much of a moody teenager I was, never once bringing up the relentless bullying I was facing at the time, my childhood scars, or other issues. Some were hidden to them, so I do not blame them. But others are known.

I do not blame them though, and I digress. Because that is not what the title says, but I do promise it holds relevance here.

The point being: I suppressed not only my emotions then, but soon my thoughts. My ideas, my creativity, my beliefs, my dreams. Everything that was ‘me’ was locked away in shame and guilt, as if I should never have even had them in the first place.

Don’t take life too seriously, you’ll never get out of alive.

But what for my soul, which was withering away in a vessel which mindlessly moved on day by day like a machine?

I remember vividly being in an English class during my high school stay organizing my papers after sitting down. The class hadn’t officially started yet so I had the time and the class was bustling, busy. I wasn’t disturbing the class, I promise.

There was a lot of pages. I was noticeable, by far I’m sure. My teacher, drawn in by what I could possibly be doing gave an innocent comment: “What are you doing there, writing a novel?”

Yes, actually. I used to write all the time, ever since middle school. Maybe even before then. But for some reason, despite really enjoying this teacher, I just felt such deep shame and put all my papers away. I don’t remember pulling them out much since then, if ever. I don’t remember at all what I was writing at the time. But I remember that feeling, I remember the image of the classroom, I remember how silly I felt.

Maybe if I was encouraged to take myself even a little bit more seriously, I could have finished that novel.

In fact, I haven’t finished a single creative project I set out to do since. Even with support offered from those same family members, new friends, elsewhere. I simply could not take myself seriously enough to do so, negative self-talk overwhelming me sooner or later.

Sure, there’s many other factors to this. My physical health has had its ups and downs. Money issues. Life. But just imagine for a moment. One of those stories of a teenager finishing an entire novel could have been me. An image which used to haunt me often.

Recently, that exact same line was said to me again. In the same light tone. In a calmer setting, but I was, in fact, trying to write something once again. After living years of thinking I wasn’t truly an artist or writer and needed to just throw it all away and get a ‘reasonable job’ I was finally trying to write again.

And that shame was still there.

But things had changed.

To get that ‘reasonable job’ I had joined college courses and began the trek. And full disclosure, I wanted to perish the entire first two to three terms. It’s never something I would push upon others for this reason, as well as the student debts one can rack up and everything else, so I promise you this is not one of those things which is only saying ‘just join college, it’ll help.’ I’m not fond of that mindset.

This is just me writing to the void, or to myself, not entirely sure if anyone else will ever see this let alone read this far. But if anyone does, then I can share my experiences and what I learn for free.

Again, I digress.

I’m still learning, growing, and healing.

But one day, something clicked. I couldn’t resist the courses which showed the humanities and the importance on them revived that part in me which I thought was gone for good and just a dream.

STEM courses are so vital to our society. I will never argue that. In fact, I love the sciences and Psychology and so on myself too. We need them.

But the humanities are important too. The sciences keep us alive, and the humanities are why we are alive. Imagine a world without art, music, stories. Would you want to live in that world?

I don’t.

So why was my dream and creative soul so detested by others? Why were my emotions shot down so often, labeled as irrational and unwanted?

Why is the hope of being an artist or author so often mocked, written into shows and stories as a joke? Especially when they themselves are stories and works of art?

I don’t want to be the art critic shown in movies so full of themselves and looking down on anyone who doesn’t understand the masterpieces they deem worthy of everyone knowing. I wouldn’t push my ideals unto others.

But I do want to know what they are. I want to learn them. I want to experience them. I want to be free.

So, I suppose this is just a long winded way to say you should take yourself seriously to at least some degree. Embrace that person who enjoys a fine wine, goes to museums, reads heavy books, whatever that is for you.

But also be the person who dances in the rain, smells flowers, and is willing to laugh over mistakes. Both are possible, and neither make the experiences or validity of the other lesser.

I hope no one else is like the person I once was; I often called myself a joke and made fun of myself so no one else would, thinking I was protecting myself like that. ‘No one can ever hate me more than I hate myself, so I am safe.’ But that did nothing but hurt me. Nothing but kill my soul.

That’s what brought me here. This is an exercise in taking myself more seriously, even if it’s out of the way and liable to never be seen. But it’s out here now. I’m taking the steps, bit by bit. Because despite all the things I’ve ever said to myself, I do deserve happiness too, even if I obtain it on a path others may mock or can’t understand.

So, next time someone asks me if I am writing a novel I can say: ‘yes, want to see?’

#journal

0 notes

wipstoriesandart · 7 years ago

Text

My Found Valentine

This story has Abandonment, mentions of abuse, and a little flirty skeleton, You have been warned.

CupidBitty was created by @the-holiday-viruses

_______ Maddy was walking home a bag of fabric and more sewing Material in arms for the new orders that she had gotten over the past few days, her home had become a little loud and partly over run, but at least she looked forward to coming home more now, it wasn't as lonely and she enjoyed the company of all her small companions.

It was still rather early in the morning so not many were out and about, she herself wouldn't have been out this early except she had already stayed up all night working on projects, and Snow having told her of one of her meany sisters shops near by, Maddy wanted to get the cloth first thing to insure she could finish the orders in time.

There was a cool crisp air about the city, it would be nice except it was the morning of trash collection and though the trucks were due by soon they had yet to reach some of the allies… She scrunched her nose as she started past a ally she had already past on her way to the shop and new she would be walking right past the rancid smell of…. Roses? That was odd that was definitely Not the smell she had smelled earlier, and for it to be so strong to over power the rotting couch, random rotting fridge contents or whatever it was…

Apart of her was arguing about digging through the trash, the risks of injury, disease, wild animal.. Etc but the other Majoral part of her couldn't help but feel that something was seriously not right with this, the trucks came in less than an hour, and it was very rare for roses to be around here Let alone enough to cover the smell of a overfilled dumpster and then some of trash.

With a sigh knowing she wasn't going to be able to convince herself not to she followed the curiosity and suspicion she walked into the ally, the smaller part of her raising the thought that it could be a trap…

She looked about the ally, there didn't seem to be nothing truly out of the ordinary… it looked like a run of the mill filthy ally, the dumpster having been overfilled and the couch beside it, and black plastic garbage bags beside it, but when she seen a box sitting atop the dumpsters mound with a bag placed upon it she couldn't help but notice the strange scribbled marker and duct tape upon it.

She found a relatively clean spot to set her bags down as she stepped onto the filth ridden couch to reach the box, there were crossed out hearts, slanderous words upon it including a largely printed words of Useless and Trash atop the lid. She gently moved the box, the smell of roses permeating from within, the smell near making her sick with the potency of it. She could feel there was something inside, she set it beside her bags and cut the tape that sealed the box shust, she was thankful whatever demon of a person had done such a thing had forgotten to tape the handle holes. Or whatever was within the box was liable to suffocate.

Her brows frowned when she looked down at the occupant of the box… or rather the large pile of black feathers… had someone killed a crow? She shook her head, gently reaching in her eyes widening in Horror. Definitely not a crow. Among the feathers curled up among its own large black wings was a lanky skeleton, it was still breathing, and no signs of dusting… that was good once she seen there was no… major issues to his physical condition she started to focus more on the details. He seemed to be a lanky edge bitty, having the stature and body structure more of a papy then a sans at all. His clothes were a little dirty and ragged but more like he had been to a rough party not so much fighting for his life… he seemed very tired and feathers in dismay. She almost blushed, she couldn't help but think he was cute…. Ok… wtf? Ware did that come from? Even the monsters she did… “mingle” with she never went for cute. It was Not one of the traits that drew her to anyone… was it the smell?

“If you are going to kill be, can you just get it over please? My mistress isn't coming back for me anyways,” Maddison knew that expression upon his face, it was one she had worn years ago herself. The look of someone with no more fight to give, no more will to live, someone just accepting whatever faite delt them. His pink eye lights seeming dim, though she almost could swear the right eye light was in a heart shape… or was it just the way he was laying?

Maddy frowned, fate can wait to try and take the 8 inch bitty, She wasn't going to hand him over to that weak willed woman, “I'm not going to kill you,” she had to breath and fight whatever was causing her to want to cuddle and kiss and love on this sweet heartbroken bitty.

“Then it will be left to the garbage trucks,” he sighed closing his pink eyes. His readiness for the end nearly sickened Maddy as much as the overpowering smell, she would NOT let this bitty just lay here and Die.

“It doesn't have to,” whatever was causing her over protective side to flare… well more so then it would in this situation to begin with, already thinking of 101 ways to make whoever abandons him suffer, it wasn't normal, she had to get him out of that box, and away from that smell.

“Thank you for the offer sweetheart, but… i don't think i can give you anything in return,” his voice was sounding weak.

“I didn't ask for anything,” Maddison said in a matter of fact tone. She could hear the garbage truck turning the corner at the end of the street. She knew they would be there in less than 20 min, “i know your hurt and all but trust me when i say try and let me do this,” Maddy pulled out some paper from her wallet and jotted some information down, “Are you ok to be moved?” she glanced him over trying to insure she didn't miss anything more than a few minor scratches.

“Y-your serious about taking me from here aren't ya, sweetheart?” he didn't open his eyes as he spoke this time.

“I am,” she couldn't explain why. She would have done it for the reasons that no one should be left to die like this and offer to take him and drop him off at the Bitty shelter...but she would Not leave him there, she might not even allow him the choice if it came down to it. She would make sure he got to her home and was safe and well cared for having everything he needed. And when she found out who had hurt this black winged little angel they would have the very reason why they claim “Hell hath no fury.”“Is it ok if i pick you up?” she asked as she put away her pen and partly stood to pick up her bags the note between her fingers of her hand she held her bags.

He now opened his eyes and looked up at her confusion written on his face as if no one had ever asked him that question, “Y-yes?”

“Will you come with me?” she could hear the truck coming near… they were faster then she factored.

The black winned bitty looked stunned but gave a nod, trying to sit up to make it easier for Maddy to pick him up, she very gingerly scooped him up with her free hand and cradled him to her breast an action she normally would only do with the young ones in her home. The Bitty seemed to blush a bit having to wiggle so his wings were not pressed against her or underneath him.

“I.. i might not be able to help you… B-but if you let me come Home with you i will do what i can to help,” he looked up at her hopefully.

Maddy could only imagine how cold her own expression seemed as she had already made up her mind to take him home, and the others would either accept him ...or get over their territorial issues and accept him, her face was not giving much other then a scary ora due to her irritations and cold hearted hearted toward whoever put him in that box with such slanderous lies written upon it, “I don't ‘Need’ you to do anything for me,” she stood up with him protectively in her arms as she made her way to stand at the corner of the street and ally waiting for the truck.

“But i'm a cupid… i'm supposed to help with.. Ya know the whole match making and such..” he mumbled.

“When we get home you will see i have plenty of Love, and don't need help finding it,” she gently rubbed her thumb over his spine trying to gently smile down at cupid and not seem so scary.

“Then why even bring me home?” he rested his head down upon her and snuggled into her warmth as he clutched her shirt.

She looked down at him unsure of the exact reason but one thread of reasons seemed to be common enough to wear she spoke as the truck came, “Because i want to,” She noticed then the source of the smell was the Bitty itself, though now that it wasn't trapped in the box it was far from sickening, it was actually rather nice, her focus was on the smell and trying to hold a poker face, she was unaware the bitty was looking up at her bewilderment on his face, then a light blush before he snuggled back into her hoping he could bury his face enough to hide the pink dusting on his cheekbones… She stepped out to the edge of the sidewalk waving to the truck driver, she gave them the paper with the shelter number asking them that if they ever came upon any boxes with the small monsters that they please call. Both men seemed to blush at Maddy but accepted the number and promised to call. Once the task was completed Maddy walked off making a call, though she was more than sure her own Alpha’s abilities in healing were more than acceptable to care for her newly found companion she new the shelter was closer she simply hoped someone was in at this hour.

After hearing her make the appointment cupid replied, “You don't have to worry about me, sweetheart, we could just go back to your place,” the way he said it didn't sound as if he was flirting or implying anything but maddy couldn't help the light flush that appeared upon her face.

Ignoring her own embarrassment of her thoughts she made her way as professionally as she could to the shelter, thankful the resident medic was in at all hours it seemed, “Sorry but i'm taking you to make sure you have a clean bill of health. My name is Maddison by the way, but my friends call me Maddy. You are welcome to call me whatever you like,” she assured him with another gentle backstroke.

“Well I'm cupid, but you can call me whatever you like,” He yawned, “Your planning on keeping me...right?” his exhaustion seemed to be taking over.

“Cupid,” she stopped in her tracks to look down at him and make sure he could look her in the eyes, “As i have told everyone of my Mini’s and Bittys, you are welcome to stay with me as long as you like, and if you need or want anything Let me know, if it's in my power i'll get it for you,” She had to swallow after saying those words, she honestly didn't know if she felt she could let the winged bitty go back into a world so cruel as one that let him get so emotionally beat, that he was willing to just lay and wait to be crushed to death by a garbage truck

. “C-...can i just stay close to you for now, Sweetheart?” he swallowed a no longer making eye contact with her he clutched her shirt small moist little tears were starting in his sockets.

“Anything you want sugar skull,” she leaned down and gave him a gentle kiss atop the head, before making her way briskly to the shelter, she continued talking as they walked not sure if he was even still awake to hear her, “After we get you checked up, we can get you home, cleaned, fed and you can even rest alongside me in my bed as long as you like, i'm sure i'm even overdue for a nap.”

“Y-..you won't leave me at the shelter will you?” his voice was quiet almost like he was fighting sleep.

“Not unless you want me to leave the examining room, but i will be in the building the whole time,” she assured, she honestly wasn't even sure if someone could force her to leave without him by her side. She smiled down at him, “Guess i'm just an oddball who enjoys the company of some monsters far more than most humans,” she sighed looking about...she was getting close now, only another block or two if that, “But i have some humans who i do trust and many of whom work at the shelter were visiting for your check up,” She looked down to see his eyes closed and breathing slow and steady, smiling and thrilled that the small one felt so safe with her.

She knocked on the entrance door of the still locked shelter, it was still well over 2 hours before they opened, “Maddy, come on in and lets get your friend looked at,” a large Pooka of a 6 ft. Rabbit, wearing dark grey pants, and a white lab coat open to reveal his fur covered chest, had opened the door and smiled at her as he let her in.

“Good morning Doc, i'm sorry to have you up and working this early,” She spoke as she walked through the door.

“Not to worry i was insuring some of the others were given their vitamins and medicine so by technical standards i was already working, so i doubt a quick look over of your little friend here would be too much trouble,” he closed and re locked the door behind maddy. He then held out a large soft gray paw.

Maddy blinked at it as if it were a foreign object or about to do a trick, then it dawned on her he wanted the Bitty, she glanced down at the Bitty, she set down her bags and gently rubbed his back as she did not really wanting to hand him over. And simply to stall for more time to hold him as well as not to startle the poor dear she then began to try and wake him.

“Cupid,” she whispered as she was rubbing his back, and unable to help it gently barely even running her hand over a large black wing, “We're here for your check up sugar skull.”

Doc having seen maddy interact with her Bittys before didn't even raise a brow at the pet name as he watched the seen play out.

“But i'm comfy here sweetheart, tell him to wait,” the bitty wined clutching her shirt fabric harder as he nuzzled the spot of flesh he was using as a pillow, he cracked open a eye and grabbed one of her fingers to cuddle almost like a teddy bear.

Doc couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.

“Cupid,” she was starting to feel a little silly now, especially with doc watching, “He is right here waiting, come on now,” she gently pulled him away feeling guilty as he flailed and flapped trying to get back to the warm and safe spot against her.

“H-hay come on Sweetheart, no need to be so gruff,” when he realised he wasn't going to get back to her comforting spot that way he clung to her hand even with his wings and looked up at her with a pout.

Maddy almost snapped him right back to her chest, she could almost feel her heartbreaking for making the small winged skeleton suffer, he just wanted to be close to her after all. Doc however took the opportunity to gently take the bitty from Maddy as if he were taking a wounded animal from a small sad child.

“Don't worry, i have you, and your in safe hands,”the Rabbit smiled his ora of a fatherly warm safe figure, but the cupid looked back at Maddy he wanted to go back to the warmth of the determined figure who didn't Need him...

“I appreciate it there pal. But big and burly aren't my type,” he spit back almost irritated at Doc's pink eyes back on Maddy with a pleading look in them, “Your not just leaving me here right? I mean, Y-your going to be here waiting right?”

Maddy could see he looked terrified, She looked up at Doc with wide eyes who just gave a slight nod already knowing what she was going to ask, “If you like i can come with you if you like while you get looked over, I won't even leave the room your in ok?” she wished she could comfort him more.

Cupid smiled looking relieved and a little more relaxed though not completely, “Thanks Sweetheart,” he allowed Doc to take him into one of the basic examination rooms, Maddy close by, as Cupid did his best to keep her in his sight insuring she was following.

Despite having to be stripped down to his little heart print boxers he kept trying to insure Maddy was still sitting in the chair in the room, leaning over to try and look past Doc, even after she had fallen asleep in the chair he still kept her in his sight.

Doc had given the Bitty a quick wipe down to insure there was no wounds being hidden by any of the dirt or grime, and even coaxed the bitty to drink a magic infused health shake to help replenish his low energy levels before finding the bitty a clean set of donated clothes that would fit him.

“Miss,” Doc started, about to place a large paw upon Maddy’s shoulder to help wake her when cupid interrupted him.

“N-no, it's fine.. I'll sit with her,” he was fixing the lapels on his new blazer jacket, admiring the handiwork, and admiring himself in a reflective surface at himself in the dark purple suit, and white shirt, thankful his shews still were decent though in need of a polish, impressed the large rabbit was able to find a outfit so close to one of the ones he used to call his favorites, though...Mistress didn't like it… he frowned at the memory before looking back over to Maddy. He hoped he could help make her happy, at least then… she wouldn't leave him to.

Doc was watching the Bitty and almost as if he sensed the turmoil within the smaller monster he spoke, “I'm sure she would love for you to sit with her as she rested, but she has a group waiting for her at home, a group i'm sure is worried over how long its already taken her to get home from her early errands,” the pooka smiled down at her, “She is one of the few humans i can honestly say i respect. She even made that outfit you're wearing, she donates toys and when needed she comes down and helps with some of our more… well “special” cases. She seems to do well with the scared or aggressive ones.”

“Is there a reason your getting so chatty about her?” he raised a brow at the rabbit, he was more than impressed with his human, she had the skill to make his outfit, but he didn't like how this rabbit seemed to know so much about her, just what was he to her?… wait.. His human? Crap focus Cupid focus...maybe the rabbit would be a good match for her? He did say he respected her, and from the interactions between the two they were obviously comfortable in the presence of one another.

“She is a Good human, she even kept mini who bit her, broke most of her things in a tantrum. She has Never abandoned a mini or bitty, not even bringing them to us unless they stated they didn't want her to keep them,” He looked over the sleeping form then back to the bitty, “Guess i'm just letting you know what your in for, She is a lifer, if you go with her willingly, and tell her you wish to stay there is very little you can do, that others haven't tried, or that she cant feel can be worked through. She will never toss you out. Now, how bout we wake her up?” He smiled at how the bitty was staring at maddy with a thoughtful expression but gave a nod.

Maddy gave a yawn as she walked out of the shelter, cupid sitting upon her shoulder.

“Any Chance i can get some smokes?” he asked lounging lazily upon her shoulder, winking at a passerby women who had locked eyes with him.

“Sure but when we get home please try to smoke outside, i don't want it around Button or the babies,” Maddy changed direction instead of heading home making her way to the bitty shop, sending Alpha a text of an apology for the time she took, and that she would be a while longer.

By the time she made it back to the apartment building, there was a steady stream of pink heart shaped smoke flowing behind her, her arms were hurting and she could hardly wait to lay back down to rest.

“So sweetheart,” he started before blowing a kiss at the white rabbit who sat at the reception office who seemed confused at the action and the bitty, “Wanna tell me how your normal day goes?” he had changed his wing to a much smaller size, which intrigued Maddy and had she not been exhausted she would have asked about it.

“Normally i wake up, Alpha has started making breakfast and gets me coffee… Benny our newest addition before you, he is a papy mini, he will fuss over the beds in the Smols room, Gnaw will eat his mustard, and King will have a bottle of milk while cuddling they both try and cuddle me while i try to drink my coffee, then they go off to take care of their little ones, Button he will often try to rush through eating to help with the babes. Stretch will be watching trash tv, and Benny well after breakfast… well he will sit beside me, or in my lap as i work, i don't know if he has fully ‘found’ his place in the pack just yet,” she bit her thumb wondering if she should go back to the mini center for some advice over it.

Cupid chuckled, “I asked about your day Sweetheart,” he smiled at her amused.

“Oh… uh… i get up… get coffee, snuggle some minis… eat something.. Get to work on orders after helping about the house, snuggle some more minis, take time for the house and run errands if i need it… wow i have no life outside the house now.. Huh..” she stopped now outside her door.

“From the sounds of it though you spend it among family, although there is a lot of them..” he seemed to be thinking, “so what all kinds are there?...Exactly?”

“Alpha is an AlphaDaddy, Stretch is a Pappy, Button is a Buttonbarry, and King, Gnaw, and Benny are all three minis, though king is a sans, Gnaw an Edge, and Benny a papy,” she listed them.

Cupid nodded thinking the list over, he wasn't personally familiar with Minis but if the names were a hint they were close to their Bitty counterpart he may be all right…

Maddy was just now turning the doorknob to enter the home, wondering with how little she actually did in the home how did anything get done? Did Alpha Do it all? She must be a terrible Bitty caretaker to never had questioned it before… but her body was to soar to allow the mind to question it farther as she walked in to get at least one step closer to sleeping.

#My found valentine #The-holiday-viruses #Maddy #Doc #Vincint #Cupid Bitty

27 notes · View notes

thrivingnotsurvivingwithgina · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Start Living When

I’ll Start Living When….

How many times do you say to yourself, “I’ll do what I really want when… I’ve finished the project… when I’ve got that next promotion… When I make Director… When I have become a multi-millionaire.”

How often have you missed a date with your significant other, or an important milestone in your child’s lives or thought I’ll make time to find my soul mate and true love once I am successful (on my terms) It is a very common pattern for many. Whilst it does have a positive impact on achieving your professional goals make no mistake such choices have a significant impact on your quality of life and your future emotional, spiritual and physical health over the long term.

One of the things many have found during the lockdown is that they have had the opportunity to review what is really important in life. However, it is all too easy to revert to old ways of thinking, acting and speaking. It would be a great shame if those who had recognised what was really important to them then lost sight of that newfound awareness as soon as life got busier.

In reality, we only have THIS MOMENT. The past has gone - nothing you do will bring it back. We cannot guarantee the future - I learned that lesson at 2pm on February 19th 1983 when I fell down a mountain whilst skiing. - Many have learned this lesson through their experience with Covid. The only thing we can all be sure of is this moment. Learning to live in the moment is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself.

There are three dimensions of time; the past, the present and the future. To live a healthy and productive life we need to balance living with all three. Let me explain what I mean.

The past has much to teach us. Indeed life often throws us the same experience - dressed up in a variety of guises until we learn the lessons. Let me give you an example. Why is it that so many people have one disastrous relationship after another? They choose the same type of people, behave in the same way and get the same results over and over again.

Once we learn the lessons the past offers us, the ingrained beliefs can be transformed and as a result the choices we make and patterns of our behaviour change. The past offers us all the opportunity to understand how what we believe drives how we behave. Learning how to behave differently is not as hard as you might think. Being open to the possibility is often all it takes to start the process. Understanding that everything we do or fail to do is actually a matter of choice moves the process on enormously.

If you stay stuck in the past, always looking back; either wishing that the present was good as the past has been or constantly regretting what has been and wishing things had been different and the best that the present has to offer remains unnoticed.

If your attention is always on the future, chasing the next goal, constantly striving for something just out of reach you miss the precious gift of the here and now. There is a danger that by the time you wake up to what is going on you will have missed out on so many potentially wonderful experiences. It that at that point that you are liable to find yourself retiring from work. I know so many people who focus so significantly on their work that they often have no personal interests, no one special to share their time with and no sense of who they are when they are not being the professional version of them. One of those people used to be me!

Getting the balance right is important, if you never give a thought to the future – to setting any goals or planning for future needs and how to protect them you are likely to fall short of fulfilling your potential growth and find yourself in difficulty, financially if nothing else.

There are many people who focus almost exclusively on the future and their goals both short and long term. They constantly defer living in the here and now as they are busy chasing the dream, which they believe will bring them happiness. Whilst they are busy chasing their dream they leave their significant others to manage as best they can. They are convinced that they are working hard to provide a good future for themselves and their loved ones. They often calculate the cost of a lost 'present' very differently to their partners and families.

In the ongoing struggle to achieve even more success, there is no time just to be… to stop and stare or to smell the roses. There are many people who have little idea how to relax and enjoy the moment. The concept is alien to them and they find it most uncomfortable. They see no reason why anyone would want to do it.

Here are my top ten tips to learning to live in the moment, they are designed to fit in with a busy schedule and are just a starting point, they may appear inconsequential but I know from personal experience and from the experience of the many clients who have also used them that when done regularly they start to have a profound and positive effect.

1) As you wake up each morning spend a couple of minutes breathing deeply. Breathe in deeply to the count of 2, hold it for 4 and breathe out to 4. As you breathe be conscious of exactly how each part of your body is feeling.

2) Tell yourself ( with real wellie! that you choose to be happy today and that you will find time to enjoy this day to the full. (Once past it is gone forever.) A state of happiness is actually your choice. To find out in more detail how see 'The Happiness Challenge' (link below)

3) As you take your shower or bath in the morning be conscious of how the water feels on your skin. Feel the temperature of the water and the sensation of the soap or shower gel on your skin. Contrast that with the roughness of the towel or the softness of your robe. Really focus on your senses and engage in the experience.

4) During the day stop and take a small amount of time to consciously notice your surroundings. Use each of your senses in turn, what can you smell or hear, look for the colour or texture of things around you. Be aware of how you are feeling. Even five minutes out of your busy day done on a regular basis will make a difference.

5) Smile, and make a conscious decision to make someone you pass in the road, corridor or lift - smile back. Be aware of how it makes you feel. If you are wearing a mask - smile with your eyes and set the intention in your mind that you are sending the other person a smile. It may sound crazy but intentions make a significant difference.

6) Create five small random acts of kindness during your day. They could be a simple as letting a fellow driver out of a side turning, making a cup of tea, phoning someone who is still isolating or opening the door for someone at the supermarket. Notice how it makes you feel.

7) Do something, which makes you smile or laugh each day. Be conscious of how you feel when you laugh.

8) Take the opportunity to observe an aspect of nature you look through the window, go for a walk, drive to the supermarket or travel to or from work. Look at the sky – see the cloud formation or look at how the trees are moving with the wind, look at the individual petals of a flower, or watch the raindrops making a pattern on the train window.

9) Set time aside within your busy timetable for you. Actively plan your time over a week or fortnightly cycle, some clients find it helpful to book a space in their diary - 'Meeting With Self'. Set aside time each week to enjoy some time simply 'being' - time to walk with no other intention than to enjoy it, or time to spend with your significant other.

10) Collect gratitudes during the day. Notice things to feel grateful for as you go through your normal day - make it easy. A hot shower, a nice cuppa, a comfortable chair, a call from a friend, the beauty of nature are some examples. The important thing is that you take time to notice and give thanks. Just before you go to sleep think of five things that you have been grateful for during the day. They can be as small or as significant as you choose.

May be it is time to start living now rather than waiting for your real “life” to begin once you have achieved whatever goals you have set yourself, the ideal weight, the perfect relationship, professional success or great wealth. The danger is that by the time you are ready to “live” you may be on your own or your health will have suffered in the mean time.

Here is a personal invitation to join me for a -'BECOME THE LEADER OF YOUR OWN LIFE' - VIP Day Intensive/s where you will learn how to let go of old limitations and step into the limitless possibilities which await.

For more details and to book go to:

https://ginagardinerassociates.co.uk/page_48.php?pgenme=leadership-for-life&nav_group=all

Further Resources:

'leadership For Life' Radio and TV Shows on W4CY live every Thursday at 6pm UK time 1pm Eastern

https://w4cy.com/shows/leadership-for-life/

Youtube Leadership For Life Playlist

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLR8ab6DHaK7nWQc2cG8WzJxnkD9_LUhqq

Books:

Thriving Not Surviving - The 5 Secret Pathways To Happiness Success And Fulfilment

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B074BPBLD3/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1

The Happiness Challenge

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B08BC1H4YS/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i3

Genuinely New -

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Genuinely-New-Discovering-Leadership-Identity/dp/B08J578F2P/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Genuinely+New+by+Gina+Gardiner&qid=1614862410&s=digital-text&sr=1-1

Articles:

Being Single And Happy

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/being-single-happy-gina-gardiner

If I'm Not My Job Who Am I?

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/im-my-job-who-am-i-gina-gardiner

#happiness #confidence #success

0 notes

parishxiv · 7 years ago

Text

Layers ⋉ Anberlin Parish

tagged by ⋉ @bhelni THANK

tagging ⋉ these are so late i have no idea who’s done it, but whoever is interested and hasn’t then TAG ME pretend i tagged you \o/

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: “I was born Anberlin Cen Parish, but,” she paused only to twirl her pen between her fingers, then said, “I would prefer Anberlin Rose Parish, and in other company, Anne Xanthe Rose, or Miss Rose.”

Eye Color: She pulled down her lower lid with her pinky. “Green.”

Hair Style/Color: “I am a redhead, as was my father, as was his father before him.” She said so quickly. “And ‘tis as their hair was, quite flat and lifeless, but I choose to keep mine long. ‘Twas sliced to my collar recently, though, so it must regrow.”

Height: A hand waved, rolling on the wrist. She never really claimed an exact height, and while she was quite tall in Eorzean company, she wasn’t startlingly so. Her varying heights of heeled shoes made her difficult to measure.

Clothing Style: She looked toward what was, to the untrained eye, a blank spot of wall. “I dress for the occasion, and oft overdress, I have been informed, which I find a bit silly. I dress well enough. I prefer thinks that are soft, that accentuate and flaunt, in rather bold colours.” She held out her hand. “Always gloves.”

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears:

“Everyone must know, mustn’t they?” She sighed theatrically. “Simply put, I am greatly afraid of the dark, the truly darkest dark and what morbid things live there. Nothing else.”

Your Guilty Pleasure: “Oh, this is so subjective! My father would claim my guilty pleasure must be sweets, but I am hardly guilty of confection affection. Silas might claim my guilty pleasure is likely handsome men, but he would be wrong, too. Another might insist my guiltiest pleasure is drink, but I do not indulge overly much. Someone yet might say ‘tis my studies, but I’ve no guilt for that.” She smiled and wagged her pen. “I will let you know.”

Your Biggest Pet Peeve: She paused to consider. “There are very many... Recently, however, the worst thing to top the list must be when someone, anyone, lays a hand upon my work. Particularly intricate, intimate, ambitious projects that they have no understanding of.”

Your Ambition for the Future: “Strength,” she immediately says. “Safety. I will make myself the safest place for me to be. Does that make sense? It makes sense to me, which is all that matters, really.”

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “Oh, why, that certainly does depend on where I have woken up,” she admitted bashfully. “I mean-- No, no, I cannot answer this truly. Lately they have been pleasant thoughts.”

What You Think About the Most: Tut-tut-tut. Her answer at first seemed to be merely a shake of her head, until she said, “My work is what primarily overtakes me, but... I do oft wonder of my brother, and my friends, those who are missing. I find myself guilty of such depressing trains of thought, you know the ones. What could I have done differently, and so on.”

What You Think About Before Bed: Her pen was twirled. “Work! Always work, of course.”

Your Best Quality Is: The laugh sounded more like a scoff. “My ambition, I think.”

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: “I...am not sure!” she admitted, pen tapping against her bottom lip. “I should enjoy a group date, I imagine, mayhap I will try such a thing someday.”

To be Loved or Respected: “Oh, certainly respected.” The answer came quick, but she lifted a hand. “Though to be loved is a treasure I would prefer never to lose, and so hard to label as secondary, but to be respected feels so necessary to life, you know?”

Beauty or Brains: She twiddled her thumbs. “Intelligence, of course, but, oh, I desperately wish I were beautiful.”

Dogs or Cats: “Dogs!” she clapped her hands. “I must say so, as my father raises hounds. Or...maybe cats? I am not used to pets, our hounds are not ‘dogs’ in that way as much as they are weapons or tools. I can not choose, really.”

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: More thumb twiddling. “If I need to, I will.” Her too-wide smile told that there may have been more lie than truth in that.

Believe in Yourself: Her thumbs were liable to fall off with all the twiddling. “If we are talking about my work, and engineering, oh yes, of course I do! I can craft anything asked of me, and you had best believe I will unearth only the greatest mysteries.”

Believe in Love: She sighed wistfully. “I certainly do now.”

Want Someone: She sat right on her hands, her pen discarded amid the thumb-twiddling early on, and she shrugged. “Of course I do. Maybe two. Mayhap three!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed, then laughed, shaking her head. “No, no, I am joking! But I do, I admit.”

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: Her pen retrieved and set to page, she hummed. “Does the academic stage count?”

Done Drugs: “One time,” she said scornfully, “and curse Miss D’shala for it, too, I refuse to touch such things ever again. ‘Twas not particularly exciting or enticing.”

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: She awkwardly smiled and waved a hand, the question left unanswered, but very likely, by her demeanor, the answer was yes.

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: “Red! No, green. Gold?” She looked up from the papers and at nothing in particular, then smiled softly. “Red. Dark red.”

Favorite Animal: “I am caught between a lion with a great mane and a stallion. I will say horses.”

Favorite Food: “’Tis a difficult thing to say for certain, but...” she wiggled, shifting in her seat, “fruits and tarts, I think, or they are at least near the top of the list. Do they... They do count as food, I imagine?”

Favorite Game: “I adore the dartboard, and gambling,” she said, hardly hiding a grin. “It seems either games to do with precision or luck are quickly my favourite, and I do tend to win.”

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: “The thirty-first sun of the sixth astral moon, with no celebration, as I normally do not inform anyone of the day.I prefer you do the same.”

How Old Will You Be: “Twenty-two! And not a moment too soon.”

Age You Lost Your Virginity: “Oooh, must you ask such a thing?” she cried, pen nearly tossed. “Hush!”

Does Age Matter: “Of course it does, for many things.”

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality: “This is far too difficult. Do people plan for these things?” Perplexed, she ran her hand back over her up-done hair. “I suppose I prefer someone-- someone wise, even if they do not seem so to others, someone a bit silly, but someone professional? This is the worst question of the lot.”

Best Eye Color: “You did not inform me there would be questions like this!” she exclaimed, woebegone. “How do I choose? I was wrong, this is the worst.”

Best Hair Color: “But they can all be so lovely! Ack, this one is certainly the worst of it.”

Best thing to do with a Partner: “Better.” She lifted her pen to her lip. “Travel, exploration, or simply enjoying their company, but I prefer to be about and doing things with a love at my side than lounging. Such is my curse.”

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: “Foolishly.” She paused. “No, pardon me. I love...those who I consider family. ‘Tis not foolish.”

I feel: “Right now? Er-- I feel hungry.”

I hide: She shook her head. “Ah-ah! If I told you where I choose to hide myself, ‘twould hardly be a good hiding spot, would it?”

I miss: Her gaze dropped to the floor. “My brother.”

I wish: “For a plate of tarts, to be honest,” she said, looked pointedly, then returned to her work.

#long post #oh my god thIS TOOK A THOUSAND YEARS BUT I DID IT #THANK YOUF OR THE TAG #NOW TO WORK ON THE REST #parishinfo #tagged

4 notes · View notes

lifeonashelf · 4 years ago

Text

CLASH, THE

As anyone who self-identifies as a “serious” music fan is indubitably aware (goddammit, this essay is already pretentious and I haven’t even finished the first sentence), there are certain bands which other self-identified “serious” music fans have long-ago designated as “important” artists that all “serious” music fans are supposed to love. There isn’t any set-in-stone mandate for this, no handy reference guide which lists all of these acts for the benefit of those seeking to become “serious” music fans—actually, there very well might be, but I don’t feel like looking it up and I wouldn’t want to read such a pompous list anyway. The artists in this elite pantheon are mostly identified through accumulated cognizance, via extensive reading of material scribed by writers who self-identify as “serious” music fans and/or extensive conversations with people who self-identify as the same. Unfortunately, uncovering those exalted names is an often-insufferable process, since most self-identifying “serious” music fans are themselves often-insufferable. And doing so is also an exercise in sheer inanity, since requiring someone else to tell you whether or not a band is good defeats the entire fucking purpose of being a music fan.

I am “not” a “serious” music fan. Yes, I have written over 200,000 words about that specific subject for this project, and my every waking moment is spent either listening to records or wishing I was listening to records instead of doing whatever it is I’m doing instead of listening to records. Yet there are two notable discrepancies in my psyche which disqualify me from thriving among the insufferable: 1) My favorite album of all time is by fucking Queensryche, so I harbor absolutely zero delusions about possessing any sophisticated expertise in this field; and 2) I honestly couldn’t give a shit whether or not anybody else likes the bands I like.

That second distinction is rather important for our purposes here, since one notable attribute of “serious” music fans is a deportment of haughtiness towards people who aren’t “serious” music fans, which is usually accompanied by a reflexive disdain for anyone who does not subscribe to the putative preeminence of the “important” bands on the afore-mentioned possibly-nonexistent list. This isn’t something the aficionados I’m speaking of will necessarily acknowledge—to be fair, most of them probably aren’t even aware they’re dicks—but rest assured, if you ever tell a “serious” music fan that you think Radiohead has been awful for the entirety of this century, they will indeed think less of you.

On the contrary, I don’t think less of people who don’t exalt Operation: Mindcrime as highly as I do, nor would I bother expending energy trying to convince anyone they should share my ardor for the second-best-selling album by a band most people barely remember even existed. If you love Operation: Mindcrime, that’s totally cool—we can certainly geek out on how Chris DeGarmo’s precise shredding throughout “Speak” reveals him to be the most underrated guitar player of all time, and we can rhapsodize about how the interlocked suite of “Breaking the Silence”/ “I Don’t Believe In Love”/ “Waiting for 22”/ ”My Empty Room” and “Eyes of a Stranger�� is the most exhilarating 18-minutes of music ever recorded (and it’s entirely possible I will ask you to marry me at the conclusion of our discussion). However, if you don’t love Operation: Mindcrime, that’s totally cool, too—maybe you simply prefer the band’s subsequent record, Empire, and I certainly won’t begrudge your attempt to make a case for its superiority based on the incontrovertible strength of “Silent Lucidity”, “Jet City Woman”, and “Another Rainy Night (Without You)”, because all of those tracks are also fucking marvelous. Or maybe you think Queensryche totally sucked and you’d rather chat about Animal Collective instead—seriously, that’s also perfectly acceptable (although our conversation will have to be fairly brief since I’ve still never heard that band and don’t really care that I’ve never heard them).

Needless to say, Queensryche probably isn’t on the shortlist of many music fans, serious or otherwise. They aren’t even on mine—despite the apex they reached with Operation: Mindcrime, the records they made before that are merely decent and I think pretty much everything they released after Empire is terrible. “Serious” music fans wouldn’t even mention such frivolous and undistinguished fare in passing. Though they will eagerly plunk down $200 for a Bob Dylan box set featuring 14 discs laden with endless alternate versions of the songs from Slow Train Coming, and they will subsequently embark on a thorough scholarly analysis of each increasingly redundant track until they reach a decisive verdict that Take 6 of “Man Gave Names to All the Animals” is slightly superior to the version that was used on the album, after which they will inevitably engage in spirited discussions about their findings with other “serious” music fans, who are liable to counter that Take 4 with the alternate bridge lyrics is the true superlative rendering of that number. Such things are deeply significant to “serious” music fans, which is one of the many reasons they’re insufferable. And if you were to inform these ardent votaries that you think the vast majority of Dylan’s recorded output is boring as shit and you’d much rather listen to anything in the Queensryche catalog than anything Bobby D released after 1975, they would readily conclude that you know absolutely nothing about music.

And perhaps I don’t. Because despite what every “serious” music fan has to say about the matter, Queensryche is infinitely more important to me than Bob Dylan. Operation: Mindcrime was the album that led me to pick up a guitar for the first time. Operation: Mindcrime was the album that led me to start writing songs and begin exploring my creative talents in earnest. Which means that, ultimately, Queensryche is the reason I’m sitting here at my laptop thirty years later, typing an essay about The Clash that has yet to actually say anything about The Clash. In a tangible and legitimate sense, Queensryche changed the course of my entire life. Out in the “serious” world, Dylan may be a Pulitzer Prize-winning lyricist and the most acclaimed musician of the 20th Century. But in my world, he’s just a dude who made three albums in my collection that I never listen to. So, clearly, importance is a subjective characterization.

Here’s where that applies to the topic at hand: The Clash are one of those lionized bands whose work everyone who professes to love music is supposed to love. They are undoubtedly “important.” Their records are “seminal.” I am acutely aware of this. Yet this awareness only reinforces my recognition that I must not be a “serious” music fan, because I don’t fucking care.

My valuation of The Clash tallies out to a half-dozen-or-so kickass tunes, twenty-or-so pretty good tunes, and “Rock the Casbah”, which is one of the most comprehensively annoying songs ever excreted—a ratio that doesn’t chart them anywhere on my personal best-list. A recent documentary about the group was outfitted with the ludicrously hyperbolic title The Only Band That Matters, a designation which suggests I have evidently squandered my entire life by seeking out the literal thousands of bands that matter a lot more to me than The Clash does. As with Dylan, The Clash only factors into my musical paradigm by virtue of other artists they influenced—in other words, I like most of the bands who like The Clash a lot more than I like the band they like. Since they’re “important,” this roster is extensive and encompasses a wide range of artists responsible for some of my favorite records ever. Nonetheless, even limiting my scope strictly to the track listing of Burning London—a 1999 tribute CD which features 12 Clash tunes covered by a decidedly anemic assortment of 12 bands who are not The Clash—I still enjoy listening to half of those bands more than I enjoy listening to the Clash. Which is, I think, a good indication of how little their music matters to me, since the only bands on Burning London I actually do prefer The Clash to include bottom-scraping pedestrians like The Urge, Indigo Girls, and goddamn No Doubt, whose very existence aggravates me so much that hearing their music makes me physically nauseous.

Afghan Whigs supplied a track to Burning London, and I love Greg Dulli’s work with parts of my soul that Joe Strummer’s songs have never strummed anywhere near. 311 also has a cut on there, and my fondness for them is far more long-standing and sincere than the casual appreciation I have accumulated for The Clash. So does Third Eye Blind, whose self-titled debut I’ve spun WAY more times than I’ve played my copy of The Clash, by a factor of at least 20. Even the presence of a more peripheral outfit like Cracker serves to remind me that I think “Low” rocks harder than “I’m So Bored with the U.S.A.” Sure, I like the Clash more than I like The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, but if I’m being honest, I probably prefer fellow Burning London contributors Silverchair to both of them, and Silverchair is kind of lousy by any standard.

So, does this confession reveal that I know fuck-all about music? Or does it perhaps reveal that the connections each of us forge to the artform we’re exploring here are so exclusive and individualized that any sort of flighty designation of what bands “matter” completely undermines the sacred and inimitable power of music? I propose the latter—mostly because I have to make this piece about something, and I don’t feel like writing about how awesome The Clash is because I don’t think they’re nearly as awesome as I’m apparently supposed to.

I have a friend named Celine (save it—she’s heard all the jokes) who would probably tell you that Fall Out Boy changed her life. She’s not a “serious” music fan—if she’s ever listened to The Clash at all, it likely occurred by happenstance while she was watching Stranger Things—but she is one of the most committed music fans I’ve ever met. She goes to a lot of shows, she buys hoodies from peripheral squads like Sleeping With Sirens, and she could probably sing you multiple Panic At The Disco records from start to finish. The kind of love she has for the bands that are important to her is of the purest and most zealous grade—a passionate embrace that pulls their music out of the background of her life and into the foreground of her heart, a fandom based not on what’s hip this minute but on what moves her always. Precisely the kind of love that music is fucking meant to inspire, as far as I’m concerned. And, frankly, I don’t think it matters if the band who opened that door for her is Fall Out Boy, because the open door itself is far more important that any capricious critical assessment of how “important” their work is.

The Clash have been sanctified as one of punk’s most imperative progenitors, but that doesn’t mean I feel obligated to love them simply because I love punk rock. The Clash had absolutely nothing to do with my submersion into the genre—a girl named Alison who used to play NOFX cassettes in her car when she gave me rides home from Bonita High School had a greater influence on that corollary than Mick Jones did. Alison had several tapes in the caddy she kept in her center console—Pennywise, Guttermouth, and the like—and we listened to all those, too. But it was NOFX’s masterwork Punk in Drublic that stole my heart, cuts like “Linoleum” and “Lori Meyers” and “Dying Degree” that energized my eardrums and unveiled a whole new biosphere of sonic possibilities. Punk in Drublic is the record that made me a fan of punk rock, which sort of makes NOFX the most important punk rock band of all time to me. And neither the lasting impact of that introduction nor the multitude of memories which augment my experience every time I listen to Punk in Drublic are tempered by the feeble insistence of self-appointed music scholars that The Clash and Sex Pistols represent proper punk essentiality, because in my universe The Clash is predominantly meh and the Sex Pistols are predominantly shit-awful.

But perhaps the problem here isn’t me. Maybe it’s just time to reassess the derisible notion that there have only been a handful of significant bands formed since the 1970’s. And maybe it’s also time to reassess how such designations are tabulated, and how often we revisit those tabulations. Because The Clash haven’t done anything especially noteworthy in my lifetime, and I’ve been around for 40 fucking years now. The last “important” record they made—1982’s Combat Rock—came out when I was 4. And despite the group’s repute as one of the wellsprings from which all things punk were born, the most enduring tracks off Combat Rock are the bare bones Kinks-esque rocker “Should I Stay Or Should I Go” (which, granted, is an unimpeachably rad song) and the utterly dreadful “Rock the Casbah”, which—near as my ears can tell—didn’t influence any of the songs in the NOFX catalog, but definitely influenced a lot of the songs in the decidedly un-punk Fine Young Cannibals catalog. The band was remarkable in their own epoch because of their anti-aristocracy philosophy and their then-novel fusing of punk and reggae, yet the lasting effects of those oft-cited dogmatic components are negligible today. Sure, The Clash lit a protest rock fuse that later motivated Rage Against The Machine to make some of the coolest music of the ‘90s, but they also accidentally invented Slightly Stoopid, so those two contributions probably cancel each other out. And, yes, they embraced vital social causes and pledged undying support to anti-Nazi groups, but the Dead Kennedys managed to issue a condemnation more blistering than The Clash’s entire combined catalog in just sixty-four seconds when they recorded “Nazi Punks Fuck Off”.

The fact that “Casbah” remains the band’s most lasting and highest-charting hit suggests that a whole lot of The Clash’s non-“serious” fans don’t ultimately give a shit about any of the reasons their “serious” aficionados have deemed them indispensable. Which sort of speaks to the point I’ve been making here. Cougars who scurry to the dance floor to shake their asses with their Solo cups held high whenever “Rock the Casbah” comes on at the club are just as welcome to the track as the Art & Activism professors who play it for an auditorium full of bored freshmen to preface their lectures on Iranian despots banning Western music. The song serves extremely different functions for both extremes of its audience, which is ultimately a point in its favor. The reason the omnipresence of “Casbah” irritates me, besides the song itself being irritating, is because its tedious one-riff groove showcases none of the band’s stronger attributes and the general goofiness of the presentation makes the whole affair resonate as nothing more than a frivolous novelty number—adopting “Rock the Casbah” as the anthem that defines The Clash is a lot like picking “Batdance” as the best Prince song.

All of this reads like I hate The Clash, which is definitely not the case (although, I am listening to Combat Rock from start to finish for the first time in ages right now, and most of the record is actually pretty terrible). What I do hate is the sort of stuffy snobbery which has come to predominate cultural discourse on any music that intellectuals have chosen to elevate into the category of high art, whether the subject is revolution-minded ‘70s proto-punk or contemporary socially-conscious hip-hop (which has become the genre du jour of all modern pop music critics striving to prove how woke they are). And maybe my aversion doesn’t apply exclusively to the deification of bands; maybe it stems from my tenure in grad school, where I was continually reminded by English professors that authors like Stephen King and Elmore Leonard—i.e. writers whose work people without PhDs enjoy reading—somehow belong in a lesser tier than the likes of William Faulkner and James Joyce, who are deemed superior by the literary elite simply because they have been elected into canonization by that same literary elite. Maybe I’ve grown to believe that making distinctions between so-called “high” and “low” art is inherently an act of arrogance, because no matter how much activity a piece of prose or music may inspire in the minds of the cognoscente, it is the impact art has on our hearts and souls that should govern how its importance is measured. Some of us find the same rich tapestry of storytelling in back issues of Amazing Spider-Man as “serious” readers find in The Dubliners. And some of us find the same door-opening revelations in Operation: Mindcrime as “serious” music fans find in London Calling. Highbrow culture’s continued insistence that there is somehow a marked disparity between the two is false and exclusionary—and both of those sins are egregious because all art is most powerful when it serves a mirror that reflects truths within ourselves, and that kind of existential revelation is wide open to anybody who cares enough to seek it out. Any band whose music accomplishes a feat that outstanding doesn’t need to have a graduate thesis or a documentary devoted to them to be important.

If The Clash changed your life, I’m very happy for you. But Fall Out Boy changed Celine’s life, and Queensryche changed mine, and The Clash never did shit for either one of us. So, while I’m sure someone gave themselves a huge boner when they came up with the title The Only Band That Matters, an allegation like that only serves to deepen the divide between the insufferable and us lower-echelon fans who cultivate our love of music based on what it makes us feel instead of whether smart people think it matters or not. Because when you strip away politics and history and erudite mammon, there’s only one way to gauge the eminence of any band: fucking put on one of their records and see if it kicks your ass.

The Clash’s albums offer me sporadic moments of excitement, but they do not kick my ass. So if that means I’m not a “serious” music fan, I guess I’ll just have to learn to live with that. And I’ll take the $200 I’m not spending on some otiose Bob Dylan box set and buy 14 discs I’ll actually listen to instead. I may never find out whether Take 11 of “God Gave Names to All the Animals” is superior to Take 8, but I do know every word Geoff Tate wails on “Breaking the Silence”—and, goddammit, that should count for something.

March 11, 2019

0 notes