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ricinbach · 3 years

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honor him. | chapter 1 - wolf to man

sword practice takes a turn as tensions rise under the gray skies of the Flooded District.

Ego homini lupus.

Man is wolf to man. The dark, twisted, plague-ridden world you had to be a part of brought this brutal law of nature to the spotlight - in all of its twisted ways man could think of.

Sometimes it took form in letting swarms of rats crawl and devour a poor soul in a matter of minutes, only leaving the gut-wrenching sounds of human tissue getting chewed on while you watched and did not lift a single finger to rescue the man. It was just the way the world worked, the way the cogs turned and clicked. It had been a challenge to shut down your sense of pity and helpfulness as a good human being - when your entire life revolved around killing and letting it be killed, finding time for remorse did not come so easy between the death contracts.

Often times it was a bloody blade twisting in yet another soul’s heart, tearing arteries and ribs apart. Traveling to the deepest, grittiest corners of the once-great city of Dunwall, slicing countless noble and Weeper throats for coin that would only be enough to barely get by, days and days of living on cold and ruthless rooftops to scout for missions had all shown you many horrors that your humankind could commit. In times of distress, of misery and sometimes, times when one succumbs to selfish intentions.

This time, the simple combination of Latin words was showing its' gnarly thorns into killing an Empress.

The piercing sound of steel clashing steel echoed through the bricks and the damaged rooftops as it got mixed with the filtered huffs and groans thrown in the duel through the whaler masks. He pressed on with another attack, taking a quick forward step along with a low groan of effort as he threw out an expert dash that would have taken your dainty little beating heart out of your chest if you had not anticipated it, a little spark flying out as your trusted blade clashed against his yet again.

The shadows in your hands became prominent, engulfing your fingers with the familiar warmth of smoke and magic until the sensation was blocked. The dark but enticing songs of the whales muted for the time being, powers taken away from you momentarily as the cool and cold surface of the steel felt harsh against your palms again.

“Flesh and steel. The way I trained you,” the Knife of Dunwall sneered, almost reprimanding you, a familiar spark of adrenaline in his darkened eyes.

A man of enigmas stood before you wielding a knife, but there was only one certain truth eminent on him - when Daud fought, it had been with the only intention of killing.

The man rose strong yet scarred from the slums when all odds were against him, killing to fight for his life, later for coin, for reputation and much to your gratefulness, to keep his underlings alive and fed and equipped. It had been easy to him, taking lives as he did not even bother for a split second to watch the light dim out in their eyes, blood washing over his leather overcoat and steel only to dry off till the next target appeared in his eyesight. Whoever saw the Knife in front of their mere mortal eyes, with his blade drawn and ready, begged to pay him tenfold whatever his patron paid, collapsed without a hint of pride left.

Only this time, there was something else lurking in there, some sort of unknown. Uncertainty reflecting off of his irises as they met yours on the opposite sides of locked steel, neighbored by the reflection of the old and battered down Rudshore Financial buildings. Almost as if those dark eyes of his were looking for answers to questions you could not fathom, questions you did not dare ask yourself in the first place.

The shadow magic unavailable from your disposal for the time being, you fueled your pent up adrenaline into a violent push to break out of the agonizing lock, sending your Master’s blade slide off of yours with a screeching sound from the friction.

Taking a step back and catching your breath, the blade was flipped with years ease in your hands as you watched his movements - taking in every step, every little reflex, even the single movement of his fingers clasping the metal handle. The two of you moved in accustomed unison, albeit on opposite sides, like two wolves circling in the snow, waiting to bite each other’s throats off but only waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The Serkonan scanned your every movement with his rugged but dangerously handsome face - you knew he knew your next ten steps, what you wanted for dinner, and then some. His moves and tricks were no surprise to you either, after all, you had been by his right hand, under his wing for many painful years.

Locked in that tense moment, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and knuckles almost white from all that clutching, you lunged forward in a swift but graceful attack which got countered by none other than the blade master himself and a series of slashes, groans and sickening clangs began echoing in the air.

What had been an ordinary daily sword practice on the rooftops of the Flooded District had turned into the rather interesting sparring of the Knife of Dunwall against one of his most-trusted lieutenants. Whalers knelt and stood on surrounding buildings, some watching behind the brick remnants of destroyed walls, some choosing the more traditional approach and staying on the rooftops. Wherever the Whalers were, it did not matter - there was only one focal point, one spectacle to follow.

“Is the old man trying to kill her or something?” the assassin clad in navy leather spoke in a surprised tone beneath the mask. “Always thought Daud had a soft spot for her - how did this happen?”

The woman clad in red leather shrugged, with her arms crossed, eyes dead focused on the clinging blades further down below, following every moment and every flick of the leather-covered wrists. “Daud knows what he is doing,” she spoke, sounding fairly confident in contrast to the fact that, frankly, Billie Lurk did not have an inkling of an idea of what fueled the almost emotional duel she was witnessing.

Sure, it was common occurrence for Daud to try one of the assassins in a duel every now and then, but the magic running through her veins sourced by none other than her Master himself told another tale - he was desperate. As if he was looking for a way out, or for someone to reassure him. Someone to tell him that everything would fall into place in the end. A trapped soul he was, signals of doubt lingering in the ebbs and flows.

The Daud she knew never crumbled against the unknown.

Panting mixed in with angry throes of war with the side of sickening metal clashes were all you could hear as your footwork did not let you down for the time being.

By the time you could count the ways you fought against Daud, it would take you an entire trip around the Isles and maybe more. After all, he had been the one to pull you out from the gutter, from the decrepit, bloodfly-infested back alleys of the slums of Karnaca. Taught you how to slit your first throat in exchange for money. Sailed across the Isles and brought you to capital of the Empire, where he trained you relentlessly. Told you how to exploit the weaknesses of each and every victim. How to find the shady stuff under everyone’s name, even the cleanest, the most noble. How to stick a blade in one rich bastard in the Estate District to please another rich bastard somewhere else, long as gleaming coin went in your pouch at the end of the day. How to confront the most dangerous, most reckless and the most wanted of Dunwall - only equipped with one of his old swords he had stolen from the Grand Guard.

“Always go for the head,” he had always said as his leather-clad hands tutored yours, teaching you the ruthless ways of fighting. The feel of that calloused texture still fresh under your fingertips.

True to his advice, that was exactly what he did to send you reeling back in a loud groan - his undefeated blade knocking yours out of your grip in a sharp flick of his large hand, sending it sprawling against the old bricks and cement.

Your panting and aching body was then left without a solid defense, he seized the opportunity as well as any - the cold hard steel rested dangerously on your covered throat, the victorious master assassin’s larger frame close to yours as his dark eyes sparked in some sort of emotion you could not discern. Shivers running down your body, a lump in your throat so evident it made the blade angle as a defeated gulp passed through.

It was as if the world had stopped. You wondered if this is what being summoned to the Void felt like - cold, uninviting, tiring, frightening, daunting. Unknown and unexplored. He had told you about his encounters with the black-eyed bastard once, years after when he first received the wretched mark on his left hand that seemed to haunt him in his nightmares to every single dawn.

Now it seemed to be that Daud himself was recreating the Void for you, for all of the eyes to watch as the Whalers held their breaths.

“You better not fight like this when we take the Empress,” Daud scolded you, his fierce eyes locked into yours even through the covers that your whaler mask provided. As his mouth uttered the last word, your entire body was begging you to give up, to collapse as your heart dropped. Your body under the heavy tactical gear stood as rigid as can be, though, even with a blade looming on your precious neck and all you could give to your mentor as an answer was a short nod.

Was this one of those usual duels he would pick up with you just to show the other Whalers what failure could cost them? Beat you on purpose, take the shared powers away from you for the duration of the fight so that the others would train like they would die in the next hour?

No - this had been a message for you. Every single footstep he took as he advanced on you, every little spark that flew into thin air as metal hit metal.

Much to your demise, the Knife of Dunwall knew you to your core. By the Void, he could piece together details about you that the old soul of the Outsider maybe did not even consider looking for.

Daud knew this one contract, the biggest job his Whalers were asked to pull off would strike a nerve deep within you, hit a buried spot concealed within your emotions, your morals and memories. The same spot in him that was struck, that made him do a double-take on the grand scheme of things, what they implied. What this particular death implied.

It terrified him, as much as it terrified you. He knew the mere prospect of it, considering the looming deadline as you steadily approached into Month of Earth, shook you to the very core. It was natural instinct for you to read through his irises, but some experience to see the hesitance lay in them.

“Understood, sir,” your throat gave out in a hoarse voice filtered through the mask, your head tilted upwards to his towering figure as he grew satisfied with the answer, loosening his grip on the blade slowly, then sheathing it to the holster on his belt with habituated ease. Your chest heaved with deep, lingering breaths as the remnants of the adrenaline emptied themselves in your veins, slowly dissipating after the sparring. The man in front of you tilted his muscular neck, as the mark on his left hand glowed orange ever-so-visible even through his thick gloves as he raised his palm lightly - making the familiar warmth of power surge through you once again, the return of the bond making you gasp lightly, finding some sort of much-needed comfort as you nodded your thanks.

With yet one more stare thrown your way, his jaw clenched as his feet carried him across the rooftops away from your figure, walking in between his assassins, his loyal gang of misfits and killers alike. Taking this as a signal that practice for the day being was over, the Whalers began to vanish into the shadow one by one, leaving a more vast, open sight of the gray skies contrasting the beige-white ruins of what once used to be a booming financial hub.

It was at that moment of defeat that your weakened body fell on the knees next to your sword, millions of possible scenarios filled with blood and screams running through your mind. Head leaning forward as you breathed in and out, in an attempt to calm yourself down.

And it was at that moment when your heart and body and mind fell in unison - you could never spill the blood of an Empress, even if the man who swore to protect your life ordered you to.

#oh boy here we go #hope this one starts out alright #dishonored #dishonored fic #honor him #corvo attano #corvo attano x reader #corvo attano / reader #dishonored 2 #mild daud x reader #daud x reader #val writes

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mellometal · 3 years

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Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.

(Please tell me at least one of you got that reference.)

Anyways, jokes aside, the slaughtering of Dhar Mann’s videos is back and running! I’M BACK. Sorry for the long wait. I’ve had a lot of personal stuff going on, which I’ve been very transparent about and I wasn’t in the right headspace to tear apart Dhar Mann’s videos due to that.

Y’all are in for a real treat today. Why? Because I’m tearing apart TWO of his videos in ONE post! They’re all the same premise, basically. Both of these videos are about people scamming others out of their money by faking injuries and disabilities! Ain’t that nifty? /s

Both of these videos have these things in common: insurance fraud, scamming people, and faking injuries and disabilities. Obviously, we all know those things are extremely fucked up.

For anyone who’s not aware, Dhar Mann has actually committed fraud in the past that he pleaded no contest to in 2014. Fucking shocker, I know. He’s such a kind soul, right? How could he do something so EVIIILLL? /s

He’s actually never served jail time, let alone was ever arrested, for the five felony counts related to a scheme to defraud the City (Oakland, California) by submitting false claims and receipts in order to receive redevelopment grant money. Those were all from the shit he did back in 2008 and 2009! He stole THOUSANDS of dollars from the city when he was an entrepreneur in the medical marijuana business! Dhar Mann served five years of probation. They let him off easy. Why? Oh, because his parents are super rich too and they paid to get him out of serving a jail sentence.

In 2018, he made a blog post on entrepreneur.com about his “big mistakes costing him everything”. IT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY TO ME. JUST THE WAY HE PUT IT IS HILARIOUSLY BAD AND I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING. Like, BRUH. The fuck did you think was gonna happen? He wrote it out like he was a kid who got in trouble with his parents for not eating his vegetables and had to write out a whole fucking essay as to why it’s important to eat your veggies. It’s THAT bad.

ETA: Here's the link to the article. It's so bad it's funny.

Will there be any response from me? Unfortunately, not this time. These videos are too poorly made for me to make comments about. It wouldn’t be worth it at this point because Dhar Mann has his head up his own ass and won’t listen to the real people he’s actually hurting with his videos. It's obvious they're bad.

It's obvious that insurance fraud is a serious crime. Faking being disabled is disgusting. By faking disabilities, it makes it THAT much harder for disabled people to be taken seriously. It’s sickening.

Onto the first video I want to talk about. This first one has a man who fakes being disabled and fakes injuries all for monetary compensation, a lawyer who encourages her client to do this serious crime, a judge who’s EXTREMELY unprofessional, a few owners of small stores who are the victims of the crime that is injury fraud, and an undercover FBI agent.

Committing insurance fraud can usually end up with a prison sentence of up to five years per false claim (like what this man and his lawyer did in the video), but it can reach up to twenty years. There’s also a penalty that can be up to $250,000 per incident. It’s no joke. (Kids, don't do this, please.)

The first video starts off in a court room. The “victim” (the plaintiff) gives the store owner (the defendant) a piece of his mind, then the guy’s lawyer does the same thing. Hey, as a lawyer, you should know better. That’s extremely unprofessional. The store owner is obviously distraught. He's remorseful. He feels horrible about someone getting hurt in HIS shop, but he’s determined to fight his case. He didn’t do anything wrong.

The judge tells everyone to rise, then says everyone can sit down in an unprofessional way. He tells the plaintiff to tell their side of the story. The lawyer tells the judge that her client tried to grab onto one of the hand bars in the disabled bathroom stall, found that it wasn’t installed properly, and he fell. The store owner interjects and tries to tell the judge that what they were saying wasn’t true...without saying that he objects. The judge gets angry with the store owner...which again, is unprofessional.

The lawyer shows the judge the photos she took as evidence. (I'll get to why these claims are absolute bullshit.) After that, the judge finally tells the store owner to tell his side of the story.

The store owner is adamant about installing the hand bars in the disabled bathroom stall properly, he genuinely had no idea how that even happened, and he's still remorseful. The judge ruled in favor of the "victim", asks for the store owner to pay out $25,000, and court was dismissed.

The lawyer and the "victim" are seen gloating about being successful in pulling off another scheme. The "victim" tells his lawyer that he needed to get out of the wheelchair. His lawyer denies this by saying that she doesn't want to get exposed.

They then go to another independent business to pull off the SAME scam. They do this at a small boutique. The store owner goes around to catch them in the action when he bumps into an undercover FBI agent. The FBI agent asks him what he was doing, and he tells the agent that he’s trying to gather evidence. The agent understands and goes on his merry way.

We see the lawyer going into the dressing room while the “victim” is browsing around for a dress shirt to try on. She goes in with the screwdriver, unscrews the hand bars in the dressing room, then comes back out. The “victim” asks one of the store clerks if he could try on a shirt he picked out, so he goes back there, and he “falls” in the dressing room. LIKE HOW HE “FELL” IN THE DISABLED BATHROOM STALL AT ANOTHER STORE.

What makes these claims absolute bullshit is the fact that the lawyer carried around a screwdriver to uninstall the hand bars to make her client "fall" (she had it sticking out of her suit jacket). Plus, if a disabled person were to actually fall from improperly installed hand bars in the disabled bathroom stall, the holes in the wall wouldn't look clean WHATSOEVER. The screws would not come out clean like if you were to unscrew them out of a wall. Part of the wall and the screws would most likely be ripped out and the disabled person would be SERIOUSLY hurt (depending on the person). Like, you'd have to go to the hospital, most likely. The way that the "victim" "fell" was like he practiced it, like how you would in theatre. (I've practiced how to "fall" safely when I was in theatre for scenes where you have to faint or pass out. There's a trick to doing that without hurting yourself. Theatre kids, you know what I'm talking about.) He was still in the fetal position in his chair on his left side. He had NO injuries whatsoever.

His lawyer JUST so happened to be there! Convenient timing! She introduces herself (even though they clearly know each other already) and tells the people working in the store that she’ll be seeing them in court for their “negligence”. The store clerks have no idea what she’s even talking about and they’re understandably afraid. I don’t think the owner of that boutique was there at the time. (Don’t they have security cameras all over the store? I would think they'd catch onto what the lawyer did in one of the dressing rooms if they did.)

They pull off this scam, they're seen LAUGHING about fucking scamming people and committing a SERIOUS CRIME, and the store owner from earlier catches them when the "victim" gives the wheelchair back to his lawyer. They take the store owner's camera, taunt him, and then the lawyer EATS the SD card! They go off into the sunset, laughing like your stereotypical mean girls in Beverly Hills.

They go back to court, where the store owner is still trying to defend himself. The judge isn't budging at first, the lawyer is acting like the store owner is lying (he isn’t), and the store owner is trying to tell the judge exactly what happened. He’s almost ordered to pay out $25,000, which would mean that he’d have to close down his store to even come up with that kind of money. That stops when the undercover FBI agent goes right into the courtroom to give the judge evidence to prove that the store owner is innocent. Apparently this guy has been investigating these two people for a while and was waiting to catch them. It ends with the lawyer AND the "victim" being arrested and the store owner is proven innocent. He never ends up having to pay the $25,000.

Hey, Dhar Mann. I have a few questions for you.:

Are you projecting? Because you did commit five counts of fraud. You pulling the same shit again? Just curious.

When you add in BIPOC and AAPI characters, why do you have to ALWAYS have to write them as either the victims, the heroes, or you write them to be absolutely awful people? This is ESPECIALLY the case with Black and Hispanic people in your videos. You ALWAYS write these two groups like this mainly, and I don't understand why. The racial aggression in your videos isn't cute. Knock it the fuck off. Why not just write them as normal people, WHICH IS WHAT THEY ARE?

Is your concern for small business owners genuine? Do you actually care about small businesses? Or did you just add them into this video for brownie points to feed the gross excuse for a savior complex you have?

The second video I want to talk about is pretty much the same thing, except this involves a couple and they don't fake disabilities! They do fake being/getting injured though. I’ll call the guy with the nice car “Nice Guy” and the scammers “Scammer 1″ and “Scammer 2″. They don’t have any names, unfortunately.

It starts off with Nice Guy backing out of a parking lot when Scammer 1 "falls" behind the car and yelps out in pain. Nice Guy gets out of the car to see what happened and he’s freaking out because he thinks he just hit someone by trying to back out of a parking lot. He wants to make sure that Scammer 1 is okay.

Scammer 2 runs over to her boyfriend to see that he “fell” behind the car, berates Nice Guy, Scammer 1 is crying out in “pain”, and Nice Guy is trying to come up with a solution. He gives the two scammers $600 and they go on their way. Scammer 2 tells her boyfriend that he put on a great performance. Little did they know that Nice Guy heard everything they said.

But wait, kids! There’s more! It’s fuckin’ wacky!

They go to a little convenience store, Scammer 1 pulls out a water bottle out of one of the fridges that he didn’t pay for, and pours some all over the floor. Scammer 2 happens to walk in, "slip" on the spilled water, and land directly onto her back. The store clerk there goes over to see what happened, Scammer 1 introduces himself as a personal injury lawyer to Scammer 2, and they try to get monetary compensation from the store clerk. Little do they know that Nice Guy was watching them the whole time!

He caught them on camera trying to pull off a scam, he called the cops, and we never see Scammer 1 and Scammer 2 ever again!

Why is it that there were no security cameras in your store the first time around, but they were CONVENIENTLY THERE this time, Nice Guy? You could've proven your case and won the first time!

My thoughts on these videos? Super boring. Ableist as hell. Super unrealistic. They're so poorly made that I didn't even want to make a comment on either of them!

It looks obvious that he's projecting, but I don't know. What do y'all think?

#tw dhar mann #these videos are a fucking dumpster fire but they're so BORING #we all know that committing insurance fraud is wrong #anti dhar mann #please stop supporting dhar mann #dhar mann will live to regret his decision uwu #dhar mann will live to regret his decision to make these fucked up cringe videos #dhar mann is a piece of human garbage #dhar mann is a cringe ass nae nae baby #dhar mann #don't commit fraud kids!

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cloudsrust · 4 years

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Death comes in all colors

And here I come one year late with a few of my deaths’ headcanons for the lm3 ghosts-... in short story form because of course I gotta go the extra step,, TW: death mention and description (duh), bones breaking / asphyxiation , choking, firearm’s wounds, freezing, aneurysm. Steward - “A back-breaking job.” His last task for the day was to deliver the luggage that had gotten shipped to the hotel to the rightful rooms, ready to be found by the guests arriving in the morning. It was late at night and the overfilled bell cart, tucked away in the establishment’s warehouse, had gotten stuck between a wall and few boxes. As he was pulling the unstable mess from the side, trying to free it, the cart inclined towards him. The worn out belts barely restraining the luggage to begin with. A sickening “snap” breaking the night's silence, as the buckle of one of the worn out belts freeed itself from its prong, mercilessly hitting him straight across the face, hands instinctively going to cover his newly acquired wound as everything around him fell apart. The heavy suitcases and boxes completely crushed him, splitting his spine and breaking his ribs. A shard of the latter penetrating one of his lungs, making it burst. Unable to call for help, he slowly died by asphyxiation, the weight of the luggage “mercifully” taking his last breath away before the internal blood loss could. He is keen to both anger and panic attacks because of how he was treated when alive, both of those feeling still stirring in his heart, unable to find rest. Chambrea - “Feeling your heart in your throat.” The butler of the mansion where Chambrea served as a maid fell in love with her. Many letters and flowers were found in her small room in the following mornings, sweet smiles and compliments filling her days. Even though that was the closest thing she could get to one of the romances in her adored love novels and as much as she desired an happily ever-after, now she needed that job more than a stereotypical love story. She kept refusing him over and over, apologetic smiles following offers to pay him back the money the flowers must've costed. The servant, however, just couldn't stand the thought of rejection. Just as a rope being pulled over and over, he snapped. The night the inhabitants of the manor were out for a private party, he killed her in retaliation, strangling her to death. The thought of “if I can't have her, no one will” only made sense until the time to dispose the body came, clarity coming back to him as he dragged her body across the dark street. He hadn't much time to regret his actions, as Chambrea took her vengeance scaring him off the same bridge he was trying to use to dispose of her corpse. Neither of the bodies were ever found. She still loves to read romantic and tragic novels but she doesn’t feel ready for an actual relationship anytime soon. Her heart stuck in her throat every time she talks with a man, remembering her last moments alive. Steward is trying to slowly help her move on, is the least he can do for a friend colleague. Kruller - “A shot in the dark.” He was a night guard in training at the Grand Mall of the city. It was supposed his first night alone in his side of the mall, a more experienced co-worker taking care of the other half. It seemed a calm night like usual, more tiring the stressful. It would've been so if a thief hadn't managed to avoid security during closing time, hiding in the vents. After an hour or so of undisturbed shoplifting, Kruller finally encountered the criminal during the patrol of his side. Taser gun ready to fire in his shivering hands, still inexperienced in field action, the cop still found the courage to stutter a “Freeze!”. That word sealing his fate. A round of bullets perforating his stomach and chest as the mysterious man turned around firing by instinct, shocked by the sudden threat coming from behind him. The thief fled the scene, leaving the mall cop bleeding to death. The other night guard, alerted by the shoots rushed to his position, calling the ambulance at the sight of the blood pooling and running along the floor tiles. But help didn't come in time, Kruller last words desperately trying to describe the criminal, in hope of justice. He has a serious fear of both realistic looking and real firearms and he still has trouble speaking up from time to time, the remembrance of his error still lingering in his mind. Chef Soulfflé - “Best served cold.” Left behind by his trusted staff to make the inventory of the remaining and the needed supplies for the night, Soulfflé was checking the state of the meat in the freeze chamber. A few misplaced cleaning supplies tragically slipped from their grip on the tiled wall, still humid from the cooking vapor, falling on the chamber’s door, slowly closing it. The spine chilling click of the automatic lock making the chef drop the pack of meat he was inspecting. A few minutes passing with him trying to desperately call for help, the leftover hours of his life passed making peace with himself, writing down his will on the ingredients checklist he had with him. His staff only found his body the next morning, various aliments scattered on the floor, the cardboard where they were stored laying on the frozen corpse as a last hope to produce enough warmt to survive the night. He overcooks the meat by mistake: unable to feel warmth, no matter the temperature, for him everything will always be and remain cold. Amadeus Wolfgeist - “A heartbreaking performance.” Entire days and sleepless nights dedicated to that night, the evening of his concert- just for an aneurysm to take his life before he could complete that cursed melody. Slowly feeling his body crumbling from the inside, responding to his will no more. Hands grasping at the piano keys like a stray dog does with a found bone, his hunger for glory, for redemption, pushing him to keep on going. His fingers suddenly stiff, the last note mocking him with its silence as his vision completely faded to black. Falling to the harsh floor of his reality as red curtains covered the stage, marking his demise. His mind is still plagued by that composition, cursed to always rehears it but to never complete it, his hand still phasing through that last note. It is always better to keep an ear out for such music, just to know when is better to not interact with him at all. ...and that’s all- y’all can surely see how in the last two stories I was just rushing through eh,, I do want to share the titles and “plots” that where planned for the other ghosts! (Yes, giving titles is usually my fave part ahah)

MacFrights - “A stab to your pride.” Killed by a spear during a jousting tournament. His saddle slipped at the worst moment, letting his opponent’s weapon into the eye hole of his helmet. (My MacFrights’ design as a deep scar on his right eye, a bit OOC I know-) Dr. Potter - “Quiet as a falling leaf.” Died of old age. Came back to take care of the garden of his beloved wife, passed away years before him and now resting in her garden’s greenhouse, now her mausoleum. She already passed on, but Potter can’t let go of the only thing that remains of her, keeping him tied to the mortal world. (I kinda wish to come back to this one, maybe write a bit about it- but it’s a quite slim chance) Morty - “Letting the credits roll." (TW: suicide mention) Commited suicide via sleeping pills. He was the best conductor of his times, always aiming for perfection in every shot. It was when he reached the top that he understood that he could never reach that perfect dream of his, and that all that he was left with were just golden trophies and broken relationships. He let his movie end in hope of a sequel. (Another OOC, I like the idea of him being the complete opposite of what he was in real life, some sort of desire for redeeming himself and truly enjoy his love for movies. I want to write about this one, I really want to expand on this- so I might have a stand alone fan-fic for this.) Ug - “Flesh and bone.” Died of starvation. Not much to say about him- he lived in tough times with scarce food. Clem - “Washing away your memories.” While he worked in the sewers, he drowned after some falling pipes hit his head, beating him unconscious. He suffers from memory loss, not remembering anything from his mortal life- except a deep love for ducks. (Headcanon of mine is that he worked at a farm with his mother and many siblings- he accept a job into the sewer system to help his family in a time of struggle of the farm.) Serpci - “Sacrifices must be made." Offered herself to be sacrificed to the gods, to help his reign during dark times. Lindsay, Nikky, Ginny - “Warming up the audience.” (TW: childrean’s death) One of their fire tricks malfuctioned, ending into an fire enveloping the room they were performing in. They died of suffocation, due to the thick smoke, before the flames could reach them. Lindsay, the older sister, protected her two siblings until the end. Capitain Hook - “Putting salt on a wound.” Eaten by the shark he was hunting for half his life. Fate played the cruel joke to turn him into his most hated enemy once he became a ghost. Johnny Deepend - “Hitting on you.” Hit his head on the side of the pool as he was attempting a complex dive, trying to hit on his crush. It wasn’t his most succesfull move- Phantasmagloria - “Shock! at the disco.” (Yes I’m P!ATD trash thank you for noticing lmao) She was electrocuted by her malfunctioning equipment.

#Luigi’s Mansion 3 #luigi's mansion 3 #Luigi's Mansion #lm3 #not gonna tag all the ghosts heck;;#headcanons #tw death mention #mystuff

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unsettledink · 3 years

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Unfurl - Fluffuary Day 20

Prompt: “Stay a while/the night.”

Word Count: 1167

Summary: Quentin's not stupid; Peter's only doing this, any of this, because Quentin pays.

So if he wants to pay for cuddling and a sleep over, that's his problem.

Peter looks tired.

Not just worn out from the way he’s just fucked Quentin, as good as ever, but exhausted. Like it’s settled in his very bones, weighing him down. He smells worse than usual too— bitterness and misery and hurt and shame wound through the scent of far too many alphas. Whatever he’s been doing lately hasn’t been good for him.

Not that Quentin has a say in any of it.

Peter sighs, very faintly, his eyes opening. Sits up, shoving the sheet down, and this is where he leaves, every time. Checks to see if Quentin wants another round, but if not, Peter’s gone. He’s never lingered more than fifteen minutes, if that, and Quentin’s not sure if it’s just habit or that he can’t stand to be around a client after.

He doesn’t want Peter to go yet. It’s not that he wants another go, it’s just— he’s gotten a little fond of Peter, and there’s a part of his brain that bristles at the thought of letting an omega he likes go off smelling like that, feeling like that. A part that just wants to keep him in Quentin’s space, however temporary, a little longer.

“Stay a bit,” Quentin says, and Peter glances over at him. “I’ll pay,” he adds.

“Want to go again?”

Peter raises an eyebrow when Quentin shakes his head. “Doesn’t have to be,” Quentin says. “Doesn’t have to be anything.”

“Are you—” Peter cuts himself off; he’s pretty good about not treating anything as ‘weird’. Probably why he keeps getting such terrible clients. “You’re saying you want to pay for… cuddling?”

“Ugh,” Quentin says. Wrinkles his nose a little. “Don’t call it that. But— yeah, pretty much. I’m willing to pay for just your company.”

Peter turns to face him, stare at him. “I don’t know if you’d really be getting your money’s worth,” he says slowly. “I’m not the best company today.”

“I didn’t say you have to entertain me,” Quentin says. “Just be here. Think of it as indulging me, if that’s easier.”

“Indulging you? That’s what you’re going with?”

Quentin watches him. There’s no way Peter could understand, especially not with the view of Quentin he’s probably formed from what they do. But Quentin— it doesn’t matter how unsafe it would be to try and keep an omega, how unlikely he would be to find one that suits; he still wants one. He’ll always want one.

And for a few hours at least, he can have one he actually likes a bit. Or could, if he handles this right.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I got to pamper an omega?” Quentin says, quietly. “Or got to spend a little time with one that wasn’t sex or business? Well, no, of course you don’t, but—” he shrugs. “Maybe I just want to fall asleep with an omega in my bed. Smell you when I wake up and get that hit,” because it’s such a high to know the omega stayed. Know that they chose to, chose Quentin despite the risk and felt safe enough to stay.

“Let’s just say it’s been a while,” Quentin says, and he’s dropped into that luring range. Fuck, what does that say about how much he wants this?

Peter shivers, responding to that tone. Takes a breath, eyes narrowed. “Alright,” he says. “How long?”

Could he— “Are you free to stay the night?” Quentin says, taking that risk, and Peter’s mouth drops open.

“I don’t— it’ll cost—”

“I don’t really care,” Quentin tells him. “Just give me a number later, it doesn’t matter. You know what your time’s worth.”

Peter shakes his head, just slightly. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay the night. But if I snore I don’t want to hear you complaining about it.” Quentin snorts and Peter gives him a bit of a smile back, a tiny easing of his mood that’s promising. “Be right back then,” he says.

He comes back after a bit in the bathroom, slipping under the covers and curling up next to Quentin. Quentin turns his head to look at him, and Peter looks… still tired, and a little wary, and possibly curious.

“You really just want me to hang out and fall asleep in your bed?” Peter whispers. “There’s a lot better omegas you could get for that. You wouldn’t even have to pay.”

Quentin rolls onto his side, facing Peter. Reaches out, slowly, and traces a finger down Peter’s cheek, his neck, across his collarbone. “But I like this one,” he says.

Peter shivers, but doesn’t relax. “You don’t have to romance me,” he says.

“I’m not,” Quentin says. “I’m not stupid, Peter. I know what this is. Turn over, will you?”

He waits while Peter shuffles around; pulls him closer the second he seems to be settled, Peter’s back against his chest, his arm around Peter’s stomach. “Still,” Quentin says, “I do like you. Is that such a bad thing?”

Peter doesn’t answer.

Quentin brushes his lips over the bond point on Peter’s neck, the pale scars covering every inch of it, and Peter tenses. Doesn’t pull away or say no or try to stop him from biting, from bonding him, and that’s— how many times has he had it happen to be able to react so little? How many times has he broken one, and how— how has he been able to stand it? How can he just let Quentin put his mouth there without even a protest, when he has no way of knowing Quentin would never bond him?

He hooks his hand over Peter’s shoulder, holding him in place, and kisses that spot. Licks it, lightly, Peter’s breath catching, and nuzzles into his skin, scenting him. He’s still pretty rank, if not as bad as that first night, but there, deep under everything else layered on top of it, there is that faint thread of what has to be Peter’s scent.

It’s buried so far down it’s barely there, but still— still, it smells bright. Smells like Peter was happy, once.

He showers that spot with attention; soft licks and careful, delicate kisses, burying his face there and rubbing his skin against Peter’s. Keeps at it, and keeps his teeth from ever even touching Peter, and slowly, Peter’s scent rises. Slowly, so incredibly slowly, Peter relaxes in his arms, his scent unfurling, bitter resin mellowing into almost floral frankincense, cedarish—pine?—smoke growing beneath it. It’s an odd scent, and Quentin won’t get it all like this.

But as Peter sighs and goes limp, heavy in his hold, calming, it grows, and this— this is what Quentin really wants. An omega, quiet and blooming scent and pleased, tucked up against him and purring. He might not—almost certainly won’t—get that last from Peter, but the rest will do just fine.

And if it washes away a little more of that sickening guilt that always lays so heavy on Peter’s scent, all the better.

AO3

#fluffuary #spiderio #mysteryspider #quenter #peter x quentin #not that fluffy #but it is for this universe?#making up for yesterday lol #my work #fanfiction

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gayenerd · 3 years

Text

Green Day Deals with the "Rock Star" Dookie

by Tom Lanham

(First appeared in BAM Magazine, March 10, 1995)

Young, loud, and snotty equals beaucoup bucks? What pencil-pushing, graph-charting trend spotter could've predicted it? But the facts speak for themselves: As of late February, Dookie--the brattish, snap 'n' snarl Reprise salvo from Berkeley's sloppy punk trio, Green Day--has sold six million copies. Six million. Chances are, somebody on your block is jumping up and down in his living room at this very moment to the scrap-metal power chords and ardent apathy of "Longview," "Burnout," "Basket Case," or "When I Come Around" and getting lost in the teen abandon of these testy 22-year-olds--weasel-voiced, Montgomery-Clift-like charismatic singer/guitarist Billie Joe; tom-tom tribal percussionist Tre Cool (of the ever-morphing hair-color fame); and bassist Mike Dirnt (who survived Green Day's appearance at Woodstock '94, although several of his teeth did not).

Yes, punk rock is a marketable phenomenon these days, leaving many involved with the music's initial late-'70s, early-'80s wave scratching their heads, wondering why it didn't take the first time around. Public reaction started as curiosity ("Hey, honey, c'mere and lookit these goofy, green-haired little whippersnappers in an insane asylum on MTV!"), but spiraled up to rock-diet necessity (Green Day just won Grammy and they're nominated for quite a few Bammies as well, including such categories as Outstanding Group, Outstanding Album, and Outstanding Song--"Longview" and "Basket Case"). The fact that they've been nominated at all probably sends a shiver up the old dinosaur backbones of Eddie Money, Huey Lewis, and Boz Scaggs, a time-creepy feeling of "Gee, what the hell do we do now?" Because this isn't just some flash-in-the-pan punk movement, folks--this is a youth movement; Green Day are, as they hiply term it, "bored in the 'burbs," and reaching out, through TV and radio, like some prodigal preachers to other American kids who sense the same slacker ennui. Obviously, we're talking truckloads of kids.

Ironically, the more fame edges into the Green Day ruffians' lives, the more mature they seem to become. They've turned down all interview requests as of late, even People magazine, preferring to lay low until this tide of interest recedes. Billie Joe got married last autumn, and spent his honeymoon--not in any exotic, expensive locale--but in Berkeley's grand old Claremont Hotel. Cool recently became a father, and Billie Joe's child is due any day now. It's a responsibility they've both eagerly undertaken. Rob Cavallo, the boys' coproducer and A&R man at Reprise, swears they're "old souls, the smartest young kids I've ever met." It rings true.

The first time I spoke with Green Day, in January of '94, Cool, Dirnt, and Billie Joe were lazing around their dingy basement apartment in Berkeley, sitting on chairs and couches with potentially painful springs poking through. Rock 'n' roll bubblegum cards were scattered across a coffee table, along with several bongs of various sizes, plus a four-and-a-half foot red plastic pipe dubbed "Bongzilla" leaned against a doorway. The only wall decoration, besides a Ren & Stimpy poster, was a Twister game mat nailed up in its entirety, presumably for high-schoolish humor's sake.

When I'd met Billie Joe a few months earlier at a campus concert, his hair was dyed lime-green and featured squidlike tufts. Now it was dark brown, with only two tufts remaining, and both his ears and nose had piercings. Periodically during the interview, he'd ram a finger into that pierced nostril, rummage around, then stare idly at the resultant booger before flicking it on to the carpet. Cool wandered out of the rec room for several minutes, but returned, red-eyed, to proudly proclaim, "Lookit me! I'm stoned, dude!" Dirnt--when he wasn't strumming an acoustic guitar--kept watching their windowsill Sea Monkey tank, finally noting, "Hey, these Sea Monkeys look just like sperm!"

Despite all these schoolboy, poo-poo wit trappings (dookie, after all, is kiddie slang for excrement), there was a sense of seasoned wisdom about them, a feeling that they were, as Cavallo postulated, truly old souls. Like the class clown who frustrates all of his teachers by also maintaining a 4.0 grade average, Green Day can afford to play because their work--brilliantly skewed three-minute pop songs, delivered with such vehemence and vitriol you don't dare doubt them--certainly speaks for itself. But, sooner or later, of course, the band has to speak for itself, too, so what follows is a set of excerpts from that first ratty-digs meeting, as well as a later chat with Billie Joe, sans sidekicks. How did Green Day take over the rock world in less than a year? That's the six-million-copy question, and hopefully we'll provide a few answers.

* * *

So punk is back, whether America likes it or not?

BILLIE JOE: It's always been around, and everyone has their own interpretation of it. It's weird to actually call it "punk" again, when it's been there all the time.

MIKE DIRNT: It's been springing up in little suburban areas, where people grab it and express themselves.

TRE COOL: It's people who make a point of setting aside all responsibilities and just playing music. And doing fat joint after fat joint--you have to let go of things like paying rent, going to school, having a job.

BJ: And, if you can't tell by my house, we don't have a very high standard of living.

How does today's punk rock differ from its late-'70s cousin?

BJ: I think it was all about art and fashion back then, really, because everyone who was a punk in England was in art school. I read an early interview with Dee Dee Ramone, where he said he wished the Ramones had more of a glamorous appeal, too, instead of playing in jeans and leather jackets. But it was definitely about fashion, until the Clash really brought out the political side. Our music came from being bored in the 'burbs. You get put in this high school situation, where you're learning someone else's rules in a room with 30 other people that you don't really like. There's nothing interesting about it whatsoever, so you pick up a guitar instead.

But you all tried college, at least for awhile, right?

MD: And then we started touring. Constantly.

TC: So most of our reading now comes from highway signs.

MD: It's the old grasshopper and the ant story. The thought of actually working is just so...

TC: Sickening!

MD: Yeah. So we put everything we had into not working. This is what I do best, and I was always told, "If you're gonna do something, do it the best you can." So why not do the best thing you can, too?

You guys--at least Mike and Billie Joe--have known each other since you were 10?

BJ: And the first conversation we ever had was about writing songs. And then we just started playing music.

A lot of the stuff on your early Lookout! records shows what was on your mind at the time--namely, girls.

BJ: That was pretty much the viewpoint of a 16-year-old kid. I don't write stuff like that anymore. The new songs are more about coming of age and being apathetic and neurotic.

Where were your parents when you were touring [at age 16]?

MD: At work, doing their own thing.

BJ: My mom's worked a waitress job for like the past 40 years or something, and whatever I was doing was OK with her.

MD: I moved out when I was 15, and I worked all the way through high school.

BJ: And me, I've never held a job longer than two weeks. I tried to flip pizzas--it didn't work. I tried cleaning toilets in the Red Onion in El Sobrante. Me and TrŽ, we used to work for the SF Chronicle, selling papers. I sold three the first day, and the next day we just smoked pot, and we smoked pot the next day after that. So we had hella extra papers lying around. Our ultimate goal wasn't to get rich or famous or anything like that. It was to not have a regular job and not be miserable.

MD: And I've lived in every city around here, except for Albany. Literally. And one thing we want to establish about ourselves is that we're just a bunch of geeks from the suburbs.

Well, one of the first times I saw you, you guys were closing your set with Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger." That's pretty geeky.

MD: I grew up on radio--that's all I had. When I was a little kid, I couldn't afford records. I'll tell you, I've been down to a dollar in my pocket a lot of times. I've even lived in my truck. I can remember shooting rats with a BB gun in the flat we used to live in, before they'd make it to our food.

BJ: I've always been really good about saving. If I got some money, I'd put it away instead of spending it, and I'd buy ramen.

Why name your disc Dookie?

TC: Warner's said we could do anything we want, as long as we didn't say "Cop Killer."

BJ: Somebody told our manager that the ad for it was the most tasteless thing they'd ever seen in Billboard magazine.

What exactly do you mean on Dookie by "Welcome to Paradise"?

BJ, MD, TC [in unison]: West Oakland!

MD: Living in West Oakland, and going out to parties every night.

So it cost, what, around $100,000 to make Dookie?

MD: Yeah. We kept the advances low, because you gotta pay all that shit back. Everyone knows you can't become an instant millionaire just by signing, because there are so many people that want a piece of you.

BJ: We hang out with mostly punks though, and they don't want anything we have. They could care less. And a lot of our friends don't even agree with us being on a major label.

Is Green Day angry?

BJ: No, I'm not angry, like, walking around all the time with a frown on my face. But the way my music is interpreted is very angry.

MD: When you feel really strongly about something, you want to let it out in the most powerful way possible.

Like the way you baited your old high school principal from the Warfield stage recently?

MD: I think he was an asshole. He treated me with no respect. And for high school initiation, we got our heads shaved--that's the kind of small-town shit we had to deal with! Sometimes they made you push a penny up the street with your nose. But that's life, and anywhere you go, you're gonna hate a lot of shit in your life. You'll be handed

Dookie?

MD: Yeah. Yeah, you'll be handed dookie through all parts of your life. And see, what you need to do is just deal with the dookie, build upon what you have, and make something out of the dookie, you know? Like an adobe dookie building!

* * *

Several months later, and Dookie is oozing its gooey way into the public consciousness big time. The fading summer heat sticks crackling to the Berkeley sidewalks as punks--many sporting monstrous green or fuchsia mohawks--zing by on skateboards by day, and huddle in Telegraph Avenue doorways by night, conserving feral body heat the whole time. It feels like another world here, a throwback to the Bay Area's DIY/hardcore scene of the early '80s, when squatters reigned supreme and burlesque Broadway--fueled by all-ages shows at the Mabuhay Gardens, On Broadway, and even an occasional GBH or UK Subs booking at the Stone--made weekend conversions to "Punk Playground, USA." It was the best of times; it was the worst of times--despite relentless touring, most of these bands sold bupkus in the way of records, and few, save Metallica, ever held pen in shaky hand over a major-label contract.

Billie Joe saunters into the Berkeley coffeehouse in rumpled jeans and a grease-spattered flannel shirt; his once-green-and-tufty tresses have grown out into Wally Cleaver waves and been dyed a Rod Stewarty blond. He looks like one of those feisty punks of yore; like he could hold his own through sheer physical endurance in the wildest of thrash pits. There's a new authority about him, the way he strides confidently to the counter, orders a pint-size glass of coffee, then swims through a sea of late-lunching yuppies to grab a table. The singer doesn't seem to notice them at all. Or maybe he's just too tired from nonstop touring to really give a shit. He smiles a goofy grin, revealing a set of generally crooked or chipped choppers, with an entire half of one front tooth missing. But there's such charisma behind it, the same kind of "Who, me?" innocence that little kids use. Billie Joe, you might say, has quickly become the Bart Simpson of the alternative set.

How else could you explain his uncensored performance at a certain outdoor arena where--in a hyperspeed set lasting only 30 minutes before management threatened to pull the plug--he a) unzipped his fly and paraded his privates around for all to see; b) handed a stunned fan his beat-up, sticker-plastered guitar and urged him to play it; c) destroyed a $600 microphone by smashing it into the stage, then destroyed a second mike he was handed as well; and d) encouraged half the venue to chant, "Rock 'n' roll!" and the other half to respond with, "Shut the fuck up!" He then closed the show with a proposition--"They'll be really angry with us, but what we could do is rip out the seats!" he told the audience, which promptly gave Green Day a standing ovation. Billie Joe not only shrugs off such shenanigans as artistic license, he gets away with them! He's even encouraged to continue by fans who empathize with his uppity "fuck authority" attitude.

But the facts were all on the table as Billie Joe sipped his house blend that afternoon, and it didn't take a fortune teller to read 'em. Green Day was hitting big time. Fast. And the sheer enormity of the undertaking, the weight of all its accordant responsibility, was just beginning to hit him. He looked older, wiser, and spoke in more grownup tones about his future, which then included a pending marriage to longtime girlfriend Adrienne. You could practically feel this new maturity encircling him like some protective aura.

* * *

=Where do all these punks on Telegraph come from? They can't all be local and homeless.

I think Telegraph has just become this cultural mecca for punk rockers, because most of 'em who are on the Avenue aren't even from here. They're from Arizona, Minneapolis, New York, Florida. They just come out and end up squatting in houses in Berkeley. Why here? It's the climate, and the scene itself--Gilman Street and Maximum Rock 'n' Roll are in this area, and have a link to each other. But at the same time, it's separated, because there are so many different factions of punk now. There are the squatters, the pop-cores, the mods, the crusties. And all these types of people come out just to check it out. Plus, there's the best coffee in Berkeley, and a lot of 'em are real super coffee-drinkers, just pounding cup after cup all the time. It's pretty rare to come across a punk who doesn't drink coffee. I can't drink too much coffee myself--it gives me the shakes at night, so I just have a little bit during the day. Then I can smoke dope and go to bed.

=What's the attraction in squatting or homelessness for these kids?

For a lot of 'em, it's the first sense of freedom that they've had. It's like, "You mean I don't have to be home by midnight?" They've pretty much told their families and schools to go fuck themselves, so they go off and do their own thing. When I was 17, I did the same thing. And I had this total sense of freedom, where no one's telling you what to do, you don't have a clock to punch in on, you don't have people breathing down your neck; you don't have any deadlines to meet. You have this endless schedule where you can stay up all night drinking with your friends, or do anything you want.

=But isn't "Coming Clean" about leaving behind your wilder ways?

It's also about coming to grips with your sexuality. There's one line, "Skeletons come to life in my closet." And it's like, "Am I homosexual or heterosexual?" You go through this adolescent stage in your life where you don't really know what you are, and one side is taboo because your parents brought you up to think being gay was wrong. And if you come to grips with yourself, that you happen to be gay or bi or whatever, well, that was one thing about punk that was so accepting--all creeds were welcome, all sexualities, everything.

=Was this something you went through personally?

Yeah, to a certain extent. But I don't want to go around waving a gay flag or anything.

=Well, you had a beautiful girl on your arm backstage at the last Green Day show.

That's Adrienne. She's cool. Actually, we're engaged. That's why it took me so long getting here today--I had to get this! [Rolls sleeve up on tattooed arm, points to a bandaged-on cotton swab] Blood test, dude! We're getting married next week!

=Has anybody tried to tell you you're too young for such a serious move?

Of course. There are a lot of people who've said stuff. My parents have been a little more understanding than her parents. I just called my mom yesterday and said, "Mom, I'm gettin' married," and she said, "That's fine, son. Have fun!" I can hardly surprise my mother nowadays. But [this relationship] has been a recurring thing for the past four years, and we just decided to get serious about it. She's coming out here, and we're moving in together, so it's like, "Why not?" I don't really have any wild oats to sow, or anything like that. I'm not into the "Gettin' chicks all the time" thing.

=I know a lot of girls who'll be really bummed that you're gittin' hitched. They all seem to have developed a crush on you...

Me?! It must be the teeth [grins again].

=OK, so maybe you didn't brush often enough when you were young. But you were busy developing a direction...

I wouldn't necessarily say I had a direction or anything. I just knew I wanted to write songs. It comes from...uh...I don't know. I have no idea. It wasn't any kind of cosmic force or anything like that; it was just a matter of having a guitar around and wanting to play it all the time. I've had the same guitar since I was 11--I bought it off this guy at a guitar store. And I still play it--you know, the blue one with stickers all over it? That's my blue guitar, and, for some reason, things come to life, and everyone calls it "Blue" now--"Where's Blue? Can I pick up Blue and play it?"

=And you let just anybody touch it?

Oh yeah! Blue's not prejudiced.

=It's interesting to note that the general public seems to think Dookie is your debut.

Yeah, but that's just the general public. There are people who've been with us since the beginning, who know how long we've been around, since our first 7-inch came out back in '89.

=And now you can afford to trash pricey microphones.

Actually, Warner Brothers paid for those. It was pretty nice of 'em. They looked really nice--I remember looking at 'em and thinking, "Nice microphones!" They gave me one mike and I took it and threw it down, and they gave me another, and at the end of the set I creamed it pretty hard, I guess. We toured Europe with this band Die Toten Hosen--we played nine dates with 'em--and we got charged for a microphone every night. I dunno, for some reason we just started smashing shit. We'd start throwing equipment around at the end of each set, and these kids would start grabbing Tre's drum set and throwing it, and then they started smashing the microphones too. And the bouncers just couldn't do anything about it.

=And you actually yanked your dick out onstage too?

I did. Totally. It was the real thing. I dunno. The bands that we were playing with were just boring. It was more like making a mockery of the whole thing. The big arena rock thing is just so dated now, like Journey or Queen. Which is why I think punk rock started to begin with--it was this reaction to all the dinosaur bands. So for me, that show was, "How can we make a complete mockery of this but at the same time have fun with it?" I like to leave people guessing, "Did he hate that or did he like that?" It's not that I don't care--it's more that I'm careless. I try to be as happy-go-lucky as I can, but you can become apathetic at the same time.

=Do you feel like Green Day is a part of, or represents, the so-called "slacker generation"?

There's one side of me that doesn't mind it, because it's a generational thing, and another side of me that says, "Fuck that!" The reason I wrote the songs is, I ended up going back to Rodeo, where I'm from, for a week. And then I said, "Fuck it," and left. But I managed to get several good songs out of it. A lot of my friends had just turned into complete burnouts. And these are kids I've known since kindergarten, because it's a small town and you know everybody. And it was all fixing cars, staying up all night on methamphetamines, smoking dope, and finding out all these rumors about people I haven't heard of in 10 years. Like, "Oh, did you hear about so-and-so, who got married, had three kids, and ended up shooting everybody in his family?" And it happened! It was a true story! You're there for one week, and you get caught up in it. You get so bored, all you wanna do is watch television. And there are no record stores, nothing around, so you end up hanging out with all these delinquents who aren't punkers at all, just cultural idiots. So I was watching all these people rot and rotting with them until I realized, "Shit! I gotta get the fuck outta here!"

=As they say, you can never go home again.

Oh yeah, definitely. Unless you get pregnant, like my sister did. Then you have to go. But I quit school my senior year--I just wasn't getting anything out of it. I was taking nine periods a day, plus night classes, which left me no time to smoke dope whatsoever. And my mom even suggested I drop out, because she was a dropout, too. I come from a long line of dropouts. I still have nightmares about being late with my homework assignments. When I finally went in to sign out of high school, the teacher went, "Now, who are you again?"

=And if that teacher could see you now!

A lot of people think you get this big connection with a corporate label, and you make millions of dollars, but they don't understand that you just don't make that much money. And when you do, it's easy to piss it away. I mean, every cent that I've made, I've pissed away. I'm not gonna say how I did it, but I don't have it But I don't think you necessarily have to be a punk to decide to say, "Fuck it." You don't even have to have a direction. It's just a matter of getting the fuck out and exploring things for yourself.

=But didn't you feel abject terror when you first set out on your own?

Nah, I didn't. Because, for some reason, I knew things were gonna be all right. You can create your own future as long as karma's on your side. And I'm a strong believer in karma. I think things can come back to you if you're just willing to give.

* * *

True enough. At least six million times over!

1995 Tom Lanham

#article #interview #articles #billie joe armstrong

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cosmicjoke · 4 years

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Ash and Recognizing His Innate Goodness

I’ve talked a lot about my belief that Ash was, from the very beginning, an innately good person, and that, while Eiji gave Ash something extremely special in giving him, for the first and only time in his life, the experience of what it felt like to be unconditionally love and accepted, I don’t think you can give Eiji, or anyone else in Ash’s life, credit for making him a GOOD PERSON. I think Ash just always was, it was just that his life was so hard and difficult from so early on, that he had to develop this hard, cold exterior as a way to protect himself. But it wasn’t something created in him through the kindness of others. I think the reason Eiji connected as deeply as he did with Ash is because Eiji was able to see past that armor and see Ash for who he really was. He saw how much pain Ash was in, how much it cost him to have to do the things he did, that he wasn’t some emotionless monster, and that he never was in danger of even becoming one. The one time the two of them really fought was when Eiji started to make the same mistake everyone else had made, thinking, because Ash was doing the things he was doing, it was because he was losing sight of his own humanity. The same way Shorter accuses Ash in Angel Eyes of becoming like the people who abuse him. Just like he was with Shorter, Ash is incredibly upset that Eiji would think that, and gets extremely angry, because it’s not true. It hurts Ash that Eiji could think that. That he could believe Ash could be someone who hurt others just because he can, or because he wants to. Ash isn’t killing Arthur’s men because he enjoys it, or because he wants to. He’s killing them because if he doesn’t, they’ll kill him and all of his own boys. He’s doing it because Arthur and the rest of them forced the issue by refusing to back down. Ash gets no pleasure out of what he’s doing. Just like he got no pleasure out of seducing Ricardo. It’s an act necessary to survival, and that’s all. Eiji eventually comes to understand that, and that’s the real turning point in their relationship. That Ash didn’t kill because he was a devil or a demon or a ruthless killer. That Ash didn’t kill because he was a bad guy. He killed because he had no other choice if he wanted to keep living and if he wanted to protect those he cared for.

There's so many things that point to Ash having an inherently kind and caring heart. The fact that he cares as much as he does about everyone around him, even before he really gets to know Eiji, like Griff, Skip and Shorter, and everyone in his gang. A good example of this is the fact that Ash is only working with Dino at the beginning of the story still because he needs the money in order to pay for Griff’s medical bills. Dino is Ash’s worst abuser, his longest abuser, and the last person Ash wants anything to do with. But he keeps working with him just so he can care for his big brother. He subjects himself to being around a man who raped him repeatedly as a child so he can have a way of keeping Griff safe and alive. This is the definition of self-sacrifice. This is before he ever meets Eiji. Definitely Ash was influenced by Shorter and Eiji, in terms of how he was able to open up and be outwardly softer and less harsh, but other people don’t determine for you what’s in your heart. They can’t create a capacity to care in another person. That has to be inborn. I feel like the fact Ash is as good as he is from the start of the story really proves he always had a strong, moral inclination. Really it’s in SPITE of all the horrific pain Ash has been through that he's as good as he is, because anybody with a shaky or nonexistent moral foundation, if they had gone through even a fraction of what Ash did, would have turned out viciously cruel. Yut-Lung is a good example, actually. Yut-Lung has been through similar experiences, though not entirely the same, as Ash, and he acts in ways that are entirely selfish and petty. Yut-Lung didn’t really have anyone in his life to help guide him, but even despite this, we see moments of regret and remorse in him, because he isn’t ENTIRELY without goodness. Still, he’s noticeably selfish, self-centered, petty and vengeful in a way Ash never was. Even at his lowest and most desperate moments, even when he was most alone, with no friends and no one to support him, Ash never hurt anyone who didn’t first hurt or try to hurt him, and he never hurt anyone out of spite, or jealousy, never tried to take anything away from someone just because they had it and he didn’t. Ash, from the very beginning, only ever acted out of self-defense. Even with positive influences like Shorter and Griff and Eiji, if Ash hadn't started out with having a strong, natural sense of right and wrong, given the truly massive scale of his suffering, he would have been a lot more morally corrupt from the start. The greatest tragedy of Ash, I think, is that he's really such a good person, who's been forced into such an awful, brutal existence through no fault of his own, and it's driven him to hate himself. I think the whole point of Banana Fish is to show the true damage that child abuse can cause. That it can take a good person like Ash and make him believe he's a bad person.

I think people can influence you, definitely, and can influence the way you turn out, but I also think there's an equal balance between nature versus nurture. I don't think you can create a strong moral nature in someone if it doesn't exist from the start. It’s why you can find genuinely bad people who have never experienced anything traumatic in their lives, and they still go out of their way to cause harm to others. Like basically everyone in the story who abused Ash. It’s also why you can find people who have experienced truly traumatic things, and they’re still good people deep inside, wanting to do the right thing, even if they’re also damaged and maybe don’t always understand how to go about it. Like Blanca, and of course even more so Ash himself. If that goodness DOES exist from the start, other people can nurture it and grow it and give it a safe place to express itself, and that’s what Eiji and Shorter did for Ash. But you can't give a moral conscience to someone who doesn't already have it. Kind of like you can't create talent or intelligence in someone. They have to be born with it, and then you can develop it. I just think, with everything we know about Ash, about the way he was from the start, the way he reacted to things, the things he tried to achieve, like keeping his friends and family safe, even trying to spare enemies of his, trying to break free from Dino, etc… and the things he didn’t ever care about, like money and power, the way he cared about people, the value he placed on human life, despite all the hell he'd been through, etc... it shows that he always had a good heart, he just lived in a world where if he let that show, it would get him killed. Which, the most tragic thing of all, it eventually did.

One more point to make about all of this is a parallel we see between Private Opinion and Angel Eyes. There are scenes in both stories in which Blanca and Shorter see Ash smile and laugh genuinely, in the carefree, childlike way children do, and they're both struck by how sweet and cute Ash is. Because they're seeing Ash as he really is in those moments. This sweet, adorable little boy. They’re amazed and stunned, because it’s the first time they’re actually getting to see the real Ash, and it's so at odds with the detached, uncaring facade Ash usually wears. Ash shows that part of him to them in moments of lighthearted, carefree abandon. He smiles and laughs like that around them after he's come to realize he can trust them, and that they won't hurt him.

I think what's important to remember is that, as horrific as the abuse Ash suffered is, and honestly, it’s about as bad as it can possibly get, it never defined WHO Ash was.

The abuse he suffered destroyed his life. Absolutely. It ruined his life. It changed, irrevocably, the course and direction of where he ended up. It changed and affected the way Ash interacted with people and situations. It altered and affected the way he behaved. It forced him to harden himself, to become harsh and blunt, to cut himself off in order to survive, to push people away because he couldn’t trust them, and because he was thrust, through no fault of his own, into a desperate, cruel world of violence which made him dangerous to be around. It damaged him in permanent, irreparable ways, emotionally and mentally. Caused him to develop dangerously low self-esteem and other, deeply unhealthy habits and ways of thinking. It made him hate himself, made him think of himself as worthless and not deserving of love. It caused him painful and overwhelming stress and anxiety, and forced him to live in a constant state of fear and uncertainty, leaving him unable to ever relax, unable to stop, unable to be himself, unable to be a boy, unable to just LIVE. It affected and changed and dictated every aspect of his life.

But the one thing it never changed, the one thing it never altered, was who Ash was fundamentally inside himself. The abuse destroyed his life, but it never destroyed HIM.

Despite it all, Ash never stopped being a good person.

This is so vitally important to the story, I think. To realize this about the story. Ash's abuse didn't turn him into an abuser. It didn't make him a bad person. Ash says to Foxx, right before Foxx rapes him, that he can do whatever he wants to him, because it doesn't matter, because Ash's mind and spirit are his own. He's telling Foxx that no matter how badly you treat me, no matter how hard you try to make me like you, I never will be. I'll never be as ugly as you are. Ash never lost himself, despite the sickening hell he suffered, and I think that's exactly in line with the message of Banana Fish. That even if you've suffered trauma that's destroyed your life, it doesn't mean that trauma defines who you are. It doesn't mean that trauma has destroyed you, or made you a worthless person. That your trauma isn't WHO you are. It's something you've been through, maybe even something you can never move past, but it doesn't mean that's all you are as a person. It doesn't mean that's what you are as a person. That bad things happening to you don’t make you a bad person. They may affect the way you act, the way you behave, the decisions you make, but it doesn’t change what’s in your heart. And Ash’s heart was always golden.

#Banana Fish #Ash Lynx #Meta

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soundofseventeen · 4 years

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13 Days of Christmas (Yoon Jeonghan)

Hi! Not much to say but I hope you enjoyed Erin’s update! And this is one of my favorites that I wrote! I’ll see y’all tomorrow! gif credits to owners!

Word count: 2699

“There it is,” you said, gently placing your fingertips against the glass, “Jeonghan’s Christmas present.” It was neither grandiose nor revolutionary but you could guarantee that that record player would light up his face the moment he saw it and it was worth it. You could already picture him buying a table specifically for that and his little collection of records happily on the side. You felt the goosebumps making their way across your body hearing Jeonghan’s vocals as he sang along to his favorite songs.

Joshua, on the other hand, didn’t look too amazed. “It’s nice…Y/N, it’s really nice, but isn’t the price...a bit much?” He loved his friend, he really did but the thought of spending so much money on him was enough to haunt his daydreams. But then he figured that if ever found someone that would spend as many Christmases with him the way you and Jeonghan did, then maybe he’d understand. After all, you were already dating when he met Jeonghan, but he surprised himself when he saw he got along with you as well, being neighbors and all.

“Joshua...for Jeonghan, too much is never enough.”

“But when was the last time you bought something for yourself?”

You kicked your foot in the air to show him your kicks. “Uh, I bought these four months ago, remember?”

“Yes...I told you to either buy them or I would. You had to justify buying a new pair even though they had a hole on the toe.”

“Not everyone can inherit a family business, Mr. Show Off. Now, are you gonna help me wrap that thing when I get out of work?” You cleaned the prints with the sleeve of your sweater paw, ridding the smudge on the window. You tapped the pocket of the small zipper of your mini backpack, making sure you brought the money with you for the umpteenth time. All your tips and extra cash you had leftover went to the record player. And if the owners had a set schedule, you would’ve bought it and taken it home with you a long time ago.

“And when are you getting your camera? Don’t you miss taking photos?’

“I can always wait for my next birthday or when I’m not drowning in debt.” You remembered all the unopened film you had at home.

So why are you buying something this expensive for Jeonghan?”

“He deserves it. He’s been working so many hours lately and even though he’s dead tired, he still makes time for me. Honestly, that over there-” you pointed to the antique, “-is nothing to compared to everything he’s done.”

“And you don’t work enough hours?” He had never seen a couple like you and Jeonghan, so young and in love and always putting each other first. It sickened him sometimes and he usually had to be realistic for the both of you.

“Pfft, I’m pretty sure I’ve been slacking just to make sure I get by. That’s what happens when I decide to get sick..” you mumbled the last of your ranting so he wouldn’t hear you. Getting sick around this time of year hadn’t been an option and it still happened and it made you hate your immune system for making you suffer.

“Why not just move in with Jeonghan already to save costs? You’ve been together long enough.”

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet,” you admitted. It’s not that the thought hadn’t crossed your mind before; it’s just that there were other things you wanted to do and get on your own before taking that next step.

“Okay so you spend all your money on him...and vice versa, you spend all your free time together, you pretty much spend weeks at each other’s places AND you’ve been together since the dawn of time...but no. Moving in together is too much of a commitment.”

“Oh hush before you make me late for work. Come on. I have annoying customers to attend to. Hopefully, they’ll be generous enough to leave me good tips.”

“‘Tis the season to be jolly,” he raised his coffee cup in a toast and sipped it.

“Isn’t she a beaut?” Jeonghan asked Seungcheol on his way to work. He sighed longingly at the Polaroid on display, wanting and wishing so desperately he’d be getting paid today just so could buy you your present right now.

“Very pretty,” he whistled. “I’m sure Y/N will love it.”

He nodded, still remembering the broken-hearted expression you had when you realized that you had forgotten it at the bus stop and he swore he’d buy you another one as soon as he could afford it. “I hope so. Y/N deserves all the good things in this world and I’ll try my hardest to make that happen.”

“You know I keep thinking that maybe one day you’ll realize that you’ll both be happy once you move in together.”

“We’ve talked about it but we’re not ready for that.”

“So you’re just gonna settle for buying yet another ridiculously expensive present.”

“Y/N needs this. Trust me.”

“And I need someone to help me pay rent because living alone sucks.”

“Didn’t Soonyoung have an opening available?”

“You really want me to have a stroke, huh? Last time he had Seungkwan over at his place...I had to help him scrape noodles off the ceiling.” He frowned. “And Minghao wasn’t pleased about the food stains on his book, so I had to give him my copy.”

“New plan, get into a relationship.”

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about all that shit.”

“I got lucky,” Jeonghan shrugged nonchalantly. He turned his attention back to the vintage camera. “That’ll prove it.” He had slowly been saving up for that Polaroid for you, stopping by weekly to give a downpayment, and with this week’s paycheck, you’d surely be getting it tonight.

“Man, you guys are gross,” Seungcheol gagged. “Making me feel lonely with my single ass. Let’s go, Romeo. Otherwise, the only thing you’ll be getting is a pink slip.”

“I really hate Soonyoung,” he grumbled. “He got to be one of Santa’s elves and I’m fucking Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer.”

“And I’m a cashier who has to hear sob stories and threats over discounts that aren’t included with the shit they’re buying.” Jeonghan wasn’t sure if the tears were real or not, but he couldn’t blame him either way.

You walked out of the bathroom, still wondering how the smell of coffee made its way into your street clothes. You stuffed your uniform into your backpack, grateful to be out earlier than expected but trying not to think about how you were gonna make extra money before the rent. Tips weren’t too bad but you felt a little guilty for hoping for more. You’d find a way to manage; you always did.

Your coworkers wished you a happy holiday, as well as thanking you for the gifts and then you went next door to wait for Joshua since he texted you that he’d be leaving soon. The secretaries at the law firm didn’t give you a second glance other than greeting you. They were used to seeing you by now so they let you wait there. Luckily, he hardly kept you waiting so you were back out before the door even closed. He chatted about the potential clients and the ones who stuck out to him. You didn’t know how many cups of coffee he drank on the way to the antique store, but he never seemed jittery. But you guessed it went to you since you were buzzing and speeding up and rushing him to get there faster. You finally left him about half a block away to run inside to get someone to help take the record player to the register to pay the owner.

However, when Joshua caught up to you, you were frantically digging through your backpack looking for the small zip-loc that had all your savings for it. “Where is it?” You dumped everything out on the counter, hoping it’d be mixed in with your uniform or your wallet or anywhere else. “Joshua,” I can’t find it.” You tried not to cry, thinking if you went back to the restaurant, it’d be there in your locker, waiting for you. “I’m sorry, can you just keep this on hold for me? I left my money in my locker at work. I’ll be back with it as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry, but if someone else wants it, we might have to sell it to them,” the owner said apologetically.

“No, please. I have the money. It’s for my boyfriend. That’s his Christmas gift. I’ll be back in an hour, I promise.”

“What do you mean I’m not getting paid?” Jeonghan asked his boss in disbelief.

“No, you’re still getting paid...it’s just delayed a couple of days. And that’s my fault for not seeing that I was overdrafted from one of my payments sooner.”

“And all my coworkers?”

“Are in the same position as you. I-It’s out of my hands.”

“Can’t you just give it to me in cash, sir? It’s an emergency.”

“My daughter just deposited everything that we made today. Jeonghan, I’m truly sorry. How else can I make it up to you?”

“It’s fine. Forget it.” The rush of emotions left him conflicted as he drove home. He didn’t have a backup plan for something like this. He just assumed that after work today, he’d be able to buy you your Christmas gift with no problem. He was pissed that it didn’t happen like that. He knew that banks messed up all the time but he couldn’t believe his luck. He promised you the greatest gift in the world, and now would he provide that? He threw your towels in the washer, knowing you’d want to shower after you got back from visiting your friends at Mingyu’s place. He tidied the room a little, looked for your slippers and made sure he had some ramen in case you came home hungry.

He went back out to the living room, car keys in hand, when he laid his eyes on his records...his most prized collection. A lot of them he had been buying since he started earning his money, and some he got for a really good deal. He always promised himself that one day, he’d get himself one just to be able to play his music. And then when you crossed his mind, he pictured you with the Polaroid in your hands as you took the pictures and in one swift movement, picked up the records and headed out.

You never understood how Jeonghan managed to tangle himself up in you but you never complained about it. If anything, you welcomed it because it was just something you liked...unless it was scorching hot and his body heat radiated off of him. “Hannie,” you called him softly. “Hannie, wake up.”

“Five more minutes, my love,” he mumbled. “I’m tired.”

“But Hannie, it’s Christmas! I wanna make you breakfast.”

“Stay with meeeeeee.” He sleepily pressed his lips to your cheek, not quite processing your words.

“Come on. You can sleep in the living room.”

“Jagi, can you make me pancakes?”

“Yes, come on. And take your blanket too so you’ll stay warm.”

“Can we stay in our pjs too?”

“Go nuts.”

He didn’t need his blanket because as soon as he turned on the TV, he woke up and flipped through the channels excitedly, looking for anything that hinted at his childhood. He looked under the Christmas tree, only two presents, a sure sign that they’d gotten older. His heart clenched at seeing his gift to you, which now looked like nothing compared to the one you wrapped for him. He didn’t wanna dwell on that. It was Christmas, you were here with him again and it was perfect. Breakfast too. He loved hearing you humming in the kitchen, and making small talk. He met you on the table but you shook your head and went to the living room and sat on the floor. You patted the spot next to you and you watched the movie playing in silence. You looked like you were in a good mood, and he couldn’t complain. And then you mentioned opening presents and he felt the nerves turn icy in his veins.

“Okay. Do you want to open mine first or do you want me to start?” He didn’t give you the chance to speak since he handed you your and he waited.

You took your time unwrapping it, trying to figure out what he could’ve gotten you. “Is this what I think it is?” You finally decided to tear it open, and you tried not to cry. “It’s a...Polaroid,” you said quietly. You could feel the lump in your throat, touched at the fact that he got it for you. “Thank you.”

“I know it can’t replace your old one, but I know you missed taking photos. Here, why don’t you take one of me while I open yours?”

“I think I’d rather just capture the moment as is.” You leaned closer to him while he unwrapped his, nearly helping him because of your excitement.

“It’s a record player,” he said in the same voice you just used. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, I know how you’ve been dying for this and it’s what you deserve. Now, why don’t you put one of your favorite albums so I can hear your beautiful voice?”

He surprised you by taking your hands in his. “Y/N, do you know how happy you make me and how I’ll do anything to see you smile?” He kissed your hands when you nodded and continued. “Yesterday, I wasn’t able to get paid, so I had to sell my records to get your Polaroid.” He didn’t need to tell you that he had to stop at several places because many of the owners didn’t offer the prices he needed to buy it for you.

“Jeonghan, why?” he wiped away a tear that had fallen. Your heart broke at his sacrifice and you felt so selfish.

“Because I love you. Now start taking pictures and hang them up everywhere you can. Your photograph...why are you crying? Jagi, please don’t cry. You're more important to me than those. I can always buy more.”

“Jeonghan, I sold all my film to buy you this record player,” you admitted. “I lost the money I saved up for it and they were gonna give it to someone else. You love music so much and it was the first thing I thought of.”

To your surprise, he started laughing so hard his own tears started falling and then it was your turn to wipe them. “Baby, why would you do that for me?”

“Because I love you. More than anything, even my stupid hobby.”

He didn’t know what else to do, so he grabbed your face and placed kisses everywhere he could until he just held you close to him. He rested you close to his heart, content despite everything. “Man, we’re just a couple of fools, aren’t we?”

You didn’t answer him, the steady beating of his heart matching with yours. You still couldn’t believe that he loved you this much. And you loved him just as much. You’d already known that you were gonna spend the rest of your life with him, but this just solidified any doubts you may have had.

“Jagi?” He tried again.

“Hmm?”

“I know this is long overdue and we’ve only talked about this a couple of times, but would you just move in with me already? I don’t know if I can handle being apart from you much longer. It doesn’t to be right away-”

“How about after the new year?”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Jeonghan, after what you did for me...how can I say no? Besides, it took us long enough, right?’

“I love you...so fucking much.”

And I love you...just as fucking much,” you said, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

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orderofthefanfic · 5 years

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Have to Adjust

It’s All Over but the Laughing: Chapter 4

(Y/N) was already up before her alarm, before the sun even, curled up on the abandoned couch that was left there and staring out into the city. She didn't sleep well, and she knew it wasn't on account of the cheap mattress. Once her door had closed and the happiness had faded, reality came knocking. Her dismal situation became clear, and although she was grateful to have a friend in her building, part of her wished things hadn't changed at all. She hated her old life, hated her uncle, her apartment, her loneliness, but was happiness really worth uncertainty? She didn't know if she could keep up her rent as well as the cost of her medications, or what she'd do if she found herself without a job, which she frequently did. There was no longer a stable income and the anxiety of instability was crippling. In days, everything she'd ever known was turned on its head.

Her blaring alarm startled her and she quickly wiped her cheeks. Shuffling to her room, she softly pressed the button to shut it off and slowly got dressed for the day. The coffee was bitter and cheap, leaving a crap taste on her tongue but she needed the caffeine. She'd have to remember the brand, so she knew never to buy it again. There was a passing thought to check her reflection, but with a sigh, she decided she’d rather not, choosing to imagine the dark circles under her eyes were unnoticeable and her cheek had returned to its normal hue. Her hoodie was hanging from the key rack and she slipped into it as she reached for the handle. She opened the door to step into the hall and-

“Jesus fucking christ, A-Arthur!” (Y/N) yelped, hand poised to strike as she jumped out of her skin.

Arthur was inches from her, fist hovering after he knocked on nothing but air and took a panicked step back as she shouted. Her hand moved to her heart, her breath pushing hastily through her lips as she looked with bewilderment to her new neighbor.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just came by because I realized I never told you which door was mine."

He fumbled over his apology, his shaking hands running through his hair as he sheepishly looked to her tired face. She didn't respond for a moment, still steadying her breath and forcing her groggy brain to catch up to the present, before an airy laugh left her as she swallowed dryly.

"Yeah, yeah, no. You didn't." She ran a hand through her own hair, "Guess it's good you came by."

Her smile returned, but there was a falseness to it that Arthur didn't understand. Nonetheless, he smiled back and she stepped through to close her door.

"I'm sorry I startled you."

"No, it's okay, sorry I yelled."

Her stutter had returned as strong as before, and he wondered why that was, but wouldn't dare draw it to light. So, he gave her the patience to talk, as she would give him if he had an episode, and they fell into their rhythm as they made their way to the bus station. It was odd, the familiarity of the feeling despite the fact they'd only met once before she showed up at the steps of his building. One would think they were old friends, comfortable and sure in each other, understanding of even the minute things most would take numerous encounters to pick up on. They simply took each other in stride, shrugging off any abnormalities, and tucking away all the little things they learned about one another for safekeeping. Arthur vaguely understood his own eagerness to befriend her, and he wondered if that same sickening and all-encompassing solitude plagued her own head, forcing that desperation to latch on to anybody who would give you the time of day just so you could feel like you were worth something. It saddened him for a moment to think that was all he was to her. But Arthur wasn't sure if he even cared.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed they arrived at their stop until her hand gripped the back of his sweatshirt and she yanked him out of the way of oncoming traffic and back onto the safety of the sidewalk.

"Earth to Arthur."

He blinked a few times, staring at her before he even realized he was, before looking to the speeding cars he nearly walked right into.

"I'm sor-"

His hand smacked over his mouth as the choking feeling of laughter bubbled up. (Y/N)'s expression dropped, and she looked around uncomfortably, suddenly unsure of what to do. His arm came up, displaying his palm to dismiss the quick look of guilt that played on her face and pushed his hand harder into his lips.

Looking around, she leaned closer to his closed-off form and whispered, "Just laugh if you have to. Who's going to know you're not just laughing at something I said? We'll just play it off like it's ordinary."

He was no longer able to hold it back, but she could tell in his expression that her words held at least some meaning. Arthur wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to her easy acceptance of him. She just plastered on a smile, pushed out a little laugh, and paid no mind to the people around them. He was eternally grateful.

Her calm demeanor helped his episode pass quicker, just as the bus pulled up to the stop. With a sweet smile, she gestured for him to board as she followed behind him. The bus ride was relatively quiet, with it being so early in the morning, and the two chatted lightly, and if her stutters weren't interrupting her, yawns were. He ached to ask her why she was so worn today, but he feared he would be encroaching on her. So, they kept their conversations light on their way to the office.

They had changed their schedules to place their sessions closer to each other, hers still first but only by a few minutes. So when Arthur was making his way down the hall after his own session, (Y/N) was already out, sitting in a chair with a solemn expression. She perked up slightly as his footsteps drew closer but he knew the familiar forcefulness behind the expression and didn't buy it. They walked silently to the bus stop, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hood. Her shoulders bumped into him every so often, with her feet moving in tandem with his, repeating the dance they'd performed the first day they met.

Arthur watched her with a sideways look, observing the regression in her confidence from the previous day. He attempted light conversation, but sympathizing with her stutter and unwillingness to engage, he relented and fell into silence. It was her that broke it when they stepped off the bus and onto the sidewalk.

"I have a gig this afternoon," she started quietly, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "So, I'll be gone from one to five."

"I wish I could come and see," he was unsure of his words at first but the little glimmer that sparkled in her eyes reassured him, "If I didn't have a job today, I'd love to attend. Maybe if I get off in time, I can make it. If you want me to."

Her eyes truly locked on his for the first time that morning and she nodded enthusiastically.

"I'd like that. The place is a little sketchy though."

A soft laugh left her lips.

"Where's your grave tonight?"

"Some sleazy club called the Iceberg Lounge. No one good goes there but the pay is almost worth it."

He nodded in agreement before she added, "What's your job today?"

"Sign spinning."

He feigned excitement, raising his brow and throwing his palms up. She giggled he smiled proudly.

They were able to keep better conversation on their way back to their building, learning a few more tidbits about each other as her mood seemed to lighten. They’d gotten into some kind of talk about the city, and he was intrigued by the passion behind her eyes as she spoke about it.

“I hate Gotham.”

It was a very sure statement, nothing but truth pushing the words from her lips and he almost stopped in his tracks as she said it.

“You really do?”

“I do.”

“Then why do you live here? I guarantee there are better places to live.”

“Can’t afford it.” She simply shrugged her shoulders, glances up to the tops of the buildings around them, “But if I could then I wouldn’t have met you.”

He smiled genuinely at her and admitted, “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind getting out of Gotham either.

At least with how it is now. I’d like to see it better one day.”

“As would I. I’d love to be able to clean it up one day. But until then, I’d like to get out.”

He nodded almost solemnly.

“Hey, maybe one day we can muster up enough money and get the hell outta dodge.”

She nudged his shoulders with a snort and they fell back into silence. He couldn’t shake her words from his head as they walked.

Time flew from the moment they reached their floor and before she knew it, Arthur was off to work and she was running late. The subway had never felt slower, her heels had never felt taller, and she had never felt more exposed walking into a gig. Everyone there looked like trouble and she pulled her bag a little closer to herself. She usually waited to dress until she arrived, finding it better to traverse Gotham in clothes no one ogled at. But she knew she wouldn't have time and decided to risk it. A change of clothes sat in her bag and she couldn't wait to trade her pumps for sneakers.

(Y/N) spent most of her time on stage scanning the audience for Arthur. It was 5:30 now, and he never showed. She tried not to let it get to her, but something planted itself in her chest. She was riding the subway alone tonight.

When she arrived at the steps of her building, it was silent. The absence of the sun bathed the pavement in darkness and the streetlamp cast her shadow on an orange halo. She gazed at the rows of windows for a moment before letting out a tired breath and shuffling up the concrete stairs. Her keys were already jingling in her hand before she made it to the elevator. It creaked and groaned as it struggled to her floor, and she tapped her foot on the tile floor.

The hall was empty, as she expected, and she padded quietly towards her door. But something called her to pause, and she halted at the front of Arthur’s apartment. Her fist hovered near the wood but she couldn’t bring herself to knock. He was most likely asleep, and even if he wasn’t, perhaps she shouldn’t disturb him. She lingered for a few more seconds before she sighed to herself and turned away. The further she got from his room, the deeper a feeling a dread blanketed the hall.

#arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #fanfiction #joker #joker reader insert #joker x reader #joker 2019 #reader insert #dc #dc fanfic #joker dcu #dcu

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bananafishmetas · 4 years

Text

Ash and Recognizing His Innate Goodness

I think what's important to remember is that, as horrific as the abuse Ash suffered is, and honestly, it’s about as bad as it can possibly get, it never defined WHO Ash was.

But the one thing it never changed, the one thing it never altered, was who Ash was fundamentally inside himself. The abuse destroyed his life, but it never destroyed HIM.

Despite it all, Ash never stopped being a good person.

#Banana Fish #Ash Lynx #Meta

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tessacxstello · 4 years

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hello im (F, 24) an idiot and forgot to post tessa’s (F, 22, fictional) intro!

pls bare in mind most of this was written 5+ years ago n i haven’t written tessa since 2015...... but lets get this show (LOCKWOODRP) on the road (DASHBOARD).

tw school shooting, tw bipolar disorder

art hoe. always covered in paint. why?? she bad at painting

the mark rothko jackson pollock kind of bad tho wher people are like.... omg.... revolutionary..... its a badly drawn vagina

fuckin loves astrology, but cant take it that seriously bcos one of her bfs was a gemini so there’s some lenience there. but she WILL blame her hormones and mood swings on the positon of mars

embodies pure sunshine.

one of those really annoying people that can go through the most traumatic shit and still find a positive spin.

cares so much for others but does not really care for herself n it’s meant she just bottles up all this shit n when someone asks her how her day has gone she just falls on the ground like tht bit in midsommar when florence does that loud wheezy noise and sits down

has never really had much money at all. learns to make-do with what she has. loves upcycling!! her bookshelf is made from cardboard which she’s reinforced by pappering it over with pages ripped out of thrifted books. her sofa is an old car boot which she’s repainted, put on wheels and stuffed w cushions so that it’s actually bearable to sit on.

her knitted cardigan? its made out of wife material.

knits all the time. will crochet you a christmas scarf. if ur lucky you might get a knitted jumper with a penis in a santa hat

still sleeps with cuddly toys n then wonders why ppl dont think she’s mature enough for a serious relationship

very passionate about Sister Doing It For THemselves!! raised by a single mom who worked her ass off so that tessa could do fun activities after school, have lelli kelly shoes, and go to college (not necessarily in tht order of importance)

tessa was born out of wedlock as the result of an affair between her mom (a journalism intern in her early 20s) and a new york times editor.

the editor offered to pay tessa’s mom off to have an abortion, but she was like fuck u and told the papers he’d done that and used the money to cover the cost of her internship which they refused to pay her for

and because of the scandal, he ended up going through a pretty messy divorce with his wife, and losing custody of his kids. so as a child tessa was seen as the cause of a divorce and received mutliple letters from the editors wife (to tessa personally!) and his kids saying how she had ruined everything, but her mom moved them to another town so tessa didn’t have to deal with that crap.

her mom worked 3 jobs to put her through school, so in return tessa pushes herself incredibly hard to succeed. needs a break and a hug and to get laid to be honest.

an old soul. likes old films, old music, old people. only recently got an iphone 5s so not really with this century yet

very sweet and soft and kind but also a fucking mess and won’t listen to anyone else’s opinion. she’ll take comfort, but not advice.

feminist buddhist bisexual vegetarian for human rights and animal welfare. standing on a soapbox shouting about the climate in the quad, shoving flyers into your hands. flyers everwhere. she turns up at your grandmas funeral and shoves one into her mouth. she’s stolen the mic from the vicar to talk about pandas.

says “mother of pearl” and “heavens to betsy”.

had an affair with her married piano teacher and he’s now facing a custody battle and his wife is leaving him and tessa has completely internalised that guilt despite her being the victim in the scenario

aesthetics: paint splattered jeans, loose curls spilling from a scrunchie, thrifted blouses in bright yellow, guzzling coffee in the library at three am when a term paper’s due, shoddily illustrated campaign posters to save endangered species, polaroids plastered to your bedroom walls with scribbled dates on the frames, jumping into a stack of autumn leaves, jumping off piers in the summer months and stripping off your wet clothes on the beach, digging your thumbs into peaches to leave a bruise, smoking with the extractor fan on to hide the smell, bath bombs, letting the girls at lush rub samples all over your skin, cacti with knitted bobble hats, decorative pillows and sun and moon blanket throws, basic bitch fairy lights hanging from every single window, painting the name of the boys you’ve loved inside your wardrobe door.

studies fine art and philosophy, and wants to become either a lecturer or the first woman president. vibe wise, very similar to leslie knope, missy from big mouth, and basically the naive everygirl with a high opinion of themselves trope

gets drunk off like one double vodka lemonade because she’s small and she’s a pretty messy wild drunk. it’s when slutty tessa comes out, and the next day she’ll thoroughly regret every choice made and decide she’s never drinking again and cutting out all men and starting daily sudoko

on the cheerleading team and is a flyer, which she sees as a HUGE responsibility and she works really hard to make sure she’s on it for her team. one of those get up at 7am and go to the gym before school types its sickening

she had a really traumatic time at high school because there was a shooting in her school. she was in the next classroom when it happened, and she lost one of her friends in the shooting. she had to take two months off school, was diagnosed with depression and put on anti-depressants because of it. in her 2nd year of uni she was rediagnosed with bipolar disorder and anxiety, which she’s now on medication for. she can be really good for several months at a time and feel super creative and determined (she actually finds manic periods helpful for her creativity n art, n sadly sometimes doesn’t take her meds in these periods to push herself more which is obvs super bad.....). but when the bad periods come they can also last months n she had to take a semester out of school last year because of her mood, so she should be a senior by now but she’s retaking junior year

she attends weekly stress-management sessions prescribed by her doctor which she finds pointless.

very childish in the sense that she can only see her own point of view and kind of views herself as the “protagonist” and thinks her ideas are super important and life changing and she IS Destined for Greatness! despite being pretty much average af

pinterest board.

STATS

age: 22

height: 5'2"

positive traits: kind-hearted, gregarious, selfless, philosophical, open minded, idealistic, courageous, feisty, charismatic, loyal, adventurous.

negative traits: stubborn, hot-headed, reticent, escapist, self-destructive, easily led, naive, troubled, complicated, stepford smiler, envious, overdramatic, explosive.

distinguishing Marks: heart-shaped birthmark on the right of her chest, splattering of freckles across the cheeks during summer months, full lips, large eyes, porcelain features, long wavy hair, tattoo of a bird and a cage on her ankles and a basic bitch arrow tat on her wrist (srry to anyone with an arrow tat).

skills: jack-of-all-trades, talented pianist, perceptive, knows the correct way to throw a punch, good survival instinct, is able to remain calm in stressful situations, endures, artistic, excels in academic studies, hard-working and self-motivated, expert liar and talented actress.

likes: wolves, vintage thrift store fashion, old leather-bound books, left-wing democratic politics, cigarettes, poetry, John Hughes movies, cold coffee, hot tea, the sound of laughter, staying up til 4am having deep conversations, Tchaikovsky, having deep conversations about life, stationary, DC Comics, horoscopes, winged eyeliner, cats, knee-high socks, house music, abandoned buildings, studio ghibli, the smell of the earth after rain, Wes Anderson films, herbal tea, old people, solitude, esoteric things, the smell of freshly baked bread, Charles Bukowski, the moon.

fears: death, oblivion, global warming, losing those she loves, isolation, clowns, guns, enclosed spaces.

nicknames: Tess, T-Dog, Tessie, Socrates, Princess, Sunshine Girl, Florence Nightingale.

alignment: Neutral Good

MBTI type: INFP

BIOGRAPHY

tw school shooting

Her story begins with Cordelia Costello, a twenty-three year old college drop-out, turned beautician, turned columnist, turned intern at a local publishing company. She was a youthful, beautiful, siren of a women, always surrounded by an aura of enigma and an entourage of men. It was no surprise to the gossips in the office that within six months working at the company, Cordelia had added to her list another title – mistress to Franklin Hozier, the Editor of the New York Times. After two blissful months and three hundred and twenty seven orgasms, Cordelia decided she wanted a baby. Franklin laughed in her face. Feeling isolated and used, Cordelia continued her affair with her boss’ boss for another month, before deciding to take matters into her own hands.

It started with a turkey baster.

Soon the infant cries of a baby girl graced the world, her wrinkled skin puckered and pink as her mother held her in her arms, glancing upon the most beautiful thing in her life. Once Tessa, named after Cordelia’s favourite literary heroine, entered the world, Franklin left her life and things took a turn for the better. Despite living in a rented one-bedroom apartment in Staten Island, on what little money Cordelia had saved, Tessa’s childhood years were filled with nothing but the happiest of memories. Times were tough, but what they lacked in money, the Costello’s made up in love. While Tessa was at school, Cordelia did odd jobs cleaning, child-minding, working in local nurseries, in order to save up enough money to give her daughter the best start in life.

Despite what she had been led to believe by television shows and teen movies, the first few years of High School were some of the best years of her life. Tessa threw herself into a multitude of activities that High School offered her, including the drama club, the orchestra, choir, badminton and the school newspaper. While she certainly wasn’t considered ‘popular’ at school, Tess had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances. In fact, High School was a place where she made some of the greatest memories of her life, but come her final year, it was also a place where she was haunted by some of her worst.

On the January 17th of Tessa’s senior year of high school, a shooting took place in Westville High School. For two hours Tessa locked herself in a supply cupboard, her head between her knees as she tried to stay silent despite the screams of horror from the corridor. Eighteen students were caught in the crossfire, two of which were Tessa’s best friends. Bouquets of flowers, laminated photographs, Teddy Bears in cling-film bags attached to balloons littered the streets as families and friends came to pay tribute to the eighteen students withered before they had a chance to bloom.

It took two months of therapy before Tessa could return to school. Some of the survivors could never return due to the horrors that their eyes had laid witness to. Sometimes Tessa felt like a part of her had died with the friends that were stolen from her too soon, but one thought kept her going through: she had survived, she was alive and breathing, and she could not afford to loose a second of the precious time she had been granted on this earth. Despite the nightmares that continued to haunt her each night, Tessa found in the aftermath of the disaster a new sense of motivation. She began applying for scholarships for colleges without her mother’s knowledge, in the hope that her academic success would be enough to carry her through further education. Thankfully, it was, and after three torturous months of waiting Tess was offered an arts scholarship to her dream school, Lockwood University, where she hoped she could finally start to rebuild her life.

THE PRESENT:

Life at university was like a separate world. Students came and went like moths among the whisperings and the tequila and the stars. In this new world, Tessa was exposed for the first time in her life to alcohol, drugs, and the sexual appetites of other students her age – though she politely declined all three. Instead, Tessa threw herself into the vast array of activities in the hope that by distracting herself she could escape the terrible flashbacks that continued to haunt her. Tessa joined the lacrosse team, despite never having played before, and took up cheerleading discovering a new talent; she joined the musical theatre group, and the film club, and even set up her own acapella singing society. But despite how much she tried to throw herself into student life, her past hung around her like a bad smell, and with the added pressure of the Sinking Ships zine, Tess began to feel the weight of her secret tying her down like a pair of shackles around her wrists.

PERSONALITY:

If someone was to describe Tessa in a single word, it would most likely be ‘bubbly’, ‘open-minded’ or ‘sweet’. But they would be wrong – Tessa is not bubbly, or sweet, or stubborn, or hotheaded, or fiesty, or infectious, or any of the things the world see her as, but merely a numb and lonely echo of the gregarious, halcyon girl she once was. Tessa Costello was one of life’s enigmas. No one knew who she was, for to each person she met she wore a different mask – she dripped confidence, or was painfully shy; she was an exhibitionist, or a brooding wallflower; she took things too seriously, or not seriously at all. She was an actress and the world was her stage, each person she met a different member of the audience in the performance of her life. In truth, Tessa no longer even recognised herself. Insecure, and self-destructive, she tried to hang on to the extroverted, mischievous pieces of herself that everyone had once loved, but day by day it got harder to know what lay in the vacant holes blown through her mind. While she was stubborn and hot-headed, Tessa always saw the best in people, which meant that she was easily led astray. While she had grown up learning to be street smart and astute, she was idealistic and allowed silly fantasies to cloud her mind. By nature, she was passionate, which lead her to misimagine and romanticise those she met. Despite the hell she had witnessed, and the anxiety that feasted upon her, she believed that people were innately good and that to have courage and be kind could cure anyone of their sadness – yet she was unable to cure herself.

TWITTER:

@500daysoftessa: i blame disney films and musicals for my high expectations of men

@500daysoftessa: i am in love with the boy who works at starbucks. today i asked for a double latte and he gave me a tripple, which i think is proof that my love is requited. our children will be smart and talented and beautiful.

@500daysoftessa: little known historical fact: pharaohs were burried with their hands crossed over their chests because it was a popular belief there would be countless water slides in the after life.

#huntingtonintro #pounce on me for plots #tw school shooting #tw bipolar disorder #tw depression

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yanderehetalialand-blog · 5 years

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Can you please write a scenario where 2p!England's S/O tells him about how her father humiliated her once again, being drunk and saying that she's stupid whore who couldn't even do anything right? I just had enough of that shit and I'm desperate for some violent 2p!England. Thanks.

Ohhhhhh MY GOD YES! I absolutely LOVE murderous violent 2p England! Thank you for the ask! I loved doing this one, also oh my lord this turned out way longer than I thought it would

BIG trigger warning!! heavy violence, gore and torture in this one

Oliver gets a call from the only person he enjoys talking to. You. He answers the phone in his normal cheery voice

“Its so good to hear from you love, how are you today!”

He hears you sniffing a little and he immediately stops smiling and asks “Love whats wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay?”

You respond to him trying to hold it together after dealing with your horrible and verbally abusive drunk father once again “I-I’m fine Oli, I just need someone to talk to, and you are always here for me so can we just meet up and talk?”

Of course Oliver immediately accepts saying you could meet at the coffee shop near your house and you agree. He wants to know who made you feel this way so he can rip them limb from limb. He wants to slowly take each one of their teeth from their mouth and stab their eyes so they can never have the privilege of seeing you ever again. As he walks to the coffee shop he imagines all the horrible ways he can torture whoever made you cry or even be the slightest bit upset. He will make. them. pay.

When he arrives at the coffee shop he sees you sitting down at a table and hurries over to join you. When he sits down he gives you a look as to say tell him everything.

You sigh and just as soon as you open your mouth it just seems to spill out “I just don’t know what to do my dad he won’t stop getting drunk and when he gets drunk he calls me worthless and says I’m a no good piece of shit and it just gets to me sometimes, I know I should be stronger than this but hes my dad, I want him to love me and be proud of me but.. I guess he can never be like that..” You stop as tears start to leave your eyes and Oliver instantly pulls you into a hug shushing you and telling you not to worry.

He says that if you want to you could move in with him and he says he would never treat you like your father does. You think about it for a second and nod your head. Oliver beams at you acceptance and while he is happy you said yes on the inside he is rather distracted now thinking of all the ways he plans to butcher your father into pieces so tiny no one will ever be able to recognize his pathetic ass again.

Oliver takes you home and waits for you to pack your things, luckily your father is passed out and you can sneak around and leave without him knowing. It takes all of Oliver’s will power to not walk in there and start to stab the man for making you feel worthless.

Oliver takes you to his house and you settle in quite nicely and he shows you to a spare bedroom you can use. You smile and hug him quietly thanking him for how amazing he is and helping you through your difficult times. He smiles back saying how it’s no problem and anything for you. he tells you he has some business to deal with and that you can make yourself at home to whatever is in the fridge if you are hungry or to watch some tv while he is out. As he leaves and closes the door locking it, he promises himself to keep you there no matter the cost, so no one can hurt you again. You walked into that house not knowing you would never be able to leave it.

Oliver goes to his shed in the back and unlocks it, he grabs some of the tools he will need to deal with that pathetic man called your father. He makes his way with his bag to your old home. He enters the house through the window a now terrifying murderous look on his usual cheerful face. Your father is still passed out on his chair and Oliver stalks over to it. He wastes no time tying your father up making sure he can’t move any of his limbs.

When he finishes his work he smiles a smile that would send shivers down anyone’s spine who saw it. Oliver drags your father into his van he used to come to your house and throws him in the back. He drives into the woods to one of his ‘play rooms’ when he has your father secure in the sound proof room he goes and fills a bucket with ice cold water and goes back to your father. He throws the water on your father and he wakes with a start, sputtering and shivering looking confused as most people would.

“Who the fuck are you!?” Your father yells at Oliver. Oliver just smiles at him not saying a word, he goes and opens his bag and the contents inside glint and shine under the low lights of the dark room. He takes out some pliers and simply says “Lets start with this”

Your father’s eyes widen with fear as he realizes the severity of his situation “I- I have money I can show you where it is, just let me go, please”

“You really are an imbecile. I’m here because of how you treated your child. They are the only light in this world and how they came from you makes no sense to me.” He brings the pliers to your fathers fingers and taps each one while smiling, loving the psychological torture just as much as physical. Your father is shaking at this point begging for him not to hurt him.

Oliver pays no mind he just keeps on smiling “Eenie meenie miney moe” on moe he clamps the pliers down, hard, on your father’s left pinky finger, there is a sickening crunch and that finger is separated from his hand. He starts screaming and begging Oliver to stop.

He just grins more loving the pained screams as he chooses finger after finger to snip off, occasionally pulling a finger nail off before the finger comes off.

After all the mans fingers are gone he moves to take off the tape on his mouth. Your father is half in half out of consciousness from the pain and Oliver take out a needle and some clear liquid in a bottle. He injects your father in the neck with the clear liquid and suddenly your father is alert once more. “Can’t have you falling asleep on me now can I” Oliver whispers to him. He starts to scream and beg once more because of the pain radiating from where he once had fingers up his whole body.

Oliver soaks up the screaming, loving the sounds of him torturing this man who hurt his love, his one and only. He takes a drill out of his bag and turns it on and off warming it up as well as loving how the man’s screams and begs became louder but Oliver ignores him. He places the drill on the mans right knee just starting directly into your father’s eyes grinning ear to ear before switching the drill on. Blood from his knee join the blood from his hands on the floor. Sounds of the mans screams some how get even louder mixing with the whirring of the drill as it penetrates his knee cap into his leg. Blood is being slung all over the floor and walls and onto Oliver. He stops the drill and takes it out of the man’s knee.

The man would have passed out by this point if not for the little medicine he gave him earlier. The man’s eyes are bulging out of his skull now and he is breathing heavily. He grabs his pliers once more and grabs the mans face in his hands, the man starts to say something once more but is silenced when his jaw is pried open.

Oliver takes the pliers and goes for an upper canine and rips it out of the mans mouth. The man is once again giving strangled cries for mercy which Oliver pays no mind too as he goes for other teeth in his mouth. Once Oliver gets tired of torturing this pathetic man he takes a big butcher knife and simply cuts your father’s right arm clean off. After that Oliver just lets the man bleed out and he watches him die.

“Hm, well that was satisfying to say the lease” Oliver muses to himself grinning once again. He proceeds to chop up the rest of the body and makes plans to dispose of it. After the body is disposed of and his lair is cleaned of blood, teeth and fingers he cleans himself up not wanting you to see him covered in blood and of course start asking questions.

He rides home to find you asleep on the couch. He picks you up and takes you to his guest bedroom putting you in the bed to sleep peacefully. He kisses your forehead whispering goodnight. He walks to his room and lays down knowing soon whether you agree or not you will be his, sleeping in his bed with him, all to himself where no one else can see you. Where you are only his and where you shall stay with him for the rest of your days, no one to call you worthless anymore.

#2p england #yandere england #yandere hetalia #yandere 2p hetalia #yandere 2p england #murder #torture #oliver kirkland

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sanpatron · 5 years

Text

I don’t particularly know why it’s taken this long for me to realize the full extent of the Boss’s betrayal at the hands of Julius. I knew it was fucked, I knew it had affected him greatly, but I never truly sat down and really dove into just how horrendous it actually was.

There have been plenty of posts I’ve read from people I know who’ve examined this, who’ve really taken their time to dive headfirst into what it all means and really word it in a way where you can truly understand the extent of it all. It’s in reading these posts that I’ve decided to more or less compose it all in my own post in regards to my Boss. A way to really showcase the shit he went through and how it drastically changed him as a person.

Django joined the gang around October of 2004 at the age of 20 (his birthday is in December). He had been wandering around the country aimlessly without any real idea of what he wanted to do with himself. Felt no sense of purpose, no sense of belonging. Other than his family back home he was truly and utterly alone in the world. Yet that all changed once he stepped foot into Stilwater.

He found himself caught up in a fight between Los Carnales, the Vice Kings and the Westside Rollers. Thankfully before he wound up getting himself killed solely on the merit of being here at the “wrong place, wrong time” Django was saved by both Julius and Troy. Extending a hand towards Django Julius decides to try and recruit him into the Saints, and in realizing that he basically owed this man big time, Django decides to take the invitation and meet him and the others at the church.

I want to stop here for a moment and say that the Saints were originally formed as a response to the increasing violence between the three warring gangs across Stilwater. Julius definitely had his good intentions, but to echo the same statements made in another post, I really doubt there was ever a point in time where Julius didn’t want to hold some sense of power. To be the guy who was in charge of the city. Oh sure, he decided to leave the Vice Kings (which he was originally a part of alongside his best friend Benjamin King) due to the direction in which they were going. But given certain details that I will get to in a second, I really do believe that Julius wanted just as much to be at the top as he did to protect the city.

I say this because he uses the increasing violence within the district of Saint’s Row as an example of the city going to hell because of these warring gangs. He wasn’t even originally from the district, he was from Sunnyvale where he and King grew up together, eventually forming their own gang. He latched on to this idea to protect the Row as a means to start a rallying cry and get all these incredibly angry and very violent kids to fall under his leadership and form a counter group. Not a single one of the Saints knows this and it isn’t till you’re riding around with Ben in one mission where the truth comes out.

Hell, the speech that Julius gives during the custscene after the tutorial missions turns out to be a word for word copy of Ben’s very own from when he first formed the Vice Kings. It’s this same speech that the Boss would later use when he takes over the gang after his coma stint. Julius basically puts out this preconceived image of himself in order to get all these people who are significantly younger than him to join his cause. It’s this exact thing that let someone like Django essentially fall under his spell and believe a single thing that ever came out of that man’s mouth.

Julius is manipulative, but I wouldn’t say he’s the sort to pull some Machiavellian-type shit. Cause as I will get to later, there was no point whatsoever before his arrest where he was considering on betraying everyone and leaving them all high and dry. No, Julius’s manipulative actions are the direct result of an incredibly simply and human emotion; selfishness. Yet this will also come into play much later over why his betrayal even happened in the first place.

So once Django is canonized and helps take back the Row, he’s basically let to do whatever necessary to take down the other three gangs and bring some sense of peace back to Stilwater. 95% of the time it’s with him acting as a weapon, which is something he is scarily good at. This is something that not only Julius but other lieutenants definitely pick up on, and it’s why when you need something taken care of where no one is left alive and as much destruction as possible is caused, you either send Django, Johnny or both.

And as time goes on and more of the city turns purple, Django begins to feel more and more like he’s found his purpose. He managed to find a place where not only is he validated for the work he does but the people within the gang accept him and make him feel good about it. Django has gotten a taste of power, of violence, of money, of fame. A taste of generally living a better life to the fullest where he feels like he’s at the top. Not only that but, for the first time ever, he has friends as well. He has people he’s beginning to care for and feel a connection with after spending an entire childhood basically lonely as shit. Frustrated over his inability to truly connect with anyone.

At no point in time do I think that Django ever wanted to usurp Julius. He respected the man. Looked up to him. He was the embodiment of what the gang stood for and a sign of pure loyalty. So to then be promoted to his second-in-command once all the gangs were dealt with must have come as a pleasant surprise. One that definitely awoke something even more within him. He was ready to take on that title and he was absolutely prepared to save the man from police custody after everything he had done for him.

And I want to make something incredibly clear here; up until this point I don’t think Julius had in mind that he was going to betray the Saints either. Everything was basically coming up fantastically and he was getting the power and recognition that he wanted. Hell, he doesn’t give a shit about what Django had to do to get results. He practically justifies and validates every single little action the Saints have taken.

“ We did it, playa. 3rd Street owns this town. Now, that's not to say that shit didn't cost, and I ain't talkin' about what happened to Johnny's leg or losing Lin. Those two were soldiers, they knew the risk. Hell, Johnny gets off on it. But we crushed a lot of families playa, and someday they're gonna holla at us. But believe me when I tell you, we did the right thing.

With the Rollerz wiped out, Benjamin gone, and the Colombians in our pocket, there ain't gonna be a need for a gang war ever again. And in the end, that's gonna save a lot more lives than we took. So relax, playa, you've earned yourself a break. You've impressed the hell out of me son, and I've told the crew you're gonna be my right hand- ”

Julius was downright ecstatic with the results he and the gang had been getting. He was more than happy. And as you can see right there he was happy enough with what Django had done that he decided to give the guy that high of a promotion. Everything seemed to be going fantastic up until he gets arrested during this little phone call.

Once the two of the final three missions play out in which the Saints do what they can to save Julius everything seems to go right back to normal. That is until Django is called out to Alderman Richard Hughes’s yacht on that fateful December night. Once arriving, Django is greeted by the alderman and is essentially given a speech about gentrification and his political power before telling his men to turn their weapons onto him.

However, before even getting a chance to fire a loud beeping is heard and without even a moment to react the yacht blows to hell and everyone, but Django, dies. Instead our poor little gangster is put into a five year coma, staying on life support on the request of Troy for, as it turns out, he was an undercover cop this whole time.

Years later Django will once again wake up, and after a series of events that lead him towards saving Johnny and then the two of them deciding to resurrect the Saints, Django decides to pay Troy a visit and find out what’s been going on. It’s here that in the game (SR2) you get to find a couple of taped recordings at the police station. The first involves Dex (former lieutenant of the Saints) confronting Troy of being an undercover cop and stating that he’s dropping his colors and taking a job at the Ultor corporation.

The second is Troy speaking to Julius after his arrest and asking him to speak to Johnny and Django and convincing them to step down, thus disbanding the gang and keeping Troy from arresting the people he’s come to call his friends over this time.

The third tape is where Django learns the truth; Julius was the one who had planted a bomb all those years ago.

A punch to the gut can’t really describe the sort of feeling Django must have felt from learning this. It had to have been one of the most horrific, most anger-inducing things he could have ever heard. To have this man, the one who had taken you in, gave you a sense of validation and appreciation, told you that the work you performed was fantastic, let you have this sense of belonging and purpose within a group, who you practically looked up to be the one who tried to assassinate you is absolutely sickening to him and fills him with such rage.

Five years of his life. Five whole fuckin’ years. I know a lot of people make the argument that your 20′s really ain’t that special, but that’s not the point here. The point is that whether or not they would’ve been extraordinary, Django lost five whole years of his young adulthood. An incredibly pivotal point in him growing up was completely lost on him due to almost dying at the age of 21. He will never get those years back. He will never truly know what he missed out on. It’s practically one of the reasons why he acts so brash and angry and hotheaded during the entirety of the second game.

Everything had been taken away from him. His city, his friends, his sense of identity; all of it was snatched right out of his hands and thrown to the gutter cause of one man. The one man he looked up to the most after everything he had done for him. If Django felt sick at first when trying to process the amount of time that had passed and how much he had to catch up on, then he more than likely felt horrifically ill at this revelation.

When their final confrontation plays you can see Julius direct the blame entirely on how the Saints were handled and how Django acted. It’s ridiculous given the fact that Julius did not start thinking about how terrible the Saints or Django were until his gang activities got him in trouble. This is where the selfishness plays out. As soon as he was arrested and realized their were consequences to his actions, the man figured he’d better fucking dip and completely disregard what that meant for everyone else.

He abandons the Saints, abandons the people who allegedly wished to help out, and soon starts claiming his has morals—that he could not stand up to Django whatsoever and that he was the monster destroying Stilwater all along. I really doubt he could have gotten Django to back down after basically awakening something in him, but he didn’t even bother trying whatsoever.

And as the two have their final confrontation Julius really lets it be known how he’s come to despise Django, how he seems him as the problem, putting all blame squarely on him despite knowing full well that he has the biggest hand in this after all. It’s with all of this plus the anger that Django already felt towards everything, plus his brash and arrogant attitude that it truly twists him into the monster he’s become today.

Their final confrontation can be found here.

As a friend of mine who has way too many blogs here to tag said

“ I like the subtle implication that a huge part of him, if not all of him, died on the boat ”

And it’s true, this is exactly what he thinks. This is exactly what was going through his mind as he spoke to Julius. Django is gone. Django is completely dead after that explosion. And in having that part of him be completely eradicated he can now turn towards his new identity, one that he will showcase to the entire world. If Julius is going to call him a monster then fine. So be it. He will accept this new identity of his and run with it. Revel both the fame and infamy he will garner.

From anger and betrayal The Boss has now been born.

Julius may have had his good intentions, he may have genuinely wanted to keep the city safe and do something right. But his desire for power outweighs that, and the fact that he will never truly admit his mistake is such a damning thing. Shit, he probably thought that the Boss murdering him only served to further prove his point.

Yet after all is said and done, after the Boss has finally killed the man who turned him into what he is, there really is no true sense of satisfaction. The Boss is a man who finds a feeling of catharsis when taking revenge on people. To him it “fixes thing”. It makes things right. Yet with his killing of Julius he’s fully aware of the fact that it won’t truly change much for him.

He’s far gone now. Completely transformed into an entirely different beast. Julius’s betrayal is going to leave a scar on him that’ll last a lifetime. One that he can never truly let heal whatsoever. He’s not one to brood, especially with this when it’s already hit him like a ton of bricks. However, he will forever remain conscious of the fact that what happened is leaving an impact.

That what Julius did to him will always affect him in some way. His trust issues, his difficult connecting with others, all of it has been now heightened by these events. This is a scar that will remain with him for a lifetime, and that truly infuriates him to no end.

There’s nothing worse than knowing you owe the personal growth and identity you have, good or bad, to someone who hurt you.

#I'm More of a Puckish Rogue { Headcanons } ⚜#This is a very VERY long read.#So like do it at your own discretion.#But if you do I would be more than happy to hear your thoughts about it!#Especially any in regards to the big bozo!

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cristinablackthornkingson · 4 years

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It’s only Tuesday and I’m having a terrible week.

Fuck me it’s only Tuesday and already I’ve had such a fucking shitty week. To start off with I’m not entitled to a medical card, which will allow me to visit my doctor for free and only pay about 2 euro per item for anything I buy on prescription. I have multiple physical and mental disabilities but because I’m 20 and young, I’m not entitled to disability, they say I can be trained because I’m young, despite the fact that I can’t be in loud crowded places because of my SPD and I can’t stand for long periods of time without being in total agony because of my scoliosis. I am entitled to free GP visits at least, but still. I didn’t get the flu shot this year because I couldn’t fucking afford it, and then I ended up catching the flu and was really sick for about a week, I had to spend 50 euro to see my doctor and then spend 25 euro on medication and I only get 112 euro a week, I’m not entitled to the full dole/unemployment because I’m under 25. So apparently 112 euro is too much for someone to have free medical care and free prescriptions. I’m late on my period for the first time in the 10 years I’ve been having them, what if something is wrong and I need treatment? I won’t be able to afford that, no way in hell. I had plans to work through my fear of surgery in therapy, so once I got my medical card I could maybe get top surgery at some stage to alleviate my dysphoria, I am so sick of not being able to look in the mirror without feeling physically ill and inherently wrong. I was hoping my doctor would refer me to a specialist and I could get a brace for my back, the medical card would have payed for that, but I absolutely cannot afford that now.

Then to put the cherry on the cake, I’ve been having issues at work for months, since I started. I’m a volunteer and the people I work for are the biggest cunts I have ever had the misfortune to meet. They are extreme staunch Christians who expect you to pay a swear jar at work if you say ‘God’ or any variation of that (take the Lord’s name in vain, but he’s not THE Lord, he’s your Lord and you cannot force me to not say his name in vain, if you don’t want to that’s fine, but I don’t believe in God so taking his name in vain means nothing to me) they expect customers to not take the lord’s name in vain in the shop, they are extremely dismissive of customers and extremely rude to customers of color. They can be nice to white people, but if they’re talking to POC, they’re so fucking rude to them, it sickens me. It’s no wonder nothing fucking sells.

One day a few weeks ago when I wasn’t needed out the back, I sat out the front at the cash register to try and get some experience in and see if I remembered what my co-worker had taught me. I couldn’t get the hang of it but it was not a big deal at all, nobody lost money or anything like that, I had someone else with me to help me when i couldn’t get it..

The next day I was sorting through the clothes like I always do and one of my bosses (I work for a married couple, a man and a woman) basically told me not to go behind the tills or around the tills anymore, now this guy wasn’t there the day before, so his wife obviously squealed on me to him, imagine being a maybe 40 something year old woman, squealing to her husband on your 20 year volunteer because they couldn’t work the till perfectly the first go, pathetic. He then also told me that he knows I need to sit down a lot (which is true, like I said because of my back I can’t stand for long periods of time) but then proceeded to tell me to ‘Go for a walk’ when I needed to instead of sitting down out the back, he told me to go to the benches at the back of the shopping center the shop is located in. This is they guy who told me he needs to know where I am at all times. I left work early at one stage because I was having awful period pains, two co-workers saw me go and so did this guy, but when I came in on Monday after that, he told me I disappeared didn’t tell him I was leaving. The only other possible explanation was that he meant I went to the toilet for 5 minutes the other day, without telling him. I’m sorry man, but I was in agony and I needed to check if I was bleeding heavily because I didn’t have any clean pads with me, so I would have needed to go home straight away if I was bleeding lots.

Then yesterday, we got two bags of clothes donated, I took it upon myself as most of us do, to take them out of the bag, check they were clean, label them and write the size on them so all that was left for the bosses to do was price them. Well there was no room to hang these clothes up so I thought ‘Okay well I’ll label them and everything anyway and then put them back in the bag, that way whenever there is space we just need to take them out, put them on hangers and hang them up’. Well when my boss (the woman, we’ll call her Boss 1 from now on) saw this, she told me I couldn’t be taking clothes out of bags and putting them back in. ???? Why??? They would have been lying there anyway, it’s not like they were taking up any room, I took initiative,I did you a favor.

Another thing, before I get into the last part, is on my first day I was told to hang my coat and bag in the little toilet area beside the stairs leading up to the attic. I did, and I did the same the next day, but then they told me not to leave them in there because customers sometimes go in there to try stuff on and might steal from me. Right okay, so I would leave my coat and bag in the back. Well I got told not to do that today, I was told to put my coat in the toilet area, so I did. But then when I went to look for my bag when I was leaving, it wasn’t where I left it nor was it in the toilet area, I was starting to freak out because my purse was in my bag. Thankfully I found it a few seconds later, under a chair where it was more in the way than it was where I had initially put it. Those bastards had the audacity to take MY property and MY stuff and move it without telling me, to where it could easily be mistaken for a donation and sold on me.

And what really topped it all off was what happened today.

I go into work this morning and at first everything is fine, I do my usual tidying of the clothes, and once that’s done I go out the back to see what needs to be done there. While I’m there my co-worker asks if I’ve seen the pricing gun, as it’s gone missing. I say no I haven’t, and have a look around for it myself, can’t see it.Then boss 1 comes in and asks my co-worker ‘Does Michelle know where the gun is?’ my co-worker says no, and Boss 1 asks me where I left it yesterday when I had priced clothes. I told her where I left it and she basically blamed me for loosing it, telling me that I had to put it back in the drawer where we keep other stationary (Nobody ever does that we just leave it on the work top, and I highly doubt I was the last to use it yesterday seeing as I finished at 2 and the shop shuts at 5) Boss 1 kept saying how those guns aren’t cheap and cost upward of 30 euro, i’m surprised she didn’t demand I pay for a new one.

Then I was pricing some toys that were donated, and when Boss 1 saw me doing this, instead of just calmly and gently explaining there’s no more room for toys on the shop floor, she was very aggressive and rude about it, practically yelling at me, saying things like ‘No! No more toys I’ve no more room!’ Right okay bitch, you could have just said that like a normal person.

And then I was looking for something to do, I’m someone who always takes initiative, that’s why I was sorting through the toys. So I was looking around me to see what I could do, when Boss 1 tells me if I’m going to be there I need to do something. Then I was practically banned from the back room because it was so packed, but my other two co-workers were allowed in there no problem. That’s where I dew the line and just gave up and went home. I give them my effort and my time, I pour my blood, sweat and tears into that work, I am physically disabled so the work is no easy feat for me, but I do it anyway because I like to be busy and I want to help those in need, but I just get it thrown right back in my face.

I am a young, trans, gay person, I do not feel safe among these religious nut jobs, I feel forced back into the closet. I started my transition recently, I’m transitioning into a more androgynous look, I cut all my hair off and I started binding with sports bras until I can get a real binder and then surgery. Yesterday was the first day I went into work presenting agender, and man I was so, so scared, I felt sick and almost had a panic attack because I didn’t know how they would react. They didn’t say anything to my surprise, but fuck I was so, so scared, I haven’t felt that kind of anxiety in a long, long time, years. I refuse to feel afraid to be who I am. These ‘People’ are so evil and nasty and the least compassionate people I have ever met in all my life, and I hope everyone realizes exactly who and what they are, fuck them 100 times over, they are such awful, awful people and I hope they get their comeuppance.

#bad boss #volunteer #anxeity #agender #non-binary #trans pride #transphobes #christian religion #transition #medical care #money #disabled #autisim #vaccines work #scoliosis #rant over #rant and rave #rant alert

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watchmegetobsessed · 5 years

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Shawn Mendes // Boundaries Part 10

hope yall spending christmas with eating and sleeping, and got everythig you wanted! here is part tennn, enjoy!

ALSO IT CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT TOO!!!!!!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

As I imagine, this is what Death entering a room would feel like. Sucking everything lively and happy from around, sending chills down your spine, bringing all your fears to you in just one second making you wish you never woke up this morning.

As I stand at the window staring at my reflection I feel Knox’s hand gently touch my waist and I want to shake it off, but I can’t. I’m frozen.

He gently, but quite firmly turned me around and I finally faced him. My stomach became one big knot as my eyes bet those icy blue ones that I wished to never see again. He looked just the same, dark eyebrows, hard cheekbones and a pretty manly beard with combed back hair, his usual style topped with a suit that probably cost thousands of dollars but it’s just a few pennies for him.

A distorted smile appears on his lips as his eyes travel down my body and I already feel disgusted even though nothing has happened.

“You know, I’ve been watching you all night, I was waiting for your client to leave you so we could talk,” he starts with a very secretive tone and I’m trying my best not to look at him. I want to tell him Shawn is not a client, but I choose not to. “How have you been?”

“What do you want?” I manage to speak up, my voice coming out weaker than I wanted it to be.

“Why so fussy? Just wanted to catch up with my girl.”

“I’m not your girl,” I hiss at him. “And get your hand off of me,” I finally say. I think I surprise him for a moment, but he quickly regains his confidence. His hand falls off of my waist and I can’t help, but stare at the ring on his finger. The fucker is still happily married.

“You know, I don’t like the way things ended between us. I feel like… we could do so much better.”

I see the shining in his eyes and two years ago I would have already been falling into his arms with jelly knees, but not today. I’m not who I was when he made a total fool out of me and I’m just hoping I’ve became strong enough to keep my walls up.

“There is no we. Never was.”

“Judging from the way you screamed my name when we went to Atlanta there was.” His cocky smile disgusts me and the thought he just brought to me makes me want to vomit. I don’t say anything so I don’t throw up, but this gives him the chance to continue talking.

“I know you think I’m the Devil, but we both know this is not true. You’re just… angry at yourself, I don’t blame you. Things could have went better. But maybe we could meet sometime, when you are done with this boy and ready to be with the man of your dreams.”

He has no idea what he is talking about. His little ways don’t get to me anymore, this sweet-talk doesn’t make me fall on my knees and beg for his attention. I now know what it is like when someone treats you as a partner and loves you without condition. And Shawn is the person who taught this to me.

“That boy made me feel like a woman while you just treated me like a dumb doll, making me feel like what we were doing was right. But it wasn’t and you are still a sick bastard. You shouldn’t even come near me, Joshua made it clear to you that our business is over. I’m not interested in your little games anymore, I actually know what I worth now.”

I keep eye-contact for as long as I can, using everything in me to stand as powerful as possible in front of him. I watch as a small smile creeps its way to his lips.

“You slept with him, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t seem angry or worried, it looks like the situation entertains him and it’s making me shiver. My lack of answer tells it all for him as he lets out a delightful chuckle, throwing me towards the edge.

“You think you found the love of your life, right? Oh, poor naïve girl. I see sex still means everything to you and this boy was lucky enough to get a taste of it and you are now all worked up on him.” He takes a step closer to me and I suck on my breath when I want to back from him, but I bump to the window. “Nothing can change the fact that you are just a prostitute. People rent you out like a book or movie, use you for their own satisfaction and then throw you away. That boy has no idea what you do and how you live, but I know. I’m the only person who knows everything about you and if you think there is a slight chance of you living in a normal relationship with him… You are more stupid than I thought.”

I’m on the verge of tears as I’m still staring at him and his stomach-turning grin he is looking at me with. It sickens me how such a handsome, successful and potential man can be a rotting pile of shit inside. And the worst part is that he is still not finished. Placing his filthy hand on my upper arm he leans very close to my ears so I can feel his hot breath on my skin. I have to stop myself from scratching myself wherever it hits me.

“I assume he has no idea about the package you come with. You are good at hiding it, but it is there. What do you think the world will think about your little lover if they find out his new girlfriend is involved with drug dealers and extortioners from the worse kind?” I don’t say anything, just press my lips together tightly as I stare at one point on the floor. “Exactly. That would ruin him even if you can use his money to cover every loan you are still paying for. The word will travel fast, Sweetheart. And you can bet I’ll be fast to hop on that wagon and give out all your little dirty secrets.”

He steps back and a tear rolls down my cheek. My hands are shaking and I feel like I’m about to faint any moment. I look up and see Shawn standing in the doorway with two bottled waters in his hands, watching us with his jaw clenched.

I turn back to Knox and seeing the satisfaction in his eyes is my worse fear, but I can’t do anything about it. What he just told is true. If anyone finds out who I am Shawn’s career and maybe life is ruined. I can’t do this to him and I was so stupid letting everything go this far between us.

“I hope your wife finds out soon what a fucker you are,” I spat at him before I manage to finally move my legs and walk away.

The moment he can’t see my face I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks and I see Shawn blurrily as he immediately puts the waters down and rushes to me. We collapse in the middle, his arms circle me tightly as I bury my face in his hard chest.

“Who was it? What did he tell you?” he asks frantically, looking for Knox in the crowd, but he can’t see him anymore, he is long gone.

“I want to go back to the hotel,” I mumble into his neck as he is stroking my hair soothingly.

“Okay, let’s go.”

We rush through the groups of people trying to be as invisible as possible, we make it down to the garage and I’m extremely thankful I don’t have to have a shame walk to the car in the ring of paparazzi. I sit as low in the seat as possible, covering my face from the flashes that light through the windows. Shawn slowly drives out of the garage and when we are finally on our way back to the hotel I sit up straight.

“Naya, what happened?” He reaches out and places his hand on my thigh giving it a gentle squeeze and it’s making my heart ache.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper as I stare out of the window, not daring to look at him because I know I would just start crying.

He doesn’t try to get me to talk, we drive back in total silence and it continues like this when we are on our way up to our room. Shawn’s eyes never leave me, examining me with concern all over his face while I feel like I’m totally drained out. I know tonight is the end of it, as much as I hate to admit, Knox opened my eyes and I know I have to end everything by the time the Sun comes up. But Shawn deserves an explanation and closure.

He opens the door for me and walking in I kick my heels off heading to the bed. I sit down to the edge Shawn soon joining me, sitting next to me in silence, just waiting for me to say anything.

“I’m sorry you saw that,” I say, my voice barely coming out more than just a whisper.

“Who was he?” he asks, and for my biggest surprise he doesn’t sound mad, he is just worried for me which makes it even harder for me.

“He was one of my first clients, I worked with him when I was a newbie. He is… a highly manipulative person, he made me fall for him, but he only needed me as a toy, to have someone to play with when he was bored.”

Shawn sits there without a word, giving me the time to collect my thoughts. I slowly turn to him and let him take my hand between his palms. The hot touch of his skin is soothing, but it also makes me feel guilty knowing what I’m about to say.

“I thought I loved him, but he really just wanted to make me weak so he can get me to sleep with him. He made me emotionally attached to him so I was basically on my knees the moment he snapped his fingers. Joshua doesn’t let clients book someone two times in a row, at least a month has to pass, but because Knox made me this wreck and so dependent on him I went back to him on my own. In my own free time.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” he asks and I can sense the tenseness in him immediately.

“Not physically. But he destroyed me from the inside. I was his obeying sex slave until I saw a text thread with his friends. It was the guy from that party… he talked about how he wants to use me until I’m totally lifeless and he was planning on buying me out from Joshua. Though it’s not possible, he doesn’t trade his girls, it got me boiling. I confronted him and somehow got him raging, he admitted to having a wife, which he hid from me the whole time somehow, and he told me I will never be a functional adult ever in my life.”

The tears are dwelling in my eyes again and for a moment I feel like I can’t do it. I just want to curl up in his arms and tell him I want to be with him forever. But then Knox’s words echo in my mind and I sober up.

“Shawn, these past two weeks have been… the best time of my life,” I tell him with a bittersweet smile. “You taught me so much and…” I take a deep breath and just let the words roll down my tongue. “And I love you.”

His eyebrows raise and I see happiness in his hazel eyes.

“I love you too,” he tells me and I feel like I’m about to punch myself in the stomach with what I’m about to say after this.

“But we can’t see each other anymore.”

I watch his face fall and I immediately wish I could take it back, but it’s too late and deep down I know this is the right thing to do. It’s the most painful thing seeing him hurt like this knowing it’s because of me.

“I don’t… I don’t see why… I mean…” he starts shaking his head as he refuses to accept what I just said.

“Shawn, it’s just not possible. With the life that you live and the one that I live… We can’t do this. I can’t do this. I became an escort for a reason and I’m not bringing you into my mess. If anything gets out about my real identity and the stuff that I’ve been linked to… I would never forgive myself for ruining your career.”

“Why do you think you’d ruin my career? It’s not like you killed someone, right?”

“No. But there are other bad things and I would hate the thought of harming you in any way.”

“But you can’t be sure this would happen!” he protests, obviously not knowing anything about my background and where I come from.

“I am sure, Shawn. And don’t try to come up with ideas to save the situation. I know it’s hard, but I can’t let you do this to yourself because of me. It’ll be better if we just… don’t see each other after the agreement is over.”

“But why don’t you want to… to fight? I’m sure we could figure something out, I though this thing meant something to you!”

“It means everything to me!” I choke out as I slide closer and without a second thought I throw a leg over him and sit on his lap hugging his waist with my legs. “It means so much, you mean so much to me. I said that I love you because I do. I meant it. And because I do, I wouldn’t be able to live with the thought of harming you. I’m not going to let you battle my fights, I don’t want to involve you in my dark past. This is why I’m letting you go.”

His eyes shimmer from tears he is probably holding back, his fingers are roaming my back as I slide my hands to the base of his neck. I’m taking notes of everything, how his skin feels on mine, the line of his defined jawline and cheeks, his adorable curls and the way he licks his lips.

I can tell he is battling himself, he wants to protest against me, but he also wants to respect me and my will. I run my finger along his jawline stopping at his lips.

“If this is what you want… I respect it,” he says finally speaking up, but I can hear the endless sadness in his voice and my heart breaks. “But can I ask just one thing?”

“Sure,” I smile at him letting the tears run down my cheeks not caring to hold them back anymore.

“Can we forget about it just for tonight? Just for one more night, please. As a goodbye.”

I immediately nod my head and without hesitation I press my lips to his kissing him hard and passionate.

All barriers fall down and we cross every boundaries as he pushes me down to the bed getting on top of me. My cheeks are wet from my tears, running onto my lips, but he doesn’t seem to care. We kiss like it’s the end of the world, and in a way, it is for us. I tug his shirt off of him as his hands quickly work on my dress and make it disappear in no time. In just a few minutes both of us is naked, tangled in the sheets and in each other. One time it’s me on top, the other it’s him. He litters my face, my neck and my collarbones with open-mouthed kisses, lacing my fingers through his hair I pull his face up to me so I can kiss him.

I manage to get on top of him once more as his erection is pressed to my inner thigh. I rock my hips against him and a satisfied moan slips through his perfectly pink lips. I press my lips to his rosy cheek before leaning closer to his ear.

“I love you. I really do,” I whisper, his large hand covers the back of my neck as he is pulling me down for a kiss.

“I love you too,” he moans into my lips and my heart is racing. I reach down between us, I need to feel him inside me.

I position him to my entrance and our eyes meet right at the moment he slips into me and fills me up perfectly. I gasp at the pleasant feeling as I’m adjusting to him. His hands grab onto my waist and gently starts me moving, but soon I start lifting myself up and dropping down on my own. I sit up throwing my head back, letting a guttural growl out in pleasure, his hands travel up on my body until they find my breasts and squeeze them passionately. I place one hand on his while putting one to his chest and leaning on that arm while I never stop moving.

“You are so beautiful,” he mumbles leaning up and pressing a kiss to my chin before flipping us over.

I immediately wrap my legs around his waist and when I feel him go as deep as possible I scream his name out. He slams into me again and again, hitting that one spot that is making me shiver under his touch, his lips return to my neck sucking on my skin and I’m sure I’ll have a nice hickey in the morning, but I couldn’t care less.

“I love you,” he tells me again and I’m whimpering under him as I’m getting closer and closer to my orgasm with each thrust.

“Shawn, I- Ah…” I’m lost in him, I look into his eyes, I see the sorrow in them and I just want to make him happy again. I would do anything to see him smile again.

Except one thing.

I pull him down for a kiss so I don’t have to look into his eyes and he picks up his pace as we both are close to our climax. My fingers dig into his back, probably leaving marks on his skin, he is moving forcefully and fast, his hair is covering his forehead, some locks stick to his sweaty skin, but he still looks like the man of my dreams. He probably is.

I finally reach the top, moaning his name I throw him over the edge and he releases himself into me as well. With a few more sloppy thrusts our highs die down and he collapses to the bed besides me, pulling me to his chest. My cheek is pressed against his hot skin, I can hear and feel his heart beating crazily.

A few minutes later he pulls the cover over us, our legs are tangled together and I’m playing with his hair at the base of his neck as we are just silently lying in bed facing each other. I can feel my eyelids getting heavier with each passing moment and I’m trying to fight my tiredness wanting to spend as much time with Shawn as possible, but I just can’t help.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here in the morning. I promise,” he whispers pressing a soft kiss to my forehead as I close my eyes.

“I love you,” I mumble under my breath, but I’m already drifting off to sleep. I feel his fingers touching my cheeks and I’m almost dozed out when I hear his reply.

“I will always love you.” His voice echoes in my mind as I finally fall asleep in his arms.

#shawn #shawn mendes #mendes #shawn mendes imagines #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfictions #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfics #mendes army #shawn mendes x reader #boundaries #boundaries series

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rungian · 6 years

Text

Burns/Smithers, but it’s a rewrite

So ages ago, right, @hrgwin put up a picture and it utterly killed me, to the extent I wrote a drabble for it (picture and drabble together here http://rungian.tumblr.com/post/172003827747/hrgwin-they-got-kindnapped )

Turns out that I wasn’t satisfied with just that, so I wrote another ‘drabble,’ except this one is 3000 words long. Oops ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Some people are bad influences and forced persuaded me to post it. So, uh

Burnsmithers fic beneath the cut

The first Burns knew of it was when he opened the front door of his mansion to greet the morning and was instead greeted by a huff of bad breath and the business end of a handgun being waved in his face. Before he could even think of letting out an indignant “what the devil?” a young-ish, scruffy man with a scarf pulled up over his mouth forced his way across the threshold.

“Get in the truck,” snarled the intruder, waving the gun at him and gesturing back to a windowless Transit van, “or I'll blow yer fuckin' brains out.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Burns, somewhere between taken aback and sneering contempt. “Are you actually trying to kidnap me?”

“Trying and succeeding, if you want to keep your face!”

In an instant, Smithers was between them, his hands held up disarmingly.

“We'll come quietly.” His voice was calm, soothing. Burns glared at him, trying feebly to push him out of the way, but Smithers glanced back with an expression that stilled him instantly. The gunman watched them, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Who said anything about we?” The tip of the barrel twitched towards Burns. “He's the only one of any value.”

“We'll come,” repeated Smithers. “No need for threats.”

“Poppycock, Smithers, I have no time for childish buffoonery!” Burns brushed past Smithers, staring down his nose at the gunman with an expression of detached disdain.

“Sir, please!”

“Release the hounds!”

“Do anything,” snarled the kidnapper before Smithers could move, “and the old man dies.”

Smithers froze as the gun was pointed once again squarely at Burns' head, but Burns did not seem in the least bit perturbed.

“You don't have the stomach,” he taunted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Smithers desperately shaking his head and waving his hands, but he was far too confident to pay his subordinate any heed. “Besides, where's the sense? If I were to die, who would you hold to ransom? Smithers? He's hardly worth anything to anybody.”

The ugly look that crossed their attacker's face caused even Burns' thin blood to run cold. “Or, if I kill you both now, grandpa, then who is there to stop me taking the money anyway?”

Suddenly, Burns realised he was staring down the barrel of the gun into the steely, determined eyes of a man who was not at all afraid to pull that trigger and snuff his life out. He swallowed nervously, bravado instantly gone.

“Now now,” he said, backing away a step or two, “let's not be hasty. I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement, eh...?”

He'd been shot before, he'd felt that pain before, ripping through his withered body – would he really die this time? Burns' voice died in his bone-dry throat as he watched the finger squeeze insistently against the trigger, slowly – slowly –

Burns instinctively threw himself to the ground as the shot rang out, but the bullet he expected to tear through his flesh never came. Instead, there was a loud grunting from above him, amid the sounds of a scuffle. Hesitantly, Burns dared to open his eyes and peek through his fingers, half expecting a second shot to silence him for good, but instead –

Smithers had leapt in front of him again and was trying to wrestle the gun away from the intruder. There was a smoking hole in the ceiling; it seemed as though the weapon had accidentally discharged during the struggle, or maybe Smithers had shoved against him as he fired and thrown off his aim at the last moment. Either way, his assistant's quick action had probably saved Burns' life again.

Even though the gunman was far bulkier than Smithers, Smithers definitely seemed to have the advantage as he twisted the man's arm around firmly and started striking both hand and gun against the wall in a valiant attempt to loosen the iron grip. For a moment, it almost looked like Smithers would overpower him. For one sweet moment, Burns could see an escape route for both of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. He barely had a chance to curse his own stupidity. Of course there would be a driver...

The second kidnapper brought the baseball bat down on Smithers with stunning force, striking him hard in the temple and shattering his glasses. With a soft groan and a brief stagger, Smithers lost his grip on the other man and sank slowly to the floor, clutching at his head. Almost immediately, taking the barest moment to collect himself, the gunman recovered and started kicking cruelly at Smithers, who curled up into a foetal position, arms raised desperately to shield his face.

“You nasty meddling little bitch!” Kicks rained down into Smithers' ribs and stomach, connecting each time with a sickening meaty thud and, occasionally, a quiet cry from the helpless victim. “I'm gonna beat the shit outta you! Didn't your daddy never tell you, don't be a fuckin' hero!”

As he aimed another kick, this time at Smithers' face, his companion grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back.

“Woah, woah, hold up, man, he's had enough. He'll die if you keep kickin' him like that.”

“So? No loose ends, right? Dead men don't snitch.”

“Yeah but that don't mean you should leave a stiff on the doormat. C'mon, let's get 'em shipped over for now, we can fret small shit later. He's not gonna cause any more trouble now, an' what's the old guy gonna do? Gum you to death?

“... right, yeah,” said the gunman eventually, though it took a considerable effort. He had paused mid-kick and now lowered his foot, but not before nudging the motionless Smithers.

“C'mon, let's go and get the truck ready. They're not going anywhere.”

“Right.”

With one final kick at Smithers, the two attackers disappeared, leaving a stunned Burns alone with his assistant, who was lying in a slowly-expanding puddle of his own blood.

Smithers had come out of his ball but was now lying so very still. Burns dropped to his knees next to him and, with shaking hands, carefully pulled the remains of Smithers' glasses from his face, gently brushing leftover shards away.

Smithers... was so pale. Blood was gushing from his nose, which was bent in a most unhealthy way, and was already crusting around his eyebrow from the head wound which had brought him down. A thick red bubble near the corner of his mouth rose and fell with each laboured breath and there was a worrying gurgling coming from his throat. Even now, Smithers' brow was swelling, and there was the start of an ugly bruise forming around his eye.

“Smithers,” whispered Burns, as though the quiet summons would wake him. “I... I'm so sorry. I'm... please wake up, Smithers...” he swallowed, licking his dry lips. “I don't – I don't know what to do!”

Smithers' body spasmed in a sort of retching cough, blood spattering from his mouth across Burns' hands and arms. Panicking, Burns strained to pull Smithers' head up on to his lap; it was all he could think of to stop his assistant choking on his own vomit.

Briefly, Smithers' eyes flickered open. Burns' heart rose with hope, but Smithers didn't appear to be conscious, and with another exhalation that sounded far too close to a death rattle, his eyes closed again, his body limp and lifeless. If not for the slight unsteady movement of his chest with each breath, Burns would have sworn he had died right there in his arms.

There was nothing to listen to but the rasping sound of Smithers' shallow breathing and the heavy footsteps of a returning kidnapper as a truck engine revved to life. Burns clutched at Smithers, refusing to leave him, no matter the cost.

oOo

Waylon awoke to the sound of birdsong.

Even without opening his eyes, he could feel the warmth of a sun shaft against his face, and the softness of pillows against his head and shoulders. For countless, seemingly endless minutes he lay there, content to listen to the sounds of spring.

Slowly, slowly, his eyes slitted open. Squinting against the onslaught of brightness after so long in the dark, Waylon blinked several times as his vision adjusted. Everything was blurry, out of focus – he didn't have his glasses on, after all – but from what he could tell, he was in... yes, he was in a hospital room. From the size, it was one of those small private rooms off the ward where they put the seriously sick.

Why was he here? Was he sick? He felt... weak, but he couldn't quite remember why...

Waylon rolled his head to the side limply and his breath caught in surprise.

Mr. Burns was sitting on a visitors' chair at his bedside, his head tilted back and mouth wide open as he snored his way through a light sleep. The very sight of him brought memories crashing back – the kidnappers, the gun, the fight, the white-hot pain in his chest as his vision started to fade...

But why was Mr. Burns here...? Come to think of it, how did he get here? The last he remembered, they were being taken away... had Burns managed to get them out?

Almost instinctively, Waylon moved his arm to reach for Mr. Burns, but the instant he moved his left shoulder his chest came alive with sharp, relentless pain, intense enough to take his breath away. A loud moan of discomfort escaped Waylon as he let his arm fall back to the bed and waited for the throbbing to stop.

“Ah – wha - ?” Burns shot bolt upright, woken by Smithers' whimper. He blinked once or twice, disorientated. His eyes were red and his cheeks sunken and hollow, but his gaze landed on Waylon's bed as though he barely dared hope. “Ah... Smithers...? You're awake?”

Slowly, Smithers nodded. Glancing down at himself, he saw that he was propped partially upright in his hospital bed. His chest and left arm both were swathed in bandages and fresh surgical gauze, a line connected his right arm to a medical bag filled with some unknown fluid which was slowly dripping in to him, and he was covered in bruises. Ha. He looked like someone had tried to use him for a piñata.

“Oh! Smithers, you are awake!” With a note of clear relief in his voice, Burns sat forward. “They said it would be today that the anaesthesia wore off. They said they'd call me, but I don't trust those quacks to give you the attention you need, and I was right, wasn't I? They're nowhere to be seen at all!” His voice lowered a little. “Do you remember?”

“... a little...” croaked Smithers hoarsely. God, why was talking so exhausting? Why was he so short of breath? He tried to sit further up again, but sank back down with another groan as his shoulder screamed in protest.

Burns laid a hand on his chest, careful to avoid the bandages. Smithers could feel the thin fingers trembling against his skin. “Don't try and move, you idiot, you'll have the nurses sedating you again if you keep yelling.”

“Sorry, sir...”

Carefully, Burns picked up a pair of glasses and the world slid in to focus as he manoeuvred them on to Smithers' nose. “I found one of your spares in your work desk,” he offered by way of explanation. “Your other ones are too damaged to repair.”

“Oh.” Smithers paused, catching his breath. “How did you... how did we... escape?”

Burns made a face. “It appears that federal agents become involved in kidnapping cases, and they have, aha, a rather higher degree of competence than our local constabulary. You'd left quite a clear smear of blood on my doorstep. Apparently, it wasn't that hard for the cadaver dogs to track us after that.”

“... cadaver dogs?”

Once again, Burns couldn't quite meet Smithers' gaze. “... from the blood at the mansion, they were fairly convinced there'd be at least one body.”

For several dragging moments, they sat in awkward silence, the only sound the laboured wheeze of Smithers' breathing.

Finally, Burns' head fell into his hands. “I'm... relieved.”

“Sir...?”

“You had me... frantic, Waylon. You... you saved my life, but you so very nearly lost your own.”

“It was... that bad?”

Burns made a noise which could have been a strangled laugh, or possibly a cut-off sob. “That bad? Two black eyes, a concussion, broken nose, dislocated left shoulder, four broken ribs – one fractured, three cracked – punctured lung, ruptured spleen... God, Smithers, I'm – I'm so sorry. If I hadn't been such an uppity fool...”

Waylon was silent. Five broken bones and one dislocation... no wonder he felt as though he had been run over by a tank, and that was before he even touched on the organ damage and the bruising. A punctured lung! That certainly explained the trouble he was having catching his breath!

“You saved my life,” said Burns again. “... thank you.”

“Of course... I'd do anything for you.” Waylon managed what felt like a smile, though through his bruised and swollen face it probably came out looking more like a grimace.

“Yes, yes, because I pay you and it's your job. But for God's sake, Smithers, I don't pay you to die! What would I ever do if you left me?”

Smithers' chest hitched as he let out a shuddering, painful breath. Burns saw it and buried his face in his hands, eyes downcast toward the floor.

“I stood right by, Smithers... you jumped in front of that man for me as he was about to shoot me, and I just stood right by and watched you – I was too much of a coward to even tell them to stop! I know I've treated you ill in the past, but I have never been so in your debt...” his thin frame shivered in what might have been another suppressed sob. “Ask me, Waylon, ask me for something, anything – let me make this up to you...”

“Anything...?” asked Waylon softly.

“Anything,” said Burns, still staring down at the polished linoleum.

Smithers looked up at the ceiling in silence, his brow furrowed as though he was trying to reach a decision, or possibly search for courage. As the seconds passed, Burns watched him keenly and, finally, those gentle eyes came back down to meet his.

“... a kiss...”

There was a dragging silence.

“Mmph!” Burns sat upright, no longer meeting Smithers' gaze. “I'll – I'm going to fetch the nurse, Waylon. There's – it's – you're still a bit confused.”

As he rose from the chair, however, Burns was stilled by Smithers' hand closing around his wrist. He looked back at his assistant, whose face was scrunched with pain from the movement but who still clung on gamely as though his very life depended on it.

“... please.”

“Anything,” said Burns again, almost desperately. He couldn't be hearing this right, Smithers must still be concussed, or disorientated from the anaesthetic – Smithers must think he was someone else – there was no way –

“Just... a kiss...”

“That's all?”

“Mm...”

Burns stared helplessly as Smithers' hand fell away from his wrist. “Don't you want money? Don't you – you don't want a new house? I can move you out of that poxy little apartment you still squat in! Don't you want a new car, or a – or a –”

He tailed off. Smithers was still watching him tiredly. Burns found he couldn't hold that gaze for very long. The guilt had gnawed at him for the whole while; he'd already been responsible for the death of one Waylon Smithers, after all...

“You just want me to kiss you?” he managed finally, his voice cracking just the smallest amount. The unspoken why? hung heavy in the air.

“Yes.”

Well, he certainly sounded sure. Burns grimaced. Maybe Smithers really was still reeling from that blow to the head? Why would he want to be kissed by Burns? Why would he want to be kissed by Burns?

“And you're sure there's nothing else you'd rather have?”

“Is it... that repulsive...?”

God, Smithers sounded so sad. Burns' hand hovered briefly over one of the bandages before he gripped the bridge of his nose.

“It's... damn it, Smithers, I don't know. I've never even thought about kissing you!”

Smithers closed his eyes. “I'm sorry,” he whispered eventually. Burns only just heard it. “I shouldn't have asked...”

Something ached inside Burns, right where his heart would have been if it hadn't shrivelled with cynicism decades before. What was he doing to this man? To poor Smithers, who had always supported him along the best path; Smithers, who quietly obeyed his every reasonable command and gently chided his unreasonable ones; Smithers, who unhesitatingly tackled a man with a gun for him...

“You're a damn fool, Waylon,” mumbled Burns as he leant over his assistant's bedside, “but I'll be damned if I'm not one too.”

Waylon's eyes flickered open just in time to see Burns' face, with his heavy-lidded eyes and slightly furrowed brow, in the instant before his mouth was captured and the taste of Burns' lips filled his world. Burns pressed a little closer and raised one hand to hesitantly brush his fingers against Smithers' cheek. In that moment, as he closed his eyes fully to commit as much of this wonderful feeling as he could to memory, Smithers knew that, despite the pain and the injuries and the worry, he was very much the happiest man alive.

#simpsons #burnsmithers #burns x smithers #burns/smithers #mr burns #smithers #montgomery burns #waylon smithers #trash queen of the sin bin #that's me #useless old man and useless middle-aged man being useless together

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