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aspiringxfires · 3 years

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I saw someone on twitter say that fans have "romanticized what mcr was and are getting let down by reality" because of gerards panel on his mental health and I had some thoughts on that and a few other things..

All of the members got put through a lot while in mcr, hell, Mikey had to leave for a while because he got to a point where there was such a huge strain on him while with the band. It's one thing to acknowledge that our idols are going through hardships mentally, they're real people. It's ANOTHER thing to wrap yourself in that and submerge yourself in someone eses trouble. Making the decision to step back and simply enjoy the music without being obsessed with the guys emotional and mental state 100% of the time is okay, it's healthy. Choosing to just listen to the music and have fun isn't romanticizing anything.

On the topic of mental health, obviously we need to open up the discussion and break the stigma around mental illness so more people in general can feel comfortable talking about it without shame. Gerard talking about his mental health and the trauma of rising to fame so suddenly isn't inherently a bad thing, but it's important to remember that being mentally ill doesn't make you exempt from criticism, which some fans are forgetting. Gerard has the luxury to be able have this platform to talk so openly about anything he wants to millions of people. Why not open up the discussion about how his actions can affect those outside his immediate circle, even if those actions are part of the toll mental illness takes on someone?

I think it should also be discussed that Gerard Way is still friends with a rapist. He still hasn't unfollowed Scott Allie, or even acknowledged that his friend has done something so fucking heinous. Maybe he didn't talk about it becauseit affected him to the point where he felt he had to take a break from social media, so why was that not acknowledged? why did he not bring THAT up in the conversation? Why was it not brought to attention that continuing to follow a rapist even after people have repeatedly bombarded his comments with the situation can affect his fans who are sexual assault victims? I'm aware i don't speak for everyone and if you're not affected by it, great! But as a victim of sexual assault it really fucking sucks to see someone I looked up to for so long keep a rapist in his close circle. He had that man over at his HOUSE, around his wife and daughter for a birthday party. It comes across as if he doesn't fucking care. Why didn't he bring up how his silence during the riots / BLM protests and black history month was seen by and affected his poc fans either? People were looking for his voice in a time where it would've been helpful but he gave them nothing, And you can make the argument about not being obligated to say anything but if he has the platform why doesn't he fucking use it?

Because he doesn't want to acknowledge how his actions, as a famous person, affect people outside of his own life, if it's not about anything inside his own bubble then it doesn't matter to him enough. Which is why he can make post after post about his antisemetic superhero show and write essay length instagram captions about wheat and shit, but can't give us anything regarding BLM besides a very self centered statement that basically says "i'm privileged and i know it, oh also black people exist and stuff".

He has the privilege to even want to step back from the spotlight. He is a privileged rich white man, and he can afford the luxury to turn away from the problems the rest of the world is facing if it doesn't directly affect him. That needs to be acknowledged and talked about.

#i'm very fucking upset with gerard way sorry not sorry #my chemical romance #gerard way #emo shitbags #no idea what to tag this as #g.txt

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yourcoffindoor · 4 years

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Bulletproof Heart Pt.2

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Prompt: Request from Anon- “ could you write one where the reader is a rock singer and they and mcr are on warped tour together, and they both lowkey like each other but think they’re both out of each other’s league, and find out that they’re both secretly into nerdy stuff + maybe getting together?

TW: Mentions of an abusive relationship.

AN: The plot thickens. Sorry for the delay in uploading <3

Enjoyyyy <3

That night after everyone had stumbled back to the bus in a tipsy stupor, you couldn't shake the thought of your encounter with Gerard from your brain. And what's more, you hated yourself for it. For awhile you tossed and turned, hoping the unwelcome feelings you had would fade to nothing so that you could fall asleep at last.

But your curiosity got the better of you, and there was only would person who could give you the answers you were looking for.

"Hey Gavin, are you still conscious?" you whispered from your bunk. You heard the rustle of sheets moving in response.

"Hmmm?" a low and sleepy sound of acknowledgement answered.

"I'm just wondering...what do you know about Gerard Way?"

As soon as the words left your lips, Gavin's curtains swung open with superhuman force.

"Y/N are you in love with Gerard Way?!" Gavin's voice was no longer tired, having morphed into a sharp and excited whisper. In addition to being the band's social butterfly, he always knew the gossip about everyone within a 20 mile radius.

"Christ, really Gavin? We only spoke for like fifteen minutes."

"So it was like a love at first sight situation?"

"You are so annoying, I swear to god."

"Do you want info or not?" he threatened.

You sighed. "Fine, yes I do."

Gavin cleared his throat as if preparing for a presentation. "OK, so everyone has something good to say about him, seems like a really genuine guy. I've heard he was in a long term relationship for ages, but its been broken off for awhile now. "

"Hmm," you murmured, trying to sound indifferent, "yeah he seems like a sweet guy."

"Yeah and every girl with a pulse seems to be after him. You got some competition out there." he teased. "But seriously, if you're interested you should go for it. You deserve to be happy, Y/N. It's been three years since...you know who."

Gavin didn't say his name, but he had said enough to bring on a wave of sad memories. "Thanks. I'm uh, feeling pretty tired, so... I'm just gonna get some sleep."

"G'night." Gavin said softly, as if aware he had brought out long buried and very unwelcome feelings.

You rolled over in your bunk, pulling your blankets up over your head, unwilling to dwell on the memories that had been drudged up by only a few words. Three years ago. That's when you finally had the strength to break it off with Alex.

You were a different person when you met him. It was your first relationship, and you were naive and forgiving, unable to see the dozens of red flags that should have made you run away from it all.

You had answered an ad that he had posted asking for potential band members for a punk band he was forming. It had been your dream to pursue music, and you responded right away, hoping you'd hit it off. You weren't expecting Alex to be so damn attractive, and when your audition was successful, it was only a matter of time before a relationship began to develop between you.

He was older than you, more experienced, and eager to take you under his wing where he could have the most control. You mistook his over-protectiveness as a sign of love, and he slowly cut you off from people outside of the band, leaving you isolated and dependent on him.

Eventually he would get angry if he saw you speak to any other man. He took your phone regularly so that he could look through it, questioning you about anything he didn't like. The fights you had were loud and ugly, your voices rising and crashing like cantankerous bursts of thunder. Eventually, they became violent.

You were stuck in a cycle of affection and fear, held there as if caught in a tide that would never bring you back to shores of sanity. But you did eventually find the strength to get out when your friend reached out to you, offering you a place to stay. You packed your bags that night and didn't look back.

Your band was not just a career for you, it was a symbol of healing, proof that you were able to overcome it all and strike out on your own. You rolled over in your bunk, and pushed the unwanted memories aside, reminding yourself of the promise you had made to be the best damn band on Warped tour. Nothing was going to change that now.

x x x

Your first performance went by in a haze of adrenaline and sweat. The crowd was young and eager to see what you had to offer, and you were all to happy to give them something they'd remember for a long long time.

There were several people in the crowd who were fans already, proudly wearing your band's shirts and mouthing along to all of the lyrics. Others were slowly converted, headbanging enthusiastically by the end of your set. When the band's final song was met with deafening hoots and cheers, you'd felt like you'd accomplished your mission.

"We fucking killed it!" Gavin declared as he slumped in the nearest chair, exhausted.

"The crowd was good, huh?" you beamed as you wiped the sweat from your face, still breathless from your onstage antics. "Let's hope they're all like this."

"Can't get any worse than our first show ever, remember?" Liz laughed as she recalled the groups early days. "Never had so much beer pelted at me in my life."

People milled about as you and your band mates caught your breath. A few musicians from other bands popped in to say hi and let you know that they enjoyed your performance.

"Hey you actually made it!" Gavin jumped up from his chair as he noticed a new face entering the backstage area. "Guys did you meet Frank last night? From My Chemical Romance?" A man with wide hazel eyes gave a quick wave from the the entryway.

"This guy was goin on and on about how you guys were the best new band on warped tour. Had to see if he was just full of shit."

"He always starts bragging when he's drunk." you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I'm glad he did. You guys put on a pretty kick-ass show. Plus Gerard really wanted to check it out."

Your heartbeat, which had only just settled from jumping around on stage, began to speed up again.

"Gerard?"you asked softly, caught off guard by the mention of his name. You didn't see the familiar black haired boy near frank. You only saw Gavin attempting to give you a discreet wink, which you returned with a harsh glare.

"Yeah actually we were all there. Mikey and Ray had to run to another show. Don't know where Gee disappeared to though," Frank craned his head, looking around at the hustle and bustle that was happening permanently everywhere on Warped tour. "Ah, there he is. Gerard!"

You saw Gerard, surrounded by a small circle of fans, each holding something they wanted him to sign. You felt a strange pang when you noticed they were all pretty girls, and Gavin's words from last night came back to haunt you. You got some competition out there. You struggled to identify just what emotion was suddenly eating away at you--were you really jealous? Or was it the realization that even if you decided to make a move, it was probably hopeless?

Gerard nodded at Frank. "Be there in a sec!" he shouted, continuing to sign autographs until he had gotten through everyone.

Frank spoke with your band mates, but you were too distracted by the knowledge that Gerard had watched you perform to be sociable. You were anxious as to what his opinion would be, but tried to push it out of your thoughts.

You watched nervously as Gerard spoke to Frank and Gavin, noticing that he would glance over at you every so often. When your eyes finally met he gave you a nod and a warm smile. You gave yourself an internal pep talk to try and stay calm. You can just be friends, you don't need to do anything except be friendly. For the love of god, act normal.

Eventually he made his way over to you,offering another soft and lopsided smile,but his time it almost seemed as if he was shy. "Great show. From one lead singer to another, your band has a fucking killer sound."

You thanked him, grinning like an idiot while cautionary alarm bells went off in your head.

"I might be a bit biased though, because of the shirt your wearing."

You looked down, having forgotten what you threw on that morning. It was one of your favorite shirts, a short sleeved tee with the X-Men symbol emblazoned on the front. You'd had it for years, as evidenced by the smattering of small holes peeking through the bottom edge. Oh no, you thought, he likes comics too?

"You're a fan?" you asked coolly, a stark contrast to the giddy panic that was building up inside you.

"Yes! I actually wanted to make comics before My Chem was a thing." He spoke animatedly, his round hazel eyes widening even further. "But life had other plans. Not that I'm complaining."

That familiar heat rose in your cheeks. This conversation was dangerous, and you were trying desperately to fight the feeling that this man was something close to perfect.

The world around the two of you became an insignificant blur as you both discussed comics at length, and you hung on every word, taking turns revealing how you first discovered them and sharing your favorites. He even recommended a few titles that you had never heard of. His demeanor was passionate and lively, entirely different from the sullen boy you met the night before.

"I uh, I'm actually working on a comic at the moment," he began, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, suddenly bashful, "If you're interested you should stop by the bus sometime--"

Gerard's eyes focused on something just behind you, and you felt a sudden tap on your shoulder. You turned and felt your stomach drop to a sickening low. There, standing next to the drunk who was hitting on you last night, was your ex-boyfriend Alex.

"What are the odds!" he smiled at you, blank looking smug beside him. You found yourself at a loss for words.

"What...what are you doing here?"

He scoffed. "Ouch Y/N, is that anyway to say hello? I'm here for the same reason you are." He turned his attention to Gerard. "I'm Alex. Y/N and I used to have a band together back in the day. Well, a bit more than that actually." He smirked at you, instantly transforming any butterflies you had felt while talking to Gerard into pure revulsion.

This was your worst case scenario, and it was one you had never even considered to be possible. Seeing his face again made you freeze up, and you were at a loss for words. You looked up at Gerard through your eyelashes, wondering if the dark and overwhelming swirl of emotion inside you was showing on your face. His brows were furrowed ever so slightly as if he could sense that something wasn't quite right.

"Nice to meet you," he replied curtly before turning his attention back to you. I'll uh, let you catch up. I'll just be over there with Frank...if you need anything."

You merely nodded, too caught up in your feelings to respond properly. "I'll catch you later then."

Alex saw this opportunity as a chance to reach for an embrace, but you stepped back and out of reach.

"Just what the hell are you doing?"

"What are you implying? I'm just dropping in to say hello before Midnite Heist performs later. I'm their new drummer after all. I can't even do that?"

"No," you said, struggling to maintain a low voice, "You can't. I told you I never wanted to see you again. We may be on the same tour, but that doesn't mean you can approach me. Don't try it again."

He laughed, clearly embarrassed to be spoken too like that in front of his band mate. "If you're trying to get with that Way guy, don't bother. You're punching way above your weight with that one."

You took a moment to steel yourself, and decided to walk away rather than let thing turn into a scene. Before you turned to leave, you offered one final warning.

"I haven't forgotten what you did to me. Speak to me again and you'll regret it."

You walked off, hearing mocking 'Ooooh's from Alex and Brent as you left. You saw heads turning in your direction as you stormed away towards the bus, including Gerard's, but you couldn't be bothered by that now- not when you were struggling to keep it together.

Fuck Fuck Fuck your internal monologue looped on a bitter repeat. This was going to be the longest tour of your life.

#gerard way fanfic #gerard way x reader #gerard way imagine #mcr fanfiction

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araignes · 4 years

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𝖜𝖎𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖗 &&. 𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓'𝖘 𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖜𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 . trigger warning for sexual assault and mention of eating disorders .

when amélie was kidnapped , her wrists and ankles were bound , her mouth was taped , and she was thrown in the back of a talon vehicle , transported cautiously and wordlessly to the clutches of a talon laboratory . molested and fondled , the physique she worked tirelessly to maintain was suddenly weaponized against her . no longer did she feel she was belonging to herself , an initiating factor to the successful , accompanying mind-break . intensive neural reconditioning dissolved everything that was once amélie , suppressing her personality and breaking her will .

her rescuing by overwatch made some attempt to crack through the modifications made , though trauma already was interwreathed with her identity . such was why she , entirely unprovoked , killed gerard in his sleep , crawling back to the terrorist organization . following gerard’s killing and amélie returning to talon , her modifications continued , inclusive of her intensive marksmanship training and the alteration of her physiology , turning her skin a faintly illuminated blue as per the oxygenation of her blood . thus came the moniker widowmaker .

complex relationship with post-traumatic stress disorder lusts for the repeat trauma that follows her constantly , all in her identity as widowmaker , it is ever present . to be widowmaker is to be the heinous things talon put her through , the rape , the exploitation . amélie occasionally delves into bondage as a sort of catharsis for her experiences with the kidnapping , half-heartedly yearning to perhaps reclaim the feeling of being bound for her own manipulation . promiscuity ties itself closely with such , attempting to reclaim her body for her own usage . amélie is objectified constantly , and she desires to be an object that is instead of her own utilization .

more - so in amélie’s post - talon verse , recollection of her abuse fuels her abhorrence for talon . this draws upon themes of the real - life mkultra . i have consulted this article carefully regarding this aspect of her depiction , and now wish to utilize it for my dissection for her in this manner. firstly is “a history of subjection to totalitarian control over a prolonged period” , which of course ties itself to amélie’s kidnapping and subsequent brainwashing . “alterations in affect regulation” includes factors such as persistent dysphoria , explosive or extremely inhibited anger , and compulsive sexuality . “alterations in consciousness” includes amnesia or hyperamnesia for traumatic events , specifically the events of her kidnapping and brainwashing , depersonalization , and reliving traumatic experiences . “alterations in self-perception” refers to a sense of defilement , feeling of complete difference from others by way of specialness , and overall a feeling of helplessness .

should my post - talon verse ever progress to where amélie has returned to the protection of overwatch , she would definitely tend towards being husk - like in nature , a shell of the former lacroix . much of that collides with her guilt about gerard , granted that the truth and memories cannot be withheld forever . furthermore , her deoxygenated skin creates a sense of otherness within amélie , feeling alienated for her countenance . attempts may be made to alter her physiology back to its former glory , but it’s something she herself allows little faith into , fearing for failure .

additionally , i take from this post for my conception of post - talon widowmaker . she cuts her hair , firstly , leaving it at a shoulder - length bob . the following conceptions work simultaneously , being amélie’s opting towards warmer clothing for a feeling of chill she can never quite shake , and wearing bulkier clothing to conceal her figure not unlike billie eilish . to be a person , and not a body and a set of skills , it is something foreign to amélie , and thus she makes small steps towards progress . similar is her forage into eating disorder recovery , attempting to recapture her body into something of her own conception . her dance with anorexia is something , contrarily , of talon’s genesis , indoctrinating amélie with the desire to be a lovable object , a theme touched upon countless times in my writings . her objectification looms over her constantly : even the postulation of widowmaker as identity allows for such . the characteristics she finds herself bound by ; seductress , temptress , refined physique and femme fatale in nature .

her fixation on spiders is a bond forged on account of misconceiving , knowing that spiders are beauteous , and yet hideously feared by many . thus , her tender care for arachnids is a display of the vulnerability that amélie feels so naked with . one of her voice lines , “your emotions make you vulnerable” encapsulates this perfectly in that she struggles desperately with vulnerability . to be vulnerable was to lose gerard , to be pregnable was to lose amélie . this further ties into her probing of interpersonal relationships , taking up many a fling and fornication and forcing herself away from emotional connection . given such , something amélie works towards tirelessly is defining herself not by her physical form , and instead by her persona , offering herself less reliance on the bonds her body brings her and instead what her heart and soul may provide .

in summation , talon’s brainwashing is a complex trauma constantly looming above amélie . even when she is deeply enthralled by talon and the organizations actions , there is a faint awareness of the calamity swelling within . hence , amélie draws upon fears of talon perhaps engaging in further modification of her form , something that manifests as unease . in my talon verse , amélie pirouettes within the conception of widowmaker , maneuvering the ballerina puppet in spite of all repression pushing her down .

#` ⚜ ‿ something broken / a sharp thing that will wake her up ﹕characterization .

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basic-cable · 4 years

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Fic Rec Bingo

I saw this making the rounds on Twitter and decided I’d like to try it (mostly because I enjoy going back through my list and reminiscing about the ones I love but haven’t read in a while), but didn’t feel like Twitter was the best place to post mine. I’ve got both Dreamwidth and Pillowfort, but I haven’t really used them. This is probably the kind of thing that should go there, so maybe I’ll post it there, too. We’ll see.

Anyway, I only read in four fandoms, so maybe my recs will be boring to most people. But they’re good stories, and maybe there are even some people out there who haven’t read them.

I don’t expect any reblogs or anything, but maybe people will see it and decide they’d like to take part, and then there will be more fic recs out there making the world a better place.

I put them under a cut because the descriptions and stuff take up so much space.

1. A fic you love without knowing the source material Take the Pieces and Build them Skywards by quarterturn Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 44,816 ** Explicit ** Character Death Gerard's not happy with his life, but that doesn't mean he's particularly thrilled when he wakes up dead. To add insult to injury, he finds out that instead of crossing over, he's been chosen to join the ranks of the grim reapers. Things get more complicated when he falls for one of the living, a waiter named Frank Iero. And just when everything finally seems to be falling into place, Frank's name shows up on the list of souls to be reaped. Loosely based on the TV show Dead Like Me.

I don’t know anything about the TV show Dead Like Me; when I first read this fic in 2009, I had never even heard of it. I’ve wondered since then if I like it even better because I don’t know anything about the source material, but I’ll never know.It made me laugh and cry; it’s an emotional roller coaster, and I love it.

2. A fic with a premise that shouldn’t work but does

An Inexplicable Occurrence of Angels by stele3

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 35,192 ** PG-13 ** No Warnings

I've messed with the band timeline, clearly. This is set in summer of 2005... but it ain't the Summer of Like. This is a story about second chances and gutting through your own failures, but never letting them defeat you. Take that, bitches.

Frank (Frank!) is a literal angel, okay, but there is not a thing I don’t love about this story. It’s angsty but still manages to be cute and charming as fuck, and the characterization is great.

3. A fic you’ve reread several times

Seeds by thesardine

Sherlock ** Gen, supposedly ** 5,475 ** PG-13 ** No Warnings

In a fit of boredom Sherlock plants some seeds, may or may not eat one cracker, and definitely waxes dramatic on the sofa for a while.

Sherlock struggles with a bit of depression caused by boredom, and accidentally discovers a hobby he slowly learns to allow himself to enjoy. I love this a lot; the author takes us into Sherlock’s headspace, so you’re painfully aware just how much he needs a distraction, and how much better off he is with John in his life.

4. A fic you still remember many years later

In Care Of by Fangs_Fawn

Harry Potter ** Gen ** 45,319 ** PG-13 ** Child Abuse

During the summer before sixth year, Harry finds an injured bat in the garden and decides to try to heal it...and an unwilling Snape learns just what kind of a person Harry Potter really is.

Between the Dursleys getting what’s coming to them, and the redemption of Harry, Snape, and Dumbledore in each others’ eyes, this story has really stuck with me through the years.

5. A comfort fic

Nature and Nurture by earlgreytea68

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 203,273 ** Mature ** No Warnings

The British Government accidentally clones Sherlock Holmes. Which brings a baby to 221B Baker Street.

Thousands of words of fluff. Literally. There’s not a lot of conflict in this story, which makes it a great comfort fic when your mind is too busy or real life is too depressing.

6. A cathartic fic

The Quiet Man by ivyblossom

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 157,369 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

"Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?"

Post-Reichenbach John is walking the line between fantasy and reality, choosing to stay with the Sherlock in his head rather than deal with the reality where he no longer exists. He eventually manages to attempt a normal life, but he’s bored and basically sleepwalking through his days, so when Sherlock finally reveals himself, it’s the best kind of relief. They go after the last remnants of Moriarty’s web, in hopes of a second chance at the life they should have had together.

7. A fic you’d print and put on your bookshelf

Saving Sherlock Holmes by earlgreytea68

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John Mycroft/Greg ** 139,494 ** Mature ** Underage

Okay. So. This was literally supposed to be, like, three or four chapters as a prologue to the show. Sort of a "what happened in the Holmes childhoods to make them the way they are today." That's why it's set in the time period it is, because I thought I was eventually going to leave them to go on to the show. And then...I got a bit carried away and thought, Here I have established the two young Holmes boys. Now what happens if, instead of making them wait twenty years, I give them everything they need to fix themselves right now? Forty-three chapters later, you have this story.

To be honest, I would like to have most of my favorite fics in book form, with actual pages, that I could pluck from my actual shelf and sit and read without the glare of a screen between us. But I do enjoy the feel of this story, and I do believe it would make a good actual book.

8. A fic you associate with a song

Unholyverse by bexless

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 186,764 ** Explicit ** Violence & Character Death

“He thinks I have stigmata,” Frank said, because what the fucking hell, it couldn’t get any worse. He might as well just lay it out.

“Oh, well,” said Brian into his hands. “Of course.”

Every time I so much as think about this series, MCR’s Heaven Help Us starts playing in my head.

9. A fic that inspires you

Turn by Saras_Girl

Harry Potter ** Harry/Draco ** 306,708 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Frankly, I love every single thing this author has ever churned out, but this one is my very favorite. Harry gets a glimpse into what his life could have been, and a chance to make big changes he desperately needs.

10. A fic that brought you on board a new ship

So, So Fucked by Anonymous

Bandom ** Pete/Patrick ** 12,565 ** Mature ** No Warnings

Pete accidentally "outs" himself and Patrick on Good Morning America. Only problem? They're not gay. What now?

I was reading strictly in Harry Potter at the time, and wasn’t interested in bandom at all, but my best friend was doing betas for someone who was writing in bandom, and she ended up getting into it and then wrote this one, and kept calling me about it to bounce ideas around, and the story was so cute, and Pete and Patrick were so cute, and I suddenly found myself totally invested. Honestly I think it may have been one of the best things that ever happened to me.

11. A fic you wish could be a movie

The Anatomy of a Fall by novembersmith

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 107,525 ** Explicit ** Violence & Character Death

The unholy union of a high school AU and a ghost story. Gerard's life takes a strange turn when his family moves to a small town in Vermont and he discovers the locals aren't all what they seem to be. Also includes: unexpected nature walks, murder, pining, improper treatment of crime scenes, a number of bone-related puns, high school bullies, and a short-range shrub named Ferdinand.

This story has excellent imagery that I think would work really well on the big screen. Plus I can’t even hear the name of it without my heart doing flip-flops.

12. A fic that led to you making friends with the author

Seven ficlets for Valentine’s Day Part VII by RedOrchid

Bandom ** GSF ** 1,042 ** Mature? ** No Warnings

Panic-as-cleaning-equipment-AU Valentine's Day GSF.

I technically don’t have a fic for this bingo square, but this one comes close, I guess. The author was already in my larger circle of friends, but we didn’t actually talk to each other? She wrote this crack ficlet around the same time we started talking to each other more, and I still vividly remember it because of the genius involved in turning band boys into literal cleaning equipment. The line “Ryan bristled” has stuck with me to this day.

13. free space

Elf ‘Verse by mokuyoubi

Bandom ** GSF ** 103,247 ** Explicit ** Underage

Modern AU where Ryan is a famous poet, and he and Spencer are fiercely private and insular and stupidly co-dependent until Jon shows up and effortlessly breaks down all their walls.

Wherein Brendon and Frank are Christmas elves who, inspired by Will Farrell movies, venture into the real world to become rock stars. Or something of that nature.

I’ve got a lot of love for this universe for various reasons, but it’s also fun and heartwarming and honestly, I don’t really need anything else.

14. A fic you’ve gushed about irl

Harry Potter and the Battle of Wills by Jocelyn (and her mum)

Harry Potter ** Mostly Gen ** 137,385 ** Basically PG-13 ** Character Death

Harry mourns his godfather as the war finally begins in earnest, bringing tragedy and new struggles for all those on the side of Good. If they hope to win, all quarrels must be set aside, new alliances must be forged, and Harry Potter must find the courage to face down dark wizards, his own emotions, and a destiny he did not choose. Snape blows his cover as a spy to save Harry from Voldemort.

This begins after Order of the Phoenix, and the story and characters read more like canon than any other HP fic I’ve read, so because of that and because it’s so, so good, I like to rec this one to people who are new to fandom.

15. A fic you associate with a place

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi

Harry Potter ** Harry/Draco ** 57,582 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Wiltshire! I’ve never actually been there, but this author is really good about details. The story is also lovely and funny.

16. A fic that made you gasp out loud

Home is a Name by Arsenic

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 39,314 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

MCR Clinic of Love. Companion fic to Wednesday Night Boys.

Okay, so this one is actually a sequel, and the first installment, Wednesday Night Boys, should 100% be read first. It must be said, though, that while the sequel doesn’t have any warnings, Wednesday Night Boys is about the Panic! kids as prostitutes, and has warnings for graphic violence, rape/non-con, and underage sex. The MCR guys work at the free clinic, and Home is a Name focuses on them. They’re honestly both gorgeous stories.

17. A fic you found at the right time

real or not real by thearkdelinquents

Anne with an E ** Anne/Gilbert ** 11,587 ** PG ** No Warnings

“I could do it.” Gilbert said, looking straight ahead.

Anne stopped. “What?”

He turned to look at her; they were just outside Green Gables now. “I could do it. I could court you.”

“What- We- You- I- You don’t like me like that.” Anne sputtered.

Gilbert smirked at her. “Well we could pretend. I could court you and be your fake boyfriend.”

For one of the few times in her life, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was speechless.

a fake dating fic but it's basically just a shirbert To All The Boys I Loved Before au.

I really, really loved Anne with an E. When the final season was released, I spent a weekend binge-watching the entire show, and then it was over and I was bereft, so I decided to see what was available on Ao3, and I found this, and it was exactly what I needed. And now I have another fandom.

18. A fic that you would read fic of

Left by lifeonmars

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 45,153 ** Mature ** No Warnings

John Watson is left-handed.

He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

In this universe, all right-handed people have some kind of power, or ‘knack’, most of which are mild and easily categorized. Sherlock’s is rare and believed to be the only one like it in the world. John is left-handed, part of the 10% of the population without a knack. I would read all kinds of fics of this fic.

19. A fic that made you laugh out loud

What to do When Your Flatmate is Homicidal by hyacinth_sky747

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 58,650 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

Sherlock takes Molly's advice when dealing with his dangerous flatmate.

Heartwarming and hilarious. I laughed a lot.

20. A fic with a line (or two) that you’ve memorised by heart

A Necessary Requirement by Bexless

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 3,759 ** Mature ** No Warnings

Right, here is the extremely silly storylet I wrote BY HAND on holiday. On PAPER. With a PEN. My god. The things I do when I'm separated from my beloved net. It is set during the Summer of Like (Warped '05, for those of you who don't know) and is basically a product of my reaction to various pictures of Gerard groping himself on stage, which led to me obsessing about his dick and what it might look like. As usual, I chose to work this obsession out through Frank.

This fic could have gone to multiple other squares, but I am not usually the kind of person who can quote lines from things, and I have many lines from this story committed to memory. I’ve read it multiple times, because I read it every time I need a pick-me-up or a good laugh. Or if I’ve read something scary and I need something lighter before I can actually get up and move around my house...

21. A fic that gave you butterflies

Pretty Much A Sex God by adellyna

Bandom ** Spencer/Jon ** 3,985 ** PG-13 ** No Warnings

Jon and Spencer’s first date.

The Jon in this story is so soft and warm and fluffy and his character makes my heart and stomach do weird things.

22. A fic that embodies something you value in life

A Marauder’s Plan by CatsAreCool (Rachel500)

Harry Potter ** Harry/Hermione ** 865,520 ** PG13 ** Violence/Death/Underage

What if Sirius decided to stay in England and deliver on his promise to raise Harry instead of hiding somewhere sunny? Changes abound with that one decision...

ALSO

Harry’s New Home by kbinnz

Harry Potter ** Gen ** 318,389 ** PG-13 ** Abuse

One lonely little boy. One snarky, grumpy git. When the safety of one was entrusted to the other, everyone knew this was not going to turn out well... Or was it? AU, sequel to "Harry's First Detention".

In these two stories, Sirius and Severus throw everything they have into creating the best possible world for Harry, as he is their number one priority, because that is exactly how parenthood should be.

23. A favourite AU

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 156,714 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?

This has got quite a bit of schmoop, which isn’t usually my thing, but this story is so, so good, and I always love stories that describe Sherlock realizing and appreciating how extraordinary John is.

24. A fic you stayed up too late to finish reading

Collared by VelvetMace

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 83,028 ** Explicit ** Violence & Rape/Non-Con

In a world where the British Empire is still strong and slavery is her economic backbone, John has become a terrorist for the abolitionist movement. He is caught by Mycroft, enslaved, and given to Sherlock for training. The goal: To test a new kind of slave collar with the power to break even the strongest willed fighter. One that will make even John learn to love being a slave.

Dubious consent, and humiliation. I remember staying up very late reading this one, even though I had to work early the next morning. I just couldn’t put it down.

25. A fic that made you feel seen

Buy Handmade by jjtaylor

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 18,755 ** Mature ** No Warnings

He knows something else is going to happen; his life isn't always going to be this. He just doesn't know what has to happen for that change to come, for him to wake up and become an artist with an Etsy page and a home studio, and to never have to see a cubicle again.

This is the story of my heart. I have felt Frankie’s feelings and thought his thoughts, and I love that he does something about it, and I love Gerard so, so much. I first read this in 2009, and my love for it has never wavered. I could have used this one for a good half of the bingo squares, but it’s the only one that could go here.

#fic rec bingo #bandom #sherlock #harry potter #anne with an e

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dramaticironyoflife · 5 years

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The Angel and the Demon - Cherik Angst

@smokeyloki Thank you for inspiring me to join Tumblr! This first post is for you!

I’m not as big a fan as you are about The Phantom of the Opera but it is so darn easy to write Cherik!

Prompt: Write About that Door that Wouldn’t Shut

He’d spent so long building up his walls. He knew every line of his self-established script. So why was it still there? The crack in his curtains. He could peer out at the people watching him. There was Madam Carlotta, who watched for an opportunity to strike. The manager had eyes on the curtain too, he sought for a break in his defenses and a way to make money off him. The audience waited for him to make a mistake. So many people that he had to fight against. It was easier just to close himself off. He was so sure he had closed himself off. Turns out he was wrong.

He’d always known, of course, that he was human. He knew that he couldn’t just turn off his emotions. So, he focused on emotions that fueled his resolve and benefited his image: anger, hurt, distrust, loss, broken heartedness. He thought of his mother. He thought of the dark. He thought of all that the cruel world had taken away from him and he built his walls higher and higher. Nothing could break through the pain. Love became unknown and what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

Then she came. She came and turned everything upside down. The darkest of nights suddenly showed the brightest stars and the empty theaters suddenly took on the vibrant red of the vacant velvet seats and the gold of the boxes. Even the lagoon was a shimmering pool of mystery instead of dark, bottomless waters. How she managed to infiltrate his defenses so easily, he wasn’t sure, but she changed everything. Her voice lifted his curtain just enough to drop a line into the middle of his perfect opera. A line he never intended. A line he never knew.

She somehow slipped through the curtain. She didn’t stop there, though. She charged at his carefully crafted sets and broke into every dressing room. She pulled apart his perfect world and left him in the midst of reality. But she never left him alone. That was, perhaps, the most infuriating aspect of this. It made life difficult. How was he supposed to go back to how things were? Before her?

A hand on his shoulder, a smile, a bounce of blond hair, a critical eyebrow, a smirk of amusement, a hug, and a song. A song that was sung for love and not for gain. A song for him. He didn’t want it to go back to how it was before. He didn’t want to lose this. To lose her. All at once, he was suddenly aware that he would…would miss it. His story had been completely deconstructed and he didn’t want to fix it. It was terrifying. But that song, that voice, that smile, that tiny hand in his, that small figure that stood so perfectly poised in his mind was worth the sacrifice. She was worth it.

He called himself a phantom. She called him her Angel. He’d never been called that before. Angels were good and pure and bright, like her. He wanted to be that for her. He wanted to change, for the first time in his life. The curtain was pulled up and he was exposed to the light.

And it hurt. It hurt so much. She was mocked and scorned, and it hurt him. Hurt more than anything had ever hurt him before. He could forgive people for many wrongs but not this one. Not for hurting her. Never for that. They silenced her, pushed her away, treated her as less than she was, less than perfect, and they laughed at her. She suffered as he had and they would pay for it.

He would do anything for her. Protect her from everything, but she asked for something. Asked for pain and he couldn’t refuse her. He was filled with some wild, unfounded hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be loved. He believed an idea that said that he could be cared for, so he showed her.

She ran.

Why had he pulled the curtain up? Why had he let her in? Why did he invite sun and joy and hope and love and pain into his life? Didn’t he know better?! Why did he give in? Why wouldn’t that one door shut? The door to his heart. It was opened and then ferociously torn from its hinges. It swung haphazardly, more off than on at this point. He couldn’t close it, so he returned to the feelings that best benefited him. He turned to anger but his anger was never aimed at her.

Never at her.

He let her go.

He couldn’t harm her.

Couldn’t bring himself to.

He was broken.

An angle with broken wings and a broken heart.

He would die now. He didn’t want to hurt her anymore. He didn’t want to lose her. He would die and she would forget. The world would move on and all would forget. As they all died, he would become nothing. It wasn’t as sad as he thought it might be. In a way, it was almost a relief. He lay with closed eyes and tried to close the door one last time. He wished that he could’ve heard her sing one last time. A voice that gave the night stars and life to the dullest of places. A voice of a goddess…that voice…her voice…

A note. Beautiful, clear, strong, sweet, pure! Bright! Good! Music! He made himself move.

His Angel!

She was singing. She was singing for him. Joy once more surged through him. Joy that he had never felt before. She remembered her Angel and she wouldn’t abandon him. She came back for him. He fought his way up the stairs, pausing to listen to her voice. The voice of an angel

His Angel of Music!

He had one more thing to do. He had to do it. He made his way into the box. Box five. His box. He had to…to…

He forgot everything. He forgot what he had to do. He forgot that he was a monster. He forgot that he was a phantom. He forgot that he was an angel. He forgot that he wasn’t alone. He forgot to try and close the door.

He sang.

He sang for her as she did for him. He didn’t hear the music or see the glint of a pistol in the dim light of the opera house. She was far to beautiful to take his eyes off her. He gave her everything. The only beauty he had, the only light he owned, all of it was in his voice. He gave it to her, the greatest gift he had.

Suddenly, he couldn’t face a world without that voice. Death offered nothing but a cold black emptiness that would forever deprive him of the glorious golden light that her voice brought him.

His Angel.

He had sung for her and she for him. They were meant for each other! Meant to bring light to the world. The Demon and the Angel, the perfect polar opposites, united by the power of music. She was the stars in his night sky.

But you can’t touch the stars. You can only make wishes upon them. Erik knew this. He knew that he knew this, so why did he still hope? Hope that she might love him?

Beautiful, bright, pure, lovely, but not his. No, never his.

Yet…he dared to hope. Hope that she did come back for him. That…that she loved him. As he looked at her one last time, he was certain that she did. Yes…he was almost certain, but he couldn’t stay to find out. He turned to flee but found himself surrounded. There was but one way out. He wouldn’t give himself up.

Only to her. He would only give himself to her.

He saw Gerard, his savior in this moment of peril. A man who he never really understood. He was beginning to, though. Albeit, it was a little late to be learning. His father was a broken man, like Erik, and, also like Erik, he didn’t know how to give love. He too had a door that he had tried to close and had been unable too. Was he scared? Erik was a little scared to die. The brief nod and an open gesture seemed to be automatic. The shot fired and the pain hit him. He let himself go limp and tumbled forwards. The landing didn’t hurt as much as it should’ve. His body was battling between numbness and blazing agony. He was weak. Erik became vaguely aware of someone cradling him close. A safety and warmth as the rest of the world grew colder. He wanted to lean into it, to soak up the warmth but he couldn’t move. Gerard helped him, held him gently but firmly, determined to be with him until the last moments.

Then she came. She came and turned everything upside down. What a curious person she was. He wished that he’d been better able to protect her. She didn’t hesitate as she dropped before him. Tears trailed down her cheeks. Was she happy that he was going to finally pass? Or…could it be that these were tears of sorrow? Did she love him enough to mourn? He tried to raise a hand to smooth the droplets over her soft cheeks, but his arm was numb, and he had to abandon the gesture. She reached out to him instead. Her fingers went behind his mask.

“No…no…Christine…” Don’t! Let me protect you this one last time! Spare yourself the pain. Remember me, not as a monster, but as someone who loved you…please…

She removed his mask.

With a touch as soft as light and a heart as sincere as purest music, she kissed him. She kissed him and smiled. Erik felt the cold darkness around him become like a warm blanket and as it began to weigh down his eyelids he smiled.

Christine…I love you.

Even if the bullet hadn’t been enough to kill the Phantom, Erik was sure he still would’ve passed from sheer happiness filled his heart to overflowing at the knowledge that she loved him. Some doors, he thought as the darkness finally covered him, are just better left open.

“She removed his mask.” This is perhaps the first double-meaning sentence I’ve written and I’m very proud of it.

#fanfiction #poto #charles dance phantom #writing #phanfiction #angst #no happy ending #sorry not sorry #first post #yay me #i don't know what i'm doing #why am i doing this #they're all gonna hate me #smokeyloki

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smokeyloki · 5 years

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Fiddlesticks! - A Cherik Ficlet (Concept Credit: @pippa-writes)

Again, I would like to thank @pippa-writes for providing the concept for this ficlet. Three drafts and a lot of frustration turned out this little one-shot, and I sincerely hope you all enjoy it. I’m much better at writing than I am at drawing, at any rate.

@pippa-writes

@ladycavalier

@peppermintdoodle (since I saw a post somewhere saying that you wanted to read more Cherik stuff...)

Also a disclaimer that I’m not the best at fluff. I’m not terrible at it, but it’s definitely not my forte.

The trouble started less than a month ago, during one of their music lessons. Erik been playing a simple arrangement of “Ave Maria” as a warm-up, and Christine Daae’s voice danced along with the piano keys. All was going well until the fifteenth measure, when a poorly-placed note snuck into a chord and brought the whole score to a halt. He sat there, fingers frozen to the keyboard, eyes fixed on the offending composition.

“Fiddlesticks,” Erik had muttered.

He later chalked up that particular word to Christine’s presence, and he was grateful that he had not said something indecent. He was certainly capable of it, if his earlier years of parroting the vulgarities of stagehands and opera-goers were any indication (just ask Gerard Carriere). More recently, he’d also taken to dabbling in Swedish, German, and Latin literature, and could employ crude phrases in a variety of languages. But to speak in such a crass manner in front of a lady, especially one such as Mlle. Daae…that would be no fit behavior for a gentleman!

This would have been the end of it if Erik hadn’t forgotten about the misplaced note and brought the same score to their next lesson. It all began innocently enough, just as before, and once again the squalling dissonance reduced both student and teacher to unexpected silence. The lull was broken, finally, by a single utterance from a disgruntled Maestro:

“Fiddlesticks.”

This time, he could have sworn he saw a small smile pass over Christine’s countenance when she heard him.

“Ave Maria” was re-worked in a single afternoon. He could replace an unnecessary or incorrect note…but “fiddlesticks” could not be so easily gotten rid of. It was nuisance enough when he caught himself saying it throughout the day, but a close proximity to Christine Daae made it worse. Even the slightest inconvenience in her presence seemed to warrant the silly phrase, and Christine’s poor attempts to hide her amusement when he said it became less and less resolute.

And yet, how could explain to her the reason for “fiddlesticks”? He couldn’t expect her to understand how he felt the need to tip-toe around her, using only gentle movements, gentle voice, gentle words. He couldn’t even explain it to himself! So when “fiddlesticks” slipped out when he fumbled with his flute, he’d rather have her tittering behind him than have to engage in a conversation so mortifying that it would send him to an early grave.

He would speak to Carriere on the matter, except that it was so trivial. That, and the resident Opera Manager didn’t know about Erik’s nightly excursions with Christine Daae. And even if he did, he would no doubt make some vague statement regarding how nice it was that Erik could make the young lady laugh. Erik had already considered this point, but there was a fine line between giving Christine some merriment and him becoming the source of merriment.

Still, it was either confront Christine on the matter or subject himself to her giggles. He chose the latter.

There were days, even in the life of a Phantom, that went better than others.

If anyone had seen the elusive Opera Ghost earlier that day, stalking the secret passageways of the Opera Populaire with a stack of music under one arm and a glower fixed behind the smiling gape of a mouth on what he had dubbed his “night sky” mask – deep navy in color and flecked all over with bits of gold paint, with a grotesque grin carved underneath a thin, hooked nosepiece – that person could have easily concluded that today was not one of the “better days”.

His morning routine had passed without hitch, but an early afternoon excursion to his private box was interrupted by a certain Mme. Giry. Once a humble box-keeper, someone of little consequence to Erik, she had become a prominent member of the Opera House, mainly due to the small fact that she knew the secret of the Opera Ghost. Not only did she know him, but she had a tendency of being forward, blunt, and demanding; a harsh personality combination of which Erik was not exempt. Today, her complaint concerned his “pranks” on the dancers. The feather in her cap quivered as she talked up to him in stage whispers about his childish behavior:

“And how do you expect, Monsieur, for ‘your’ dancers to perform well if they’re scared out of their wits? Or hiding in a closet for fear of glimpsing the Phantom?”

Erik would have brushed her aside and gone about his business if it had been any other member of the opera company. However, it was Mme. Giry, and this alone was enough to trap him for the entire length of her outburst. Only once she had exhausted herself of all words and insulting phrases did she drop him a stiff curtsey and flounce off. Her feathery hat bounced along with each step.

The accusatory speech lasted roughly twenty minutes, so Erik was well out-of-sorts by the time he reached Box 5. Upon seating himself in the shadows of his box, though, he came to a sad realization that La Carlotta was directing the company as they swept and scrubbed the main stage. Her presence was wholly unnecessary, and anyone else would have thought the same. After all, there wasn’t a spotlight for her hog, nor a recital for her to butcher. Yet she was there, dressed in some ridiculous drapery and far too many feathers, waving her hands and shouting orders at anything that moved. Erik endured her grating voice for a full fifteen minutes before finally being chased below, where he spent a good deal of the afternoon sulking in the hallways.

There was a moment of brief respite in his house on the lake, where he worked for several hours on a small composition. A few rough patches were smoothed out, and he was just getting himself immersed in his creative process when a clock in an adjoining room chimed a reminder that lessons with Christine Daae was approaching.

So, with his rounds ruined, La Carlotta’s screeches still ringing in his ears, and his composition abruptly interrupted, there was more than ample explanation for the dark cloud which hovered over Erik’s head as he entered the small piano room with a bundle of sheet music tucked under one arm. Christine was already there, busying herself with some of the stretches shown her by Erik in past lessons. She greeted her Maestro with a smile and cheery “hello!” His response, in contrast, was curt and through pinched lips.

However, once seated and the music spread out on the piano, he relaxed, and soon Christine’s voice soared through the air as he coaxed a gentle melody from the ebony keys.

All would have been well if they hadn’t hit a rut.

There was a section in Christine’s new piece which had caused her some trouble in their past lesson; Erik had been in a better mood, then, and they’d set it aside to review later. That course of action, though, had one glaring flaw, being that “later” was “now”, and every hiccup of Mlle. Daae pushed Erik’s aggravation further.

No bit of advice, no changing of the tempo, nothing Erik tried seemed to help. Christine would continue to trip up on a run of the aria, and they would back-peddle and try again, only to produce the same results. Each time, Erik’s glower would deepen, and his brows drew together underneath the mask – at least, it seemed to Christine that the space around his eyes scrunched together in such a way as to suggest the furrowing of her Maestro’s brows – and his muttered grumblings grew louder and more pronounced until she could hear them plainly.

“Fiddlesticks!”

The word had ingrained itself in Erik’s vernacular; he didn’t seem aware of its being used. The funny phrase leaped from his lips, loaded with annoyance and frustration. And every time he said it, despite his ever-darkening expression and the vehement anger with which he punctuated the word, Christine couldn’t help a faint smile. Even as she tripped over the troublesome section of her piece, thus adding to her Maestro’s sour mood, she found it difficult to concentrate on her notes.

“No!” Erik suddenly exclaimed. He brought his hands down, hard, on the keys, creating a discordant “bang” that mingled with the echo of his shout.

“It’s all wrong,” he continued. “You’re singing it wrong, and no matter how many times I’ve gone over it, you refuse to get it right!”

Christine was frozen to the ground, mouth still open in mid-run. Erik’s outburst, so uncharacteristic of his usual genteel demeanor, had taken her quite by surprise. Not to mention that he had chosen to direct his frustration towards herself! Now the room had become far too quiet, and she discovered a need to busy herself with some distraction; a clutter of instruments had been moved to this room earlier, so she left her Maestro to stew over his piano music while she fiddled with a trombone.

“It’s-” he grumbled, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Christine glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She had a sudden impulse, a daring notion that lodged in her throat. A second of tense silence passed, a moment which Christine spent assessing her Maestro’s stony countenance and considering whether her idea would drive him further into frustration.

“It’s fiddlesticks,” she whispered, loud enough to be heard across the room.

Erik turned his head in her direction.

“It’s fiddlesticks,” Christine said again. This time, it was accompanied by a slight coloring of her cheeks and a brief smile.

The dark cloud which hung over Erik’s head lifted, but then his lip stuck out and he glowered at the piano. It took Christine a moment to realize that her Maestro was pouting. It was such a funny notion to her, watching a full-grown man in a mask throwing a fit like a petulant child, that she giggled. Then the giggle grew stronger and longer.

“It’s fiddlesticks!” she shrieked, clapping her hands together.

Erik watched the hysterics unfold. His pride was sorely bruised, but he couldn’t help being befuddled at the same time.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded in what he hoped was a strict voice.

It had no effect; in fact, it seemed only to fuel Christine’s laughter. She was wiping tears from her eyes.

“It’s…just…so…fiddlesticks!” she gasped.

“You’ve made that point quite clear,” Erik responded dryly. He closed the piano case and stood. Christine ran around the piano to grab hold of his arm. When she did, it was Erik who found himself unable to move.

“I’m…sorry…” she tried to say. Her Maestro attempted a glare, but his lower lip trembled, and there was no longer any real glint of anger in his eyes. Then she hiccupped – she couldn’t help herself – and that broke her Maestro. His frown twisted itself into a smile, and he chuckled, ducking his head and turning aside. Christine released her hold on him, now safely assured that her Maestro wasn’t going to steal out of the room in a dramatic fit. As for Erik, he returned to the piano and began gathering his music. He had a suspicion that further progress that evening was an impossible venture.

Behind him, Christine kept repeating “fiddlesticks”. Each time it was accompanied by a peal of laughter, which, as he listened, began to take on the same musical qualities of her speech and song. Perhaps her giggling wasn’t as awful as what he first supposed.

“I think we’re done for the night,” Erik announced. Christine’s response was another hiccup, muffled behind her hand.

“So soon?” she asked shakily.

Erik nodded, but showed her his own now-smiling face so she wouldn’t feel that she was the cause of the abrupt end. “You must work on that aria, Mademoiselle. I’ll bring you a copy tomorrow night; then you can go over it yourself after our lessons.” He paused. “And I suppose I must be working on my vocabulary.”

“You are rather predictable sometimes,” Christine murmured. She drew nearer; he could feel her proximity and felt a stifling need to brush past her and give himself more breathing space. Tucking the music under one arm, he turned his attention to the instruments stacked against the wall.

“Whoever did this ought to be sacked,” he said to no one in particular. He stooped to pick up a trombone as Christine Daae passed him.

“Good night, Maestro,” she whispered. She touched his hand with her own, though whether it was intentional could not be said. Through his glove, the warmth of her little hand seeped into his fingers and raced up his arm, filling his whole self. An indescribable sensation struck him like a bolt of lightning; it was beyond any adjective, anything “fantastic” or “wondrous”; “magical”, “enchanted”, or “beautiful”. These and more, certainly…so he chose to be wordless and watch her go in silence.

Then the trombone slipped through listless fingers and bounced off his left foot before crashing to the ground.

The string of words which followed, some bizarre, all colorful and rather distasteful in nature, made him glad indeed of a music room which had been fully emptied of sweet, innocent sopranos.

#POTO #Phantom of the Opera #Cherik #1990 Phantom #Charles Dance Phantom #writing #my writing #phandom #phanfiction #fanfiction #enjoy peeps #All you phantom folks #and other various readers #I may post this on fanfiction #If I do I'll link that somewhere

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helenamayhathaway · 6 years

Note

can you write a barista au plsplspls :D

Pretty sure this has been done many times before but I’ll do it

Frank is daydreaming, he’s always daydreaming. Surrounded by the smell of roasting coffee and the quiet hustle and bustle of the city outside which leaks in from the door, it’s prime atmosphere to get lost in another world.

He’s not exactly a bad worker, because he’s a very mechanical person when he’s on the clock. His body is aware of how to take an order, how to make it, but his mind isn’t on this plain of existence and it never has been.

He mans the register, hearing Ray complain about something behind him as he pours heaps of caramel syrup into the blender.

“Kaitlin,” the girl says when he asks her for her name. Sometimes he finds himself in the middle of doing things without remembering he’s started them. Frank considers this name in his head and stews over any of a thousand different names to spell it on her cup. Katelyn. Kaitelin. Kaytelin. Kaitlyn. Frank settles for “Ka” and then makes a scribbling shape so that it’s not spelled any one way or another.

Another one walks in. This one’s name is Bryan. Or maybe it’s Ryan. Consonants are always getting lost. He scribbles something that resembles neither names. He could ask him to repeat the name, but he doesn’t really care that much. What’s the worst that’ll happen. They’ll post a picture of their misspelled name on Instagram with a dramatic face and a few people will laugh while other people will see the picture and think “damn, and I thought his name was Toby.”

Another face walks in, who surely has another name that belongs to him.

“Gerard.”

An old mans name, Frank thinks to himself. He enters the guys drink into the computer, before grabbing the cup and trying to remember the name he’d given. Gerald? Jared? It had that G sound in any case. Frank writes simple “G” followed by his normal scribble and hopes this is close enough.

More names walk in, it’s the morning rush after all, so everyone is getting their coffees before work One guy rushes in, clearly late for work, so he should be ordering coffee in the first place. Frank doesn’t pay any of these people any mind. Adam. Delaney. Wallace. Sam. Something that sounds like Tron but that’s definitely not his name, unless his parents were a big fan of 80′s sci-fi.

It’s a regular day at work. Tedious, boring, and much the same as it always will be.

***

Today, Frank is contemplating quitting and joining a band. This is his usual daydream. He’d be pretty great at it, he’s sure. They’d be some sort of hard metal band and he’d be the best goddamn guitarist to grace this side of New Jersey and at least a month. But someone else would replace him after that month and he’s still be good but he’d be second best.

“Gerard,” says the man who’s face that name belongs to. Frank recognizes the peculiarity of the name and remembers writing it on a cup just yesterday. It’s no “Kyle” or “Chris” or “Dan” or John,” all of which he hears thirty times a day at least. “Gerard” isn’t a common one, and the boy is a lot younger than someone you’d expect to be called Gerard. He actually makes a point to look at the face and notes it’s probably the same one. Most customers are featureless in his eyes. The guy had had hair probably. And he thinks he remembers a nose. Maybe a couple of eyes. Yeah, this could be the same dude.

He scribbles the name on the cup, and he thinks he might actually have gotten it right this time. But he doesn’t notice or care that much.

***

“Gerard,” the man says, and Frank’s memory pulls up something. The same name that had ordered coffee yesterday, and the day before it. The features, they are definitely the same. He actually got a better look yesterday, so now he remembers the face. And it’s the same order as well, so it must be the same guy. Most people tend to look alike, but this guys face, name and order are distinct only because they remain the same.

Brown eyes, triangular eyebrows, pale with black hair. This is the face who belongs to the name “Gerard.”

***

Frank is taking the order of his fifth “Sarah” today when he sees a familiar face waiting behind her. Sarah is scribbled on her cup, and then the man walks forward. He gazes at the menu like he’s going to order something different, which he does not, before he orders.

Vanilla Latte. Simple. Not something that’s hard to make like the iced frappuccinos that a majority of high school age girls order.

“For Gerard?” Frank offers instead of asking for the mans name. Gerard, as Frank is want to call him given that it is his name, blushes. Frank smiles, because he got it right. Usually it takes him several weeks to memorize the names of his regulars, but it’s the ones with names like Gerard’s. Not necessarily weird names, but atypical ones. Sawyer, who orders a caramel macchiato. Candace, who just orders a plain coffee and pours the sugar in herself so she knows it’ll be right.

***

It takes about a week but Frank starts to recognize Gerard the minute he comes into the store, and has his order all ready to go before he gets to the register.

“Hey, Gerard,” Frank says, before giving him his total.

Gerard is bashful, and normally doesn’t say much, but he smiles at Frank whenever he gets his order. He even gives Frank that friendly head nod when he leaves in response to Frank waving him goodbye.

***

Three weeks pass before Gerard actually makes anything resembling conversation towards Frank.

“Frank, right?” Gerard asks, reading Frank’s name tag. Frank is required to wear a name tag, however, whenever a customer uses his name directly, it gives him the heebie jeebies, because it’s gross being called by your own name by a stranger while you’re at work. But when Gerard uses his name, it doesn’t feel that weird, because he’s one of Frank’s regulars. Gerard isn’t exactly a stranger, but he’s also not a friend either. He’s a friendly almost stranger. So Frank doesn’t mind having his name used by him.

“Yep,” Frank confirms for him.

***

Eventually, seeing Gerard in his store is expected. He gets coffee about four times a week, sometimes five. Occasionally he’ll walk in with a big folder in his hand, which Frank longs to know the contents of, because he doesn’t know anything about his customers aside from their names and coffee orders.

On one particular day, Frank decides the mystery has gone on long enough, “what do you actually do, Gerard? I see you so often but don’t know anything about you.”

“I’m, uh, an artist,” Gerard says, awkwardly, and he rubs at his neck in the way that he often does when Frank talks to him. He’s an anxious guy, who doesn’t seem to really relate to people very well, but he’s a nice dude in any case.

“Whoa, what kind?” Frank asks, suddenly interested. There’s a line of people behind Gerard, waiting to place their orders, but Frank ignores them. Sometimes he just enjoys talking to his customers, especially Gerard, who he would say is easily his cutest.

Gerard’s got those big brown eyes which call attention to his dark hair. He’s one of those simply dressed but fairly fashionable types, with longer hair that could be washed more frequently than it is, but it’s what Frank’s come to expect of him, so he wouldn’t change it.

“Cartoons,” Gerard says, “I, uh, I do some, like, background work for cartoon.”

“Cool,” Frank says, and he actually means it, it’s not just the canned small talk he makes in order to get better tips.

Gerard smiles at him, before he walks on, so as to let the next person place the order, because he doesn’t want to hold up the line, even if Frank wants him to.

***

Frank’s conversations with Gerard become increasingly longer. For a barista to be talking to their customer for any longer than about a minute with a line forming behind them is a lot, but sometimes Frank will talk to him for upwards of three or four. He likes talking to Gerard. It’s as simple as that. He’s cute, he’s sweet, and he’s interesting.

Frank learns that Gerard has a brother, that he lives only a few minutes away. He learns Gerard’s a coffee addict, though he wouldn’t have needed to be told that.

Eventually, Frank decides, the three to four minute conversations he has with Gerard simply aren’t enough for him anymore. Most of Frank’s friends are coworkers, Ray, or Pete. Frank needs to branch out a little more.

On one particular day, about four months after Gerard first stepped into his store, Frank decides he’s had enough of the blurbs of information the two of them share.

“Hey, Gerard,” Frank says, when his favorite customer walks in. Gerard looks especially pretty today, he’s got that shadow on his chin indicating that he didn’t shave this morning, and his hair frames his face cleanly. He’s got his usual black jeans, paired with a simple T-shirt and one of his many black coats over it. Gerard seems only to own black coats. Leather jackets, jean jackets, moto jackets, trench coats, all of which are black.

The two of them share friendly conversation, Gerard telling Frank about a band he’s never heard of, which is impressive since Frank prides himself as having an encyclopedia sized knowledge of music.

Frank writes Gerard’s name on his cup as usual, but today, instead of just that, he also writes his phone number.

Gerard walks away after a few minutes to let the next customer order, and that’s usually the end of their conversation until the next time Frank sees him. Frank is used to it, and he doesn’t mind it. Frank has a job to do, and so does Gerard, even if he would like to talk to Gerard for the entirety of his shift.

Today, however, Gerard catches Frank’s attention after a customer places their order and before the next one steps up to the register.

“Is this yours?” Gerard asks, pointing to the phone number, and Frank nods nervously. This is where his dream is either made or breaks. He might even lose his favorite customer if he misread the signs.

Gerard bites his lip, but smiles, and Frank feels relief wash over him at the look of it. It’s one of Gerard’s normally bashful smiles whenever Frank compliments him or pays any type of attention to him really.

“I’ll see ya,” Gerard says, smiling at him before he walks towards the door and out into the city outside.

#Anonymous

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cristinaaalt-blog · 5 years

Text

*“We Believe: The Best Man Can Be” Willing to Destroy a Self*

I will be exploring the following critical question(s): What is the appropriate position between maintaining and destroying a self? Does this artifact find that position?

To investigate these questions, I examined Gillette’s “We Believe: The Best Men Can Be” short film. I aim to argue that this short film intends to persuade those who identify as men to destroy the problematic self (toxic masculinity) not only within themselves but other men as well, in order to adopt and maintain a “better” self, because they can and should know better. I personally believe that Gillette maintains a balance between destroying a self and maintaining a better self. This is particularly productive for society because it showcases that just as how societal norms are changing, that we too have the ability to adapt or remain as is as a response to these shifts in our culture.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koPmuEyP3a0

The “We Believe: The Best Men Can Be” short film begins by posing the question “is this the best a man can get?” It targets toxic masculinity, which is the stereotypical ideal of manliness, where strength is essential while emotional expression, particularly those deemed “feminine,” is considered a weakness. Not all masculinity is toxic, however. Toxic masculinity is what happens when stereotypical gender expectations make men feel as though they must perpetuate these roles, with hypersexuality and aggression being at the top of this list. The film starts off by showing several moments in which boys are being chased and bullied by other boys. In one scene, a mother is holding her son as text message bubbles from his bullies, taunting him, appear on either side of them as she holds him, crying. The film then goes on to feature clips of males objectifying, degrading, and sexually harassing women. The jump from scenes showcasing boys humiliating other boys to men showcasing inappropriate behavior towards women is an intentional choice that aims to show a correlation between the two. There are clips from older TV shows (even cartoons) of males making sexually suggestive gestures towards women, particularly when their backs are turned. This intends to show how long this behavior has been around: forever. It also demonstrates that younger audiences see these advances too. The video makes it a point to show a variety of everyday situations in which this behavior is present: at work, at home, at school. One clip, in which a man interrupts a female coworker by putting his hand on her shoulder and proclaims to a table full of business professionals, “what I actually think she’s trying to say” as she looks into the distance, is one of the most chilling moments in this video. This is also known as “mansplaining,” which is when men basically try to explain something to a woman on terms she can “understand.” It is often condescending, inaccurate, and overly confident, however. The mansplainer takes away the business woman’s agency; he is geared up to redefine her ideas, which is unprofessional beyond belief. Another focal point of this short film is the line of men eerily proclaiming “boys will be boys” in unison. By writing this toxic behavior off as “boys being boys,” the boys and men exhibiting this behavior are given a pass; they can continue to perpetuate and justify this behavior because they are males. This is when the film takes a different direction; it begins to showcase clips of various news reporters discussing sexual harassment and sexual assault openly. Following this, there is footage of men holding other men accountable, not only in interactions with women but in situations with other men too. Eventually, the short film ends with footage of younger boys looking hopeful, perhaps even contemplative.

The course concept I believe is relevant to this artifact comes from Hauser’s “Making Commitments through Rhetoric.” First, his commentary on maintaining a self emphasizes that “not only can rhetoric bring us to a new self-awareness, but it can also support and sustain an existing self” (52). This is reinforced in the short film’s assertion that “men need to hold other men accountable, to say the right thing, to act the right way...some already are.” This establishes that a respectful version of the self does indeed exist; in fact, some men are willing to intervene in situations where toxic masculinity presents itself. Gillette makes it a point to frame the clips in such a way that audiences don’t know whether or not the men in them will make the right choice. For instance, the clip of the two boys in the yard fighting one another; at the clip’s beginning, the male figure (presumably the father) watching the two boys “play” in the yard simply writes the situation off as “boys being boys,” but at the film’s end he breaks up the fight between the two, proclaiming that “that’s not how we treat each other, okay?” Second, Hauser deems that rhetoric can also destroy a self. Audiences can see this in how the short film shows men holding other men accountable; the most notable instance being a man checking out a girl and getting ready to follow her as another man watches him with distaste, holds him back, and says “bro, not cool, not cool.” These moments encourage the toxic masculine figure to consider his actions, especially because he is being called out openly. Gillette is sending a message to men that it is not enough to destroy one’s own problematic behavior; men are also responsible for holding other men (and younger boys too) to a higher standard and intervening upon witnessing unacceptable behavior. By nipping toxic masculinity in the bud from a young age, the boys of today can become the best men that they can be tomorrow.

Despite the backlash this short film has received from a suspiciously similar demographic (privileged white males), Gillette’s message presents more advantages to the public than it does disadvantages. The creators of this artifact were obviously inclusive, considering the short film features a diverse cast of men and young boys. There is also diversity in the problematic situations that are shown, which is crucial to note because this highlights the reality that toxic masculinity is deeply embedded within our society, to the point where it has become normalized in everyday situations. This concept is advantageous in particular because it explicitly calls men out for displaying a range of toxic behaviors; sexual assault is not the only instance where a man showcases a lack of respect for women. An advantage for the female audience put simply, is Gillette’s acknowledgment of the misogynistic scenarios women have no choice but to deal with every day. It sheds an honest light on the female experience and shows news reporters discussing women bravely coming forward to share their stories of sexual harassment and assault. Another productive aspect of this short film is its intentions to push men to do more than just the bare minimum. The line “some is not enough” sticks out in this regard because it holds men to a higher standard. This is not to say that Gillette completely shames men, which may be a criticism of its “haters”; rather, it challenges its intended audience to always strive to be better, because “it’s only by challenging ourselves to do more that we can get closer to our best.”

In “Marketing Manhood in a Post-Feminist Age,” Kristen Barber and Tristan Bridges highlight the notion that “shifts in masculinity do follow a curious pattern: they are reactive rather than anticipatory...when women enter into historically 'masculine' arenas, like sports or the workplace, they shift the boundaries of femininity. And those are the moments when we get anxious about masculinity, claim that it is ‘in crisis,’ and find groups rallying around ‘solutions’ to this suddenly pressing social issue” (40). This absolutely holds to be true in the case of Gillette’s “We Believe: The Best Man Can Be” because this content is a direct response to the shift in our culture; women are coming forward to bravely speak about sexual harassment and assault. It is inevitable for our society to go several days without seeing these or similar stories on various social media and news platforms; women are tired of being silent, feeling hopeless, and waiting for someone else to be the change they need. The short film challenges men to be the change they want to be for what is right. Barber and Tristan’s aforementioned claim can also explain the negative responses to this carefully constructed content. Perhaps the people who don’t agree with Gillette’s call to action feel anxious about aspects of their masculinity being openly critiqued; they can’t fathom this toxic part of the self being destroyed. Gillette, on the other hand, is able to highlight the problem with toxic masculinity in the first place and rebrand itself as a company that does not condone such behavior. Rather than ignoring the female experience, this company attempts to not only understand it but to push its consumers to align themselves with what is right.

In summary, the “We Believe: The Best Man Can Be” short film is a thoughtful commentary on the work our society needs to do to be better, which is undoubtedly productive for society. Although women are at the forefront of the feminist movement, this culture is changing; men are part of this equation too and are therefore part of the process. The problematic and harmful masculine behaviors attached to the self must be destroyed in order to better this world as we know it. This short film comes at a crucial time for our society; we are in the midst of having open, honest, and real conversations about how toxic masculinity destroys our society’s ability to truly understand and respect one another.

Hauser, A. Gerard. “Making Commitments Through Rhetoric.” Introduction to Rhetorical Theory, 1986.

Barber, Kristen, and Tristan Bridges. “Marketing Manhood in a ‘Post-Feminist’ Age.” Contexts, vol. 16, no. 2, May 2017, pp. 38–43, doi:10.1177/1536504217714257.

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