#Noel: let a man dream ok | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonstonedrawsrandomly · 1 year ago

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Bishop Gaia… 5 🟢

“What? Where am I? What happened?”

Noelle was on her back when she woke up. She wasn’t in her home and Leshy was nowhere to be found. But the weird thing was that she was in this like white…room? Location? She gets up. She feels her neck. Surprisingly, still attached to her body.

“Ah, am I asleep?”

“Indeed you are, little lamb”

Noelle swivels her head around. In the bright area, she sees a lady. She looks like an pangolin lady wearing black cloak and a medallion with a orange square. Almost like Leshy.

“ um, hi. I am Noelle. Who are you?”

Noel thought. She might as well introduce herself. She doesn’t even know if she died or not. The lady smiled at her.

“I can sense your fear little lamb. Fear not, luckily for you, you are in a suspended reality. Like a dream“

“ so I’m not dead?”

“ correct”

Noel sighs heavily. What a relief that is. She isn’t it but where is she?

“ OK, that’s great I’m not dead, but where are we?”

“We are in between time and space life, and death- basically, the dreamscape of this world. We are not dead, but you are technically alive. A dream if it makes it easier to understand.”

Well, gives her a blank expression. The lady sighs.

“ oh, boy. Look, you’re asleep. You got that part? OK. There is a realm beyond sleeping, and that is where your dreams come from. For some reason you ended up in the realm past that. This is the realm where there is lines to dreams attached to the recipients. You have one see?”

She points to a white line on her back

“Oh, I guess it makes sense. So what is your name? Why did you call me here?”

“ I did not call you, you ended up here. Almost like fate made us meet.”

She said. She materialized a chair for her to sit in.

“Goodness, where are my manners? MY name is Gaia. Bishop Gaia of the Faithful Clan. The goddess of charity. Well, I used to be the goddess of charity and the goddess of the Faithful before I was sealed.”

“ you were sealed away? For what? You seem pretty nice, I can’t imagine why you got sealed away.”

Gaia pulls the lamb closer to her, there was a clear height difference, and she places Noelle onto her knee, almost like a kid and their parent.

“ let me tell you how I got here, since we have all night to speak”

She said. Noelle didn’t agree to this, but seeing as she has no way out, settled into her lap.

“ When I was younger, I was in a Clan called The Faithful. It was made up of a few territories that me and my partner Shamura created together. In the process of now being the owners of a bigger clan, we began to inherit younger bishops.

We inherited a red psychedelic bullfrog named Heket. She was our eldest. Then, we inherited a little squid boy named Kallamar. He was the third child. We found a black cat named Narinder. He was our second child. And a little tree worm named Leshy at the end of my existence. So that’s four kids that we inherited from the territory that we gained. And we made the old Faithful cult our home and we operated like one big happy family.

Well, that’s what I thought. I don’t wanna get into the details of raising children from different backgrounds, being difficult and me and Shamura being gone sometimes to resecure some territory we lost, but it functioned, even if it was flawed.

One day, our clan was visited by a mysterious man named Klauneck. He was apparently a man that could read the stars, and gave pretty accurate predictions. The prediction he gave us unfortunately it was grave. He told us that one of the bishops, possibly a child, was knocking the balance off course, wanting more power. If the balance continued like this, there would be serious consequences and a possible catastrophic event that would end everything that we’ve ever known, and loved.

Me and Shamura behind closed doors made a decision. Since only one bishop needed to be banished, and all the kids like him, I offered my self to be banished. Shamura, Heket, and Kallamar , where opposed to it. They didn’t wanna see me go, and I understand how they felt, but it had to happen.

So days after Klauneck’s visit, I was banished. Every once in a while, I could hear something from some sort of place. I don’t know what it is but sometimes I feel like I can hear Shamura and the kids in the distance. Weeping for me.

The last thing I heard from the outside world, was Klauneck’s voice, saying that they made the wrong decision. And that aches me. I even heard from the soul passing from one world to the other, that Narinder went rogue. They ended up having to seal him away, and he nearly killed his family. I knew that boy was troubled , but this? This was unacceptable.”

Gaia puts Noelle down, back onto the floor. Noelle was kind of upset. She like being picked up like a baby. But she had other questions for her.

“You know Leshy? I just met him!”

Gaia’s eyes widened. She knows Leshy?

“My dear, you know Leshy? My little treeworm! So you know who the bishops are?”

“The what? What are bishops?”

How Gaia had to think. That’s strange, she met Leshy but doesn’t know what the bishops are?

“Okay, hang on. One thing at a time! I don’t know how you got here, and I don’t know how I ended up in this realm. Unless…”

Gaia was silent, thinking about what she was going to say next. Was it even true? Can she trust this little lamb to get her out of here?

“Noelle, I must ask you a huge favor. A favor that might even put your life in jeopardy, but if you take it, I will help you with anything that’s going on in your life whether it be money, food, love, whatever it may be, I will help it. You will be in my debt forever.”

Noelle thought about it. Then she decided, why not?

“ OK, Bishop Gaia, what do you want to do?”

“ thank you so much for your cooperation! What we need to do right now is figure out if Narinder has been released. That’s what we need to find out right now. Now I know that this will be hard for you since you are not a God yourself, and do not seek any powers, so I will loan you some of mine”

Not even a few seconds later, Noelle feels something on her back. A pair of tiny orange wings appear on her back. Gaia showed her a mirror so she could check out the new wings.

“ oh nice! What do they do?”

“ Well, you can communicate with me through them, you can also fly a bit with it, and also they are embedded with a little bit of magic from my crown, so if you’re ever in a pinch and grab a wing and turn it into a weapon, just make sure to put them back, or else you’ll be without a wing for a while. just make sure you tell Leshy and show him the wings. He may not believe you at first, but our familiar energy together should make him remember”

All of a sudden, Noelle felt the string behind her back, tuck her hard.

“ oh dear, it looks like you’re waking up. We’ll talk soon. And Noelle-“

“Yes, what is it?”

“ remember, you must find out what happened to Narinder. Get together with Bishop Leshy if you must. I’m sure he will be thrilled to help you.”

“ and what if he’s not? I just thought about this, isnt this heresy? Me parading around like I know a God? Being around another?!?My own goddess won’t be pleased with that! How do I prove that I have spoken to you?”

“ I haven’t figured that part out yet, but for now, do what you can. We’ll talk later. Good luck, Noelle”

She said in the string behind Noelle’s back talk to her all the way out of the dream. She wakes up with a start.

“Wow. What a crazy dream!”

That’s what she thought until she felt her back. The wings. They were still there!

“How are they still there, I thought it was all a dream, I thought Gaia was fake, I thought-“

She stopped. She really made a deal with a goddess that she’s never met. She’s not even sure what to do about any of this. How did this all happen? If she really thinks about it. All of this conspired after she met Leshy. She made the mistake of thinking of the Tree worm with almost no eyesight.

“Wait, where is he?”

Noelle thought. She looks at her sundial, the sun was coming up soon. She had so many questions about what happened last night, who is Gaia? Better yet, who is Narinder? Why was he sealed away somewhere that he can’t be freed, who are the bishops, what is the cult of the Faithful?…and what happened to Leshy?

So many questions that probably won’t be answered until later, so Noelle decides to get up and get on with the day. She gets up in her nightgown, but all of a sudden, she finds Leshy exiting her bathroom.

“Ah, Leshy! Are you leaving already?”

“Yes, I’m almost ready to leave I believe.”

His cloak was on now, and now he had this crown on his head. She never seen that before.

“Are you…can I-“

“Do you want to come with me? Yes absolutely! Um, we have an hour for you to pack. We have maybe two before sunrise before it becomes impossible to leave”

That was easy! Noelle grabs a bag and begins to start packing anything and everything that was important to her. Clothes, the herbalist book Lucas gave to her before his death, medical supplies, a few mementos, gold and other things.

In the process, it took Noelle maybe like 30 minutes to get finished, then she gets changed. She had to readjust her shirt because of the wings and she was trying to figure out why her shirt was getting snagged. Then she got it.

“Alright, Leshy! Im ready to go!”

She said not realizing he was behind her

“Those wings…WE HAVE TO GO, NOW!”

He said. Noelle didn’t even get a chance to lock the door to the house,not realizing that Leshy vanished for a split second.

“Noelle?”

Noelle gasped. All decked up in her leaving gear, Moses eyes widened.

“Wait, are you-“

Noelle covered his mouth. It’s too early to get into it with him but…should she tell him? It doesn’t seem like she is coming back…

“Listen, yes I’m leaving, but you can’t tell anyone just yet.”

Moses genuinely looked sad. He chased away his only real friend because of what? In Noelle’s shock, he hugs her.

“I’m sorry…”

Words that she wasn’t expecting to hear from Moses. He gets on his knees and apologizes for his behavior and his actions from the past couple months…but he also apologizes for killing Lucas. Why is he apologizing for killing that traitor? It didn’t matter anymore. He then takes her hands in his, her soft little hands.

“You and I are two souls that were meant to be nothing more than friends, and there is so much I wish to tell you…but for now, I will let you go, but I’ll give you this”

He takes something off his his and gives it to Noelle. Noelle’s jaw dropped.

“No, Moses! This is your first blade! I can’t just take this”

“I refuse to let you leave without something to protect yourself from whatever is out there. I hope you use it well”

He said. Noelle was feeling some emotional whiplash. Just months ago, they were at ends, but now…they were acting like they were before all of this misfortune happened.

“Wherever you end up, I hope you find peace and happiness. White Feather will always be your home, and I hope you come back to visit us. There is so much we need to talk about, but I’ll let you go now”

He said. Noelle then began to walk off her porch for the last time. Noelle didn’t know if she wanted to leave on such terms but she knows Leshy was waiting for her. She embraces him one last time and waves him goodbye. Moses watched until she cleared the trees and disappeared.

“Whomever you are, you take good care of her…”

He said as he walks away from the empty house. Leshy and her were now sprinting through the forest behind her house.

“Noelle, there is so much you don’t know, and there is a lot that I don’t know. I’ll try to explain it to you later, but right now I need you to trust me, okay?”

He looks behind her for a split second to see her eyes locked onto him. They were filled with fear as she squeezed his hand. A sign that she trusted him. They kept running, even to the point where Leshy put Noelle onto his back to run even faster.

“Hope my siblings are okay”

He thought. At the same time, Moses , continued to run to his goddesses temple. He kneels infront of her. She also just got up

“My Goddess! It’s bad!”

“Yes, Moses what is it? The sun isn’t even up yet”

“Another god’s powers has been found within the Cult. And they definitely gave someone powers”

Fernilla gets up with a start as well! How can this be? She is the only goddess for miles let alone, the only Goddess that can give someone powers…unless…

“Oh, by the Gods, ring the bell, and wake up Narinder. Sounds like we need to have a talk…”

TBC

#cult of the lamb #redemption au #cotl fanfics

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cherrieguroo · 7 months ago

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OK so it has changed several times but I know I had Angela as Ocean cause I thought she’d be funny. Short bitch.

I also had Joey as Ricky because…he would kill Space Age Bachelor Man lets be honest….tho honestly Jeff would be hilarious too

Oh and Lauren as Virgil cause shes short. Like a rat. Lovingly

I don’t remember ALL the rest but I think it was Kim Whalen Jane Doe cause. Cause. Her.

either Will Branner or Curt Mega as Mischa cause I need to see both of them rap about money in autotune

Corey Dorris Karnak

and I genuinely cannot remember who Noel and Constance were supposed to be but the dream I had about Jon Matteson in a dress trying to sell me a vaccuum haunts me so maybe him as Noel idk

okay all of these are PERFECT what the hell!!!!? Angela as ocean?? Kim as jane doe?? YESS

#cherrie's asks

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southern-skies · 2 years ago

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Rating all of Dream’s historical looks in The Sandman

Because I’m bored, sleep deprived and now suddenly hyper caffeinated in an airport at 4am. So it’s unlikely to be coherent.

Mostly about his hair (but also his outfits).

I’m a sandman simp so even the lowest of scores are still kinda high 😉

1389:

I just-

Dream, babe… wHY

I don’t think the transition in the show helped

Just focussed on his face while the hair and everything else changed around him

But

It’s not great

I mean he’s still Tom Sturridge and he’s still got a (very high) baseline hotness

But we’re quite close to that baseline rn I’m sorry hon

He looks like Noel fielding I can’t unsee it

Also his long sleeves cut diagonally are just hilarious to me

-5/10

1489:

He looks like a goth dad

Like softcore goth single dad coming to pick their son up from school

Could be kinda wholesome if he tried

Definite bisexual vibes

(Esp w that lil smile to Hob, that just confirms it)

Looks like he has a purse

And the only thing in that purse is eye liner

And a my chemical romance cd

Shirt sleeves permanently rolled up

His forearms are his one (1) flirting technique

Other than that he’s hopeless

Elegant Noel fielding now

Is that… is he wearing a cardigan???

9.5/10

1589:

90% hair gel 10% leather daddy

Fully up to the neck

Good lil catholic boy protecting his modesty

Like he was heavily into bdsm previously then found god but didn’t wanna give up his entire wardrobe

Ok maybe he still does it (I’ve ready your fics I know what he’s like)

He looks like a twink version of andrew lincoln here don’t @ me

Also he’s never looked more angry than in this

Hair is ok but looks like he wanted to experiment with short hair but said fuck that and immediately went the other direction

Now thinking of leather clad Christian borle slutty bi shakespeare in something rotten

He would’ve absolutely tried to fuck the lord of dreams (and probably succeeded)

Dear lord

5/10

1689:

MAJOR INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE VIBES

Esp with the throne like chair he’s in

Ngl actually really like it

Bet his hair is really soft…

And just his face looks so soft in this too

His genuine compassion for Hob surprising even him

I feel like red lipstick would enhance the look

FUCK

And I’m sure he has begrudgingly let Desire style the long hair

Grumbling the entire time

But a week later he’s following all their hair care tips to the letter

13/10

1789:

THAT. LIL. BOW.

Definitely one of Desire’s ideas

They probably gave him a whole colourful array of choices for hair accessories

But then was pissed off when all he chose was a black satin bow

“Brother, darling, really? Of course, I love your aesthetic… but really?”

He looks like Dick Turpin.

He’s an emo pirate.

YARR HARR

He could shiver my timbers

I don’t know why I love this look so much

He just looks so put together

And gay

Slutty gay

50/10

1889:

Hair is a bit basic again (sorry my boy please forgive me I love you)

(I guess it’s cuz I know the beauty of what is coming next…)

So it doesn’t hit the same

But I certainly love his baby steps into the world of short hair

I’m a whore for a suit so I’m here for that

Also just general respect to morpheus changing his look with the times (and as human culture changes) instead of staying stuck with his original look since the dawn of time

Flexible king *wink wonk*

Can picture him sat in a leather armchair by a fire sipping on red wine and reading a book (or brooding after his breakup)

7/10

NOW:

My god

I just-

FUCK

SO HOT

Honestly in love with this man

THE HAIR. SO FLUFFY.

And the soft black clothes underneath that fucking trench coat.

Goddamn I want that trench coat.

Like fuck all of dream’s tools, I’m coming for the coat.

And Dream himself…

I don’t know if it’s just the fact this is his main look and it’s the one I’ve been staring at for hours

But I do love this look so much

So otherworldly

Transcends time and space

The comfort of it whilst also being his uniform

Like it can be super intimidating

But he’s also able to relax when he sits down with Hob

He looks so happy omg I’m gonna cry

A modern emo goth (with the occasional feeling)

Fuck me…

Please

100/10

Feel free to tell me I’m wrong in the replies, I frequently am ;)

P.S. Tom Sturridge i love you king and you’re beautiful no matter how you look xx

#the sandman #sandman netflix #i love him #the sandman netflix #the sandman tv #sandman tv #dream #dream of the endless #morpheus #lord morpheus #the sound of her wings #tom sturridge #ratings #outfits #outfits ranking

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celestialblushxoxo · 3 years ago

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Hello !! I'm a new follower !😊 I hope you're doing Great !!😄 May I participate in your new future spouse AskGame ?😍 I'm C😻⛵, She/Her and Straight, and thank you so much !!💙

Hey angel, welcome, hope you're having a lovely day/night as well and enjoy your reading🦋✨

Wow ok your person has their $hit together like they are going faaaast like flash in their career/academics take what resonates. He's like steaaady and faaast. He's almost there, reaching his goal. He knows what he wants. He knows he is it. Very confident and smart. He's good at speaking as well. Damn he good with words and vocabulary. Like he sounds like this genius otherworldly man lol. You'd be smitten by him. He also like to text by like extending words like heyyy, cutieee, hellooo, babyyy. Awwww do you see this. He's like a golden boy, everyone loves him, people wanna be like him, an all-rounder, he can do anything so freakin talented. He may play piano. Participate in sports. He's good at sketching. GURL WHAT CAN YOUR MAN NOT DO? omg he says nothing, I can do everything, you tell me what you want😭😂😂 he's funny as well omg. He is like on top honestly, his family is proud, he himself is proud. Self love is there, he's worked on that, parents have been supportive always hence he is so confident in himself. He's brought up in a very chill and healthy family. His family is very financially stable, I see Uni for some reason. If you are older than take it as a career where he is at a good position or he has a business. He loves to drive, may love cars. He got good comebacks. Knows what to say at the right time. Will compliment and hype you up so much, your personal cheerleader. Cheerleader by OMI. Very supportive and youthful but also serious when it comes to work. Noel? Why did a name pop out omg. N as an initial as well. This is first👀 maybe he is your first bf or first time a relationship lasted this long. He's very cautious, he looks at every situation carefully. Looks wise WOWWW, he's your dream guy. He looks so so good man. Fair to tan skin(could be dark too). Dark hair. Dimples mostly. Beautiful arms, they are built. Looks either younger or older fir their age. Wavy to curly short hair. May have a very cute and sweet face. But man when they wear formals😳😏 irresistible. Oof oof. Black satin shirt. Watches. Necklace(silver). Damnn he got good fashion sense as well. He got $$ so he spends it on things which he wants, perfumes, expensive stuff. Financially he is doing great like very good no worries. As a person he is independent, doesn't reply on intuiton more towards sensitivity. Scared about someone breaking their heart. Loves love. Others/their close ones may see them as someone who has a lotta potential, hard working, giving and generous, Loverboy, youthful, chill, confident, fun to be around, limitless, talented, unbeatable, unstoppable, charming ,handsome, luxurious, gorgeous, creative, inspirational, some to look upto. Honestly I'm trying to see what he is his not so good qualities and I can't see anything except he can be stubborn at times lol. But he is very humble tho. Right now he feels kinda lonely, he wants someone to be with him, someone to share his love with, maybe he graduated or already reached the position at work but he is single so he wants someone to share his feelings with to spoil them, to give and receive affection. He is going to love you so much and remind it to you everyday, fun dates and movie nights is also a part in the relationship and gift giving ofc. Very sweet person.

Possible placements: Gemini, Libra and Aquarius, some Taurus and Cancer placement, Venus, Mercury, Sun

All I want by Olivia Rodrigo came up listen to it

Possible fashion aesthetic:

Thank you so much for being patient! Hope you enjoyed your reading and moodboard love, do let me know if you liked it or not, it helps me improvise! Hope you have a wonderful day ahead💗🦋✨

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duskodair · 3 years ago

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Anthony Jonah Underwood - A Town Called Danser

'She'll kill me when she finds out about this,' he thinks, gun in hand, back to back with another man before the slowly rising sun. He makes eye contact with his second and tries to push the thought of his sister from his mind.

He has a little trouble with that. He always has done. She is the one that looks forward, he looks back. His sister makes the plans, leading them from town to town, he looks back and keeps an eye on the way they've come.

It is often his job to talk and distract whilst his sister works. Talking Sister Mary Therese into taking him to the unmarked grave of their mother had been half to allow Noel to scout out the nuns' area of the convent and half genuine curiosity.

He had visited it alone as they'd grown up. His sister had no interest in the bare patch of dirt, so he returned alone. The Sisters teach him that their mother was a beacon of sin, unmarried and with child, arriving penniless at their door. They tell all the children this. He does not know his mother's name. But that's ok, he thinks, because he does not truly know his own.

His sister is happy to let him have both names, if he wants them. He chooses Anthony, because it's what Sister Mary Therese calls him and he likes her best. He doesn't mind being a lost thing under St Anthony's purview. His sister is happiest nameless, playing with various names in their quiet games.

When he wants a little quiet, he finds again his mother's grave and imagines who she could have been. He imagines someone kind, someone who loves them. He imagines a woman with flame red hair like theirs and a laugh like his sister's. As he grows older, reality phases through his imaginings and he imagines a woman with red hair and no money, alone and afraid. He thinks to himself, as a child, that one day he will earn enough money that he can buy her a gravestone and make sure that his sister will not end up like her.

They learn about chivalry from the nuns, you see, and Anthony spends months desperate to be a crusading knight. His sister is happy to pretend to be a princess for him to rescue. When he grows up, the fancy leaves him, but the reckless nobility doesn't.

It's what got him here, he thinks, tightening the grip on his gun. The doctor is late, the sun is rising. The man behind him had insulted his sister and the knight from whispered childhood games had risen up to protect her honour.

His sister has always bemoaned his recklessness. He has never been as cautious as her, has never displayed her caution in forming attachments. He interposed himself into the towns they pass through. They spend a couple of years in each, he can't help but grow attached.

Time has often found his sister waiting up for him as he walks lovers' lanes with young ladies at twilight. She waits for him as he rides out on imagined errands with eager young men, laughing over the clatter of hooves as they kick up the afternoon dust. He keeps his love quiet, but he cannot help but love. His sister has always seen through him, watched him grow attached and worried quietly over the kitchen table.

Whenever he begins to get to the point where he thinks he might marry, the swirl of dust and time intercedes. The road calls to them and he leaves them behind. With the road under their feet, they take on new identities and it becomes unsafe to write.

He becomes the only person in the world that refers to him as Anthony. His sister doesn't like names, and she finds it much easier to pretend. But he's her knight, so he puts on new masks as the years drag on and they leave more and more towns behind.

He is thirty now, and tired. Noel has promised that, in the next town, they'll stop. They just need the Lloyd fortune and a bit of distance and they can stop running. He thinks about it almost every day. They just need this con to go well. They need Noel's honour intact. Thus the gun.

The doctor arrives, late, clattering in from the big city. He secures his gun in his hand and takes a breath. There is talk. Anthony is familiar with this ritual. He's seconded for foolish young men before.

Long ago, he watched a man he thought he loved bleed out in his arms over a patch of dead earth. He, rather than Noel, led the running from that town.

He stares at the long shadow that his body casts in the light of the rising sun. He's looking back East. If he imagines hard enough, he can trace the road that they've run down, all the way back to Tennessee.

Soon, he whispers to the ghost of his mother, soon I can send you a grave. It will be novel, he thinks, to have loose change in his pocket. He's never had it before. When they are playing, every purchase is measured and calculated. He cannot buy a gravestone, even if he has the money, without observation.

The shadow before him flickers as he takes his first step.

Money will be an odd thing to have. Sure, they had money enough in the last city to get a trap and some horses for this con. But soon they will have money enough for a house of their own.

It won't be like when they were fourteen, in over patched clothes, sharing what chunks of bread they could afford.

He takes another step.

He thinks of the home they will have, something like his old sweetheart Jane's place. Now that was cozy. Her ma seemed to always have flowers on the table and a song on her lips.

He'll get Noel a music box and they'll dance like children running in the rain again. Like they had when they'd hidden at the convent from the older children.

He can feel the dirt under his boots and the sweat on his palms.

Lord, he wants to see his sister smile again. He wants to hear her laugh when he brings home someone special. He's fed up with running, so he takes another step.

He'd never have thought that of the two of them, Noel would marry first. He can't wait for that next town because then her husband will be dead. He remembers his slimy hands and knowing grin as he'd bartered for his sister like she was a piece of livestock.

He wants that man dead. He tightens the grip of his clammy palm around his gun. He breathes in and out and counts and steps. He reaches the number.

He turns away from the past, away from the East, and the road. He turns to the west for the first time and looks ahead. He stares directly into the rising sun. They're late.

He must shoot. His bullet must go wide. He doesn't see it. He's too busy feeling the impact in his ribs. The world spins as he collapses into his patch of dust.

He catches a glimpse of the man who shot him wheeling about on his horse, fleeing back to the city. The doctor holds a cloth to his side. His lips are moving but he's oddly silent. His second takes one look and goes running.

How odd, thinks Anthony, that the world is ringing. He must blink because suddenly the doctor transforms into Noel. Her long red hair hangs loose and her face is stained with blood and tears. He reaches up for her. She reaches down.

She must be talking, but he can't hear her. Why can't he hear her? She's crying. Noel never cries. Oh. He's made her cry. He tries to wipe her tears away but his arms are filled with lead.

She's so pretty. He wishes she wouldn't cry. He wants to see her laugh again, but he can't remember how to make her. The world blurs and he can hear her. She's calling him Jonah. She's begging him to live.

Why wouldn't he live? He doesn't understand. They've got a con to finish. He has to protect her and buy their mother a gravestone. He can't let her end up all alone. He takes a gasping breath in and the world spins.

Pain rockets through his body. Both he and his sister are crying. He's such a fool. He's leaving her all alone. The final dregs of childish dreams of knighthood slip away. There is no place for dreams out here. He has come from one unmarked patch of dirt to another.

He takes his sister's hand and smiles. His grave will say Jonah Underwood, not Anthony, but that's ok, he'll match their mother. He wants Noel to stay safe. He wants her husband dead. He wants her to get that house and the music box. He wants her to be happy. Really, he thinks, he wants to be able to breathe again and for it not to be so cold.

He looks at his sister. She has such a lovely face. He hopes she never finds out why he duelled. He can't do that to her. Around them the dust swirls and Noel coughs. And like a flame going out in the breeze, Anthony is lost.

#chill to reblog #a town called danser #jonah #ngl i love jonah #there's a reason that noel likes the others

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hollenius · 4 years ago

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Sorry, I just really love interviews where Peter Buck talks about books. And also about crying at a Pepsi commercial.

https://www.courant.com/news/connecticut/hc-xpm-2001-10-14-0110140554-story.html

Edit: apparently this is not accessible in all countries, so I am copying and pasting the text under the cut. Contains some discussion of Michael Stipe’s lyric-writing strategies as well as tales R.E.M. reading all of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories while in the van in 1982, whether Faulkner or Hemingway or Fitzgerald liked music, intuition vs. hard work in the act of creation (and how writing a song isn’t like writing a novel), the relative effectiveness of specificity vs. generality in bringing about an emotional response in the audience (and, again, how songs aren’t like novels) etc.

RECONSTRUCTION OF THE FABLES: MARK LINDQUIST and PETER BUCK

THE HARTFORD COURANT October 14, 2001

Mark Lindquist: The only thing I did to prepare for this was to go through my CD collection, and the three bands that dominate my collection are the Beatles, R.E.M. and the Replacements. I listened to albums by each in progression, and one of the things I noticed -- maybe because I was looking for it -- is that each of these bands became increasingly interested in narrative, in story, as their career progressed. Do you think that happened with R.E.M.

Peter Buck: Absolutely. When we started out, Michael was trying to find a way of communicating that wasn't a literal language. He didn't want to string together sentences that told a story that everyone could agree on. I really respected that, the feeling that the narrative stuff has been done, love songs have been done, and this sort of Rorschach blot of words and emotions are a different way to approach telling a story.It also opens it up a lot, in that people can listen to these songs and, without knowing exactly what they're about, put themselves in the song. Michael told me recently: His theory is, name your 10 favorite rock songs of all time. Write them down. Then write next to them what they're about. Guarantee that you'll only be able to do that for two of them.

ML: Let's try that. Name your five favorite rock songs.

PB: "Like a Rolling Stone," "Fight the Power," "We Can Work It Out," "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times" and "Gloria" by Patti Smith.

ML: OK, "Like a Rolling Stone." What's that about?

PB: Obviously it's an aggressive song putting someone down, but I don't know who that person is. Assuming that I know a little about Dylan's life, it could be about the people who followed him around. It seems to be a portrait of someone who thinks they're a winner, who's high in society. Who that is, I don't know. I could be completely wrong. I don't know what Napoleon "who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat" means.

ML: But you remember the line about those Siamese cats.

PB: With Dylan, you always get that. "The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face." That's from "Visions of Johanna," which is one of my favorite songs, but I have no idea what that means.

ML: How about "Fight the Power"?

PB: I would assume, being a white guy from the suburbs, that it's about being black, but I don't know. If the Beastie Boys had written it with the same lyrics, I'd have no idea.

ML: "I Just Wasn't Made For These Times" is from "Pet Sounds," which is chock-full of stories, at least in my mind. I may be imposing a narrative, because I listened to this CD when I left for college, and to me that album was about leaving home, going on a new adventure: "I once had a dream, so I packed up and left for the city." But that may have nothing to do with what Brian Wilson intended. Still, let's talk about R.E.M.'s progression toward stories.

PB: When we first started out, I know that Michael felt everything in rock and roll had been done. We didn't want to write a love song, or anything that could be construed as a love song, for 10 years.

ML: What would you say your first love song was?

PB: Well, it wasn't a love song. "The One I Love" is an anti-love song, but since "the one I love" is in the title ... we used to play it, and I'd look into the audience, and there would be couples kissing. Yet the verse is, "This one goes out to the one I love/A simple prop to occupy my time." That's savagely anti-love. But that's OK. People perceive songs as they are. People told me that was "their song." That was your song? Why not "Paint it Black" or "Stupid Girl" or "Under My Thumb"?

ML: But that's pop music -- Noel Coward's line about the amazing "potency of cheap music."

PB: It doesn't even matter, the value of the music. I've teared up at commercials.

ML: What commercial made you tear up, for God sake?

PB: The Pepsi commercial where the woman is depressed and the monkeys bring her a Pepsi. It was because of my life at the time, and not the commercial, but that's what pop music is, too. It's not necessarily what's written or even implied. It's what you as the listener take out of it. Which is why I tend to think songs that are less specific are more powerful.I've never cried at, say, "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll" by Bob Dylan, which is a very specific song. I know that there's a woman named Hattie Carroll, and she was killed. But it was reportage. It never made me tear up, but other songs have. It's all about what you bring in at that moment, so narrative is not necessarily the most important thing.

ML: Do you think that works in literature? One of the things they tell you in Writing 101 is to make things more specific rather than more general. Is literature more powerful if it's less specific?

PB: Absolutely not. I think literature is a chance for someone like me, who's led a more or less middle-class life, to look into someone else's heart and mind and be shown a world that I don't know. When I was a teenager, I read a lot of African American literature -- "Soledad Brother" or "Invisible Man" or Richard Wright, and there were things that completely changed my life. The strength of literature is its specificity.

ML: Why do you think R.E.M.'s music has become more specific, more story-driven?

PB: I think Michael was trying to find a way on the early records to tell a story without telling a story. As he got a little older and became more comfortable doing the singing and being a public figure, the idea was still, "I'm not going to tell a story where someone says this is a song about ... " Now as a writer Michael likes to take a character he imagines and write from that perspective, tell a story in the first person. But it's not necessarily his perspective.

ML: When I saw R.E.M. in Seattle in 1999, I think Stipe introduced "The Apologist" by saying, "This is a story about ... " And "All the Way to Reno" is a pretty classic narrative. It reminds me of "That's Not Me" from "Pet Sounds," not musically or lyrically, but conceptually.

PB: "Reno," I'm sure that is sung from the perspective of a 17-or 18-year old girl. It has to be. I've never asked him.

ML: And "That's Not Me" is sung from the perspective of a like-minded 17- or 18-year-old boy. Bret Easton Ellis has said as you get older, you become more interested in narrative, in stories with a beginning, middle and an end.

PB: Part of it is definitely an age thing. When I was in my 20s, and my band was in its early years, we were capturing an experience, not necessarily thinking about the chain between the past and the future, which is what a novel is. As you get older, your life is less about capturing the moment and more about understanding what you're doing.

ML: Has Michael's progression or change as a lyricist been influenced by literature?

PB: I don't know. The only way I can say our band was directly influenced by literature was when we did our first big American tour in 1982, before our first EP came out. We were in a van, touring to nobody, playing songs no one has ever heard. I managed to find all three of the Flannery O'Connor short-story collections, and every member of the band read every one of the words in those three collections on that tour. We passed them around, pages falling out, putting pages back in, reading them with a light on at 2 a.m., going from San Antonio to L.A. I felt really strongly that it changed the way we thought about writing. I don't know why, because she writes about faith and the problems of faith in a world where there is no faith, and Michael wasn't writing linear dialogues, but when we made our first record, I think we all thought Flannery O'Connor was something we would emulate in some way.

ML: I can be listening to a particular CD or song that evokes a mood or a moment in a way I admire, and I will try to get the same effect into what I'm writing. Has the reverse ever happened to you? You're reading a novel or short story, and it works for you so well, you think you want to get whatever it is that works for you into your music? Do you take what you read the night before into what you write?

PB: All I can say is I certainly hope so, which is why I try to read good stuff.

ML: OK, other books that have affected you as a songwriter?

PB: Denis Johnson.

ML: Why?

PB: I don't know why. "Already Dead" changed me when I read it. I can't say why or how, but I felt like a different person at the end, in the same way that when I was a teenager, Pynchon's "Gravity's Rainbow" completely moved me.

ML: One of the things music can do for writers is that we can take a song, an idea in a song, or even a character in a song, and expand it into a story, or a screenplay, or a novel. Another thing music can do for writers is set a tone for whatever we're working on that day. Most writers I know listen to rock, but Kerouac talked about how he would do that with jazz.

PB: What do you think Faulkner did?

ML: I think he just drank.

PB: But do you think he put the 78s on? He probably wasn't a Glenn Miller guy. Was he a Duke Ellington guy? I bet Faulkner played records at his house. I'd be really shocked if he didn't play gospel stuff from the '30s and '40s, if he didn't listen to blues music.

ML: What about Hemingway?

PB: My feeling is he didn't get much pleasure in life. Having read his books, I doubt very much that he had an ear for music. I bet he loved music in the hills of Spain, dancing to it, no matter how good or bad it was. But did he go home and put on records? I doubt that very much. Now Fitzgerald, he found joy in life.

ML: And in drinking. It kept him from writing.

PB: He's another of those people who never really found what he needed to do in his life. I re-read "The Crackup" about a year ago, and there's a great quote, and I paraphrase, about how when I was young I wanted to be Byron, Don Juan, J.P. Morgan. All that is burned away. I'm a writer now, nothing else. Literature is something written out of deep understanding. Music is written more out of the intuitive. When I read great books, I refuse to think they just made it up as they went along. That's what happens in rock and roll.

ML: There are passages that come to you as a writer that feel like they wrote themselves. However, you unfortunately have to write the other 500 pages or so yourself.

PB: The good stuff occurs because you work really, really hard, spend your entire life immersed in one thing, and if you're able to let yourself go completely for that time it takes to do anything great. My superstition, though, is songs that are there that aren't written. I think every songwriter feels, "I'm really good at my craft," but the good songs pop up, and you always like to feel they come from somewhere other than inside of you.The night I wrote "Losing My Religion," I was drinking wine and watching the Nature Channel with the sound off and learning how to play the mandolin. I had only had it for a couple nights. I had a tape player going, and the tape has me playing some really bad scales, then a little riff, then the riff again, and you can hear my voice say "Stop." Then I played "Losing My Religion" all the way through, and then played really bad stuff for a while. I woke up in the morning not knowing what I'd written. I had to relearn it by playing the tape. That's where songs come from for me, someplace where you're not really thinking about it.That's what's different from literature. You can't sit down and let "The Great Gatsby" happen. The songs I write are four minutes long. You can disconnect from wherever you are for four minutes and find it. I really doubt you can do that for months with a novel.

ML: There's something that's always struck me as a little off about Peter Buck and Michael Stipe. Traditionally, the songwriter is thought of as the more intuitive, and the lyricist as the more lettered. The reality is you're the more lettered, and Stipe is the more intuitive.

PB: Michael has this amazing ability to absorb things. He doesn't sit around and read tons of books, but he does read. He probably reads more political literature than I ever have.

ML: It's funny, I know lots of novelists who wish they were rock stars, but I don't know any musicians who wish they were novelists.

PB: Hey, I'm raising my hand right here!

The poster has moved with me now for 15 years. It's part of a series for America's public libraries, featuring a very young-looking R.E.M., with Peter Buck, Mike Mills, Michael Stipe and Bill Berry each holding their favorite books. I'd love to know what Stipe is holding, but, like his early lyrics, the title is obscured. Peter Buck holds an Oscar Wilde collection, and that, along with a mention of Wilde in a Smiths song from the same era, "Cemetry Gates," conspired to send me to the library. Peter Buck's a tremendous reader. His Seattle home is filled with almost as many books as records. So we asked Buck to dine last week with his friend Mark Lindquist, whose music-infused novel "Never Mind Nirvana" gets like few others the profound way music can be not only a soundtrack to life but also a road map. We asked them to talk about how artists and musicians are influenced by each other. -- David Daley, Books Editor

#interviews #peter buck #michael stipe #r.e.m.#writing #music #mark lindquist

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calumcest · 4 years ago

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my britpop-that-is-essentially-just-the-gallaghers playlist: categorised

i wrote this out the other day and then decided i should probably save it just in case and now it has come in handy again for my spoiler twin (and maybe even sam who’s been listening to it for like 2 months anyway)

ok so this is the playlist for starters it’s missing one song which i can’t get on there since its a local file because noel hasnt put international magic on spotify because he hates me but i’ll add it as a youtube link ALSO this is by no means an extensive list its just my favourite ones and i keep adding to it but all i add is oasis/gallaghers so be warned

the essential britpop songs

blur: parklife, country house, girls & boys

oasis: wonderwall, supersonic, live forever, don’t look back in anger, champagne supernova

pulp: common people

the verve: bittersweet symphony

more rock-y songs

oasis: whatever, columbia, roll with it, some might say, hey now, morning glory, cigarettes & alcohol, rock ‘n’ roll star, slide away, hello, acquiesce, stand by me, d’you know what i mean, all around the world (but honestly you can just listen to the first 4 minutes its so unnecessarily long it adds nothing), the hindu times

liam gallagher: i get by, greedy soul, wall of glass

noel gallagher: lock all the doors

ballads

oasis: stop crying your heart out, i’m outta time

liam gallagher: once, universal gleam

noel gallagher: if i had a gun

acoustic songs

oasis: if we shadows, guess god thinks i’m abel (except the last 10 seconds but that bit slaps too), married with children, half the world away, you’ve got to hide your love away cover

noel gallagher: dead in the water, slide away live for teenage cancer trust, supersonic acoustic (put this on spotify noel so help me god), half the world away live for teenage cancer trust, married with children live for teenage cancer trust, there is a light that never goes out cover live for teenage cancer trust,

songs that i’m not entirely sure how to categorise something sorta rock-y i suppose but not as heavy as the other rock-y songs

blur: end of a century, charmless man

oasis: cast no shadow, go let it out, the masterplan, she’s electric, the importance of being idle

liam gallagher: one of us

noel gallagher: dream on, wandering star, the man who built the moon (this one is. not quite like anything else its Psychedelic Rock according to wikipedia but i fuuuuucking love it), everybody’s on the run, the death of you and me, aka...what a life!, fort knox (again another weird Psychedelic Rock one but i love it),

songs that arent britpop but fit the vibe of britpop au

james blunt: 1973

#text #just to keep it all in one place <3 #spoiler twin #just in case #also i update this because im insane

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luckyspike · 5 years ago

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Adventures in America, Ch. 13 - We’re on Our Way to Viridian - oh, no sorry, we’re going to Nebraska

i bet you thought i forgot about this fanfic.

i didn’t.

oh believe me i didn’t.

chapter 13: in which the adventure REALLY starts IN EARNEST and Crowley talks to an old coworker

Start with Chapter 1 here

Refresh on Chapter 12 here

Or check out my fic tag for all kinds of fun stuff

When his alarm went off at seven-thirty, Adam yawned, stretched, rubbed his eyes and then, suddenly, sat bolt upright as the memories of the night before jumped back to the forefront of his consciousness. Wide-eyed, he looked across the room to see Aziraphale, still seated and reading, although the chair was probably not the chair the cheap hotel had initially placed in the room. At least, not for now.

“Good morning, Adam,” the angel said quietly, glancing to the other bed. Lucky was still curled up there, a pillow jammed over his head. “He’s still asleep.” Aziraphale was whispering, but a groan from Lucky’s pillow belied that. Aziraphale smirked. “Well, he is, anyway,” he added, nodding toward the windowsill.

There, coiled up on the sill in a full beam of warm midwestern sunlight, was a black snake. It wasn’t a particularly big snake - Adam had certainly seen the same snake appear much, much bigger - but it was large enough that he wouldn’t be easily missed. Adam frowned and, at length, pointed to the snake. “That might freak Lucky out,” he whispered to Aziraphale. “Don’t you think?”

“Ah … yes. Perhaps.” Aziraphale tucked a folded-up square of tissue into the book to mark his place before rising and padding gingerly over to Crowley. Gently, but with no hesitation, he ran a finger down the back of the snake’s body. “Crowley, wake up. You need to be human-shaped.”

Just as the boy beneath the pillow had groaned earlier when stirred from sleep, the snake let out an irritated hiss. Crowley reared his head up out of where he’d tucked it into his coils and fixed Aziraphale with what Adam thought would probably have been a venomous, if sleepy, glare, were snakes more inclined to facial expressions. As it was, Crowley just hissed again, and then sluggishly slithered off the windowsill, flopped onto the cheap motel carpet, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Lucky sat up then, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning. “Tell me I didn’t just see a snake in our room,” he managed. “S’a dream, right?”

“Uh. Sure,” Adam said slowly, exchanging desperate looks with Aziraphale. “Hey uh. Morning.”

“Morning. You hear from Rachael or Noel?” He slid his eyes open and he froze in place, staring at Aziraphale. “Uhm?”

Aziraphale raised his open hands slowly, calming. “It wasn’t any sort of dream, Lucky. It’s alright. It was all real.”

Lucky was quiet for a minute, glancing from Aziraphale to Adam and back, and then forced a strangled-sounding laugh. “Kind of a strong argument against it being ‘all right’ there, Brother Francis. Uh. Sorry. What was your actual name again?”

“Aziraphale.”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked over to Adam, expression imploring, and asked, hesitantly, “And you really are the actual Antichrist?”

“Was, yeah.” Adam shrugged. “Not really anymore, though. Kind of, I guess.”

“And all that about a Duke of Hell and the Archangel Michael -”

From the bathroom, Crowley called, “Wank-wingsss!” before he swung the door open and sauntered around the corner, fully human-shaped and fully-dressed.

“Nanny,” Lucky sighed. “Ok. It was all real. Ok.” He blanched. “A Duke of Hell is trying to kill us. Also, Hell is real.”

“And Heaven,” Aziraphale said brightly. Adam gave him a look, and his face fell. “Er. Well, it is.”

“And you’re an angel, and you’re a demon, and I’m literally the only human here.” Lucky’s hand was shaking, hovering in the air, his index finger still pointed at Crowley, and he swallowed. “Great.”

Crowley spoke, and Adam realized he was starting to like the weird Scottish lilt he took on when he was trying to calm Lucky down. “And we’re here to help. Both of us.” He glanced at Adam over the lenses of his glasses, his eyes still completely yellow from the recent transformation, “Nothing’s going to happen to either of you.” He stood up a bit straighter, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Didn’t you have to be in the lobby at nine? Come on, move along, there’s tornadoes to chase or something.”

“I - wait. What?” Lucky shook his head. “You’re not serious. You can’t be serious. Someone’s trying to kill you,” he said, whipping his head around to look at Adam. “Like, supernatural creatures! Trying to kill you!”

“‘Creatures’ is a bit insensitive,” Aziraphale muttered.

Adam shrugged. “I mean … the way I figure it, they’re gonna chase me wherever I go. And I have these two now. Like a … a guardian angel, and a guardian demon. The supernatural secret service.” He swallowed, and looked back to his two godfathers. “Right?”

“But they’re trying to kill you! Not you guys,” Lucky added hastily, glancing to the godfathers, before he looked back to Adam, his dark eyes wide, his hair falling wildly over and around his face. “There’s an angel and a demon actively trying to murder you.”

“Oh.” Adam shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Well, yeah.” He looked to Crowley. “I know what you said, but maybe I should go home, just … I don’t want to put anyone else in danger and -”

Lucky sputtered a bit. “What? No! That’s not what I meant! I mean, what I meant was: Forget storm chasing, you’ve got someone trying to kill you! We’ve got to handle that!”

We. Adam blinked. “We?”

“Well yeah,” Lucky said, rolling his eyes and, indeed, his entire head. “What, you think I’m gonna just leave now? No way. First of all, you’re my friend, and there’s no way I’m going to let you get killed, bodyguards or not. And second of all, I’m in this deep, aren’t I?” He shrugged. “So say you leave, and go back home, and I keep chasing. Where does that leave me? Alone, with Noel and Rachael, and no supernatural anything in the event that just maybe Michael and Hoskins or whatever -”

“Hastur,” Crowley snickered.

“- Hastur, okay, in the event that they decide to come back and tie up the loose ends.” He brushed a lock of hair behind his ear and scoffed. “No way, man. I kinda think that right now, in my position? I’m gonna stick with you.” He glanced to Crowley and Aziraphale, grinning. “Anyway, I had like … Antichrist training for the first eleven years of my life, so it’s not like I don’t know anything about all this.”

Adam thought it over. “I … Okay, well, I can’t say I’m not appreciative, but like … are you sure? Because this is a little above-and-beyond just chasing tornadoes, and that’s mad enough in its own right.”

“Yeah.” Lucky shrugged and smiled, easy and wide - if it was forced, it didn’t look it. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He looked over to Crowley and Aziraphale. “That’s … okay, isn’t it? Nanny?”

“You have to protect them first,” Adam cut in, before the pair of supernatural entities could say a word. “The other three, I mean. If I’m gonna stay with them, you have to make sure they’re safe. Before me. They didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I kind of did,” Lucky muttered.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look, and then shrugged. “I … alright. If that’s what you want,” Aziraphale said slowly. “But ideally it won’t come to that.”

“Yeah, well.” Adam sighed. “Yeah. Ideally. You know how that goes.”

“Don’t we,” Crowley muttered darkly, watching the boys carefully. “Right. Nine, they said they wanted you. It’s half eight, get a move on. You have to go to … some cornfield somewhere, I’m sure.” He hopped up onto the dresser and slouched back against the wall and waved his hands at the boys. “Come on.”

Adam and Lucky exchanged a look, just for a second, before they both scrambled out of their beds and toward the bathroom. Adam got there first, and Lucky groaned, slouching up against the doorframe as the door closed with a definitive little snap. He sighed, and looked down at himself, and then froze, as if seeing himself for the first time. “I … Where did these pajamas come from?” He picked at the front of the tartan-patterned shirt. “These aren’t mine.”

On the dresser, Crowley raised an eyebrow while he looked to Aziraphale, who did not turn around. Instead, the angel cleared his throat. “I … I wasn’t sure which were yours, really. I made do.”

“Miraculous pajamas?”

Crowley snorted and let his head clunk back against the wall. “Miraculous pajamas.”

The air conditioner hummed, behind the bathroom door the sink gurgled into the basin, and after a minute, Lucky looked up from his pajamas. Crowley was still slumped against the wall, expression mostly inscrutable behind the sunglasses, but Aziraphale met his gaze with a hesitant little smile.

A lump suddenly appeared in Lucky’s throat. He forced it down with a hard swallow and opened his mouth, but he choked on the words. Aziraphale’s smile grew gentler, more encouraging, and Lucky said, tremulously, “I missed you guys.”

“The feeling was extremely mutual,” Aziraphale replied.

“Why didn’t I …” He scratched the back of his neck. “Until Adam started talking about it yesterday, I forgot so much of it.” He looked up suddenly. “Feathers. Nanny - Crowley? - you had feathers. Wings. I remember that. Now. I didn’t yesterday. Is that you guys? Did you do that?”

“Yes and no.” Crowley shrugged, and made a few noises as he thought it over. “Not intentionally. Sort of an automatic thing. We’re supposed to blend in, see, and after 6000 years you just sort of get used to making people forget you. The weirder parts, anyway. That all gets kind of …” he trailed off, waving his hands vaguely and starting a few words before biting them short. He looked to Aziraphale, looking for help, but the angel just shrugged. “Forensic Files! You ever watch that show?”

“... Yes?” Lucky said hesitantly, suddenly mindful of the fact that in spite of being his Nanny, this person was also a demon. “Sometimes.”

“It’s like when someone buries a body in concrete -” he started, before Aziraphale cut him off with a shocked word of reproach. Crowley frowned. “It is, a bit. You pour the concrete over ‘til it’s smooth, and you forget anything’s there unless you disturb it later. ‘Course in this case the metaphorical concrete isn’t really intentional, more a combination of the waters of rational consciousness mixing with the aggregate of supernatural fallout, all held together with the … the cement of daily experience which dictates that kind of thing can’t be true.” Aziraphale was watching Crowley intently now, and the demon noticed. “What?”

“I never realized how fond you are of metaphors, is all.”

“I’m not, really.”

Lucky cocked his head. “It was a really good metaphor, though. Disturbing but … it explains a lot. Anyway, weird metaphors or not, I’m glad you’re back.” The bathroom door swung open, and Lucky nearly fell in, he had been leaning on it so hard. “Whoa!”

Adam caught him and pushed him back upright. “Sorry! Sorry, didn’t realize you were there. Your turn.” He stepped aside to allow Lucky past, and moved to the bed. He pulled his duffle bag onto the surface and started digging through, pulling out clothes for the day. “So how are you … going to follow us?” he asked carefully. “Like I don’t think Noel and Rachael will just accept that a couple of Brits are going to be following us, and there’s not room in the truck.”

“We’ll be inconspicuous,” Crowley assured him. Adam looked dubious. “What? We can be inconspicuous!”

“I don’t believe you,” Adam replied with a wry smile. “Not really your M.O.”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look, something unspoken and inscrutable to Adam passing between them, and then, as one, they shrugged. “In your experience, certainly, I’ll give you that.” Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “But we’ve both been around. We can manage inconspicuous. ‘Sides,” he added, jerking a thumb toward the window, “I got a really boring-looking car. Just another black American behemoth.”

Adam laughed a little at that, changing his shirt. “It’s gonna be weird, you not driving the Bentley.”

“Extremely weird,” Crowley agreed. “Super weird. But I wasn’t allowed to bring my car.” This was added sharply, with a pointed look at the angel.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You’re not miracleing over a vintage Bentley, Crowley, for the last time.”

“Don’t see why not,” Crowley responded, slouching back further still and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because we’re trying to avoid doing miracles so we don’t draw attention.” He looked to Adam apologetically. “I apologize, but we’ll be doing things more traditionally when possible.”

“Huh?” Adam shrugged. “That’s fine. I get it - it makes sense. Uh. Could you both like …” He held up his jeans. “Like? Not look? It’s weird.”

Aziraphale turned to face the wall. “Of course.” Crowley slid his glasses down his nose, eyes firmly closed.

“So,” Adam said, as he went on changing, “what if I notice something? Or like, what if something seems weird? Is there like, a signal I should use or something?”

“Eh,” Crowley said, drawing it out as he rocked a hand back and forth in a wishy-washy sort of gesture. “You can. Not sure I’d qualify Hastur and Michael as subtle, so I doubt there’ll be anything that’ll fit that criteria, but yeah, in the event there is, sure. Just. I dunno. Think of something?”

“Can you whistle very loudly?” Aziraphale suggested.

Adam shook his head, and then realized neither of them were in a position to see the gesture. “Can’t whistle at all, honestly. I could just yell.”

“Lacks subtlety,” Crowley said. “Then again, no sense being subtle in that case, I suppose.” He shrugged. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“Are you sure that’s sensible?” Aziraphale fidgeted from foot-to-foot nervously. “It may be better to form a plan pre-emptively.”

The boy turned to look to Lucky when the bathroom door clicked open. Bewildered, the dark-haired teen paused. “What’s … happening?” Adam grinned.

“You guys can look again, by the way. I’m done.” Adam stuffed his new pajamas into his bag and headed for the bathroom to clean up the rest of his things. “Okay, so, we’re gonna meet Rachael and Noel out front. I’m not sure where we’re headed today yet.”

Lucky said to Crowley, “I could text you, if you have service.”

“I get service everywhere. Well, almost everywhere,” Crowley answered, glancing upwards, and then patting his jacket pocket, presumably where his phone was. “Yeah, let me know. We’ll be just behind most of the time, but might as well know where we’re going to end up tonight.” He nudged the back of Aziraphale’s leg with his shoe. “You could research tourist attractions, angel.”

“I doubt we’ll have the time. You boys are busy with all sorts of educational opportunities, I’m sure. And such a lot of driving.” He sighed, half-glancing at Crowley with something akin to despair. “At least if you’re following someone you can only go so fast. It’s a blessing, you - don’t make that face at me, Crowley.”

“Euch,” the demon said instead, and then he slid to the floor and straightened up with a stretch. “Right. It’s a big, black SUV thing. A 4Runner, I think,” he said, as if he didn’t know and hadn’t memorized the make, model, and year within minutes of getting the car, the better to menace it later. “See you outside, we’ll be right behind you.”

Adam and Lucky watched with no small amount of wonder as Crowley popped open the window to the motel room - which had not, they were sure, had a window that could open - and climbed out into the bush beyond, Aziraphale grumbling at Crowley the entire time. When they’d gone, the window closed behind them, the joints that had allowed it to open once again melting away into an immovable sash.

Lucky looked over to Adam. “That’s … something they do?”

“Sort of.” He screwed up his face while he thought. “I never really asked about how their magic works, you know? But a lot of times things just happen around them, I think because they expect them to?” He glanced to the window as they stepped out of the room, taking one last look before the door swung shut. “That window didn’t have a way to open it, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“But Crowley expects it’ll open, and so it does.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t work like that for me - I have to try to do stuff if I want to. But, like …” he trailed off for a beat, and when he started talking again, his voice was hushed, “I mean, you’d never know it, but I’m pretty sure they’re both really powerful. Crowley stopped time, once. Just for a little while, and apparently he had to sleep for like a week afterwards, but … yeah. Just stopped it.”

Lucky gaped at him. “Stopped time,” he said eventually, in a flat sort of voice.

“Yeah. During the Apocalypse.” Adam sighed. “It was a weird day.”

“He used to sing me lullabies,” was the only reply Lucky could manage, faintly. “Stopped time?”

“Yep.”

“... We’ll be fine.”

Per Lucky’s text, the destination for the day was somewhere in Nebraska: There was a large storm gathering and although Noel wasn’t optimistic for tornadic activity, Rachael was confident there would be a fair amount of lightning for study. Crowley and Aziraphale watched from their own vehicle as Rachael and the boys fussed over the recording equipment for a while, before Noel piloted the truck out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Occasionally, Crowley’s phone would ping, and Aziraphale would read whatever text had come through aloud. Updates on the weather, finer points of the destination, and sometimes a question, which Aziraphale would laboriously type out an answer to.

During a lull between messages, while the 4Runner was rolling along a few car lengths behind the red truck, Aziraphale spoke. “I think Lucky took everything very well, don’t you?”

Crowley made a face, uncertain. “For now. I’d imagine it’s not all sunk in quite yet.”

“What do you think the odds are,” Aziraphale went on after a pause, “of Adam and Lucky meeting like this?”

“Astronomical,” Crowley answered without a thought. “Beyond astronomical.” The radio hummed the opening bars of a new song, something twangy and country-western, and Crowley made a face. “Try again,” he grumbled to the car. The radio skipped, scrambled through a few more stations, and settled on ‘A Pirate Looks at Forty’. Crowley huffed. “Not the worst one you’ve picked,” he concedes, and the song continued.

“It’s ineffable,” Aziraphale concluded, watching the cornfields whip by outside. The skies were clear and blue, but heavy white clouds were gathering in the distance. “You know, Crowley, I’ve been thinking about their guides.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, fidgeting back in the seat a little. “What about them? We can keep them safe, just miracle them away if we have to -”

“Not that.” He frowned. “Not that I’ve sensed anything, but do you think they’re … human?” That took Crowley by surprise. The demon’s eyebrows shot up, and suddenly he hit the accelerator, weaving in and out of cars to catch up to the truck ahead. Aziraphale grabbed at the door handle, stiffening up in his seat. “Crowley! I said I didn’t sense anything!”

“I heard you.” Crowley swung their car in behind the truck, and took a few slow breaths, studying the truck ahead. “And I don’t either … right now. But last night -” Aziraphale whimpered as the truck braked, and Crowley abruptly slowed with it, “- there was something. In the parking lot. I thought it was you.”

Aziraphale looked over. “An angel?” Crowley nodded. Aziraphale looked back forward, licking his lips. “It does seem a bit … convenient. And their names - did you notice? Racha-el, No-el.”

“Yeah. I hadn’t.”

They were quiet for a moment, focused intently on the truck ahead. There was Adam’s energy, and Lucky’s, plainly recognizable. And then in the front seat of course there were two signatures, but in spite of both of their concentrated efforts, they didn’t detect anything in the truck besides humans. Still …

“I see your point,” Aziraphale said after a moment. “There is a hint of something angelic. It’s faint, though. Certainly not coming from ahead.”

“And it’s not you?”

“Definitely not me.” He looked over to Crowley, and winced when the demon looked back at him. “Watch the road, please. It’s very faint.”

“But it’s there.” Crowley scoffed. “That doesn’t bother you?”

Aziraphale scowled. “It bothers me tremendously, actually. But it’s not strong enough for me to do anything about it.” He glanced up. “I wonder if it’s from Above.”

“Nah,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “Even during Armageddon I didn’t sense anything like this, and I know they were watching then. No. Someone’s down here with us. Watching.”

“They must not be particularly powerful, if they’re close enough to watch but their signature is so faint.”

Crowley hummed, indecisive. “Maybe not, but they don’t necessarily need to be, do they? If they’re reporting back to The Warrior, they just have to be loyal, is all. Let them know about Adam’s movements and then Michael can come in when the timing’s good.”

Aziraphale’s brow knit. “Yes. Yes, I’m afraid that might be the case. We shall have to stay at attention.”

“You don’t have any contacts in Heaven you can check with?” Crowley had backed off of the truck, falling in a few more cars behind, but the signal from the as-of-yet unidentified angel didn’t grow any stronger. “A putto or something?”

“Afraid not. I wasn’t as social with my coworkers as you were, my dear.” He shot a glance to Crowley, amused. “I’m still surprised by how social demons are.”

Crowley smiled a little. “I don’t think it’s demons are necessarily more social than angels, angel. I just think you’re a bit of a recluse.”

“Nonsense; I’m very social when I want to be.”

“Which is, what, every forty or fifty years?” He tossed his head, flicking a lock of red hair out of his eyes. “Present company excepted, of course.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Always the exception, aren’t you? Oh!” He looked down to the phone in his lap as it pinged. “A message. Let’s see - it’s from Lucky. Ah! They’re stopping for lunch in a few minutes. At a chain restaurant, I think - Red Robin?”

“Burgers.” Crowley frowned. “Not much for healthy eating on this trip, are they?”

“Or good eating,” Aziraphale agreed, passing the phone to Crowley. “Still, it will give us a chance to summon up your friend, yes?”

“‘Friend’ is a strong word. But yes. If we can find somewhere out-of-sight enough but still in sight of the restaurant, we’ll call him up.” He grumbled a little, unintelligibly, and then said, louder, “Shame Zozo isn’t more familiar with whatever’s going on in Hell these days.” He glanced at Aziraphale. “You’ll stay back, alright? Keep an eye on Adam and Lucky. I’ll handle Eric.”

“Crowley, I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

“I know, angel, but during the trial? He wanted to punch you. I told you that, remember?” The car slowed as they pulled off the highway, Crowley following the red truck at a distance into the parking lot of the burger chain. “I just don’t like the idea of him seeing you again.” Aziraphale made a little noise of affection, and Crowley didn’t twitch or flinch when he felt the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand on his arm. “Don’t say a word.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Just a reminder.”

Crowley guided the 4Runner into a space off to the side of the lot, half-hidden by the other cars and a little hillock disguising the dumpster. He intentionally didn’t pull the truck the entire way into the space, leaving a couple of feet in front of the grill that would be well-secluded by the landscape and the other cars. “Can you see them?” he asked, reaching into the center console and pulling out the box of chalk he’d swiped from Wal-Mart the night before.

“I can, yes. If I stand behind the car, I can see even better.” He held out his hand. “Hand me your phone.”

“What?” The demon paused, already halfway out of the door. “Why?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “So I can look like I’m doing something to the other humans. I could just try that game … the one with the food you like to play? With the young lady?”

“Delicious?” Crowley said, agog, before he blushed. “Not that I play it much. Um. Yeah, good idea, angel.” He handed his phone over and scrambled out of the car. “I’ll be up here … summoning a demon. Yell if you need me.”

Aziraphale did not yell, although Crowley heard him close the door and walk toward the back of the SUV. Crowley waited a few minutes, eyes closed, leaned against the grille of the car, before he blindly wrestled a stick of chalk out of the pack and tucked the package back away in his coat.

Summoning a demon wasn’t difficult if you knew the trick to it, and it was even less so for a fellow demon that had been on both sides of a summoning in the past. The circle itself was a basic thing, universally applicable to all lesser demons, but the sigils around it were unique to the demon you desired to summon. One error, one missed rune, and either the entire thing wouldn’t work, or you’d end up on the wrong end of an angry demon.

Luckily, Crowley was not inclined to make a mistake. With the basic circle done, he closed his eyes, and let part of his consciousness float into the files of Hell, carefully side-stepping around Dagon’s watchful eyes. Eric’s sigils came to him in a second, and he yanked himself back out of Hell, eyes opening in the bright mid-day light, and started to work. His head ached from the effort of keeping his eyes focused on the writing by the time he was done, and his lower back wasn’t exactly thrilled with the last twenty minutes of skipping around hunched over to draw on the pavement, but it was a minor miracle to rid himself of those things, straightening up and standing at the edge of the circle. He propped a hand on his hip, tossing the now-worn stick of chalk with his other hand, and spat a series of harsh syllables that were heavily overlaid by hissing.

Eric hadn’t changed much since Crowley-as-Aziraphale had last seen him. The intervening seven years had apparently only managed to alter his sense of color theory, and he had adopted a few more shades of gray than last Crowley had seen. The look of utter terror was new too, although Crowley couldn’t say he blamed the guy.

“Demon Crowley!” Eric bowed low, his voice cracking as he said, “I’m at your service. Why have you summoned me, O Illustrious Serpent?”

Crowley glanced around, mildly embarrassed. “You can cut it with all the formalities, Eric. I have some questions.”

“Anything, Demon Cr -”

“Terms,” Crowley said sharply, cutting him off. “Here’s an offering.” He waved a hand and was suddenly holding two more items lifted from the Wal-Mart at the other demon: a 6-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a jar of bread and butter pickles. “Deal’s a deal, eh?”

Eric forced a nervous laugh. “Not necessary, Demon -”

“For this offering, I ask you for knowledge, and for your silence regarding this meeting,” Crowley said. “I, Demon Crowley, give you this shite beer and some pickles, as well as your continued freedom after our parley, for fulfilling these requests.”

Eric watched him warily. “You could have just called me.”

“Well, not that I don’t trust you, Eric, but I really don’t trust you.” He shook the pickle jar. “Deal or no deal?”

“Deal.” Eric held out a hand. “I’ll take a beer - have a feeling I’m gonna need one. Where is this?” He looked around, while Crowley pulled a can of PBR from the pack and tossed it into the circle. Eric caught it, hardly paying attention, and cracked the top open. “Are we in America?”

“We are in America,” Crowley confirmed.

“Bit far from your usual haunt, isn’t it?” He took a swig of beer and made a face. “That’s the good stuff.”

“No accounting for taste,” Crowley muttered, before he cleared his throat and said, brusque, “Alright, I’m asking the questions now.” He straightened up. “What’s going on in Hell?”

Eric frowned, brow furrowed. “The usual, I think? Nothing going on that they’ve told me about. Not that I find out about much.”

“Haven’t dispatched you back to Megiddo?”

“What?” The other demon started to laugh. “What, like they’re gonna re-start the Apocalypse again? Nah. Business as usual down there.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses and he started to, slowly, stalk around the outside of the circle. Suddenly looking very nervous, Eric shifted onto his heels and moved away from the other demon, his back bumping up against the invisible barrier formed by the summoning circle. “Is it?” Crowley asked, voice low.

Eric nodded, a bit frantic. “It is, Demon Crowley, I promise. I’m not lying, wouldn’t lie. Not to you, Your Disgr - Sir.” He clutched his beer can closer to his chest. “Far as I’ve heard, no one’s making any more moves toward Armageddon. Beelzebub has enough to do keeping things in line with the Boss gone, anyway. Er. So goes the rumor. Haven’t actually seen zir since … uh. Since you have, last.”

Crowley didn’t respond to that, not at first. It tracked with the meager information he knew, anyway. He didn’t nod, either, and instead asked, “What about Hastur?”

“Duke Hastur?” Eric went pale, took a deep breath, and a sip of beer. “Haven’t seen him lately.”

“How lately is lately?”

Eric considered that. “Well, um, you know how time goes down there but …” His brow furrowed. “Last I saw Duke Hastur it was … maybe four or five months ago? He discorporated me.”

“Yeah.” Crowley licked his lips. “Sounds about right. What’s he up to?” The last bit was said quietly, intended to be rhetorical as he circled the sigils, but Eric was watching him. His lips moved as he thought, dark eyes watching Crowley, and then he spoke suddenly, hurriedly, like water bursting from behind a dam.

“He’s been talking to Michael!” He winced and looked away quickly as Crowley snapped his head around to face him, shoulders hunched, ready to pounce. “I heard him on the phone. They were going to meet. I don’t know what about.” Crowley watched him for a long moment, even the sound of passing traffic seeming muffled for that time, and Eric went on, “He didn’t know I was listening in. It was the last time I saw him - in his office. It’s why he discorporated me.” He swallowed hard, and took a few more sips of beer to steady himself. “I don’t think Beelzebub knew. He told me not to say anything. To anybody.”

“Didn’t bind you to it though, did he?” Crowley murmured, looking away and staring off toward the parking lot, reassuring himself by studying the camel-colored blur of Aziraphale’s coat.

Eric huffed out a frail, forced laugh. “No. You’re smarter than he is, though, sir, if I say so -”

Crowley whirled to glare at him and snapped, “Don’t. You’re a bloody coward, don’t act brave now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What were they talking about? What did you hear?”

“Not much,” Eric admitted. “I heard him say ‘Michael’ and talk about a meeting. Just said he wanted to meet with them and talk about Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?” Eric shrugged. Crowley hissed.

“I don’t, sir, honestly, I truly don’t. I just know he hasn’t been around since then - I’ve not seen him, anyhow.”

Crowley glared at him over the rims of his glasses, yellow eyes narrow and sharp. “I don’t trust you.”

Eric looked taken aback at that. “Course not, sir. Be a funny old world if demons went around trusting each other, wouldn’t it?” And then he yelped, because Crowley snarled and lunged toward the edge of the circle. “Sorry! Sorry, please, don’t …”

“It would be,” Crowley hissed, “but you can trust this: if I find out you so much as hint a word of this, no matter how obtuse, I will make sure you don’t break another deal.”

“Understood,” Eric whimpered. He glanced toward the car, toward Aziraphale, and whimpered again. “No need for any … any plant sprayers, or buckets or anything.” Crowley glared at him for a few more seconds, just for good measure, and then straightened up, taking a step backwards, away from the circle.

“Catch.” He threw the jar of pickles, and tried not to look too disappointed when Eric failed to drop them. He swung the remainder of the pack of beer to the lesser demon as well, which Eric caught with a practiced scooping motion, before tucking it under one arm. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

Eric looked around, a deer in the headlights, and started to blurt out, “I’m sorry about what happened when I was up in Heaven, sure you heard about it, I shouldn’t have -”

“Goodbye, Eric,” Crowley snapped, before hissing out a few words in a long-dead language. Eric faded, and Crowley quickly snapped his fingers, calling forth a bubble of foul-smelling muddy liquid to splash down over the chalk circle and smudge the thing into uselessness. He stood there, staring at the mud puddle which was, slowly, eating away at the pavement below, before he waved his hand, banished the liquid back to wherever it had come from, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Aziraphale looked up when he emerged around the back of the car. Neither said anything right away, although Aziraphale handed the phone back - it was open to the calculator application, and Crowley sincerely hoped that wasn’t what he had been playing with - and Crowley leaned back against the car. “They’re working together,” he said at last. “Hastur and Michael. He didn’t know any more than that.”

“Together?” The angel started to wring his hands. “It does make sense. I’d hoped it was coincidence, of course. That’s … going to be difficult.”

“It’s not ideal,” Crowley agreed with a sigh. He took his glasses off, squinting against the harsh sunlight, and cleaned the lenses with his T-shirt. “It’d be a lot easier if they weren’t talking to one another.”

For a time, the only sound was the cars whirring by on the road. “Did he say why? Did he know?”

Crowley huffed, leaning back against the car, arms crossed over his chest. “Not really. He did say Hastur’s keeping it quiet. Which is good news for us, I’d imagine,” he added. “Eric isn’t exactly a high-ranking demon, but he’s everywhere. Case in point, right? And he said he hasn’t seen Beelzebub hanging around, which likely means they’re not involved.”

“So it’s not, ah, an organizational policy then?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Aziraphale thought about that for another little while, hands folded behind the small of his back, eyes cast upwards toward the fluffy white clouds. “Well, that is a blessing. I wonder if it’s the same for Up There …” He squinted at the clouds. “I can’t imagine Michael working with Hastur, though. Hastur was always calling Michael … that same terrible name you use for Michael.” He shot an accusatory look toward Crowley. “Honestly.”

“I started it,” Crowley stated, without an ounce of shame. “Hastur stole it from me. Was my idea all along.”

“Crowley.”

“Back in, oh, maybe fourth century? BC, that is. I think. Can’t really remember. Anyway, either way, I know they probably hate each other but if they’re both spoiling for a fight, then they have common ground, yeah? Politics makes strange bedfellows, so the saying goes.”

Aziraphale’s mouth twisted unhappily. “True indeed. I suppose it’s a relief that Hell as a whole isn’t involved, but … I’m not sure I can … say the same for …” he trailed off and continued to look up. “Gabriel is, after all, Gabriel. The Archangels have historically always functioned as a unit, regardless of personal opinions. Always in pursuit of the Great Plan, of course, so without that I’m not sure, but, well.” He scowled. “Blast.”

Crowley sighed and patted Aziraphale on the shoulder. “Yeah. Really would make it easier if there were someone you could talk to, huh?”

“That’s just the trouble: there is. And I very much dislike talking to him.” He sniffed with a heavy overtone of disdain. “But he still contacts Heaven regularly, last I heard, and he’s … a bit of a free agent. Not to the same degree as I am, of course.” He looked to Crowley, and a little curl of amusement crossed his face. “A bit like Zozo, I suppose, but without the Ouija boards and, I think, more communication with Head Office.”

“Great - how do we get ahold of him?”

“That’s just the trouble,” Aziraphale said, “I’m not sure. I don’t know his sigils, and without my books here I’ll never remember them.”

Crowley rolled a shoulder in half of a shrug. “You could fly home and get the ones you need. We’ve got room in the car.”

“That won’t be necessary, I don’t think. I have … a bit of an idea. Perhaps unorthodox, but -”

“Angel, those words are music to my ears.” He put his arm around Azirpahale’s shoulders and ran a skinny finger along the seam of his waistcoat. “Tell me about your unorthodox plan, then.”

Aziraphale looked worried, biting at his lip a little as he studied Crowley’s face. For his part, the demon looked nothing if not interested, one eyebrow raised and, although his eyes were mostly hidden by his glasses, it was a sunny enough day that this close, the interest in them was apparent. “Yes, alright,” the angel groaned. “But promise you won’t laugh.”

“I’d never.”

“You would, but I think in this case you’ll approve. First, we need to wait for the thunderstorms -”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #adam young #warlock dowling #crowley #aziraphale #the one where they go to america #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much

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ahotpeaceofshit · 6 years ago

Text

DARK THINGS (Chapter 1 Draft 1)

(also super unedited)

“Awwwww!!! Fucking shit, did we actually have to do that??” I fell back on my chair and let out a hasty sigh. “For real?”

“Yeah…. It's called homework.” Peter frowned before a smile crossed his face. “Well on the bright side, you'd make a decent stripper.”

“He doesn't really have the body for it though.” Steff eyed me from the other side of the desk sceptically. “Not enough ass.”

“Nah.. he hath not the skill to be a stripper, nor the charm.” Ellie, the girl who sat next to Steff, pondered for a moment. “A prostitute perhaps?”

“He's not pretty enough for that either.” My friend flicked their long hair back only to lean over the table and ruffled mine up with the sweetest smile. “But if we sell his organs on the black market, we're sure to make a fortune!”

“HEY!!! Fuck all of you!” I pulled away, playing a grumpy face while fixing up my now messy hair. “For the record, why do you always mess up my hair? It takes Peter forever to get it look this damn good.”

“That's very true, it takes a lot of effort to make Noel look presentable to society.” My friends snickered at Peter's words. “A shit load of effort.”

“AND, as I was saying,” I gave my best-friend a playful push for his word. “I would make an amazing stripper, sex worker or organ donor on the black market but that's not the point here!”

“Huh, sex worker?” Ellie mumbled under her breath. “More new words to learn.. great!”

She rolled her eyes and yawned as gray light broke through the window, softly landing on all of us. The classroom was illuminated with only the silver glow as the day slowly began, classmates stumbling in, the rings under their eyes darker then the world around them.

“So can I copy your homework, my dear mooooooooonlight?” I bated my eyes at him. “Pretty please…?”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa….. how about, no! You need to learn your lesson.” He laughingly barked. “Come do it yourself, it's not that hard.”

“As if?” I groaned, tossing myself on the table like an angry toddler. “Why have you betrayed me like this?? I thought you loved me!!”

“You can copy mine.” Ellie said, her odd accent spilling all over her words as she pulled out her math supplies, her blond hair seemed to glow in the absence of light. “I'm not positive it is correct though..”

“Don't encourage him!” Peter exclaimed. “This way he'll never pass the class.”

“I was only fishing for Peter's sympathy but I guess my powers are too strong!!” I carefully took her notebook. “I could become the best super villain the world has ever seen!! Nahahaha!!!”

“No, it really isn't.” She shook her head at me kindly. “But dream big, kiddo.”

“Ellie, you sparkle fucking joy and I would willingly carry your children!” I gave her a big smile and began copying. Normally being called kiddo from a girl I had a slight crush on would have been frustrating but this early in the morning I didn't really mind.

“Noel...” Peter spoke my name with such care, I had to look at him. “You're a full blown idiot and you are aware that is anatomically incorrect right?”

“Who are you to control his body?!” Steff laughed while they pulled out their math notebook and slammed it on the desk next to mine. “Make space Noel, I don't have the homework either!”

Ellie gave them a gentle smile before pulling out her Nokia phone, a device that looked older then I was. She poked around on it while Peter arranged his books to look perfectly synchronized and they and I scribbled away. A tired humming began to fill the room as more classmates came in.

“By the way, where is your sister? Or Bryan for that matter?” I asked, barely glancing up from my work.

“You know Maria, she will stay in bed until the last moment even if God himself tried to wake her up.” Peter let out a small laugh. “And Bryan.. who knows?”

“He's probably dressed too masculine again.” Steff snickered. “His mom is probably making him change right at we speak so that she can impress Mr. You-were-born-a-girl-so-why don't-you-dress-like-one.”

“Speaking of Mr. Hofmann, why the fuck do neither of you two ever do your math homework?” My best friend looked over at us writing away. “Seriously, he's like the only teacher who always checks if we did it or not.”

I looked up into his deep brown eyes. They were the same as that of his twin sister and of his mother but I liked his the most. A soft brown that matched with his dark hair and skin… and his beautiful kissable lips. Not in a “I'm secretly in love with my best friend” kinda way, more in a “I would make out with my best friend at any given moment, in a platonic way of course.” There is a difference trust me, a huge one!

“Because Mr. Hofmann.” Steff groaned. “I live to spite him. My hate for him gets me out my goblin hole every morning.”

“True words that inspired people across the nation.” I nodded before turning my attention back to Peter, as if it ever truly left his gorgeous face. “Hey do you have number 5? 'Cause our dear Ellie just put a bunch of question marks there.”

“The spoken and written word has changed too much since my birth, keeping up bringeth with it many hardships.” She didn't even look up from her device. “And such calculations were seen as witchcraft, as they should.”

“Yeah…. So Ellie is being cryptic again.” I leaned my head on his shoulder and snuggled closer. “Please moonlight, do us this favor..”

“FINE!!” He sighed, passing me his notebook. “Why do I always give in so easily to you?”

“Because you love me!” I gave him a smooch on his cheek before focusing my concentration on the math problem. “I love you too...”

“Where would you get the idea that I… wait, did I just hear that correctly?” His tanned cheeks gave off a slight reddish tone, making it clear that he was blushing. “You like..love me?”

“Yeah.” I threw him a slight smile. “As a friend.”

“OOOOOOOh friendzoned!” Steff looked up from their writing to laugh. “But like seriously Noel, don't even try and deny you're totally in love with Peter.”

“I'm straight, so unless Peter is actually a trans girl,” I continued copying out the calculations. “We're just friends.”

“Can you just admit your bisexuality before before wrinkles cover your fleshy skin and the long fingers of death cuts the thread of your mortality?” Steff groaned. “Please!”

“Aye.” Ellie agreed, still not looking up from her phone. “We're begging ya.”

“Oh man… look I know you guys are the ultimate shitlords and our future rulers and all that but for fucks sake, can you talk like modern humans?” I scribbled in panic, jumping over stupid calculations to get the homework finished before the bell rang. “Now if you don't mind, I would like to finish this.”

“Finish what?” A voice stated as footsteps wandered through the door, Maria's soft giggle by his side.

“Awww Bryan, you sweet pumpkin!” I looked up from my writing for just a second to face my friend. “Get your ass over here and your notebooks out, we've got math homework to do!”

“oooh.. uhm you see..” Bryan stalled as he pulled up a chair towards where we sat. “well I.. uhm.. I.”

“We just did the stupid homework.” Maria plopped herself down on Ellie's lap and gave both her and Steff a kiss on the cheek. Ellie simply shifted her phone and let her girlfriend sit down comfortably. “Plus Bryan managed to get me out of bed so we're here a bit early.”

“BRYAN, You Motherfucker!! What happened to us dying together?” I frowned. “You truly disappoint me!”

“Yo dude!” Peter leaned over to the wide eyed teen. “How did you get Maria up? What kind of magic do you possess? Can you teach me??”

“She wrote me yesterday that she wanted to copy the homework so I did it quickly and..” He nervously looked back at Peter. “an..and so I came by this morning to pick her up. And she was already awake..”

“Stop using your fear to hid thy wizardry! Damn Skippy, I see through you.” Ellie ruffled up his hair without her blue eyes leaving the device she held in her hand. “Thy anxiety is so tough that I could spear it down with my bow and skin it to make a lovely rabbit soup.”

“What?” We all stared at her.

“She means you're so super nervous, like a rabbit.” Maria pipped up. “And that you shouldn't be scared, we're not gonna hurt you.”

“I WILL BE SCARED AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME… not scared? Stop being scared? If anything you're making me more scared!” Bryan pounded his fist on the table before his words drowned into a whisper. “And I have anxiety so yes, I will be terrified. Thank you very much.”

“I said no such thing.” Ellie looked up with a concern and yet gleeful look on her face. “You should be very terrified, thou areth friends with us. Ey!”

“I just shit myself, great!” He smiled and turned to Steff and I. “So what's taking you too so long?”

“What do you mean?” We both asked, looking up from our writing before I continued. “We're dumb, ok? It takes us a little longer do things.”

“Oh, we know that.” Peter laughed.

“Speak for yourself.” Steff punched my arm.

“No but why are you doing the whole page?” Bryan asked. “We only had to do five and six.”

“What??!” I glared at Peter while Steff glared at their girlfriend. “Then why are we doing all of these?”

“Who truly knows?” Ellie shrugged. “You should be asking yourselves that question. Thou has been jacked! Get reketh”

“Yeah, you guys just blindly copied out our homework, with no thought of what we actually had as homework.” Peter stated, his arms crossed. “It your damn own fault.”

The bell rang behind us, a soft ding dong but I didn't notice much. Instead, I was too busy imagining how I was gonna strangle Peter. Kinky, I know but I was thinking about doing it in a nonsexual way. More of a pure rage way.

“Fuck you!” I mumbled angrily. Ok, maybe I was thinking about choking him in a slightly sexual way but not in a gay way. Because I am heterosexual who is only into females! Super straight in every way, I thought as I watched his lips move as he countered my words and imagined kissing them.

“Fuck me yourself, coward.” He joked, pulling his notebook away from me.

“Gladly… wait no!” I whispered without thinking before shouting. “That's not what I meant.. I meant that you wish I would fuck you! Because.. I'm cute and you're cute and we'd be super cute together and.. no wait, what am I even saying?”

“Is he still pretending that he's straight?” Maria rolled her eyes when Steff nodded. “Noel, we all know you're in love with Peter.”

“Not even your mama loves Peter and she fucked him!” I shouted. “And you two are twins!!”

“Dude, that's.. that was uncalled for.” Bryan whimpered, in his hand a cubic cub that he turn endlessly without trying to solve the colorful square. “You can't accuse someone of incest, even as a defense.”

“I'm not accusing him of anything.” I spoke quietly before a smile danced across my face. “I'm just saying he's a motherfucker.”

Our group went silence as I glowed with pride at my, may I say, amazing delivery. The rest of them seemed to have a different opinion to mine, with Steff covering their face with their hands and Maria just giving me the death stare. Only Bryan, kinda muffled a slight smile. At least one of these savages understood my genius!

“Hey babe.” Peter placed his hand on my thigh. “I know you're in denial about our love so I would murder you where you sit.”

“NO!” My voice cracked as he stared at me with his deep brown eyes. “I'm fucking not! Cause.. uhm. Fuck you. Maria, make your brother bother stop bullying me!”

“Peter stop hurting the poor bean.” She smirked, her hand running through her hair. “Don't you see he's suffering enough from his undying love towards you, why would you inflict even more pain on him??”

“I hate all of you.” I shook my head at Bryan and he let out a sigh of relief. “But especially you Peter. You're stupid.”

“HEY!” Peter unleashed the full force of his math book against my head. “And I helped you after you totally forgot to your homework”

“I choose not to do it.” I said proudly. “Albert Einstein failed school and look what he did.”

“That's actually a total myth you know.” Ellie added. “He got really good grades but only Germany with our 1-6 notes so when he moved to another country with 6-1 notes they thought he had failed the grade.”

“Thanks for destroying all my hopes and dreams.”

Ellie blushed and began stuttering. “Oh no... I didn't mean it.. I'm so sorry.”

“Ellie, my precious bean, that was once again sarcasm.” Steff whispered to her and then turned on me. “And how could you not know that? Everyone knows that. Also side note, you kinda did forget your homework so don't lie to yourself.”

“I'm sorry, I don't spend my life reading up and learning random facts about famous people.” I tilted my chair a bit more. “Also how do you know that before wasn't a lie and this is me finally telling the truth.”

“No, you prefer playing video games over and over again.” Steff frown. “Doesn't shooting people get boring after some time?”

“I love you darling but no hating on video games.” Maria smirked. “Either way, wasn't Albert Einstein born with a smaller brain and that made him so smart?”

“It was only a tiny bit smaller then the average brain but with the same amount of brain cells which caused his brain to work far better then ours.” Peter added to the conversation. “And talking about hopes and dreams, Albert Einstein was working a boring desk job as an adult when he worked out his theories.”

“Hmmm... brains. I hear those things are tasty.” I licked my lips. “I'm actually getting pretty hungry, who wants to volunteer as tribute to my belly? Smart people only.”

“I think it's more about the spices and the way you cook it.” Maria stroked her imaginary beard “Raw brains sounds just gross.”

“Well that's just your opinion.” Ellie seemed to have gotten over her embarrassment and rejoined the conversation. “I think raw brains are delicious.”

“Eww.” Peter barked.

“Wow, we're really just going to kink shame poor Ellie here. She likes raw brains, you like dudes.” I put my arm around Peter. “There's no difference.”

“Wait, I'm not kinky. Not in that way at least.” Ellie spoke, startled. “I just enjoy a good meal. Vore is not a thing I like, nor will it ever be.”

“So being gay and being a cannibal is the same thing?” Peter glared. “You've truly sunken far, dear friend.”

“Seriously.” Steff joined in. “That's low even for you.”

“I'm sorry!” I attempted to defend myself but they seemed to have already hardened their hearts to my woo. “I was kidding..”

“There are some stuff you just can't joke about, that was one of them.” Maria joined into the fight. “And I thought you were cool.”

“How did we get from Noel not doing his homework to cannibalism?” Bryan asked into the group. “And how do we always move over to these kinds of conversations?”

“We were talking about Albert Einstein's brain then we came to brain food and then Noel had to compare cannibalism to being lgbt+.” Peter crossed his arms. “What does the defendant have to say in his defence?”

“I-..” “Guilty!” Steff broke into the conversation, interrupting my speech, one I had already thought about before I opened my mouth. “I say we execute him on the spot.”

“I second that!” Peter was quick to second it even though Noel looked at him with innocent eyes.

“How are we going to execute him then?” Maria rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Burning to the stake sounds like fun.”

“How 'bout no.” Ellie seemed visually shaken by even the thought. “What about beheading?”

“Too painless.” Peter countered. “He deserves to suffer.”

“Guys...” I tried to change the conversation but they continued to ignore me. I glanced at Bryan who seemed to have dissociated himself entirely and was inspecting a piece of lead that lay before him. I whispered his name several times before he shot back up into reality and looked at me puzzled.

“Shhh prisoner, the judges are deciding your fate.” Steff shushed him. “Mortals who hath' committed such a horrid crime does not deserve to speak.”

“Guys maybe we should leave Noel alone.” Bryan began his defense of my case but Steff cut him off, refusing to let him speak. “Shush human, spare us the sounds that escape your pretty lips. We know where your loyalties lie.”

“Don't take it to heart.” Maria spoke softly to Bryan. “We're just joking around and foreshadowing stuff, no need to worry.”

“My word, how about we cook him alive.” Peter rubbed his hands together “You know, with boiling water and all that good stuff.”

“I say we eat him.” Ellie grinned. “Tis the best way to depose of a corpse.”

“Yeah.. how about no.” Peter growled. “But a bloodsucker like yourself probably doesn't understand what no means.”

“Why wouldn't I know what no means?” Ellie countered, her eyes seemed to flash red for split second. “No means no, simple as that.”

“That is simply untrue.” We all spun around to see our dear math teacher, Mr Hofmann standing there, his body leaning on the doorway. The other students had noticed him standing there and had gone to their respectable seats. We had not. Who knew how long he had been standing there. How much he had heard.

“Sorry.” I said as I hurried to my proper place and pulled out my school books. The others did the same, some slower then others. Bryan rushed to his seat and practically threw his stuff on the table in terror while Steff stared him dead in the eye as they very slowly moved their chair to face the front.

“No. Definition: a negative used to express dissent, denial or refusal, as in response to a question or request. Also used to emphasize or introduce a negative statement.” He seemed to float into the room and found his way to his desk, his face unchanging before a slight smile crossed over his lips. “But It's math now so everyone pull out your homework. Everyone should have it, No excuses.”

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years ago

Text

Could You Ever Love Me?

Author: Vous_et_moi

Year: 2008

Rating: R

Pairing: Mike/Dave

“We should tidy up, Mike”

Dave swung one leg idly down off of Noels bed, it was a sham that movement, he had no intention of getting the other leg off of the bed, or getting up at all, he was comfy, Noels bed was huge and soft and bouncy with hot pink sheets. It must have cost a fuck load this bed.

“Mmm Yeah we should really tidy up.” Mike stretched beside him, letting his t shirt ride up, he scratched his head and mussed up his hair before grinning, “But I don’t think I will, I think I’ll just lie here and hope it tidies up itself.”

Dave grinned and swung his leg back up onto the bed, rolling over until he could lie on his stomach, “I don’t think it will Mike. And I think Noel is goanna be pissed at you if you don’t make the effort to maybe sort out the living room at least.”

Mike snorted and moved his hand down to his chest, leaving it there casually, in his other hand was the remote, he flicked through the channels, wrinkling his nose every time he caught sight of a soap, “He shouldn’t have given us his place while he was away then should he. House sitting, honestly? How paranoid is he?”

“Well, he did get broke into last time, and all them paintings nicked.”

Mike frowned, remembering “Yeah, and Dee’s diary, she was well upset, cried for like a fortnight. But I aint seen it kicking about anywhere on the internet and believed me I’ve looked,” Mike nodded and yawned. It was 10 past 12 in the afternoon, and they had been awake for roughly 15 minutes, sharing Noels bed the night before neither wishing to crash out on Noel’s lumpy sofa that may well have been direct form the sixties. They’d bunked together loads of times before, Mike was used to Dave’s deep breathing, Dave was used to Mike never lying still. “Pass us that cherryade Dave, my legs don’t work.”

Dave tutted and rolled his eyes, but made no effort to move. It was just a lazy Sunday, he didn‘t have to do anything for anyone. What time had they got in last night? Must have been near to four in the morning. “Lazy boy. Poor Dee, I bet it’s somewhere, like those total obsessive pages, but they’ll be keeping her secrets sacred, not realizing how much they’ve violated her privacy anyway.”

“She says its more because she writes down dreams she has rather than secrets, and how she feels if her and Suzie fight-”

“Suzie. You’d never call her that to her face.” Dave snorted with laugher, remembering when Noel had called her that once and she’d flipped, the only one who could get away with it ever was Dee. Mike grinned as well staring at the ceiling, before turning his head to look at Dave.

“Nope, neither would you. Dave please just pass us that cherryade?”

Dave frowned, and shook his head, “Its on your side. Noel bought her that book the day we all went to that really crap fair YEARS ago, do you remember?”

How could they forget that day at the really crap fair. It was scratched into his memory like graffiti on a school desk.

“Yeah, you won that goldfish that died the same day. Dee made us all write her a message in her new shiny notepad her new shiny boyfriend had bought her.”

“Yeah and you wrote something like ‘Hi from Mike, Dave’s Goldfish died today, like it was all a big joke” Dave put his head in the pillow, half joking, half remembering what I had felt like to have them all make fun of hem like that, it wasn’t that he got emotionally attached to the fish he’d known all of five minutes, it had been the concept that had just been so sad.

“You were proper gutted about that fish man, it was funny. Its on my side but I cant reach it without getting up, if you lean over me you can get it easy and not have to get up.” Mike stretched out his arm as if it illustrate his point, Dave sighed and pulled himself up a bit, he leaned across Mike, trying not to take his time in case that feeling hit him again and reached for the bottle.

“I was gutted because the poor thing had only ever known life in a plastic bag and I wanted to set it free.”

“You’re a freak. And don’t lean on my chest!” Mike shifted uncomfortably, nearly causing Dave to drop the bottle he had stretched out painstakingly to get.

“I’m getting your damn Juice.”

“Thanks.” Mike unscrewed the cap and took a long drink, frowning as he did so. “Ugh it’s gone all flat. And anyway I checked those sites too and I got nothing.”

They all knew about “those sites”

“Yeah? Even the Photoshop ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Even the Mighty Bumming sites?”

Mike nodded slowly, as if he were considering something, “Yeah. It’s not just Vince and Howard you know, there’s Noel and Julian, Old Gregg… there was one called Fossil fun time”

Dave groaned and Mike grinned, putting the lid back on the bottle and setting it down on the side he lay back down next to Dave, pulling a little sad face at Dave who was just glaring at him peering out between the pillow and his messy fringe.

“Thank you Mike you just made me want to die. Did you read any?”

Mike pulled a face and shook his head a little too wildly “No! like, 90% of them involve my brother in some form or other.” He grinned then, wickedly, and shot Dave a mischievous look, “Well I have, like two. Just to see.”

“Ones with Noel?” Dave grinned into the pillow, just as Mike hit him with his own.

“Ack no! don’t be foolish Dave.”

“Who then?”

“You’re awful keen David Brown. Do you want me to send you the links when I’m next on MSN?”

“Am I in any?”

“Aw Dave! Coarse you are mate! Boosh weirdo’s love you! You feeling left out?�� Mike smiled wickedly again and shuffled over so he was eye to eye with Dave.

“Shut up. Just wondering, cause you know, the constant disguises…”

“Nah yeah you are. You’re quite a slut really with the men folk. You’ve had us all.”

“Nah.” Dave said, rolling onto his back and looking disbelievingly at Mike.

“Yeah, even Julian, though he’s really pining for Noel and you’re just being a mate by lending him your arse.”

“I’m selfless I am, mate. I think that’s how you know you’re famous. If you look on the internet one day and find yourself being bummed by your best mates.”

“Yeah totally, you’re just not it if you’ve not been written into erotic fiction.”

They laughed together then, it was an odd sort of flattery, but it worked out ok.

Dave remembered something Dee had told him once, about Noel and Julian stories, and smiled, “You know they mush up names? Dee told me-

-she goes mental over the stuff the freak.” Mike muttered, he was never very keen on how Dee would always ask Noel and Julian to kiss, but he guessed he didn’t like seeing his brother kiss anyone.

“I know apparently she makes Noel read it all the time,” They rolled their eyes in perfect unison, “anyway, so like, Howard bumming Vince is like, Howance or something. And Julian and Noel is Noelian-”

Mike tutted loudly at that, “I hate that. Noelian is a language me and him made up as kids, those nutters have tarnished it now.”

Dave laughed, but patted Mikes arm reassuringly, his hand lingered there for a little too long so he pretended to stretch to cover it.

“We’d be like…Dike.” He didn’t know why he said it, why he would bring that subject up around Mike at all, and he blushed heavily; luckily they were both looking up at the ceiling.

“Nope, we’re not.” Mike eventually said.

“What?”

“We’re not. We’re Mave.” Mike said this so matter-of-factly, as if he’d known for ages, that Dave turned to look at him questioningly.

“Mave? There’s no humour in that. We should be Dike.”

Mike grinned as he stayed looking up at the ceiling, “Why don’t you make an official complaint, they’d listen to you.”

“Encouragement they don’t need mate.” Dave laughed, shaking his head, Mike did the same.

Dave looked at Noels bed side table, where Mike’s laptop he’d brought over was sitting… It couldn’t hurt to look could it? Just to see? Mike had seen it, obviously, even if he hadn’t gone looking for it.

“Where are you going?” Mike asked as Dave sat up suddenly, he grabbed the laptop and flipped it open, pressing the power button, “Did you actually just switch on that laptop? Dave you’re a perve.”

“I’m just curious now like.” Dave tried to defend himself, but smiled despite himself, “How do you find it?”

“Go to Google. I dunno, ‘Mighty Boosh’ um, ‘fan fic‘, who do you want?” Mike asked, sitting up beside him.

“Be rude to read anything but Mave right now, with the others not here to defend their sexuality.”

Mike laughed, “Alright type in ‘Mave’ then… nah wait that’ll be too specific we’re not that well loved, just put ‘fan fic’ and we’ll find it from there.”

“Ok.”

“And Click.”

“Yes Mike I know that bit, I’m not form the past.”

Mike held up his hands defensively in front of him but he was smiling, “don’t get touchy with me just ‘cause you’re slow on the computer.”

“Your only fast cause you’re always looking up Naboo porn” Dave shot back grinning, but Mike pulled a face.

“Do not even joke about that. Sometimes I find it very hard to look at you dressed as a monkey.”

“Really? Bollo? That is odd.” Dave grinned, “Boboo?”

“Haha, maybe.”

They watched as the Google page loaded, Dave’s eyes widened at the sight of the hits total.

“Fucking Hell 16,400.”

Mike nodded from beside him then sighed.

“Just click on the first one. Oh this is the Livejournal one I’ve been here.”

Dave didn’t really want to know how Mike knew all these sites.

“Ok, how do search through this site.”

“Give it here. You’re useless, stick to taking photos… Do you not use digital?”

“Well yeah But I’m good with computers, not weird ass websites.”

Mike looked a little offended about that, leaping to the fan girl defence, “Hey you were the one who wanted to see, don’t call them weird! It’s very popular and widely excepted kink in Japan.”

Dave snorted with laughter, “What, Mave?”

Mike grinned, “No, Boys with boys. They love it. It’s over romanticized and the boys are drawn like chicks anyway but boy on boy anime and manga is everywhere.”

“You are too into Japanese culture.”

“It’s better than ours. Here’s some.”

Mike passed the laptop back to Dave and got up out of the bed and headed for the door, Dave looked up at Mike in surprise.

“You not going to read it?”

Mike laughed, “I’ll be back, I’m gonna make some food.” He hopped towards the door and Dave started scanning the words on screen, “Do you want some?”

“Yeah sure… Mike I like your warm eyes… they make me feel safe.”

Dave was grinning as he read, Mike smiled as well, as he watched a pink blush crawl up Dave’s face, “Shut it and read, don’t poke fun out of embarrassment, it’s fine to be turned on, I am a very sexy man.

Dave kept grinning, reading the story, Mike watched as his eye brows raised slowly up into his hair line, Dave’s eyes flicked back to Mikes, Mike always got a little flip in his stomach when he saw those eyes from a far, so blue, “ And apparently very sluttish… since when do you giggle?”

Mike skipped over back to the bed, “I’m always doing that in these. Do you want me to find a more “us” one… There was one I read that could have been true, I’ll find that.”

Mike grabbed the lap top back off of him and started typing in. Dave frowned, could he really read something that read like him and Mike…doing it… sex…

“I dunno that might be a bit weird. Oh ok then since I’m reading it anyway.”

“Ok, can you please go switch the oven on… please?”

Dave shuffled through to the kitchen, Mike looked up his favourites. What? Don’t you judge him, it’s hard enough being in love with your best mate and thinking that you’re perfect for him without being in the knowledge that quite a few people in the world very strongly agree with you and you not to go looking at what they’ve been saying.

Dave came back through and Mike had the story up. He sat the laptop down on the bed and went towards the door himself, passing Dave and the way, brushing past.

“Ok there you go… Do you want an egg?”

Dave looked puzzled, “Is there even eggs?”

“I dunno.” Mike grinned, “Thought I should ask. That‘s what I always get asked.”

“Nah its alright.”

“Ok. Have fun. You should leave the girl a review, she’ll never know, bless.”

Dave had already started reading, “Uh huh”

Mike clattered around in the kitchen, finding stuff to cook, there was a pizza in the fridge that would take ten minutes, that would do.

…Dave kissed Mike softly, unbelieving, he never thought he’d find himself in this position, but yet he had, and he found that he wasn’t so opposed to the idea, maybe it was the weed, or the beer, or the high of finishing another live show but as Mike pulled as the bottom of he t-shirt he felt him holding his arms off, they only broke the kiss so the thick material couldn’t be pulled over his head…

Dave stared at the screen unblinking, chewing on his bottom lip his eyes dragged along the page, soaking up every word, wishing he could fall through the page…

…‘This isn’t right…’ Dave whispered against Mike’s skin, even as he said it he didn’t stop from pushing him gently down on the bed, Mike shook his head, to disagree with Dave or to shake away his words he didn’t know, all he knew was how wrong and terrible and amazing it all was …

Was it wrong to sit here in one of your best mate’s room reading a story where you’re about to fuck his little brother and getting off entirely on it? Of course if he wasn’t in Noel’s room and Mike wasn’t in the next room he’d be getting off on it a lot more. But as it was he is, so Dave resisted his urges and just kept reading.

“Alright Dave do you want sauce? Dave?” Mike came ambling back through with the pizza and a couple of plates, Dave was sitting cross legged on the bed staring at the screen looking vaguely shocked, Mike grinned but tried to get rid of the smile just as it came. He put the food and the plates down on the chest of drawers that stood by the far wall, and moved towards Dave, who gave no signs of even noticing that Mike had come in. “Dave?”

“Uh…” Dave responded unblinkingly still staring at the screen as if hypnotised, Mike laughed a little and sat down beside him, waving his hand in front of Dave’s face.

“Dave are you ok… Dave?” Dave managed to tear his eyes from the screen and looked at Mike, however he couldn’t hold Mikes gaze so he looked at his hands instead.

“I’m ok.”

Mike bit his lip to stop him from smiling, he couldn’t help it really, Dave just suddenly looked much younger than he was… like 12, “You don’t look ok you’re all flushed. You want me to open a window?”

Dave shot Mike a dirty look for a second, but caught Mikes grin by accident, he looked back at the computer and shook his head disbelievingly, “How would they know that?”

“What?” Mike shuffled over so he could see what Dave was looking at, Dave pointed at the screen

“All those things…Like, you’d say that… and I’d probably say that and I eh… I do like that. And you… I don’t think you’d do that though… But… and…” Dave trailed off, looking down at his hands he pulled his sleeves over his knuckles like he would if he was out in the snow, only if there was any snow near him just now he reckoned he would melt it in an instant.

“Dave?” Mike smiled gently, Dave looked incredibly sweet when he did that, Mike sometimes forgot about the five years between them, “Are you ok? Was it too much for you?” He laughed a little, “Do you want to lie down?”

“I… Mike?” Dave bit his lip.

“What?”

“Would you ever want to do that?” The back of Dave’s neck had gone scarlet, Mike had the urge to blow on there, cool him down… That might not, actually, cool things down at all.

“What like in that story? Like with you or any guy?” Mike was definitely testing the waters now, winding Dave up… he was allowed to though, it was his right as the youngest to be an annoying twat.

“Uh…” Dave paused, still looking at his hands, “a guy?”

Mike stalled, wondering if it was worth telling Dave about the couple of drunk fumblings he’d had a while back, with boys he wasn’t ever sure he was really that into and that he was never sure they were really that into him. “Yeah. I have.”

“Really?” Dave looked up then, in shock, and the sudden intense gaze made Mike blush furiously.

“Yeah.”

“Ok, wow.” Dave’s mind wondered about thinking who and when and why, there might have been a touch of jealousy about it, “Me?”

Mike swallowed, decision time, admit that yes, he did want to do those things with Dave, a lot, quite often, in as many places as legally available to them, and perhaps some non legal places too, like that forest up the road from where Dave used to stay, OR make a joke about it hope he doesn’t get upset and carry on with the not-so-perfect-but-God-you-don’t-want-to-loose-it friendship.

“Maybe. Dave do you…” Mike sighed, “you can’t fancy me just because of something you’ve read on the internet-”

“I liked you before.” With this admittance Dave’s head snapped down and he was back to looking at his sleeves, Mike’s heart did a somersault. And a jimmy flip.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

Gotta love those awkward pauses.

“Ah right. Cool.” Mike grinned despite himself, Dave cleared his throat and looked back at the screen.

“This is really good. But I wouldn’t have done that.”

“No?”

“No… I would have done it more like…” Dave very slowly, very nervously moved a hand up Mikes side round to his back, he stoked his thumb right the way down Mikes spine, Mike shivered a little and wriggled closer to Dave, “yeah?”

“Yeah… that’s quite good, it’s better than hers.” Mike mumbled, staring at Dave’s mouth, wanting to lean over and kiss him, but what if they were just mucking about, what if this wasn’t leading where he thought it was leading? If he kissed Dave it would be a commitment, that would be out there, in the world, forever.

“yeah, and then I would have brought your hand here like…” Dave brought Mike’s hand to the top of his thigh, Mike moved closer still to Dave, pressing up against him, they held each others gaze.

“Like this?”

“Yeah like this.” Dave wasn’t sure who pushed who, but suddenly they were lying down. “But you wouldn’t have said I love you, you would have said something more Mike, like…”

“Like I hope you have that fiver cause I usually ask for cash up front.” Mike grinned as did Dave, shuffling a little so he could lie across Mike a bit more, he brushed Mike’s hair away from his face, their smiles fading away a little.

“Yeah like that, so I’d have to shut you up… like this.” Dave leaned down and kissed Mike, gently at first and then more demanding, seeking entrance to Mike’s mouth and he submitted more than willingly, playfully biting down on Dave’s bottom lip. Mike tasted like artificial cherries, the type you get on cakes. Dave lets out a very small moan, before pulling away, is this still just mucking about?

Mike takes a minute to get his breath back, as does Dave, they exchange sly glances, neither wanting to break the silence but Mike wants to see how the story ends.

“…Yeah that would have probably worked. Then what?”

“Well…” Dave considers for a moment, writing out in his head how he wants his sex scene to go, “I’d go like this.”

Dave has one leg in between Mike’s thighs now and he grinds down, Mike gasps a little in surprise, he hadn’t noticed just how turned on he was, or just how hard Dave was, he wants Dave to do it again but a nervous eruption of butterflies in his stomach slows him down and stops him from bucking back the way he wants to. Mike wasn’t lying when he said he’d been with other boys, there had been two, one in high school and one on holiday, but it had felt very different from this, playful. This was something else.

Dave had ducked his head down; writers block. Mike bit his lip, he guessed this was his story as well, he should maybe contribute, after all, he was the one who had the experience in this field, yes?

“Yeah… Yeah and I’d hold onto your hips real tight and …” He closed his eyes and thrust up, Dave groaned a little and hid his face in Mike’s neck, “do that.”

“But if you did that I’d have to respond with this,” Dave brought his face back up and manoeuvred himself fully in between Mike’s legs, he ground down and the same time brought a hand up underneath Mike’s t shirt and rubbed his thumb over one nipple, kissing Mike harshly, Mike moaned into his mouth, the noise sounding so needy that Dave responded with a groan of his own, his hips still working over Mike.

They broke for air, Mike still gasping and wriggling up against Dave like a dream, Dave resisted the urge to growl.

“Would you?” Mike eventually says, in between gasps, Dave slows down his ministrations and kisses Mike briefly on the lips.

“Yeah.”

Mike grins with his eyes shut, “With what sorry?”

“This.” Dave smiles but grinds down again, tugging at Mikes t shirt somehow they manage to get it off over his head without breaking the contact at their hips, Dave still grinding down with Mikes hands back down at his hips, both of them now only in their boxer shorts, Dave is suddenly very horribly aware that his boxers say “sex kitten” on them, a jokey pair that Dee had bought him to go with her briefs when they were mucking about doing dance routines in their pants. Maybe Mike wouldn’t pick up on that just now. And maybe the sun won’t rise tomorrow morning.

“Mmm, I’d like that.” Mike mumbled, moving his hands around a little, one on his arse, trying to speed up Dave’s movement, Dave let him.

“Good, cause I wouldn’t stop.”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever, if I didn’t have to.”

And he meant it, he could do this all day, thrusting and kissing and panting and wanting, it was too good, far too good, Mike was far too good at this, he thought about Mike’s past history with boys, how much did he know? Was he himself alright? Or was he lacking? Mike seemed to be enjoying himself, but what if he was only trying not to hurt Dave’s feelings?

Mike dropped his head to one side, revealing a lovely amount of neck that Dave took full advantage of that, biting down. Mike let out a strangled groan, you couldn’t fake that could you? And you couldn’t fake that hardness. No, Dave was pretty sure he was doing alright.

“I might tell you I loved you then.” Mike all but whispered staring at the wall, biting a little on the inside of his lip, Dave stopped moving, all he could hear was their breathing, and the sound of his heart beating.

“I might say it back.”

Mike turned back so he could look at Dave, his eyes wide, and innocent looking, slightly scared, as if he was trying to work out whether Dave as being serious or not. Seeming to get the answer he was looking for Mike smiles, and tugs at the band of Dave’s boxers.

“I might insist this came off.” Mike whispers, keeping up the game.

“Ok.” Dave shuffles about so he can get them off, it makes him feel awkward, like when he was 15 years old and Cassie Simmons made him strip before she let him touch her breasts. “I’d probably get you to do the same though.”

“Well that’s only fair” Mike shimmies out of his own, it seems to go much smoother for him, a fact that makes Dave want to back pedal a bit, if he cant even take off his own pants elegantly then what chance in Hell did he have…

But Mike was looking at him in a way that Dave knew he meant the world to him, no matter how clumsy he could be. Dave loved him for it.

They kissed again, deeply, Mike's hands weaving into his hair, pulling them together, trying to get more Dave on him, desperate. They broke apart, flushed, Mike grabbed Dave’s hand from his hip and sucked two fingers into his mouth before bringing Dave’s hand in between his thighs and pressing own a little.

“And Dave, I think then I’d do this.”

Dave gulps, he knows what this means, if this happens there’s not going back, not ever, its about one o’clock, they don’t have any excuse, no late night madness to blame, no drunkenness to fall back on, “I’d ask if you were sure.”

Mike laughs and kisses him on the nose, “I’d tell you to stop reading Mills and Boon and that I’m not a fucking princess.”

Dave flushes annoyed for a minute, but only because he was asking himself more than Mike.

“I’d have to shut you up again.” He growls.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

He slides a finger into Mike and he bucks up, this reaction shocks them both a little and Mike laughs to sweep away his embarrassment. He’s so casual, even when he’s being serious you get the impression that it’s not him he’s taking seriously.

Is he serious about this?

“But I would have to make sure though, That you really wanted to, cause if you regretted doing this than it would change us forever.”

“I think I would tell you it already has. And then I’d have to shut you up.”

Mike kissed Dave hard, bringing himself off the bed as he did so, somewhere Dave’s mind is telling him to find lubricant, proper lubricant not just spit, and a condom, quite soon if at all possible, but where to look? He has no idea, in the story they had just been magic-ed out of thin air. He breaks the kiss and sits back a bit on the bed, Mikes eyes sweep up and down his body and Dave notices that this is the first time he’s been in a position to actually see Mike naked.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

They really needed to find stuff.

“In fics you don’t need to look for johnnies and stuff… you just know where they are.” He laughs nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

Mike laughs and sits up as well, “In Fics they don’t call them Jonnies and stuff, tool. You‘ll break the mood”

“Ah right. Well I’ve not read that much.”

“Well…” Mike goes back to recapture their story, “you see I’d remember that this is Noels room and that somehow I knew they’d be…here…”

Mike leans across and opens the second drawer on the chest of drawers on Noels side of the bed, he knew it would be one down from the regular drawer, ever the individual. there’s condoms, and lube, and some other stuff that Mike’s just going to ignore for now. He grabs a handful of sachets and condoms and waves them at Dave triumphantly.

“Wow, good guess.”

“Thanks.”

They assume the position, Mike laughing on and off as he tried to shift Dave around him properly, grinning foolishly as they rip open a packet of lube and it spills all over his stomach by accident, Dave’s frowning in concentration and this only makes Mike laugh more, Dave sits back again and Mike whines a little at the loss of contact.

“In a fic I’d know what the hell I was doing, and I’d be able to do this all smooth.” Dave mutters darkly, and Mike laughs again, but not unkindly, he reaches out for Dave and coaxes him to lie back down, trying again with a second sachet this time things run smoothly. Mike coats Dave’s fingers and again brings them down between his legs, Dave just soundlessly watching him as he positions two by his entrance and tries to persuade Dave into pressing forward, he does so and Mike gasps quietly and Dave just looks on, thinking he’s beautiful.

“Not in my fic you don’t, in mine I get to show you how to do this and you’d be a bit shy and yeah… you’d blush just like that.”

“Quiet, you.”

“And say something cute like that.” He leaves Dave’s hand and brings his own either side of Dave’s face, holding his head steady and looking deep into Dave’s eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, trying to get Dave to stop shaking, “and I’d just look at you like this till you calmed down…see?”

“Yeah.”

His kissed Dave and his hands search out one of the condoms on the bed, he opens it with ease, and feels Dave gasp and he roll’s it on over his length. He gets Dave to position himself and Dave removes his hand, Mike swallows but his throats dry.

“And then you’d…”

“Do this.” Dave thrusts forward slowly, until he’s all the way inside Mike and Mike lets his eyes close tight, just feeling him, all of him, Dave nuzzles in at his collar bone, safe.

“Yeah.”

“And the world would stop.” Dave mutters against his skin, tickling Mike slightly and Mike’s hands find their way to the small of Dave’s back, stroking here calmingly, soothing, loving.

“And there would be no one else.” There wasn’t, was there? Not in this world.

“But you”

“And you.”

“And I’d kiss you.” Dave brought his face out from where he was hiding, and started kissing Mike, little kisses at first, that built up, Dave shifted his weight, Mike jumped and Dave remembered that actually he had quite a bit of an advantage over Mike, He moved his hips again, and fuck, he felt fantastic, but even better was to see what it was doing to Mike.

“And we’d come crashing back to earth.” Mike panted out, bending his knees up a bit, wriggling about so that he was in an even better position, he pushed down on Dave’s back, wrapping one leg around him.

“And I’d fuck you like this.” Dave thrust as hard as he could, making Mike yelp in surprise and then smile again to hide his awkwardness at being so far gone. Mike was really starting to like this story.

“Yeah, yeah and I’d bite you like this...” a bite to a collar bone, Dave hissed out in pleasure and buried himself deeper in Mike.

“And I’d need you this bad.”

Dave’s hand snuck from Mike’s hip to his cock, wrapping his fingers around Mike’s length Mike groaned, and nipped at Dave’s skin in appreciation.

“And I’d want you so much”

“Fuck!”

“And I’d beg you to stop but you’d know I want more”

“and I’d be gasping for air” He was close he was so so close and he’d barely be doing this for five minutes and it was going to end and Mike was going to be so disappointed but he couldn’t stop and he couldn’t slow down.

“And I’d shout out your name, oh!” Mike gripped down on Dave hard and dragged him down on top of him, squeezing his eyes shut he came suddenly and unexpectedly, “Dave! Dave Dave Dave!”

Dave followed three maybe four thrusts after, being crushed in between Mikes legs he cried out and buried his face between the pillow and Mike’s neck.

They lay there for a few moments, panting, catching their breath, Dave slipped out of Mike and cleaned up, Mike laughed at the image of his come all over Dave’s stomach but couldn’t move himself, he just lay there with heavy lidded eyes.

Dave settled himself back down on Mikes chest with a contented sigh, a sound that was mirrored by Mike as he ran his hand through Dave’s hair, sweeping it back from his forehead, feeling the damp patches at his temple, never feeling more contented.

“…then we’d just lie here like this” Dave began, finishing off their story.

“With my hand in your hair.”

“Me between your thighs”

“And wish we never had to move.”

Dave sighed again, and moved so he could look up at Mike, “and we wouldn’t have to, ‘cause the fic would leave us there.”

“Without the complications.”

“Or the tidying up.”

“Or the dull ache.”

“Sorry.”

“Naw its alright”

Mike leaned down to give Dave a chaste kiss, and smiled up at the ceiling.

“I might love you.” Dave mumbled, drifting off.

“I might love you too. Dave?”

“Yeah?”

“Pass us that cherryade?”

end

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #dave brown #mike fielding #mike fielding/dave brown #mike/dave #rps #real person fic

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holbyconfessional · 6 years ago

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Holby City S21 E10 - Powerless

An hour of completely over the top, unbelievable cheese. And I LOVED it!

I’m just shocked they didn’t find a way to make every single staff member collapse and get rescued, one by one...

Right, so:

Ric and Elle. OK, I’m now good. I can totally cope with the fact they hooked up once, but he’s now dating Francoise. All good.

So glad that the Sacha/Beka/Darla story turned into Sacha needing the surgery rather than Beka. Definitely worked in the getting-me-more-invested stakes!

Ric climbing through the ventilation tunnels in the ceiling. Superb.

Essie and Beka’s chat whilst stranded in Imaging. I was glad to see this happen, I think Essie and Sacha’s break up over Essie’s desire to have children has actually been sadly neglected in terms of follow up (yes, I know there was the whole Parker thing, but still). Overall, unless forced to (like by Fletch’s chat with Essie at the end of the episode), I like to ignore the fact she ever hooked up with (married) Raf, I still think she belongs with Sacha. I half wondered if the conversation was going to turn into the ‘I still love him’ trope, but sadly no. Just that adoption might finally be on the cards. Now Fletch won’t let her do overtime and all. (???!!!)

One other thought on the Essie/Beka storyline. Is there really no way Beka could have kept that neck brace on when she sat up??!!

Serena and Ange fighting again. I have still not lost that strong feeling that this antagonism may lead to a slow burn hook up. Let me make it clear that I am not rooting for this. Just getting that niggling feeling.

I simply loved Noel sitting in Hanssen’s office, owning up, at the end of the episode. Noel is so often portrayed as the fool - Casualty’s poor man’s Sacha Levy - and it’s incredibly good to be reminded every so often of what a decent bloke he really is. I absolutely loved that Hanssen had taken the time to truly nominate him for an award. One of my favourite scenes of the whole crossover.

Second only, really, to anything involving Jac and Connie. Quick shout out to the scene where Jac ripped Sacha’s shirt open first. Now, nothing particulary sexy in Jac ripping Sacha’s shirt open. But just take a moment to focus on the ‘Jac ripping open someone’s shirt’! That moment aside, loved the reinforcement of the fraternal love that Jac feels for Sacha. Jac really is just the most awesome character, she cares so deeply for her friends and is just so ill equipped to show it. Pretty much my favourite character ever!

Then forward to the wonderful rivalry and bitchiness between Jac and Connie - former Queen pitted against reigning Queen. The fighting, the force of will. And ultimately, the begrudging respect that they can’t deny for each other. I am going to be having some very happy dreams tonight!

Overall, I am really happy as to how this crossover has gone. It might have been a long time coming (since the last crossover), and it might not hold up in the believability stakes, but by goodness, it sure stood up in entertainment value. Bravo!

#Holby City #BBC Holby #Ric Griffin #elle gardner #essie harrison #beka levy #Sacha Levy #raf di lucca #Adrian Fletcher #Serena Campbell #Ange Godard #noel garcia #Henrik Hanssen #Connie Beauchamp #Jac Naylor

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 6 years ago

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Only For A Moment Ch. 18

Master List | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Only For A Moment Playlist on Spotify

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: None (I don’t think.)

A/N: Y’all are making my heart swell so much with the outpouring of love this week. Seriously, it’s just been so awesome to hear how much you’re enjoying this story and how you feel about these two. I’m right there with ya because they have me all in my feelings.

I hope you enjoy this chapter it’s a little fluffy but there’s a lot coming up very quickly.

SO MUCH LOVE PUMPKINS!

Tags are open!

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @soulless-and-sarcastic @saundrasays @breezy1415 @creepshowzombae @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes

You eat an apple from the bowl of fruit but can’t really bring yourself to ingest anything else. You’d been alone for months and been fine yet now… the silence felt oppressive, unnerving. Slowly you make a round of the apartment, studying everything, sipping on another cup.

His makeshift bookshelves of cinderblocks and scrap wood oddly cute. The curbside furniture and hodgepodge assortment of kitchen goods he collected show someone, trying, really trying, to build a life.

Suddenly you’re ashamed. How much more had he endured and yet here he was living, or trying to. More than that he was helping you learn how to live too… trying to lift you up beside him for no other reason than that he was a good man…

You plop on the couch feeling like a complete piece of shit. From between the cushions, his book of E. E. Cummings poetry peeks up. For a second you think you shouldn’t open it, that maybe it will be private but your curiosity is stronger than your sense of honor.

This isn’t like the other books which have been annotated and marked like a student furiously researching for their dissertation. He’s underlined some lines, circled others. Snippets that reveal bits of him to you in the way only poetry can:

“The peaceful terrors of the snow, and before your dead face which sleeps,a dream shall pass)”

“and my little sister and i will take hands and looking up at our beautiful tree we'll dance and sing "Noel Noel””

“but i have seen death's clever enormous voice”

“in the mirror i see a frail man dreaming dreams dreams in the mirror”

“delirious, indivisible grace of dancing”

“he is called death.”

You slam the book closed after your eyes see that final line circled in red pen so hard the page has torn a bit.

The guilt is fucking palatable. You hate that you invaded his privacy but…

You begin to pace. Did he remember Christmases with his family… That bit had a neat little box around it. Dancing. Did he like to dance… Did he see himself as frail… Then there were all the mentions of death. It made sense… Peaceful terrors of the snow. A chill snakes it’s way up your spine. The Winter Soldier.

Nope. This is doing absolutely nothing for you. Your feet have aimlessly taken you to the cramped kitchen. Suddenly you desperately want to cook. When you’d had a particularly shit day you’d always cook an extravagant meal, invite everyone over, send them home full with lunch for the next day and satisfied smiles on their faces.

The fridge is sparse save for some half and half, milk, a couple of eggs, and your leftovers from the night before. The cabinet reveals cornflakes and a small bag of sugar. You smile remembering he bought that just because he wasn’t sure how you took your coffee.

Cooking was out.

Under the sink, there are basic cleaning supplies. A small, previously unexplored, closet near the front door gives up a mop and broom and in his closet, there’s a small battery operated AM/FM radio.

Perfect.

When Bucky walks in two hours later he’s faced with the full force of a classic anxiety fueled Y/N cleaning spree.

You had organized the kitchen, cleaned the inside of the refrigerator, dusted, swept mopped, organized, opened the balcony door to let in fresh air, and now you were cleaning the bathroom in one of his white sleeveless undershirts and your boxer briefs.

Static laced notes of Foreigner’s Hotblooded fill the small space from the little radio that was, seemingly of its own accord, floating about seeking the best angle to catch the random classic rock station you had found.

The door slams, you jump, freezing mid air-guitar. “It’s just me,” he bellows over the music. Immediately your hackles lower. Peeking around the corner you see him wave his hand around the floating radio fascinated.

“No strings attached,” you shout.

“What’re you listening to?” He asks, his tone jovial.

“You’re kidding?” You ask shocked before you grab your mic-stand-mop and begin mouthing along to the final chorus.

Well, I'm hot blooded, check it and see

I got a fever of a hundred and three

Come on baby, do you do more than dance?

I'm hot blooded, I'm hot blooded

He can’t help but laugh at your over exaggerated performance. You slowly sink to the ground, in full tired drunken rockstar style as the song fades out and the radio floats over to you so you can turn it down.

He’s clapping, wearing that incredible smile, as he looks down at your panting form on the floor. “Not bad for my first rock concert.”

You laugh, “Best one you’ll ever see.” He extends his right hand you take it and rise off the floor. “You really don’t know that song?” The question is out before you can stop it.

He gives you a half laugh as he grabs some grocery bags from by the front door, “I’ve, uh, missed a few decades.” When he turns back you’re worried he’ll be cloudy but he’s still smiling.

“Well, that’s not going to fly.” You lean on the bathroom door frame. “I will personally take on the task to begin your musical education Mr. Barnes.”

He drops the bags on the counter, “I’d like that,” his eyes meet yours and your heart skips a beat.

“I hope it’s ok I went a little clean crazy,” you walk to the kitchen, “it’s something I do… used to do when I’m… anxious,” an awkward laugh sneaks out.

“Why were you anxious?” He asks pulling assorted vegetables from the bags.

You chew on your bottom lip before shrugging, “When am I not anxious these days…” he looks at you for a second questioning, “I guess… after… not being… alo-“ He cuts you off pulling you into a tight embrace. Immediately you relax against him, breathing in his smell, not caring that you’re a mess from cleaning.

“I felt… off on my own too,” he sounds just as taken back by the feeling as you and you squeeze him tighter. You glance around him to the kitchen.

“So are you planning on making a feast?”

Releasing you he looks back and chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Well… Not sure,” he returns to the bags. “I’m not much of a cook but I figured with the basics I could… I don’t know… work something out.” Gesturing to a paper bag by the laundry, “I did get us some sandwiches for lunch, so at least if dinner’s a disaster we had one good meal.” That awkward laugh does you in, he’s trying so goddamn hard.

A laugh escapes you. “What’s so funny?”

“I just… really wanted to cook earlier and here you are like grocery Santa.”

“You like cooking?”

“Love it.”

“Have at it,” he makes a presenting gesture toward the counter. You smile and he watches as you take stock of what he bought. “What do you like to cook?”

“Honestly,” you pull a whole chicken out, “a little of everything.” Large onion, head of garlic, you’re putting the pieces together like a puzzle.

“Ok, well what’s your favorite thing to make?” He’s perched on the arm of the couch.

“That my friend is a loaded question.”

His eyes crinkle, “Are we friends?”

You hold his gaze, unable to contain your smile. “Yeah. I think we are… something like that…”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky fluff

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sunnysynthsunshine · 6 years ago

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7th Comedy Monologue

“Hey my Cheese bags I’m back from my adventure in 1985”

“No joke if you look it up

the timeframe of days for each month this year

are the exact same as they were in 1985”

So all this “80s revival stuff” with Duran Duran and Depeche Mode touring, Petshop Boys releasing a new album, a new generation falling in love with Queen and She-Ra while the world is being messed up by a tyrannical iron lady and a talking tangerine makes a bit of sense doesn’t it?”

Even though I was born in the 2000s I’ve always loved most of the media from that decade, the gothic and upbeat synthesizer music,the cheaply made but entertaining cartoons,the video games,the basic but stylish fashion,the musicals and John Hughes films,the mix of music genres in the charts,Goth,Synth,Punk,2 Tone,Post-Punk,New Wave,Glam Metal,Alternative,Shoegaze,Hip Hop,Electronica

I was watching Saved by the Bell before Netflix even existed

Then again a lot of the shows from then were also being revived back in my day

Dal Winton was presenting game shows, Pingu replaced the scary walrus monsters with rap music, I watched or had VHS tapes of the Muppet show, Noddy, Postman Pat and Scooby Doo.

Scooby-Doo! Now that’s a show that never gets old because it never changes, anyone regardless of what generation they’re from would be able to tell you

“Oh Yeah, I remember Scooby Doo”

When you think about it Scooby Doo is quite philosophical

we are all just a gang going on our own adventures

that and the first few live-action movies are modern masterpieces

I was just browsing Twitter or Tumblr or literally anywhere on the internet only to see that screencaps were taken from the live action Scooby Doo interviews had turned into memes

*ahem*

Well,I was auditioning for the role of Velma, I could sense from the way Matthew Lillard just fully encompassed the role of Shaggy, it felt like he was Shaggy, he was our saviour as he felt his spiritual energy increase, that’s when I knew we were working with a legend

Something like that although Matthew isn’t too fond of the memes himself specifically the ones where his spiritual connections are described more like demon possession rituals

*ahem*

“Being Shaggy has led me down a path of death and destruction. I’ve killed many mortals in hope of replicating 1% of Shaggy’s being, by the end of filming I hope to become one with him”

In which Matthew responded with

*deadpan voice*

This is wrong

I mean I might also have inspirations where I feel like I can philosophically connect with them, in their performing style and personality but that’s where I draw the line

Personality? That’s a tricky subject

You could say some people have consistent personalities

People said Freddie Mercury and David Bowie were party animals who were incredible on stage with their charisma, creativity and charm but other sources have said they were relaxed, laid back people who were shy when being interviewed.

That could just be the contrast between their onstage and offstage personas but not all of us have that, even if we are all just actors in a play, hoping each day goes the right way

Some of us are punk, even if we don’t explicitly say that we are, or have the stereotypical style associated with it,a lot of us just try to be ourselves,some of us can enjoy reality shows and horror movies at the same time,some of us can enjoy One Direction and Gorillaz,some of us can love fashion but also love memes, Theatre, and 1980s aesthetics

I’d say I’m the same but sometimes my personality is all over the place

I can go from being cheerful, relaxed and happy to being dazed and clumsy or cynical or entranced and hyper-fixated to Pessimistic and Cold to Quiet and Timid to Mellow and Loud what personality traits you associate with me, however, is up to your own conclusion

call me any internet subculture stereotype and I’d be able to tell you about how I either, unfortunately, was the stereotype or I hung around people who were those stereotypes

if you said I was someone who watched Cbbc and citv you’d be right

if you said I was a classic rock enthusiast years ago and now you’d be right

if you said I used to be a cringy anime enthusiast you’d be right

if you said I was one of those theatre kids who watched Disney sitcoms you’d be right

if you said I was one of those meme posters who referenced movies like Shrek and bee movie you’d be right

Another thing punks did was and sometimes still do was creating fanzines, magazines related to their favourite band or tv show or their own opinions on what’s going in the world, nowadays you could say social media has replaced that, but publications like the Daily Mirror, The Sun and TMZ still have a presence on there,I’d say fanzines should have a revival.

The BAFTA’s also happened recently and I wasn’t impressed, then again when are awards shows anything other than beauty pageants for films anyway?

Some films deserved their awards, but some films barely got a mention, Paddington 2 wasn’t included in there or in any of the other film awards this year and Stan and Ollie got nothing…

A darn shame because that film was so well made, it felt authentic, while Stan and Ollie also have a bit of a universal following, there are still some people who probably don’t know who they are!

Before Walliams and Lucas, Before the Two Ronnies, Before Richie and Eddie

There was…Laurel and Hardy

Two moustached blokes, who in the 20s and 50s would just try to delight audiences the best way they could, through slapstick and laughter, without them, most of the world’s double acts wouldn’t exist and even Spongebob wouldn’t exist

Yep, you heard me right, all those misadventures Spongebob and Patrick would have, they were loosely based on the adventures of Laurel and Hardy, except instead of it being about a tall British man and a fat American it was about an anthropomorphic sponge and a dumb but caring starfish.

Speaking of Spongebob, there was some sad news involving Spongebob not too long ago

The creator of Spongebob, Stephen Hillenburg…had passed away from ALS

I know, it’s awful,stupid motor neuron diseases and stupid Adam Levine too,for those who don’t know there was an episode of Spongebob called Band Geeks where they ended the episode with the cast playing a song called Sweet Victory over a Superbowl type of event, for the actual super bowl Spongebob fans around the world petitioned for that song to be played in tribute for Stephen,however we got Adam Levine singing a different song instead….what a letdown

If it wasn’t for SpongeBob I and some of the rest of the new generation, wouldn’t know half the old music or old films we know now.

To let down millions of fans like that makes me sick

Honestly, I was a bit sick a few weeks ago, I’ve been sick before and hospitalized twice but this particular moment of sickness was odd

It was like any other night, I was trying to get some sleep and lucid dream, but then it happened, the shivers, the shakes the trembling aches,

Out of nowhere, I felt like an ice-cube stuck in a microwave, It was too cold but it was too warm, I eventually got to sleep but when I got up the next morning I felt sick again, sorry for disclosing those details but it was like the exorcist…

Usually, when I’m sick watching documentaries, Kitchen Nightmares or 90s films weirdly cheers me up

Speaking of films, Rocketman the Elton John movie is out and it actually looks good

It’s being directed by the guy who was the replacement director for Bo Rhap and if it ends up being brilliant I won’t be surprised, the trailer gave off Velvet Goldmine vibes, the style of composed cinematography and I’m sounding like Film Twitter, Isle of Dogs was a good film…oh wait it wasn’t acknowledged much by the award shows either.

Another amazing film I recently watched was Rocky Horror…I know I’ve mentioned it before but that was when I only knew the sequel and some of the soundtrack,

It was amazing, it was brilliant, it was fantastic, it was out of this world,

ah! Rocky Horror was splendid

I definitely now understand why it’s still going strong to this day

It’s that hybrid of rock and roll, optimistic nihilism and soft aesthetics

That just works for me, another thing I’ve remembered was that Richard O’ Brien played the dad in Phineas and Ferb, well that explains that part of me liked that cartoon for the music and some of the characters but other characters did my head in like that Isabel character

“Hey, Phineas what ya dooing?”

“How about you let me finish my invention and you mind your own business”

Oof that’s too harsh…but considering aspects of the marvel Phineas and Ferb crossover were surprisingly a bit sexist at times outdated for the show that is usually quite progressive in its representation and characters…it’s probably accurate

Another person who hasn’t changed but is also often harsh, Piers Morgan, a little tweety bird told me he had a mysterious illness, good riddance I’d say, he’s the new Noel Edmonds, the presenter who used to be ok but now is unbearable…because he never shuts up

Thankfully though he’s “taking a break” from GMB that will rest our eardrums

Russell Brand has also been in the tabloids again, even though he’s more focused on his Buddhist spiritual recovery enlightening, looking back he wasn’t as bad as people described him, yeah at times he was a bit too over the top,but he was and is quite an ok bloke, but I’d say temporarily banning tickling is a bit of a stretch,

when you think about the number of people who disrespect our literal and figurative personal space on a daily basis, it kinda makes a bit of sense,

whether your sensory sensitive or not, I’m sure you hate it, when people are too touchy at times

although years ago I would’ve been a bit of an ignorant hypocrite about that

Hating it when crowds of kids would chase me like how the paparazzi chase their next gossip target, yet often annoyingly running up to people to talk to or entertain them.

I really need to learn to enjoy loneliness more because I get some of my best ideas when alone, but emotionally I feel a lot better when around others, a bit of an Ambivert really,

I’m sorry I can be a bit all over the place, I’m trying to make my energy more manageable

as that lucid dreaming thing has been misused at times,

I shouldn’t let myself be controlled…

by anyone or anything..no overthinking, no overworking,

treat the world as your stage, start your first act, motivated and ready, take your recharging interval breaks and then move on for your second act

fancy that me an ex-drama student making that metaphor when my current course involves digitally drawing art, editing audio and sitting at a computer for most of the day

But then again just because someone shows good charisma that doesn’t always mean their a good person.

Ted Bundy, one of America's most notorious serial killers used charisma and charm in his court cases, and with the amount of fangirls giving him fanmail it was like the Beatles fandom but for people with Stockholm syndrome,and now with Netflix’s documentary and Troy from High School Musical in an upcoming film about him, that seems to be repeating itself…

*Alien voice* Ted Bundy the 1960s called they want your fangirls back!

One show I know you probably haven’t heard of is The Boondocks, a south park esque cartoon with an anime esque art style, referencing the social commentary of African American culture and media, celebrating some aspects while critiquing others, through the lenses of a socialist boy named Huey Freeman, his rapper wannabe brother Riley and their activist grandad Robert.

This show was quite revolutionary,it referenced the issue of each episode quite well, even though it only lasted 4 seasons, however, because the show is quite American, apart from the animation which is done in Korea,The Boondocks is not well known in the UK, which is a shame because it is a really good show that still holds up…however, it does fall under one mousetrap that most other adult cartoons fall into….

Because of the references to violence,innuendo and other dark subject matter sometimes referenced in a satirically humorous way,some audiences would just watch the show because it’s offensive thinking that the show was made just to be offensive..instead of what the show was actually made for..which was to give social commentary on the issues relevant to African American communities in America.

I had watched this show years ago, it only just came back on my radar, because the creator Aaron McGruder, who based the show off his webcomic of the same name, had recently made a new issue.

There’s a difference between being satirical and being offensive

Your either making fun of something bad that a system or people are doing to make people aware of how stupid and sad the world can be at times,subjectively making fun of a stereotype, or your an arse who thinks they’re a comedian when they waste their time on social media, thinking they’re amazing and funny when they’re holding up the line at Mcdonald’s and the only people laughing at their jokes are gammon and people who found Bernard Manning funny

“Oh Wait”

I know sometimes I have unpopular opinions such as how my views of someone dip depending on their views of Kanye West

and sometimes I can be a bit snarky, and I hate and love stuff in equal amounts, but we need a bit of that don’t we, if we bottle it all up we explode like volcanos, but if we overshare too much, we crash like out of control cars

It’s all about moderation, salt is a tasty condiment but eat too much of it and your arteries will get clogged,

A few days back it was the day Mark Ashton passed away, for those who don’t know,he was an LGBT activist in the 80s,he volunteered with organizations such as the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament,he and the other activists helped to support the miners during the miner strike, creating the LGSM Alliance,Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners,there was a film made about them too, called Pride,but what some people don’t know is that….Mark Ashton was Northern Irish…he was one of us..he was the Marsha P Johnson of our time..if we were a bit like Mark Ashton this country would be a slightly more accepting place, why don’t we give love!

Let’s move on, plant more flowers in our garden..I know I sound like a hippie but it’s true, our Celtic Summerland is being used as a cesspool for Nuclear Waste

Oi! use your own bins, not the place we’re living in, pick up your rubbish and clean up your own mess…

The 80s were telling us something with all those protect and survive adverts, yes some of us were prepared as the older generation made us alert, others couldn’t recognize that a lot of innocent people were getting hurt.

When we say we want a 1980s comeback we want the music, clothes, games and films,

but Nope

while we have some of that the 1980s revival we get is the one that involves Nuclear Danger and the ghost of Margaret Thatcher

All these TV and Film revivals, some are cool others are just unnecessary Do we really need a Snow White sequel? No, we don’t but we did get one even if it was unofficial

Back in 2007 a French animation company made a sequel to Snow White which was also a bit like Shrek in how it satirised the fairy tale tropes, how Prince Charming feels like he is objectified while he ends up doing the same thing to the female characters, quite a tosser but that’s the point of the parody to point out the flaws with fairy tale logic, and to put the likes of Snow White, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella in more realistic scenarios.

…it’s strange, weird but brilliant too

The English dub had quite a few familiar faces doing the character voices

Stephen Fry as the narrator, Morwenna Banks, Simon Greenall and another British actor

Rik someone...

Ah! I remember his name now, he was in many successful sitcoms in the 80s and 90s,he was a legend, he knew how to keep people laughing, whether they were children, adults, teenagers,

in television, theatre, film or music

quite an eclectic range of talent

Although

I’m a new fan, I might adore his work, but I had just learnt his name 2 years ago, whereas, with other fans, they have created their own work, such as Charlie Brooker and Simon Pegg… some were able to meet him…lucky...

Some encounters were quite interesting, I had heard someone’s nan got to meet him in the 90s but she got his name wrong so she ended up saying

“‘oh hello can I have your autograph please Mr mayo?’

Well that happened, she probably still got that autograph,...

And somewhere up there, Rik Mayall is thinking of us, he, Stephen Hillenburg and David Bowie are probably chatting away

Let’s make the lord of misrule proud

#comedy #comedy monologue #1980s #original monologue

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