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lieblingspulli · 1 year

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Sunset Tears: SKZ

W/c: 2.4k

Hyunjin x Fem Reader

Summary: Confessing your feelings to someone is super duper, incredibly, terribly hard. Especially when that person is a blockhead and literally does not have a brain.

A/N: I’m not even going to lie to you, the Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack heavily inspired me for this one. Especially the song: You’re in Love even though it's like a minute long. Also the songs, Here with Me by d4vd and Let You Break My Heart Again by Laufey. Yes, I know, it's so sappy haha. Enjoy!

*Use of some profanity, not excessive.

Masterlist!

SKZ Masterlist

“Yah! Hwang Hyunjin!”

The poor man nearly fell out of his seat as you yelled at the top of your lungs.

“How could you forget our date?” You entered the apartment and didn’t even bother to kick off your shoes like he preferred you to. Hyunjin looked up at you with bewildered eyes. Then, the realization hit him.

“Wait- I can explain-”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Hyunjin. You left me at the park entrance for an hour. I thought you were coming!” You were almost yelling. He quickly got up and tried to reach for you but was denied when you turned your back on him.

“Forget it. I’m going home. You’re lucky I even came here.”

“Wait, Y/N-”

“No Hyunjin. I just need to go.” You locked eyes with him and hoped that your depressing face would at least hurt his feelings a little. He stood in disbelief, almost unsure how to react to the whole thing. Quickly turning, you muttered, “I can’t believe you,” and slammed the door behind you, leaving Hyunjin speechless and frankly upset too.

Thinking back, all those moments you waited for him were pointless. The way you stood outside like an idiot for an hour today, showing up way too early to his concerts, giving him unnecessary things like paint and pictures. All of it was a waste. You had been trying so hard to show him you had feelings for him ever since he stated that he liked when people showed their feelings in actions. Well, too bad he was a literal blockhead.

You sighed and continued your walk out of his apartment complex. You weren’t sure if you were glad or angry that he didn’t follow you out. For a brief moment, you considered calling someone but the thing was- Hyunjin was your best friend.

All you wanted at that moment was to tell him how you felt. You felt hot, stinging tears threaten to fall from your eyes and a heavy lump in your throat. You felt embarrassment at even trying to go for a guy like him. He was perfect in every way.

Even though he always complained about being “bitchless” and “having no game,” he still attracted so many people. You laughed at the memory of Hyunjin sprawling on the grass at the park and uttering those words. He was handsome, creative, so empathetic to your struggles, he made an effort to know everything about you and even came to you when he struggled. Endless efforts seemed to be wasted for a girl like you. You felt average. What could you give to your best friend that he didn’t already have? Right now, it seemed like he had rocks for brains so maybe that, but otherwise- he had everything he could ever want. You wiped your tears away and sped up your pace, hoping that you could reach your apartment before nightfall.

Today was supposed to be your picnic at the park with him, but you had waited at the agreed meeting spot for over an hour before deciding to call it quits. He agreed to bring paints and paint with you at sunset, but he never showed. And it wasn’t his first time bailing out on you too. You were just about done with it all. This made you angrily stomp up the stairs.

The sun continued to dip under the skyline as you made it to your front door. Living on the top of a building, you could see the entire city skyline spread out before you. Hyunjin once mentioned he loved this view and really wanted to paint it sometime, to which you suggested the picnic and he had happily agreed.

You stopped to watch the sunset as you thought of all the times you made the effort to show him you really cared. Leaning on the rail, you watched the vibrant hues of pink and orange highlight the sky then turn into deeper shades of violet and blue. The rate of this transformation comforted you, reminding you that things change and life goes on. Feeling a little less shitty, you unlocked your front door and dropped all your stuff next to your bed. At least your bed would always be there for you.

You must have fallen asleep, you realized as you woke up. Your head felt heavy and your throat was swollen from crying. Loud bangs on your door reminded you why you even woke up in the first place. Ughhhhh. You thought of the fact that you had work tomorrow. Even though your boss might get mad, you resolved to just call off. More loud bangs.

“Hold on, I’m coming!” You managed to yell before shivering and pulling on your thickest hoodie. You almost tripped on the picnic basket on your way to the door.

You peeked out the door peephole. It was that asshole. Oh my god.

Without even opening the door, you yelled, “What are you doing here at..” You looked at the clock. “Hyunjin, it's 3 in the damn morning!” You continued to observe him through the peephole.

“I know, I’m so sorry Y/n. I came to apologize.” He seemed to be holding a convenience store bag in his hands as he shifted his weight nervously from one leg to another one. You took him all in. His hair was disheveled. He seemed out of breath. His hoodie was wrinkly. He was gripping his phone and a flashlight in one hand, and the bag in another. He just looked worried. You sighed and repressed that lump in your throat again. You spoke again. “Hwang, you better have a good reason to show up at my door at 3 in the morning.” You struggled to get out the last words, tears threatening to ruin your voice. Clearly, you were not handling this very well. Hyunjin thought carefully before speaking again.

“Y/n. I am so sorry. Can you open the door? I just want to talk about this.” He stared at the sky and took a deep breath. “I’m such an asshole, but can you please just give me like a minute?” You closed your eyes and banged your head on the door. Hyunjin jumped from the sound.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” He took a step closer to the door.

You swung the door open and hugged yourself, leaving him to continue what he was saying.

To your surprise and some would even call horror, Hyunjin set down the things he was carrying and got down on his knees. “Hyunjin- wait-” You reached out and he put a hand up to stop you. “No, I am doing this and you can’t stop me.” He dramatically said.

“Oh my god, you’re crazy.”

“I know.” He chuckled and settled onto the heels of his feet.

“Y/n, I am so very sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to leave you by yourself. I didn’t know how much that would hurt you and I never want you to feel like that again. I brought you your favorite green tea in hopes that you would accept my apology.” He looked up at you with puppy eyes. The tip of his nose was red from the cold.

“Hyunjin, this is ridiculous. Please get up.” You retorted.

“Not until you reply to my apology.” He firmly held his position.

You shivered. “At least come inside. It’s so cold out here,” You tried to entice him. Despite his firm position, Hyunjin immediately grabbed his items, got up and ran through the door. You just scoffed,closed the door behind you and turned on the bedroom lamp. Hyunjin stood awkwardly, not knowing whether to put the bag down or to hold it. You gestured to the table and he gently placed it down.

You both stared at each other, not knowing who should speak first. “Hyunjin-”

“Y/n-” He laughed and scratched his head. You just sat down on your messed up bed and blushed. You hated how he still got you worked up, even after messing with your feelings. You hated how inconsiderate he was, even though he had no idea what he did to you.

“You go first.” He flatly said. You were unsure of what to say.

“I don’t really know how to say this but what you did hurt my feelings Hyunjin,” you started softly. With a deep breath to keep the tears at bay, you continued. “You’re so confusing. You say you like actions and acts of dedication, but when I do it, it seems like you are blind.” A couple seconds of silence. “I always put so much effort into seeing you. You’re so important to me, I don’t know how else to say it.” You stared at your cat socks. Suddenly you were blushing and the floor was much more interesting than his face.

“Y/n?” Hyunjin whispered. You looked at him, searching for anything in his expression. All you got was confusion staring back at you.

“First of all, discounting the emotional implications- how could you leave me out there multiple times?” You struggled to find the words that screamed, how could you not care about me that much? How could you? You wiped a tear away. Hyunjin reached up to wipe it away for you but he refrained.

“I’m so sorry Y/n. I don’t know what came over me. You are so important to me. I’ll never do it again, I promise.” His answer didn’t satisfy you. How could he be so thickheaded? How could he blatantly ignore your feelings? You wanted to scream. Men.

“Can you say anything else than I’m sorry?” You whispered at him. He took a step towards you.

“Y/n, I-” He caught himself before continuing.

“You really must be stupid then.” You scoffed and covered your mouth with your palm in disbelief. Hyunjin dropped his gaze and stared at his face.

“Y/n, I thought you liked someone else. I didn’t show up because I was overthinking about how you could possibly still hang out with someone like me.” He raised his head and searched your eyes. You laughed and cried.

“Hyunjin, you’re so stupid.” Laughter took over your body. Hyunjin was very confused by this yet he continued.

“I thought you liked Felix! I was jealous,” He pouted. “I really was pitying myself Y/n. I thought I lost you!” He frantically tried explaining. You just groaned.

“Oh my god Hyunjin, you actually have rocks for brains! I like you! Dare I say, even I love you.” You stood up and faced him. There was a strange feeling in your stomach. Whether it was nervousness, fear or excitement, you couldn’t tell. “Hwang Hyunjin, why do you think I waited for a whole hour? I showed up to your concerts and held up ridiculous Hyunjin signs! I organized a paint and picnic sunset date for god sake!” You emphasized. He was at a loss for words. Your face felt hot from blushing and being angry at the same time. His ears got red as he connected the dots.

“Wait, so you don’t like Felix?” He questioned you. You sighed in annoyance.

“No, Hyunjin. I do not like Felix.” You chuckled and shook your head. A smile quickly formed on his face.

“So that means? -”

“Yes, Hyunjin. I like you. I always have. And probably always will.” You looked at him expectedly. He covered his face, probably from the embarrassment of this whole misunderstanding. You peeled his hands back.

“Can I hug you?” You softly asked. It was almost like begging. He gazed at you softly and nodded. The impact from the two of you crashing together nearly took your breath away.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” you whispered.

“Me too.” He said, his voice muffled by your hair. He squeezed you and you felt his chest contract. Was he crying?

“Please tell me you like me back. I said it like twice,” you laughed into his chest and rubbed his back to comfort him.

“I am so incredibly sorry Y/n. I spent so long pitying myself, I didn’t realize that you were showing me this whole time.” He sniffled. “Of course I like you. I’ll always like you, even more than Felix could ever like you.” You laughed and sniffed back tears.

“You’re ridiculous. Oh my gosh.” He pulled away and smiled through his tears. You caressed his face and wiped a tear away. “Always for the theatrics now, aren’t we?” You smiled and he nodded.

“I can’t help it. The woman I love said she likes me back.”

“Hey, I said it first, so technically you said you liked me back.” You continued to gently hold his cheek. He leaned into your hand and kissed your palm.

“Hyunjin?”

“Yea?”

“I forgive you.”

“Thanks.” He laughed and sniffled again. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered, as if someone might hear.

“Yea you big baby. Kiss me” You quickly responded before leaning in.

The moment his lips met yours, you knew he always liked you. You knew he had been waiting for this all along. You felt the softness of his lips and the way he was so gentle with yours. You felt his emotion and desperate hope that you would return his feelings. You leaned in and wrapped your arms around his neck, almost knocking him over. He smiled and held you strongly, happy to oblige the deeper kiss. All the pent up frustration left you as you held your eyes closed and smiled into his kiss. He pulled away, breathless, and said, “I love you Y/n. You don’t have to say it back right now but I want you to know I really do.” He leaned his forehead against yours.

“I love you too. Just don’t ever leave me high and dry like that again.” You sternly said. With a devilish grin, he attacked your lips with his, ready to never let you go. You were content to oblige.

#SKZ #Straykids #Straykids x reader #Hyunjin #Hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #Bangchan #chan #changbin #leeknow #lee minho #Felix #Han Jisung #Seungmin #Jeongin #I.N.#Lovestay #you make stray kids stay #Good night!

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dramatically-anime · 2 years

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Mental Health & Monsters | Sweet Home

What Up Nerds?!

I’m here today with a blog on the Korean Drama Sweet Home. This is an in-depth analysis on how the drama portrays mental health!

I had started this drama when it released and I remember really liking it. I can’t really tell you why I stopped watching it. I stopped at about episode 2 or 3. I think it was just because I wasn’t in a good mind set at the time. Which is a theme for this blog! (If you couldn’t already tell by its title) This drama hit home in a way I didn’t think possible for a monster movie. It became a drama I related too and now hold very dear to my heart.

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Title: Sweet Home

Genre: Horror

Country: South Korea

Episodes: 10

Platform: Netflix

Release: December 18, 2020

Cast: Song Kang, Lee Jin-wook, Lee Si-young, Lee Do-hyun, Kim Nam-hee, Go Min-si, Park Gyu-young, Go Yoon-jung

Trailer:https://youtu.be/7rI56NmD33Y

Plot:

An epidemic begins to plague Korea that doesn’t seem to stop. No one knows it’s origins or how to stop it. People begin turning into monsters and killing off the population. Residing at the Green apartments take a stand in a way to survive. One teenager, Cha Hyun-su, is infected but hasn’t turned yet. Could he be the groups last hop of survival?

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*trigger warning: I am going to be talking about mental Heath and suicide. While it’s not graphic or totally in depth, if that’s something that triggers you, please feel free to skip this blog. I’ll see you in the next one.

*There is also a spoiler warning for those who haven’t watched it or haven’t finished watching.

This drama is a must see in my opinion. The way it handles mental illness is very creative and new for me. Portraying mental health in media is such a fine line. It’s hard to say what’s good representation and what’s bad. A lot of the times, however, it is shown on the bad spectrum. Then, most zombie movies are just outbreaks because some government decided it was nice to make a bio weapon. Or there’s just some random virus. But what’s happening here in Sweet Home is completely different.

Most of the time when we look at suicidal depression, we see stories that lead up to the suicide or are seeing the after affects of suicide. Shows like 13 reasons why are a good example. When a character shows up in the media that someone can relate to due to the illness they have and want to see a happy ending too, but in the end they just see them die. Or characters that are already dead and gone They are given this picture that there is no hope. That they are beyond saving. And when the portrayals of them are just painting them as a stain on society, what message does that send? Bringing light to these situations is important, but when they do more harm than good, what’s the point?

Cha Hyun-su is our light in the dark. He is a teen who is struggling hard with suicidal depression. With flashbacks we see that he was severely bullied and isolated from his classmates. This lead him to self harm and eventually isolate himself from the rest of the world. His parents are unaware of what’s going on, or choose not to care by how his father acts, and can’t seem to figure out why he became a recluse. One day he goes on a car trip with his family that only stared an argument. During which a truck hits the car and Hyun-Su becomes the sole survivor. He’s stricken with grief, but also holds some envy as he was not the one to die. His depression has many layers and isn’t cause by one sole incident.

When dealing with self harm in a show, most of the time we see it happen. Or it’s heavily referenced to the point of nausea. It basically becomes trauma porn. This drama, however, does this beautifully. His self harm is referenced. Every so often we see his scars and then in a school flash back we see him with a box cutter in the school bathroom. We know what he’s done, but it’s not overly shoved in our face. It’s tastefully done. One scene that really stands out is when he’s sitting down and his inner demon drags its hand over the scars. It’s using that as a tool to control him. And I think that was genius.

Speaking of inner self, the portrayal of the “monster” and the depression he holds is just an evil version of himself. The voice he hears and the image he sees is a black eyed version of himself. When we talk about inner demons it’s not some dark demented thing. Often times we look in the mirror and see someone different. We are fighting ourselves and this can’t be more true. I’m speaking from experience. You fight your own thoughts. This has been used in media before to represent illness, but it works. And for how this plot goes about explaining the illness, it kicks it up a notch.

Some of the monsters of the show are manifestations of peoples trauma and illness, but not all. Hyun-su keeps his “monster” at bay by talking to it. The evil version of himself tells him that he can give up and live as a monster, but Hyun-su didn’t call for it and stabs his reflection. This is the pivotal moment where Hyun-su reclaims his desire to live and find meaning. He doesn’t have some romanticized way of overcoming his depression. He fights for it and it takes him a while. The first step of his recovering was wanting to save the children. Then everything spiraled form there.

Something else that I want to touch on is the evolution of self harm. Most of the time when we think of self harm, it’s just cutting. Sweet Home goes a step further. We see Hyun-su jumping at the chance to be put in danger for the betterment of the group. He can’t really die and he just heals fast. So why not be the one to venture out. This becomes his way of giving his existence meaning, this another way to self harm. Wanting to make yourself useful to others is a form of depression as well. There is no set form of self harm or depression and this is something that the series should be praised on the depiction of multiple forms.

This is something that I can relate to as well. While I never cut myself or tried any form of suicide, I put my self at risk for the sake of others. I pushed through being extremely sick just to work because I knew we were short staffed. I took everything on at work and rarely asked for help. My health was already not the best due to the conditions that I had, but overworking myself and not stopping was doing the most harm. My blood pressure skyrocketed and I was so stressed that I didn’t know what to do. I became sicker, but I told myself that this was good. At least I wasn’t at home laying in bed and doing nothing with my life. I told myself this was my purpose. I never really took the time for me. It was always about work and other people. Being dedicated to something or someone can be good, but you also have to take care of yourself and realize when it’s destroying you. It took me a long while to realize that I had to step back and think of me. It took me until a few months ago for me to stand up for myself and start thinking of myself again.

What’s beautiful is that no one saves Hyun-su from his illness. No one is holding his hand and they don’t pitty him. It’s not done magically. He learns how to grow with it and live on. Eun-yu holds him accountable for his actions telling him that he got hurt because of his choices. This ain’t victim blaming. Hyun-Su has never stood up for himself, but he needs too. The first step to recovery is seeking help, which is something he hasn’t done. Both know that he resents being put in danger, but he doesn’t have the voice to say so.

Depression is something that I’ve been dealing with for quite some time. And it has varying reasons. While I had a support system in my family and some people that came and went, it wasn’t enough. Others can only do so much. I had to be the one to make the choice to get better. To keep going. To find the light I needed myself. There was no soulmate to pull me from the dark. No one to hold my hand. Hyun-su made his choice to keep going just like I did. He had a bit of tough love from Eun-Yu, but everything was his doing.

The drama ends beautifully with Hyun-su making the decision to live for both himself and his new family. He begins to give into his monster side as a way of accepting his pain and depression as part of him. He’s stopped by Du-Sik who tells him that it’s alright. The burden of people’s deaths is not his. His want to live creates something painfully beautiful.

It’s dramas like these that keep me coming back. It’s so easy to just see something for what it is on the surface. A zombie apocalypse drama in this case. But when we step back and try to see the messages it’s trying to convey and lessons it’s trying to teach, that’s when the true magic happens. And so often I think these are missed because we just want to see the next big drama. We build ourselves with all this hype and then get disappointed when we don’t think it meets expectations. We don’t take the time to pay attention and find the details that make it special.

So my homework to people who have made it this far in the blog. Watch a drama for what it is. Not for the hype. Step back and pay attention to the nuances of the drama. Find what it’s trying to tell you. It’ll help you appreciate the artwork in front of you more than if you were just watching for entertainment.

#sweet home #dramaticallyanime #mental health and monsters #sweethome

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freddie-weaselbee · 3 years

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A Whole New World//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst to fluff, symptoms of depression, mentions of depression, minor character death (only mentioned), language, honestly it’s really cute once you get into it trust me

Summary: “Do you trust me?” After constantly pestering Y/N and finally making her explode with anger, Fred decides to try to make her smile again, in the most extravagant way possible.

Word Count: 4.4k

Song: A Whole New World from Aladdin

A/N: Apparently I’m a sucker for the astronomy tower I didn’t even realize until I wrote this that it takes place in the same place as my last fic, but oh well. Also I would literally sell my soul to be able to reenact this with someone, preferably Fred. Also also I’m making a taglist so message me if you wanna be on it!

The astronomy tower was one of your favorite places to visit when you were upset. Something about the way the infinite number of stars continued to shine down made you feel more at peace. It made you believe that maybe there was a plan for everything, and it would all work out eventually.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to spend most of your recent nights watching the sky glimmer with specks of light. The past few months had been hard on you, and you felt an increasing need to escape as much as you could. Your friends noticed, but they didn’t know how to help. You were usually so upbeat and happy, always helping others rather than being vulnerable enough to admit that you needed some help yourself. Which is why you would spend hours each night, alone with your thoughts and dejection.

Tears rolled down your eyes as the events of the day came back to you.

It took everything you had just to get out of bed. Your dorm mate had tried to wake you up several times, but she eventually gave up and allowed you to rest a little longer. You rolled onto your side and stared at a picture that was hanging on the wall. It was a family picture from years ago, when you were just a little gap toothed girl. Your mom was holding you in her arms and your dad had his arm wrapped around your mom’s shoulder. There was only one other person in the picture, but it hurt your heart too much to look at the old man smiling down at little you.

After letting a few tears lose, you decided to start your day a couple hours late. You had a Potions exam that you needed to do well on, or else your dreams of becoming a Healer would be a lot harder to achieve.

You rolled out of bed and put on your uniform followed by fixing your hair and putting on some light makeup. You used to put a decent amount of effort into how you looked, wanting to practice your eyeliner skills and try out new hairstyles. But recently it just seemed like too much work for no reward. The bags under your eyes remained visible as you walked to your Potions class.

The day didn’t get better.

You skipped lunch and decided to take a nap instead. You curled up in your bed and shut your eyes tight, trying to calm the anxiety that was racing through your body. Your mind began to wander and you started wondering what your friends were doing at the moment, and if you were missing out on something fun. You wanted to join them and be a part of whatever was happening, but you just didn’t have the energy to get out of bed. It wasn’t until you were forced to get up for your next class that you left the silence of your room.

Transfiguration was a class you had with most of your friends, which made it difficult for you to avoid questioning.

“Y/N, where were you during lunch today?” your friend asked. She seemed concerned, but didn’t know what to say to the sulking mess who was usually so lively and energetic.

You shrugged and gave a forced smile. “Just tired, didn’t get much sleep last night.”

She nodded, not believing you but figuring that you weren’t going to tell her the truth any time soon.

You turned your attention to McGonagall’s lecture, but you were distracted almost immediately with a balled up piece of paper that landed on your lap. You looked around the room before making eye contact with Fred Weasley, who gestured for you to open the note.

You did and scoffed at the message scrawled in messy handwriting.

‘Hey love, you’re looking a little glum today. How about spending the night in my dorm and we’ll see if I can make you feel better? ;)’

Normally you would’ve playfully flirted back with the ginger troublemaker, but you weren’t in the mood today. You hadn’t been in the mood in months.

Shaking your head you crumpled up the paper and let it fall to the ground. It wasn’t long before another one landed on your desk.

You rolled your eyes and you opened this one.

‘C’mon, don’t be so grumpy. You know you want me.’

This letter you ripped up, letting the scraps dramatically spill all around you. If there was one thing Fred wasn’t good at, it was reading the room. You just wanted to focus on the lesson and spend the rest of your night alone in your dorm.

A third letter hit you in the back of your head. You almost turned around and screamed at Fred, but instead you picked up the note and sat in on your desk. You didn’t want to give Fred the satisfaction of opening the letter, but your curiosity got the best of you. And of course with your luck it all blew up in your face. Literally.

A small explosion came from the letter the second you opened to read it, painting your face a scorched black and singeing the ends of your hair. You didn’t even have time to react before you were being yelled at by your favorite teacher.

“Miss Y/L/N!” McGonagall was glaring at you down the bridge of her nose, giving you a look that she only reserved for the worst troublemakers. It made you feel like shit. “Detention, tomorrow night for disrupting my lesson. Please keep your antics to yourself next time.”

“But professor--” She interrupted you by putting her hand up.

“Don’t argue, Miss Y/L/N. Tomorrow night.”

Your face fell and you buried your head in your hands, trying to hold back sobs that were rising in your throat. As class ended you gathered your things and practically sprinted out of the room, ignoring the cries from your friend.

You didn’t get too far before you were spun around by large hands that gripped your shoulders. Fred was towering over you, a proud grin spreading across his face as if he had just won the lottery.

“You should’ve seen your face, darling, absolutely priceless.”

He reluctantly let go of you as you struggled in his hold, avoiding eye contact with the boy. “I don’t want to talk to you right now Fred, I just want to go to my room.”

“You’re in your room all the time!” he exclaimed. He wasn’t wrong. “Just lighten up a little and take a joke.”

You sighed and began to walk back to your dorm, ignoring his complaints.

“C’mon, Y/N, who died and made you all depressed?”

That was it.

You spun around and came storming back toward Fred, who now looked as though he regretted ever saying anything. “Do you really want to know Fred? Do you really feel the need to relentlessly bother me when it’s painfully obvious that I don’t want to talk to you?”

You had backed him into a wall and he was holding his hands up in defense.

“Today has been awful. I could barely get out of bed this morning, and the only reason I did was because I had a Potions test, which I likely failed! I have no motivation to do anything, which means I go to my room and miss out on everything fun, which only makes me more upset.”

Tears were streaming down your face as you screamed at Fred, all of your pent up anger finally coming out.

“And not that it’s any of your business, Frederick--” you poked his chest as you said his full name, something you only did when you were mad at him, “--but my grandpa died and made me all depressed. Three weeks ago. And I’ve felt like absolute shit ever since. So please, for the love of Godric just leave me alone for two fucking minutes!”

Fred’s face was adorned with a shocked expression, which softened immediately. You hadn’t told anyone about your grandpa, not wanting to deal with pitiful glances being thrown your way. Fred had no idea that you were going through so much, and seeing you finally break because of him broke his heart.

But you didn’t give him any time to respond before you turned on your heel and marched back to your room, feeling worse than you had ever felt in your life.

You knew it wasn’t Fred’s fault. You had chosen not to tell anyone about what you were going through, and you assumed he was only trying to lighten your spirits. However with everything that had been going on you needed some time to think and deal with your emotions on your own. It was the only way you knew how.

Your thoughts were interrupted by someone behind you clearing their throat. You turned your head to see the outline of a tall ginger boy, standing at the top of the astronomy tower stairs.

“What do you want Fred?” Your voice cracked as you spoke and you quickly turned to stare at the sky again, hoping your friend wouldn’t be able to see how upset you were.

When you didn’t hear a response you spared another glance behind you, but Fred was gone. You stood up and looked around. Surely he wouldn’t just appear out of nowhere and then disappear seconds later. You leaned against the railing of the tower, the only thing separating you from the endless night sky.

A scream erupted from your throat as something rose up to face you, hovering in the air. Fred was standing eye level with you, but he was...floating?

“How are you…”

You looked over the edge and gasped at the sight before you. Fred was standing on a large carpet that he must’ve snagged from the Gryffindor common room. From the looks of it, it had been enchanted to fly and it was doing a fine job of fulfilling its duties.

Fred laughed at your surprised expression as he reached a hand out. You stepped back, still wanting to be alone for the time being. But maybe you had been alone for long enough.

“What is this Fred? What’s going on?”

He didn’t respond, but rather moved closer and stretched his hand out a little farther. “Do you trust me?”

The whole scene reminded you of your favorite movie, which had just come out last year. You remembered watching Aladdin with your grandpa, memorizing every song and occasionally singing or humming the lyrics once you returned to Hogwarts. There was no way Fred’s actions were coincidental, he had to have planned this.

No matter how upset you were, you weren’t going to give up the chance to reenact one of your favorite movie scenes, so with hesitation you grabbed his hand and wobbled onto the magic carpet that was hovering hundreds of feet in the air.

“You ready, love?” Fred’s voice was calm and soothing, so unlike his normal persona. You gave him a tiny smile and nodded, holding onto the tassels of the rug for dear life.

Fred nodded back and scooted closer to you. “Hold on tight princess.” You grabbed his right arm and squeezed, letting him know you were ready to go.

With a flick of his wand the carpet took off and you were suddenly flying through the cool night air at racing speeds. You’d ridden on a broom before but this was something completely different. This time didn’t have to worry about working your core to stay on or try to ignore the uncomfortable position you were in. With this, you could just breathe and take in the moment.

Fred looked over at you and grinned as he saw your amazed face. You closed your eyes and put your hands out, letting yourself be overcome with the feeling of soaring through the air. Without warning the carpet jerked to one side, causing you to scream and grip back onto Fred’s arm.

“What was that for?” you exclaimed. He laughed and tried to pry your arms off of him, choosing to wrap his arm around your shoulder instead.

“Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. Now are you ready?”

You looked at him quizzically, wondering what else he could have in store for you. Fred cleared his throat and you saw a small blush appear on his face. He took in a deep breath and did something you never expected Fred Weasley to do.

He started singing.

“I can show you the world, shining shimmering--why are you laughing at me?!” You were bent over into his chest, heaving with laughter at his display. It’s not that he was a bad singer, on the contrary in fact. But you had definitely not expected him to start singing A Whole New World while you were flying across the Hogwarts grounds on a literal magic carpet.

“I’m--I’m s-sorry Freddie,” you choked out through laughs, “it’s v-very nice. Fantastic job!”

He could hear the sarcasm dripping from your voice and he put on a faux glare. “Y/N, I did not listen to you sing this bloody song every single day and memorize all of the words simply from paying attention to your voice for you to not be my Jasmine and sing back.” He crossed his arms and huffed and your giggles slowly died down.

You felt a blush appear on your face as you realized how much effort he had put into this. Memorizing the entire song from only your humming and occasional lyrics? The least you could do was humor the boy.

“Fine,” you said playfully, rolling your eyes, “go ahead again. I promise I won’t laugh.”

He gave you an unbelieving look.

“I promise I won’t laugh a lot.”

Fred nodded and cleared his throat once again. “I can show you the world, shining shimmering splendid!”

He cupped your chin in his hand and gave you a wink. “Tell me princess, now when did you last let your heart decide.”

The carpet dipped and you screamed as the two of you soared downwards before leveling out again.

“I can open your eyes,” he began once again. “Take you wonder by wonder. Over, sideways and under--” as he sang each word the carpet twisted to perform the respective move, “on a magic carpet ride. A whole new world!”

He sat on his knees and spread his arms to the sky, screaming the lyrics and letting the wind whip his ginger hair around his face. Although you were speeding through the clouds and any wrong move would likely end in you falling to your death, all you could focus on was him.

“A new fantastic point of view. No one to tell us no, or where to go, or say we’re only dreaming…” Fred was looking back at you, holding his hands in yours. He leaned in to you and you sucked in a breath, leaning toward him as well. But what you had been assuming would happen did not, and Fred leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“That’s your cue, love.” It took you a second to realize what he was saying but when you did you nodded fervently, hoping Fred didn’t notice you mistaking his actions for an attempt at a kiss. Before you could overthink everything and make it even more awkward you sat up and belted out your lines.

“A whole new world! A dazzling place I never knew.” You moved toward the front of the carpet and Fred grabbed your waist holding you up as you spread your arms and stared at the endless sky. “But when I’m way up here, it’s crystal clear, that now I’m in a whole new world…”

You hesitated before saying the next two words, suddenly very aware of the tight grip Fred’s rough hands had on your waist. “With you…”

You turned your head to see Fred beaming at you, and he moved you back so the two of you were once again sitting side by side. You sang the next verse as the two of you flew over the Forbidden Forest. The terrifying collection of dark trees and plants now seemed so small, so miniscule when you were soaring over it instead of walking through it.

It was almost time for the duet portion of the song, but before you could start you were cut off by Fred’s finger on your lips. “Alright, love, now we switch. I want to be Jasmine!”

You giggled at the child that was Fred Weasley, but it was his kiddish behavior that always drew you to him. “Well you have the body for it,” you teased, poking his stomach. He poked you back and it made you flinch, seeing as how he hit a ticklish spot. His eyes widened when he realized the opportunity he had, and his fingers attacked your sides while both of you tried to sing your new parts.

“A whole new world--”

“Don’t you dare close your eyes.” He covered his eyes as you sang this for effect and you had to use all of your strength to remove his hands from his face, which ended with you intertwining your fingers in his.

“A hundred thousand things to see--”

“Hold your breath it gets better.”

Fred finally halted his tickling as he belted his next line straight into your ear. “I’m like a shooting star, I’ve come so far, I can’t go back to where I used to be…”

You threw your legs over his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close as the two of you giggled like schoolchildren. Something about laughing with Fred always made you feel carefree and young. Like you didn’t constantly have the entire world dragging you down. It was intoxicating.

You ruffled his hair and screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs. “A whole new world!”

Fred saw this as a competition, and he decided he just had to one up you in noise. “Every turn a surprise!”

“With new horizons to pursue!”

“Every moment red letter!”

At this point both of you were shouting as loud as you possibly could, so loud that you knew at least someone on the Hogwarts grounds would be able to hear you, but neither of you cared. He took his other hand in yours as you screeched the next words simultaneously.

“I’ll chase them everywhere, there’s time to spare, let me share this whole new world with you!” Fred steered the carpet downwards to a grove that you had never noticed before. He swept through the trees and swiftly grabbed an apple from a tree above before tossing it to you. It was something straight out of the movie and you had to wonder how in the world he had this so well prepared.

He pulled you in tighter by the waist and started to sing again, transitioning back to Aladdin’s part. His voice was much softer than it had been before, almost sweet and loving. “A whole new world…”

You lowered your voice to match his. “A whole new world…”

“That’s where we’ll be…”

“That’s where we’ll be…” You could tell that Fred was maneuvering the two of you back toward the grand Hogwarts castle but you didn’t want this moment to end so soon.

His thumb brushed your cheek. “A thrilling chase…”

Your hand moved to his chest, feeling his toned muscles underneath his infamous Weasley jumper. “A wondrous place…”

“For you and me…”

You stared into each other’s eyes, holding each other tightly and letting out the breath you didn’t know you had been holding as you finally finished the song. Neither of you said a word as Fred guided the carpet back to the astronomy tower and helped you down onto the floor. You slipped and fell into his chest, but he was quick to steady you and hold you tight in his arms.

Your eyes wandered up the tall redhead’s body, illuminated by the dim glow of the night stars. “What...what in the world was that?” you asked incredulously.

Fred only laughed and pulled you to sit down next to him, legs dangling off the side of the tower. “I guess that was my way of apologizing.”

“Not even an actual ‘I’m sorry’ is good enough for you Weasley?” you teased, making Fred give you a guilty look.

“I am really sorry, Y/N. I...I had no idea what was happening, and I was just getting tired of not seeing you ever. I guess I thought you were avoiding me and I wanted to get your attention, even if that meant being a complete arse.” His guilty look only grew as he confessed the reasoning behind his actions. “I’m really sorry, love. But I want you to know that I’m always here for you. You don’t have to go through things alone.”

You sighed heavily and leaned your head against his shoulder. His arm found its familiar place around your shoulder and you shuffled so that you were closer to him.

“It’s not your fault. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I don’t want people to pity me, or to think that I should try to get over it. I don’t want everyone to say that I should stop feeling like this when there are so many people that have it so much worse.” Your voice shook with every word that poured out of your mouth. You had never told anyone that before, always keeping your burdens to yourself and burying them deep inside.

Fred grabbed your shoulder with his other hand and brought you into a hug, letting you sob quietly into his chest. “Darling, you should never feel as though your feelings aren’t valid. You have every right to be upset, and I want to be there for you, if you’ll let me.”

You hummed into his jumper, taking in the scent of cinnamon and gunpowder. It had grown to become one of your favorite smells. “You know, that movie was one of my grandpa’s favorites.”

Fred nodded but stayed quiet, trying to hide his joy that you were finally opening up to someone.

“We watched it nonstop last summer. He told me he loved princess Jasmine. Said she had spunk, just like--” your voice hitched in your throat, “--just like me.”

Your best friend began stroking your hair softly, occasionally twirling a strand in his long fingers. “I didn’t know,” he finally said. “I just knew you loved the movie, and I wanted to do something special for you. You deserve it.”

You gave a small laugh at his words and he tilted your chin up so that you could see the concern in his eyes. “Hey, I’m serious. I love you, Y/N. You’re...you’re a great friend.”

The warm feeling inside your chest that had begun when Fred started talking had suddenly died down. You were friends. Just a great friend of his.

“I don’t know Freddie,” you teased, “the way you were singing to me out there made it seem like I was a little more than a friend to you.”

You were only joking, but Fred was immediately silent, turning to stare down at his hands. “I, uh, I may have gotten a little bit caught up in the moment,” he stuttered. His nervousness caught you off guard, as it was so unlike the confident prankster to be so tense.

“So you really memorized that song, recreated specific scenes from the movie, and took time to enchant a magic carpet to fly me across the skyline, just to make me feel better?”

He chuckled nervously, slightly embarrassed about all of the effort he put in. “When have I been known to be simple with these kinds of things, love?”

“Never,” you scoffed. Feeling a bit of a courage course through your veins you reached to grab his hand, intertwining it with yours. Fred squeezed your hand back and you moved to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re the sweetest person I know, Freddie. You may be a little dumb and over the top sometimes, but you’re sweet.”

Fred smiled down at you and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently decided against it last minute. You decided to give this one more chance.

“Fred? Can I...can I kiss you?”

The words were barely out of your mouth when his lips gently touched yours, drawing you into the softest kiss you could imagine. Your lips moved in sync, slowly at first but quickly picking up a little speed. After what felt like an eternity you had to come up to catch your breath, tugging on his bottom lip as you moved away.

The two of you just stared at each other before you let out a small giggle. “Oi!” Fred exclaimed. “You think snogging me is funny? Wow, I think I’ll have to take those privileges away from you, you selfish girl.”

“Oh no, don’t deprive me of that Weasley, I couldn’t live without you.” He shoved your arm playfully and you spoke again. “I just think it’s funny that it took me cursing you out after class and an extravagant musical number for you to finally kiss me. And even then I had to initiate it! For a Gryffindor you really are a chicken sometimes.”

He responded by pressing his lips to yours again, this time in a shorter but just as passionate kiss. “I was getting around to it, I just didn’t want to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state,” he said as his excuse.

“Well I can tell you now, love,” you said, “this has nothing to do with my ‘vulnerable state.’ I’ve been in love with you forever, I was just too scared to say anything.”

“Ah, so you’re the real chicken then.”

You relented, not wanting this perfect moment to turn into another argument between you and the twin. “Yeah, I’m the chicken, and you can be the prince that swoops in and steals the chicken away on a magic carpet.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Only if the chicken turns into my beautiful princess by the end. Y/N, will you be my princess?”

You bit your lip trying to hold back a scream of pure happiness. Something you hadn’t felt in months. “Of course Freddie, I’m yours.”

#fredweasley #aladdin #disney #fred #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred x reader #fredweasleyfluff #hogwarts #magic carpet

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imaginedxlan · 3 years

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Ghost of You (Luke Patterson)

a/n: I’m really taking the multifandom thing to the extreme huh? Well this is my #first julie and the phantoms imagine because that show is so gas. Also ghost of you by 5sos is also gas and it made me cry to think of this song and the boys so i just had to do something.

25 years ago, y/n was dating the frontman of the band Sunset Curve, Luke Patterson. Now, a quarter of a century after his untimely death, she sees what she can only assume to be his ghost in a new band and is reminded of the days when she loved him and how she processed his death at only seventeen.

y/d/n = your daughter’s name

Warnings: death, depression

_____________________

It’s a Saturday morning when your daughter comes running in to show you some YouTube video on her iPad. You can’t really understand what she’s saying, just things like holograph, hot boy and band. When she finally calms down and presses play on the video you see a young girl, no older than fifteen, singing with a beautiful voice. Your daughter has never really been one to show you random videos, not that this girl wasn’t a good singer, but you’re confused as to why she would have taken the time to run from her room to show you this video.

Then you see it. Just as the chorus of the song begins to play, a band appears around her, full equipment flashes in completely out of nowhere. There he is. You can’t believe your eyes. As your daughter begins to point out the boy wish the shaggy brown hair and glowing smile and how ‘hot he is’ you feel nauseous. Luke Patterson, front man of Sunset Curve and your deceased boyfriend.

“Turn that off, y/d/n.” You say sternly as your mind begins to cloud. This had to be some sort of dream, or nightmare. Seeing Luke’s face after so long, feeling like you had been transported right back to 1995, it was all too much. You had tried so hard to move on, to heal from the sudden loss of him, but seeing him like this brought back the hurt all over again.

“Mom? Are you alright?” Your daughter asks, still not pausing the video. “It’s just a video, I don’t understand.”

“I said turn it off!” You never meant to sound so harsh, but the queesy feeling in your stomach only worsens the more you hear the rasp in his voice, so clear compared to the only CDs you’d kept throughout the years. “I need to go lay down.”

July 30, 1995

This worst day of your life, standing next to your parents and his as you struggle for a breath. Only eight days have past since the fateful night that was supposed to be your boyfriends big break but ended up taking his life. Your arms are folded tightly in front of you as you attempt to stop the endless stream of sobs rolling from your lips. Staring at his casket, side by side with Alex and Reggie’s, made you feel sicker than any flu you’d every caught. The pastor walks ahead of the crowd in front of the three wooden boxes that held your very best friends.

“My friends, we are gathered here today for a number reasons. First, we are here to pay our tribute to three young men, all full of talent and promise, who have been taken from this earth far too soon. Reginald Peters, Luke Patterson, and Alexander Mercer.” When he calls the names of the boys, you only cry harder into your fathers shoulder. Only seventeen years old and you had already suffered the worst loss you could ever imagine. “We are also here to comfort the families of these boys along with their loved ones. Not only have we sensed our own personal feelings of loss over Reggie, Luke, and Alex’s passing, but our hearts have been drawn toward them, and will continue to be with them. We are here to seek comfort, as our hearts ache over this inconceivable loss, and we hope that these young men will find eternal rest, wherever they may be.”

With your heart heavy, so say your final goodbye to the boy you love most in this world. Placing a hand on his casket, the tears do not stop rolling down your cheeks. You feel a hand grip your shoulder and turn to see Mrs. Patterson, her eyes red and heavy like yours. You embrace the woman and cry into each other for a while, unable to break from the closest person to Luke. You hold her hand, his father on the other side of her, as they lower him into the ground. You replay the last moment you spent with him in your mind, wishing him luck before they went for those stupid fucking hotdogs before the show, telling him you’d be cheering him on from the wings. The Orpheum was their dream and they never got to play it.

You couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of loss, not that you were expected to. The weeks you spent laying in your bed, staring at the Sunset Curve posters and polaroids from concerts and rehearsals on your walls, turned to months. You didn’t cry, there were no more tears left in your body. Those photos are all you have left of him, that and their CD that played on repeat all day and night. Your parents were probably sick of it by now but they didn’t dare come in to tell you to turn it off. They did come in to tell you when dinner was ready and ask if you wanted to see any of the countless friends that came to comfort you. They would sit on your bed, listening to the voice of your now dead boyfriend and cry with you. They try to get you to leave the house, come with them on a walk or get breakfast at your favorite diner but it was no use. Any place you go will bring up a memory you have when Luke was there with you, smiling that bright shiny smile of his.

You eventually did go outside, having to start and finish out your senior year without him. No homecoming, no prom, no graduation. The school held memorials for the boys, they hung portraits and painted murals but it just made you more numb to the feelinh when you saw his face. Nothing made you happy anymore, you put on a face to keep your friends, parents and newly appointed grief counsellor from forcing any pills down your throat to fix the chemical imbalance that came from losing the only light on your life. They called it complicated grief, it was persistent and crippling, but you refused to take any pharmaceuticals. You feel semi-responsible for not being there to tell him hotdogs from the back of a car was a bad idea, you feel like you have to sit with this ever present sinking feeling. You spend Luke’s birthday with his parents every year, remembering the last birthday you spent with him and trying your hardest to smile at the memory of the boys smashing his cake into his face at some random stop on tour, but you can’t.

Present Day

You find the video that your daughter showed you earlier today, Julie and the Phantoms they were called. You had pulled the shoe box out of your closet, the one filled with concert t-shirts, polaroid’s and posters from the best days of your life and went through them for the first time in a long time. Your husband knew Luke, he went to your high school and then college. He knew what his death did to you and he understood that Luke Patterson will always have a piece of your heart. He doesn’t mind, he supports you on the hard days, his birthday and the anniversary of his death, and he pushes you to grow and heal from the pain. You needed someone like him in your life, he was good.

“We buried you.” You whisper as your finger comes into contact with the screen, staring at the face of the seventeen year old boy you lost in 1995. Your daughter explained it was a hologram, that the girl who was singing had programmed them into her stage, but you watched every single Sunset Curve performance and it looked nothing like any one you ever saw. You were staring at the ghost of him. Your hand reached for your favorite polaroid picture of him, all sweaty and gross after a show with the biggest smile on his face. “We buried you, Luke.”

Your husband had already seen the video by the time he came home from work. He held you while you cried, swearing he was a ghost. He told you over and over again that he was just a hologram, and you eventually stopped fighting him. Your daughter was confused, you never told her about Luke or the boys, it was just too hard. In the morning you went through the box again, this time stopping on a disposable camera photo of the two of you holding each other backstage just before a show. When you looked closer at the photo he was wearing the same blue hoodie he was wearing that night.

July 22, 1995

Sound check is only a few minutes away and you sat on a big red couch in the backstage area of The Orpheum with the boys. You were cuddled into Luke’s side, hearing his heartbeat racing at the thought of getting on stage in less than an hour.

“I can’t believe we made it,” Alex muses, fiddling with his drum sticks. “Sunset Curve, playing at the Orpheum.”

“Tell your friends.” Reggie adds, making the group laugh. “I can’t believe it either. This is going to change everything.”

Bobby nodded with the boys, so did Luke. You looked up toward him, in awe of how far they’ve come. “Hey, I’m really proud of you.”

He looks down to you and pulls you tighter into him before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Wouldn’t be here without you.”

“As if,” You roll your eyes. “I just told you Sunset Curve sounded better than Sunset Curb, and Alex was already pushing against curb.”

He just smiles, and rests his head on top of your. “We have to go soon. We’ll probably get something to eat beforehand, so I’ll see you after the show. I love you.”

“I love you more, hot shot.” You reply, lifting your head to leave a soft kiss on his lips. The boys let out a collective ew to which you respond with your middle finger, no words. “Go kill it, you know where I’ll be.”

“Don’t move!” Reggie shouts as Luke is about to get off the couch. He pulls out a camera from his backpack and brings it to his eye. “You’ll want this for the slideshow when I make my speech at your wedding.”

You and Luke roll your eyes before he brings you closer into his side, flashing his award winning smile. You hold him tight and stare up at his beautiful face when the flash of the camera goes off. He plants one more kiss on your temple before getting up.

The four boys filed out of the backstage area and onto their respective spots on stage, Luke turning around to send you one last wink before grabbing his guitar. Not even an hour later, the sound of sirens bring you the worst news you could ever fathom. They were dead, the three of them were dead and you never even got to say goodbye. You and Bobby stand shocked while the officers explain what happened, your first thought being this is some huge prank they’re playing to get their nerves out before the show. But it wasn’t. They really died that night and you’re left wondering what you could’ve done different so he would still be here. So Reggie could have actually made a speech at your wedding, what you could have done to build a life with him instead of losing him at seventeen.

Present Day

You spend a long time deciding what will make you feel okay after this. You had spent years avoiding every aspect of life that would remind you of your lost love, but now his ghost, or hologram, is an internet sensation. While it broke your heart to see him again, doing the thing he loved most in this world, it forced you to look back on your time with him, to look through all the memories you made with him and you were grateful for that. You find that the young girl, Julie, goes to school with your daughter. You decide that direct contact between a fifteen year old and a forty-two year old stranger would be far out of your comfort zone. Settling on a letter that your daughter will pass along to her, you sit down to write.

Dear Julie,

My name is Y/n, I’m y/d/n’s mom. This may seem a little odd that your classmate’s mother is writing you a note, but I have to thank you for something. In 1995, I lost someone very special to me, a few people actually. They were in a band called Sunset Curve, maybe you’ve heard of them. Y/d/n showed me your performance, all I can say is wow. You are an extraordinarily talented girl, not only musically but your holograms are awe-striking. When I saw the figure of my late friends come on to screen, you have no idea what kind of joy that brought me, to watch them perform again. I was with them that night, the night of The Orpheum. They were one step closer to stardom before it all ended, if they were able to see that your music was bringing them back to life I’m sure they would be shouting and carrying on like they always did. You allowed me to get one last chance to see them perform, something I always wished I could see. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I’m not sure how you managed to create them and bring them into your show, but however you did it you brought some peace back into my life. After watching your video, I was finally able to face the past, something I have been struggling with for years. If you ever had any questions about the boys or want to see some memorabilia I’ve kept all these years, feel free to reach out. Again Julie, you don’t know what your video gave me, I am forever grateful for you and your technological skills. I hope success finds you, thats all Sunset Curve could have ever dreamed of.

Best Wishes, Y/N

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagine #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #julie molina #luke patterson imagine #jatp #jatp imagine #luke jatp #jatp netflix #jatp fanfic

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glumvillain · 3 years

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GlumReviews #5

Stepping further into the darkness we find our journey landing us on July 18th, 1980. The release of Joy Division’s second and final studio album. Those not familiar with the band history should be aware that this album was released 2 months after singer Ian Curtis’ death.

By this time in music history the world had witnessed the folly of mankind as societies collapsed and transformed due to economic or social woes. This is some of the first popular music that was perhaps the most honest as it could be, it didn’t lie to you, there was no promises of a better tomorrow, your future prospects will be dried up by the time you’re old enough to manifest them.

Curtis’ lyrics pull no punches about the dour and hopeless experiences of the human condition. The music itself is a sparse backdrop to his narration. Definitely not an album you come strolling into looking for a good time. Although I read previous reviews saying it was danceable music so what the %^&* do I know.

1. Atrocity Exhibition

The album opens with a tribal-like drum lead, beginning a relentless journey through the tortured mind of Ian Curtis. Random sounds and textures fade in and out, building to add a layer of menace to the overall tone. The lyrics, stark and crushing. “All the dead wood from the jungles and cities on fire/ Can’t replace or relate can’t release or repair.”

2. Isolation

A synth heavy turn-around from the intro song, something a little more cozy, but in contrast of the upbeat sounding song, Curtis goes on to sing “I’m doing the best that I can/ I’m ashamed of the things I’ve been put through, I’m ashamed of the person I am”. The theme of--yes Isolation is heavily present throughout the album as it feels this entire album was recorded in the vacuum of space. Sterile and cold. Almost empty. As mentioned before Curtis pulls no punches with his lyrical content but the rest of the bands playing feels like an exercise in taming that overwhelming emotion that Ian constantly struggles to keep in.

3. Passover

As a pretty empathetic person it’s difficult to read his lyrics at times because they are just so brutally raw and negative. Most people don’t talk this way for fear of alienating people, but the way he sings it, how it’s sung. You just feel the exhaustion of a world beating down on you. The music is simple, but it serves a perfect device for him to convey his message of “This is the crisis I knew had to come/ Destroying the balance I kept”.

4. Colony

In reading some interviews from Joy Division, when asked to explain the lyrics to his songs, Ian says that it was simply up to anyone’s interpretations what his lyrics meant. And I can really respect that, because for one it makes it easy for me sound like I may actually know what I’m talking about here. But really it allows the listener to make something personal to their own experiences, I’d offer mine up but this album is dreary enough. It really feels as if Ian is just in a completely different band from the rest of his bandmates as some of these compositions don’t really match up with the vocal moods.

5. Means to an End

Now with the previous song in mind, this is where I feel they all align in ideology or mood. As previous bands I reviewed, Joy Division seem to have a distinct style that made them stand out from a crowd of hundreds of bands in the same position as them. This is that sound and it embodies everything perfectly. Vamping lyrics, a hopeful hopelessness in the sound but it’s all just the soundtrack to the deteriorating condition of someone whose experienced too much loss to really muster up the energy to keep fighting.

6. Heart and Soul

“Existence, well what does it matter?/ I exist on the best terms I can”. And this album is just full of these strikingly dark and beautiful lyrics. The song itself, which was brewed with a punk backbone, but lacking the power of rage, it’s chill mood music and again such simple arrangements carrying Ian’s haunting singing. A steady groove of vamping lyrics and regretful self-loathing.

7. Twenty Four Hours

Another staple sound for goth bands of this era is the chorused bass sound heavily present here and I love it. One of their more energetic songs for Ian to brood over. According to interviews with Joy Division, Curtis’ bandmates wish they would have noticed the signs pointing to his untimely demise sooner. Furthermore also saying they’d never really paid attention to the lyrics. Because I mean.....it doesn’t take a scholar to read between the lines of the massive monoliths Ian Curtis was constructing to doom and gloom. And I got all this from wiki so if you wanna read up more about it I suggest starting there and digging through their sources provided. Invoking a gloomy Jim Morrison, this song is a pretty standard experience with Joy Division by this point in the album but the stylistic changes are welcome to break up any monotony you may be feeling.

8. The Eternal

A very somber song encased in synth pads and dark gothic piano. Painting the picture of a funeral, of going through the motions of death and loss. These are probably some of the saddest, depressing songs I’ve ever heard in a row. Not being said to take away from the album. If you ever wanted to hear what a normal person sounds like, I think Ian Curtis is that voice, just a young man lost in a gigantic world, suffered from epilepsy and battling depression amid a dissolving marriage. Being hoisted on-stage where he would be victim to his seizures. Even in wanting to shout his pain to the world, he was made to suffer.

9. Decades

The album closes with a realization of sound. A beautiful piece of music as they abandon almost all instruments in favor of cold, lifeless synthesizers. and they play with Ian’s voice so beautifully in this moment. Alot of these songs play as if they’re being sung by someone dying on the side of the road. Watching a world pass them by, counting up all the regrets and eventually having to let go.

This was not an easy album to review as it took multiple listens to really get it to sink in, perhaps I’m not at the darkest moments of my life, but I empathize deeply with Ian’s thoughts and emotions. Through the research and listening of this album I do feel a bit of sadness for him, and thankful that such a record exists of such a HUMAN take on the world and music. I find it really hard to rate because of how relentlessly depressing it is at times, does that take away or add to the experience? I guess every listener will react differently and perhaps if you’re one of those people who needs sad music to get through difficult times, this could serve as an important piece of music to you.

⭐⭐⭐⭐/5

I decided that the depressingly real aspect of it only adds to the experience. While not exciting in terms of a party or dance record, it really does serve as an important document to mental health and the struggles of depression. I’d be hard pressed to say I’d revisit this album again. But I’m glad to have discovered it and really gave it a chance to grow on me.

#album review #music review #joy division #ian curtis #closer

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brightlightinadarkworld · 3 years

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Song lyrics

Even though I am a believer I try and keep my posts pretty neutral, That being said this one is not that, this one is 100% a Christian post and while I really would love for nonbelievers to read I just want to be upfront and honest before you start reading something.

Now that that’s been said lets get to it

I heard a song that I haven’t heard in a few years and it really HIT me hard,

There is just something about music that really paints a picture, some songs the artist paints a picture for you with the lyrics its hard to see anything else, but others they take you back to where you were when you heard them, who you listened to them with and things like this,

Anybody else ever hear a song and just break down into tears because of the place it takes your mind?

As tough as I like to think I am there are a couple that get me literally every time

Holes in the floor of heaven and you should be here

get me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

You would think I would learn to just hit skip when they come on but I just can’t seem to, in fact sometimes when I’m upset and missing those who have passed away I put them on…… on purpose ( I know sad and a little crazy sounding) but while I cry listening to them they almost put my brain at ease for a moment, these songs remind me that

My angels are still with me and I will see them again one day

Other people struggle with this same thing! (IT IS NORMAL TO BE SAD SOMETIMES! Just don’t stay there)

They remind me of the people I love so dearly and that kinda makes me happy knowing their memory is still so alive in my heart.

While this song hit me just as hard, it wasn’t sad! It was one of those times where I know God just has to have a sense of humor, it was like he just wanted to say “ DUH JEN IM RIGHT HERE, I AM NOT GOING TO LET YOU FAIL “

Remember those series of unfortunate events I briefed on in my last post ( if you don’t pause here and go check out the last mental health post, not that you will learn about the events I just really want you to read that one too! )

Anyway I’ve been praying every day about them and repeating that same phase over and over THINGS. WONT. STAY .BAD .FOREVER.

And then these song lyrics just came to my mind, and like I said I haven’t heard the song in YEARS . And I don’t know about y’all but when a song lyric gets stuck in my head the only way to get it out is to go listen to it, so that’s exactly what I did.

Want to know those lyrics….

“ Saw a flower growing in the middle of a sidewalk

Pushing up through the concrete

Like it was planted right there for me to see

The flashing lights the honking horns all seemed to fade away

In the shadow of that hospital at 5:08

I saw God today”

One of the things that really helps my mental state like I’ve mentioned before is to find a positive , if you are a nature lover like myself, take a moment, go for a walk, take a deep breath and look around, look at the flowers blooming, look how beautiful the sunset looks, look at the animals around you. How beautiful is nature, and as beautiful as nature is and as much as you love those things you found… GOD LOVES YOU! The same God that made those BEAUTIFUL flowers and sunsets thought of you and how much the world needed your beauty !

Then for my country music fans you already know the lyrics that come next but for those of you that maybe haven’t heard this song …

“ Ive been to church

Ive read the book

I know he’s here but I don’t look

Near as often as I should

Yeah I know I should

His fingerprints are everywhere

I just slow down to stop and stare

Opened my eyes and man I swear

I saw God today “

How true is this statement y’all? How many of you consider yourselves christians but have not stepped into a church in years ( not that you have to to be a christian ) when was the last time you opened your bible? How many of you are like me ( and maybe I’m alone in this, honestly I hope I am) and fell into depression during the pandemic? How many of you cried and asked God WHY , or to help get you out of this depression, or said I don’t understand why I am so sad? But didn’t take the extra time to get lost in his Word, or even in his creation?

Im going to admit that before my wreck I was not an every Sunday church goer, I’m also going to admit that still to this day I do not read my bible enough! And that’s okay , You don’t have to do those things to be saved or to be a good christian HOWEVER,

Im gonna let you guys know, GOD ANSWERS PRAYERS ! He listens and he often will show you the answers to things you are looking for when you give him the time to.

If you give him the chance God will change your life! All he wants is a relationship with you.

The point of these blogs are not to be condeming ever ( trust me I’m guilty of these things too or they wouldn’t come to me to talk about )

But they are just to share with you guys.

I hope this message touched someone like it did me and anyone looking to get involved with a great church I will save you a seat any Sunday (:

Remember the positive is always there you just have to look a little harder sometimes to find the JOY in the JOurneY.

#songlyrics #christian #joy #journey #georgestrait #country #church

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viktorfm · 4 years

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(MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL, NONBINARY) - Have you seen VIKTOR SAMUELS? VIKTOR is in HIS/THEIR SENIOR year. The VISUAL ARTS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say HE/THEY are OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT and DEPENDENT. Rumors say they’re a member of KINCAID. I heard from the gossip blog that THEY'RE HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH THEIR THERAPIST. (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

dont. look at me. i know. anyways if it wasnt obvs i abandoned cupid (n darrow) in order 2 bring the two ocs tht he ws inspired by n ws a combination of bt. theyre better as different ppl methinks.

DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS TW

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basics.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - january 2nd, 1996

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: preaker, vermont

sexuality: pansexual uwu

stats

favorite song: disorder, joy division / it’s getting faster, moving faster / now it’s getting out of hand / on the tenth floor, down the back stairs / it’s a no man’s land / lights are flashing, cars are crashing / getting frequent now / i’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling / let it out somehow

background.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in preaker, vermont - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3d art ap course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to yates but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( tw death, grief, overdose / hospitalization beyond this point )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to yates to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality & facts.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the ~urban legends~ at yates and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all their money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away hbdsjfngkh

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a twig but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

religious trauma? oh worm ;; three cheers fr <3 guilt <3 anyways uh. just people tht viktor hs known thru the church in some way even tho hes a fkn. freak now. maybe even family friends.

the horror of our love :/ ;; hmm. any romance tht cld b toxic i think this cld fit. just rly a bad fit. viktor doesnt rly know hw to love so nothing rly lasts bt. maybe they try n try n nothing works bt they keep trying. cld also just be anything unrequited.

little fkn gremlins ;; theyre all evil n mean. bt theyre all friends. <3

you are nothing ;; uuh. enemy plots. spicy enemies. rly bad enemies. rivals. they r brutal towards each other bcos nothing viktor does is ever soft.

fuck u dont pity me ;; uh. people who try to get close to viktor n he just. bites at them. he’s like no. bc he assumes ppl who r kind in response 2 his vileness r. theres smth wrong w them. n it might hv to do with pity. n he hates pity.

ugh. locals x ;; ppl who also grew up around preaker, vermont. the samuels r <3 well known folks n the uh. hm. the murder is an ongoing case. so they cld know abt it <3

dont tell anybody x ;; this is for soft plots. i dont know much about soft plots but.

maybe i am part of the problem ;; the problem is chlamydiagate. this is a hook-ups connection. fwbs n one night stands. ppl viktor hs brutally ghosted. he doesnt acknowledge their existence outside of these events, perhaps.

dont u just wna go apeshit ;; this is where viktor becomes a bad influence.

bt uh. anything. pelase

#yatesintro #death tw #grief tw #murder tw #addiction tw #drug abuse tw #hospitalization tw #overdose tw #hypersexuality mention #religion mention #zooweemama

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harleyliloquin88 · 4 years

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Memories

Memories ( Dean x Reader)

Warning:/sadness/ heartache/ heartbreak/ tension/ depression/ pain

FYI I wrote this while I was watching the notebook lol

Hey guys sorry its been a while since i wrote, took a year off and needed to get some ideas and was reading others work and it helped me to do better writing and put more of me in writing so , sorry its so long was just really was in the mood.

Summary: Dean and you broke up many months ago You both decide it was best after everything that went on, but one night changed for the two of you.

Tagged list @deanwanddamons @holylulusworld @marvelfansworld @donnaintx @katymacsupernatural @myinconnelly1 @amanda-teaches@nikki082489 @flamencodiva

let me know what you think and reviews and thanks so much

(Dean pov)

She was my everything. O client ask for a better girl. It was like that one movie she made me watch. Beauty and the beast. That movie was one of her favorites. I didn't understand why she told me it was our love story. Pssshhh me And love stories ha.

I didn't understand what she meant by it but later I knew what she was telling me. The beast was a mean person who was cursed and didn't have many friends or family. Until one day belle showed up and taught him how to live and learn to love again. I could see why she called me the beast. She was my belle. No matter where she was she always call me her beast and I would call her my belle.

Walking to to old bedroom we use to sleep in together. I turn on the light. So empty and quiet her stuff is gone and the room feels cold and lifeless. Sighing to myself I lay down on the bed. Placing my head on the pillow. The sweet smell still lingers on the pillows. That sweet scented lavender honey mixture she loved. Closing my eyes for a few seconds it feels like she still here.

Few hours later I slowly wale up. Sam wasn't home yet so I decided to get dinner ready. As I started getting out of bed I noticed something odd. The book shelf that was near my bed had some kinda of box.

I reached over to the side pulling it towards me. Taking into my hands. I notice it had belong to (y/n). It wasn't just any box it was one of those chinese boxes she tried to get me interested in(fyi my dad has these when I was kind I loved them so much )

Trying for about ten minutes I was about to give up when I slid one more piece and it popped right open. Placing the box down on the bed I remove the two items from the box .

As I remove the items from the box I find a picture and a letter. i Uncrumpled the picture. It was from when me and (y/n) met for the first time. She was so beautiful and she was so perfect, Moving my finger across the picture. My eyes start to well up. Sniffing a little bit, As I put the picture down I find a note. Opening the note.

August 12. 2013

Dear, Dean

I have had to write this note about 100 times, im not even sure how I am gonna give this to you or maybe send it, ummm. Dean there is so much I wanna tell you but I am not sure how the words can come out. Dean I know life hasnt been easy for you and sam. I know you try to play this tough guy but i know deep down your afraid but its okay. Its okay to someone in. I know i know i have my own issues that i have to slove but Hey we are a team.

He laughs a bit. Runnin his finger down the letter. Few droplets start falling on his face. He finishes reading.

'Dean i hope you know that no matter what happends in life or even in choas times you will always be my beast and i will always be your Belle.

I love you dean more then you know.

Love (y/n)

Dean rubs his hand over his face sighs to himself and sets the paper down. Looking one more time at the picture. Something clicks in his head. He grabs his keys and heads out to find you and tell you he needs you.

Driving for a few hours i decided to stop a motel. I called sam letting him know i was okay. He gave me information on (y/n) .i needed to see her .

Putting my key into the lock of my room. Opening up the room had a very errie look to it. Walls painted like a yellow vomit with a few chipped paint. Walking in i set my bag down on the bed.a part of me wanted to just say fuck it and go back home she wouldnt wanna talk to me.. what could i say to her. A millon thoughts running in my head. I decided to just relax and try to call her. Making my way to thw bathroom when my phone lit up.i grab my phone before i could answer it was (y/n) number lighting up. I quickly answered it.

'(Y/n) i said with a hushed whispear

'dean' she says with a quite sleepy voice.

'Umm hi" i can hear the nervous way of her talking.

'Where are you' she ask me.

'Im in georgia just needed sometime and a vacation"

''IS sam with you'

'Nope just me'

I could hear the nervouseness in her voice. My thoughs were running a millon times fast. I could hear the movement of.my heart muscles beatting so fast it was like it was gonna fault out. For a few minutes there was nothing but silence.

'Is everything alright are you okay? Do you need me to come-

"No sam okay everything fine" i say with a bit of a laugh.

"I just needed time to think and gwt my thoughts in order. I say scratching under my chin.

“Hmmm dean Winchester traveling without his brother wow sounds very serious” you say with a small chuckle .

'I got the letter you wrote me on the first night we met' i say breathing slowly,

I hear a small laugh on the other end.

'Oh that letter yeah i meant to give it to you but i guess i never did. I rewrote that letter like over a thousand times. It was when i wanted to tell you instead of face

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better

I close my eyes and listen to her soothing voice

You were made to go out and get her

The minute you let her under your skin

Then you begin to make it better

Hey Jude, don't be afraid

You were made to go out and get her

The minute you let her under your skin

Then you begin to make it better

a tear drop falls from my eye, Trying my best to stay strong and not given in, I remember that song, I would sing it to her when she was sad or when she needed a friend. My heart started to beat more and more it, I was scared it was gonna fall out of my body.

And anytime you feel the pain

Hey Jude, refrain

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders

For well you know that it's a fool

Who plays it cool

By making his world a little colder

Na-na-na, na, na

Na-na-na, na

“Dean” You say as tears fall down your face, Trying you best not to break down in front of him. you breath in then out,

“Yes baby” I say

“I miss you” You say trying bot to breakdown and wantng him to come find you and just hold you until you feel whole again.

“what happened between us (y/n)” We use to talk about everything and anything and even when we couldn't talk we just be there. Dean says breathing softly.

“i think we just stop fighting for each other and just didn't care anymore “ You sit down at the kitchen table,

“i think everything changed once you went to hell and you became a different person it was like no matter how hard i fought myself to stay with you in the end i just couldn't do it anymore Breathing and sighing a bit,

I swallow a huge lump in throat.tears falling down my face and brushing them away with my face.

“(y/n) Im so sorry i should have never put you through what i did. i wasn't even thinking of your safety or was thinking about you. Dean says rubbing his neck.

“Dean it wasn't your fault you had so much going on and you had to do what was best for you”

“MY JOB WAS TO BE THERE FOR YOU KEEP YOU SAFE KEEP YOU OUTTA HARMS WAY . Dean says crying.

“Dean” You say with a whispear.

“ Never In a million years did i think having this life would make things seem less crazy but the one thing in my life that was normal and happiness was you”

“after we broke up nothing felt right everything just seemed like i was living in a nightmare and i didn't wanna wake up” Dean says pulling out a tiny small box with gold writing.

“No matter how many bars i went or drinks i had i cloud not stop thinking about you” A part of me wanted to find you and bring you back here and try again.” but i knew I cloud not be that guy i once way.

“Hell changed me in a way i cant explain so many things so many emotion. so much horrible things i cant even put into words princess” Dean says shaking his head and tears falling down his face.

you can feel the pain in deans voice, you can hear him crying and trying his best to stay so long. You knew he had been struggling and you knew he wasn't the same. A part of you blamed yourself for why you and dean fell apart, Hearing the man you love trying this best not to fall to pieces you cant help but feel your heart ripping into two.

"baby I need to know one thing and please tell me' you can hear the pain and sadness in his voice.

"what dean" you say with a hush of your voice.

"I need to see you. I need to feel you with me. All I wanna do is hold you in my arms just hear the you laugh .

"dean" you know you needed dean touch you needed to see him so bad but you didn't know if you let him back in would you go back to normal or would you try to fix it.

"dean" you sigh closing your eyes and breathing deeply.

"I ___ phone goes dead'(y/n(yn)

Dean throws the phone on the bed

"dean dean" she about to call him back when she looks up to see the one man she fears.

"hello(y/n) we meet again soon everything goes black.

"put her in the car come on boys we have a play date"

What do you guys think I may make a second one not sure. I know this isn't my best but I'll be working more on my writting so bye ;)

#my writing #supernatural #deanwhinchester #deanxreader #oneshot #spn #thisonebrokemyheart #reader insert #reader #memories #supernaturaloneshot

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hysteriium · 5 years

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Expect the Unexpected

Gif not mine!

(A/N): Okay maybe this is really specific, but there’s this one scent that’s literally the best smell I’ve ever smelt in my entire life? It’s like an oceany scented candle - my description literally does not do it justice I made it sound gross - and omg idk why but I could literally just picture Arthur having something along the lines of this cologne?? But maybe I’m biased. Here it is if you wanna check it out but omg like I’m not even joking when I say it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelt (and I collect a shit load of candles).

!! ALSO - FORGOT TO MENTION ‘C/n’ = child’s name !! lol

Summary: I honestly don’t know what to write for this one?? AHAHAH

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Single mum!Reader

Word count: 8600k+ (I know, I know, shhhh).

Warnings: 18+ SMUT STUFF! Fluff and swearing!

////

When Arthur found himself in the slowly decaying, yet otherwise well taken care of backyard of one of his requestors, performing under the gloomy Gotham sky, never, would he have expected it to change his life. Especially for the better. No, never had he thought, for the better.

Arthur fiddled with his wig, the tips of his fingers scurrying under the strip of white which crossed his forehead, adjusting it. The fake, frizzy green locks were no longer lopsided, and he continued his routine in front of the kids before him. Laughter filled his ears. The only merriment he was accustomed to, and on that same train of thought, welcomed. It was nothing like the devious cackles of those who made fun of him.

No, the laughs before him were honest and kind; they appreciated him. Most touching of all, and similarly foreign to him, was the fact that they actually asked for his jokes.

He often wondered where things went wrong. When exactly did children, who were, for the most part, good-natured and compassionate, turn into horrible people? Transforming into the very same type that treated him like a punching bag? How and why, did they soak up the resentment of the world like a sponge?

He supposed it was during adolescence.

Teenagers were mean.

That much was evident from the purple blotches on his back, markings that were still yet to dissipate, and tender to touch. From such a horrible experience, at least he was able to draw one positive out of it. The positive being that his clown costume was ridiculous enough to hide his battered and bruised body. Away from prying eyes.

Then again, it wasn't like anyone would have cared.

Ultimately, he tried his best not to focus on the path his thoughts were leading him down. One of his biggest struggles was staying in the moment, and right now, with the crucial task of performing for a child's birthday, he needed to be grounded. To emphasise this, Arthur dug his nails into his palms. Painful enough to snap him out of his digression, lax enough to keep the blood rushing and undisturbed under tested skin.

As Arthur was finishing up his act, the magic wand which he seemingly pulled out of nowhere - at least from the kids' perspectives, produced a collective awe. He waved it around, bouncing from toe to toe in his giant clown shoes, flicking it towards the birthday boy. Said child was a small, (h/c) haired boy with twinkling (e/c) eyes; his name, (C/n).

(C/n) flinched when the wand was suddenly centimetres from his face. Though, he giggled when he saw the expression on the clown's profile. It feigned shock, a gasp leaving his apple-red painted mouth. The clown, which the child only knew as 'Carnival' retracted the stick, inspecting it with squinted eyes. Alongside this, his spare hand flew up to his face, scratching his chin in thought, looking as though he had never encountered such a complex dilemma in his entire life.

Then, without warning, the wand fell. No longer as sturdy as a stick, it wilted like a dying flower. The clown panicked, watching as it wiggled around in his desperate hands like a worm. While all seemed gloomy for the fate of the magic item in his hands, the children were giggling gleefully, intrigued at what would happen next. It was times like these that made Arthur's job bearable; made life bearable.

All he wanted was to make people smile.

Arthur, pretending as though he was about to give up, engaged with the object in one last attempt, the flick of his wrist propelling the rod into the air. Much to the children's astonishment, the wand had straightened itself, snapping back to its previously sturdy arrangement, with no sign of its prior drooping.

They had long since formed a circle around the colourful man, looking up in wonder, clapping for him.

Arthur then slipped the item back into his pocket, performing a victory clasp. He threw his interlocked hands over his shoulders and shook them in response to the applause. When the children hushed their amazement, Arthur stuck his pointer finger in the air, wordlessly requesting their attention. His eyes then shut tight as he concentrated. Whipping out the rod from his pocket once more, he gave it one final spin.

The children waited.

Nothing happened.

Arthur opened his eyes. Confused. It was difficult for him to process what happened next because it all happened so quickly. One second he was puzzled, the next he was rendered stunned, with a face submerged in flowers. First, he had heard it, the sprout, as a prominent 'whoosh' filled the air. Then he felt it; felt it tickling his nose.

The flowers themselves were not real ones, but they were vivid; pinks, purples, greens and yellows sprouting from the wand's end. Trying to play it off as though it was planned all along, Arthur mimed a sneeze, shaking his head.

With a sheepish grin, the clown pulled back. His face was now safe from the sinister touch of the vibrant, ticklish extensions, and he handed the hued bouquet to the birthday boy, hunching over to reach him. It wasn't hard to decipher what the boy was thinking. Unquestionably, a mixture of amusement and joy as laughter bubbled from his throat; his joviality a contagious song.

And thus concluded Arthur's act.

"You're so cool Carnival!" (C/n) hollered, waving the newly acquired flowers around.

Arthur beamed down at the boy.

"When I grow up, I want to be just like you!"

Arthur attempted to restrain the look of pain which crossed his animated features.

No, kid. No, you don't.

Not wanting to ignore the poor child, he shot (C/n) a forced smile and ruffled his (h/c) hair.

"No. One day, you're going to be even better."

The child gawked up at him, hope dancing in his gem-like eyes, reflecting light.

Thankfully, the moment didn't last long as Arthur's concentration was ripped from the depressing interaction. He had caught a glimpse of you, the parent, entering the backyard. You had tried to smoothly open the door, an attempt to reduce the obnoxious squeaking from the object, though your steady pace was futile. Despite the hesitant speed at which it was tugged, it was a protest that sustained.

It was just another complaint to add to the shitty standard in Gotham; everything was half-assed. A primary disease which ate at the heart of the city, decaying and transforming it into the bleak, loveless and harsh mother it was. When you were one of Gotham's children, affection was seldom. No matter how hard you tried to impress the mother, to display your achievements, to show strength, to get back up when you fell, the mother remained emotionless. Perhaps, she kicked you down some more.

Gotham was her name, and tough love was her game.

Arthur watched you, in all his costumed glory, and drunk in the way your hair was softly carried by the wind. How your skin was kissed by the suns rays; how you moved away from the shading of the roof, which protruded meters from the brick walls of the house, spotlighting your features. He honestly felt like he was in a movie, a movie that was set up for disaster - knowing his luck. He couldn't wait for the great mystery of how he was going to screw up, to unravel before his eyes. Could he even call it a mystery? He knew it was inevitable. A non-mysterious mystery? Expecting the unexpected except it was actually unexpected, though somehow, still expected?

Did that even make sense? He thought.

His brain hurt.

What was he doing again?

"Mum!" (C/n) shouted, rushing up to you, simultaneously breaking Arthur's buzzing thoughts as well as the one-sided staring contest he had engaged in.

"Hey, there buckaroo!" you grabbed onto his small form and hoisted him up against your hip, "how's my big boy?"

Arthur watched the heart-warming scene from afar, sorrow tugging at his heart. He couldn't help but flick through his memories, to try and find a time where his mother had been just as caring. Limited, but nonetheless there, he yearned for change; for his past to change. He'd been the man of the house for as long as he could remember. Even at a young age. With no father or even knowledge of him, he was forced to take care of his mother. And while he loved his mother, with all his heart, it was an arduous task to take care of yourself and your own needs when you were supporting someone else.

"Good!" The child giggled in your arms, "Carnival is my favourite clown! Can we have him over every week?"

You couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"I don't know buddy, I-"

"Please, please, please, please, please?" (C/n) whined, looking up at you with large hopeful (e/c) eyes.

"Run along and play, and maybe I'll talk to him," you tapped his nose, "that sound good?"

The boy frantically nodded his head, and as you set him down, he bolted off to join his friends. When he was on the other side of the yard, you turned towards the party clown.

"Sorry about that," you sheepishly grinned.

Arthur didn't really know what to say, the scene before him had truly made his heartthrob. It was a warmth that left him with some strange mix of belonging and attachment. Never before had he felt so appreciated. He wanted to say something, be honest, express his gratitude. And so, he said the first thing that came to mind:

"It's fine."

He wanted to kick himself.

"It's kind of strange how much he likes you. He's never really open. He can be quite..."

"Shy," Arthur finished for you.

When you gave him a quizzical look, he was quick to explain, "I-I, uh, I was the same."

Your lips upturned into a soft smile.

"Well, (C/n) must've picked up on it. Kid's are good like that - sensitive to vibes. It means you've got a good heart."

Arthur fidgeted, the words melting him.

"Oh! Um, thank you for coming on such short notice…sorry, I never caught your name?"

"A-Arthur."

"Glad to know your name's not actually Carnival."

His eyes sparkled at your joke, his amusement filling the yard.

"You're probably exhausted, come, I'll make some tea. Or coffee? Is there something you prefer?"

He was about to protest, not wanting to bother you, to go back home to his crummy apartment and lose himself in his journal for the rest of the day, but something compelled him to agree to the offer. He wasn't sure what.

"Coffee is okay, thank you," his smile hadn't left.

When you turned to lead, his eyes flew to your hands, searching for a ring. He also wasn't sure why he let himself.

There was none, however; no jewellery at all.

Huh.

He quickly caught up and shuffled inside after you.

"This really means a lot," you started, closing the screen door before turning to face him, "to me and, obviously to my son..."

A sombre look replaced your smile.

"...I haven't seen him this happy since we moved," you looked back at (c/n), watching him jump up and down with his friends, their voices filtering through the mesh.

"You're not from Gotham?"

You shook your head, rounding him to shift further into the kitchen, behind the counter. His eyes followed your zipping from, moving when you were out of view.

"Sugar?"

Arthur found his hands fidgeting with his wig again, refusing eye contact. A soft 'sure' passed his lips, followed by a 'two, thank you' as the porcelain clink of mugs being placed, echoed. The soft scatter of sugar followed soon after.

"Please make yourself comfortable, Arthur. You can sit down if you'd like."

The scraping of the chair from behind told you that he listened.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up. You could tell he was starting to open up, less nervous than when you had first spoken to him. It was endearing.

"With all due respect miss-

"(Y/n)," you interrupted, turning to grin at the man. You noticed he had taken his wig off, his red foam nose too, displaying his almost raven coloured locks and chiselled features.

"(Y/n), he repeated. The way your name rolled off his tongue had your stomach fluttering, a sensation that caught you off guard.

"Why did you move to Gotham? It's not exactly the...best place to be."

"Life works in funny ways," you started, "one minute you're on top of the world, the next the floor crumbles beneath you, and suddenly you're in a hole."

Boy, did Arthur understand. Although he knew you weren't able to see him, with your back turned towards him, he nodded his head frantically. How were you able to so eloquently sum up his life? His whole existence?

"Sorry, I'm oversharing," you awkwardly laughed.

"No! I know what you mean..."

With one flick of the kettle's trigger, you returned to Arthur.

"I take it you're a native Gothamite?"

He nodded.

"I live with my moth- … my mother," his voice lost confidence towards the end as if he was ashamed of such a fact.

This was only supported when he scrambled to get out his next words, "she needs help sometimes, and I'm the only one who's around to take care of her."

"I'm all she has…"

You gave him a reassuring smile, gently touching his interlocked hands which were resting on the table. He flinched at the contact.

"You don't need to justify yourself, Arthur. I'm sure your mother's proud to have raised such a compassionate man."

You had caught him off guard - that was for sure. Flicking through the entirety of your interactions wasn't needed to come to the glaringly obvious conclusion that he wasn't used to being complimented. That he wasn't used to any form of nicety, and that fact well and truly broke your heart.

Who had hurt him?

Arthur had yet to find evidence of repulsion - yet to find anything that indicated you were weirded out by him; like the guys at work. He relaxed into the hold a second later, when he realised it wasn't anything threatening. Or, part of some malicious, ulterior motive.

"As strange as this might sound, you're really easy to talk to, Arthur. You're a good listener."

"Really?" He couldn't hold back the crooked, love-struck grin that infiltrated his features, and he was about to compliment you too when the shrieking of the kettle broke up the moment, causing you to pull away from him.

He felt cold; the warming action starkly contrasted with the wind which permeated through the mesh door.

In seconds, you had returned with your steaming beverages, warning of the burning hazards, though your touch hadn't returned.

Fast-forwarding through the small talk and the stories which decorated your conversation, Arthur eventually finished his coffee, and never before had he been so smitten. Out of all the jobs he'd gotten this week, which weren't many, this had been the most enjoyable. Although his work here had finished a while ago, he had tried to stretch out the minutes, just to hold onto the glimmer of happiness he knew would dissipate as soon as he left. He could feel time laughing at him, sticking its ghastly tongue out while telepathically hammering the fact home. He couldn't drag it out any longer.

And so, when it was time for him to leave, heading towards the door, he paused and swallowed his pride, doing what he thought was best.

"Did you want to get dinner sometime?" He said, turning back around as he placed an awkward arm against the arch of the hallway, leaning on it. He saw it in movies. The cool, nonchalant characters always got the girl, so it must work.

Right?

No, that was stupid, he thought.

He forced the limb down, it bumping against his side.

His fingernails dug into his palms again, for the second time that day, pressing against the very same spots as he waited for a response. He was expecting rejection. No way would she say yes, what was he thinking? At least he could say he tried; at least he'd had one positive interaction in the last few months.

Sorry kiddo, guess Carnival's not coming back.

His negative thoughts were disrupted by the sound of your reply. A reply in which made him delighted for taking a chance.

Because your next words were nothing but a sweet package of glazed agreement.

"I'd love to."

Uttering something about a day and a time, to which you agreed, he quickly found his way out of the house.

When he slipped outside into the fresh air, he shut the front door. Away from everyone's gaze - at least those he cared about, namely you. He felt compelled to move. One of his legs with a mind of its own crossed over the other, twirling him around against your patterned brick pathway; a path in which led to the small gated exit. His arms then followed a similar pattern, striking the air, drumming into it. With one slide, the soles of his shoes skated against concrete, pushing him towards the iron gate. He felt good as he opened it. He felt confident. Laughter bubbled from his lips, failing to halt as he travelled further and further away from your house.

He smiled all the way home.

And, it was only until he reached said home, emptying out his pockets while changing into more comfortable clothes, that his fingers brushed up against a flat, smooth surface; thin and malleable. He wrapped his digits over the peculiar material and brought it to eye-level, palm exposed.

It was a small, folded piece of paper. White, though crumbled from being cramped up in his pocket.

He didn't remember placing it in there...

Arthur's eyes grew wide when he unravelled the mysterious sheet, a line of numbers taking up a good portion of its space. Below it was a small 'call me - (Y/n)' written out neatly, a drastic variation to his own child-like scribbles. He reclined his head against a nearby wall, letting his childish exuberance take over.

Turns out you were quite the magician yourself.

———

Arthur sat alone, leg jittering as his eyes glanced back and forth from the clock on the pale wall opposite him, above the entrance. With each darting glance, barely a minute between them, he became increasingly aware of the chatter around him. While there weren't many people in the area with him as the tables were more empty than they were filled, he was highly conscious of the fact that he was the only one there without company.

For the first time, he looked out the window he rested against. The chilled frame soothed his hot face as he watched people stroll by, hoping to catch you. His attempts were, sadly, in vain.

You were late.

When he returned his gaze to look back at the clock again, he tried his hardest not to make eye contact with any of the staff. He knew that if he did, they'd flock to him like a swarm of bees. Instead, he kept his head low, pretending to look at the menu.

After another five minutes passed before the bell hanging off the door finally rang. His gaze immediately shot to the noise, locking with yours. Air left his mouth, both in relief and at the red dress you were wearing, coincidentally matching his own red suit. It hugged your figure, complimenting every curve, and he tried his hardest to keep his eyes from wandering.

You hadn't stood him up.

As your beaming face lit up the world around him, your clacking heels took you to the booth opposite him, observing the room with a smile as you did so.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" You exclaimed, placing your purse down, sandwiched by you and the wall.

"Kids," you rolled your eyes.

"You came," were his first words, his eyes riddled with a strange confusion, yet a light - hope. He believed he had articulated his surprise internally, that was, until you gave him a look.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"I-I don't know." He sputtered out.

He did.

As you both got settled in, Arthur for the first time that night willingly made eye contact with one of the servers. Your orders were speedily jotted down and taken to the chef within minutes.

Conversation flowed, and his jokes actually got a reaction out of you, much to his surprise. The tension, or rather the anxious energy that seemed to bounce off the two of you melted, fading away light the lights of the cars that sped by the open window. In its absence, a playful aura took told. Small touches here and there, and your leg which rubbed against his, even if it was accidental, left his head spinning. This, he thought, was bliss.

"So," you started, a finger twirling around a strand of (h/c) hair, "I've decided."

Arthurs brows furrowed, allowing you to continue.

"I have to tell you something," you said, rubbing your hands against your dress; a nervous tick.

A finger curled into his collar, tugging at it to cool his heating body temperature. Arthur's anxiety which was already a mess, exacerbated from hearing one of the most infamously terrifying phrases.

"I feel like it'll be good for me to open up - I haven't told anyone since I've left. No one really knew in the first place, except a few friends."

Arthur didn't know what to say.

It sounded serious. Your words held a unique gravity to them. And while he felt the air around them shift, from light-hearted and playful, to darker, more solemn, he could tell you had been repressing what you were about to tell him for a good while. He knew the look.

His hand reached over the table to meet yours. They were timid, brushing against yours experimentally until he knew you were comfortable with his affection.

"How the tables have turned," you joked, allowing his hand to slip into yours.

"I was in a nasty relationship," you started off wavering, a sigh passing into the air, "I only dared to leave a few months ago."

Arthur's heart virtually broke as you revealed this to him. He watched as you swallowed the lump in your throat, noting how your eyes started to flutter from the stinging of tears.

"It endangered me and my son. It took a lot of strength to leave, but I had to for (C/n). He's my world, and I care about him more than myself."

Tears by now had fallen, running down your cheeks. Arthur intently listened to your confession.

"Moving to Gotham was the only way we could start over, and if I could have given him a better life, I would have, but it was the best I could do. I just wanted to see him happy again."

You let out another sigh, trying to blink away a few of the stray tears, though Arthur beat you to it, his hands moving to your face, wiping them with his thumbs. He felt how you leant into his touch, your eyes falling shut with a sniffle. As grim as the situation was, he was happy you were comfortable enough to tell him such a heartbreaking story.

"Sorry," you mumbled, forcing a laugh out to mask your vulnerability. Arthur saw right through it.

He gave you a look, one that virtually said 'are you serious?' before he spoke, exasperated, "what for?"

"I don't know...for crying? For dropping this on you, for-"

"Hey," Arthur's thick, dark eyebrows furrowed, his hands still cupping your face, "if I even had half the strength of you, I'd-"

"I'd-"

Arthur paused, his voice coming out as chokes.

Oh no.

He felt an overly-familiar twitch in his throat, a reflex in which he tried to stifle by clamping his mouth shut, contorting his face in pain to keep it at bay.

He never could.

And then, at the worst possible moment, the worst he could possibly think of, he hunched over and wheezed, cackling over the table. Your eyes, riddled with confusion from the lost contact, was promptly replaced with hurt at his sudden laughter.

He quickly noticed this, shaking his head.

Everyone else in the establishment, with what few were there, reared their heads to the ruckus, watching Arthur spiral.

"I-I'm so-" he started, desperate to contain himself.

It only made things worse.

"S-sorry."

He fiddled with his pockets, trying to produce the laminated card, he practically depended on. His fingers brushed the plastic, and he frantically pulled it out, sliding it to the other side of the table.

Please understand.

Please, please, please.

You had been the only person he'd connected with in months, perhaps longer. And now, he was about to ruin it with his stupid, stupid, stupid condition.

Guess the mystery had unravelled, he thought bitterly.

He tried to watch your expression for any indication of disgust or contempt. It was difficult, however, as he continued his fit, a hand hitting the table's surface. Another reflex. The pain was starting to set in, his lungs screaming, and his chest aching.

Please just let it end.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Your voice surprised him, the kind tone and the understanding in your eyes was something he had to get used to. Something he wanted to get used to. How were you so kind? So accepting?

He shook his head slowly, trying to get a few words out.

"I have-"

"Have to-"

He tried to breathe, nearly choking.

"W-Wait."

"It's okay," you comforted, hurt no longer manipulating your features.

"Take your time."

———

In Arthur's eyes, the date had gone really well, or at the very least as well as it could have gone considering his outburst. He was happy, the feeling of warmth and nervousness he felt around you was something he hadn't really experienced with anyone, or really had the chance to. He kind of liked it.

He felt like he could be himself. You'd laugh at his jokes, his puns, regardless of how morbid they got; the most you'd do is playfully slap his shoulder and bite back a grin - guilty for laughing. He never understood the frivolous sayings about love, how things could sound so far fetched and dramatic, but now, he understood.

He didn't know how it was possible, how someone as beautiful as you, could be interested in someone like him.

After eating, you both walked under the darkness of the sky, the pinpricks which twinkled above, smiling down. Content was the air that surrounded your bodies, a loving blanket. With nothing more than a few minutes walk back to yours from the restaurant, you relished in his company.

It wasn't long before you both arrived back though, almost too soon, with the giddiness of your date still swirling around in both your heads. Arthur, at some point, had wrapped his red suit jacket around your goosebumped form, an action at which you had initially declined, but gave in when he insisted. You thought it felt good against your warming skin, the smell of his cologne intoxicating. As you entered the hallway, leading him back to the living room, you were happy to see the babysitter you had hired playing a board game with your beaming son. She was the teenage daughter of a friend you met at work, and you, happy to help out a struggling youth, decided it was the perfect opportunity to go out with Arthur. After paying her, and seeing her off, you excused yourself for a moment and vanished into one of the other rooms.

Arthur had sat down on the table like last time. The wood cooled his clothed forearms as he watched the child from across the room walk his way over, and push himself into the chair opposite him. Once (c/n), was comfortable, Arthur shot him a smile - one that wasn't returned.

(C/n)'s bright eyes were suddenly reduced to slits, his arms crossed and observing the dressed-up man. It made Arthur uncomfortable, to say the least. What had caused the dramatic shift in attitude?

Nothing was said, for at least a good two minutes, until finally, the small child in his blue space pyjamas saw it necessary.

"You know, my mommy really likes you."

Uh oh.

Arthur made a face back to the boy.

He wasn't entirely sure what face he made, though it didn't matter because the child picked up on his general disbelief anyway.

"It's true!" His arms shot out into the air, "I do too!"

There was no way a child could know such things; plus, nothing was ever certain. It was with this that he pushed down the hope that had sprung up, like a freshly bloomed flower in spring - its stem resistant and youthful, not yet pressed by the wilting life would inevitably bring.

"So you better not be mean to her!" (C/n) exclaimed.

The double meaning behind what the child said made him internally cringe. Arthur now knew the context of your troubled pasts and whilst what (c/n) had said was innocent, had saddened him. Not just over the fact you had been through hell in the first place, but because, for a moment there, Arthur saw himself in the child; a reflection of what he was still like. Always having to take care of his mother - look out for her. Support her any way he could.

Arthur's eyes softened in understanding, a great respect for the child forming. (C/n) sincerely looked up to you - loved you, and he was willing to resist anything that endangered that.

Arthur leaned forward, a forearm extending. His elbow rested against the table's surface and all his fingers, except for one - his pinky - curled into his palm.

"I promise," he said, eyes firm, a certainty the child was happy with.

(C/n) reached his small body over, his knees digging into the pads of cushioning on the chair as his significantly tinier finger wrapped around Arthur's skinny one. A smile was shared between the two of them.

When Arthur went to pull away, he was stopped by (C/n)'s whine.

"No! You have to lock it!"

"Lock?" Arthur questioned.

(C/n)'s tongue stuck out in concentration as he reached his small thumb over to Arthur's, tapping it. After much trial and error, the older man finally got the hint and connected the tip of his thumb with the boy.

"There!" (C/n) exclaimed.

Unbeknownst to the two seated at the table, you had snuck back into the room, watching the heartwarming scene unfold. The gentle noise of your knocking signified your return, and Arthur, with surprise, jumped in his chair, quickly standing. You bit into your lip, trying not to laugh.

He made his way over to you when you extended your arm, his red suit jacket floating in the air as your fingers gripped it from the top. In one quick movement, it was hugging his body again.

"Thanks," Arthur smiled.

As much as he wanted to stay, to talk to you all night, his eyes caught the time which had apparently flown by, like a flock of birds migrating for the winter. He had undoubtedly overstayed his welcome, and his mother was probably worried sick.

His eyes grew wide.

"I-I have to go!"

His sudden shift in mood had you worried.

"Arthur? Are you okay?"

"I'm really late. I'm sorry."

"Oh - okay well, let me walk you to the door?"

It was barely a few meters away, and you internally scolded yourself. How obvious could you get?

He quickly nodded.

Your form quickly moved past him as you hear Arthur's gentle voice in the background say goodbye to (C/n). When your fingers gripped onto the doorknob, pushing it, Arthur squeezed past with a small 'thank you'. You felt the nips of the wind against your exposed arms, causing you to shiver. The distant noises of Gotham - the blaring sirens which were muffled, and the faraway clamour of car horns, was something you had gotten used to; it was a city that never slept.

Arthur stood awkwardly in front of you, lost. It was then when you realised you had to make the first move.

"Thanks for tonight," you said, hands wrapping around him in a gentle embrace, chin resting on the pad of his shoulder. The smell of his cologne hit your nostrils instantly. It was oceanic, traces of bergamot and melon, with a hint of frangipani; so perfectly him. It was a fragrance that you associated with safety, the small feeling of comfort burrowing in your stomach.

He froze from your actions, evidently stunned. His arms then snaked their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"I had a great time," you whispered, eyes closing against him.

The husky agreement which you felt vibrate in his chest induced a sinful shiver. As much as you wanted to stay wrapped in his arms for longer, hell for the rest of the night, you knew he needed to be somewhere. Tearing yourself away, the hands remaining at your hips stopped you, squeezing into your sides. This prompted you to look up at the man, into his hardened eyes. They looked to be concentrating, portraying an internal war. His Adam's apple bobbed. You didn't get a chance to ask if he was okay because he moved before you could, his lips quickly pressing themselves against the softness of your heated cheek before scurrying off.

You smiled, fingers grazing the area.

Arthur was a unique man. Strange, but endearingly so.

So soft and gentle; kind.

He would never hurt a fly.

———

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Arthur repeated the mantra in his head.

He'd fucked up - fucked up big time.

He'd shot three men - killed them in cold blood.

His ears were still ringing from the gunshots, and he remembered the way his hands shook as he held the trigger. How his tremors diminished with every squeeze until finally, a hardened look replaced his fear. His whole demeanour had altered within those critical seconds.

As he found himself back in the present, his makeup smudged and appearance dishevelled, he emerged out of the public bathroom, panting.

He felt different.

The eyes which had stared back at him in that mirror didn't feel like his own. They didn't harbour the terror they once swam in, nor the naivety. His body, which had moved with grace and finesse, had danced on the dirty tiles instead. His movements came from the soul; a conglomeration of motions he was unaware he was even capable of.

Yes - he was different.

So, when he wiped off his makeup, and kicked his leg out, against the resistance of the bathroom door, he didn't go back to his apartment. He didn't want to see the rats in the lobby, scurrying and squeaking, only a matter of time before they found their way into his apartment. He didn't want to stare at the wall for hours, envisioning what could have been, and the what if's. He didn't want to sit down with his journal and think about how depressing his life was - just to get his therapist off his ass.

No, he didn't want to.

So he didn't.

Preferably, he found himself going in the other direction. To the place where he felt most welcomed. Loved.

Although the date had been days prior, he felt the need to see you.

He didn't know how long it took him to get there, all he knew was the thumping of his heart, it's frantic beat echoing in his ears when he rapped on the door. The sound hollow.

Your head peaked out, groggy from sleep as you opened the door, its range widening when you saw him. It was late, perhaps late enough to be considered the early hours of the morning, but you didn't question it. Rather, his name passed your lips with concern.

Arthur didn't hear you call his name. Though he saw your lips move, plump and inviting. No sound reached his dazed state. His hands found your face alternatively, thin digits sliding below your mastoid, save for his ring finger and pinky. Wasting no time in seizing your lips, his mind worked overtime to memorise every little detail - of the moment he had been waiting for; the grand finale.

Every scent - like the perfume that seeped into your skin, faint and applied hours prior. It was a scent he often detected, sometimes rubbing off on his clothes, but an odour he never got sick of; heavenly.

Every feeling - like the way your hands wrapped around his form, gripping him tightly to steady yourself from your stumbling - from his pushes into the house. Or, like the feeling of his stomach, how it fluttered when you kissed him back, his heated blood pumping through him.

Every sound - like the soft 'click' of the door behind him, which he closed with the sole of his shoe.

Every taste - like the raspberry chapstick which coated your lips, mixing in with the contrasting flavour of his carmine lipstick. Although most of it was wiped off, there were distinct traces. Smudges.

Every sight - the way your playful grin took up most of it when you pulled away, teeth dragging your bottom lip, leading him to your bedroom.

When inside, Arthur dipped you down onto the bed, his slim frame hovering over yours with darkened eyes. The dim glow of your lamp residing on the bedside table allowed you to identify the hunger in his look. A lusting fire which burned right before you, behind those glassy, blue eyes. The warmth of his lips met your mouth once more, but only for a second because he shifted his attention to the base of your neck. The moments in between had you complaining from the loss of contact, a noise which he chuckled at.

He wanted - needed - to explore every curve of your body; every crevice. Map it in his brain.

"Arthur," you whispered. He shivered at the sound of his name breathlessly leaving your lips, goosebumps forming across his skin. In response, he hummed deeply - an acknowledgement which originated from the back of his throat, the vibrations sinful against your heightened senses.

"What's gotten into you?"

The confidence radiating off of him, although adding to the pool in your panties, had surprised you. You had to remind yourself that the previously timid Arthur and the man above you were the same person.

"I need you," he husked.

Amazed by his forwardness, though equally as desperate, your voice came out shaky, "then take me."

Three words. Those lovely three words were all it took for him to lose himself; his control. The tightness of his pants was becoming too much to bear. It was his own personal prison, and the anguished motivation to escape was only increasing by the passing moments. Judging by the way you were grinding against him, pressing against his crotch unfairly, he knew you were just as riled up.

His kisses seared into your skin, rendering you a whimpering mess. Your back arched against the mattress, an action driven entirely by instinct as his hands slipped under your shirt. In an attempt to make things easier, your hands hooked under the shirt as well, bunching it up. When he sensed the movement, he assisted you with the material. In your whirlwind of passion, the article of clothing had been removed, thrown away as it was left sprawled across the floor, uncaringly. His breath hitched in his throat when he realised there was nothing underneath it, except for your underwear.

"You're beautiful," he said, pupils full-blown.

Your eyes then smiled up at his in the delicate moment, the tender upturn of your brows leading to the capture of his lips. Without so much as moving away, his slender fingers fiddled with his dress shirt, he too, removing himself from its constraints.

He suddenly pulled away as his frustration reached its peak. His need for you had become overpowering, and he worked his way down towards the only piece of clothing you had left. The light, tickling touch of the pads of his fingers slid down your ribcage, tracing down your hips until they reached the waistband. His thumbs dipped under the elastic, and with the cooperation of your wiggling, it was promptly discarded. His caress was ever so gentle, his handling virtually leaving you quaking beneath him.

Arthur wasted no time in pleasuring you, this was proven to you quickly when one of his digits smoothly slid into your cunt. The sound of your wetness was vulgar, although all the more alluring.

He felt drunk; hazy. In some sense, it was surreal that this was occurring, that you were actually interested in him in the first place. Yet, there was another part of him that was screaming at himself to focus, to halt his berating comments and take pleasure in the way you were crumbling before him. He tried to do the latter.

"Fuck- oh my god!" You immediately cried out, hands darting to cover your mouth as he slowly started pumping his finger. His devilish movements had your other hand fisting the sheets.

Your breathing swiftly became ragged under the knuckle you bit down on, and he hastily added another finger, loving your reaction. He felt his chest swell with pride as he glanced up at your dishevelled manner. Encouraged by the enchanting sight, he picked up his pace. It was relentless and brutal, the thrusts forcing obscene mewls from you, some no longer containable. Raising your hips to meet his rhythm, to relieve the overwhelming knot forming, you knew you weren't going to last long. Arthur knew this too, your squirming made this clear, and he instantly added his lips to the equation, stimulating your clit.

You were done for.

As your walls clenched around his fingers, your hands rushed to grip his hair. They weaved through his untidy strands, pushing his head down while the wild flicks of his tongue assisted you with your earth-shattering orgasm. Ecstasy rushed over your trembling form, and as your thighs tensed, the tip of your head grazed the headboard; you swore you could see stars. Arthur's cock twitched in his pants at the sight of you unfolding before him, impossibly hard.

"Holy fuck!" You moaned.

He kindly slowed his rhythm when he knew you finished, yet his tongue licked a long stripe against your slit, moving to lap up your juices. The sensation, as well as the hums that lasciviously left his mouth, vibrated against your already sensitive core, setting you down the path for a second climax.

Perhaps he had done it on purpose, but when you felt the pressure in your abdomen, ready to burst again, he pulled away.

"No!" you cried, "Arthur, please! I'm gonna cum, please let me cum!" You sobbed quite shamelessly. In all honesty, your words surprised yourself, and apparently Arthur too, because laid sat there for a moment, eyebrows raised as a delicious smirk settled over his lips. He took his merry time, with no sign of returning to you, savouring your pleading.

"Beg," he purred, sitting up as his tongue lolling out to lick and suck on the fingers that had fucked you into oblivion. His eyes never shifted from yours, and you watched with absolute astonishment, upon desire, at the action. Your reaction only egged him on.

What exactly happened to him in the last 72 hours?

You were genuinely bewildered at the whole situation. The last thing you would have expected was to have Arthur rock up in the middle of the night and turn into a sex god. Though, you certainly weren't complaining.

While one of his hands was busy, in his mouth, his other trailed up your thigh. Eventually, it reached your bundle of nerves, tracing small circles with his thumb, agonisingly slowly.

"You're so good to me, fuck," you whined, stirring against his touch. He pulled away again when you bucked into his hand.

"Please-"

"Please, what?"

"I need you inside me, Arthur, fuck please-"

He couldn't take much more of your begging, his own self-control had wholly vanished by then, and he quickly shifted out of his pants, freeing himself. When his cock fell into his fist, he gave two steady pumps before lining himself up with you. You held your breath in anticipation despite your wild heart, making you feel dizzy. The relief you had been longing for - no aching for - had finally arrived when he pushed himself into you.

"Oh god- you feel so good," you gasped. The moan which fell from Arthur's lips had your name mixed in, a deliciously carnal sound. As he started moving, a slow rhythm from his hips developing, he shut his eyes. With his concentration on chasing his finish, salty beads of sweat trailed down his forehead.

"Arthur," your gentle voice had called, "w-wait."

Upon hearing your words, he immediately stopped, eyes flying open with concern.

"Let me take care of you."

He was confused as to what you meant until you maneuvered yourself on top, kissing him softly.

You could see the stutter in his confidence at your words, though his nod signified his consent. With a small smile, you made sure he was comfortable before your entrance started teasing his cock. You felt him tense up, and when you made the movement again, he thrust into you, an involuntary action which made you both cry out. His stroke hit you perfectly the first time, harsh yet euphoric. If you woke up the next day and found your body aching, you wouldn't be shocked.

His arms reached over to embrace your form as you buried your face in the crevice of his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Then, fully adjusted to his length, you started to move up and down on his cock, the feeling of him stretching your walls overwhelming.

"You're doing so well," you gulped, your panting warming the side of his throat.

"I want to see you," he managed to murmur out, and his request was promptly granted when you pulled away from his neck.

His hands slid down to grip your hips when you shifted, guiding them as you bounced. No longer did he need to fantasise about being with you, image you writhing in pleasure as he touched himself. No longer did he need to envision the way you felt around his cock, the way you moaned; it was now his reality. Hell, even Arthur's wicked fantasies couldn't have prepared him for this. Nor the words that left your mouth next, sending him spiralling.

"Let go, Arthur. Cum for me."

He did.

And hard.

His orgasm rocked him to the core, and you milked him for all he had, his hot spurts of cum coating your walls. Both your paces slowed, becoming sloppy as you came crashing down seconds later.

Deathly tired, you collapsed on top of his chest, exhausted. The only sound that could be heard were your frantic breaths, and you could've sworn your heart too, considering how hard it was beating. As you both took a minute to calm, neither of you move from each other, his cock still buried within you.

Only when you felt him soften did you slowly depart, rolling beside him. Arthur's grew heavy when you did, though they tried to resist the weight of his lethargy. He managed to twist his frame over to you, giving you one last kiss, the taste of yourself prominent in the heartfelt and passionate kiss, before he finally gave in.

Sleep gripped your forms.

———

Arthur stirred at the alien sensation of warmth next to him. Your naked body was pressed against his, head leaning on his chest as his arms protectively enveloped your frame. It took a few moments for this to register, and a lot more minutes for him to realise this was real; that this wasn't a dream - a product of his imagination.

He hadn't woken up in his own bed with his sheets dirtied from, well, his...dreams.

Everything had actually happened yesterday.

Your beautiful form was really there in his grasp, face relaxed with soft exhales leaving your nose. He could feel the breath against his skin, a perception his body reacted to on its own.

Don't start, he thought, scolding himself.

Perhaps it was his staring that had woken you next, or the soft, dulled yellow tone of the suns rays projecting past the white curtains. He wasn't sure. But, when your (e/c) eyes bore into his, fluttering open with a grin he knew he'd never get used to, he realised it didn't matter. Its appearance always managed to sucker punch him in his gut, make his heart stop. And if that was the way he was going to die, fuck, he really couldn't complain. He'd choose it if he could. Your radiance was sincerely otherworldly to him, angelic - personally constructed and moulded by the angels themselves.

"Goodmorning," you yawned, arching your back into a stretch. Soft groans left your lips and pops from your joints filled the air. Arthur's finger trailed your spine, forcing you to shiver.

"Morning," he replied lazily, a drowsy smile gracing his lips.

"I don't wanna get upppp" you whined, voice still affected by sleep as you nuzzled into him.

"We don't have to," Arthur shot you a look, one you were quickly starting to identify as his sex expression. Its appearance forced you to roll your eyes playfully, something he laughed at.

"Maybe later, loverboy."

After one soft morning kiss, you both decided it was best to do the complete opposite of what you wanted and get up.

As you both tossed on the discarded clothes from your nightly activities, Arthur beat you to the kitchen, refusing to let you sort your breakfast out. Your giggles decorated the hallway as you admitted defeat, knowing he wasn't going to give in. In no time, Arthur had somehow transformed into a chef, something he casually brushed off, stating he learned for his mother.

Not long after, a long metallic groan - of hinges - sounded. Then, frantic footsteps littered the hallway, a short form entering the kitchen soon after, eyes observing the scene before them.

"Are those pancakes?" The boy asked, looking between you and Arthur.

Arthur winked at (C/n). It was enough confirmation for the kid and his feet lept off the ground repeatedly. His cute red pyjamas had green patterns of t-rex's scattered across the fabric, a fact he exhibited to Arthur every few minutes.

So, this was what having a family felt like, Arthur thought, smiling.

When Arthur eventually finished cooking and experimenting with pancake shapes (he had managed to morph yours into the outline of a heart and (C/n)'s into Pacman), he was the last to join the table.

Excited to take a chuck out of his consumable masterpiece, Arthur sipped on his water. But, before he could move on, the boy's words across from him, stopped him, forcing the liquid back into its glass.

Arthur damn near choked. Deep coughs emerged from his chest, and while he was repulsed by the sight of his saliva swirling with the chilled drink, it was the least of his worries with the child's words buzzing around his head.

"Does this mean you're my dad now?!"

———

Side note: I was genuinely considering putting the summary as ‘Arthur shoots people and gets laid lol’ because I couldn’t think of anything. I need help PFTT

238 notes · View notes

oh-boleyn · 4 years

Text

jane / infamy

words: 6216, one shot, language: english

anne / jane / katherine / catherine

as I said on my ao3, this might be my last one shot in a while (I’m really struggling with college right now, like in this moment I should be doing two assigments which... clearly I’m not doing), but still I hope you all enjoy this piece of garbage of story!

TW: canon, Jane being mean? probably more swearing that what is expected from a jane one shot

the commentary between scenes are things I got from internet about Jane Seymour

Remembered for: being the only wife to provide Henry with a son and male heir.

(…)

Jane Seymour was relieved.

The light is brighter, and her dizziness is starting to fade.

No more pain or ache in her lower body, and she feels quite better than in a long time. Her arms are longing to hold her baby, dear Edward, who has just secured her the position of queen.

She opens her eyes, but instead of finding her chambers, she is in a strange looking room, with Anne Boleyn and Catherine of Aragon. Jane wants to cry, knowing immediately what it meant. She is dead, there is no other way to turn it around. She died and was found guilty of her sins, was it her hell? Being with the other two queens? God punishment for seducing a married man?

They all stare at each other, not knowing how to proceed.

(…)

Virtue and common good sense.

(…)

The new house is nothing like what she was used to, and sharing a room with both Catherines wasn’t exactly in her dreams.

She had less problems with accepting Catherine rather than Anne, after all, with the last the relationship had been more than rocky, but Catherine probably wasn’t Jane’s biggest fan either. Even after the older queen’s death, Jane had always tried her best with Mary, attempting to help her image, trying to reconcile with the religion.

Parr wasn’t bad, but she was quite closed. They weren’t acquaintances in their past lives, but that didn’t mean Catherine would introduce herself and invite her to grab a snack or something. It was hard to think about her, how connected both were but how apart too. The most she would talk was about history, or science, or another thing Jane couldn’t bring herself to truly understand and would be left just nodding along.

(…)

When she died, he actually sunk into depression, officially mourning her for two years before marrying again.

(…)

Looking for a job is not an easy task, it’s not like she ever had to do that before. Her kinsman secured her a good place as the lady of the queen, and even when the court became hostile and fell apart, she managed to still have her place.

But now jobs required so much, not just her needlework and knowing how to perform the arts —whatever arts you want that to mean. Modern positions searched for way too many qualities she doesn’t have.

When Catherine offers the idea of doing a show, she says yes out of desperation of not knowing how to do anything else, not even how get the oven to work. Once it goes out of her mouth, she truly wishes the rest of the queens don’t notice how needy she is of the opportunity.

(…)

By that account, she was practically a saint!

(…)

Opening night was stressful to say the least. There are at least a hundred pairs of eyes on her, and her song – her song! While everyone clapped along Aragon’s and Boleyn’s, her part was different, way out of the upbeat modern pop style.

She couldn’t even have a fun, upbeat song.

It’s not like she didn’t want to, Jane tried so hard to add comic relief to her story, trying puns and obnoxious screaming. But her song was slow, more of a ballad instead of the pop-rock songs the show featured. And, to top it, she was the only one who talked about understanding Henry, about loving him, staying by his side.

Of fucking course, she had to be the sweet woman who just happened to love a horrible man.

(…)

Jane was Henry’s true love.

(…)

It is hard to fill her place, her own shoes she left behind when she died.

Jane Seymour, known because she was the one he truly loved. The one he asked to be painted years after she died, instead of just letting her rest in peace. Jane, the dutiful wife, the one who had the son he so desperately wanted.

And the audience loved it, they loved to see the dutiful mother, the one who can’t stop talking about her son. They cheered, they heard everything they always knew.

Because she wasn’t an interesting character in the story, she was just another woman there to obey the orders of the king.

She wishes she was known for something else, but that’s not her life. Of course, playing another character would be fun, being the temptress, the evil stepmother, the fun one, someone people actually cared about. Instead, she was the tedious, boring perfect wife. Reduced to her uterus capacity, and ability to shut her mouth.

(…)

I assure you she is as gentle a lady as ever I knew, and as fair a Queen as any in Christendom.

(…)

“Good morning, Katherine.” Jane says.

The teenager enters the kitchen with heavy steps, still not quite awake from the night of sleep.

“Morning.” She replies, voice small.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“Do you know how to cook?” Katherine retorts, a smug look on her face. “Don’t worry, I will buy something. Maybe cheesecake? Or apple pie?”

“Why not a chocolate cake.” Jane offers, getting the water off of the stove, almost burning herself in the process.

“Do you like chocolate cake?” The younger asks, “I would have pinned you as a vanilla kind of person.”

Jane feels judged. The smile on Katherine’s face just says it all.

“I prefer it, but never mind.” The teenager finishes.

(…)

Here lies Jane, a phoenix / Who died in giving another phoenix birth.

(…)

They move into a new house.

The moment Jane enters her new room, she knows it will take at least two months to get it completely clean. There are spiderwebs, and the white walls look more of a light grey. She makes mental notes to buy bleach, and other cleaning supplies.

At least her bed is clean, but she makes sure it doesn’t touch any wall for the sake of it not getting dirty.

(…)

Jane Seymour was a kind woman too, a better person than Anne.

(…)

“Are we coming to the bar tonight?” Anna asks.

Cleves is nothing less than an interesting character to say the least. They never got to meet in their past lives, but the woman knew her son. She even lived long enough to see him dead.

“I’m not sure,” Jane replies, “I don’t think that Boleyn is going to want me there.”

“But I would want you there.” The fourth queen says easily. “If it’s your decision, that’s alright, but I would like you to come.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

(…)

Her ladies-in-waiting and her maids were held to a strict code of behavior and insisted that they “serve God and be virtuous”.

(…)

The people, and society as a whole has changed.

Feminism is a common term, and women can –almost, to a certain point– hold the same power as men do.

Still, Jane feels more judged than ever. In her past life it was easy, if she did exactly what she was told, nobody would question her. She was bound to serve and obey, and planned to let everyone know about it. Unlike Anne, she was not going to take her chances. She couldn’t say that it brings her happiness, but it gave her peace of mind.

Nobody would contradict the orders of their king.

Nowadays it is different. People talk about freedom, about being able to own yourself, your body, your choices. Nonetheless, they talk about her. Judged her for saying good things about Henry in her speech, for loving him when it was her only choice.

It was her choice to keep her hair long, not like Anna’s. Her choice to wear make-up, to prefer dresses rather than pants. To talk about her son, to own her past. The public sometimes hated her for it, for her decisions, calling them a part of patriarchy leftover from the century in which she used to live.

They hate that she reduces herself to it, to being a mother, to fill what was expected of her, but that is still the only thing they know about her.

(…)

Jane herself was known for her quiet and soothing manner.

(…)

She sometimes sees it; the way Aragon and Boleyn are mothers.

Sometimes it is just a word, a name. Something totally irrelevant that snaps them into it, into caring in a way only mothers do. The way they treat Katherine, or how they look at a little kid on the street. How they talk to the younger fans of the show.

Jane feels like she doesn’t have it. She doesn’t care about babies and kids. Doesn’t have an attachment to them, to the idea of being a mother. If someone handed her a baby she would probably freeze and don’t know how to proceed.

Was it justice? Did she die so Edward wouldn’t have to put through with her as a mother?

Jane thinks she was just not born for that, to have a kid, to care for them. There were women who had maternal instincts, but she didn’t. Instead, when having to tend for Katherine, she grew overwhelmed, not having a clue of what to do next.

(…)

We will never know if Jane sought the king’s favor or was a frightened pawn of her family and the king’s desire.

(…)

“Would you like to go to brunch tomorrow?” Aragon asks one day.

It’s Saturday night, which means she is totally exhausted after a two show day, but still, she nods. Slowly, Aragon and Jane had started to rebuild the good relationship they once had. Both of them holding so much respect for the other.

“Have you seen Kat?” Parr interrupts Jane’s thoughts.

“She was here just a minute ago.” Aragon says, looking around.

“Well, Anne is looking for her and there’s no trace of where she could be.” The survivor explains quickly.

“Let’s look for her.” The first queen concludes, taking action.

They pass fans, excusing themselves, still taking a few pictures just for the sake of fulfilling the stagedoor the queens always did. Once they are out, a cold breeze hits their faces. Walking through the streets seems dangerous, but luckily enough Kat is near, curled up in herself. They signal to Anne and Anna to quickly come with them.

“Kitty, can you hear me?” Anne is fast to get on her knees, getting to be at the same height as Katherine.

“We should take her inside,” Jane states, “it’s not safe here.”

“Outside air can help, Jane.” Boleyn snaps at her. “Kat?”

She wishes she could be mad at her, but at the same time the second queen is just trying to do the best for her cousin. She acts almost instinctive, as if anyone would do that. The way she stays near her, but without invading personal space amazes Jane, even if that decision makes sense. She would’ve tried to pull the younger girl closer, thinking about it makes it seem like not such a good idea, the immediate response to fight or flight after a panic attack wouldn’t help.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is small. “Can we go home?”

Jane nods, and starts walking behind her towards the car. It comes as a surprise the fact that Katherine rides with them, instead of Anne and Anna as she usually does, but they don’t say a thing. She maintains her eyes on the girl, worried about her.

Once they arrive, Katherine is the first to get into the house, leaving the other two queens alone.

“I’m worried about her, should we try to have a talk?” Jane asks, Catherine denies with her head.

“No, we have to just make her trust us,” she says easily, “once she does, if needed she will come to us. Confrontation is mostly not the way to go with teenagers.”

“How do you know that?”

Aragon smiles.

(…)

She was the only one of his wives to be buried next to him.

(…)

If Jane said that she never wanted to be queen, it would be a lie.

The idea always sounded appealing. Who wouldn’t want to be one? Even in a modern context, girls still pretended to be queens, to live in the prettiest castles. Being queen came with power, not nearly as much as men had, but still a fair amount. The chance to change things, to have opinions. Not counting how good it could be to the family, to secure a future.

Jane would be lying if she ever said that becoming a queen was not something she longed for. But she didn’t want Anne to suffer such a horrible death, no matter if it was or wasn’t fair.

(She used to think that another kind of death wouldn’t be as bad, to die for natural causes would just be God’s will, and to have a divorce would be the Man’s will.

Now she thinks every ending is horrible until proven different.)

In this life she kept quiet about it, knowing how she might have interfered in what Henry ultimately did to Anne. She preferred to not talk about her time as queen, how he threatened her with the same fate her predecessor suffered.

She once thinks about boarding the subject with Parr. She saw that the writer went through the same, a warrant order for her head that was never finished, and the painful death after a childbirth. Still, she doesn’t do so, knowing that her and the survivor are not the same.

Catherine Parr was smart, got her way because of her words. Jane Seymour was just the ignorant fool who kept quiet to please the man.

(…)

The ladies in waiting were expected to wear a belt of pearls with at least 120 pearls in them, and if they didn’t, they weren’t allowed to appear before her.

(…)

“Did you bring something for the cold?” Jane interrogates.

“Yeah, my pink sweater, I left it in the dressing room.” Katherine explains.

“Okay, I will look for it, finish taking your makeup off.” She orders.

The third queen stops staring at the queen, instead looking around. Finding the piece of clothing, she reaches out for it, but winces for a moment when the younger talks.

“Jane, just stop it, okay?” Katherine asks.

“It’s cold, put on a coat or something more, you will catch a cold.” She tried to give the teenager her pink sweater, but all she got was rejection.

“Just don’t. Stop acting as if I’m a child.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise, after all, Katherine usually snapped at her.

“You are nineteen.” Jane indicated, anger bubbling up in her voice.

“I am like almost five hundred years old.” There was bitterness in the statement. “Nobody cared about me being eighteen when the king beheaded me. They didn’t even care when I was younger, why now?”

“Because I care about you.” The words come out before she can really think about it.

Did she really? Cared for the younger?

Of course, she didn’t want harm to come to her, but then again also not to any of all the strangers she knew in this life. Nonetheless there is something about Katherine, an innocence, a broken past. Jane wanted to take care of the girl, to help her through whatever she was going through.

“You shouldn’t.”

It comes out almost aggressive, like a threat. The queen who died of natural causes doesn’t know how to feel about it.

(…)

She learned pretty quickly that it was best to stay out of religion and politics, and instead focused her energy on domestic issues.

(…)

Jane doesn’t break like Katherine, but she still does.

The way Katherine breaks suddenly, they can all point at that moment and say that is when she started changing. Harming herself in not obvious ways, drinking more caffeine than what she should, sleeping less, eating the unhealthiest food she can find. They notice, but their own egos and need to not gossip in order to not be the catty bitches fighting against each other like history has painted stop them from acting as a group.

Instead, the way Jane breaks is slowly, anger destroying her. Consuming every inch of her, growing and taking parts of her life.

It starts as a bitter, indignant feeling when she is left to cook or help cleaning up, but it quickly grows. Gets infuriating, maddening when people call her good . She is not, she might have been in another life, but not in this one. She was not innocent, but rather had a fair amount of guilt. It evolves to be hostile when she realizes that nothing will change it.

Jane Seymour, the mother figure who not only failed at being educated and staying alive, but also failed at having maternal instincts. The good queen, who did nothing but harm. The mother of the king, a king who died young and so did she.

She hates herself for it.

(…)

Her ladies-in-waiting and her maids were held to a strict code of behavior and insisted that they “serve God and be virtuous”.

(…)

She tries to self-isolate, to take a step away.

It doesn’t help, instead the anger comes back stronger each time, and she hates it. Jane hates how violent the feeling can be, how abrasive. She controls herself as she had always done, but it doesn’t make it any better, a resentment towards her fellow queens growing.

Seymour was not a jealous woman, not in her past life and not in this one. She didn’t want to be like the other queens knowing that there were so many things wrong in their lives. It was not about it.

It was about making a mistake, and how she never got to commit those. Jane couldn’t regret anything in her life without someone telling her that “she had it easy”, after all, she was the one he “truly loved”. Even when her problems were addressed, it always came before a way to minimize it, or worse, blame her for them.

The queens knew that it was none of their faults, but people still pinned them against each other, choosing favourites, giving each other a role. And she couldn’t say a word, because hers was good.

It didn’t matter what she truly wanted, or what her opinions about it were, because their mind was made up.

Why change something that is not broken? Why get mad over a good thing? What was better, being a bitch or a saint ?

Jane thinks that being the villain of the story would be easier, liberating. Heroes are just too unreal to exist, but pushing the narrative meant forgetting her own flaws, thoughts, problems.

But who cared?

All they ever wanted was a devoted woman.

(…)

Jane curbed her tongue and accepted her place as the dutiful wife.

(…)

"Can you stop being such a stuck-up child and act mature for a fucking moment?" The third queen asks, becoming irritable, "I just fucking asked you to do one thing. One fucking thing. You are not a toddler, stop throwing a fit!"

It turns out, living up to five hundred years of expectations become harder the angrier you get. The worse the feeling of burning grows, the worse it hurts inside. Jane refuses to let it slide, to let it show, but Anne is not making it any easier.

"Go off, Janey," the green queen laughs, "or chill out, it's not that deep."

"Except, it is." She demands. "I asked you to please do one thing, and it's not the first time. I ask you, you do it for a week, and then forget about it. Are you taking me for an idiot?"

"Honestly? No," she replies easily, "I just don't care enough."

They stay watching each other for a moment.

It brings back memories, but their roles are reversed. In another timeline Jane would be childish, not caring enough, or maybe caring so, so much, about the locket and chain around her neck. Anne would watch her with such a fury in her eyes, and the blonde would internally laugh.

She regrets it. Jane hadn’t seen it coming. The dreadful ending.

“But I know you do; I will try to change it.” Anne answers, her voice just above a whisper.

A soft: “Thank you” it’s all Jane can say.

“You’re welcome, darling .” A playful smirk passes through her lips.

“Bloody idiot.”

“I know.”

Boleyn gives her a sincere smile.

Maybe sometimes yelling is useful.

(…)

It is also true that she was not as sharp or witty as Anne Boleyn.

(…)

It doesn’t last long. Before she knows it, the show must keep going.

Jane smiles, sings her song, sings about Edward. Edward, her Edward. Her brother too, was named Edward. He died. Her brother too, was Thomas. Thomas who did so much wrong. Thomas who apparently loved Parr. Thomas who got sentenced to death.

Thomas and Edward. Thomas. Edward.

She doesn’t realize how much panic creeps in until she is alone in her room crying. An unexpected feeling of grief for the family she once had, as much grief as hate and resentment towards them. Horrible atrocious acts made just for the sake of it.

The Internet says that her son, her little baby, luckily died young.

They talk about luck, something good. And even as much as she wants to believe that her kid won’t ever be a threat, she knows his father. Henry was atrocious, ruthless. Growing under his influence was probably not the ideal childhood. If only she hadn’t died.

Her skin aches, and she has to ground herself controlling her breathing.

Was it possible that every man in her old life was terrible?

(…)

She never seemed to cause drama or do anything without her husband’s permission, and she managed to maintain her carefully crafted image of being virtuous, loyal and obedient.

(…)

“Jane, can we talk?” Aragon questions, knocking on the door.

The blonde nods, slowly looking up.

“What’s going on?” The divorcee asks, rather bluntly. “You stopped coming out of your room, and when you do, it’s just to fight. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m good. Great even.” She smiles.

“Do you think I’m a fool?”

Bloody hell.

Jane doesn’t want to hold this conversation, knowing that she has all the cards to lose it. But at the same time, she wishes to reach out, to explain what is going on. To say that she doesn’t know how to be angry, how to defy someone, how to speak up. All she knows is shouting, crying and hiding her real emotions.

She must conceal what she feels, to not let it show. The less she thinks, the less she feels, the less danger it represents. Jane can’t be the next one. If what happened to Aragon was an awful experience, where she couldn’t see her daughter or talk to her for the last years of her entire life, and Anne’s death was way worse, what is left for her? Torture worse than death.

“ Bonita, breathe with me.” Aragon commands, sitting a hand on Jane’s shoulder in an attempt to ground her. “Jane, breath in. Hold. Breath out.”

“Go away, Catherine, please . ” The queen begs.

“No. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you here, please .”

“I just want to help.” Catherine says, trying to get closer.

“Why don’t you try and help yourself first? I know I’m dumb, but even I can notice what you do, Catherine.” Her voice becomes steady. “Why are you so obsessed with fixing people? Is this because you couldn’t fix Mary from the monster she became?”

The venom in her words acts quickly, Catherine’s face changing in a few moments. First a pained expression, then developing hurt. She stands up from the bed, and Jane rage rises.

“Why can’t you just keep for yourself, Aragon?” She expels the name. “Is that because you don’t know us? Is this a trick? I know you loved him, is this your way to check us as competition? Or just because you want to see which one of us can take the blame for what happened with baby Mary?”

Catherine stays silent. Humble and loyal after all.

“I told you I wanted you gone.” Jane finishes.

“And I told you, you need help. You should seek it before it becomes too late.”

(…)

Jane’s son Edward was at best a useless boy-king, and at worst a divisive religious extremist who disinherited his sisters.

(…)

Maybe no other queen truly understands her.

Or maybe she doesn’t understand the others.

How Anne talks about her beheading makes it sound like a celebration, a great day everyone was looking forward. She talks about how people cheered, even if it sounds mostly like an old tale made by people who hated her. Jane doesn’t try to tell the truth. She hides it in her silence, just like she hid from Henry.

She should. She should make it better for Anne, but a part of her can’t do so. Can’t bring herself to tell the truth. To confront the other queen. She can’t break the need to be perfect, the need to be good, and innocent.

Talking to Boleyn would be an admission of guilt she is not ready to commit.

(…)

Jane Seymour fulfilled her most important duty as queen, but she was never crowned and died just twelve days after the long and arduous birth.

(…)

Catherine is distant, which shouldn’t surprise her.

Asking for help sounds like a trap. She can’t trust anyone. Even if she knows how much it would change things, even if she doesn’t feel like the queens would hate her or judge her, deep inside something tells her they will. And she can’t allow that.

She can’t break the idea of being perfect after fighting so much for it in the past.

(…)

The fact that she had died producing Henry’s only surviving male heir gave her a mythic near-martyr status in his eyes, and he would do creepy things like having her appear in a family portrait eight years after her death (and not even as a zombie or vampire, much to my dismay).

(…)

“Why are you here?” Her therapist asks.

Wasn’t being a reincarnated Tudor queen who died after giving birth to the next king of England enough reason to be?

“I think I’m having problems with being impulsive, and out of control, and managing my emotions.”

“Which emotions would this be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s good that you are looking for help, Jane.” The woman says.

She takes the files and starts asking more questions, Jane finds herself being more honest than in a long time.

After the session she feels happier, lighter.

(…)

Let’s get down to business and look at just why Jane was in fact not a cute little wifey BUT a calculating master manipulator.

(…)

It doesn’t last long, and that is what hurts the most.

Feeling good for a moment just to then descend into the pain of unbelievable sadness that invades her. Not knowing how to handle it, making her go slowly mad.

It makes her think of her death.

Everything was good, happy, easy. But then it started going bad, failing. Her own body, organs shutting down, fever, agony. A pain in her chest that barely leaves her breathing. Death coming to her. And sometimes she feels it again.

Short, confused breath. A weight so heavy on her chest. Her thoughts all over the place. Death creeping on her. Her psychologist calls it a panic attack, stress coming to her. And she doesn’t know how to react to the idea that it’s just her brain. Drowning in thoughts, so deep that she can’t see the surface.

(…)

That’s two Queens brought back into the folds of power, a feat Jane achieved in just 6 months, thanks to her skill at manipulating Henry without him even realizing.

(…)

Anna doesn’t come to her, just the contrary. Jane tries to help.

Watching the queen crumbling down, makes her feel smaller. Just the contrary to her stage presence. This Anna is not partying, no joking. She is broken. Not a unidimensional character that they pull each night. Cleves has kept a mask for so long, that is just now breaking.

Jane can’t help but wonder if they all do. But it’s different. Jane had always been allowed to be sad, to cry, to be sensible and weak, while Anna never had that privilege. Each role assigned to them had their good and bad parts.

“We might not be great. I know I’m not. But we are here for you. We are all in this.”

“Do you really mean it?” The fourth queen asks.

She doesn’t doubt it. It’s just the way it worked, everyone had their places, what they tried to fulfil. It was harder on some of them. To keep or to destroy what they were. Create a new self being idyllic, impossible.

“Of course, I do.” Jane smiles.

(…)

Jane was not beautiful. She was not outspoken, or alluring, or exotic.

(…)

An article said he was sick for months. That he died slowly, painfully.

Her son had died when still young. And she never held his hand. She wonders if he was scared. If he thought what death might have felt like. Sometimes it keeps her up at night, her sick son who had to lay in a bed. Who she can’t help.

She wasn’t scared of death, as she never quite understood, fever coming to her, letting her slowly go. Making her confused, as she didn’t understand if she died until she came back.

What was better? To go without knowing or to stay knowing that the ultimate end is near?

Jane used to be catholic, used to devote herself to religion. But since she came back it all feels like a lie, an elaborated truth that kept her from making errors. Still, for his supposed last words, she hopes God had mercy on him.

(…)

Nobody wants an unfun queen.

(…)

“Jane, may I sit with you?”

The older nods, making space on the sofa. Katherine practically jumps to the spot but doesn’t relax until Jane opens her arms for the girl to get into the embrace. They stay like that for a few moments, just enjoying each other’s company.

They had managed to somehow have a good relationship. Maybe because Jane never feels as if Katherine judges. Maybe because Katherine never met her in life. Maybe because they know the least about their past. It somehow brings them closer.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” The third queen wonders.

She keeps in mind Aragon’s words, if Katherine feels safe enough, she will open up. Slowly the changes had been more noticeable, especially after starting therapy.

Maybe it’s the need to be a mother, maybe it’s just the way Katherine can charm anyone, with shy smiles and childish glee.

“I feel bad.” Katherine admits. “I… I have tried to ignore things and I just feel guilty about it.”

Jane nods, knowing what the feeling is about. Remorse is an even more common feeling in the queens’ household than it is probably in others.

Maybe they are both broken.

“What about?” She wonders.

Maybe it’s just meant to be.

“They beheaded the woman who helped me.” Katherine admits. “They beheaded her too.”

Maybe it’s because they both feel the blood on their hands.

“But it wasn’t your fault. You can’t make yourself responsible for others’ actions.” Jane confirms.

“I never cried. Since I came back, I never cried for her. I just pushed it to the back of my mind, acted as if it did not happen.” Her eyes water. “She died for me. And I am back, and she is not. I still don’t try to bring those memories back.”

“Some emotions need time.” The older one tries to explain. “Grief it’s not lineal, there’s denial, there’s guilt.”

“She didn’t deserve it.”

“You didn’t either. But you can honour her. We have a second chance, something impossible.”

“What are you using your second chance for?” Katherine wonders.

Jane doesn’t have an answer.

(…)

Jane Seymour: (shrug) enh.

(…)

Sometimes talking with fans is easier. They comment about the play with blissful glee, about the shiny costumes and loud music. Some go as far as making copies of her costume, to draw her, to write letters. They still don’t know her fully and they mostly don’t care to find out.

Jane can’t help but wonder if Edward ever felt love like that, blind, from someone who doesn’t know who you are. She can’t help but wonder what her son knew of her, because he never met her. She didn’t get to really meet him either, but she has Anna, who sometimes would drop a funny story of a young king, Katherine who remembers a little boy, and Catherine who talks about how smart he was.

She hopes that he had someone to tell him her story.

(…)

In her entire 18 months as queen, Jane Seymour failed to say one single thing that anybody thought was worth preserving for the future.

(…)

“Catherine, can we talk?” Jane asks.

The first queen nods sternly, sitting in front of her. Even though their relationship had been less tense since she started therapy a while ago, things were still not quite resolved within them.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Catherine starts. “I shouldn’t have pushed, specifically not when I told you not to push Katherine.”

“No, it’s alright.” The blonde smiles. “Katherine shouldn’t be pressured, that’s true. But we are different. I didn’t understand what you were trying to do but now I do. And I’m sorry. I have been realizing things slowly and it’s just a matter of time until I will feel better again.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” The first queen asks.

“It’s the idea of being perfect. To fill in my own shoes. To comply, and obey and serve. You knew me before, and you know me now, but I just feel so much responsibility to be who people think I am. I talk about how I stayed, firm by his side, but in reality, I didn’t. I was scared. I am scared. And it’s such a weird feeling, because it drives me to do the exact opposite thing of what I try to do. My death was just something that happened, but I can’t help and think that I was lucky to have died. Who knows what could’ve been of me otherwise?”

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

“But I do.” Jane replies. “It’s just my place, and I’m a character. I just have to learn where and when I should be myself.”

“Are you sure? No one is expecting anything.”

“They are. And it’s okay. They want it, the love story, the tragic ending. I wish it was like that, but it was not. But I’m going to be fine, because I’m pretty tough. And it doesn’t come from screaming, being the loudest or the most anything. It comes from me, and I don’t have to prove it to anyone else.”

(…)

Or, god forbid, are you a fan of the insufferable Jane Fucking Seymour?

(…)

“I might miss some foods from the past, but I love this.” Anne said happily, devouring some chocolate lentils.

“Stop it! I want some too.” Her almost namesake replied, trying to take some.

“Anna, don’t worry about chocolate and help me pick a movie.” Parr insists. “I saw that this one was good, this account said that they used a new kind of animation to do it. Created a new program and all.”

Jane smiles, laughing lightly at Catherine who can’t keep facts for herself. Each time it becomes better, less superior talking and more nerdy, passionate about useless knowledge.

“Whatever you choose, please let it be short, I’m so tired tonight.” Aragon asks.

“That one is ninety minutes long.” Katherine offers.

The third queen sits, gossiping about the plot

(…)

So, don’t overlook Jane. Sure she’s quiet, but remember it’s the quiet ones you have to watch.

(…)

Second chances were overrated, that much could be said for Jane Seymour.

Sometimes, people don’t change, themselves or their minds. In her two lives, she dealt with it all. With trying and not, with fighting and keeping quiet, with being looked up to and with being irrationally disliked. Society, as a whole, would never be pleased. Setting standards too high, as much as those vary from time to time, from one century to the other, there was always going to be something wrong.

But it didn’t mean she had to just follow it.

Second chances were overrated, wasting hers into demonstrating things to anyone except herself. The general opinion might not change, but Jane does. She learns, grows. She cries, gets sick and has horrible days, she fights, speaks out, she loves, she smiles. It’s hard, to live a life she shouldn’t have, but it means that is her opportunity, not to be revolutionary, not to be a queen nor a mother.

Jane learns to be herself, to explore, to know her limits. And it never ends.

Second chances were overrated, but it doesn’t mean that Jane was going to try and make the best out of hers. Maybe it is boring, or naïve to not try to take an impossible opportunity, but she doesn’t need it. To be true to herself is more than just enough.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #jane seymour

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micaramel · 4 years

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Artist: Thanasis Totsikas

Venue: Akwa Ibom, Athens

Exhibition Title: The Crucifixion of Thanasis Totsikas

Date: June 15, 2020 – July 10, 2020 and September 10, 2020 – October 10, 2020

Curated By: Maya Tounta

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of images, press release and link available after the jump.

Images:

Images courtesy of Akwa Ibom, Athens

Press Release:

In 1985 Thanasis painted a depiction of life’s ladder and titled it The stairway of life. In 1988 he made a sculpture in metal with the same title. I found these in the digital archive of his work a few days ago and called him up to ask about them, but he appeared pretty unenthusiastic, so I let it go. This morning as I sat down to write this text – I had a whole outline for it – it wouldn’t come out. I went back to looking at the 80s ladders. We haven’t reproduced them for you here, but just imagine, these are full of dynamism, strength and forward hope. Now it is more than two decades later, and Thanasis has repainted the ladders in a series of drawings he’s now charged with a very different emotion. In the recent works, a Sisyphus-like figure appears carrying a boulder, bent-over, tired, as if about to collapse on the floor. Thanasis has replaced hope with exhaustion, strength and dynamism with unelected perseverance. The transition leaves one with that feeling of never knowing if you’re well or not, though admittedly you remember, at some point, knowing.

Coming to this thought, I remembered something else I came across in the digital archive – a scan of the backside of a postcard on which Thanasis had scribbled something. I couldn’t totally make out what it said so I sent it to him on Messenger, and he wrote back:

“This is what I’ve written”, he said. “I slowly forget all about life’s ladder…we have sour cherry juice here…it seems like my taste comes from my mother’s side of the family”. “This postcard is from a drawing. I must have forgotten about it. I used to send things like that to the house. Sometimes I’d write in the back. This one reminds me of a (Yannoulis) Chalepas drawing.”

If Thanasis hadn’t painted his Crucifixion, I’d never see those images. I kept thinking about that. That they’re real – autobiographical, as he says, but not necessary. There’s an enormity of feeling that comes with that simple realisation, and it’s hard to know how to speak about it when it concerns another person, someone you don’t know, except for a few conversations and the work of course. The work is the testimony. Then there’s the realisation that you’ll never fully access what lies behind it.

In the exhibition, we are showing 200 or so drawings Thanasis has made in the last couple of years. Most of them depict his Crucifixion, he raised on the cross, being taken down and placed in his mother’s arms. I find it hard to look at them. It’s not so much the violence and the suffering that I find difficult but the sheer quantity of them—the relentless repetition of the pain he gave time to sediment. I also fear people might look past these drawings and pass judgment on Thanasis personally for the amount of suffering to which, he has laid claim. I have a feeling Thanasis might have crucified himself to fulfil an advance sentence he’d come to expect from the outside.

In these last few weeks of self-isolation, I looked at the histories of the Crucifixion as Christian Passion, Roman punishment and subject in art and certain things resonated with the work.

The punishment of the Crucifixion Romans would mainly impose on deserters, murderers, traitors and criminals of humble origin. Depending on their social status, Romans used to place convicts at different heights on the pillar of the cross. The higher their situation, the higher they hung. That was both symbolic like in their annual dog crucifying ceremonies, and practical. A way to ensure that different bodies would end up in the stomachs of different animals. It was typical for bodies not taken down quickly to end up as food for vultures while dogs and other wild animals would feed on the legs of those that hung closer to the ground. Also, death by Crucifixion was often slow and rarely solitary. There are accounts of people speaking to each other on the cross for hours, laughing, spitting at spectators, even singing songs in protest. I can see this irreverence in Thanasis’ drawings as well. When I asked him about why he’s painted his Crucifixion, Thanasis said he had turned aggression he once felt for others inwardly towards himself. In an older interview with Kostas Bitopoulos about an exhibition at Epikentro Gallery in Patra, Thanasis had said then: “I didn’t do it to exalt it. I did it so I could rid myself from it.”

In Christianity, the cross is a handle that God’s frail and light body uses to lift the world. According to the philosopher, mystic and political activist Simone Weil, the cross – one’s personal cross, is a needle that pierces the quivering soul that is like scales out of balance to give it stability. The act of piercing, the suffering, the cross, is what allows each of us individually to realise that we are not the centre of the world. It is the breakdown of our sense of self-importance, of our ego, through the painful but necessary realisation that we’re bound to a force of gravity matched only by grace. For Weil, the original question that supposedly remained unanswered – “Why have you forsaken me?” – was responded in silence. For others, it’s never received a response. Thinking about the Armenian women that were nailed alive upon the cross, the words of Scottish painter Craigie Aitchison come to mind. Aitchison, who must have painted thousands of crucifixion scenes during his life, and who never professed to be particularly religious either, when asked about his enduring interest in the subject had said that he considered: “the Crucifixion the most horrific story he’d ever heard and little more; the ganging up against one person; as long as the world exists one should attempt to recall it.” Aitchison was by all accounts, a charming man who lived his life among animals he loved dearly. For some time, he had canaries living in his studio. They’d made their nest inside an old mattress. Once, the police caught him driving with his Bedlington terrier on his shoulder.

Thinking about a sequence of crucifixions across art history almost exclusively painted by men, I realised that seeing myself as a woman I’d never identified with the figure of Christ. I wondered if other female or female-identifying artists had been able to look past such markers of difference in identity and create representations of him in their way.

The first work that came to my mind was a photograph by American photographer Francesca Woodman, Untitled in which Woodman places the Crucifixion inside her home picturing herself as Christ hanging above the door. As Deborah Garcia says about this work, this unusual depiction of the Crucifixion which has a mise-en-scene quality is characterised by a mundane hierophany that is seldom found in common depictions of the Passion. In the 1977 self-portrait On Being an Angel #1, Woodman has placed the camera above her head producing a distorted image where her lower body disappears. The unusual angle Woodman has used to picture herself in this work reminded me of another depiction of the Crucifixion by artist Salvador Dali, Christ of St John of the Cross, 1951. To create this image, Dali employed Hollywood stuntman Russell Saunders to pose for him suspended from an overhead gantry so that he could study the effect of gravity on his body. Woodman’s photograph reminded me of Dali’s painting because of how they both position the viewer in space but seeing both works alongside each other made me aware of a fundamental difference between them. In January of 1981 Woodman’s body was found in a New York morgue as that of an unidentified young woman. According to witnesses, she had fallen off a building that same morning, and the fall had disfigured her face. Woodman struggled with depression for years. That struggle is visible in her photographs permeated by a thick atmosphere of melancholy, albeit her use of motifs and interpretation of symbols such as that of the Crucifixion is singular like pain is singular and at the same time novel. That embodied experience with the affective reach that it has is not present in Dali’s work which is characterised by a formal intention – a stylistic, distanced contouring of the subject.

Woodman’s intimate and embodied approach to showing suffering brings to mind not only the words of Aitchison and Weil who suffered from migraines that kept her in bed for days and who had written about this experience as a basis for her philosophy – but also Ana Mendieta’ work. Mendieta created a series of works in response to the rape and murder of Sara Ann Otten in 1973. In one performance she covered herself in blood recreating the victim’s poses as they were described in newspaper articles. Mendieta has said that all her works are in some sense a personal response to issues she cannot see herself responding to theoretically. Mendieta used blood like it is used in rituals of the Afro-Cuban religion of Santeria but did not subscribe to one religion. In her notebook from 1980, she stated: “my art is grounded in the belief of one universal energy which runs through everything: from insect to man, from man to spectre, from spectre to plant from plant to galaxy. My works are the irrigation veins of this universal fluid. Through them ascend the ancestral sap, the original beliefs, the primordial accumulations, the unconscious thoughts that animate the world”.

Text by Maya Tounta

Thanasis Totsikas (born 1951) lives and works in Nikaia, Larissa. He is a skilled luthier, cutler and autobody-repair technician. This expertness has shaped his artistic practice and has been present in his work since his first solo presentation at Desmos Gallery in 1982. His prolific career has included participations at the Venice Biennale and Documenta. His artworks, expressive of a way of life more than the outcome of vocation, often incorporate objects and materials from his every day as diverse as mud and reeds and a Ducati motorcycle.

Link: Thanasis Totsikas at Akwa Ibom

The post Thanasis Totsikas at Akwa Ibom first appeared on Contemporary Art Daily.

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creativityworks-sx · 4 years

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5 of the Best Alternative UK Rap Albums of 2019 by Dwayne Wilks

With us all home-bound for the foreseeable future, there’s no better time than now to catch up on the music, film and television that might have passed us by in recent times. When it comes to rap in all its forms, the UK took it to new levels in 2019. Dave delivered a seminal album early in the year. Headie One might have established himself as the star of the drill scene with Music x Road. Through Kano and Wretch we saw the scene’s OGs continue to push themselves and cover unchartered territory (can we also acknowledge the crazy feature run Ghetts has been on). Amidst all the heat and the D-Block Europe clones that 2019 has provided us with though, a lot of sick projects from established artists didn’t get the shine they deserved. Here are 5 of the best that fall within that category:

Blood, Swvgg, Tears/Youngs Teflon

For the past 10 years Youngs has consistenly delivered quality UK rap. Now a veteran, Blood, Swvgg, and Tears sees Tef’ continue with gritty tales of the trap and the South London streets, while sounding hungrier than a lot of the scene’s newcomers. The sample driven Aaliyah and the conceptual Broken Safety exhibit Young’s vintage storytelling abilty, the latter inspired by his favourite rapper, Nas’ classic track I Gave You Power. Being a decade deep in the game, Teflon, (aka ‘Jimmy’) has sharpened his pen to the point that almost every bar comes packaged with a punchline and those punchlines don’t (often) miss. Couple his wordplay with the overall sonics of the project; hard-hitting drilly beats that align the album with the current sound of the scene, and Blood, Swvgg and Tears establishes Jimmy as a stalwart of UK hiphop. That’s if he wasn’t one already. The best thing is, it looks like he’s still getting better.

(Best Tracks: 3AM In Brixton, Clout, Rehab, Survivor Stories Pt.2)

Kojey Radical/Cashmere Tears

Cashmere Tears gifts us with Kojey’s usual intricate and poetic flows, introspective content and performative delivery. As he has been for some years now, he gives us finely crafted bars about steeped in introspection, but this time they are delivered over warm sultry basslines and endorphin-inducing horns. On Can’t Go Back, producer Swindle’s joy-filled funk is married with Kojey’s lyrics celebrating his re-emergence from a dark mental space. This is the formula that carries much of the project; candid, vulnerable bars atop infectious instrumentation. When it comes to levels of funk, the album resides high up in the stratosphere. I’m not sure there’s a rapper in the UK that’s as comfortable up at those dizzying heights. Don’t believe me? Do yourself a favour and listen to Kojey glide over the album’s title track Cashmere Tears.

The warm basslines and brass sections are repurposed later in the album, matching the more sombre topics Kojey tackles. Case in point being the track Eleven which sees Kojey grieve the death of his close friend. The vulnerability showed on songs like this and the choir assisted closer Last Night has an endearing effect on you as you listen; you can’t help but appreciate the raw honesty in the act of exposing your lowest moments. Cashmere Tears is an example of how music can offer a view into an artist’s conscience and psyche. When it comes to pushing the boundaries of the UK music scene Kojey Radical is at the forefront, his workload far outweighing his acclaim.

(Best Tracks: Cashmere Tears, Eleven, Feel About It)

Money Over Everyone/P Money

P Money has never made the most humble music. Moretime he’s spitting bars soaked in arrogance over grime instrumentals, and it’s this arrogance that makes Money Over Everyone 3 so hard. P Money revels in his longstanding refusal to comprimise from the grime genre, taking every opportunity to tell everyone that doubted his and grime’s staying power, “hate to tell you ‘I told you so’… but I told you so”. Countless times on M.O.E.3 P Money shamelessly champions his own integrity, like his boasts about touring Australia for the fourth time on Shh Hut Yuh Mout which has JME repeat one of his classic refrains all over the hook. There is a deliberate attempt to align himself with JME who is featured and name dropped at several points on the album and P is fully deserving of the type of recognition that the BBK legend recieves, especially after an album like this. Amidst all the boasy talk, M.O.E.3 does have its more reflective moments; Live This Twice has P show that he doesn’t at all take his success for granted and on That’s Air Manga St Hilare assists in explaining the mindset of the kids on road that have nothing to lose and move accordingly.

(Standout Tracks: Where & When, About Grinding, Live This Twice)

Little Simz has recieved a lot of praise this year, mainly for starring in the latest season of Top Boy on Netflix. While she’s fully deserving of the acclaim for her acting, her muscial endeavours might have gone slightly under the radar. Grey Area is Simz’s best work yet; at times vulnerable and at times aggressive, at times sombre but always honest. The raw drum break and distorted bassline underpins Simbi’s boasy, hostile tone in the opener Offence. Within no time it’s clear: Little Simz can rap. So as impressive as these aggresive moments are, it’s elsewhere on the project that Simz really shines.

There’s a dope moment of nostalgia on the song 101FM; nostalgia both in the sonics and sentiment of the track. From this, the mid-way point of the album, Simz gets into her personal bag. On Therapy she opens up about attending therapy sessions to cope with the burdens of fame and relationships, but unexpectedly declares the practice of therapy ineffective and unhelpful. Unexpected because the next track, Sherbet Sunset, is a rambling confession of the pain of a broken heart. Lines like “ Still it hurts tremendously, can’t bear the intensity”, “ Lost part of myself, and I can’t get her back”, “ Who am I? I’m a mess, more sinning, more spending” paint a picture of someone in dire need of therapy. It seems though that Little Simz’ prefers to heal through her music, putting her pain in her lyrics provides all the catharsis she needs. And long as it works for, I’m here for it. The blessings and burdens of fame, the contrast of her introversion and her intensity, it all makes for Little Simz’ Grey Area.

(Standout Tracks: Selfish, 101 FM, Pressure)

Not Waving But Drowning/Loyle Carner

Not Waving But Drowning feels longer than its 45 minute run time. The record’s generally slow-tempo and Carner’s easy flow don’t make for the most thrilling of listens. Carner’s effortless delivery might even be enough to send the more passive listener to sleep. Animated and energetic it is not, but Carner’s magic is found in his deeply personal lyrics, full of feeling. In his patented fluid rhyme style, he tells of a train journey that spurs thoughts of a future family in Ottolenghi, the track made all the more touching by tenderness of Jordan Rakei’s singing on the hook. There are a host of touching moments on the album like the song Desoleil (Brilliant Corners) which features elusive UK singer Sampha and is a perfect fit for the vocalist, with its ballad-like pace and fleeting drums that hide in the back of the track, allowing the piano riff to lead.

The personal, touching moments continue with songs like Loose Ends (for which Jorja Smith lends her vocals) and Krispy, an attempt to amend a failed friendship. Maybe the most intimate moment is Looking Back where Carner explains his feelings of being lost because of being mixed race. This song isn’t the contrived and corny stuff we hear from some (*looks in the direction of Logic*), but is as earnest as it is honest, exemplified by the hard-hiting line “I’m thinking that my great grandfather could’ve owned my other one/ And yo, that shit is weird”. Despite the reminiscing on times less certain and existential struggles of Not Waving But Drowning, the album doesn’t feel negative or depressive. Even though much of the instrumentation is melancholy in feel, much is also pretty feel-good. There is a lot of optimism about the future and there is a lot of talk of love, whether it’s directed towards his friends, family or partner. Loyle Carner probes around in his own feelings in this project and invites us to join the search.

(Standout Tracks: Ice Water, Ottolenghi, Desoleil (Brilliant Corners), Looking Back)

Written by Dwayne Wilks

#creativityworks #mtfutures #MediaTrust #DwayneWilks

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secretariatess · 5 years

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All throughout high school I participated in an event called Festival of Life. It was a Nazarene competition that spanned over several things, one of which was craft. For my final year, I made a physical representation of Ayiesha Woods’ song, Big Enough. It was honestly a simple craft that I didn’t think would go very far. It was a clear plastic display case with a plastic cross bottle (one that you were supposed to fill with colored sand) glued inside. The walls of the case were messily painted black with nail polish, with words clipped from magazine headlines plastered on randomly. The words were all scary sounding stuff- “The Benghazi Attack,” “before it’s too late,” “in a state of war,” “suicide,” “bipolar disorder,” “war games,” etc. In other words, big problems. When on display, I would put a glow stick in the middle of the cross and the light would try to shine out where it could. Despite the sloppiness of the work and the fact that I hadn’t put as much effort into it as crafts of previous years, this object that served no practical purpose placed first.

Interesting story, I know. And the more I think about it, the weirder it seems. The first year I put together a plastic canvas tissue box that looked like a house. Every window had a verse about a house and every door had a picture of Jesus knocking at the door. It served not only as a reminder of Jesus being the Lord of my house, but also was a decorative cover for certain tissue boxes. The second craft I made for the competition was a clay horse and chariot, painted to look they were made of fire. In the chariot was a candle holder with a fake candle. Essentially, an elaborate candle holder inspired by the flaming chariots from the Bible.

This box? Was just a physical representation of boxing in Christ. It had no other purpose. And I’m not bringing this up to brag about just how amazing I am- in fact, I’ll back to this later. But the song and what the box represents I feel have a message that is often heard and often overlooked by Christians of my generation. And I see it a lot on Tumblr.

Most of us already understand that God is bigger than anything we can think of. And so I think that we normally apply that to “really big” things. Or maybe we think too small and think about the passing storms of life that God can help with. Like the possibility of losing a job, going through a rough patch with the family, a loved one in the hospital. But sometimes I feel like it doesn’t occur to us that God’s bigger than ourselves.

I’m sure you’re thinking, “But I know God’s bigger than me!” I’m sure you do, in some cases. But all to often I see these helpful dissertations or quips reblogged by Christians here and while there’s help to be found in them, it almost seems like Christians take those things like gospel truth. I know I’m going to hit some nerves here, but I’m talking about things like self care, and dealing with mental roadblocks, and cutting out toxic people. Sure, there’s a grain of truth in posts like these, I’m not going to deny that, but like, they’re all things to help ourselves.

We use these things as excuses to God as to why we can’t do something. We call ourselves limited by pointing out all the mental or emotional trouble we have, or we claim we need “me time” or self care, or we claim that these toxic people in our lives are really hindering us. And you know what, the world’s going to do what the world’s going to do. I’m talking about Christians. When we say that kind of stuff, what are we telling God?

I’m sure you’re probably thinking, “But Secret, these are actually big issues. You don’t understand how debilitating some of these things are.” You’re right, I can’t relate on every level. But I’ve also seen my mom, with seasonal depression, press on to follow God. She’s an absolute introvert who’d rather sit in her room reading books and whatnot than to get up on Thursdays to spend an almost entire day in the community our church is located. I’ve seen my grandmother, with bipolar disorder and problems that come with age, be the closest person I know to God. If God tells her to do something, she’ll do it. She doesn’t really take the time to stop and say, “But God, I’m just not mentally fit right now.” And for me personally, the older I get, the risk of my chance of getting my grandmother’s bipolar disorder increases. I already have an “I can’t” mentality that I’ve let way too many times get in the way of what I’m supposed to do and I have to make a choice that, if I were diagnosed in future with it, I would have to continue on. And for me, it would be all too easy to use bipolar disorder as an excuse to not do something. So no. I’m not going to pretend to know what it’s like to go through certain things. But I do know I’ve seen God work bigger things than what we imagine ourselves capable of.

When we use the problems in our lives to give a “valid reason” as to why we can’t do something, we attempt to box God in. Now I’m not saying that we should all be at the point my grandmother’s at. It’s a growth process. But we can’t grow if we keep ourselves limited. And then use those limitations to limit what God can do with us.

“I have xyz, or I’m abc, so I can’t do everything that the Bible and God expects of me.” God already knows what you struggle with. But He’s bigger than that. There are many examples of God working through people who by themselves wouldn’t have been able to achieve what they did. And that’s the point. They couldn’t do it by themselves. God could do it. You’re not supposed to do it by yourself- you’re supposed to surrender it and yourself to God so He can use you in ways that you didn’t think possible. Don’t box God in with mental, emotional, or personality limitations.

“I have to have self care and time to myself." What are you doing with that self care time? How important is it to you? If God asked for it, would you give it to Him, or continue to insist that you’ll need it or you won’t be of any use? Do you trust that God knows when you need time alone with Him? Or will you continue to insist that you need to think of yourself first? I’m not saying that we have to constantly think of others first. I’m saying we have to constantly think of God first. We also have to consider just how much of our self care routines are that important. Remember that God provides rest to weary. He isn’t looking to run you ragged. But if our idea of “self care” is constantly thinking of our needs and limitations especially where God might ask us to move outside the comfort zone, we’re not going to find that rest. We’re going to find our own rest, and it will never be as satisfying. Don’t box God in with the things that you think you need.

“I need to cut these people out of my life because they’re toxic.” Toxic? Toxic how? Because they might grate with you? Because they annoy you? Because spending time with them is draining? Have you ever considered that you might someone else’s toxic person? Have you ever considered what life might be like if God cut out everyone who was toxic in His life? You are supposed to be salt and light to the world, but it’s hard for some people to see that if you cut them out of your life. Even if they’re Christians, consider that the Bible says, “As iron sharpens iron, so must one sharpen another.” (Paraphrasing, I know.) I’ve seen and heard of God doing big things with relationships that were “toxic.” I’m not trying to encourage unhealthy relationships or harmful behaviors. But rather than you being in charge of your relationships, why not surrender them to God? Do we think that no good can come of the “toxic people”? Don’t box God in with people you think are toxic.

Now I don’t have guidelines for how your life should look. Each life is different, each case is different, each problem is different. What I’m trying to say is that so often we put ourselves and our problems before God. We’ll give Him some things, as I said earlier. But we seem to have this idea that there are some things that not even God could fix. We come up with excuses as to why something won’t work. When you come across advice like this, are you looking for advice to help, or are you gaining another excuse to present to God as to why you can’t follow everything He tells you to do? Are you gaining another excuse to live comfortably? Are you gaining another excuse to box in what God can do?

Back to the little box. As I said before, I didn’t put a lot of effort into it and it certainly wasn’t as neat as it could’ve been. But I had been given inspiration I know now must have been the Spirit and I made a little box that I was certain was going to be overlooked at the competition. But it was God’s. And I know God did bigger things than just a gold medal. Had I gone a different direction, had I instead decided to do something grander, or made a craft with more “useful” purpose, I doubt it would have the same impact.

Part of the journey of a maturing Christian is to get rid of excuses of why we can’t. To get rid of the excuses that box in the wonders that God can do. Wonders aren’t just miraculous healings. Wonders can be taking you beyond what you thought you could do. Take it from someone who still struggles with the “I can’t” factor. I constantly sabotage myself by convincing myself I can’t do anything. But when I finally let God do what He’s been asking me to let Him do, man, blows my mind.

But first, we have to acknowledge the excuses. We have to acknowledge the things that we use to box God in. God’s been doing big things since the beginning of the world. Our everyday struggles are small. Not insignificant small. But nothing that’s going to overwhelm Him.

What are you using to box God in?

#christianity

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normal-thoughts-official · 5 years

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Magnus and Queen

ok so i thought making the other post would get this off my chest but apparently it didnt so here comes

this post is non-queen-fans friendly

lemme just talk a little bit more about magnus' (Canon!!!!) relationship with freddie mercury cuz honestly i think they were just name-dropping but it makes so much sense i die

listen. LISTEN. magnus and freddie are so alike, its kind of unreal. both really powerful/glamorous/outspoken people who actually felt pretty lonely and were very closed off when it came to important things.

both with the same fashion style and love to break gender roles (particularly 70s!Freddie).

both big cat lovers.

both really Soft and romantic and nice but taken for divas and drama queens because of their effeminate styles.

both serial adopters of insecure kids (John deacon, queens bassist, has said multiple times that fred was like a father figure to him, helped him come out of his shell and feel comfortable in the band and always helped him write his songs. also most of freddie's exes or queer friends ended up living at his house or getting a position as like, freddie's "personal assistant" or "gardener" so he could help them on their feet - and magnus, well, magnus has adopted every single downworlder he managed to put his hands on).

both diplomatic peacemakers (all the queen guys have said on multiple occasions that when things got heated, freddie helped them figure out their differences and played the diplomat) but who also didnt stand for bullshit.

both had an "open house" policy (freddie would accept visitors any day and frequently took random people he met on clubs to his home. that's how he met his husband, jim hutton)

both really creative, admired, fierce people. both scared of being left behind and unloved. both queer men of color.

like listen theres just. so much they could bond over. so much they could share with each other. i bet their relationship was so good for the both of them

with all of that being said, i dont think they were like, boyfriends. theres many reasons for that; 1- magnus would have to hide pretty much his entire life from freddie; 2- i think magnus would at least avoid getting involved with a mundane; 3- magnus spent way too many years closed off to romantic relationships; 4- they were both kinda private when it came to The Important Things so i think that would put a wall between them should they try to have a romantic relationship

so I'm thinking - not dating, but not really friends with benefits either? something like friends-who-sometimes-bang-and-sometimes-sit-in-silence-doing-their-thing-and-sometimes-talk-all-night-long. intimate and close, but not really romantic. and they were fine with that

freddie and magnus would lowkey compete over who loved cats the most. it was never really explicitly said but whenever magnus would, like, get a cat some milk, freddie would give them fish, so magnus would pet them, so freddie would kiss them, and it kept going but neither would acknowledge what was happening

magnus had to have met the other queen members at some point, since they were all really close (like, personal-space-is-not-a-thing close, really, there are many pictures of them all just. sitting on each other's laps), and i think hed vibe with Brian May (queens guitarrist) pretty well

im thinking party because freddie loved to throw parties and magnus loved himself a good party and somehow he bumps on Brian and theyre both slightly tipsy and started talking and like. brian is fun (esp when hes drunk) so theyd get along well and somehow they found themselves at a quieter place just talking. im thinking by the pool just because brian would throw himself at the pool at freddie's parties jejdid

anyway they have a few bits in common if you look close enough. mainly, brians gender issues (his parents kind of raised him as a girl and hes always been like, slightly feminine. up to this day - hes 71 now - brian paints his nails and has long curly hair and wears androgynous clothing on his shows) and death issues (brian had a sister who died very young and it deeply scarred him. he has many songs that revolve around the idea of being the one who lives and having to watch your loved ones die. hes also struggled with depression and suicidal ideation for pretty much his whole life)

so like, ok, yeah, dark, but im not really thinking, super dark? im thinking somehow these topics come up and it ends up being like one of these honest conversations you have with strangers at a party when you're just the right amount of tipsy to be honest without being hyper-emotional or a crying mess. these conversations that end up going deep but dont really feel sad, feel more like "omg someone understands!" and end up being kind of fun

so they talk about these issues and get along pretty well and both come out of their conversation pretty satisfied. magnus didnt reveal anything he shouldn't, of course, but that conversation ended up subconsciously inspiring brian to write who wants to live forever

magnus kind of doesnt listen to who wants to live forever cuz it hits a little too close to home. but its a beautiful song

eventually, with magnus becoming the high warlock of brooklyn and freddie dating other people, they stop seeing each other. they dont really break up as much as drift apart, and, as many of freddie's exes, stay on pretty amicable terms

magnus never stops being a queen fan. hed still go to concerts, along with dot, and sometimes talk to the guys when he managed

magnus was totally that queen fan who liked the hot space album, and dot was totally that queen fan who despised the hot space album. these were the concerts that magnus "dragged" dot to (because i refuse to believe dot doesnt like queen. theres no such thing). theyd have heated arguments over it too

"its funk! its disco! its not queen" "oh, so you're telling me that queen, the band that mixed hard rock and opera, should stick to a single musical genre?" "im saying it doesnt have queens touch. i thought youd back me up on this, dont you think there could be more of an edge?" "darling, there can always be more of an edge. also, two words: under pressure." and even dot cant argue with the power of under pressure, but that doesn't mean she'll agree with him

queen is magnus' go-to band for many moods. they just have so many songs he can relate to (from dont try suicide to somebody to love) and also many purely fun, even silly songs he can dance/perform to and just feel. happy. he even likes most of queens not as well-known songs, like seaside rendezvous and lazing on a sunday afternoon

freddie's death shocked him. freddie didnt tell the press about his disease and they werent that close anymore at the time, so it hit him in the stomach. he attended the freddie mercury tribute concert and went back home feeling better and knowing that freddie lived a happy life

when he starts to miss him and wants to honour him, he listens to was it all worth it, to remind himself that yes, Freddie died really happy and proud of his life

#me trying desperstely to not end this on a sad note like #sh #shadowhunters #magnus bane #meta #sh meta #dot rollins #dot #dorothea rollins #magnus lightwood bane #overflowing trashcan

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murdocsagaypirate · 6 years

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The Fall of 2D

A Character Essay

So.. this ended up being a nice long read.. but.. I think some of y’all might enjoy it. I just kind of got carried away. But I’m done~ Back to fanfiction~ I’ve done more thorough analyses of most of these songs that I touch on here in the past. If you go to my blog and type in the songs name in search you’ll find it ... unless I haven’t done it yet... and in that case go ahead and request it if you like.

Remember when you were a little kid and you would look at the clouds in the sky as the sunlight bounced off them? And something that simple would make you feel a part of everything, and all alone at the same time. And the feeling’s not something you can ever put into words, so you spend your whole life chasing it. Making music, taking pictures, painting, whatever. In the hope that other people will understand that sense or… feeling. As creative entities, we look for signs of life outside ourselves for a connection to alleviate the sense of solitude. That’s why we all do what we do. Whether we know it ourselves or not.

Phase 1: Someone Else’s Dream

2D never dreamed he’d be famous, or even successful, in any capacity. No one ever treated him like he possibly could be because he was disabled. He had chronic pain and hindered cognitive ability from childhood that shaped how others perceived him. His bright blue hair growing out of his damaged head made it so that everyone knew he was different- he was stupid. And that perception shaped him. It shaped him into someone with no big dreams, someone that tolerated being bullied, someone with poor self-efficacy and no sense of independence or developed sense of identity. He liked films and he liked music and it didn’t go much deeper than that. Not because he was stupid and shallow, as he’s clearly always been a very deep and creative thinker, but because no one ever gave him the options and opportunity to pursue something bigger. He says in the phase 5 football interview, “My mum and dad taught me not to aim too high.” No one ever believed in him....

Until Murdoc came along. 2D’s blue hair is directly associated to the event that handicapped him but to Murdoc it represented anything but a handicap- it gave 2D the unique looks that would make him a priceless asset in Murdoc’s pursuit of his personal dreams. For the first time in his life, Murdoc made 2D believe he was capable and valuable because he was talented and attractive. 2D didn’t need to be worshiped like Murdoc, he just needed to be worth something, and Murdoc gave him a way to do that. That’s what 2D means when he says that Murdoc “saved his life”, that’s a big reason WHY he idolized him in addition to the fact that 2D appreciates that Murdoc is genuinely talented and driven.

I can’t impress this enough: 2D was only 19 years old. Old enough to know you’re expected to be an adult, to make something of yourself, but for many still not old enough to be one - especially for someone that grew up disabled, whose independence wasn’t fostered ... Make no mistake: 2D was vulnerable and Murdoc, who was 31, took advantage of him. This is a 2D analysis so I’m not going to go into why Murdoc did this, but at the end of the day, Murdoc was a fucking shitty shitty person and there no good excuse.

Already by the time the first album came out, 2D had already figured out he’d been taken advantage of. That’s what New Genius (Brother) is about. It’s about Murdoc and the promises he made him about the path to success he was going to take him on, about the river they were going to ford together and how 2D felt betrayed.

Besides what we learn in RoTO, there are some songs that you can’t totally parse out what lyrics on Gorillaz debut album belong to 2D and which belong to Murdoc besides simply what makes sense. It’s interesting though you can easily argue that there are shared sentiments in songs like Slow Country about working hard to succeed and being lonely. In RoTO a lyric for this song is included, “City life, leave my soul in deep water.” which mirror’s “The river ain’t deep.” in New Genius (Brother). Sound Check (Gravity) is a song he sang straight from his heart on a rooftop in Jamaica with Noodle, that repeats themes of feeling pressured and betrayed and the theme of a confusing and broken love which will reoccur, over and over. At that time (in Jamaica, no less) that love is actively breaking, not broken yet, but he doesn't know what to do. Latin Simone characterizes his depression and the realization that he’s just not happy on this path he’s started on, but there’s no escaping it now. Then you have a song like 12D3, that very directly characterizes him as a simple person that takes simple pleasure in music. There are various songs and lines on Self-titled that characterize drug dependency both for 2D and for Murdoc. Phase One, overall, sets us up with a picture of a 2D who is still enthusiastic about his future as a musician for no other reason than his passion for music, yet disillusionment is quickly setting in, both toward the lifestyle of fame and his idol and best friend.

Phase 2: Feel Good?

This is where 2D starts talking about his never-ending quest to “find himself”. 2D never got to gain independence. He went straight from dependency on his parents to dependency on Murdoc, living at his mansion studio and literally letting him tie his shoes. His parents never fostered an ability to self-care or a sense of ambition, so Murdoc gifted him his ambition and without Murdoc, 2D doesn’t have his own sense of identity.

So, of course, leaving Murdoc after phase 1, he went back to his parents, to work for his dad. He returned to his hometown, to a bunch of people that treated him like a worthless idiot. But now he’s famous. So now he’s surrounded by people that want to validate him... Which he fucking eats up, because it fills the hole left by his upbringing... Not to mention all the very fucking irresponsible sex. There is much that goes unstated about this phase of 2D’s life, it seems he chooses to paint it as wholly positive, yet we know the lasting consequences of it (child support for for several kids for the next 18 years) as well as the fact that he ultimately chose to leave it behind and return to Gorillaz and back into the same lifestyle that he hated and is only getting worse as Gorilaz’s popularity hits it major peak in 2005:

The Feel Good Inc music video give shit tons of insight into the characters and the lyrics. Notably, the way that 2D is placed at the center, on a throne, and how utterly miserable he is on that throne. It’s not JUST the debauchery he struggles with, but the position of stardom and idol worship he’s been thrust into.

“Take it all in on your stride” run’s parallel to Latin Simone’s “Give up, if you want to survive.” He’s resigned to this path, never exhibited any desire to fight it really, because he’s never known another path. Without Gorillaz, he’s aimless. “Turn forever, hand in hand... It is ticking, falling down. Love forever, love has freely turned forever you and me. Windmill, windmill for the land. Is everybody in?” The windmill represents freedom, Noodle’s freedom contrasted with 2D’s imprisonment specifically, yet here he sings about it “falling”, foreshadowing El Manana. He talks about the utter destruction of hope happening to all of them. “Is everybody in?”

Remember the theme of a “breaking love” I’d say would be returning over and over? 2D is trapped in the tower with Murdoc who watches him like some kind of predator throughout the video. Russel is there too, which characterizes him as lacking the freedom that Noodle has but coping through staying focused on drumming, making music. This person that 2D is turning with forever, falling, hand in hand is mainly Murdoc.

While much of this album was written by Noodle, 2D has specifically talked about writing chorus of Feel Good Inc. And there are other songs on the album I’ll touch on that, although lore never specifically states, I can only assume are written by 2D by how well they fit into his character arc at this point in his life and make no sense in characterizing Noodle.

O Green World continues with the themes of Feel Good Inc with the line “Hope, sex and drugs will rust into myself holy. It feels holy,” further characterizing the disturbing dichotomy of pleasurable addiction as a destructive force. Placing “hope” on the list of things that 2D clings to for comfort that destroy him is heartbreaking and we’ll watch how this “hope” becomes more and more painful to hold onto throughout the years. The larger focus of O Green World is the narrative about a failing relationship: the current state of his relationship with Murdoc. A desperation and confusion over a crumbling relationship is also explored in Every Planet We Reach is Dead. Lines like “For all the sacred selfless days, only left with heartache. I want to see you again. I love you... But what are we going to do?” paints the same picture 2D will eventually paint for us again in The Now Now. He will look back on this era of their relationship where he clung to hope that they’d be close, happy and healthy again. And yet... we know how that turned out...

Phase 3: Alone Together

I only really joined the band to make music, and now, I'm being held captive by a bastard bass player in an underwater submarine, being attacked by sodding pirates who are trying to take over this rotten piece of broken plastic in the ocean that Gorillaz call 'home'. All this, just to make a video. It's making me want to die!

So... this is a major phase for 2D, but of course, that fact is often overshadowed but what a big deal it was Murdoc. We have hours of podcast and a whole album to witness Murdoc’s deterioration and precious little to witness 2D’s, though there is certainly enough to analyze especially later in the phase.

2D doesn’t seek attention like Murdoc does. He’s motivated by validation, sure, but not in the practically narcissistic way Murdoc is. 2D isn’t the one that is constantly engaging with fans, soaking up our attention and admiration. He wants to connect to people through music, not as a celebrity, just as a musician. He’s private, and that loss of privacy that comes with fame is probably yet another factor that caused him to hate it.

2D struggles with emotional isolation like Murdoc but in a completely different way. It’s not that he fears and avoids connection and vulnerability like Murdoc, in that quote I started this with he shows that he finds it to be something important and profound. It something he simply finds difficult for many reasons. One, his disability that clearly effects his communication skills. Then the inherent isolation that comes with stardom. And finally, an inability to connect with himself first and foremost, his undeveloped sense of personal identity comes back into play, that theme of struggling to “find himself”.

Little Pink Plastic Bag characterizes the isolating feeling of drifting through life without purpose. 2D has lost control of his life, knowing he was going to school before this phase might indicate he was beginning to find purpose but once again (and in a much more literal sense) he’s forced away from his own dreams to serve Murdoc’s. “What you want in life? Someone here'll gonna get past by” hearkens back to so many themes present in the first album. In New Genius (Brother) he sings, “People passing through me.” 2D still feels overlooked, underappreciated, so many years later.

2D talks about Revolving Doors: “As I was walking through the doors of the hotel - the revolving doors - and the dislocation of being away, you know, out of sorts, away from home. and the image of this door permanently revolving, the endless repetition and the pointless rhythm of it all I guess struck like, a melancholic image within me. It paints a similar aimless image to pointlessness of plastic bag floating on the highway. Revolving Doors also pretty explicitly references drug use, specifically about buying drugs and getting shorted by the dealer. It’s not news, just notable that substance abuse is still very much present. Another major theme is 2D lamenting how much fame has changed him and his fear of what more is to come which come up again in Amarillo.

Amarillo is such a fucking beautiful song. “I got lost on the highway. But don't ask me where I've been. Or what I've done.” The trials of the last few years have changed 2D, he recognizes this and fills him with regret. And again, he expresses that utter lonely we’re familiar with by now.

Finally, we have DoYaThing giving us incite at the very tail end of this phase of the state of 2D’s relationship with Murdoc, which has quite obviously suffered but enough time is past that they are ready to start healing again. The line “If you're thinking that I don't know what you're thinking, baby. You do more thinking and I'll go out and make it alright“ expresses a concept 2D explored a few times on Demon Days, “I know you now, I know you know me too.” in O Green World characterizes there relationship as legitimately intimate, they understand each other. This sort of relationship is suggested in interviews too, mostly Murdoc relying on 2D to help handle a crisis, while it doesn’t seem that Murdoc is emotionally equipped to return the favor, yet another way Murdoc contributes to 2D’s chronic loneliness. Despite how much 2D is struggling with at the end of phase 3 he still expends energy worrying about Murdoc. After their live recording of Detroit, 2D responds to Murdoc thanking him, presumably just for the fun of the moment, “I was just glad to help, really.”

DoYaThing expresses this dynamic of expending energy and getting little in return with frustration. Before, 2D was confused and hurt, now he’s angry and impatient. “Every time we try, we get nowhere“... “I've got no patience. Oh, it's all a part of the process. Nothing's new, it's true, cool, I admit. Shit, I guess you're right“ 2D is holding on but growing bitter...

Phase 4: Gone Gone Gone

It’s obvious in this phase that his drug abuse is at an all-time high. The entire phase, songs, pictures, interviews, portrayed the band as going all out partying, which, of course, involved drugs. Recreational is one thing, but we know it’s more than recreational for 2D. Sleeping Power was the big 2D song of this phase. All the way back to Tomorrow Comes Today’s music video we see 2D’s drug abuse almost being portrayed as a fun aesthetic as brightly colored pain pills fly at the screen and now with Sleeping Power 2D is having a hell of a good time singing about a day he spent “gone”, completely strung out. He starts the video with the old “This is your brain on drugs” ad, which is practically become a joke in modern culture. and it’s an interesting contrast with the extremely emotional way Murdoc writes about his alcoholism in Plastic Beach, or the dark and completely unflattering way it’s portrayed in White Light.

There’s no denying 2D is depressed, but when it comes to his coping methods it seems he copes even further by making it a part of his identity. It’s not difficult to understand why he’d be so inclined to see his addiction as a positive thing, not only does it help his mood but it manages crippling chronic pain. No matter what though, addiction and substance abuse are never sustainable for mental health and 2D has struggled with this issue or a long.. long.. time.

As for his relationship with Murdoc at this point, it remains in pieces. We see the bitterness 2D feels toward him throughout phase 4. We lose 2D’s voice on Humanz but find so much incite exploring his phase 4 room. Murdoc’s face is plastered on his wall vindictively covered in darts. And yet we find his poems promising, “Yes I am still with you.” and “I will stay. The storm abates. The levy holds.” He’s angry but still refuses to give up. Whether you want to interpret it romantically or not, he clearly still loves Murdoc and we see this even more in The Now Now...

Phase 5: Reflection

On Plastic Beach, if 2D is trapped on an island of isolation then it’s only because Murdoc is the ship that stranded him there. In Magic City, if 2D is on the moon - shining brightly for everyone to see - it’s because Murdoc was the rocket ship that crash landed him on it. The Now Now is chalk full of callbacks and beautifully shows where 2D has come from and where he is now, especially in his relationship to Murdoc. “You put me up here in the penthouse.” Murdoc is the force that made him successful, the reason he’s famous. "I filled the canyons with my ego” The canyon, the hole in himself. We get a call back all the way to New Genius (Brother) as he changes the effect on the vocal’s to sound like some distance voice from the past of someone promising 2D ease of passage only to betray him by leading him to danger, “Let me take you this far. This crossing isn't much to me. There's lightning in the storm clouds. And I'll send you there to stay” and of course, that voice is Murdoc’s.

Like he’s been for years, he’s trapped in this lifestyle. Looking all the way back to 5/4. He talks about the same debauchery and spoils of fame he feels trapped back in Feel Good Inc and calls them “magic”. It’s ironic but at the same time addresses the fact that he was promised they would be magic, promised they would feel good, only to feel betrayed when they weren’t. “Magic on me. Really got me down... Magic’s funny. Magic get me through.” The same magic that depressing him, he relies on to get through: drugs, sex, the validation of fame, you name it. It’s a common tale we see for celebrities time and time again. Trapped in this “Magic City”, he wants to make it “home”. He talks about making his journey home in Kansas as well... where exactly does 2D consider “home”? I wonder if even he knows. Our sense of home is so tied to our sense of security and identity, something 2D has always struggled with. On his quest “home”, by the end of the album the thing that he truly returns to.. is Murdoc. In Souk Eye he decides to come back for him... after all this... he’s still willing to give him yet another chance. Throughout the years he’s had one anchor and one anchor alone: Murdoc. So in the absence of this anchor, his sense-of-self changes dramatically as he tries to emulate the man that was once his idol. Of course, we see this play out in the lore... But... at this point (9/28/18) anything I say about 2D actions in this phase beyond the early characterization through the album is just speculation... So, back to the album...

There are few places where 2D talks about how much he’s sacrificed for Murdoc’s sake, how he’s stood by and suffered for him, even made music for him when he really just didn’t want to anymore. Idaho references this and the level of idolization he once felt for Murdoc so long ago, “Playing it all for gods Yesterday/Faraway” and the role of Murdoc in pressuring him, ““Ride on," said the king of cool. you've got nothing to lose“ and how his hope faded through the years, “Silver linings getting lost”. Fireflies again frames Murdoc’s role in driving him, “You were in the kind of game that put the force in me“ and overall speaks to his desperation to hold onto hope throughout the last 20 years.

The lore supports these songs are about Murdoc in far more obvious ways then has ever been done. Between the Souk Eye visualizer and 2D’s journal, the depths for which he feels for him becomes undeniable. The deterioration we’ve witnessed has caused him so much pain and yet his love remains. “If loving you’s a felony now, then I’m a renegade.”

2D’s story serves as a tragic retelling of the path that so many real-life famous musicians have taken. Being in the limelight is rarely something normal people are able to cope with, and clearly, 2D is no exception. It changed him, caused him to make decisions he hated. He never would have chosen this lifestyle without Murdoc pressuring him, and returns over and over even when he has the choice to stay away because it’s one of the few solid things he can grasp as part of his identity. Meanwhile, he’s bound to an individual that’s even more unhealthy then he is, enabling his isolation, denying him support, taking advantage of him from day one, manipulating his poor sense of self-worth. All of it crushed his once child-like spirit... only time will tell where he goes from here. Maybe one day he’ll finally see the end of his abuse, heal with the man he’s forgiven too many times, and find security in his own self-worth...

Now if all that made you too sad here’s a video of 2D being absolutely adorably happy because he has the opportunity to connect with fans through sharing his passion for music.

#character analysis #2d #i hope you cry

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