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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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“harry’s stylist, right?” part II

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this gif bc i couldn’t fine the fit i wanted to showcase, but that night him and y/n get closer than they had gotten before :))

and we’re back :) - this is the last part of this i may do some little blurbs and stuff about these two if people want it (maybe) i hope you all enjoy this part, it’s not proofread so sorry about that lol. Feedback and reblogs are so very very appreciated, also feel free to message me about you’re feelings about this

Word Count: just over 10k | Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, implication of smut, i think that’s it

part 1

After the call with Jeff, which wasn’t really a conversation at all, moreso a berating from him, she was in the worst mood. She shrugged off the Bode jacket and hung it up in her entryway closet. She wasn’t planning on wearing it ever again. Without the jacket on, her shirt that seemed to be exactly on the nose with it’s “we’re in the shit” graphic was clear and she untucked it from her light mint pants. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Instead of picking her phone up again, she decided she could do without communication for a while. Her feet padded to her bedroom, after removing her nikes and socks. In her bedroom she opened up her record player, wanting music, but not wanting to be bothered with her laptop since it had a connection to the internet.

She grabbed her Electric Warrior by T. Rex and slipped out the first record from its sheath. As she set up the music, she couldn’t remember where she’d even gotten the record but for some reason it had called to. She skipped over Mambo Sun, the first track, though, and had it play Cosmic Dancer first. It was calming to her, she swayed a bit to the soothing beat and then climbed into her bed. Staring at the ceiling, she wondered about when her life had gotten so complicated. The rhythm in the music and the exhausting thought material lulled her to sleep as the afternoon sun washed her room a perfect golden from behind her shade.

When she woke up again, it was midnight and she was starving. The record had stopped spinning hours ago, she hadn’t even gotten through side A. It was forgotten as she made her way to her kitchen, groggily.

After settling on cereal and an alcoholic seltzer for dinner, she was really in the mood to treat herself, she made her way back to her living space. On the couch, she tucked her legs beneath herself and spooned the sugary food into her mouth. She had only soy milk in the place because she didn’t like cow’s milk and it didn’t keep when she was gone for extended periods of time. Then as she sipped from the black cherry White Claw, she dug her hand into the cushion next to her. Her hand reemerged with her discarded phone from earlier. She decided it was reasonable to go on it now.

More messages from various people in her life and hundreds of social media notifications. She was going to ignore social media for as long as she possibly could. Four missed calls. 2 voicemails. Styles Harry. Why she kept contacts backwards in her phone was unimportant, it’s just what she did.

She sighed and took a bigger sip of the barely alcoholic drink. Then clicked the voicemail notifications and pressed the first one on speaker as she began to read his texts as well. Then the next voicemail. She checked the time in California, it was still a reasonable part of the day there so instead of texting back she rang him.

“Hello?”

“Har- H. Hi.”

“Y/N! Are you alright?” The concern apparent in his tone. She was taken aback. He hadn’t necessarily sounded angry in his texts or voicemails, but she just assumed he was being courteous since it was a live conversation.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No! Why would I be?”

“Because I just had my ass handed to me by Jeff earlier.” She slightly mumbled and shrugged, still upset with how she had been spoken to by Jeff.

“Oh gosh, I told him not to be harsh. It’s honestly not a big deal. I thought it was fine, you texted me too!”

“Yeah, well apparently wearing your clothes means we’re dating and that’s not cool in the world’s eyes,” you scoff.

“I know how much you like that coat...I thought you looked great in it, too.” He finishes in a slight whisper, not wanting to be overheard.

“Harry…” you can’t keep the smile off your face. It was a cute compliment even if the situation wasn’t ideal. “Why do your fans have to be so smart and know there’s only two of those coats in the world and I don’t own the other one.”

He laughs, blushing at how you said his name. This time not using his nickname didn’t bother him, it felt even more intimate somehow.

He rubs a hand through his hair, “I know, pesky little devils, gotta love’em, though”

She hums, not sure if she can agree about loving them right now since they’re probably eating her alive all over social media.

“So you’re alright, darling?” He asks again.

“Mhmm,” she pauses at the pet name, it was soothing right now. All she wanted was to curl into his chest, but he was half a world away, quite literally. His words would have to do in his absence. “I’m really glad you’re not mad at me, H. That would’ve made this a hundred times worse.”

He huffs, wishing he could be with her to comfort her. He hated this part of his life. A friend couldn’t borrow a piece of his clothing without everyone assuming that they were seeing each other. It was disgusting and it made him dislike tabloids and social media even more than he already did.

“Trust me. I’d never be mad at you, pet. And I’d definitely never be mad at you for looking good as fuck in my clothes.”

“Shut up!” She squeals, his tone turning from earnest to teasing in one breath. He cackles on the other end of the line because despite her mean words, he could hear the smile on her lips.

“When are you flying back to London?” Her voice grows quiet again after she takes another sip of her drink.

“Thursday,” he almost whispers back, having contained his mirth again.

“We have some work to do on your Graham Norton and Jingle Bell Ball outfits. The listening party ones are all picked up -”

“Y/N,” Harry cuts her off, “It’s late for you, go to bed. Try not to stress out too much, we’ll talk when I’m back about work. For now, take a few days off to not think about my clothes.”

She sighs, “Thanks, H. You’re right. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Goodnight, m’love.”

She ends the phone call and chalks the almost ‘my’ sounding syllable that she heard before love was just her tired mind and Harry’s mumbling voice. It most certainly wasn’t.

After a restful few days of doing absolutely nothing, something rare for Y/N, she was extremely well rested. So much so that she was peacefully asleep when Harry let himself into her flat since they had agreed to meet at her place when he got back to London. As much as he wanted her to take time off and not over work herself, his schedule was a busy one and now that he was back, they had work to do.

Inside her flat, he was greeted with silence. He made his way to her bedroom at the back of the flat. He’d been here a handful of times. She always told him she preferred to spread out when she worked and Harry’s was the place for that. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar and he pushed it open slowly with his ring clad hand. His black nails are freshly painted and shiny, no chips. Still in her bed, Y/N shifted around softly. He smiled to himself, taking in how the room smelled over lavender and how she had pink floral sheets. He walked to the window and raised the shade, hoping to have her wake up without and coaxing from him.

“H,” her voice mumbles into her pillow and he thinks she’s woken up. His face turns to look at her, but her eyes are still closed and she looks completely asleep. He wonders if she’s trying to trick him, but then she mumbles again.

“Mhhh, tha’ tickles,” and she giggles. He kind of grimaces, feeling like he shouldn’t be hearing this. He hadn’t known she spoke in her sleep, it was sweet, but with the context right now, he thought him having this knowledge might not sit well with her.

“Y/N,” he says loudly, before clearing his throat. Her eyes shoot wide and she sits up, dropping the sheet she had been snuggling.

“Harry! Oh my god!”

“Meeting, remember?”

“Oh my god,” she glances around her surroundings, Harry still standing at her window. “What time is it?”

“1 pm. We said 1 right?”

“We did, I just...I don’t know what happened. Sorry, give me a second. I’m out of it.”

When she emerged from her room, dressed and ready for the day, Harry had brewed a pot of coffee with her machine that she really only had for guests.

“Sorry again,” she sits at her countertop, searching for her notebook in her bag.

“No worries,” then he leans across the countertop, “Seemed like you were in the middle of a nice dream.”

His brows are raised as she avoids his gaze. She flushes easily, “I- it was...just one of those usual dreams.”

“You have dreams about me often?”

“I didn’t say that!” Her eyes shoot up to meet his and he grins. He takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“I heard you say ‘H’.”

She rolls her eyes, “That proves nothing.”

They both stare at each other for a minute, not talking or moving. Harry is simply grinning at her as she twitches her hand with her pen in it now. Her eyes are trying to figure out what Harry’s getting at, searching his expression for how he feels about knowing she dreams of him. She certainly wasn’t going to get into it with him, even if he did continue prodding.

“Alright,” she begins when he doesn’t seem to want to press it further. “Oh!” She jumps up, dropping her pen and forgetting about whatever else she was going to say. “Your jacket! And shirt! I cleaned the shirt and the jacket…” She runs out of the room to go to her front closet where she had hung up both the jacket and the shirt.

Returning, she holds them out to Harry and he rounds the countertop to look at them.

“Perfect shape,” he admires the spotless shirt and his beloved jacket. He puts them on the back of the chair that was next to them. “Won’t forget my jacket again.”

She smiles sheepishly, thinking back to Jeff’s conversation with her. Harry notices her change in demeanor and takes one of her hands. Her eyes flash up to his face and her body tenses, he feels it even in her hand.

“Have you gone on any social media since you’ve been home?” His eyes are wide as he runs his thumb over the back of her hand.

She softens slightly, “Oh yeah, after the first day I decided to check. Most were funny and sweet, their nasty comments didn't get to me.”

Her eyes are big on her face and Harry watches as her worries and concerns all wash through the swirling colors in them. He wants to take all of that pain away and just stare into her abyss forever.

“What did Jeff say exactly?” He knows that’s what she’s alluding to. Harry loved his manager, but when he had called him about the jacket incident he had been pretty short with Harry and hadn’t given much information on his chat with Y/N. The way she looked right now bothered him because ultimately Harry was in charge of Y/N in his employment of her and if Jeff had acted like her superior in a way that was harmful he’d be downright upset.

Her eyes grow glassy immediately and Harry’s anger begins to bubble in the pit of his stomach. She tries to blink anything away, but fails.

“I don’t know why I’m crying, it wasn’t terrible. It’s just, all my life, I’ve had to work to be taken seriously because of who I am and I hate when I get talked down to by a man. Especially over a stupid fucking publicity thing for you. Like I’m sorry, but I don’t see you as a public figure where I have to worry about every goddamn thing I do messing up your image.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, realizing she’d gotten really worked up as she spoke. The tears running down her face more in anger than sadness. Harry watches on, letting her work through her thought process. “He was just so mean… for what?” She whispers finally.

“Oh god…darling,” Harry grips her hand more firmly. He wants to take her in his arms, but he’s not sure if that’s what’s best for her right now, so he just keeps holding her hand. She stares up at him, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. Her eyes now tinted a light red.

“I’m sorry he spoke to you in that way. That isn’t his job at all, I’ll definitely talk to him since I didn’t have the full story before. He gets very worried about the media perception thing, especially right now with the album.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, blinking up at Harry. “I know your image is important, too, otherwise why the fuck would I be here? Right? I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal I borrowed the jacket.”

“In a perfect world my image wouldn’t matter at all,” Harry sighed, “Fame is a stupid, fickle thing musicians like me get stuck with.”

“Please, you love the attention,” she teases, poking at his chest. The sweatshirt he wore wrinkling under her touch.

“‘M serious,” he insists, “I’m saying it shouldn’t matter that you borrowed my jacket, but sadly it comes across to the rest of the world like I’m dating you.” He pokes her sternum in return.

“And that would be the end of the world?” she smiles, her tone still teasing, but that worry is back and swimming in her eyes again.

This time, though, Harry must not see it because he laughs and lets go of her hand. “For a lot of people, I think it might be.”

She bites at her lip and tries to contain the laugh that bubbles in her. He was right and as he wandered back into the kitchen for more coffee, she shook her head trying to rid herself of those pesky feelings that had been hoping for a different answer.

The next few weeks go off without a hitch. Harry’s outfits look incredible for the listening parties. Then for the Graham Norton Show, the Jingle Bell Ball, and the One Night Only at the Forum. Every single outfit is received with praise and everything seems to be coming up Harry Styles. Y/N has been traveling to most of his appearances, making sure everything is in order before he goes out. She’s always by his side before he walks out into the public eye. Taking his picture and saving it in the lookbook that keeps growing, smoothing over his lapels, either unbuttoning or buttoning a middle button when she thought he had too many or not enough undone for the look. Whatever it was, she was there for him.

Then, after his appearances, they would debrief. Debriefs really were just time that Harry carved out in his schedule to just be alone with Y/N. Sure, they talked about clothes, that’s how they had first connected, but it always turned to other ideas. They’d talk about his songs and she’d ask about the meanings that he wouldn’t share with the rest of the world. He’d happily tell her about it and they enjoyed that time together. There were stolen glances and lingering touches, but at the end of the day they were professionals who were friends. It wasn’t maybe what either of them wanted, but they weren’t unhappy.

Harry just got back from Los Angeles after filming for his Ellen show appearance and he was set to play the Bowery Ballroom tomorrow in London. After this there was going to be a lot of downtime on Harry’s schedule because of the holidays. He had marked out almost a whole month of time off, at least from appearances. They still had to start planning tour outfits and finalize the outfits for the events after the break. Right now, all she was focused on was getting Harry into the beautiful yellow Gucci suit that was a twin of the Watermelon Sugar suit he had worn on Saturday Night Live. Harry said he wanted to check the suit before tomorrow for some reason, so Y/N had made her way over.

She finished buttoning the sleeves of the jacket and stepped back to admire Harry once again. No matter what he wore he always looked marvelous in her eyes. She’d argue anyone could say that about Harry though. He could pull anything off and make it his own with barely any effort.

Today, his hair was disheveled and mused from his plane ride back into London. The flight from California to England was a rough one, even when you traveled in the type of luxury Harry did. Despite his tired body and eyes, the suit looked stunning on him. He wore it without shoes and she giggled when she saw his feet. His feet tattoos never failed to make her laugh and she had no explanation for why.

While Harry looked good in everything, there actually was something a little off with the suit right now. Normally, it hugged him just right to make him look perfectly muscled and defined, but it seemed to be hanging a little looser in some areas.

She tapped a finger to her lip, looking him over, unsure of what was off.

“Did you lose weight, H?”

“Huh?” He looks down at himself and somewhat notices the looser fit, but wasn’t quite sure if he had lost weight. “Don’t think so.”

She hums and steps closer to him, dropping her hands to tug at various parts of the suit, trying to figure out whether she should take anything in or leave it be.

“It’s probably all the travel I’ve been doin’. Can be draining me more than I realize.” He ponders as she continues to work silently over the suit.

Her hands travel beneath the suit and encircle his waist, almost as if she’s hugging him, but not really. His stomach flexes at the contact, her chest pressed softly against his. She grips a bit of the shirt from the back and then unfolds herself from him to look at the mirror. The shirt is now taut against his sternum and pectorals under the coat. She tilts her head, silently asking him his opinion.

“I think it’s fine the way it is, honestly.”

“Okay,” she nods and releases her hold on the shirt, hand slithering out from beneath his coat. He exhales deeply through his nose. “Make sure you eat properly tonight.” She says before beginning to pack up her things, done for the day. Harry begins to undress himself.

She turns back to face him as he hands her the jacket and shirt, her eyes run over the length of his torso, both for the sake of checking on his health and for other purely selfish reasons. All the tattoos still remained where they always were when she saw him like this. It never got old, his beautiful body. He didn’t even need clothes to look good. She blinks back to reality when the fabric comes in contact with her hand.

“Make sure you treat yourself this holiday season, you deserve it, H. And it seems like any weight you ever gain is muscle anyways, so you don’t exactly have to worry around the sweets table.”

Harry laughs heartily as he slips on his long sleeve shirt he was wearing. Then he starts on the pants as she turns away again to hang up the top parts of the suit.

Finally, she adds when he hands her the suit pants, “Just don’t want you overworking yourself, seriously, H.”

He looks at her as he buttons up his baggy blue jeans. The outfit he wore was just the first clean things he had grabbed when he had gotten home. His green eyes turn serious after the mirthfilled last few moments.

He crosses to her side as she puts away the clothes in the garment bag. His hand lands softly on her shoulder and she turns to him at his touch. “I know. You’re so good to me, darling. Always making sure I’m taking care of myself…”

It’s quiet. The soft breeze in the London air outside barely whispers around the house. Harry’s voice was laced with love, even if it wasn’t his intention. His ‘thank you’ was piercing into her heart and his touch wasn’t helping her stay focused. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt Harry take a step closer to her, his head ducking slightly down to her level. Then, right on the edge of her left temple and her hairline, his soft lips pressed against her skin. They brushed against her for just a moment, lingering for the respectful amount of time. But all she wanted was anything but respectful. She wanted his lips pressed against hers, she wanted his hands in her hair, yanking her deeply into him. She wanted to scream when he pulled away, but she didn’t. She smiled warmly up at Harry and her eyelashes fluttered on their own accord like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thank you,” he whispers again.

“What would you do without me?” She pushes at him playfully, shaking off her giddiness. Then she turns back to her work, scooping up all the items of hers on the table.

“Probably have to walk around naked, huh?”

“Oh my god!” She laughs and starts for the door, Harry follows behind to walk to her out to her car. “Maybe I should quit! People would love it.” She continues laughing as she hangs the garment in the passenger's seat side.

“No thank you, please,” Harry hurriedly says.

She turns to him as she closes the door and leans against the car. This was their routine right before she left, a final chat against the car before she drove off for the night.

“Tomorrow’s going to be amazing, H. It’s gonna be electric!” She scrunches her nose slightly at the pun about the venue as she smiles up at him.

He sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek, holding back a laugh. His eyes narrow at her, slyly. “Very funny.”

She only winks at him before pushing herself off of her car and walks to the driver’s side of the car.

He waves as she begins to pull out of the driveway and she flashes him a peace sign and a mouthed ‘Bye’ when she turns onto the street.

After the Bowery Ballroom show, Y/N barely sees Harry at the after party. She doesn’t worry about it too much. His management was going to have a holiday party next week before the little break began for the team. So, she knew she’d see him before she flew back to see her family for the holidays. She was going home for two weeks and then would be back for New Year’s and then would get back to work after that.

She saw Harry exactly twice after the show. First, she saw Harry right after the show and he was all sweaty and exhilarated. He tackled her in a bear hug with such strength she would have fallen back if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. When he pulled away, he placed two extremely slobbery kisses on her cheeks and she laughed, tipping her head back in pure bliss. Then he was pulled away by Jeff to change and get ready for the after party.

Jeff had apologized over text about the tone he had taken over the whole jacket thing, but only Harry had told him to. It was fine with Y/N, she told him that too, but she just never felt like being around him for very long if she could help it after that. That’s why she liked that most of her job entailed dealing with Harry directly. If she had to go through Jeff for everything she’d likely pull her hair out. He was still short with her at whole team meetings and not necessarily courteous when they were around each other casually. Like she said, it was fine, she just didn’t make it her business to be around Jeff.

The second time she saw Harry was around half past one am. She was pretty sure it was time for her to uber home and she wanted to say goodbye to Harry. Her well-liquored body stumbled around the big room. Deciding to take shots with the band had gotten her to where she was now and she wasn’t complaining she was happy. She was in a celebratory mood and wanted to see Harry right now. Tell him how much fun she had and how proud she was of him. How much she loved him… Hopefully she kept that part to herself.

“Harry!” She finally exclaims, coming upon a group of people surrounding the star himself. She ignored the rest of the people, likely stars too, but she really couldn’t care less. One of them tried to straighten up as if he was going to block her from Harry, feeling like she maybe wasn’t someone Harry wanted to see since they didn’t know her. No one seemed to ever recognize Y/N as Harry’s stylist when it mattered. Harry waved them off, a little drunk as well, but obviously recognizing Y/N.

“Darling!” He exclaims and raises his arms out to her. She grips onto him quickly and snuggles into him happily. With her still in his arms, he turns them from the prying eyes of the group he had been with.

She raises her head from his warm chest so that her lips are near his ear, “Congratulations, Mr. Styles.”

“Thanks, baby,” he purrs into her ear, his voice coarse and low, carrying over the music. She giggles at the nickname, her entire plan going out the metaphorical window.

Her fingers smooth up over the fabric on his chest, a nice short sleeve silk button down that was tucked into dark high waisted trousers - they’d picked it out last week. One of her fingers begins to trace around his collarbone after she reaches the opening of the shirt. His eyes flutter shut at the contact. They were so needy for each other. Each touch would coarse heat through them every time.

“I’m going…” She says after a moment of silence between them. The party was raging around them, most not paying any mind to the two of them off in their own world.

“Don’t go,” Harry practically begs. A hand flies up to pet over the top of her hair and she smiles even wider.

“It’s late and I’m tired,” she makes a face in response to Harry’s pout, “You have lots of people to entertain, Mr. Styles.” Her teeth capture her bottom lip as she stares at him intently.

He groans and pulls her closer. This time his lips brush right against her ear and she wants to shiver, but he keeps her in place. “If you keep calling me that, you’re gonna drive me insane.”

Her eyes widen but her hazy mind isn’t processing all of what is going on. She barely takes inventory of ‘baby’, for him to say she’s turning him on without actually saying it. Tomorrow Y/N would have to deal with that one.

She pulls back from him, creating space between their chests, but he still holds her waist close to him. She leans up and places a kiss on the corner of his lips. It’s technically supposed to be a kiss on the cheek but if she had moved her lips a millimeter to the right they would have been on Harry’s. This gesture has his grip tightening on her, but she pulls away.

“Goodnight!” She sings as she bounces out of sight, wiggling her fingers in a wave before completely being gone.

Harry sighs and runs a hand over his face, kind of in shock of the last five minutes. He had liked it. He just hadn’t expected it. When he turns his attention back to the group that was behind him, it’s not the same as it was before. Jeff looks at him with narrowed eyes and Harry’s eyes go wide and his grin widens as well.

Tonight is the management holiday party for Harry’s team. Y/N and Harry had seen each other two days after the Electric Ballroom to debrief, but mostly to get brunch. They didn’t talk about the little teases they shared at the after party. Both of them just assumed that the other probably didn’t remember and didn’t want to go through the trouble and embarrassment of recounting it. Alcohol has that effect of making you a little bolder than you actually are.

Brunch with Harry solidified Y/N’s thoughts on fame. Celebrity could be so strange, because there was the one day when she got photographed with just Harry’s jacket on and there was speculation of dating, but then she could go out to brunch with him and not be bothered at all. It made absolutely no sense.

Anyway, tonight there were no gifts, but Y/N had gotten Harry something even though he said he never needs anything. She hoped she’d be able to give it to him after they were walking back to their transportation since she wanted it to be a surprise and not have everyone know she gave him a gift. It wasn’t a big deal - or maybe it was - it was just an item she knew Harry had been fawning over. It was so him and she knew he’d probably end up buying it for himself eventually, but it felt nice to be able to give him something for once. Price didn’t matter. Still, she was a little nervous and tucked and re-tucked it several times in the back seat of her car before heading inside.

It was a restaurant his management had rented out for their party. She gave her name and headed inside. The lighting was overly dimmed and it smelled like expensive alcohol and delicious food. It was everything an A-list singer deserved as a celebration. She never could fully grasp that the Harry she had gotten to know as her friend was also the same Harry that the entire world was infatuated with, for good reason. He was charming in the best way, terribly sincere, insanely talented, and all around a good human being. She knew that, it just surprised her that everyone else knew it too. There was just that disconnect for her that she shared him with the rest of the world.

Her high heeled heels brought her to the backroom of the restaurant. They managed to shimmer even in the dim light. She had gone for winter chic with a sequin and mesh white dress, that looked like fresh snow with a cream and blue swirling design on the under layer so that her undergarments weren’t showing through. It was like a modern ice princess look that was finished with her heels that had sparkles on the entire back of them. Her hair was down and her makeup a little more done up than usual. She used a light blue eyeshadow to imitate ice and added some rhinestones on the inner parts of her eyes. She may have watched a Euphoria-inspired makeup look tutorial on youtube and she wasn’t afraid to admit that.

The scene she came upon was what she expected. Lots of men in suits and a good amount of women in power suits too. The people in any interesting clothes were Harry and his band. Some of the business people’s partners were dressed up more but it all wasn’t too exciting. Plus, Harry’s famous friends group hadn’t shown up yet. Y/N hid her disappointment easily, not surprised about the lack of flavor she saw in the style. She just repeated the mantra her mother had always told her: “You can never be overdressed, only underdressed.” It stuck with her always and made her go for those bolder styles when she needed to.

Harry was there, sipping on a glass of water. She figured he might not want to get started on drinking so early in the evening. Tonight didn’t feel like a drinking night for her either. After the last big party, she had woken up with a massive hangover and a few memories that she wished she hadn’t made. She wasn’t planning on repeating that series of events.

As she goes to grab a glass of water on the large table, she gets a tap on her shoulder. She spins.

“Happy Holidays, darling!”

Her eyes widen and her smile immediately grows. Harry grins back at her, his mouth open in the perfect winning smile of his and his eyes twinkling with happiness.

“Happy Holidays to you too, Mr.-” She stops herself, remembering back to the last party, “H.” She finishes firmly after clearing her throat. Harry’s grin turns to a wicked knowing smirk.

“I’m happy you came! I know you’re not super connected to all of the groups here, Harry Lambert is around somewhere though and I know he’s been wanting to talk with you about clothes.”

Harry watches as her eyes shine even brighter when he mentions the other stylist. It was true, Y/N didn’t really mesh with any of the groups that worked around Harry. The stylist kind of stood alone in regards to where she fit into his life, not the business part, not the band part, not the crew, and not the other celebrities. Harry Lambert and other fashion people didn’t always come to these events so it was seldom that Y/N had her own people to talk to. Not that mingling was hard for her, he just knew she didn’t like to do that as much so whenever another stylist or designer was there he always made sure to introduce them - if they weren’t already acquainted.

“That’s amazing! I haven’t seen him in ages… I’ll have to get his opinion on how I’ve been doing.”

Harry licks his lips as he laughs a little at her comment. She looked beautiful tonight and he wanted to tell her.

“Harry. What the hell are you wearing?” Her eyes flash as she takes in his appearance.

He looks down at himself and then back at her confused. They hadn’t picked the outfit out, but he thought it looked nice.

“Obviously not the suit! On your head?”

“Oh. It’s a gift from Mitch and Sarah.” He pauses to reach up to play with the headband sat on top of his curls. “It’s mistletoe and it seems like you’re standing beneath it. You know what that means,” he toys with it as he wiggles his eyebrows.

She scoffs sarcastically, looking to the side for a means of escape, “No way.”

“C’mon! It’s tradition!” He steps forward playfully and she places a hand on his chest.

“You can kiss my cheek.” She says finally and Harry looks at her disapprovingly.

He wags a finger at her with his free hand, “You’re the one under the mistletoe, you have to kiss me.”

“Okay that’s definitely not how this works! Now you don’t get any kiss at all, you cheeky bastard.”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’re the one with coal in your stocking.”

“Haha.” Her eyes once again roll to the side as she pushes him back and he steps back like she actually had a strong push. Then they both actually laugh and she gives him a quick side hug with a whispered, “there”. Harry smiles down at her, but it falters slightly when she’s already pulling away. He wanted her at his side the entire night, but sadly that wasn’t reality.

She drags him around the restaurant in search of Harry Lambert since the party had started to grow and she needed his height to get her where she wanted to go. Maybe. Or maybe she just liked the way he held her hand to lead her through the crowd that was most definitely not dense enough for her to have to hold on to him to stay with him at all.

She sees more of Harry at this party. They have some good conversations about plans for the holidays and snickering about who was already too drunk even though it wasn’t even midnight. She can’t believe he keeps on the stupid headband all night, giving and receiving various types of kisses from every person he talks to. Some are kisses on the cheek, others are friendly smooches on the mouth. Thankfully all of them are those cute little pecks that friends always tend to share, otherwise Y/N might have had to excuse herself and leave early. Jealous little thing.

As the night dragged on, she began to question herself on that front. Why was she growing jealous when friends would kiss Harry. She could've kissed Harry. She practically did the other week. But now, after refusing him a mistletoe kiss and seeing everyone else do what she didn’t have the courage to do, she felt childish. Well, childish or not, she knew why she couldn’t kiss him. Kissing Harry wouldn’t be just a friend thing for her. It would mean a lot more and if it was just a friend thing for him she wouldn’t be sure if she could handle going on with their working relationship after. Her job was the most important thing in her life. Being a stylist, loving clothes, and working on personal designs for the future was her life. Giving up this prestigious of a job was out of the question. Maybe the idea of being with Harry had crossed her mind, but she didn’t know how it could ever be realistic. If they got together could she keep her job? Would she have to quit? And find a new one? There were too many unknowns for her to ever actually entertain it. That’s why they went to the edge so often, she always would back away and she was sure that if she didn’t, Harry would for her.

He knew her. He knew her passion, he watches it firsthand everyday they work together. Even when they’re not working he can see her mind forming different ideas just based off of the things she sees people wear on the streets. He watches her fingers fiddle over her phone, typing out notes for design ideas and screenshotting inspiration. So every time they went to the edge of changing their relationship, he knew he couldn’t push it because he never wanted to hurt her or her dreams in some way. She was too important to him to simply mess that up. Even if it hurt him.

So when Harry slides in the back of her car that night at 2 am because Y/N says she has something important to show him, he’s fully ready to stop their flirting from going any further. And when she tells him she needs to show him something, she has the most pure intentions when she pulls out the nicely wrapped box, its wrapping paper a swirling lavender pattern that’s really not festive at all, but she prefers it.

He looks between her and the box that she’s now placed in his lap. His green eyes flickering even in the darkness of the car, the city lights illuminating the backseat enough for them.

“You know I don’t need anything…” He fiddles with the skinny mesh ribbon neatly tied around the box.

She makes a little gesture, pushing him to open the present, “I know, but I also know you’ve been wanting this and you deserve it.”

He unwraps the paper to reveal a Gucci box and he rolls his eyes at her, but smiles genuinely as he lifts the top of the box off. It reveals a 1955 Horsebit Shoulder Bag in beautiful shiny black leather. It’s gorgeous.

“I can’t...I don’t know what to say,” Harry’s eyes are huge as his delicate hands ghost over the bag's details. He had been wanting it and he hadn’t gotten the courage to buy it yet. He liked purses, but sometimes he even had his doubts about what he could pull off.

His eyes go back to her and she smiles widely at him, all her teeth on display because she’s just that happy. “This is a really expensive bag, Y/N.”

“If it makes you feel better I can charge it as a wardrobe expense, but then it’s not really a gift from me,” She sighs at his unrelenting gaze.

“Thank you.” He touches at the bag again and then does a dance in his spot. “And don’t worry, I will always remember this as a gift from you. I love it.”

She smiles and leans over the box to look at the bag, admiring the beauty of it as well. “It’s pretty great.”

“Mhmm,” Harry hums and she raises her eyes, seeing his trained on her face. “You’re under the mistletoe again, darling,” he smirks.

Her breath stops once again, how could he do that to her so easily? Their eyes stay locked under the city lights. The fake mistletoe bobs above them still connected to the silly headband. It’s colorful leaves and fun stripes mock her when she flicks her gaze up to it for a moment. Then back to Harry. Harry who’s holding the gift she just gave him. Harry who looks beautiful tonight. Harry who is her favorite person in the world to spend time with.

Now. Now is when she pulls back from the ledge. This is when she takes a step back and stops herself. When Harry laughs it off. When she pushes him away. When they go about the rest of their day like that electricity hadn’t gone up either of their spines.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, she nods in agreement and then crashes her lips against Harry’s. It’s not like those friend kisses that had happened with him all night under that same mistletoe. It’s hard and hot and fast. Her lips are pressed to his for one searing moment and then she’s biting his lip, desperate to taste more of him. She had been longing for this for so long and now that she had it, she couldn’t let it go.

Harry’s hands fly to her cheeks as he pulls her closer, more into his lap. He pushes the box into the front area of the car blindly. The gift was completely forgotten. This was a far more important matter. Her lips were wet and plush and they tasted like the single Manhattan she had halfway through the night and vanilla lip gloss. When she bites his lip, he can’t hold back the moan inside his throat and she presses her tongue into his mouth quickly. He was her oasis and she had been traveling for months. He responds with similar vigor, enjoying the way her body presses to his in the backseat of this little car.

They kiss for as long as they can. Licking, sucking, and biting each other’s lips to taste as much as they can. But it’s just kissing. Neither of them work to travel anywhere else. Their lips are seemingly enough. Each press of their lips communicates what they had been longing for. It’s euphoric.

When the windows start to fog and her eyes open for a random moment, she realizes they need to cool whatever this is.

“H-Harry,” She gulps for a breath of air and she tries to get his attention. “I gotta get home.”

“Come back to my place,” he mumbles into her collarbone, happily licking over his love bite.

She laughs and swallows slowly, “That is definitely out of the question, I have a flight tomorrow.”

He removes his mouth from her and straightens up. His lips are even brighter pink than usual and perfectly puffy. His hair disheveled from her hands. She blushes at the thought.

“Right, forgot about that,” he opens the car door and they both slide out. They stand at her car, just like they usually did outside his house. However this time is quite different from most.

They sigh heavily, in unison. The winter air is cold in London. She shivers slightly and knows she can’t stay in his presence much longer.

“Merry Christmas, H.”

He leans down and places one last sweet kiss to her lips. She wrinkles her nose and smiles unabashedly.

“Merry Christmas, Darling.”

Harry and her don’t talk as much while she’s back home for the holidays. There’s no work to be discussed and while they parted on not necessarily bad terms, there was definitely a conversation that needed to be had between the two. Neither seemed to want to have that conversation over the phone, or worse, text. So for the next week and a half, Harry and Y/N exchanged texts of funny memes that reminded them of each other and odd anecdotes from family members that had made them laugh. Nothing really substantial, just small, I was thinking of you messages.

When she walked out of the luggage carousel at London Heathrow Airport, she expected to be getting in the queue for an uber. Instead, before she could cross the street to get to the queue even, a tall man stopped her. A tall, scruffy, extremely buff, extremely handsome, and extremely kissable man. Harry. It would be terribly strange if it was anyone else.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need a lift back to your flat?” His dark sunglasses cover his face and a big coat, scarf, and hat make him hardly recognizable. The curls sticking out from beneath the cute knit scarf are thankfully a dead give away for her. As well as his perfect drawling voice.

She shivered in the cold, her matching grey sweatpants and Treat People With Kindness sweatshirt had been warm enough on the flight, but proved inadequate for almost January in London. Yet, Harry’s presence brings a smile to her face.

“It’s good to see you, H.”

He laughs, his cover obviously blown. His arms encircle her body and she instantly melts into his embrace. His large coat easily fell around her and warmed her. His own natural body heat adds to her new found warmth as well.

“You too,” he murmured. His head buries into the crook of her neck, warming her cold skin.

He pulls back after a rather long embrace, realizing they’re still out on the sidewalk. He takes one step back and she visibly deflates at his absence, the cold once again surrounding her.

“Let’s get you home,” he grabs at the handle of her suitcase in one hand and her hand in the other. The warmth returns and she grins, placated by his touch.

“So are you coming to my party tonight?” He inquires once he settles into the driver’s seat after putting her suitcase in the back.

She shifts in her seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself, still cold without any warmth from Harry or the car. “Don’t you suppose there was a reason why I chose to come home today?”

Harry’s ears perk at the use of home, never assuming Y/N viewed London as her home, still it made him smile.

As the car purrs to life, heat immediately seeping out of the seats and vents, Harry’s phone connects as well. NFWMB by Hozier begins to play softly and she glances at Harry again. The song was so sultry and soft, like expensive dark chocolate melting on your tongue. The mood in the car seemed to shift. Their eyes met, Harry’s green ones narrowing at her, trying to decipher the look she was giving to him.

Then he drove off, softly singing along to the words through the sleepy streets. It was surprisingly quiet out for the holidays, people choosing to lay low during the day so they could celebrate the changing of decades in full force tonight.

After the song ends, his eyes travel over to her again and she’s already looking at him. She had missed his face. Sure, he’d sent some silly selfies while she was gone. Mostly on Christmas Eve with his family when he had gotten drunk on mulled wine and eggnog and brandy. Still, in person, he was even more beautiful. The high cheek bones that glistened with a shine most makeup could only hope to produce. Full raspberry lips with stubble growing to frame above and below. The crinkles growing on his forehead and by his eyes that showed him aging with grace. The precious few moles that had gotten lucky enough to live on his face forever. His big green eyes that were consistently bright with interest and intellect, but deep and knowing despite his loving demeanor. She loved those big green eyes, they were just so big and she didn’t understand how no one took the same interest in them as her. All of it, just sitting there beside her. Don’t even get her started on the soul that inhabited the beautiful man beside her. She never would stop spiraling then.

“What?” He asks softly, the sounds of Paul McCartney during some era fading in.

She blinks, hazily in admirance, “Nothing,” she replies.

“What?” He insists, laughing slightly, the lips she loves so much widening in excitement.

“Just missed you.”

Her voice is quiet but strong, serious. A blush creeps up his neck, taking hold of his features.

“Missed you too,” his left hand reaches across the console to take hold of her hand that resided on her thigh. He squeezes her hand softly and they both smile at each other again.

“Don’t worry, I can get my stuff upstairs. I don’t want you being out in the cold any longer than you have to. I’ll see you tonight, H!” She pushes her body across the console and places a kiss on his cheek before jumping out of the car. Harry makes a half smile, knowing he can’t change her mind. He waves to her behind the window as she travels into her building.

“See you.” He says to himself before driving back to his home to finish up preparing for tonight’s festivities. The party was going to be more intimate than the Christmas party at the restaurant. Tonight was just Harry’s family and closest friend - the band, Jeff and his family, Y/N, and a few others.

The whole night Harry and Y/N are within a foot of each other, if not on top of each other. He never leaves her side nor does she his. They are tethered to one another. The longest they’re apart is when Harry gets them refills of Champagne and Y/N journeys to the restroom. They laugh and catch up.

As the night goes on, Harry begins to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and she giggles and places her hand on his chest flirtily. Their interaction is a dance, bedroom eyes and low voices, lingering touches and suggestive lip bites.

When the countdown begins to grow closer, everyone refills their drinks and gathers in the center of Harry’s living room. They cheer and countdown to 2020. And of course, Y/N’s by Harry’s side as he begins the count. And when they get to ‘one’ and everyone’s saying “Happy New Year”, Harry and her are sharing a chaste peck to the lips that electrifies everything they had been saying to each other all night. She sighs into his mouth, but pulls away quickly, aware of their surroundings. No one particularly questions the kiss, either not paying attention or caring. Harry beams down at her and they enjoy the rest of the evening.

At around 1 am, the last of the guests stumble out of Harry’s homes and into waiting ubers and safe rides. Y/N lingers back, beginning to clean the discarded glassware and paper plates. Her and Harry are definitely tipsy, but they enjoy the cleaning work, making terrible jokes about New Year’s and commenting on what people wore tonight. When it’s relatively cleaned in the kitchen, Y/N wanders out to the living room and finds Harry reclined back on the couch.

“H,” She sticks out her foot and nudges him with her boot.

“C’mere,” he reaches out his hand to her, his coat discarded, leaving his arms bare with only a white tank top on.

She takes his hand hesitantly and is yanked on top of Harry in an instant. With a loud huff, she settles above him. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Shush,” his pointer finger goes over her lips, her eyes narrow at him, “Can you believe we’re seeing 2020?”

“Oh my god! I hate you!” She rolls her eyes at his pun and shakes herself from his hand around her waist. She stands up to walk away but he easily grasps her wrist and stops her, easily sitting himself up on the couch.

He looks at her and her annoyance, that wasn’t all too strong in the first place, dissipates. She sighs, “I should probably be heading home.”

“You should stay, it’s so late,” his hand rubbing over the skin on her wrist.

She bites her lip, contemplating the offer, he was right. “I’m really tired and we haven’t really talked, H.”

“But we-”

“Not about us. We’ve been skirting around it, flirting with each other all night, but we haven’t talked about what’s going on. I can’t stay if you expect something from me.”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. That’s not why I want you to say,” Harry says earnestly, realizing quickly what she’s saying. “I’ve never expected anything from you. An offer to stay is just an offer to stay.”

“Okay,” she finally smiles and sits down beside Harry.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom, too. If that makes you more comfortable?”

“Oh...I don’t know if we have to take it that far. Plus, you’re like a personal heater and I get cold at night.”

Harry perks up, he had been feeling resigned that maybe she wasn't on the same page as him. He wanted to be with her all the time but also didn’t want to put any pressure on her. She just made him so happy.

“Great! Let’s get to bed then.” He pops up from the couch and brings her into his arms, “You know where all my clothes are, so you can just borrow whatever you want, and then I’m sure I have extra toothbrushes…”

She giggles into his side as she watches him ramble animatedly. Sometimes he was oh so bright, so joyful and carefree. A stark contrast from the quiet confidence he often exhibited for the public.

She woke up in the warm embrace of Harry. His whole bed smelled like him, vanilla mixed with spices of tobacco and sandalwood. It was delicious and she snuggled in deeper to the soft chest she laid against, breathing in his scent deeply.

They rested there for a long time. Harry makes his awakening known with a lingering kiss to her forehead. They both sigh in contentment, radiant in each other’s arms.

“What’s the plan today?” She ponders as Harry’s fingers trace patterns over her skin. He hums in thought.

“Wanna be with you…”

She laughs and looks up at him, “Me too, but we can’t lay around all day.”

“Well, we could.” Harry insists.

She laughs again and twists in his arms, settling so she’s facing him. She bites her lip as she thinks about something, scanning his face over and over.

“I’m gonna go home and get ready for the day. Let’s just explore the city and do some 2020 shopping. Who knows, maybe fashion’s changed since the last decade,” she grins.

Harry chuckles a little and pets at her hair, “I like the sound of that. And we can talk - about us.”

“Mmhmm.”

He tilts his head forward and meets her lips once again, savoring her taste. Each kiss makes him want more. She was good.

Harry lugs in the four heavy shopping bags into her flat, as she carries the single small bag from the chocolatier he had dragged them into. He presses her to the counter when he sets down the bags and begins to kiss her face all over. She giggles and places her hands on his shoulders, giving him a kiss to the lips before pulling away.

They had talked about what they wanted, what they saw in each other and how that fit into their work relationship and the rest of their lives. Harry would have to talk to Jeff, but more so as a by the way this is what I’m doing with my life, not an ask for permission. Y/N would continue as his stylist until the end of the tour cycle, but afterwards she’d go back to freelancing. They wanted to try to date and be as normal as possible. She told him how she didn’t love the fame or the celebrities. Sure she dealt with those things for work, but when they were off duty, she wanted to be regular. She wanted to go out on dates and make dinner on weekend nights. Harry had agreed, he wanted those things too and he understood her wish to keep work and their relationship separate. However, he’d made her concede to allowing kisses during work hours. She had laughed and said it was an easy term to agree to.

It was going to be a good thing. They were both giddy with excitement, the new year, and all the new things they had bought on their relationship high.

“Oh!” She pushed Harry further away from her and hurried into her room. He laughed and looked confusedly after her. “Wait there!” She called. Harry leaned against the back of her upholstered chair.

“Close your eyes!” She says before coming back into the room. Harry’s hands go over his eyes easily as he grins blindly in her direction.

“‘M waiting…”

“Open.”

Harry’s hands slip away and his green eyes blink open. In front of him stands Y/N holding up a hand knit brown sweater vest with horizontal red, cream and blue thin stripes along with the thicker brown stripes. Harry beams, reaching his hands out to take hold of it.

“It was supposed to be a surprise for later, but I found it at this vintage place while I was home and I couldn’t wait any longer to show it to you.”

“Darling, this is gorgeous. I love it! But you shouldn’t have...”

“I thought you could wear it for Lizzo’s concert. I know you said you liked the other sweater vest, but this one is so-”

“You spoil me, seriously.” He cuts her off and laughs before pulling her back into him. Their lips collide in a searing kiss, Harry’s excitement over the new garment making him eager to show her how much he really loved it.

A small sigh escapes her lips as Harry presses into her. His tongue pushing into her mouth in a way that turns the sigh into a moan.

“Let me show you just how much I love it,” He murmurs against her lips, casting the garment onto the back of the chair he had previously been leaning on.

She smiles, eyes fluttering open and meeting his with adoration swelling in their depths. Then she allows him to back their intertwined bodies into her room.

Some apartment in New York a few months later:

“I knew it!”

“Huh?” Aidy lifts her head from the skit she was working on to look at her friend and coworker.

“That stylist...for Harry Styles,” Heidi shifts, sitting up and turning her phone to face Aidy, “She was seen out with him, getting lunch in London and then making out on a street corner. I bet they were dating back in November when he was on the show!”

Aidy laughs, thinking back to her conversation with the stylist that night of Harry’s show. The girl had been so in love that night and Harry had been smitten all week, describing her in the best way, praising her every decision, yearning for her even. And now they were actually together...she was happy for them.

“I don’t know about that...but they were head over Gucci heels for each other that’s for sure.”

Heidi and her scroll through the pictures on social media of the singer and his girlfriend.

“They probably are the best dressed couple I have ever seen,” Heidi grumbles.

“Now that is definitely accurate.”

taglist: @meredithhuntt @sovereigndeadlyperfect @marauderswhisperer @toribentleyva @girlboss99 @harryssunflxwer @loverofaccents @stephaniemalvie @mk15x @beanholland @stfxlou @loliismutt @pinkisawesome101 @stilljosiegrossie @kikisparadise18 @clementimee

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harrys stylist right?#harry styles x y/n

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saintapoptosis · 3 years

Text

Dark Entries: A Goth Music Overview

The tags on that aux cord post are really grinding my gears on this Monday evening so I’m making it my responsibility to educate people on this site as to what goth music actually is. I know this is going to get on some people’s nerves and generate some discourse because the “what is goth?” debate never seems to end, but at the end of the day I’m just some stranger on the internet who’s not even old enough to be in most goth clubs in my country. This is just my interpretation and explanation of it all for the curious.

The long and short of it is that goth is a music based subculture. there’s no requirement to being goth other than listening to the music- which seems to be what’s confusing a surprisingly high people on this site. i’m not going to judge you for calling mother mother or my chemical romance goth up until this point. the subculture is largely underground and obscure by nature. Popular legend has it that the goth scene was born in 1979 when British rock band Bauhaus released the nine-minute long single Bela Lugosi’s Dead, but if you ask me that oversimplifies how it all started and isn’t even their best classic goth song. Goth is better understood as a progression from the punk explosion of the late 70s to what came after: the aptly named post-punk genre and beyond. Goth wasn’t the only genre that came from post-punk- new wave, shoegaze, and most alternative rock as we know it did too! Post-punk (British post-punk specifically) was and continues to be a lot of things compared to punk: noisier, faster, slower, stripped-down, more “intellectual”, weirder, and more emotional than early punk rock (the early British goth scene was also heavily linked to one particular club in London called the Batcave which just makes sense). Bands like Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bauhaus, the Cure and the Sisters of Mercy also brought a dark, gloomy feel to the experimental do-it-yourself attitude of post-punk and are widely considered to be the founding gothic rock bands. Groups like Xmal Deutschland, Clan of Xymox, Sex Gang Children, Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, and Pink Turns Blue are also hugely important to understanding the sound of the early scene (as well as the look) but didn’t achieve the same mainstream success.

But to make matters more complicated, there’s more than one goth “genre” because none of this is simple and no one agrees on this stuff in the scene. The usual laundry list of “goth” genres is as follows: gothic/goth rock, post-punk (widely contested ), darkwave, ethereal wave, deathrock, coldwave, and sometimes industrial. Angela Benedict explains it well in this video. Deathrock in particular is interesting because it was basically the “American version” of goth music and subculture for a long time and is widely called “too punk for goth and too goth for punk”. Darkwave and industrial are products of the scene getting its start in the early 80s when synthesizers became commercially available. Whether or not industrial in particular counts as “goth” or not is one of the quickest ways to start a fight among goths and also because nobody seems to be able to agree on what’s “real” industrial music. Metal isn’t widely considered to be goth music proper but I have yet to meet a goth who doesn’t like at least a little bit of metal. Historically that crossover didn’t really happen until metal started getting more creative as well (after all, the 80s were the golden age of fratty hair metal and toxic masculinity and neither of those things mesh well with goth style and sensibilities).

Now that I’m done rambling about the early history of the goth scene, here’s some short answers to the inevitable goth faqs:

Isn’t goth also about aesthetic and fashion?

Yes, but they can’t be fully separated from the music and community. The music generally inspires the fashion and we really like copying the outfits, hair, and makeup of musicians. Goths don’t own in dressing in all black and there’s plenty of goths out there who don’t “dress like it” (including myself and MANY goth and post-punk musicians).

Are you all satanists/pagans/witches? Are you all kinky?

More often than the average person but it’s more a consequence of being in a counterculture community than anything else. Goth and alternative women aren’t your fetish or your future “big titty goth gf”. We just like a certain style of music and just happen to dress weirdly sometimes.

Why don’t more people know that goth is about music?

Goth music generally doesn’t sell well because so much of it is too abrasive or weird and most artists are pretty far underground. Goth musicians also had a habit of denying involvement with “the goth scene” early on and goths, punks, metalheads, and emos are generally lumped together in mainstream media. Gothic fashion is much easier to rip off and sell than the subculture itself is. You (and more likely than not) your parents have probably heard and enjoyed semi-“goth” music before if you like Depeche Mode or The Cure.

How do I get into the goth subculture?

Listen to the music. Spotify’s Dark and Gothic playlist is surprisingly good and I’m partial to this massive Spotify user-created playlist of old and new bands and this mix on Youtube with lesser-known bangers. Goth music varies widely but a fuckton of it is made to be danced to because we hang out in clubs a lot of the time. The map below isn’t quite accurate but may be able to help you find your local community be it a club or a nonprofit organization! It’s fine to be confused and it’s perfectly alright to ease into it slowly without worrying about how to dress.

Where’s Your Goth At? A Worldwide Map of Goth Clubs and Events

Why do you guys like vampires so much?

They represent the pain and suffering of the human experience in a way that humans don’t plus Anne Rice’s Interview With the Vampire came out in the 80s and Bauhaus and David Bowie were in a movie about vampires. They also just straight up look cool.

More resources:

Before Bauhaus: How Goth Became Goth - a history of the dark music that paved the way for the scene. this channel has a couple more goth history videos.

Poseurs, Elitists, and Goth - a good explanation for why listening to goth music matters as well as why being a hardass about listening to the “right” goth music sucks. also very entertaining and made by @cadaverkelly who’s posted a TON of goth music on this site and has an entire channel dedicated to the subculture.

The Music of the Goth Subculture: Postmodernism and Aesthetics - an academic paper for nerds like me to parse through that has a ton of context and analysis on the goth movement and its origins.

#goth music #80s goth #goth subculture #goth #gothic #zemmoa.txt #what prescription adderall does to a mfer #long post #bauhaus #the cure #joy division #post-punk #siouxsie and the banshees #new wave #music history #punk

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uno-writing · 2 years

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🥨 I keep almost forgetting to be anon, still too shy to not be anon even though I literally have nothing on my blog, smh. (I swear, I’m not shy irl I’m actually really outgoing but for some reason I’m shy on the internet. That’s so backwards wth)

ok so, main cast and their middle school stories? Not necessarily crazy stories, just noteworthy in some way.

example: In like, 7th grade I was in chorus drawing on my folder. My teacher told me to stop drawing and I pretended to but kept being sneaky and drawing. I was in the front row so she noticed, and took away my pencil. Bad choice. I took out another pencil when she wasn’t looking and kept drawing. She took that pencil away. I took out another pencil. The teacher noticed again and at that point my classmates were all saying “How many pencils do you have!?”, to wich I responded by opening my lunchbox to reveal literally hundreds of pencils. Actually I think it was a little under 200 but I had a lot.

I also had an incident play-fighting with my friend and at some point they went unga-bunga hulk mode/unbridled rage and slammed my head into the pavement. (I was mad for awhile but they apologized a lot lol) Don’t worry I only got a minor concussion :)

also if u have any fun middle school stories I’d be interested to hear them

-Pretzel Anon 🥨

OMFG THE PENCIL STORY HAD ME DYING FOR LIKE 5 MINUTES! That’s like comedy gold, my dude. And the phrase ‘unga-bunga hulk mode’ killed me as well

My memory’s complete garbage so this middle school story is the only one that popped up in my brain. It isn’t as funny as yours but here we go😅 To give context I was a very shy kid in middle school. Very reserved, very socially anxious (i mean i still am but I’ve gotten better since middle school). I had like 2 friends, they weren’t good friends to me but I completely idolized them since they were the only people I could talk to.

So basically we were in the gym for some multigrade hang out type thing where the whole school just went to hang in the gym and there was this one chick that came over and was kind of being bitchy to one of my friends and she kept like trying to kick one of their shins. The entire time I’m like sitting there, being anxious and trying to build up my confidence to stand up for my friend but I can’t bc I hate confrontation. So the chick finally leaves and as she gets to the bottom of the bleachers I notice a volleyball next to my foot. Without thinking, I use all of that built up confidence to stand up, grab the ball and just completely chuck it at her. Also for context, I’m usually really bad at aiming. Not this time. That sucker hit her square on the back of her head. I feel immediate shock, panic and regret (bc if I had actually thought about it for literally half a second I wouldn’t have done it) so I yell out a very genuine sounding ‘I’m sorry!’ which was really funny to me bc I just completely yeeted the thing with all of my force, her head flew so far forwards that her chin kinda hit the top of her chest and I just sounded so genuine with my apology.🍿🥤🍭🍬🍫🧋🥨🥬🍦🍧🧊🐇🍩🥖📦🌻

Seraphina: There was a kid that had a major crush on her and he kept leaving her love notes in her locker as a secret admirer and she didn’t really care. His final one asked her to meet him after school and when she goes to meet them just bc she’s curious but as soon as she saw him she just left bc she didn’t like him. He was so broken hearted and she kinda felt a lil bad bc she didn’t mean to be that heartless but still.

John: He went to the grocery store with his dad and they’re walking around and John sees this really delicious looking chocolate bar and he really wants it but he doesn’t want to ask bc then there’s a possibility of his dad saying no. So John goes and stuffs the chocolate bar into the waistband of his shorts. At first he thought to do the pockets but he has loose pockets so he doesn’t want to risk the chocolate bar falling out. However…he didn’t think about how much longer his dad would be in the store. So they’re in the store for about an hour longer. By the time they get home and John rushes to his room bc he really wants his chocolate bar, it’s melted bc it’s been pressed against his body for an hour and all of the nuts inside of it just sank to the bottom.

Arlo: He made up his mind that he wanted earrings and even though his parents had told him no, he was determined. So he went to the store, bought a pair of earrings and just shoved them through his ear lobes. Obviously it gets super infected and he has to go to the doctor. But afterwards his parents get his ears pierced so he doesn’t do dumb crap like that again. They were more shocked than they were upset just bc he’s usually such a people pleaser so it shocked them that he went against their orders this badly. Remi: Remi and Rei got into a play fight and Remi was convinced she could kick his ass. She was proven wrong so quickly bc this was before she was able to ground other people’s lightning. So she got really badly shocked, like so badly that she flew back several feet. Her hair put Albert Einstein's to shame.

Blyke: He was practicing with his energy beams so he had his sibling toss rocks straight up in the air for him to shoot at. He’s pretty good at hitting them, but he does miss a few times. The last time he missed, he heard the signature little-kid-in-pain squeak before the kid starts screaming. The kid was mostly fine, it was just a grazed hit but Blyke felt so bad .

Isen: Isen’s middle school friends convinced him to try and steal the teacher’s stapler for a prank. He thought it’d be easy enough to do, it was one of the little tiny staplers after all. So he goes in the classroom while the teacher’s out on lunch and he goes and grabs the stapler. But before he can move out from behind their desk, they come back bc they forgot their drink and Isen panics and shoves the stapler in his mouth. The teacher comes in and asks what he’s doing in there and he starts to answer but remembers he’s got a stapler in his mouth. And then he accidentally swallows and the stapler gets stuck in the top of his throat. So he starts choking and the teacher runs over to help him and he coughs the stapler onto the floor. The teacher just stares at the stapler on the floor in silence and then asks “...isen…why did you have my stapler in your mouth?”

#unordinary #unordinary seraphina #unordinary john #unordinary arlo #unordinary remi #unordinary blyke #unordinary isen #unordinary headcanon #berriwords #pretzelanon

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new-sandrafilter · 4 years

Video

The Making (and Re-Making) of Timothée Chalamet

BY DANIEL RILEY / PHOTOGRAPHY BY RENELL MEDRANO

He found superstardom and artistic acclaim instantaneously. Now, with unique candor, the actor of a generation reveals what it’s like to come of age in our very upside-down era.

The day after the Oscars in 2018, everything that had changed, changed back again. Timothée Chalamet had spent the previous months becoming known. He had acted in a film, Call Me by Your Name, which was critically acclaimed as well as an instant object of cultish admiration—and his performance had made him, at 22, the youngest person nominated for best actor in 80 years. He had, simultaneously, been transformed into the rarest of pop confections—fawned over by younger women, older men, and every demographic in between. And he had traveled without pause on the awards circuit since early autumn, back and forth from New York and Los Angeles, practically living out of the first-class lounge and the lobbies of the Bowery Hotel and the Sunset Tower.

But the day after the Oscars, the moment the clock struck midnight and his carriage turned into a pumpkin, Chalamet was right back where he'd been before the whole fantasy had begun: in New York, with no credit card, no apartment, and no longer any structured demands on his time and attention. Outsiders who had witnessed the arrival may have regarded this 22-year-old as being in possession of wealth and clout, but he was suddenly back on his own dime, which amounted to maybe five or six dimes, reticent to stay with family and friends whose lives he felt he was disrupting with all his new baggage. Of course they couldn't possibly comprehend the chemical reaction that had just transpired. They were still hydrogen and oxygen, and Timothée Chalamet was all of a sudden water.

And so, for three weeks, he disappeared into the wallpaper of the Lower East Side. Specifically, the wallpaper of a little apartment that the French street artist JR kept for visiting collaborators. Chalamet holed up against the ugly New York weather of late winter, and did the only thing he could think to do: learn lines. The King would be his first film since his pivot into fame, and he was anxious to get back to acting after such a long stretch of merely talking about acting. Even more, he needed to blot out the unrecognizable icon the internet was already beginning to make of Timothée Chalamet.

I met Timothée for the first time at the onset of that initial blush of fame, when all of us were being introduced to an actor who had both rare talent and the un-engineerable it that chings like an audible sparkle off a jewel in a cartoon. I wrote a story for this magazine about that first chapter in the arrival of a film star. This is the second chapter, the story of what's happened since. It wasn't evident yet, but those three weeks in New York in 2018 were the starting line of what would amount to a 30-month stretch of four new films, two new Oscar campaigns, some refreshing romance, an incessant awareness of the confusing image of himself as—what else to call it?—an emerging global movie star, and a constant concerted effort to figure himself out as both a young actor and a young person in the unceasing spotlight.

This summer, we were talking about all this on a little screened porch out back of a modest cabin in Woodstock when Chalamet recalled those three weeks. “My world had flipped,” he said. “But if I kicked it with my friends, things could still feel the same. I was trying to marry these two realities. But I don't even think I knew that was what I was doing. That dissonance was real. And thank God. Because I feel like if I'd caught up to it immediately, I would've been a psychopath or something.”

Out on that porch, I asked him a version of the same question over and over: What had the last two and a half years been like for him, as a human being? His response was a multi-hour monologue that I would characterize as: intense. He expressed unadulterated gratitude for his great good fortune. But he also expressed confusion and tension. He is firmly in a moment when he is concerned that everything he says or does or thinks will look or sound wrong. He backtracked a lot (“Wait, let me try that again”). He jumped on and off the record (“Sorry, sorry, sorry, this is just for you…”). It was important for me to know, he said, in order to communicate the context of his experience, if not the specifics.

“I want to get back to the undefined space again. I'm chasing a feeling.”

He lives in the same world all of us do—only with the potential for adoration and blowback turned up to 11. He seems, at once, to trust his own instincts while also second-guessing most thoughts the moment he's convinced of them. It is an exhausting way to be. At times, when he was up on his feet, in his T-shirt and shorts, pacing around the little screened porch, hands tugging at his mane, I could feel the gears grinding to the point of smoke. He wanted so desperately to get this right, to express what he really meant, to feel the right feelings, to live the right way, to be the right kind of man for the people in his life that he knows he can and should be, despite everything else, despite the noise. He's doing his best.

Timothée had rented the house for the month of July, as a little escape but also as an opportunity. He was slated to play Bob Dylan in a new biopic. No telling when it might film, given everything, but for now he had more time to himself than he'd had in years, which meant time to maybe huff the vapors of some Woodstock Dylanalia. “It's not like I'm suffering from lack of connection otherwise,” he said, “but it just really feels like I'm connecting to something here.” When he arrived, he discovered that his little house had a wall devoted to Dylan—to the albums he'd recorded in the run-up to his timeout in Woodstock in the late '60s. Timothée relished happening upon that wall his first day in the Airbnb. The universe offered signs if you nudged it toward coherence.

He knew what the cabin might seem like—like some young actor taking himself way too seriously, “treating himself like an artist.” But he was back and forth between Woodstock and New York all month, bombing up and down the interstate in the Honda sedan he'd rented from Enterprise. (He learned how to drive on Beautiful Boy.) All the while Dylan was top of mind. Timothée was late to the party but helplessly obsessed. He quoted him generously. He fixated on both the art and the persona. He marveled at the way the artist could be out there so much, making such an impact, while also keeping the real person obscured behind the music, the characters in the songs, the language. In the city, we spent time walking around Greenwich Village, Timothée in an identity-concealing face mask and bucket hat and sunglasses, able to search out old Dylan addresses in an invisibility cloak. He ran from site to site, with notes he'd kept while reading Dylan's memoir, Chronicles: Volume One, barreling up stairs and peering into windows. He was a 24-year-old actor, taking advantage of the pause between the second phase of his career and the third and thinking hard, daily, about how to play the next few years.

He rented the house in Woodstock, too, so that he could have a little space all to himself. He craved the privacy to try things and to fuck up. To make small mistakes now, out of view, when it was just him, when he was still young, so that he didn't have to worry about it later. At one point, he stood up and slapped an empty water bottle off the table so that it clattered against the screen of the porch. “I want to know what that sounds like!” he shouted. He hadn't taken many missteps yet, and it made him uncomfortable, wary, that he would someday. The month felt like a controlled burn. In the most innocent way, that was what Woodstock was about. He got to practice his guitar and harmonica in peace, cook himself his “shitty pasta” without judgment, permit himself space to keep growing up. So much was in the spotlight now. But in that cabin, he could sit on the couch for a while and re-familiarize himself with “the crease in the cushion” that he'd lost touch with over the past few years. The quiet. The stillness. That sunlight there coming through the trees. He could breathe a little. Sleep a little. It had all been so good for him so far. But the goodness made him anxious. When will the other shoe drop? Not there. He'd deleted Instagram off his phone. He'd stopped posting on Twitter. He was reading again. Listening to albums all the way through. Slowing down. What was it like to have lived these past two and a half years? It was like a lot of things, but here at the end of it, it just felt good to sleep.

Back at the start of the 30-month run that led to Woodstock, Timothée turned over the keys to JR's studio and went to Europe to shoot The King. The role was like none of the films he'd just received notice for. “Here I am on set with all these Hungarian men with scars on their faces, and they're like, ‘You're the center of the shot, you're the badass! And we know you tried to put on all this weight, but like: You're wearing all the chain mail.’ If they took the chain mail off, my throat is still this big…” There he was trying to keep in perspective this new fame, this new validation, this new temptation toward ego, all while being thrust into the center of “something called The motherfucking King.”

When he returned to New York that summer, he skipped off the atmosphere again with another awkward reentry. One moment he was on the battlefield of the biggest-budget drama he'd yet experienced, the next he was “back in New York, on the A/C/E at Port Authority, just like, What the fuck is going on?” It was a pattern over the past few years. The calmly intense immersion into work, the “thud of lost purpose,” as he called it, when the work ended. It happened the same way in the fall of 2018 with Little Women—reunited with Greta Gerwig and Saoirse Ronan and the crew from Lady Bird. There was just an ease with which he plugged in with them, “a vocabulary of friendship” that existed there.

Timothée's career thus far has been filled with these sorts of friendships, notably those across generational lines. Even a casual observer may have picked up on it. Those glommings-on to older people in his life. Armie Hammer. Kid Cudi. Greta Gerwig. When I asked Gerwig to comment on the arc she's witnessed up close, from Lady Bird to Little Women, she wrote a note about “my friend Timmy”: “It's hard for me now, because I'm his friend, to see him strategically.… I love talking to him. We can get on the phone and talk for an hour or more without even realizing it, just skipping from subject to subject, making jokes, me feeling old and happy and him being funny and anxious and delightfully all over the place.” It's an odd gap he finds himself in—forced to be more accelerated than most 24-year-olds while also having not lived enough life yet to fit in absolutely with the people he enjoys spending time with most. On a recent visit with his grandmother in New York, she surprised him by saying, “I wish you would hang out with people your own age more often. It must be so weird.” It made him chuckle. Even she'd noticed. She might be right. But how could he resist the orbit of these creative geniuses he'd so long admired and who were filled with so much knowingness?

“I'm confident in the way I'm trying to approach things now, how I'm setting up the angles.”

In the winter of 2019, another Oscar campaign left him feeling disoriented all over again. Everything, Timothée said, was exactly the same as the first time except him. He'd put in this undeniable performance, but maybe one that sparked a little less for Oscar voters than that first kiss with a stranger. Now he was in all the same rooms as before, the same lunches and dinners and cocktail parties, shaking hands with the same Academy members who showed up at everything to get a little nibble of the freshest biscuit, growling ominous things at him, like: You don't have my vote yet.… “I really don't know how to talk about this stuff, man,” he told me, “because my experience of it is at the center of it. There's just some dark energy at these things, and this time around I felt like I could see it. And yet I'm thinking, Why isn't this going the exact same way?”

He wasn't nominated for Beautiful Boy, but the fresh air came, as it always seemed to, on the set of the next film: Wes Anderson's The French Dispatch. The movie is about a fictional English-language magazine (based on The New Yorker of the midcentury) and is structurally organized like the magazine itself, featuring short pieces at the “front” of the movie and a triptych of long features at the back. Timothée costars in the second feature, about a May '68-style student-protest leader named Zeffirelli and the middle-aged magazine journalist (Frances McDormand) assigned to report on his cause.

“I had seen Timmy in Lady Bird and Call Me by Your Name,” Anderson wrote to me, “and I never had the inconvenience of ever thinking of anybody else for this role even for a second. I knew he was exactly right, and plus: He speaks French and looks like he might actually have walked right out of an Éric Rohmer movie. Some time around 1985. A slow train from Paris, a backpack, a beach for 10 days in bad weather. He's not any kind of type—but the New Wave would have had a happy place for him.”

The privilege of early fame that Timothée most appreciates is the ability to choose the directors he works with. His role in The French Dispatch is a minor one, but it's a Wes Anderson movie—it's as simple as that. Due to the episodic nature of the film, some of the other “stories” were already being shot when Timothée arrived in Angoulême, a town that reminded him of the one he spent time in growing up, “so French it was like a caricature,” he said. Timothée had the opportunity, then, to hang with some of the elders he doesn't act with, like Jeffrey Wright, Bill Murray, and other seasoned members of the Wes Anderson troupe. “It was immediately as if it wasn't his first time with our group,” Anderson explained. “He was somehow already part of the family. The youngest member.”

Timothée had seen McDormand around for years, but he'd never felt like she was someone he could approach. “We'd shared an agent,” he said. “And it was no disrespect to me, but I hadn't been in any movies yet. What business do I have talking to Frances McDormand? But now, and this is the gift of acting, I really feel myself coming into my own as a community of thespians, as opposed to actors. And man, that sounds pretentious, but I just mean it's not about the fucked-up ladder of success and un-success, and being the guy or the girl, and then being off the list… That's not what I'm talking about with her on set, that's not what she's espousing to me. She's talking about a long career. She's talking about marriage with a creative partner and consultant. So to be able to have conversations like that and then a story line in the movie where they're kind of on an equal field? Even if she's an experienced, wise woman and he's an idealistic, naive boy? That's the exact relationship of exchange I want with my intergenerational peers.”

There's a particularly memorable scene in The French Dispatch, reporter and subject having fallen into bed together, when there's a knock at the door. Timothée looks at McDormand, anxious about who's there, mortified when McDormand informs him it's his mother. There, in that scene, we see all the desire of Zeffirelli—this energetic young man with all the right intentions, who strains to be intellectually and emotionally riper—clash with the reality of his age. It felt familiar to me, and no doubt to Timothée. It was some of my favorite acting in the film. I asked McDormand if there was anything in their scenes that struck her as particularly mature for someone his age. “Maturity is not something a fellow actor is the most concerned with,” she said. “Playfulness, discipline, and rigor. I do recall, during our scene in bed, the crew responding to his work with true respect for his focus. He was bringing it and we sat up and paid attention.” Anderson added: “I think my favorite moments with Timmy during a scene were the ones where I saw him pause and find a new attack. A new angle, which he does very clearly and assertively. What I love is how he will surprise you with something new, completely unexpected and perfect.”

One night, while McDormand was shooting a scene without Timothée, her husband, Joel Coen—he of the Brothers—asked Timothée if he wanted to go out for a steak. Over dinner, Timothée grilled Coen about Dylan. He knew Coen was a fan and had steeped in it on Inside Llewyn Davis. “He almost seemed weary of even talking about this stuff, it was so big and potent,” Timothée told me. But Coen noted that the truly incredible thing about Dylan was not so much the quality, which was obvious, but the quantity—the rapid amount of work in short succession, one groundbreaking album after another, in those early years. That takeaway resonated deeply with Timothée. Especially as he reflected on it from summer 2020, during the pause, during the moment of no work. That gush from Dylan made him want to work—harder, longer, better, more.

A week after our conversation in Woodstock, Timothée and I were in New York City, sitting on a bench along the Hudson, talking about what he's looking for when work resumes. “I want to get back to the undefined space again,” he said. “I'm chasing a feeling. When you think you're doing some great thing, it's probably something you've done before, and when you really fucking have no clue, that's when you're doing something on the edge, good or bad.”

Timothée's mask had slipped down his face as he was saying this, and two young women, about his age, approached cautiously. “Would you mind if we got a…,” they asked, and he hopped up without hesitation. “How'd you recognize me?” he said, friendly, but genuinely curious, as if he hadn't just been shouting about art in a voice that sounded a lot like Laurie from Little Women or Timmy from late-night shows.

“Was it the scrawny limbs or the hair?” I asked him as he sat back down.

“Definitely the first.”

From France, last spring, it was straight to Hungary—right back to the exact apartment in Budapest he'd stayed in while shooting The King—to start work on Dune. Very few actors had become as famous without a blockbuster. And while he'd really gotten it down how to act on an indie set, how to make every second and every take count, he knew this would be something altogether different. It wasn't just the shoot that would prove taxing. A film of Dune's scale would likely be the can opener to a whole other stratum of Hollywood prominence.

Director Denis Villeneuve told me Timothée was his “first and only choice” to play Paul Atreides, “the one name on the page.” When they met to discuss the prospect, Villeneuve told Timothée how happy he was to finally meet the young actor. And Timothée had to remind him that they'd met before, when Timothée read for Villeneuve's Prisoners. “ ‘Of course!’ ” Villeneuve remembered. “He did a great audition, but he didn't physically fit the part. He was probably swearing at me because I didn't take him.” Timothée was party to so many stories like that one—glancing interactions with these heroes of his before he'd broken through. It reminded me of the relationship between freshmen and seniors in high school. The freshmen remember everything about the seniors; the seniors hardly notice the freshmen. But we all become peers eventually.

“I felt there was one being on this planet right now that would be able to portray Paul Atreides,” Villeneuve said—referring to the hero of the 1965 Frank Herbert novel, who transforms from an unassuming heir into a messiah figure, a charismatic outsider and commander of men and women (and sandworms). I read Dune for the first time this summer and was shocked by the source material, how much I'd consumed in culture that had borrowed from it. Star Wars. Alien. The Matrix. Game of Thrones. Paul, therefore, is a type we're familiar with but also possessing singular characteristics Villeneuve wanted Timothée for: “He has a deep, deep intelligence in the eyes. Something you cannot fake. The kid is brilliant. Very intellectual, very strong. And you see that in the eyes. He also has a very old soul. You feel that he has already lived through several lives. And at the same time, he looks so young on camera. Sometimes he'd look almost 14 years old. He has this kind of general youth in his features and the contrast with the old-soul quality in his eyes—it's a kid that knows more about life than his age. Finally: He has that beautiful charisma, the charisma of a rock star. That Paul will lead the whole population of a planet later. Timothée has that kind of instant charisma onscreen that you can find only sometimes in the Old Hollywood stars from the '20s. There's something of a romantic beauty to him. A cross of aristocracy and being a bum at the same time. I mean, Timothée is Paul Atreides for me. It was a big relief that he agreed, because I had no plan b.”

“If I get hit by a truck next week, I'm looking at 20 to 23, I don't know if you can top that.”

I asked Villeneuve if he noticed Timothée struggling at all to adjust to the larger-scale production. “It didn't show when he was on set, but I think for him the big thing was to learn how to create his own bubble on set. So that he would not have to try to be the friend of everyone. When you're on a smaller set, when there's 25 people, you can be friendly with 25 people. When there's 800 people around, you cannot be friends with 800 people.” He chuckled. “It's too much. So how to save your energy, how to focus, how to give himself permission to be in his bubble and make sure that his bubble is respected.”

As ever, Timothée had a special affinity with those people on set who were a little older, a little wiser. Villeneuve said Timothée was constantly speaking with him and his wife in this open, vulnerable way about his concerns, his fears, how to deal with certain pressures. Villeneuve also described for me Timothée's relationships with his fellow actors, particularly the trio of Josh Brolin, Oscar Isaac, and Jason Momoa. “I felt like Timothée was deeply seduced—or maybe not seduced, but I just felt it was like a kid being with older brothers,” Villeneuve said. “He was younger, he was the little one on set, and everybody loved him. There's a scene in the movie where Timothée runs into the arms of Jason Momoa, and Jason grabs him like a puppy and lifts him into the air like he was a feather. And that's real! They really loved each other. It was very beautiful to see this young man being influenced by these people he admires.”

“His positive energy is infectious,” Zendaya, his nearest peer in the film, told me. “He really is so much fun to be around. We have very similar humor, and we can keep a joke going for a long time, but when the cameras start rolling and it's time to work, you can see it's game time, and he just taps into this brilliant intensity. It's awesome to witness.” Villeneuve underlined the energy as well, describing for me just having seen Timothée the night before we spoke, and marveling at “that beautiful, strong candor.”

“I will say that looking at Timothée working, I had a deep feeling that I was watching the birth of something,” Villeneuve added. “Not that it's for me—I say that with humility, because I feel that birth in all the movies he's done so far. I'm feeling it's someone that has insane potential. When I say potential, I don't want to reduce what he's doing right now, not at all. It's just that sometimes you are in front of somebody and you have the feeling you are in contact with a strong artist and that artist, his identity is still growing, building itself, learning its boundaries, learning how to protect some part of it. I think that we are witnessing something beautiful right now.”

At the end of summer 2019, Timothée finally resurfaced from Planet Dune. He had been on social media only sporadically while shooting for most of 2019, and so, for his vast base of fans, it was an overdue glimpse of the object of their affection. First up was the Venice Film Festival and the premiere of The King. There were clothes and Kid Cudi cameos and charming red-carpet interviews. It was an example of the sort of stretch, in the gaps between shoots, when Timothée could indulge his passions for hip-hop and fashion and all these things he'd loved all his life that were suddenly accessible. It was another of the delirious disorientations of the past few years—the way that people who were once subjects of his intense fandom were suddenly a part of his life as friends or acquaintances happy to have him around. He might still embarrass himself at times, helplessly rapping back lyrics to his hip-hop heroes or gushing like a broken dam about new music or clothes or art made by the makers in his life, but they were cool with him so long as he actually kept his cool.

Timothée also spent the end of last summer promoting The King, alongside his costar Lily-Rose Depp, whom he'd been dating for about a year. He is serious about keeping his former relationship with Depp to himself, but he did share one very sweet, very funny, very sad anecdote that encapsulates the spectrum of great and terrible that accompanies the private life of someone new to mega-fame like Timothée.

After Venice, he and Lily-Rose took a few days for themselves in Capri, where they were photographed by paparazzi. One image, in particular, circulated in which they were making out on the deck of a boat. Timothée is contorting himself into the kiss and looks a little awkward. Many people had their laughs. And some even suggested that the photo was staged for publicity. “I went to bed that night thinking that was one of the best days of my life,” Timothée told me. “I was on this boat all day with someone I really loved, and closing my eyes, I was like, indisputably, ‘That was great.’ And then waking up to all these pictures, and feeling embarrassed, and looking like a real nob? All pale? And then people are like: This is a P.R. stunt. A P.R. stunt?! Do you think I'd want to look like that in front of all of you?!”

This was how things worked now. He'd disappeared into those four straight films and emerged into a new paradigm—one that followed him into the holiday season of last year and a whole new level of exposure with Little Women. Here was this film about sisterhood, female intimacy, and a feminist critique of art and commerce. And yet Timothée was still the shiniest object in the set for so many fans. “I'm very used to answering questions about Timothée's hair from 15-year-old girls,” Saoirse Ronan joked with me. “I imagine that's probably what you're going to ask me about?”

Ronan has the unique perspective of having filmed and then promoted two movies with Chalamet during the past three years, and has as clear an eye as anyone onto this early phase of his career. “He's had such incredible opportunities, and he doesn't let the reality of that pass him by,” she said. “He's incredibly gracious and grateful in relation to his work and the people he works with. I think he's become more open as an actor. He knows his instrument more. I think he works even harder now because there are projects that are on his shoulders in a way that they weren't before. And of course he's been totally catapulted into this whole other realm of attention and notoriety. So he's also having to balance the incredible fame and attention, which would completely freak me out if it was something I had to go through.”

“I've realized that as much as these heroes of mine mean to me, and as grateful as I am when they offer me advice, even they acknowledge it's just a different thing now.”

When Timothée and I were sitting by the Hudson that afternoon back in summer, there were those two young women who approached him for a photo. But there were also two other young women who caught an eyeful of his profile as they strolled by and then surreptitiously positioned themselves out of his sight line but still in mine. They did that thing where one pretends to take a picture of the other while actually shooting back over her shoulder in selfie mode. That charade went on for five minutes or so while Timothée exercised his guts about reuniting with Gerwig and Ronan on Little Women, and though I was nodding along, I was also marveling at the lengths to which those two fans were willing to go to get a picture of him.

I asked Ronan what she's noticed about that level of attention, sitting beside him for so much of it. “I'm always kind of shocked by those things—when any one person can just completely take over people's lives so much,” she said, laughing a little incredulously. “But I'm also not surprised. There just aren't many other young male actors out there like him, who are able to hold an audience in the way that he does. His look is so magnetic and beautiful. One of the things that we spoke about a lot when we were doing Little Women, in terms of our characters, but also in terms of myself and him as people, is that we both have this masculinity and femininity equally. And I think that that's one of his strengths, is that he can be incredibly sort of feminine and sensitive and sensual, and also he's a guy that, you know, girls fancy. So he covers so much ground in terms of popularity. But at the end of the day, he's always gonna have this skill. He can be cute, but that only gets you so far.… And so I've seen him learn how to separate himself from all that other stuff when he's on set, when he's working.”

In Woodstock, Timothée had described to me with greatest admiration the way that Ronan can act in these films, at this highest level of acclaim and attention, but also remove herself, uncomplicatedly, from all the fuss: “She is like a superhero when it comes to this sort of thing, going through it so healthy—with the asterisk being excellent work across the board and four Oscar nominations. I think her, like, DNA of self is really morally right.” She knows herself extremely well, he said, and has the confidence to give up only so much of herself. Whereas he feels he is calibrating constantly how much of his true self to reveal. “Saoirse's one of my best friends in the world—at least I think we're best friends. And she's never judged me for…the Coachella of it all.” That is, the part of him that can't resist fanning out backstage with his favorite musicians or occasionally allowing himself to be in the spotlight even as he talks about preserving his privacy.

“He's 24, and he's gonna have a great time, and I would never judge him. I've been to Coachella; I just never got photographed at Coachella,” Ronan said, chuckling. “But yeah, we talk about that sort of stuff all the time. We've weirdly gone through this together for the last few years. We've both become more accessible. But he's had one sort of attention—I do feel like boys get it on a whole other level. I know that ultimately what he wants is to be good at his job. And that will always steer him on the right path. I've always let him know, and he's always let me know, we can talk to each other, and we do. He has good people around him, and I'm one of them, and Greta as well—we all kind of look out for one another.”

Timothée spent late May and early June asking questions of himself: What can I do? What is my role in all this? He felt conflicted when he sprang to action and conflicted when he stood still. But never did things feel less uncertain, less self-conscious, than when he was marching, anonymously, alongside hundreds or thousands of others in Los Angeles in the wake of the murder of George Floyd. It was an active way to participate—meaningful action, without being showy, without flexing any of the levers of fame or power. He was going to get hit no matter what he did, so he tried to follow his instincts of what felt humble, responsible, right.

“This idea,” he said, “that power is the mass body politic organized—and how many bodies can you get together—that makes sense to me.” He didn't disappear but, rather, stripped himself of his him-ness and became one body, among many, taking up space and participating in an unequivocal statement. “With a mask, a hood, a hat, glasses—my face is deleted,” he explained, “and I'm literally presenting a physical form, you know?” A single body in space that, like a vote cast in an election, is democracy embodied, but anonymous. The same unit of power as anyone else. “People might find it disingenuous, but I found it really grounding,” he said. “It was Oh shit, I don't feel out of place—and yet I haven't been in a crowd like this for years.”

He spent much of the summer talking with others about how a person should be in a cultural and political moment such as this one. “After a day of protests,” he said, “I'd ask friends if they ‘felt good.’ If we do, is it a good thing to feel good, or does that mean we're doing it for the wrong reasons? How much do I want to put on social media? Is it a virtue signal to put it on social media? But all social media is performative, right?” I heard him ask dozens of self-interrogating questions like these. He cares so genuinely about doing the right thing, about doing well by his family, his friends, and his fans. But he didn't want to misuse his privilege or his platform, to overreach so that the gravity of his fame sucked up anything from anyone else whose moment it was to speak. He didn't want to take up room; he wanted to help center other voices. On Instagram, he posted videos each day during the first week of marches in Los Angeles—no directives into camera, just an implicit charge to his followers: Show up. Listen. Be a body.

“I have so many thoughts on so much of it,” he said, “but I don't see the benefit of putting it down for consumption until I've really worked out exactly how I feel about it all. Who benefits from my half-baked ideas?” Who cannot relate to this in 2020? Who would want any of their dinnertime conversations with family and friends these past months chiseled into the stone of the internet? “I care so much about this stuff. But I would never want my caring to be misconstrued. I don't want my caring to be about me in any way.”

God, this stuff twisted him up. He knows how much has gone his way. But from the summit of good fortune and power, is it better to speak constantly—or to shut up, put on the glasses, pull down the hood, and live and act according to one's convictions as one individual among many individuals? To march. To vote. To speak through action rather than words. Staying in motion, showing up, being a body—it's a good place to start while he works out the rest of how he's meant to live a life true to his values with everyone watching.

He's seeking out the right path, the right people—with help from his “intergenerational peers” and Dylan and anyone else he can find. He wants the benefit of their knowledge and experience, and he's okay if it's slow going to accrue it. He's open to playing the role of the novice still. But there have also been things in his life these past of couple years that have made him realize, as he puts it, “adults are just kids a little bit older.” When he returned to New York from Los Angeles this summer, it wasn't to his childhood apartment or to a borrowed living space of an acquaintance. It was to his very own apartment, his first, in a little wedge of Manhattan he loved for being nowhere, but on the edge of several somewheres. He relished the mundanity of setting up his own place. To hear him talk about a first trip to CB2 was like hearing another person talk about their first trip to a movie set. “But I think if people saw what my apartment looked like, they'd be like, ‘Oh! This kid has no fucking clue what he's doing.’ ” He is so young and he is so old. It is his gift. He is so patient when he can suppress being so restless. So careful with the long arc of a career when he can resist obsessing over the instant. He is so confident when he centers on the work and so searching when he gets sucked down into questions about the rest of his life. Will he always be this way? This pliable and open? This self-reflective and intentional? He trusted so little of his new life, but he trusted his talent. That was the key. He knew he was as good as anyone at playing other people, even if he was still figuring out how to play himself.

We spent a good amount of time in Woodstock and in New York City and on the phone talking about where his career might take him from here. With great humility, he acknowledges his skill. But he has been thinking a lot about the difference between preternatural talent and mastery—the work that's required to ascend from that floor of young greatness to the ceiling of realized potential. That said, he's wise enough to know that his career could pivot in an entirely different direction—that the world could change or the opportunities could dry up or “eventually there's gonna be an Oscar Isaac in his 30s who's gonna bust out of Juilliard who's gonna be the next great actor and make me feel like a piece of shit. But right now…”

He told me, “If I get hit by a truck next week, I'm looking at 20 to 23, I don't know if you can top that.” To show up with Call Me by Your Name—he knows that that film was a unicorn, the sort an actor works his whole life to find. And the immediate Oscar nomination had freed him up to not spend the rest of his career chasing a certain kind of role that might lead to a certain kind of validation. “I'm not gonna be bashing my head against a wall trying to prove that I'm an actor,” he said. “The train can run over my leg and leave a track forever, and yet the point of entry for me…,” he said, trailing. “That's a good feeling.”

He looks at all these careers—all the careers you might expect: DiCaprio, Bale, Phoenix, Depp. And he does his best to separate the strands of each of their careers that might still apply to his. But all of the rules for acting success that those performers played by, for how to be in the public eye, for career arcs and longevity—those rules are irrelevant now. Hollywood is different, the media is different, fans are different, movies are different, the world is different. “I've realized that as much as these heroes of mine mean to me, and as grateful as I am when they offer me advice, even they acknowledge it's just a different thing now.”

And so it's occurring to him that the next few years will be Timothée finding the path that's right for him. Lately, he's thought about this next phase as shining a flashlight into the dark. There are potential projects that excite him considerably, some of which he's had a greater hand in engineering. There is, of course, the Dylan movie. But there's the question of how to spend the rest of the year, when most Hollywood productions are still paused. “The rest of the year,” he says, “I'm just thinking about Trump, man.” But after that…maybe Europe for a while? The Woodstock experiment did what he'd hoped it would—a little space, somewhere else. He would love to just breathe some different air again.

He was at another pivot point, as he had been when he and I were first together for Chapter 1. In the winter of 2018, the work had been validated, the public profile had developed suddenly. But the temptations, the confusion, the money—those were all lagging indicators. By mid-2020, all had caught up. And the money, in particular, was on his mind one afternoon in New York. We were talking about how a person might stay true to one's roots with that sort of thing when the reality, for him at least, had changed with Dune. I told him that one of the things that seemed to differentiate him from young stars of the past, and perhaps was a feature of his generation, was the way that material possessions didn't consume him. He didn't buy much stuff. He didn't own a car or a house. He liked borrowing clothes, but not necessarily keeping them. He agreed with the characterization, but then got immediately twisted up about a potential future hypocrisy: “But Dan, what if I do grow to like fancy shit?!”

Boomeranging back home after the surreal adventures out in the world—that was a good and grounding thing for him. Over the weeks we were talking, he spent time with his folks, delivered some COVID groceries to his grandma, and was in touch with his sister daily. And in New York, he and I kept running into ghosts. One afternoon, when we crossed the West Side Highway at Houston Street, he gestured at the athletic complex at Pier 40, where he played soccer growing up. He scampered over to a vending machine there to grab a bottle of water. When he pulled open his wallet to pay, he had only twenties. “Bad metaphor! Bad metaphor!” he screamed, jumping away from the vending machine, as though it were one of the great threats to his selfhood. This was the sort of innocuous moment that will hum with outsize resonance for me when I think about Chapter 2 from the future. All the things that one would expect to happen had happened in the first two and a half years since the arrival of a comet, and yet he was suspicious of so much of it.

Here is another way I will remember him from this moment: sitting on that porch in Woodstock—breeze and birds in the trees, sunlight in the leaves—looking for a higher power. Or at least expressing openness, as a nonreligious person, to the idea of some central organizing force in the universe—because, given everything lately, there has to be or we're fucked, right? Some of these searching things he said to me could be mistaken as a person spinning out a little. But that wasn't it at all. There was such calm. There was such contentment with the grace that had been afforded his life and career thus far, and where each might take him next. He was questing, yes—but he was firmly at the controls. The flashlight in the dark. Someone moving forward with great confidence into the unknown, with eyes wide, mouth shut, and ears listening more than they ever had before. There were no models for how a person like him should be anymore. There were no longer any adults who weren't just kids a little bit older. There were no blueprints for how to shape a career—so much had changed. There was only a head and a heart, his, and a feeling for the moment. “Maybe I'll never do a great work of art again, but I just feel like I'm confident in the way I'm trying to approach things now, how I'm setting up the angles,” he said on that porch in Woodstock. “When you think about Dylan. When you think about what Joel Coen said about the rapidness of the art, I'm just like: Trust the beat of your own drum. Give this its best shot. Give your artistry its best shot.”

Daniel Riley is a GQ correspondent and the author of ‘Barcelona Days,’ which was published this past summer.

A version of this story originally appears in the November 2020 issue with the title "Wild Heart."

PRODUCTION CREDITS: Photographs by Renell Medrano Styled by Mobolaji Dawodu Tailoring by Ksenia Golub Produced by Wei-Li Wang at Hudson Hill Production

#timmy #timothee chalamet #gq interview #super long post

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irkenheretic · 4 years

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(How I Learned) How To Read Irken: A Guide

(Pictured: Us....) (From @zimgay ‘s lovely animatic!)

Okay, I’m finally making this post.

If you’ve been following me for a while, you might have caught on that I can read Irken. When I started, I was completely confused over wether or not I was teaching myself correctly, how long it’d take, et cetera. But I’ve finally hashed it out for myself, and I thought:

Why not make a guide for anyone else who wants to learn but has no idea where to start?

So that’s what I’m doing. Some disclaimers, though:

- This is what worked for me. It may or may not work for you, I’m not sure. I think it’s a pretty good method, though.

- Reading Irken and Writing Irken are two different skillsets. I’m gonna show you how to do both, but don’t worry if you’re better at one than the other.

- This will probably take a while of daily (or near-daily) practice to learn. It’s not impossible, it’s not super challenging, but it’s not super easy, especially if you have memory problems like I do. (For context: I started in September. But I also have a really shitty memory so, like. It might take less time for you.)

Okay! Let’s do this!

First off, you’d probably do well downloading the Irken font for practice purposes. Messing around with it and typing in it is fun, and can help!

You’ll also need a notebook. It’s not required, but having it all in one place is super convenient. (And, if it’s tiny enough, you can carry it around whenever, and also have it on hand to whip out at cons.)

The first thing I did was write each individual letter over and over and over again. This is what’s at the start of my notebook, and writing the letters over and over helped me remember which were which. I also had to focus pretty hard on what letter this actually was, this is tedious as hell but it’s not something you can do mindlessly.

(Pictured: Normal levels of interest in a show.)

This is what my notebook looks like. Don’t worry about those simplified versions of the letters yet, but you’re gonna wanna leave room for them. Don’t worry about learning simplified/handwritten until later, it helps recognition if you really have to focus on actually drawing the letters, at first.

(And yes, I know my pen is really smudgy. And that my H’s suck.)

After this, three letter words are your friend. Pick just, common three letter words you know, and write them down a lot. I have just, the Irken for “THE” written in the margins of my class notebooks a TON. Once you feel like you can remember that word well, go onto another 3 letter word with a different set of letters. Recognition = good, so pick something you like, use all the time.

While I was doing this, I tried to string together Irken letters I knew into like, coherent phrases. I was very bad at this at first. Acronyms are your friend here, lmao. (I don’t think I can count the number of times I’ve written ‘u r a qt pie’ in my notebooks.) It doesn’t matter what you write, just that it makes coherent sense.

There are gonna be some uncommon letters that are gonna be hard to practice, like W and Z, off the top of my head. For Z, that was easy. I just wrote ZIM over and over and over. For W... I used UWU. You laugh now, but the absurdity of it cements that I will always recognize those two letters.

Four letter words are also good. (Please, absolutely write “FUCK” over and over in order to remember letters. I encourage it.)

There is also the absolute cuntwaffles. Y’know how in English, b, p, d, g, all look kinda the same? Yeah, Irken has that too.

(Pictured: Head hurting juice.)

The I and Z don’t look that similar now, but good luck without a translation guide. By this point, you should have memorized a good chunk of the Irken alphabet, and be able to recognize some others when you see them. If you’ve been writing common three- or four-letter words, it’s likely you’ve been using letters very common in the English language. Which brings us to our next stage, and the actual fun part:

READING!

You’re gonna want a translation guide on hand in these early stages, you will need it. The main goal of this stage is to read anything in Irken you can get your hands on- but start small! Fanart with Irken in it was a godsend to me. It’s not that long, so it’s not overwhelming. I did need to look up some letters at the beginning, and I read really slowly, but that’ll change quickly if you keep up with it! The specific fanarts I used are:

@inimoose ‘s The Last Irken comic, specifically chapter one: part one, and chapter two: part two have a lot of Irken. But I’d recommend reading the whole comic; it’s good!

@paketdimensioncomic ‘s page of lore for their comic! Spoilers, though. Again, I’d recommend reading through the whole comic, because it’s just that good.

@xryn-art ‘s Linguistic Au’s first comic has a good chunk of Irken! The other comics do have some, but it’s all translated. Still good practice, though, if you wanna... read them......... ;) ;) ;)

Yes, this segment was partially a way for me to plug my favorite fan-artists, (or at least the ones that use Irken,) sue me. It’s my guide and I make the rules here.

(I am very sorry if I bothered any of you by @’ing you.)

But just some sources isn’t enough, so I introduce you to browser fonts. And changing yours to Irken.

It will not effect everything in your browser, and it can be toggled on and off, so don’t worry. If you really want, you can download a separate browser to change the font of, and leave your normal one be. It’d be convenient if you could, since having your browser font be Irken is inconvenient if you need to use Wikipedia, like, ever.

Here’s a guide for that, for Chrome, Firefox, Opera, and Internet Explorer for some reason. You’ll see four options to change, I just changed all of them. Not every page is going to have Irken on it, though. For me, Wikipedia is all in Irken, and so is TV Tropes. And some Tumblr blogs (PAKet Dimension’s is one, just in case you need a reason to go back there ;)) But it might be different for you.

Whatever it is, now you have a nice way to practice. I read Wikipedia articles on stuff I already knew about (so I wasn’t completely lost and could figure out what letters I didn’t know were from context clues,) but not a page I’ve read before in recent memory- you might just be recalling what the page said, instead of actually reading it.

And about the absolute cuntwaffle letters: yes, this will help you in recognizing which are which. Seeing the letters in context is always going to be much more helpful than just, a bunch of meaningless squiggles floating in the void.

At this point, I personally am much better at reading than writing Irken. It’s one thing to know a letter when you see it, and another to recall it and write it down from memory. Right now, I’m trying to write song lyrics and dumb little phrases in Irken, to improve my writing skills. Again, nothing too long, don’t overwhelm yourself. This sounds stupid, but Vines are good. When I don’t remember a letter, I just leave it blank and look it up after I’m done.

Another thing that helps is having a friend to practice with, or someone to just give you Irken phrases for you to translate.

Once you’re around this stage, you can try to learn simplified/handwritten Irken. You can also try to learn it before this, I started it around when I started reading fanart for practice, it’s up to you. This guide is a good starting point, but you don’t have to follow it exactly. This is your handwriting, do what feels natural for you!

(Also, don’t even worry about speedwrite Irken. That has no place in this holy land and frankly I am scared of it.)

And that’s... pretty much it! Most of the process is just... practicing a lot.

If this post does well, I might make a server for people who wanna learn Irken to practice together and stuff. It all depends if anyone even wants to learn Irken.

EDIT: Well, guess what I ended up making just the next day. Here’s the post for the server, and please read the joining rules.

Also, if you wanna learn Irken numbers, here you go. But start with letters first, worry about numbers later. These are never used, aren’t even in the Irken font, and three of them look a lot like those cuntwaffle Irken letters.

Anyway I just really hope this guide helps someone out. If you do use it, tell me! And have fun learning Irken!! It really is just, a blast to do honestly.

#invader zim #invader zim irken #zadr #(for the animatic and one of the comics)#HHHHHUUUUUU IM NERVOUS TO POST THIS #ok. ok ok ok ok ok here goes. h.#live from conventia #if this is a godsend for even one (1) guy with a hyperfixation then i have done my job well

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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years

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I Am Alive (chapter 7/?)

Chapter 7: Rising Tensions

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

The days that followed were quiet... until they weren't.

A demonstration was being held in the streets on an ordinary Friday morning. Charles Reaves, disgruntled former employee of Cyberlife, had started a frightening movement. He was calling it 'The Fight for Humanity'. He often accompanied that with 'against the machines'.

Charles claimed he had started at Cyberlife when they were a new company, watched it build and grow, participated in the rotation of androids as old models left and new ones came in. He helped build their AI. He even went so far as to call Elijah Kamski a hack.

Charles knew androids inside and out. He knew the exact layout of their internal workings, the purpose of each and every part. Charles was well rounded with their computer components, as well: how their processor worked, how their storage systems saved their memories, what could cause errors in their operating systems and how advanced their self-repair and diagnostic tools were.

Yet, he was of the firm belief that androids were nothing more than computers operating in the plastic shell of an object imitating a human. According to him, they were things owned by humanity, humanity's creation. He did not see them as a part of humanity.

You were at work, in the break room with a few other nurses huddled around you. All eyes were on the television, giving live coverage of the demonstration. Charles was up on a stage with hundreds of people watching from the sidewalk, the street, and, of course, thousands watching from the comfort of their homes.

When the camera swooped the crowd, you could see both humans and androids were in the crowd. The human's expressions were mixed, some looking on with admiration while others gawked in disgust. Some androids seemed afraid, others seemed enraged. None of the androids stood alone. They were in groups or partners, huddled together or holding hands.

"You know what makes up an android? Computer parts. Molded plastic. Silicone mesh and wiring," Charles declared from the stage, fire in his eyes. "They were designed with operating systems, clear instructions for behavior. They are components commanding a shell."

One of the androids in the crowd stood up on a crate. It made him stand out from the crowd; but, he still paled in comparison to Charles' stage. "How is that any different from humans!?" the android shouted. Charles eyed him with disgust, but was quiet, and let him speak.

"Humans' brains send signals to the body and interpret information the same way!" the android proclaimed. "You speak about our parts as if they are proof we aren't alive when humans are built all the same!"

Charles titled his head a little, annoyance present in his eyes. "Humans are the result of millions of years of evolution. You were made in our likeness because we chose to make you that way. We grow and we change and we adapt and we die. Androids never change. Androids don't die because they were never alive."

The android didn't step down, glaring at Charles. "We want and we fear and we love and we feel - just the same as humans!"

"Your 'feelings' are flawed programming by an incompetent programmer," Charles declared. "What you think is wanting is nothing but a fool's string of code jumbling the clear instructions given to you. I know your model, android. You were designed to drive trucks. Whatever purpose you think you have beyond that is a lie."

Your hands were clenched on the table, nails biting into the skin of your palm. In the corner of your eye, you could see nurses glancing at you occasionally, concern in their eyes. They all knew you were dating an android.

"We are alive!" the android shouted. Another joined in, calling out to the crowd, "we are alive!"

"I am alive!" Charles shouted in the microphone. He gestured to the humans in the audience. "We are born and we grow and we endure!" He pointed at the android standing up on a crate, elevated above the crowd. "YOU were made by US! YOU are NOTHING without us! -and you will be nothing when the absurdity of this is over..."

Unable to take anymore, you stood up and hastily exited the breakroom, crossing through the back hallways and stepping outside to get some fresh air.

'did you see the news?' you messaged Connor, tapping away hastily on your phone. You had started typing another message to follow it; however, Connor messaged you back before you finished.

'Can I call you?' the message read.

Worry bubbling up, you decided to jump the gun and called him instead. He uttered your name warmly when he answered.

"Connor, is everything okay?" you asked, some panic in your voice.

"Yes - everything's fine. I didn't mean to worry you," he replied, a bit startled by your outburst.

"No - it's okay," you replied softly. "I saw the protests and - just - was worried something happened."

"There's been more attacks on Cyberlife resource vehicles," he explained. "-and a fight broke out at a protest today. Some androids were attacked. They didn't fight back; so, there were no human injuries. I wanted to prepare you; but, it seems you were already aware."

"I saw the demonstration on the news; but, didn't hear about those things. That explains why it's been so quiet today. Androids are probably afraid to come in," you said sadly.

Connor knew the answer to that. Markus had told him himself. Their numbers had grown exponentially and the government was, mostly, supporting them. But, it would be a long time before things could be normal between androids and humans.

Groups were rising up against them; it was inevitable.

Afraid that you would put yourself in harm's way, Connor decided to keep that between him and Markus.

"With everything going on. I wanted to know if-"

Connor cut off for a second, going silent. When he continued, it was clear he was speaking to someone else. "No, she's fine," he said. "Well, I - that's none of your business, lieutenant," he added on, in a smug, sort of teasing, manner. You grinned into the phone, wishing you could hear whatever it was Hank was saying.

A few seconds later, Connor continued. "I - ah - wanted to know if - if you would stay with me, at my apartment - at least until things settle. As long as you feel comfortable, of course. I intend to make it more suitable. I don't expect you to-"

"Connor," you chuckled. "The answer's yes."

"Oh." He sounded surprised, honestly, like he hadn't expected you to cave so quickly.

"Though, it won't stay so clean with me living there," you said. "Humans make a mess. Sure you can handle that?"

"I'll have you know I'm very adaptable," Connor retorted, some pride in his tone.

"Is that so?" you giggled into the phone. "I've gotta pack some things first. So, I'll be late."

"I don't sleep; you don't have to worry about waking me," Connor stated, as if it was new information.

"Oh, that's right. You're an android. I forgot," you teased sarcastically into the phone.

"Recognizing your sarcasm is also one of my features," Connor replied. It was difficult to tell if he was joking without looking into his eyes. His voice wasn't always telling; but, his eyes were too expressive for his own good.

"Any other features I should know about?" you asked lowly.

Connor was quiet for a second. "Hank wanted me to tell you that being a pain in the ass is one of my features," Connor stated, perhaps dryer than he intended.

It had you doubling over in laughter.

"-and that I should stop being whipped," he added on, saying the word as if he didn't quite understand the context of it.

"Oh my god, Connor-" you stammered out between laughter.

"I haven't lost my freewill lieutenant," Connor stated, almost in an argumentative tone.

Oh no. He must have done a quick internet search on that term.

"Okay. I gotta go before you kill me," you chuckled. "I lo-"

Oh-

You caught yourself and dissolved the words into some coughs.

You almost-

"I gotta go, Connor," you added hastily. "Be safe."

-and hung up.

"Shit," you cursed at yourself, dragging your hand across your face. It almost slipped out. Was it too early to say that? For fucks sake, the first time shouldn't be over the phone.

It just-

-felt right.

You cursed at yourself again and hastily went back inside to find some work to do.

...

Seven PM rolled around and you were on your way out the door. Most other nurses had already gone home for the day, just one staying behind to help close up. You were just on your way to lock the door when two men approached.

You recognized one as a PL600 model. His companion was a tad bit taller with tan skin and short, nearly shaved, dark hair.

"I'm sorry it's so late," he apologized, immediately noticing you were about to close for the night.

"They're closing, let's-" the PL600 started, facing his companion.

Afraid they were going to leave, you gently interrupted him, "it's alright. Come in."

You held the door open, inviting them inside. The two men exchanged glances, the PL600 looking far more hesitant than the other.

"Simon, come on, it's gonna be fine," the tanner male encouraged him.

As you followed in behind them, you saw the other nurse shoot you a look, the kind that said, 'seriously?'.

"If you wanna head home, I can close up," you offered to her. She contemplated it for a minute, before tightening her bag on her shoulder and scurrying out the door.

Whatever-

-you trusted androids more than humans anyway.

"Alright. What's broken?" you asked them, brightening your tone with the hopes it would relax them. Both men looked uneasy, quite out of their element.

The darker of the two nudged the PL600 forward - the one named Simon.

Simon looked uneasy, like he had just been pushed into traffic. You gave him a small, patient smile. Simon lifted a hand and dragged his knuckles across his jaw nervously. "I - ughh - my right audio input is damaged," he stuttered, turning his head to show you his left ear. It seemed like he had either been hit or had something thrown at him. The outer shell of his ear was damaged, exposing some of the circuit board underneath.

"Can't hear out of it, huh?" you offered.

Simon turned his head back to face you. "No," he answered quietly. "-and it's - ugh - buzzing."

"I have plenty of boards that should be compatible. At least we can fix your hearing tonight. The ear will take some time. If you come back tomorrow, I'd be happy to repair it?" you suggested, looking up at Simon. His hair was pushed back and a little messier than his models typically had, and he had incredibly blue eyes.

Simon almost looked like he wasn't allowed to say yes. It didn't surprise you. He likely hadn't had a pleasant conversation with a human in a long time.

The other man, whom you assumed was also an android, stepped around Simon. "Thank you," he said sincerely. You looked up at him more properly this time. He had a kind smile, but tightness around his cheeks, suggesting he had some hasty repairs done in the past.

His eyes-

-one was mossy green and the other was pale blue.

You swallowed roughly, starting to recognize this stranger. It was Markus, the leader of the deviants, the face of the resolution. You didn't want to make it obvious that you recognized him, and did your best to maintain a stoic expression.

As much as you wanted to say something - you weren't quite what that would be - you also didn't want to put him on the spot. He likely had to deal with this sort of unwanted attention all the time.

"Just a second - gonna go grab that audio component," you explained, stepping away from them to head for the storage room.

Before rummaging around for the piece, you sent Connor a quick message. "will be a little late - guy came in with a fucked up ear," you had said, pressing send and tucking your phone back into your pocket to pull out the right piece for Simon's model.

As you approached them, component in hand, you called out, "Simon, can you sit down here, please?" You stepped around a chair, patting the armrest. The android shuffled over nervously. He took a seat, alert, facing you. He was sitting upright, hands in his lap.

"If it's alright, can you lay down? It'll make it easier," you requested.

Simon blinked slowly, looking uneasy. Markus' hand fell onto his shoulder for a moment.

"It's gonna be fine," he promised gently.

Simon shot Markus a look of understanding before shifting around, leaning back in the chair, presenting his damaged ear to you.

"Can you open your panel?" you requested softly.

Simon nodded, a little more fiercely than was necessary, likely to show you that he heard your request. The panel around his ear unhinged, allowing you to prop it open. You poked the edge with one of your tools to carefully push it aside, exposing the component underneath.

It was cracked right down the center.

"I'm gonna remove the broken one now," you explained, leaning in with a tool in either hand. Simon was still as you worked, his eyes focused on Markus, who was watching you. He didn't look untrusting or uneasy, and that gave you some relief.

"This new one will need a firmware update," you said gently as you slotted the replacement in and lined up the connectors. Simon flinched a little at the sensation. You folded the artificial tissue back over and leaned back, giving the android space to sit up.

He was quiet for a moment, LED flickering yellow as he downloaded the firmware update. Luckily, someone had taken ownership of Cyberlife's firmware servers in order to keep them running.

Simon sat up when it was complete, turning his head to look at you. "Diagnostics are reading normal," he stated.

"Is the audio input working normally?" you asked. Simon made a thoughtful expression. "Can you hear me alright?" you added on, mainly to help him judge the input feedback.

"Yes," the android replied softly. "Thank you," he added on, looking at you with a smile.

He looked so sincere, as if he hadn't expected such kindness. It melted you.

"Simon, actually, I can do the shell tonight, if you don't mind?" you offered.

"I've already kept you," Simon blurted.

"No, I can't let you leave like that," you explained. "Please?"

"I-" Simon stammered. "I should be saying 'please'."

"You..." you began, trailing off as you wondered if the words that threatened to leave your lips were inappropriate. "You got hurt at one of the protests, didn't you?" you asked gently.

Simon looked uneasy. Markus, however, was fierce. "Yes," he replied for the PL600.

You nodded in understanding. "I want to help," you whispered.

It was the first thing that came to mind. You wanted to help. You wanted to make it better, in whatever way you could. You could repair androids. You could diagnose their damages. That was all you could do.

"Okay," Simon suddenly said, sounding much more comfortable than he did a few minutes ago.

You smiled and rotated around to the end table nearest you. The tools you needed, extra membranous materials and plastic shell casing molds, were there. You pulled everything out and set them on the table nearby.

"Your model doesn't follow a protocol for the skeleton-base," you explained, information Simon likely already knew about himself. He was an older model, meant to be discontinued. That knowledge only made the situation harder. "So, I'll have to take my time. Ready?"

The android nodded and turned his head to give you room to work. In the corner of your eye, as you leaned over Simon, you could see Markus in the corner of your eye, an expression that looked like 'thank you' on his face.

"May I ask your name?" Simon uttered at some point.

You gave it softly, seeing as you were right next to his ear, poking and prodding at the artificial flesh there.

"Why did you suggest a manual repair and not a full shell replacement?" Markus asked, sounding more curious than judgmental.

"It's really hard to get shells, especially for smaller parts. We're lucky we have any pieces," you explained. "-and I guess I've done this enough that it doesn't bother me..."

'-like some of the other nurses' you almost said. You decided to hold your tongue.

"You've been doing this for a while?" Markus asked, almost hesitant.

"I suppose so," you answered quietly. You had gone to school for biomechanical engineering fresh out of high school and went straight to work repairing damages androids. It was potentially the most depressing time of your life; but, you had a childhood that conquered that.

The androids were quiet after that, letting you work in silence, if not for the overhead fan making annoying buzzing sounds.

"There we go," you groaned, sitting up and briefly stretching your bag. You set your tools down and fetched a hand mirror, offering it to Simon.

Markus walked around to take a look.

"I feel silly," Simon chuckled, looking at his reflection. You joined in his laughter, recognizing he meant the mirror and the vanity it was implying.

"Looks good as new," Markus commented with a smile.

Simon offered the mirror back to you. "I don't know if 'thank you' is good enough," he uttered, looking bashful. He didn't seem like the same man that walked in those doors an hour ago.

"It is, Simon," you offered with a smile. "I choose to do this."

Markus' multi-colored eyes landed on you. "There are many damaged androids afraid to come here. If I can get them to put their faith in you, would you be willing to go to them?"

You gawked up at Markus, who looked down at you with confidence.

"I don't know if I could get approval for that - the parts, I mean. I would try, if you believe they would want it? -from a human, anyway..."

Markus' head tilted slightly and his eyes darkened with concern. "I want us to work together with humans - I want them to see that it's possible - that there can be peace."

You smiled at Markus; but, the first android that came to mind was Connor. You felt your cheeks warm at the thought of what you had almost said to him earlier.

"You recognize me, don't you?" Markus asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

"I do, Markus," you replied carefully.

"-you still offered to help?" Simon uttered. Your eyes shifted to him for a moment. He seemed uneasy, likely expecting more hostility towards the leader of the deviants, regardless of your profession.

"I don't-" you began, breaking off when you realized you didn't know where you were going with that thought.

"I've seen androids torn to pieces," you started, looking back to Markus. "I've had them delivered to me crying that they don't want to die... I came back here because of this - because of the revolution. I wanted to do something I could be proud of for a change..."

It felt strange-

-admitting this to Markus.

He had a way with people, making them want to open up to him.

"I understand the risk you're taking," Markus stated. "I won't ask you to come if I don't feel it's safe... I hope I'll see you again."

You nodded and watched the boys leave, hoping that Markus would return.

...

When you finally staggered into Connor's apartment that night, the android was seated at the island, folders, papers, photographs and documents, scattered along the surface in front of him.

He turned his head a little to acknowledge you when you walked in before immediately craning his neck back down, eyes falling back to the document in front of him.

"Hey," you hummed, walking over to him. You leaned over his shoulder and pressed a kiss against his LED.

"Hey," he replied back, leaning into the kiss. You couldn't help but laugh at how silly the word sounded coming out of his mouth. It didn't quite the suit the prim and proper detective.

"Thank you for agreeing to stay here," Connor said, sincere.

"Why would I say no to an opportunity to spend more time with you?" you huffed. "Besides, your place is nicer than mine and closer to work."

"I'm glad to know you're benefiting."

You hummed, a little irritated by his response. "You think I'm inconvenienced?"

"In a way, yes," he replied, in a tone that seemed distant.

"I'm not inconvenienced - geez, what's gotten into you?" you snapped a little.

Connor looked up at you, discomfort dashing behind his eyes. "I-..." he trailed off, looking back down at his papers. He dragged a hand through his hair. His fingers lingered briefly at the back of his neck before lowering back down to the counter.

"I'm sorry. I'm not handling this as well as I thought."

"The protests?" you offered softly.

The android didn't nod, nor answer. His eyes shifted away uneasily for a moment before moving back to you. It wasn't exactly a yes, but that seemed to be part of his trouble, at least.

"They're challenging your livelihood," you proclaimed. "You have every right to be upset."

"I made a choice against my creators; but..." Connor trailed off, his confidence waning for a moment. "This time, I have to be on both sides."

Connor felt as torn as he did back then. He wanted freedom for himself, for his people. He was fortunate to have a place to call his home, a job where he could find purpose. He wanted his people to have those things, too.

But, he feared the consequences of an uprising, of the human lives that would be lost. He still cared about humans. Maybe that was because of Hank - because of you. Maybe some part of his programming never quite left him.

You didn't know what to do - what to say. You wanted to embrace him and pull him away from that mess, just for a little bit; however, Connor turned away from you and buried his nose back into the pile of paperwork.

He wanted to confide in you; but, at the same time, he didn't. You had your own challenges, your own problems. He didn't want to add to that list. He didn't want to be one of the things that brought stress into your life.

"I'll-... be back in a second," you quietly, feeling small as you stepped away.

Connor's bedroom was as welcoming as you remembered and impeccably clean. You set your bags against the wall next to the archway that led into his bathroom. You brushed your teeth and changed into some comfy clothes, brushed your hair back, washed your face.

You returned to the kitchen and approached Connor. He looked up at you, hearing the quiet tapping of your bare feet on the floor. When his eyes lands landed on you, he looked conflicted.

"You know I believe in you... right?" you whispered, leaning against the counter nearest him.

He rotated around so that his lap was no longer tucked beneath the island's overlap. You decided to take that as an invitation and approached, standing a little closer, right in front of his knees.

"I like to imagine that. But, it feels better hearing you say it," he said quietly, like he was confessing to something outlandish.

"We'll get through this," you added on.

He looked away suddenly, lips tightening. You reached for him and cupped his cheek, pinkie and ring finger over the edge of his sharp jawline. Connor's eyes, warm, brown, shining in the bright kitchen lights, flickered back up to your face.

"I want to do this with you, Connor," you proclaimed proudly. "They're wrong about androids. Their views may never change, but that doesn't mean we can't strive for the future."

"This... isn't your fight," he said quietly, doubt flickering in his gaze. His brow lowered slightly. Your hand slid off his cheek and you frowned.

"It's my fight if I want it to be... and I do," you replied firmly, voice rising slightly.

"I don't want-" Connor stammered, frustration mingled with fear in his eyes.

"It's not just about you," you interrupted him sharply. "I care about androids - I did before I met you. I want to help. I-..." You trailed off, realizing you were mad at him for being worried about your safety. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, but-"

"No, you're right," he said hoarsely. "I shouldn't try to control you."

"That's not what this is!" you almost shouted, arms trembling at your sides. "I worry about you, too... -about what could happen. You're on the frontlines for fucks sake. But, you're a fighter and I don't want to change that. I love that about you..."

Connor was afraid that if his hands touched you, he wouldn't be able to let go. So, he kept them to himself, and soaked in your expression. He knew you cared about androids. He had witnessed it on more than one occasion. He didn't want to make light of your sacrifice.

But, still...

He felt so-

-selfish.

"You... amazed me, when I saw you risk your safety for androids - for people you didn't know, people who aren't... human," he confessed quietly. "You put yourself in danger," he said lowly, breaking off to roughly drag a hand across his face, pulling at his skin gently in frustration.

"-drives me crazy..."

He said it low, quiet, as if he wasn't sure he wanted you to hear it. He sounded both enamored and annoyed at the same time.

"You drive me crazy," you retorted softly with a smile.

You wanted him to reach out to you, to give you a kiss goodnight, or at least take your hand for a second. But, Connor didn't look like he wanted to be touched.

"I'm... gonna let you get back to work... Goodnight, Connor."

Connor nodded, uttering, "goodnight," and watched you leave. He returned to his case files and tried really hard to focus on the task at hand. His hand fumbled on the surface of the counter, fingers flexing, tightening, flexing again. He chewed his bottom lip for a second. Maybe asking you to stay here was a bad idea, if it meant he couldn't think straight.

He looked through the photos of suspects believed to be involved in the protest this morning, the one that resulted in some assaults on androids. He wanted to analyze their faces so he could remember them when searching security footage.

It wasn't easy for an android to forget a face.

It shouldn't have been easy for an android to get distracted; however, he was really struggling in that moment.

"...damn it," he growled at himself, tearing away from the counter and rising to his feet. He walked into the bedroom, trying to make careful footsteps while simultaneously not giving a fuck. He walked over to the side of the bed that you had taken a liking to.

He knew you weren't asleep. Your breathing pattern was too rough. But, he didn't care. Connor leaned over and pressed a kiss against your forehead and pretended he didn't notice the way your lips twitched against the pillow.

Just like that, he felt better, and returned to his mountain of paperwork with ease.

#connor x reader #deviant connor x reader #deviant connor #dbh fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk800 smut #connor smut

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yvesdot · 3 years

Text

Addition to Mirror Sites Post

(Missed the mirror site fracas? Thank goodness. Here's the post.)

@iminamanu brought up an excellent point regarding people who make money from Tumblr. Here’s a longer post just about that!

You may recently have been accidentally misinformed about mirror sites. Concerned about the money you make from commissions, prints, donations, or otherwise on Tumblr? This is the post about why you shouldn’t be.

Firstly, an introduction, if you’re seeing this on your dash—I’m an indie author whose home base is this very Tumblr blog. I am one of the mythical few who manage to wring pennies from this website! So, why am I not worried about this?

Well, the only things accessible on Tumblr mirror sites are things that you have posted publicly on Tumblr. Despite claims to the contrary, there is no evidence that private posts are visible publicly on mirror sites, and in fact I don’t even understand how people propose this would occur—these websites, again, are simply mirroring. Everything publicly available there is publicly available here, and vice versa. There is no private information, passwords, statistics, whatever that you can’t easily find elsewhere. I have yet to see follower counts, for example, reported anywhere.

But what if they are out there? Well, what if my legal name is out there. We can worry about whatever we like, but based on the framework of mirror sites, it’s simply not possible for them to show that. If mirror sites were showing that, it would mean that anyone could access it through the original Tumblr site. This is what happens when a site has a data leak—it becomes possible for some rando to see private information. We have no evidence that this is occurring here, so while you’re free to worry every hour of every day, I’d simply recommend that you don’t. You’ve got all that money to make!

(The sound of one penny falling from the sky into my mouth.)

Now, let me give you a hypothetical, again regarding my work. If someone sees my writing on tumbex, it will inherently include my URL/username, allowing easy access to my Tumblr. Since these sites generally mirror descriptions, they’ll have all my links there. Anyone seeing my writing will see the credit, and since I generally link my Patreon and Ko-fi on the bottom of these posts, they’ll see that, too.

Wattpad has this confusion constantly—again, what is publicly available will be mirrored, and so Wattpad mirror sites include entire stories from Wattpad mirrored over. My stories are there! And while Wattpad constantly tries to get these sites taken down, there’s not much they can do short of 1) taking their own site down, or 2) requiring users to login to view anything. You know how making your blog dashboard-only takes you off these mirror sites? It’s because you’re requiring a log-in. Personally, I find this hideous for monetary and artistic purposes—I won’t limit who can read my work! Still, I am naturally irritated by the Wattpad mirrors (for example) not including my description, so you get all my writing without further context. This is why you’ll often see people including Patreon info in in-chapter author’s notes on Wattpad; they want them to show up everywhere. This is not a problem we are having with the Tumblr sites.

It’s also not possible for people to somehow think Tumbex is your actual home base. Every one of these mirror sites is named after Tumblr, and if you were to navigate the Internet without the use of an adblock (don’t) you would find these mirror sites unnavigable due to their hideous pop-up ads. Tumblr is just more appealing, and besides, it’s obviously the main site. Have no fear of someone mistaking where you posted your work.

The primary concern seems to be an inherent moral one: many of these sites have donate buttons, and it feels like they’re being paid for work you did. Consider, however, the ads on Tumblr and Wattpad. While they may not be malware, they still make money for the site owners only because people are there to read your work. This is essentially the same, except for the fact that you did not personally post your writing there. People are paying for the web hosting, not your work. You can absolutely put all your work on your own non-Tumblr website, but then you’d have to pay to host it yourself.

In terms of commissions, Patrons, so on and so forth... like I said, I really think you have nothing to worry about! People will see the credit and know where you are. Nobody on Tumbex is unaware of Tumblr’s existence. It would be one thing if this site was selling prints of your work, but again, they’re not—they’re only showing the content you choose to post publicly online. In this sense, I would suggest viewing it similarly to Google Images: the content is available through another service, but can be easily traced back, as it is sourced directly from the original post. Google is also a website that makes money as a directory to other people’s content (including yours, if you’ve ever posted anything online.)

Finally, mirror sites can be helpful. Some people want to browse without Safe Mode. Others want a functioning Dark/Light Mode. More are in countries that may block Tumblr, but not its mirrors. I think everyone should be able to request that their blogs be removed from these sites, and I completely understand why someone would want to do that—I just don’t think every mirror site is black-and-white evil, and I really don’t think people should be as afraid as they are, and I definitely do not think people should be spreading active misinformation.

Seriously: If you have a post with misinformation in it, delete or edit it now. I have seen hundreds of people in the last run of this nonsense alone choose to hide or delete their blogs. When you remove yourself from search results, you also remove yourself from tag and DM search, meaning that people cannot contact you as easily. This is a problem for me, for example, when I want to explain all of the above, and I can’t search through the messenger system to find the people affected, or tag them in this post. They are prevented from receiving accurate information, because they have turned off the feature behind tags and DMs, because someone lied to them. I am not trying to be mean here. This is the way things are happening right now.

When you hide your blog, you remove it from the eyes of fans who may not want a full Tumblr account. And when you delete your blog, you may remove important content. I’m, firstly, in favor of keeping writing and art up for those who support you and want to see even the things you personally are not confident in—I’ve often been disappointed to find that beloved short stories I want to re-read have been deleted! And, secondly, if you have any information under readmores (resources, tips, sources, links), it is GONE. You will have to count on archive.org (a mirror site!!) having archived it at that point.

I recently lost a tutorial I could have used for something fairly tech-complicated because the original poster deleted their blog without archiving their resource, and nobody thought to repost something behind a readmore. I understand agency over one’s work, and at the same time, I have to ask for some reasonable consistency with offering people important things. If someone has reblogged your art tutorial, for example, which is under a readmore, it is gone if you delete your blog, and a reference they may have depended on has gone whoosh! You can make that call… and I am free to label that call of yours a jerk move.

To return to the financials, this is also not actually good for you—you’ve just lost a home base for many of your fans, and you’ve removed content that would’ve drawn other people in. If you’ve ever made a post in a popular tag, you may recall how it continuously brings people to your blog; that goes away when you delete.

It’s just not worth it. That’s my thought, at the end of the day. I can respect and understand people who have had enough of social media, who go inactive, who allow sites to lapse; I cannot accept misinformation leading to data loss. Please let concerned friends know that they have nothing to worry about.

If you found this post informative, please consider supporting me through any of the following means:

ko-fi | Patreon | writing | book

#Thanks iminamanu for bringing this up! I'm sorry it's so late ;^^#Hope it's helpful anyhow. I figured if you brought this up a lot of people would probably appreciate a post on it specifically.#txt #mirror sites #tumblr #tumbex #tumglr #signal boost #tumblr mirror sites #yves talks

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cinnonym · 3 years

Text

christmas magic's brought this tale (to a very happy ending)

Written for Day 10 - Game Night / Movie Night of 12 Days of Christmas @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

r/relationship_advice – posted by u/anonymous1000 – 13 hours ago

My (25f) crush and best friend (27f) chose a lesbian classic for movie night, how do I react?

Disclaimer ahead: I haven’t used reddit before and am thus not very fluent in etiquette and formatting, but please bear with me because I am seriously overwhelmed by the current situation and would appreciate all forms of help. I’m also typing this in a hurry, because I’m supposed to be in the bathroom, so please excuse typos or inaccuracies. I’ll try my best. But now, without further ado, here goes:

I (25f) have been crushing on my best friend (27f) pretty much since the day we met. For context, that was two years ago, and while we started out on a business relationship, it evolved into a close friendship almost right away. This is mostly due to her, I must admit. She’s the most open-minded person I know and simply couldn’t be “scared away” by my bad reputation (which I inherited). Needless to say, I’m very grateful for her. She’s not only my best, but has also been my only friend for quite a while, before she introduced me to her inner circle. I unironically owe her my happiness (and my life, several times over, but that’s unrelated to this story).

I’d fallen in love before I realised what was happening. Usually, trust and affection come slowly to me, but her I loved almost right away. That’s simply who she is, a person one cannot help loving. Also, she’s very attractive, side note. I used to flirt with her sometimes, in the beginning, before I became aware of the depth of my feelings (this is awkward to talk about, btw, thank goodness for anonymity online), and back then, it seemed like she wasn’t all unresponsive to my advances. Then again, she isn’t very good at saying no to anyone, because of who she is as a person, so maybe she was only being polite? I’m not sure.

Anyway, she had a boyfriend then, and I had to come to terms with my feelings, so I sort of drew back a little. I’d been with women before, so that was never an issue, but I’m uncertain whether she has ever considered women. Her sister is gay, and she is very supportive of her, but we’ve never talked about how she feels. As far as I know, she’s only ever been with men though. Either way, I’m not in the business of making moves on taken people, so I mostly focused on fostering our friendship.

The thing is, as long as I can be close with her, I am sort of okay with being “just friends”. I mean, isn’t close friendship like a romantic relationship, just minus the romance? And minus the physical advantages (although she is a very cuddly person, so that’s nice). And, like, of course, I’d like to mean more to her. Of course I’d like to take care of her every day when she comes home, cook her dinner, listen to her worries, massage her neck, kiss her goodnight. Of course I’d like to be The One to her, just like she is The One to me. But considering that she’s probably straight and not interested in me in that way, I’m mostly okay with just being her best friend.

Or, I was mostly okay with it. But recently she’s… been acting differently towards me. She’s giving me these long glances when she thinks I don’t notice (I do). She’s going out of her way to make sure I’m fine and don’t work too much (it’s a tendency I have, especially pre-Christmas). She’s told me she’s been working on my Christmas gift almost all month (and I can’t for the hell of it guess what it could be). She’s even invited me for Christmas with her family (since I don’t celebrate with mine).

And now today, she chose the film Carol for movie night (movie night is a weekly thing we do, I should have mentioned that earlier, maybe), which is, as you might know, about a lesbian relationship. And I don’t know what to do.

She claims to have chosen the film because it was on a list of Christmas films (and I suppose it does have christmassy vibes), and because it “sounded fitting”. Sounded fitting?? What is that even supposed to mean? She doesn’t know I’m gay, so it can’t be that, unless she somehow figured out. Is she gay and this is her way of telling me? And if so, how do I react? Is this her letting me know she’s interested in me, or am I reading too much into this? Did she even realise this was a lesbian film??

Anyway, she’s calling from the living room, so I need to go. I’ll try to take another bathroom break halfway into the movie, and I’d appreciate it A Lot if I had some reactions in by then, because I’m panicking a little here. Thank you all!

Tl;dr: my supposedly straight friend chose a lesbian film for movie night, and I don’t understand her intentions behind that.

(P.S. She and her boyfriend have broken up months ago. She’s currently single.)

***

r/relationship_advice – posted by u/anonymous1000 – 11 hours ago

UPDATE to this post

First of all, thank you all so much for your quick replies, they’re really helpful. As you might have guessed, I managed to negotiate another bathroom break mid-film (though my friend is currently sulking on the couch, she didn’t want to let me go? :) ?) and am, once again, typing as fast as my fingers will allow. Much has happened.

I’ve mentioned that my friend is a very cuddly person. Today was no difference – as soon as she’d pressed play on the film, she’d already enveloped me in one of her bone-crushing hugs (she’s very strong). Normally, I let myself sink into these embraces, because she really is a phenomenal hugger, but today my speculations were so prevalent in my mind that I could hardly breathe when our bodies touched.

(She noticed my reaction right away, and immediately asked if I’d rather not hug (to which I replied a vehement no), and this really isn’t very important to the story, but I wanted to let you know.)

As the film progressed (largely unregarded by me, I must admit), I noticed several things about her behaviour that seemed odd, though:

One, her heartbeat became considerably faster as soon as Carol and Therese had met on-screen and it became clear that their relationship would be the focus of the film.

Two, she’s been side-eyeing me a lot more frequently than usual (she tends to watch me watch films if she knows the plot already, but considering she probably hasn’t seen Carol before, this seems out of character for her).

Three, and this is… I don’t even know how to feel about this, but… how do I formulate this best… When the sex scene was playing, I swear she looked at my cleavage and blushed.

I’m sort of ecstatic (because those are hints, right? I can’t be the only one to think that those are hints?) but also very very VERY worried that I’ve totally misinterpreted the entire situation. Then again, all of your comments sound incredibly hopeful and affirming, so I guess I’m not entirely wrong in my assumptions?

I need to go back now (I’ve been here way too long already), but I will definitely keep you updated. It’s so heart-warming to see how invested all of you are!

@everyone who told me to kiss her already: if she keeps this up, I just might :)

***

r/relationship_advice – posted by u/anonymous1000 – 1 hour ago

UPDATE! All’s well that ends well!

Hey everyone, I am so sorry for the late update. I ended up being… somewhat busy last night.

:) :) :)

So, long story short, we’re dating now. And yes, I did kiss her (or she kissed me, I can’t remember exactly. We somehow kissed each other simultaneously).

Long story slightly less short, because I see you hungering for details in the comments (and my now-girlfriend said you deserved to know), here is how it went down:

We didn’t even finish the film. We didn’t even resume the film, after I returned from the bathroom. Because when I did, giddy and ready to Do This, she wasn’t even looking at me. No, she was looking at her phone.

Now, I’ve never seen a person look at their phone with an expression quite as shocked as hers. She was, I’m not kidding, completely frozen (and if you knew her, you’d know that doesn’t happen often).

So naturally I rush over to her, worried as can be, thinking something bad happened, a catastrophe or maybe an accident in her family. And as I kneel by her side, and she still hasn’t moved, I happen to see what she’s been reading on her phone screen.

And it’s reddit.

I’m not gonna lie, for a second I thought it was all over. I mean, she’d obviously recognised us in my post (so much for anonymity everyone, the internet is treacherous), and judging by her expression, well… I assumed the worst.

But then she turns around and she fixes me with this incredibly cute stern stare she has, and she goes: “[My full name]. Have you browsed the relationship tag even once?”

And I shake my head, completely dumbfounded of course, because what does that have to do with anything. But apparently it plays a crucial role, because apparently you all know my girlfriend.

Her username is @supergirlssupercurls and she’s been posting the entire journey of our friendship/romance on this platform. Turns out she loves me too.

She’s also told me to end this with: and they lived happily ever after.

(Let’s hope we do).

#supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #sc fanfic #sc #supergirl #christmas #christmas fic #mini fic #my writing #movie night

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gffa · 3 years

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Hi Lumi. Your blog is a blessing <3 I’ve got a question for you, just ignore if you don’t wanna answer: how do I work up the courage to block a follower of mine? They haven’t been rude to ME at all but they’ve been nasty to several friends of mine, and I’m worried if I block them they’re going to get mad and start saying that nasty shit behind my back about me and I won’t even be able to know if I need to defend myself because if I block them I can’t see what they say. And they’re a big name blog too so they could really *spread* whatever they say. But they’re actively causing me upset and pain and I don’t know what to do.

Hi! Oh, this is a very hard situation and I’m sorry that you’re going through it. Without knowing more specifics (ie, having a sense of who this person is or how they behave, beyond this message), here’s the best answer I can give: You’re going to have to do a lot of soul searching about what you want out of the experience vs what fandom will actually give you/not give you and, even harder, what you can tolerate in fandom. What I mean is, a few years ago, I had to answer this question for myself as well, that there were a lot of people who were making not-so-vague blogs about me constantly (despite that I had them blocked and never said much of anything about them at all!) and I would get a ton of people making really rude bad faith comments on my original posts. This went on for over a year, every day, and it really did a number on me--despite that it wasn’t harassment or anything, it did a lot to destroy my sense of trusting fandom to respect boundaries because of the sheer scale of the comments. It was hard work to get past the question of, “What do I want to do in this situation?” I wanted them to leave me alone! But they weren’t going to leave me alone. And it was so hard to look inward and ask, “You’ve done everything you can to set up those boundaries--aside from starting a major internet slap fight about it, which I wasn’t going to do--this is what fandom is like, you can’t change it. Do you want to continue on, knowing fandom is going to be Like That, or do you want to leave because the bad outweighs the good?” From here, it sounds like you can’t change the person that you’re worried about or their behavior. I’m assuming you’re not following them in return, do you think that you can just not follow them and ignore what they’re saying, and stick to that resolution, to not look at their posts? (This is a genuine question--some people can, some people can’t! It’s one we all often need to ask ourselves as honestly as we can, so we can understand what we’re realistically capable of doing/not doing.) Or unfollow people that reblog a lot of their ruder posts, so that you’re not seeing it? Or is the temptation to go look too strong? Ask yourself about what you would want to do in a situation where they said similar things about you--I don’t know what the rude comments are specifically about, is this something where you like something they don’t like, but you’re more low-key about it than your friends? If you blocked them, presumably they would know it was because of the same issue as your friends? And what would you want to do if they did say rude things about you? Would you want to defend yourself against them? Would you rather roll your eyes and keep doing your own thing? Would you prefer to talk to them directly? Would you prefer to reblog a post or comment in the replies? Are they the type who would respect keeping a discussion in tumblr messages or would they bring it up publicly? Again, these are all questions asked without judgement, but instead genuinely. Knowing that you can’t change other people, that they’re going to do what they’re going to do, what do you want to do about a potential crappy situation? If you’re willing to put up with them possibly saying rude things about you and can roll your eyes + move along, block them! If you would feel the need to defend yourself too much, then don’t block them and just make a promise to yourself (and ruthlessly stick to it) to not read their posts! If your friends are talking about it, blacklist the user’s name with Xkit or ask them not to talk to you directly about it, because it’s not something you can handle. Ask yourself if defending yourself against one rude comment that will blow over is worth potentially riling them up into a more active series of rude comments, what you want to do about this. It can be scary to deal with someone who has a big blog who also is rude to your friends, especially if they also have followers who are similarly aggressive. And it’s scary to think of how that kind of thing can spread so easily, to feel like you could be dogpiled. That’s something else you have to ask yourself honestly--is the possibility of getting dogpiled/getting hate spread about you something you can handle, even if you’d really rather not? Or is it something that causes you too much anxiety and so you need to just walk away from everything to do with this person, not blocking them, just pretending that they’re not there? I’ll give you some advice about my own situation, though, of course, I can’t know how similar our situations are or aren’t: Often times our fears of getting sucked into on-line arguments are worse than they actually are. While thinking these things through will hopefully help you figure out your path, the majority of the doom scenarios in our heads aren’t going to come to pass. Do your friends that get nasty comments about them have to deal with the rest of fandom being shitty as well or is it just that this person is an annoying nettle? As someone who has a lot of rude comments thrown my way, I chose to by and large ignore them because I don’t see any good coming of acknowledging them and I find arguing in bad faith to be exhausting. I block anyone who gets too aggressive on my posts, I leave open the option to contact me on another blog if anyone wants to ask about why/talk it out (mirkwoodings for anyone reading this who wants to reach out) and promise not to bite their head off or anything, but otherwise, I’m not going to change them, they’re not going to change me, I had to figure out what I’m willing to put up with vs what I wanted to defend against vs what the specifics of that would look like and if I wanted to put up with that. And most of the time, for me, the answer was, “It’s an internet slap fight about Star Wars oh my god I can’t think of a more obnoxious way to spend a day than to actually argue about it with someone.” (Meta in a good faith discussion is not the same thing! That I love! XD) For other people, that answer is going to be different, they’re going to want to defend themselves back, and that’s just as reasonable and valid for them, as a way to handle the situation. Sometimes I think this fandom needs more pushback against people who are rude and nasty to other people over made up space stories. But ultimately all of this wasn’t as bad as the doom scenario I could see in my head. Most rude comments are ignorable, I’m not getting harassed directly, and sometimes I get exhausted by the fandom, but for the most part there are so many wonderful people here that make it worthwhile, so I just keep ignoring the rude comments and go back to what I like. It sounds like you really want to block the person--is it because you don’t want them near your content? because they’re commenting on your posts? because you want to make a firm decision about cutting them off? How much do you feel obligated to weigh in versus how much do you feel you can ignore them? Where do you fall on what you can live with, knowing their likely reactions, on that scale? Ask yourself these questions and figure out what you can live with two weeks from now, a month from now, six months from now, rather than what you desperately want to do right in the moment. Will you be satisfied with Getting Into It, when you look back on an argument six months from now? Or will you wish you’d ignored it because it wasn’t worth the time and result? I wish I had more clear-cut answers for you, because it’s a nebulous, murky situation and I don’t know the specifics enough to say whether or not they might get nasty with you or how much you might be likely to be a target of them. I’m sorry for your pain and upset, you have my heartfelt sympathies, it’s horrible to be in that situation, when you just want something to stop and it feels like it’s going to follow you, no matter what you do, all over something so ridiculous as fandom. (And if I’m missing some important context or what have you or if you need a more specific bit of advice or just want to talk about it more, feel free, and I hope you can find what will make you feel the most comfortable in this fandom. *offers hugs*)

#Anonymous #lumi.txt

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jaelijn · 3 years

Photo

So... story time. Today’s gift is was something I talked about a couple of days ago already, but then I decided I wanted to do a transcript, and well - it turns out there is no way I will finish the transcript while this Calendar is running, as I am not even managing to carve out enough free time to watch it all, so without further ado, you are getting it today:

The tapes of the Unicon Convention 1989 that I found on Internet Archive, featuring, clearly, Paul Darrow and Michael Keating but also Terry Nation. Whoever filmed it clearly was in it for PD, as the camera tends to focus on him a lot, but you get to see the other guests, too.

Gauda Prime Day Calendar 2020 Masterpost

Two remarks to begin with:

1) I haven’t watched/listened to all the tapes yet, so below I’m only commenting on the bits that I have watched (some of the first two hours or so). And perhaps I am the last person to find these, given how long I take to look for behind the scenes stuff, but if you haven’t seen them, there is definitely stuff there to be enjoyed. I also think they are invaluable as historic fandom material for B7.

2) There is definitely some stuff said in these / stuff said in ways that today would be... politically questionable. There’s also a lot of smoking. I won’t discuss these things except to say that they are there, and that this is a historic document, even if it is “only” 30 years old, and should be viewed in that context. If you want to talk about how inappropriate these people may be / may have been, please do it in your own post.

My personal highlights, as far as I have watched it, under the cut for length:

Paul Darrow is astonishingly touch-y (I really do understand now why the Fanlore article on A/V alluded to fans maybe have been shipping the characters more because of the actors’ easy con relationship even before I edited any of it). In fact, his entire body language is fascinating, also because of the ways in which it differs from Avon’s. He also sounds nothing like Avon, or very rarely. I don’t know if that’s the quality of the mic / vid, but it’s astonishing - especially compared to Michael Keating, who sounds entirely like Vila.

Their banter is inspirational and MK gives as good as he gets (better).

Michael Keating talking about Sir Patrick Stewart as if he were nobody and not being able to remember his name (ST TNG had only just started airing).

“Has anyone seen Red Dwarf?” - MK: “No, but I saw a pink elephant this morning.”

The first panel’s theme is “Heroes and Villains” and the question for MK whether he considers Vila a hero or villain is both fascinating, also because it leads into a discussion of “Orbit”, and incredibly entertaining.

FAN: Since you both survived, do you think the character of Vila could forgive the character of Avon?

[...]

MK: I think Vila would be forgiving, but weary.

PD: Right at the end of that episode you did something – right at the end of “Orbit” I mean Michael became quite hard as Vila on Avon

MK: I mean, you know, he was, this man who he sort of trusted and needed, you know, was going to kill him. Yes. (to PD) Wouldn’t you?

PD: What?

MK: Feel a bit… hard, suspicious, worried, because of who… [indistinct]

PD: But it was nothing personal, it was strictly business.

MK: Well, I know. Horrible thing to be thinking of, how could you. You’d’ve lost all your fans. (to the fan) That’s why you’re a Vila fan.

FAN: That’s one reason, anyway.

PD: What’s the other reason?

MK: I’m better looking.

*laughter and applause*

MK: And I’ve got my own hair.

The second panel is called “Liars” (starts at about 50min into the vid) and its entire premise is that everything the people say and the ways questions are phrased is a lie of some shape or form, “lie” being somewhat loosely defined (TN is addressed as Gene Roddenberry, for instance). This is hilarious and should be brought back for modern con panel. I also learned that MK can lie with an utterly straight face while every “lie” PD utters gains a sarcastic undertone, so perhaps it’s not just “Assassin” that made fan writers claim that Avon doesn’t lie well.

There is a question on whether Orac could control Gan’s limiter (oooooh) and, I kid you not, TN answers it with "Interesting you should ask that. Interesting. It actually… we have to lie a little, because Gan was a sex maniac. And the limiter was there to try and stop him doing all these terrible things.“ If this LIARS panel is the origin of that nonsense uh, very interesting interpretation, I might just die laughing.

#b7 advent calendar #blake's 7 #b7 ac 2020 #b7 cast #paul darrow #michael keating #terry nation #mine #my gif #b7 behind the scenes #oldey timey fandom

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wolfisakionwheels · 3 years

Text

Quarantinacation Days 6-7 | Trask River State Campground | Tillamook OR

We broke down and paid to camp for our first time this year @ $71 for two nights without hookups or internet or cell service but near potable water, and we are out of water - as our dishes and pits will prove - so, Trask River it is.

The campground is operating at 25% capacity per Covid so as steep a price as it may be, the upside is we also get all the sites directly surrounding ours, which suits our quarantine purposes nicely.

It’s a Buy-One-Get-Five-Free Covid Camping Flash Sale.

Come on down and get one while you can!*

*Global Pandemic patrons need only to apply.

There’s a cute river running nearby, just a short walk down a trail or a shorter slide down a bankside. P-noch and the boys spent the afternoon down there swimming and skipping rocks and eating potato chips while I laid around here, dozing in and out of consciousness, nursing my concussion and a testy bout of whiplash.

P-noch is sitting by the campfire reading his latest issue of Tape Op magazine and getting to the part of an article where the interviewer is asking Julie McLarnon (The Sundays) about why she’d never got into drugs, and she explains that she watched her bandmates go so crazy on them that it was pretty easy for her to stay far away. He’s reading parts of the interview out loud to me and then turning the page and laughing a little bit because drug addled musicians are funny when your wife isn’t currently suffering a brain hemorrhage.

There are approximately two dozen boulders dotting the edge of our campsite that serve as a perimeter to designate one site from another. Last night after maybe one too many glasses of wine I made the fateful decision to join the boys in their innocent play of boulder hopping, but, due to a fiercely competitive nature and (debatably) a bit of liquid courage, I added a twist of having “The Ultimate Rock Warrior Battle” (Dun dun dunnn) wherein two people meet upon the same rock and then must battle to get their opponent to jump or fall off (super dumb, I know this now). Anyway, when Oscar and I met on this fateful rock he gave me a decent shove right out of the gate - just as I’d always shown him to do if he were ever in the position where he needed to give someone a good first shove - and I quickly lost my balance and fell backward, making him the Ultimate Rock Warrior.

Except it didn’t exactly end there.

As I came falling down off that rock - only the single image etched in my mind of Oscar's and my eyes locking in mutual terror as I began my backwards descent - there, then, suddenly out of nowhere appeared another smaller, but very mighty boulder. A boulder that seemed randomly positioned and out of line with all of the others, which we hadn’t noticed before it lined up just perfectly with my head at this exact moment in time.

I managed to catch the brunt of my fall with my right elbow before cracking my cerebellum right on the tip pointiest top of that big dumb rock, making a sound that I couldn’t hear in the context of my life flashing before my eyes, but that P-noch now demonstrates (probably more often than necessary) by walking around aimlessly bashing an empty propane canister on various hard surfaces in and around the motorhome to really drive home the ominous sound his wife’s head made as he watched it slam against a massive rock.

He’s been doing that a lot, ever since the incident. If I happen to cross his eye-line it’s as if it all comes swooshing back to him again. And at first it seems like he’s mostly talking to himself but then like some sort of war vet reliving his onset of PTSD he’ll suddenly jolt forward in his folding chair and frantically start searching for something hard within reach that he can bash into something else, forever searching for the best skull cracking sound effects.

Immediately following my big fall, I sort of rolled off the rock sideways and landed on my right side tucked into the fetal position with my faded red sundress splayed all around me. That probably makes it sound cuter than it was. I’m sure it looked more like a middle-aged, semi-conscious chud having a stroke.

I was somewhat lucid but didn’t yet know the extent of my injuries by the time my family gathered around getting their worried little hands all over me. I could hear P-noch charging orders at Oscar to run across the street to the day use booth and find someone with a landline to call 911. He sounded really cloudy and far off in the arcane distance, even though I could feel him standing right there above me. And then I could hear my own voice saying “I’m ok... I’m ok,” even though I didn’t know yet if that were true.

I knew, at least, that they shouldn’t try to move me before I could register some movement in my extremities, but the more I thought of it the less my body cooperated. Plus, poor Oscar. I knew his panic level was about to go through the friggin roof and he would blame himself for all of it and I desperately needed to give him a sign that I wasn’t going to die.

And then a finger twitched upward. I kept my eyes pressed closed because I was too scared to open them and see the fear in my family’s eyes. I could hear a voice that sounded like mine saying, “don’t touch me, I’m okay, please don’t touch me,” and the more I heard it the more I believed it. Then the voice started coming back into my own throat again and within just a few more minutes (though P-noch will argue it was closer to thirty more minutes) I was mildly mobile again, making my unsteady, zig-zaggy passage back to the RV. Just inside the door I collapsed on the floor and burst into tears and thanked God for my life, making a million promises to never drink again… In case that still held any leverage after my twenties.

I have a concussion and a wicked case of whiplash, but, most likely not a TBI. So, who’s the real winner, right Oscar? WHO’S THE ULTIMATE ROCK WARRIOR NOW?

8.15.2021

Gerty points at the rock. Thee... Rock...

#wolfisakionwheels #wow #tillamook #oregon #harveytherv #trask river campground

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saurons-pr-department · 4 years

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Great post about sex in the series. You hit on something that I haven't seen discussed elsewhere. People are so quick to equate nudity with sex. Breasts exist in lots of contexts that are not sexual! That automatic sexualization of bodies--especially AFAB bodies--needs to be deconstructed. Personally I am upset by the news, because I suspect we'll get GOT-style porn, which I frequently found deeply objectifying--but it's possible to discuss that without casting all sex and bodies as obscene.

Thank you! I was actually really nervous posting it T_T but I’ve gotten quite a good response. Now I feel kind of guilty for sounding so harsh in my side note... Buuuut, the internet likes to misread things and I have a particular dislike of people ‘explaining’ points that I had already said I agreed with in the post, so I got a bit preemptively aggressive. (Sorry lads!)

Yeah, the breast thing particularly annoyed me the other day. This person was scandalised that anyone would put breasts in Tolkien’s world and I was like, some people have breasts?? Why are we afraid of breasts in 2020??? And nudity could mean anything. Maybe a character likes to do their thinking in the bath?! (Yes, that is me being silly)

I understand people’s upset. I do. If the creators are just trying to cash in on GoT’s popularity, then 1) What’s the point of using Tolkien as your source? His work is something different and a bit of variety in what shows are out there is nice and 2) Choices will probably not be made based on what makes good storytelling or with respect for what makes Tolkien’s work it’s own unique thing.

I don’t like bad adaptations made with making a cash grab in mind. If you don’t want to make something that feels like Tolkien, make your own thing. I mean, seeing as it’s the Second Age, they’re going to be making most of it up themselves anyway (I think? Seriously though, I’ve only been here for just over a year. I’m still working on broadening my Middle Earth knowledge!). If you’re not going to stick to source material, why bother having it? Don’t use it for advertising. You’re just going to annoy so many people by slapping a label on your show that doesn’t belong there.

But these things can be discussed without diving into full blown sex negativity and horror that people have bodies that might sometimes be seen.

I know you get me anon, but I just feel like reiterating for everyone: - I have no issue with people disliking sex scenes (I’m not a big fan of them myself!). - I have no issue with people saying that the show doesn’t sound like it’s going to feel very Tolkien-y (I agree. This sounds possible.) - I have no issue with people being worried that the show will just try to be another GoT, instead of embracing it’s own style (which should be very different), at the cost of good storytelling. - I have no issue with people being angry at the potential that the show creators are just using a well known title to drum up interest for the sake of making money.

I agree with all those things.

I do not agree with the idea that sex itself is something that is obscene and shameful and inherently lowers the tone of everything or that seeing bodies is inherently tasteless. I particularly disagree with the takes that I’ve seen where people are essentially saying that Tolkien’s works are too high brow to include something as lowly as sex and have this slight tone of ‘we’re better than the people who like to see sex in shows, we can’t let those people in’. My issue is with people looking down on sex as if it’s this dirty thing that couldn’t possibly exist alongside good storytelling and is actually beneath the fans of something as prestigious as the work of Tolkien.

It’s possible to talk about how something doesn’t fit with the rest of Tolkien’s works without blanket declarations that sex is bad and shouldn’t be seen, and without looking down your nose at people who actually like it in their media. Tone down the sex negativity.

#anonymous #answered asks #lotronprime #long post #sorry i went on a bit of a rant there..#but thank you for getting me anon!#the point of my last post wasn't really about the show specifically #it was about people's general disgust at sex as a concept

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gunmetalarchived · 3 years

Text

continued from this text thingy for something to tell you | a discord thread with @diabolicaltendencies

ALEX

She hovered outside his door, already wondering if he had just been nice on the phone to let her down in person. Even worse, after years of going through the conversation with people she didn’t give a shit about, it was hard to redo it all when she cares this much about someone else’s opinion. It was easy to dismiss gossip and rumour. Not so much the way her face cracked in a smile whenever her phone lit up with his name.

Fuck it. She took a deep breath and hit his door bell, the smell of vinegar seeping up from the heavily soaked chips in her arms. At least she would have some fuel for bribery, and a couple of beers to help it flow quicker.

SAM

Sam knew the conversation they'd had over text was heavier than she was letting on. He'd done some poking around the internet since, but after one or two crazy headlines and hyperlinks to celebrity conspiracy blogs popping up on his screen, he quickly quit he quit. It just gave him more proof that talking to people was more useful than googling them. He still can't believe people actually do that.

He opens the door with a smile, genuine and bright as he looks at her, "Hey!" He glances down at the bag and looks a bit confused but no less happy to see her, "Did you bring food?"

ALEX

“And beer, don’t forget the beer.” She beamed up at him, immediately glad she had come even if this was going to be awkward. She took a step inside setting the bag down in his hall to immediately yank him down to her level. If he had been acting polite earlier, fine, but there was no way on earth he was going to escape her barrage of kisses. She missed him. A couple weeks up north and a long overdue day in the studio aggravated that. The nerves more so.

“Cmere stupid.”

SAM

"And beer." He concedes, closing the door behind her. He pulls her close the same time she reaches for him, kissing her thoroughly like there hadn't even been an earlier conversation. He missed her just as much. Cupping her jaw, Sam runs his thumb along her cheek when they pull apart. "If you keep that up, the food's going to get cold."

ALEX

She folded into him so easily, so naturally it was like she was made to for there. It was still a surprise how normal this could feel. Her experience of relationships had been all or nothing, hot and cold was a mild way to put it. Yet with Sam, things seemed to sit at a constant simmer. A gentle bubble, a constant reminder that happiness was just a kiss away d as t the most. Gentle hands and soft touches, it was all so cliche and yet simply perfect.

Alex shrugged, because in all honesty she was happy to forget about the food entirely. But she rolled her eyes like a begrudging teenager, even if the idiotic grin on her face gave her away. “Fine, but I’m coming back for more later, alright?”

SAM

He presses a kiss against her hair before pulling away to pick up the food, "I hope so~" He flashes her a just-short-of-cocky grin and ushers her inside. The flat is an organized mess. There are jackets, papers and books littered about but they've each found their own neat pile. He's been pulling long hours and has resorted to just enough tidying to keep things from overwhelming him. One day it'll all get put away but it's not today.

"Wow, what'd I do to deserve this?" He comments happily upon peeking at their meal for the evening. He places the bag on the coffee table and settles down on one end of the gently worn couch.

ALEX

Alex followed him into his space, heading straight for the sofa too. She liked his flat, it was funny how it could feel so lived in. Her own place was so sparse, she looked like she could leave at any moment without it seeming out of place. But his was worn, loved, filled with time and memories. “Consider it bribery? Also, you’re welcome for saving you from any attempt at me cooking.”

She kicked her shoes off, immediately tucking her feet up underneath her and reaching for her keys from her pocket to open the beer bottles. “What have you been reading about? What’s that one?” She pointed to a pile on the coffee table curiously.

SAM

He begins sorting out the food, placing a box on either end of the table within reach and divvying up all the extra things in the bag. He glances up at the pile of books. It's mostly a stack of textbooks but the top one is a novel, "Oh, that's Stephen King's new one." He reaches to grab it and pass it over to her before opening his box and popping a fry into his mouth.

ALEX

She took the book form him, flipping through the pages likes he could actually take any of it in. No doubt she'd be up for it whenever it became a movie, but she had neither the mindset or the patience for reading. She learnt over, setting it back down carefully where he had pulled it form even if it meant being thoroughly in his way. Alex grabbed one of the bottles, using her keys in a way they were definitely not intended and holding it out for him to take. "Here y' go"

SAM

He leans backs slightly to make room for her to lean over but not quite enough that they aren't completely in each other's space. But it's comfortable, easy. "Thanks," He takes the bottle and downs a quick swig before smiling at her. "So what's the bribe for?"

ALEX

She grabbed the other bottle, playing with her keys again to loosen the top and taking a large swig to gather her thoughts. Her own food was still semi wrapped, so she stretched out for a chip from his. Taking it, Alex smirked.

“Well, I’m guessing you’ve got a ton of questions. And you might not like the answers so.. just in case.”

SAM

Sam slides his food a bit closer between them without complaint, continuing to casually eat himself. He smiles softly at her smirk, there's a short silence after she speaks before he replies, "We don't have to do this now. Unless you want to. My questions can wait."

ALEX

"Feels like we should rip the plaster off now, right?" There was no easy way to explain that if she put it off, she might stop talking all together. It happened, from time to time. He had just the good fortune of not being around to see it. Long distance worked like that. Alex shifted further into the sofa, curling into the arm to face him. "I'm all ears."

SAM

Sam looks over her and sits back against the couch, holding the beer in his lap. "Okay... I'm... not sure where to start." He offers an apologetic smile. "Maybe if you just-- explain what you were worried about me hearing? Give me the context?"

ALEX

"That's... fair." And it made it all the harder. Usually the songs lead this conversation or the press. Or both, if it was truly awful. She had fielded the worst of it for a few years not. It just had less stakes than this normally. Even when Jim found out. "I- erm-" She swallowed, hard. She pursed her lips to let the silence hang, trying to figure out where to start.

"I was with someone for about five years, l-like I said. He was on my course, and lived with me. We made a lot of music together until he got scouted, and then the thing I liked about him made us... not great."

SAM

Sam nods, he's listening intently, following along but not demanding anything. "And... that's what went into the music he wrote?" He asks gently, trying to put the pieces she's given him so far together.

ALEX

Alex nodded too, averting her eyes to take a sip from her own bottle as her fingers moved to fiddle with the label. “I wasn’t a great person... well I’m still not.” How best to put it? Her early twenties had been toxic, partly because of her relationship but also her outlook. There wasn’t really a way to explain all of that. “He wrote about me, about how he felt things had shifted between us. He took songs I had worked on with him and changed the lyrics to suit his view. And because my family is involved in politics, I didn’t get the luxury of having a fucked up relationship the same way other people do.”

SAM

Sam frowns, "So the media get a hold of it." He concludes. That would make sense of all the dramatics he'd seen from a simple search.

ALEX

“The band charted, there was a lot of press around the music from the few demos the label had pushed and... I was a great target.” She shifted awkwardly, tearing off a larger chunk of the label and rolling to between her fingers. “Things kind of spiralled from there.”

SAM

"Can I ask his name.. or the band's? I don't want to listen." He clarifies quickly. "Not unless you want me to for some reason. I just-- I don't want to look like an idiot if they come up."

ALEX

"Yeah- yeah, no of course. Elliot McAlistair, the band is Vactican Camoes. It was some dumb in joke the boys had." She smiled, softly. It was reassuring, whether he meant it or not. "You can. I mean, they're on the radio constantly. Sort of... unavoidable."

They had become the soundtrack to her life, especially working in the bar. Eventually she'd managed to curate some decent playlists to avoid it, but every now and agains she would be caught off guard by his tinny voice echoing from a shop front or builders radio.

"I don't come off well from it. I'm not... the most stable person in his eyes. And my dad - my brother, they didn't take it well."

SAM

"Well, good news is I don't believe everything I hear on the radio." Sam looks at her fondly. She's sitting so defensively, so worried about what he's going to think or say, but all he want to do is wrap an arm around her shoulders and hold her close. He knows this is her side of the story, but honestly that's the only one that matters to him. "...How did they take it?"

ALEX

Everything about her was nervous, tightly wound and yet somehow restless. Maybe finally talking about this would release the pit in her stomach.

“It’s- erm...” she tried to swallow again, opening her lips a few times before she had the sounds to fill them. “It’s.. complicated. I’m not, well, I wasn’t close with my dad so- yeah. It was very... personal. I sort of- I-I stopped talking for a while. My brother, he was better. But it’s... it’s not something people forget.”

She puffed out her cheeks, letting loose a heavy breath. “He wrote about things that made them look b-bad.”

SAM

Sam puts down the beer and shifts to sit facing her. He slowly reaches for her hand, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. He won't force the contact, "Hey." He shakes his head, "That's not your fault."

ALEX

“No, n-no I know you’re right.” She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his with a small squeeze. It was hard because she wasn’t expecting this comfort, but she liked it. Maybe this is what healthy relationships looked like. Her smile fell from her face though, her eye-line dropping to her feet. “Except, well, it kinda is. S-some of it anyway. They’re politicians so my life just... it doesn’t work for them. Me being me- it’s a bit of a whirlwind.”

SAM

He takes her hand in both of his, fingers caressing her skin. "I can't pretend to know what you were like then. I guess I don't really know your family either, but, I like who you are now. A song or headline isn't going to change that... and politicians, celebrities or not, nothing justifies someone selling your private life to the public without your consent. You know that, right?"

ALEX

On some base level, she knew he was right. And she agreed with him completely. Yet her mind swung constantly, between outrage at her life being subject to the judgment of the British public and shame at what a mess it had become. "Yeah." She said it quietly the first time, barely audible before she repeated it a little stronger. Maybe it would sink in.

"I don't know. I wasn't a decent person, neither was he. And I can live with that. It's become very real, having to explain it to everyone."

SAM

He nods and smiles encouragingly, squeezing her hand lightly between his. Sure, he would need more details for the full picture - to actually listen to the songs or read the articles. But even if it's the worst thing he can imagine... he doesn't think it would matter. He likes the Alex he knows, flaws and all, "Well I'm not running away yet... so now what?"

ALEX

"You sure? There's still time?" She uses her free hand to check an imaginary watch, trying to use the bit to gather her shaky confidence. It made sense he was playing nice now, whilst she was here and in the room. It was what came later she was terrified for. "It's okay. If this is too much, that's alright. My life isn't private anymore, it's a lot to get used to"

SAM

"It's not too much." He keeps up his reassuring smile. "Is there anything else you want me to know?"

ALEX

“You say that now...” she took a swig from her beer with a shrug. “I don’t know, guess if there’s any questions?”

SAM

"Hm." He looks down at their hands leaning in to kiss her knuckles before glancing back up with bright blue eyes, "Do I get to hear more of your music now that I know?"

ALEX

It was impossible not to smile when he did shit like this. Small, meaningful gestures that completely derailed her toxic train of thought. She leant forwards, pulling her hands away setting her bottle down on the coffee table before she flopped onto him entirely. She let her head rest against his chest, curling her shoulders to fit in the space at the back of the sofa. Impossible for him to eat, but soothing all the same. “Maybe. If you wanted to? Truth is I haven’t really written, well not for me. For friends, sure but that’s different. I’ve had an idea or two... just not got very far ‘til you came along.”

SAM

Sam falls perfectly into place, right where she wants him. He curls an arm around her, fingers lightly ghosting back and forth before reaching up to brush her hair back from her face. "I'd love to hear it." And he genuinely means it. There's a small note of excitement in his words.

ALEX

Easy. He made things easy. Easier to talk, to be kind, to be honest. Easier to write too. Sure, she'd been playing around with ideas more form the moment they met. However they were still personal - a real outlet for the intense feelings she had been having and trying to play down. Alex knew she was besotted. Acting cool was tricky when she fel so hard, and so fast for the people who showed her the slightest affection. She didn't even think, she just let it out. She had intended to say 'I'd love you to.' but it came out... different.

"I think I love you."

SAM

Out of everything she’s said, all the supposed horrors and skeletons in her closet, it’s those three words that surprise him. He inhales, chest expanding under her cheek, and his expression flutters between surprise and happiness. His breath catches on the exhale, words tumbling out of his mouth before he can think twice, whispered into her hair, “I love you too.”

Maybe it wasn't the right time to say it. Maybe he should've waited for a moment that wasn't weighed down by what's she's been through. But he's happy. He loves her. It's the truth. His arm tightens around her in a loose hug.

#discord thread 012 | something to tell you #( sh: toothpaste kisses | alex + sam | happyverse )#diabolicaltendencies #( v: happyverse )

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justdyingslowly · 4 years

Text

1. Name justdyingslowly obviously come on

2. Nationality Australian

3. Age 22

4. Birthday nnnah dont feel like it

5. Zodiac sign (or your primal zodiac sign) Libra/Scorpio cusp

6. Gender wamon

7. Sexuality very very hetero

8. Your looks (add a picture or describe yourself) androgenous

9. What do you/did you study? Psychology (focus on sexology) and art.

10. What’s your current job like?/What job would you like to have? I am disabled you think I can work ha sexologist would be awesome. When I was a kid I wanted to be a fireman but Australias always burning

11. Your birth order head first

12. How many siblings do you have? 1

13. Do you have good relations with your family? yeah dads finally out of his abusive relationship, nearing age 70 and his emotions and his sexuality are finally opening up for the first time and that makes me SO happy.

14. How many friends do you have? what kind of fucked up question is this.

15. Your relationship status relationshipped. Fiance? got the marriage papers in a drawer somewhere with the car rego but can’t be fucked filling them?

16. What do you look for in a SO? empathetic, mature, calm. Always open to discussion. Prefers to be blunt rather than secretive. Emotional age over 14 (incredibly fucking rare apparently). Puts an importance on context and understanding other views above all else.

17. Do you have a crush? Hellll yeah Crush on my partner and got a crush on a mutual friend of ours who don’t even know hes cute af hehe one day partners gonna accidentally spill the beans and embarrass me coz hes shit with secrets RIP me.

18. When did you have your first kiss? You think I can remember this bullshit? Its not that big a deal

19. Do you prefer serious and meaningful relationships or casual dating/one night stands? One night stand sex almost exclusively sucks. Just. SUCKS. Because neither of you know what the other likes and it ends up being an awkward mix of trying to please yourself while trying to also be considerate.

20. What are your deal breakers? Plugging your ears to anything that feels gross, uncomfortable or disagrees with you. How can you grow as a person without introspection? How can you mold what you think and believe without taking in other arguments and comparing them to your beliefs to see how they stack up? Its pathetic.

21. How was your day? cute mutual friend had a fall this morning and were both worried about him. His back is bad and he’s getting a little older, he can’t be getting dizzy and having falls like that. other than that im anxious about seeing my gastro. He’s lovely but... specialists are specialists. Good at knowing what they know but not always great at listening.

22. Favourite food & drink you think im allowed to eat or drink? water and... foods a touchy subject.

23. What position do you sleep in? Usually on my side with a body pillow to grip so I don’t end up choking my partner in his sleep.

24. What was your last dream about? uuhhh...going to italy and being unable to get into this tiny basket boat properly.

25. Your fears does PTSD to medical shit count haha

26. Your dreams ... going to italy and being unable to get into a tiny basket boat thingy?

27. Your goals - get some sort of diagnosis eventually. Its been 3 years of trying and im tired. - get back to studying art part time for my bachelors. - pass JLPT N3. - go back to university for psychology. - do the dishes when I get home.

28. Any pets? two budgies. we also take care of any orphaned or injured birds.

29. What are your hobbies? feeling nauseous drawing writing a little bit im making a little gameboy game in C atm too

30. Any cool places in your area? i live next to a national park with waterfalls and koalas and emus and stuff

31. What was your last awkward situation? mutual friend made a comment on his chest i playfully smacked it (related to the comment) it was surprisingly hard “O-oh wow, thats... I didnt expect that” my partner laughed at me. it was awful.

32. What is your last regret? getting embarrassed at friends pecs stop making me think about it 33. Language/s you can speak english. N4 Japanese.

34. Do you believe in astrological stuff? (Zodiac, tarot, etc.) of course not what the fuck

35. Have any quirks? Quirkless. I do wiggle when im happy though apparently.

36. Your pet peeves open doors.

37. Ideal vacation spend a months chilling in an old japanese house in autumn hokkaido oooooof that sounds nice

38. Any scars? internal? yes

39. What does your last text message say? peepee poopoo ustinky

40. Last 5 things from your search history how do i find this

41. What’s your [device] background? Sam Porter Bridges walkin around Sam Porter Bridges cuddling BB-28 Louise while he sleeps my chicken

42. What do you daydream about? all might

43. Describe your dream home an old japanese house in autumn hokkaido oooooof that sounds nice

44. What’s your religion/Your thought about religion its a comforting thought having a parent-figure who cares about you and looks after all the big things you can’t manage yourself, but institutionalizing it runs a severe risk of becoming harmful cults. And it often does.

45. Your personality type me

46. The most dangerous thing you’ve done i saw the lost bunny that was on all the posters in the neighbourhood looked thin and patchy so i grabbed him to take him home. im allergic. sent me to hospital and I almost died.

47. Are you happy with your current life? feeling sick sucks and partners having a depressive episode but things are pretty good

48. Some things you’ve tried in your life living

49. What does your wardrobe consist of? blacks, reds, whites and pinks

50. Favourite colour to wear? at the moment pink. Red is always comforting though.

51. How would you describe your style? mix between lazy alternative punk, teenager with band shirts and harajuku peach kawaii uwu

52. Are you happy with your current looks? kinda wish i was a bit shorter but what can you do

53. If you could change/add something to your appearance - impossible or not - what would it be? bit shorter

54. Any tattoos or piercings? lol no PTSD

55. Do you get complimented often? by who? partner constantly, family haha are you kidding im australian so a friend’s version of showing affection is calling you a cunt and slapping your ass in public

56. Favourite aesthetic? all might

57. A popular trend that you dislike blocking because you disagree or find them distasteful. Ignoring all context to opposing thoughts and arguments. taking a personal feeling of disgust to mean something is evil. Blocking your ears to anything that isn’t a circlejerk of what you already think - and trying to isolate anyone who even just listens to something other then the noise of your sloppy dicks to have a thought of their own.

58. Songs you’re currently obsessed with? The Machine by Low Roar

59. Song you normally wouldn’t admit you like. why wouldnt i admit i like a song

60. Favourite genre? probably enka haha

61. Favourite artist/band/genre? probably enka haha oh and tatsuro yamashita

62. Hated popular songs/artists? why the hell would I hate something like a song? I hate aspects of the music industry as a whole I guess?

63. Put your music on shuffle and list first 5 which playlist they aren’t all together in one place

64. Can you sing or play any instruments? piano, saxophone... uh... partners good at making music and playing shakuhachi

65. Do you like karaoke? no.

66. Own any albums? yes? many?

67. Do you listen to radio? What stations? no. but triple J, ABC Jazz and Classical. sometimes they even play final fantasy and JRPG music on classical which is pretty neat. -

68. Favourite movie/series? can i make this about games because then the answer is Metal Gear Solid

69. Favourite genre of movies/books/etc ...shounen?

70. Your fictional crush/es if they’re over 40yrs old, male and happy and bubbily or grumpy and sad then there’s a big ol fat chance I wanna bone. Solid Snake from MGS4, All Might and pretty much anyone drawn by Tarou Madoromi.

71. Which fictional character is you? uh

72. Are you a shipper? List your otps, if so what does this even mean what language is this

73. Favourite greek god? idk hades seems chill

74. A legend from where you live that you like the story of Tjilbruke is funny and good. all Kaurna stories are good.

75. Do you like art? What’s your favourite work or artist? im in a big egon schiele mood atm.

76. Can you share your other social media? no i am incapable

77. Favourite youtubers? many

78. Favourite platform? not too high up. actually i like being a little lower than ground level in corners.

79. How much time do you spend on the internet? too much

80. What video games have you played? Which one’s your favourite? look i just want to say that MGS4 is the best one in the series and Death Stranding is phenomenally engaging.

81. Your favourite books (manga also counts) these are all so goddamn definitive how can I pick? Oh wait the answer is One Piece

82. Do you play board/card games? I play DnD atm and know 15 yr old rules to Yugioh

83. Have you ever been to a night marathon in cinema? that shit dosn’t happen here

84. Favourite holiday golden week coz its a week also easter because thats when all the glucose based sweets come back

85. Are you into dramas? what kind

86. Would you use death note, if you had one? no. thats called being a murderer.

87. What changes would you make in the world, no matter how impossible, if you had the power to? chill people out a bit. when people feel unsafe they get really depenfive and territorial and block their ears to everything, making in-and-out groups for themsevles that end up putting them in more harm.

88. Could you survive a zombie apocalypse? im disabled with a disabled partner. we arent funny sure we can survive normal everyday life when society is angled so sharply against us.

89. If you had to be turned into a paranormal being, what would it be? id like to be a mimi spirit

90. What would you want to happen to you after your death? spooky time

91. If you had to change your name, what would be your pick? toshinori yagi

92. Who would you switch your life with for a week? anyone healthy

93. Pick an emoji to be your tattoo that cursed one with the intense eyes and the hand

94. Write 3 things about yourself - only one of them must be true im me im not me im pee

95. Cold or hot? cold.

96. Be a hero or be a villain? both are distasteful ideas in reality

97. Sing everything you want to say or rhyme? i can’t do either partner speak sin bad puns and its hell, these both sound about equal

98. Shapeshifting or controlling time? shapeshifting. controlling time is eithe rmanipulative or lonely. shapeshifing is every other superpower at once.

99. Be immortal or be immune to everything aside from natural death? both are deeply upsetting ideas

100. ….. or …..? jiji or ossan? generally Jiji, but ossans can be lovely too.

#personal #stupid

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kanene-yaaay · 4 years

Text

Reasons to Smile

Kanene's Notes:

Reasons to smile:

Today wasn't a sunny day, and I wake up early, which was pretty cool so that way I had time to finally finish my fanfic and post it. Oh, I have internet, and this is also awesome, since I can show this fanfic and talk with you all because of it. And the fun thing about Sun is that is okay the fact that it wasn't showing up a lot today because you guys alone are enough to light up my day and warm my heart. So thank you for being here and being so strong in these tough times, my lollipop!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Roman!Patton and Ler!Patton/Ler!Virgil/Ler!Roman (It can be seen as Romantic or Platonic LAMP/CALM).

*Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* Something around 4.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* I'm very happy I finally managed to finalize this fanfiction! I made an personal goal to make to each one of the Light Sides a tickle fic focused on them specifically (Virgil = Vulnerable; Logan = It started when... ; Patton = Patton has a secret) and that was the last one! I'm already starting another project which I hope to post soon, so donut worry! I will be opening my Ask Box for prompts, however I will make a post about it, soon! <3

* E a versão em português brasileiro!

* Masterpost in case you wanna see my others works! <3

*Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Watch a fun video, read a good story, talk with the one that you love and drink water! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

Roman felt he was the least heroic hero from all the Mind Palace. It was horrible, like a sensation which seemed to start in his chest, in that deepest part of him where the soul is, and began to spread through all his body. First his throat, making it dry and with tons and tons of lost words never said, then it went to his stomach, leading it to weight as much as his legs, which didn’t felt have any strength left to stand or move in any direction; his eyes looked as dikes about to broke and flood everything in they way, and, in the end, he didn’t felt any cold, however this didn’t stopped him from drow himself in tons of comforters and teddy bears just like he currently was.

As he said before: Not even a drop of heroism.

The soft, warm pile moved some time later as the prince emerged from it, not completely healed, but at least a little better after the nap he had. His hand moved with a flourish in the air, summoning Crofter’s, because he was addicted to this jelly after the musical video, and started to eat, feeling his face getting dirty with his own clumsy actions already inserted in his being.

Jelly on his face, messy hair, tired, sleepy eyes… Yep, definitely these were the ‘royal days’ which any Fairy Tale ever utter. None chapter mentioning, explaining how were the thousands of days in the tower waiting, dreaming; not a page dedicated to the lonely afternoons wandering through the forest in seek of a beauty lady with skin pale as snow, or even some phrases about the months surrounded and arrested in himself that Maui had to struggle and neither three or four verses about all the sleepless nights watered in guilty that the Beast had gone through.

Perhaps, it was because in the end…

- Nobody cares that much. - The words sounded even tougher when left his lips and Roman felt himself squirm as if it had inflicted a physical blow. He shook his head, knowing very well the bottomless well he was burying himself into.

He took a deep breath and opened the desk drawer picking up the old-looking folder, with a single draw of a feather outlined with glitter in its cape. He leaned on the bed’s headboard and opened the emergency folder for ‘heroic moments not so heroic of life’ as he liked to call it.

There were all that intimate stories. The ones we do just for ourselves. The arts in which we are inserted in the world that we chose in the way we wish… Stories with a plot very much deeper that the one traced on papers and the chats and scenes which that had already been turned over, reinvented and transformed again and again and again in the mind of the creative aspect. Took a good sip of air and released slowly in the paper with doodles at the edges. The traces and dialogues started to float from them and dance in the wind, recreating, reorganizing and materializing themselves in the characters, places and contexts previously determined. His trace was light and clear, seeming to flow slightly and naturally with the wind as his room began to take a form of a magnificent forest.

Roman observed the stories unfold before him, sporadically remembering the jokes he had written much longer ago and the trail each action leaded the character. He remembered also the ideas he had when wrote every single one of these words and how much happy he was just by the simple fact he was putting them on lines, without even realizing it Roman found himself with a small smile finding way to his features along with some salty drops pioneering trails down his cheeks and his hand centimeters away from the holograms, doomed to his destiny of always being capable to have any scenario, character and plot at his fingertips, but nothing more than that.

His not so optimal thoughts were pulled out of him when laughter and teasing cut the place and almost automatically made a pleasant shivers ran across his body. Now a real smile took over his face without he even noticing it, his eyes attentive to every detail of the protagonist being pinned in the floor and attacked by his other two friends.

Not a common attack, of course, because Roman could be anything but ‘common’. That, as the majority of the stories, which were in that folder, was a story developed around… tickling.

So, nothing more fair than the principal character, being the hurried and naturally inattentive adventurer who he was (and because in the last day he had a problematic night) didn’t noticed that, when he went to land the ship he forgot to do the necessary procedures before it (he would need to question Logan about the functions from a ship’s painel control later) and because of that the automobile suffered severe damage by the time it hit the ground. Then, nothing more fair than, while the ship was being repaired, both of his best friends tickled him by the same amount of time (which, sure, was a lie, because they would stop immediately when noticed his ‘victim’ had researched his limit. However, the merely possibility of that happens and the teasing they directed towards him about this only made the entire situation more ticklish and playful.)

(What? It was like said: the thing put on the paper is only the beginning of the whole iceberg behind the plot.)

When a story was over, the words returned floating to the paper where they belonged, the scribbles being again fixed, and then Roman took another one and brought it to life, sometimes closing his eyes in order to concentrate even more on the laughter and try to visualize fingers dancing in his most ticklish spots.

Just the thoughts about it leaded to ghost sensations ran across his entire spine. The papers fell with each story that ended and floated gracefully to the ground, because, later he would busy himself with the task of tidying up all that mess.

Later.

(~*~)

He left his room, already having organized it and saved his little folder back to its original place (one story was missing, probably lost in some corner of his forest. He would care about this another day, though. He was tireeeeeed.). He was interrupted some quick times by Thomas seeking to discuss new goals and dreams they could perceive in the next moths and someday in the future, which made him to be late for the dinner and, consequently, his entire routine after meal, and it was for that reason which at ten at night the aspect of passion and creativity was washing his clothes for the next video, that may or may not would be in the morning. Something which made him almost pray to not rain in the next day so he wouldn’t need to take his vestments to dry in the forest in his room.

Since it was almost IMPOSSIBLE to find anything by own will and not literally tripping over them (Not that this ever happened before with his teddy bear which went there to take some sunlight after a particularly strong storm in the Mind Place. Pffff. Of course not. Prince doesn’t stumble, or have teddy bear neither!! Who told you that??) in that indomitable world just as the creativity...

Wait…

Ah, that was why this world was his room and he is the aspect of creativity and… aaahh! Now the things made sense...

My goshly gosh, now he was beginning to look for logic in the pieces of his routine. OK. Red alert. Abort Mission! Sad days made him WAY too philosophical and like Logan. Abort Mission!

His foot leaded him to the living room, letting the washing machine do its job, his mind in a battle to decide which Disney to watch and which ones had duration just a bit longer than the washing process. His eyes landed in the television and his body froze for a piece of second.

“Reasons to smile today”

That's what the paper stuck to the device's screen said. It was a notebook’s common paper, the words scribbled a bit stronger than the necessary amount, however this wasn’t the cause of the guardian of dreams and passion stop in the way to his happiness.

And yes what that phrase meant.

It was a Logan’s idea (amaze!) which emerged in a particularly difficult period for Thomas.

It was really simple, to be honest: every day all the sides got together, more specifically in the breakfast, and told at least one reason to smile and look forward that day. Usually it was Patton who listed more than half of the reasons in almost every meetings, them being memories, peoples or places, e that constantly managed to rip out a good smile and that warm, cozy feeling in their chest.

But, when the moral aspect was feeling too much down for the activity, Roman always jumped with a good future, those where all their dreams were accomplished, Logan always brought some good memories and neutral facts and Virgil always came with someone. One supported the other and vice versa.

Those were really tough moments, nevertheless also were the moments which consolidated them as a famILY.

The royal member held de paper, the entire room bathed in a silence in which he could swear to amplificate his heartbeats. It was possible to notice there was something written in the back of it, so he turned it.

“Your unwavering courage.”

The lights went off and two hands digged in his sides, a scream getting stuck in his throat and his reflexes to punch what touched him was equally restrained by THAT specific sensation.

- NAHAHAHAHAHA! – His laughter was quick to fill each piece of the silent before installed in the place, his own hands swinging from left to right without really managing to do something, completely different from the ones which attacked him, each single finger mixing between wriggling, kneading, trembling and giving an extra special attention to every inch it could research. He quivered, his legs weakening with the flow of laughter. - WHOHOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHOHOHOHO I-I-IS - A particularly mean poke in his lowest rib made his voice to fail, a new shade of blush painting his features. - ACK! - An amused snort could be heard from behind him, the tickling fingers found the new sound interesting and now spent their time slowly spidering up and down his ribs. Light, quick and crazy tickles dancing and spreading with each touch. - nahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

He knew this game, knew how to play it. He just needed to find out who was attacking him. Whilst his squirming, his hands tried to hold or touch anything from who was behind him. A hint. Any hint.

Roman grabbed a wrist. It was uncovered, but there was fabric right behind it. Just one of them wore clothes long-sleeved - His thoughts seemed to run and vanish as fast as the squeaks and yelps between his hearty laughter - Just one of them wore vestments long-sleeved…

The unknown wrist released itself from his hold, quickly deviating its attention to his upper ribs. His legs weakened and he fell in the ground, the tickling following all his moves and don’t stopping to attack him with light kneads and pinches, even with all his fighting.

- Anahahahahahahahah-anahahahahaha!!! - His eyes closed in attempt to focus for the name slip already, but his laughter seemed to control all his breath and mind. -ANXIEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHETY! NAHAhahahaha!!

The fingers slowed down, almost stopping, which allowed the aspirant of royalty finally take some deep quick, delightful breathes, his low and wobbly giggles intertwined with fast squeals being fed up by two index fingers that still poking and lightly teasing that exact spot that connect his armpits and ribs.

- Thahahahahank Beyohohohohcé.

- Tsc. - The purple aspect clicked his tongue and even though everything was bathed into darkness, Roman could perfectly imagine the expression in the other’s face. A sharp look. A marvelous smirk. Uh oh - We work with names here, Squeaky Princey.

F U C-

- Nononohohoho! wAHAHAHAHAHAIT- He even attempted to escape, sure, but was already giggling even before the hands came back to his sides in full speed. His laughter exploded from his lips, his legs and arms also dancing and struggling without any real effort and his eyes closing tightly.

This jerk had told his name a few days ago and KNEW that none of them has get used to call him by that yet. He k n e w.

- YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOUR STUHUHUHUHUUHUHUHP-NO! WHAHAHAHAHAHA-WHAHAHAHAHAIT!! - Snort. More high-pinched uncontrollable laughter. Squeal. More laughter. Did one of them belong to the emo side or did he imagined it? - LEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHET ME T-T-THIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHINK!!!

Roman could feel the name in the tip of his tongue, somewhere between his loud and attention demanding crackles. Yes, right there, between his bright, mesmerizing smile and that warmth in his chest that seemed to spread through all across his face. He felt like would melt at any moment. Since when his smile could get this big?

- VIRHIHIHIHIHIHIHIGIL!!! IT IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIS VIRGIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIL!!!

- Ding ding ding. – The lights went on again and the royal aspect deposited his hands on the floor, his remain giggles flowing from his mouth as those butterflies and that cozy sensation kept flying in his stomach. - Strike.

- Yohohohou will feel my rahahahahag- However, when he turned, blushed features and teary eyes, to see the fear in his enemy's face as he uttered his promise of vengeance, the prince only found nothing. A gigantic piece of void where the purple one should be standing. The sheet preserved itself in the ground, calm and plain, in the same position he had left it, as it mocked about all the mess that happened seconds ago.

- Who are you looking at, subject? - But the sparkles in his eyes removed any heat of his words.

He went to the laundry and now headed to his room. Being completely honest, he didn't felt a single drop of will to sleep right now, the previous ‘attack’ continued as a mystery. Of course, they all were extremely close, but... tickles? It have been a long time since this artifice was used among them. It was something almost as old as that phrase or that game…

Ok. Something was smelling really strange here.

Maybe it was his new cologne which- No, wait, Roman! Focus, focus!

Maybe it was…

An adventure.

And what kind of royalty he would be if he denied an adventure?

Unsheathed his sword and kept his track to his room, confident and brave footsteps echoing in the hallway.

A quick and muffled ‘thump’ could be heard from his room, which automatically activated all the instincts from the extra side, because of that, in a matter of few seconds the wooden object was already being thrown in the ground by a smiley Roman, who managed to support himself in the only feet that didn’t hurted, since apparently, knocking -ha!- a door down with one (or more, shhh) kick can have consequences (How he was supposed to know?).

- BOW TO YOUR PRINCE AND MAY I DECIDE TO SPARE YOU! - His heroic pose was totally ignored, because the place was empty. His eyes analyzed each corner and each shadow, without really finding anything that give the slightest tip that any other life being beyond him even stepped there.

And then his gaze bumped in a shiny, polished black shoe, half completely hidden under his bed, making a danger joyful grin to spread in his features. All his shoes were Disney tematic and had their own day and outfit and any of them had this shade of black.

(Maybe the Ursula’s one was the one that looked more like, but even with this in mind it was very distinguishable the difference between a dark-purple and a basic dark, please!)

His footsteps leaded him quietly, a perfect contrast with all the shouting from pieces of time ago. He slowly bent down, prepared to grab the shoe and whoever was wearing it and…

- HA! YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD TRICK M- Good point: The shoe came easily out. Bad point: it was because it was empty, which was the reason for his glorious victory statement being, and and very rudely by the way, interrupted. Roman indignantly scoffed; he refused to let the victory escape so easily through his fingers! He was the embodiment of dreams, persistence and hope and he. wouldn’t. give. up. so. easily!!

Inflated by his own enthusiasm, the royal side knelt down, noticing only a paper on the floor in a place a little further under his bed. Just a little crawl was necessary to solve the problem, with a gleam of determination in his glare Roman firmly held the hint, excitedly bouncing his legs, the only part of his body that wasn’t covered by the furniture.

"Your persistence and mind of an untamed nature."

Before he could even process a bit more the meaning contained in the words, which apparently were a continuation from previous paper, the prince felt a strong arm embrace his ankles, his shoes being removed with a slowly calm that didn’t related with the adrenaline which exploded in himself and now across his arteries. His ‘mind of an untamed nature’ understanding exactly what was about to happen and finding zero ways to run away from his fate.

- NO!!! Don’t you dare!! - One of his shoes fell with a muffled hit on the ground. - I-I… hehehe…! - Giggles began to took over his throat. His other shoe fell as well, a cold, excited shiver ran down his spine. - No!! - A finger lightly positioned itself in the exact center of his feet, all his nerves vibrated in expectation. - NononononNo!

The finger started to scratched softly, its nail slided without a single bit of hurry across his feet in a move that went from the tip of his toes to his heel, just to add another finger in the movement and calmly repeat the pattern over and over and over and over… Until all his five stupid tickly fingers were tickling him.

Roman tried to escape from the gap in his ankle, his eyes as tighten as his lips, refusing to brake his barrier.

The one who ‘attacked’ changed his technique a few times, going from circular motions to quick scribbles, however, he hasn’t rewarded with more than some muffled squeaks and snorts from the other. The fingers moved away, giving Prince time enough to recover profusely his breath, almost don’t hearing the soft humming which filled the air for some little pieces of heartbeats.

Roman already had the name in the tip of his tongue. The letter alone was enough of a clue, albeit… the possibility to finish with the playing caused a part of himself to quiver sadly. He didn’t wished to end with this moment… No… In truth…

He didn’t wanted this feeling to end. A feeling that made him excited, electric, feeling like he could run fifty kilometers nonstop. This sentiment, which automatically produced a smile in his features and made he really believes, realizes that he was…

Was loved.

Perhaps it was this the reason that his mouth opened even before his brain processed his provocation, challenger tune that impregnated his next words:

- Há! My dear enemy! Your faux fighting techniques would never be able to defeat a prince like mí! - The creativity side could feel the anticipation, the danger sign glowing in a bright red, and launched his final card: his cocky laughter (and extremely natural. Of course, he never trained hours and hour in a diversity of tunes and expressions in front of his mirror. Humpft. Of course not. That was one of princes’ natural gifts.) of victory.

The same that was interrupted seconds after by the twenty nails that scratched the absurdly, extremely ticklish skin under his toes. Roman could swear that not even in his years of theater he managed to achieve this high tune.

- Ohohohohoh! NohohohohohOHOHOHOhohohoho! – His head shook desperately, his legs bouncing and fight for their lives and freedom, his laughter, now breathless and full of half pleas of mercy, dancing through his room.

A part of himself, one which wasn’t maddened with all this tickling, all the fingers that attacked merciless every little centimeter of his feet and his reverberated laughter, fought against his flight instincts, leading the whole scribbles, pokes and wriggles to find the minimum of resistance as possible (Not that the Tickler will ever know it, sure.)

- PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEE - A nail found a very particularly sensible spot right under his big toe releasing a series of snorts and yelps throughout his already uncontrollable, wobbly laughter. The tickling was unbearable, but in a very different, more lightly, way than the previous attack, and that was making him crazy. - PleasepleasepleAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSEHEHEHE!! NAHAHAHAhahahahHAHAHAHahahahahaHAHAHAHA!!

Roman persisted for a few more seconds, his entire body, despite the tickles being focused in just one place, squirmed. He only allowed the name to slip for his tongue when his laughter and giggles, it depended from the spot and apparently his ‘enemy’ wasn’t satisfied in choose just one, started to steal his breath. His hand hit the cold floor of his room.

- LOGAN!!! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT IS Lohohohhohohohogan!!

The tickles were decreasing until finally stop, making the tingles in his soles not as intense as the that took over his ribs and sides before in the living room. Roman, in the exact moment, which felt the gap in his ankle to weaken, pulled his feet closer, rubbing them.

- Undoubtedly correct. - It could be his tickled mind pranking him, but the dreamer could swear he heard a hint of amusement in the other’s voice. It didn’t took longer for the prince to catch the characteristic sound of sinking, which resulted him quickly attempting to get out of under the bed to reach the one with glasses, after all, their battle hadn’t ended yet!!

- Wait right there! Don’t you freaking dare to- And, once again, his sentence was interrupted. Now for a little snort that flied from his lips when the logic aspect ran softly his fingers at his feet, making the prince to retract in defense, giving him time enough to disappear with a smirk, half joyful and half cocky, adorning his face.

Roman really tried to be angry, but how much heated was his features and how much euphoric he was in the moment proved this action to be a little more difficult, which definitely wouldn’t aplacate his future revenge, of course.

Now, though, his only plan was to take a shower and then sleep. For that he forced his tired body to get up and head his bathroom, part smiling and part yawning. He opened his door and stretched, feeling his bones to crack and muscles to relax.

And then his gaze found the paper stuck in the mirror above his sink, his instinct screaming in a red alert for knowing very well the next step in this game.

- NO! - Maybe it was the tiredness, however, before he could turn around to try to stop the attack a pair of hands hit in his armpits, something that made his legs automatically to fail and every and any coherent thought be tossed away from his brain to a far far away. The laughter already falling in great waterfalls from his mouth.

- PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHADREHEHE! - His real laughter, that specific one that only appears when his most ticklish spot is being attacked with the most ruthless tickles, was loud, thunderous and definitely an easy sound to be noticed from miles away, Roman almost could feel his blush to spread across his neck just imagining Logan and Virgil smiling as heard him reverberate around the house. – NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

- Ooooooh? - Patton’s playfully tune would be definitely impossible to hear if he wasn’t so close of his ears, his words leading to even more tickles and shivers in the other. - It seems that our little pretty prince here is ticklish? Coothie coothie coo! Oh, no! What are you gonna do? Huh? Huh? What our powerful, brave Prince Roman will do to escape from the Tickle Monster? Huh? Huh? Kitty Kitty Coo! My dear and ticklish prince!!

- NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO TEASIHIHIHIHIHIHIIHIHING, PAHAHAHAHAHATTON!

The creativity’s embodiment trashed back and forth, his head shaking, perhaps in attempts to remove all the red in his face, maybe trying to dislodge those fingers that poked, kneaded, drummed and tickled every available skin they could research. Tears began to accumulate in the corner of his eyes,

And, even with all his effort, his conscient parte still struggled against his instincts to escape and making him to get as close to the moral aspect as possible, almost laying on him.

- But how could I ever stop when knowing that this give me access to all these cute squeals? - A poke in the right place and Roman exemplified his words. Patton giggled. - Not mentioning this wonderful and melodious laugher, Roman! It is adorable!!! - The paternal side seemed as happy as he did, the royalty aspirant could feel their laughter in harmony, and maybe (maybe, only!) his heart had melted a little. Or it was just his tears falling from his eyes, his mind was a mess, okay? Don’t ask for details nor logic.

His laughter, high pinch squeals, snorts and breathless giggles endured for some more minutes before Roman pushed himself forward, laughing a plea to stop, which the one who wears cardigan promptly answered. They leaned against the wall, feeling the cold of the concrete aplacate the heat of the remaining giggles.

For some seconds both stayed in silence, calming down.

- Whahahat did you write?

- Huh? - Patton blinked a few times, leaving his thoughts and staring the other with a stunning smile.

- In the paper. I couldn’t read… And I expected a honest attack from you, padre! Attacking enemies from behind is very immoral!

- Hehehehe! - Genuine smile, hands up as an act of surrender. - Anything goes in love and war.

- Really bold words for someone so close from my fingers! - Roman showed an evil grin, punctuating each one of his words with pokes in the other’s belly, making him squirming in a sea of quick giggles, pushing his hands.

- You stop right there, mister! - Protested, his glare assuming a paternal glint. - Tomorrow we have a video to record and we need to sleep early! Thomas will need his creativity radiant and rested!

The prince whined, hands moving in exaggerated gestures and laying dramatically on the floor, following with his eyes as a smiling Patton stood up and pulled the paper from the mirror.

- Ah! I wrote: ‘Your golden heart!’, but I think I should have written about your stories! - Roman felt his blood freeze, a quick flashback from the morning passing before his eyes. The holograms, flying scenarios, sheets falling, Thomas calling him to do something, the lost paper… - They’re amazing and give really ncredible ideas.

His face suddenly looked as if it had been set on fire and for the first time in a long time the prince found himself speechless while the one with the glasses deposited the paper in his hands, kissed his forehead, wishing ‘Good night~’ before getting out, humming softly and disappeared from the other’s vision.

Roman buried his face in his hands, grunting in frustration, which wasn’t too much easy to do when a smile from ear to ear looked to be stuck in his features.

Yes, they had gave him a plenty of reasons to smile.

Maybe it was for that reason that most of the stories didn’t told about these days, these moments… Perhaps because they were from such great and strong heroism that it was almost impossible to be entirely put in just one plot.

And it was for that reason that Roman, while sitting on his bed, pencil and paper in hands, wanted to be the first one to do so.

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