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[TCA] Calico Tag
Title: Calico Tag
Fandoms: High School Musical & DC Comics (Justice Society of America) crossover
Universe: Tom's Crossover Adventure
Summary: Tom hates the tabloids - though more specifically, he hates the Internet (and his fandom) more than he thought he would.
Notes: When life gives you a slow day at work without access to homework, you finish off old snippets sitting on your harddrive! It ended up being more of a character study, with references to older bits of the crossover 'verse (Maxine studying genetics, Tom not studying film, etc), and I'm not sure if this is canonical or not.
The crushing weight of fame never left you alone. When you initially started a career in the music industry, you wanted to pay Mom's medical bills - it sure paid better than your previous accounting jobs, and you knew you weren't cut out for a career in the film industry. (Unless you were going into music supervision, which was another can of worms altogether.) Somehow, along the road to success, your band Calico Beat had become Manhattan's latest "hometown" sensation. Nevermind that you had always been based in Brooklyn: once you hit national fame, the entire city claimed you as its own. Success, unfortunately, came with a price - your privacy.
Fans hounded your social media accounts, forcing you to hide underneath a more 'private' Twitter and Facebook account, ontop of your public "likeable" pages. Maxine had sagely advised you on it, the second she realized your fans were the same brand of crazy she'd always whined about. Even poor Jason couldn't escape your fangirls at law school, and people had started to speculate if you were dating Maxine. You were never sure how to answer that question.
Even if she weren't your little sister (your adorable, genius little sister), your lives didn't intersect often enough. Her dual major - molecular genetics and film studies - often got the best of her, and you spent most days either in the studio or on tour. You struggled to meet her for lunch once a week. You couldn't fathom a whole romantic relationship with her - at the rate you were going, your guitar would be a better romantic companion.
When the Internet wasn't fawning over your supposed relationship with Maxine, they speculated over you and Peyton - frigging metahuman Peyton, who travelled universes in his spare time. They never mentioned him outright, because Peyton worked overtime to ensure his anonymity, but you had occasionally witnessed the photo manips. Okay, Maxine witnessed the photo manips and then passed on the pictures to you.
"I just wanted some cat .gifs, Tommy..." she had said remorsefully as she handed over her laptop. "Your love story with my boyfriend didn't need to be there."
It really didn't, you had agreed silently as you browsed through the tag. You had stared blankly at the fanart - you and Peyton had a "ship name?" Blond Guitars? - and forced yourself to stay away from the dangling 'read more' links. These people needed a life, if you and your friends gave them all the precious feels. Was that short for feelings or something?
While you were no linguistics student, you felt the overwhelming need to apologize to the English language. You had never imagined that your fame would result in new phrases that further contributed to the mangling of your mother tongue. (Again, these people really needed better hobbies. Like knitting. Or making graphs.)
"Hey, they think my favorite subject's English," you said with a laugh as you scrolled through a questionnaire.
Maxine giggled, despite her sour expression. "Have they seen the blogs you follow? I like Graphs and Multivariable Calculus Made Easy don't strike me as something an English student would like."
"They'd better not! I worked hard on that explanation, dammit."
The further you descended into your tag, the more thoroughly disgusted you felt. No one shipped you with your own bandmates - and poor Artemis usually died for the sake of Blonde Guitars (but she was... also blonde....). Just to piss these kids off, you made a mental note to kiss her on stage at your next set. Your relationship with Peyton shouldn't have engulfed these kids' lives. For God's sake, you weren't even gay. You occasionally crushed on a guy, but admiring a guy's aesthetic wasn't on the same level as wanting to make out with him.
The only person you wanted that badly was freaking Sharpay Evans, and you couldn't even have her, because she had googly eyes for Peyton. Both her and Maxine. The one time you liked a girl more than anyone else in the world, you couldn't get her. She would always say "Peyton this," or "Peyton that," and you could feel your heart shattering into a million pieces as you'd force a smile on your face. Peyton only had to breathe, for the girls in his life to swoon all over him. The whole thing made you want to gag.
After a minute, you couldn't handle any more of this nonsense. Handing Maxine's laptop back to her, you rose to your feet and rummaged for your smokes.
Maxine watched you for a couple of seconds, before she dared to say, "Jason hid them."
Of course. Your best friend, who was only trying to look out for you, had to take your stress relief and toss it out the Brownstone. The next time you saw him, you didn't care that he was a Digidestined and could kick your ass without trying - you were going to punch him.
Right now, you couldn't go outside without some pap trying to take pictures, so you glumly stared at the empty drawer and moved towards your tea cabinet. "Of course he did."
"Sorry, Tommy."
"Not your fault." You swatted her guilt away, brewing a cup of tea instead. "I was gonna discover that calico tag sooner or later." Also, it was best you discovered it sober; you didn't want to think how drunk you would've reacted to your fandom.
Once you'd brewed your New Zealand Earl Grey - it tasted better than the original! - your door burst open, as Peyton bravely fought off the paparazzi that camped outside your door. He glared at the creep with shaking fists, with a form that betrayed his superhero training, before he sighed. Loudly.
"Dude, I hate the paps."
You could only shake your head at him in exasperation. "Tell me about it."
Fandoms: High School Musical & DC Comics (Justice Society of America) crossover
Universe: Tom's Crossover Adventure
Summary: Tom hates the tabloids - though more specifically, he hates the Internet (and his fandom) more than he thought he would.
Notes: When life gives you a slow day at work without access to homework, you finish off old snippets sitting on your harddrive! It ended up being more of a character study, with references to older bits of the crossover 'verse (Maxine studying genetics, Tom not studying film, etc), and I'm not sure if this is canonical or not.
The crushing weight of fame never left you alone. When you initially started a career in the music industry, you wanted to pay Mom's medical bills - it sure paid better than your previous accounting jobs, and you knew you weren't cut out for a career in the film industry. (Unless you were going into music supervision, which was another can of worms altogether.) Somehow, along the road to success, your band Calico Beat had become Manhattan's latest "hometown" sensation. Nevermind that you had always been based in Brooklyn: once you hit national fame, the entire city claimed you as its own. Success, unfortunately, came with a price - your privacy.
Fans hounded your social media accounts, forcing you to hide underneath a more 'private' Twitter and Facebook account, ontop of your public "likeable" pages. Maxine had sagely advised you on it, the second she realized your fans were the same brand of crazy she'd always whined about. Even poor Jason couldn't escape your fangirls at law school, and people had started to speculate if you were dating Maxine. You were never sure how to answer that question.
Even if she weren't your little sister (your adorable, genius little sister), your lives didn't intersect often enough. Her dual major - molecular genetics and film studies - often got the best of her, and you spent most days either in the studio or on tour. You struggled to meet her for lunch once a week. You couldn't fathom a whole romantic relationship with her - at the rate you were going, your guitar would be a better romantic companion.
When the Internet wasn't fawning over your supposed relationship with Maxine, they speculated over you and Peyton - frigging metahuman Peyton, who travelled universes in his spare time. They never mentioned him outright, because Peyton worked overtime to ensure his anonymity, but you had occasionally witnessed the photo manips. Okay, Maxine witnessed the photo manips and then passed on the pictures to you.
"I just wanted some cat .gifs, Tommy..." she had said remorsefully as she handed over her laptop. "Your love story with my boyfriend didn't need to be there."
It really didn't, you had agreed silently as you browsed through the tag. You had stared blankly at the fanart - you and Peyton had a "ship name?" Blond Guitars? - and forced yourself to stay away from the dangling 'read more' links. These people needed a life, if you and your friends gave them all the precious feels. Was that short for feelings or something?
While you were no linguistics student, you felt the overwhelming need to apologize to the English language. You had never imagined that your fame would result in new phrases that further contributed to the mangling of your mother tongue. (Again, these people really needed better hobbies. Like knitting. Or making graphs.)
"Hey, they think my favorite subject's English," you said with a laugh as you scrolled through a questionnaire.
Maxine giggled, despite her sour expression. "Have they seen the blogs you follow? I like Graphs and Multivariable Calculus Made Easy don't strike me as something an English student would like."
"They'd better not! I worked hard on that explanation, dammit."
The further you descended into your tag, the more thoroughly disgusted you felt. No one shipped you with your own bandmates - and poor Artemis usually died for the sake of Blonde Guitars (but she was... also blonde....). Just to piss these kids off, you made a mental note to kiss her on stage at your next set. Your relationship with Peyton shouldn't have engulfed these kids' lives. For God's sake, you weren't even gay. You occasionally crushed on a guy, but admiring a guy's aesthetic wasn't on the same level as wanting to make out with him.
The only person you wanted that badly was freaking Sharpay Evans, and you couldn't even have her, because she had googly eyes for Peyton. Both her and Maxine. The one time you liked a girl more than anyone else in the world, you couldn't get her. She would always say "Peyton this," or "Peyton that," and you could feel your heart shattering into a million pieces as you'd force a smile on your face. Peyton only had to breathe, for the girls in his life to swoon all over him. The whole thing made you want to gag.
After a minute, you couldn't handle any more of this nonsense. Handing Maxine's laptop back to her, you rose to your feet and rummaged for your smokes.
Maxine watched you for a couple of seconds, before she dared to say, "Jason hid them."
Of course. Your best friend, who was only trying to look out for you, had to take your stress relief and toss it out the Brownstone. The next time you saw him, you didn't care that he was a Digidestined and could kick your ass without trying - you were going to punch him.
Right now, you couldn't go outside without some pap trying to take pictures, so you glumly stared at the empty drawer and moved towards your tea cabinet. "Of course he did."
"Sorry, Tommy."
"Not your fault." You swatted her guilt away, brewing a cup of tea instead. "I was gonna discover that calico tag sooner or later." Also, it was best you discovered it sober; you didn't want to think how drunk you would've reacted to your fandom.
Once you'd brewed your New Zealand Earl Grey - it tasted better than the original! - your door burst open, as Peyton bravely fought off the paparazzi that camped outside your door. He glared at the creep with shaking fists, with a form that betrayed his superhero training, before he sighed. Loudly.
"Dude, I hate the paps."
You could only shake your head at him in exasperation. "Tell me about it."