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neitherlightnordark · 3 years

Note

Hey I just wanted to let you know that I love the way you write Seam! Especially their interactions with Jevil, you do it very well. I was wondering if you had tips on writing Seam, I’m having a bit of trouble ^-^

wow thank you dude!! i'd love to tell you some tips!!! :D (this was a very auspicious ask, i was just thinking about this!)

okay here we go! lemme know if this was. completely off the dot of what you actually needed i'll be glad to edit this!

for seam's voice and how seam acts in general:

seam speaks in very formal, classic RPG storytelling mode- ("long ago, the darkners lived in harmony with the lightners." "reflecting on these old memories, i think, perhaps... i miss playing games with him." "call it a premonition, but i get the feeling you may find more of these...")

- or in a very casual and kind of rudeass manner ("y'think i WANT that?" "ha, good luck. it makes no difference to me." "what kind of junk you got?"). seam swings through these whenever it feels comfortable!

seam pauses quite often, as though it's laborious to talk, or as though everything said is a little wistful and trailing off and deliberately emphasized... ("ha ha ha ha..." "trouble opening the door...?" "that crystal...") as all we read of seam is in the shop, where no one talks but the shopkeeper, it might just be that seam likes having ample space to talk very, very much

seam laughs a lot- "ha ha ha"s and "hee hee"s- in a way that's kind of smug and kind of sad. seam's base expression is also a relaxed sort of smile, perhaps because of the warped thing that's going on with the mouth and the stitching?

seam is in general much more chill and amused by crazy things happening than the cat is given credit for! probably the most emotional response seam's had to something unexpected is the lancer fun squad clobbering/sleepifying jevil ("you defeated him?! you REALLY defeated him?!"), with receiving shadow crystals as a close second ("...incredible! to think he had a shadow crystal..." "now, you have collected 2 of them! huzzah!") other than that, seam is very calm and collected, generally predicting how things will go. where they get this arcane knowledge is up to you until chapter 6 or something i bet

relatedly, laughing about jevil hard enough to grow teeth (???) and trailing off mid-sentence is the closest seam comes to really, really being sad or angry about something in-game. seam copes with laughing i think

seam likes puns!!! seam likes riddles!!! seam likes setting up punchlines ("the name's seam. pronounced shawm. and this is my little seap." kaboom right into my heart)!!!! seam likes being a clever laughing bastard- and jevil is the same way ("OH, IT'S JUST A SIMPLE NUMBERS GAME", he says, like a liar; "ENOUGH!! YOU KIDS TIRED ME UP!" he says, like a liar). seam believes seam is very funny

despite being awfully fatalistic and almost never leaving the seap, seam isn't all that passive; it's seam who chooses, after a bit of musing, to help the kids open jevil's door despite the risks. and later on, seam up and decides to whip up a shadow mantle for the kids without any prompting (the shadow mantle immediately disappears) (that's still so funny to me). giving seam agency and motivations is cool and epic and fun! there's lots of potential there

and some miscellaneous seam things that i like and/or think are weird: seam's darkburgers (mcdonalds), seam wearing dresses and robes and such (cats can't walk in pants! and also it looks banger, and seam knows this), seam having bad vision (three cameras no depth perception), seam's cd bagels ("those young men" < about sweet cap'n cakes), seam's weird aesthetic with the seap, seam never leaving the seap ("as long as i stay in my shop, these walls won't change")

and of course seam's knowledge about the sun, and who the next bosses are... seam what do you know. seam how do you know that. what HAPPENED to seam. i guess we'll never know until chapter 7

and a few things for seam's feelings towards jevil specifically:

seam reminisces about jevil without kris or red bringing him up ("this world hasn't seen this much chaos since... ha ha, well, you don't need to know about THAT." seam is very subtle, as you can see). then, when he's brought up, seam's first thought is the "trouble" went through to lock him up, interestingly enough...

but afterwards, seam slowly tells the lancer fun squad so much about jevil, going on and on about who he was once and the keep's conflicting feelings on him, concluding with perhaps... seam misses him. it's like... it's the first time seam's been able to tell anyone about this in a hundred years

my point is that seam cares about jevil and the purpose he could have brought, and is perfectly okay with saying this and knowing this and being affectionate in that somewhat disconnected but warm seam way. seam and jevil

(whether or not jevil feels the same is... irrelevant to this actually, but very interesting for me to think about!!)

it's also notable that seam only says the "incredible!" thing if the lancer fun squad defeats jevil

like i said up there, giving both seam and jevil agency and motivations and backstory is super fun and will help!

100% just have fun with these two. they're an immensely powerful morbid stuffed cat magician happily preoccupied with the inevitability of fate and an immensely dangerous monologuing bat jester intensely preoccupied with breaking fate and picking it apart. and they fought each other almost to the death on tuesdays and learned each other's bullet patterns like the back of their eyelids and made each other laugh and picked each other's flaws apart and trapped each other in prisons of their own making for about a hundred years before being brought to their senses by the presence of three small children. i mean honestly

#personal #under the cut so Seam does not overwhelm your dash!#deltarune spoilers #thank you for asking!!#writing this actually made me stop and think about a bunch of things so seriously thank you #how many sayings of seam are in this? i've lost count

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starsuh · 4 years

Text

do re mi | myg

featuring. min yoongi x reader | 3.2k

summary. while teaching you how to play piano, min yoongi realizes that his dumbass might have feelings for you after all.

genre. fluff | f2l | roommate!au | mutual pining

warnings. a quarter-life crisis and a soft make-out scene at the end

Amongst Min Yoongi's many talents, his sixth sense of knowing when something was bothering you was the one that most oft caught you off guard. Whether it was the intensity in which you slammed a door shut, or the way in which you didn't choose to annoy the fuck out him like you did every other day of the week; he would notice each time. It was only clockwork that he tentatively wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you had collapsed against the couch with perceptible chagrin.

"What's up?" he asked, a simple question that often entailed a more than complicated answer. Peering down at your tightened features, he awkwardly patted your shoulder as if to make known that silence would be just as valid of a reply.

You ran your hands through your face. "I don't know,” you said. If you did, you would've told him, just as you told him everything. Though the pair of you had began as merely two people who happened to be roommates because there were no other affordable options, spending months watching Netflix with another person tends to lead to friendship — even best-friendship, though neither of you had established such a title. It was the kind of friendship that needn't clarification, rather it was just another unequivocal fact amongst many.

After kicking off your shoes (Yoongi would scold you for that in a less emotionally-turbulent time), you pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them in a ball-like manner. "It's really fucking lame but I’m just realizing some things,” he nodded, prompting you to continue. "I'm scared of the future, I think. I mean, everyone is, but when our prof was talking about internships and shit earlier I kind of freaked out then decided that hiding in the bathroom was the best option.”

In his gaze was a reassurance so intent that you had to look away lest you become ensnared in it. He oft had that effect, increasingly so throughout the past few weeks. "What about it?"

Your eyes fluttered closed as you took a deep breath. “I think I know what I want to do, but then I see other people, people like you, who are so passionate about their place on Earth that to not do that thing would be a fate worse than death. Like, I love the path that I’m on but there’s always a voice that’s telling me I’m gonna fuck something up and regret everything.” You played with the loose threads of your top, pulling at the offending stitching. You laughed. “This is so stupid. I guess I’m just realizing that I might not be cut out for it.”

His sudden silence filled the room so heavily that you began to wonder if you shouldn’t have said anything at all. Gears turned behind the messy black mop atop his head that hung over his eyes; a face similar to the one he makes when contemplating a new track he had produced, seeking for each of its flaws and corresponding solutions.

It was so sudden when he reached down to grab your hand that you almost jumped. An inch away from falling onto his chest with the sudden upwards tug, you steeled yourself. "I'll show you something," he said to which you replied with a questioning stare. "It'll just be a sec, c'mon."

You allowed him to drag you to his bedroom, though not without glaring at the back of his head and whining. "Your room smells like Cheetos and day-old boxers."

He rolled his eyes. "I cleaned it this morning, so shut up."

He pushed the door closed with his hip, never once letting go of your hand until he unceremoniously shoved you towards the left end of the keyboard bench. You wiped the accumulated hand sweat against the rough fabric of your jeans, both thankful yet forlorn that he had let go. His was a comfort rarely given and you craved his affection the way one did with a cat that ignored those around it.

He reached down to plug the extension into the socket. "Can I play you something?"

You blinked, unsure if the nervous tone laced in the question was figment or reality. “What?”

He gave you a blank stare though it didn’t distract you from the way his hands fidgeted in his lap. “I said, can I play you something? Something I wrote?”

Impatient, he didn’t give you a second glance or a moment to reply before his hands flew across the board, pulling melodies out of the nooks and crannies of its black and white keys. Through every note, he told you of emotion, of love, of heartbreak and melancholy. You don't think you had ever understood what music was until then. It was more than his expertise, though he was quite the expert; it was the way his eyes closed at certain shrills and the way his shoulders hunched at others, the way he slammed harder into the keys and at other parts softer. He played like a poet. A writer. And you refused to be someone who didn't appreciate it for what it was: a story told to you.

The slight smirk gracing his soft features told you that he found amusing the way your mouth gaped open in shock. You’d only ever heard the distant echoes of his sound from behind closed doors as you walked past.

Yoongi had never played for you before, was even shocked that he was able to now, knowing that your mere presence in close proximity provided quite the distraction.

When he stopped, the air almost rang in its silence, as if you had forgotten what the world sounded like without his music in it. The hush blanket laid across the room felt bare and vulnerable. You understood now more than ever why he locked himself within the confines of his space in all hours of the day. If you could live in his symphonies, you would.

"Wow.” Because what else could be said? "That was... Yoongi, you're amazing."

His smirk remained, though as more of a mask to hide softer feelings behind. "Must've been if you're complimenting me for once.”

"Because you already have a ginormous ego."

He began playing once more. This time, a slow and deceptively simple melody. The chords were arrows tightly strung that flew through the air in wisps of smoke. To you, its warmth was paralleled to the feeling of his own beside you, his arm occasionally brushing yours as he reached to play a few lower keys.

"I think you're taking it too seriously," he said. "The future, I mean."

Your brows furrowed. "I kind of have to, dude."

He rolled his eyes but kept playing, occasionally glancing at you as he did so. "What I mean is," he pressed softly against the keys in the left end of the piano, their tenor notes filling your ears. "You need to calm down. Like this," the already soft melody slowed. "You know what you want, don't you? Why are you hesitating?"

You stilled, the feeling of being both caught and scolded grounding you in time. Your eyes focused on his hands to avoid the feeling of his analyzing gaze on the side of your face. “There are things I want to accomplish but there’s also things I want to have,” you groaned in exasperation. “I don’t know if I should choose the former or the latter but they’re so entangled that I can’t even tell which is which anymore.”

"Some things are only difficult if you think they're difficult." He looked down at the keys. "Like playing the piano, everyone knows that learning it is hard but something like this-" he played three chords in succession. "-sounds simple, right?" He continued to play those same chords until they blended together in a single melodious breeze. "But when I was a kid, learning piano was the bane of my twelve year old existence. I hated it so much because my impatient ass wanted to be good without trying. So, in true dumbass fashion, I quit taking lessons after two weeks."

You tilted your head towards him. “How did you learn then?"

“Well, I realized I was being a huge pussy and went back." Shaking his head before the glaze of the memory could wash over, he nodded towards you. Grabbing your hand, he placed them over the keys. “Can I teach you a chord?”

Your heart spiked in one fell swoop. “What? And embarrass myself in front of the music god himself?"

He laughed and it lit up his eyes brighter than the screen of his laptop that he had forgotten to shut off, still on the League of Legends home screen. “I told you, it's only hard if you think it is."

Too flustered to argue, you could only watch as he directed your fingers towards the correct keys until three were stretched towards their respective positions. C Major. You wondered if he could hear the rapid pace of your heart through the vibrations on your skin from where his larger hand rested atop your own. You could only pray to any god who would listen that he didn’t.

Among the numerous feelings that bubbled beneath your chest, the sudden pinch of ice that struck your nerves as he lifted his palm away from yours was one that you were the most unsure of. Filing that thought away for later, you focused on the most important task at hand: avoiding looking like an idiot in front of Min Yoongi.

Before you could retreat, your hands pressed down.

A sudden burst of sound filled the silence that you hadn't realized had grown so deafening. Your eyes widened as if you hadn't expected the chord to occur despite Yoongi's administrations, like trying to guess a passcode and getting it correct in a miraculous feat of luck. The now fading sound was not like anything you were expecting, though you knew even monkeys could do what you had just done. It was an actual piece of the puzzle that was music rather than the CD case or paper bag that had come with it.

Likened to an excited pup, you looked towards him for praise or assurance that you had done it right only to catch his already grinning countenance at your widened eyes.

For the next half hour he taught you two other basic chords, never failing to correct you in such a patient manner that your heart rose and fell with each glance and soft appraisal.

"But sometimes," he grinned. "Sometimes you need to stop thinking."

Your brows furrowed, though you didn’t need more than a few seconds to understand his cryptic wording before you yelped, almost flying off your seat at the abrupt disruption of the peace.

He began smashing his hands against the piano, creating the worst orchestra your ears had ever had the pleasure to hear. Overcoming the shock, both of yours laughs bubbled out, drowned by the keyboard speakers. Without a second thought, you joined, key smashing against the lower end. Together, you created an ear-grating masterpiece of cacophonous noise and piercing melody, yet it was still one of the most beautiful things you’d ever heard.

Yoongi began cheering your name like the greatest hypeman in existence as you gave the most effortful performance of your life, hands pressing against the first keys you saw to the last. You didn't know what you were doing but it didn't matter, not when he was smiling with his gums on full display as you went with your gut for the first time in years. Yoongi, the boy whose hands crafted magic, whose words changed you, whose music moved you. Yoongi, who looked at you and saw past your forced pretensions and society-enforced perceptions.

You laughed until your lungs ached for air, having not even realized that your whole body leant against his as you tried to catch your breath.

"Oh my god, I think my ears are broken," you covered them, finally dragging your hands away from the keys.

His grin widened. “You're a quick learner."

“Is this the part where I say that it's because you're a good teacher?"

“Only if you're polite, which we know you aren't." He hadn't stopped smiling and you had never felt prouder of any accomplishment in your entire life. “Was I able to distract you?"

You laughed, bringing your hands back to your lap to fiddle with them. He's seen you wear the same ramen-stained hoodie three days in a row with hair just as ratty yet you had never more felt exposed. “I’d say yes but I think I’ve exceeded my Yoongi compliment limit for the day."

"And here I was thinking that that compliment limit was zero."

"Hey," you playfully knocked against his shoulder. "I always say your breakfast is good."

He knocked against you back, his eyes turnt to half-moons. "That's because you want to brainwash me into cooking for you everyday with half-assed compliments."

"Or maybe," you lightly leaned against his hoodie-covered shoulder. "It's because I like eating breakfast with you."

He paused, and a grin that could only be described as shy graced his features. He tapped against the keyboard but didn't press hard enough to allow a sound to be let out.

"I trust you," he said in the silence. "That you can follow your heart. Even if that sounds corny as fuck, I really believe it."

You smiled, something you've been doing more and more often with him around. "I'll try," you said, watching as he contemplated his next words with a bite of his bottom lip. Giving him time, you glanced back at the piano. "Is it really that simple?" You pressed on a key.

He finally looked up. "I think so," he played the key beside the one you had just pressed, the side of it touching yours. "Even if it doesn't sound right to other people, who's to say that random key smashing isn't music? When you think you're supposed to play a certain way, that's when you hesitate. Even when you fuck up a piece," he pressed another key. "Regretting it doesn't stop the echo."

He began to play another soft melody, leaving you just as entranced as you were the first time he did.

“I’m a hypocrite, though,” he closed his eyes, lightly scoffing. “Giving you advice that I can’t even take.”

Your voice came out in a whisper. “Why?”

“Because...” He took a deep breath, hands leaving the keyboard as he fully turned to you. “I like you," he said it like it were a fact you should've already known. “I... I like you. A lot. I can't remember when you stopped being my annoying roommate who'd hog the fridge space and became the annoying roommate who I couldn't stop writing songs about. Before I could even realize and stop myself, today’s me kept looking forward to tomorrow’s you. I’d be a hypocrite to tell you to stop hesitating about the things in your life while I spent every second of every day wondering whether I should tell you my feelings and ruin our friendship.”

For if there was anything Yoongi knew more than most was that love was fucking stupid. It caused people to be irrational, selfless, and weak-hearted, yet why did he want to forget the stupidity that came with it whenever you walked into the kitchen for breakfast, hair messy and shirt tousled?

Love was fucking stupid. But maybe he could be an idiot if it meant that you'd be stupid for him too.

“I know you don't feel the same way but I just needed to tell-" you kissed him before he could finish what was sure to be a sentence so ridiculous that even the most astute of linguists would be left baffled. He was Min Yoongi. The boy who spent all day locked in his room making music and playing games with his friends. The roommate who'd wake up early just to cook you breakfast. The friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. The man who you'd found yourself falling for with every gummy smile. Yoongi. It had always been Yoongi.

And he was kissing you back.

His lips were as warm as the hands that carefully wrapped around your hips, gently pulling you closer to him. He kissed the way he played, soft and thoughtful.

Pulling away, he whispered your name slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savor them. Never before had your name ever felt so wonderful a one. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours in disbelief. The hand around your waist tightened as if in fear that at any moment you might say that you hadn't meant to give him what had to be the best moment of his life -- that you had actually accidentally fallen on him and he had simply been mistaken.

"You're an idiot," you laughed. "I've liked you since the first time you've cooked me breakfast if the heart eyes I gave you each time weren't already a dead giveaway."

He shuffled in his seat. "You have low standards then," he said. "Or are in desperate search for a house-husband."

You smiled, your nose brushing against his. "Maybe, a bit of both."

He leaned away from you, eyes lit up in a euphoria that didn't hinder from his nervous cadence. "Actually, that song I played for you? Earlier?” You’d never seen him blush before. “I, maybe, composed it thinking of you.”

"A personal chef, jester, and composer? I think I'm winning."

His nose crinkled. "You know you can still back out, right?"

"You're acting as if I'd even want to."

"Stupid songs like that... I suck at love yet I still want to give you everything," he whispered, voice hoarse. "But my everything will still only amount to that."

"If that's your everything,” your hands interlocked with his. “Then your everything is more than enough."

"I like you," he murmured the confession between your lips as if it were clandestine, the urge to say it a million times more bubbling up from his chest. Though stronger than his urge to say it was his urge to hear you say it back.

Your lips met his completely. Perfectly. "I like you, too."

Pulling away once more you couldn't help but laugh at the reddened color of his cheeks and ears. Cutting away at the awkward and still unsure tension, he inched backwards with a startlingly loud clap of his hands. "Now that that's settled, can we go back to making out? This corny shit is so awkward."

"I can't believe I like you," you groaned but kissed him back anyway.

While there was nothing in your life that you could be sure of, you knew that the man whose smile could light up the entire city of Seoul would be there for you for every step, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

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lofi-tophat · 3 years

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Let’s talk about the 70s punk scene and HWS England

I sometimes feel that the fandom doesn’t give England’s love for punk/rock music much justice. Some authors usually write about this human AU in which Arthur wants to be a rockstar and some others plainly avoid the topic whatsoever. Which is a pity because I actually believe the whole character has a deep punk reference, specially regarding appearence (might expand on this in another post but basically, for me, England seems like some random bushy browed anime 70s punk guy who suddenly has to put on a suit and attend world meetings, which is both fascinating and hilarious).

So I thought maybe we could dive a bit into very general punk history and then I’d like to share with you some hc regarding England’s involvement with punk culture in general (if you just want to read the hcs just scroll down to the last paragraph with the bullet ponts).

My experience in punk stuff is actually that I’m kind of a metalhead lol. Metalheads and punks had and probably still have a deeply-rooted rivalry. However, punk influenced metal a lot, and metal also influenced punk. So I stumbled upon many punk facts while browsing about my favorite metal bands.

Take this as historical hetalia... but counterculture historical hetalia :D (which is something we need more in the fandom, btw, I know military history is cool but its also cool how humans expressed themselves through art, fashion and music when they felt the pressure of authority and the frustration of society).

Historical context

Let’s return a bit in time and remember the 60s. The 60s were this blessed time in which people tried to defeat the establishment with peace and love. The hippie movement is from this decade and it influenced a lot on how people thought and behaved. In terms of counterculture, I must say this is a fascinating time in history (I recently discovered psychodelic science and its so incredible what was being talked back then).

Anyways, although a lot of young people were into this discourse of love and peace, some weren’t really that happy about it. In Europe, the post-war situation was sad and a lot of young people either were jobless or had the shittiest jobs you could imagine. Politics were also depressing. This was the origin not only for punk but also for other genres of heavy music, such as metal: People who didn’t want to be all happy and peaceful and had the need to express their frustration and anger, shouting about how society was fucked up. They needed an outlet.

Origins of punk

The origins of punk music are actually not quite clear. In fact, the US and the UK both claim that punk music was born in their country. Funnily enough, my country also claims to be the origin of punk (I’ll leave this mini-doc for you. Sadly, I don’t think this is a correct claim, mainly because their music was in spanish and I doubt that major punk bands took them as reference. Its a cool band tho).

I have to side with americans on this: The arguments for the american origins of punk are quite solid. The Ramones were the first actual punk band out there. They were active since 1974. Their music had all the elements of punk and, chronologically, they were the first ones performing this type of sound.

However, they didn’t have the aesthetic. That actually was a british invention. American punk had still leather jackets, jeans and sneakers. British punk? Well, remember all those ripped pants and shirts you commonly associate with punk? Yes, those were the Sex Pistols all along. They were the ones introducing the attitude and the style. The Pistols had some insane performances and a huge shock-value that can’t be found in early american punk. So you can safely say that your image of what a punk is is based mainly on the Pistols (also, for singing anti-authoritarian lyrics, they actually were managed by some dude who had a fashion shop. So yeah...).

Punk attitude or philosophy or whatever

The reason why I addressed the rockstar thing at the start of the post is because I find it curious. Punk is characterized by the whole Do It Yourself attitude and breaking with the establishment. Anarchism in punk is scandalizing people since there is no authority whatsoever. There wasn’t really any deep philosophy behind all of this, nor any political movement. Punk has nothing to do with a formal anarchist philosophy (which actually exists and has nothing to do with disorder). However, punk is characterized by the anti-establihsment lyrics. Remember, this is all about scandalizing people (which sometimes took great lengths). Presentations from british punk bands were also quite wild those days. They involved a lot of insults, spitting and, of course, pogo.

So, it is obvious that there is this deep concern about turning into a sellout, a pretty common fear in any underground scene. Authenticity was encouraged. Aspiring rockstars really didn’t have much mercy in the community so to speak, at least in this specific period.

I would also like to add how punk had other aspects beside the music. For example, fanzines were pretty popular in the punk scene in the 70s and a great way to engage with what was going on with bands and music. I remember also this interview of this band in which they remembered how a very high guy decided to recite his poem while the band was playing. So, yeah, literature, illustration, fashion and other stuff were involved in the punk scene too.

British punk was also characterized by a very nihilistic attitude and a total disregard for previous influences. 1977, a song by The Clash, stated:

No Elvis, Beatles, or the Rolling Stones!

Now, for the important stuff: The music. Punk music is all about being simple. Punk musicians aren’t really known for their virtuosity in their instruments, something that actually inspired musicians from a lot of heavy bands later. In fact, the famous Sid Vicious from the Sex Pistols never could learn how to play the bass. So the band disconnected his instrument from the amplifier and he only had to pretend to play. The guy actually tried to learn how to play bass but music wasn’t exactly his talent. He had tons of punk attitude though, and that was the reason why his band didn’t kick him out.

Vocals are usually shouted, the rythm is fast and the riffs are quite simple. In fact, there is this famous publication on a 1976 british fanzine that stated:

This is a chord

This is another

This is a third

Now form a band

HWS England and the 70s punk scene and onwards

Thanks to his immortality, it is obvious that England had to experience the 70s in all their glory (what a lucky bastard). Was he there? Hell yes. As I explained before in some of my hc posts, nations represent the population more than their Government, so I really believe that England felt the frustration from that post-wwii decade and he probably also felt pissed about this. Working for the Government must have felt really frustrating during those years.

In the past, he probably would have tried to take his ship and sail the seas or whatever, but that was not possible in the modern era. I guess that’s how he discovered punk.

Now, rock existed in England before punk. I mean, the Beatles, duh. So Arthur wouldn’t have been completely ignorant about rock music in general. Contrary to popular belief I don’t imagine him being that much of a beatlemaniac though. Sure he likes them, but the music didn’t resonated with him as much. But boy, that first time he heard the Pink Fairies in 1971 (Yes, this was an actual band, a proto-punk band)? Yeah, he could relate more to that.

More detailed stuff here:

Pubs were crucial for the development of punk music. They were these spaces in which bands could play, a venue to discover new music. Yes, Arthur must have been a regular in a lot of these pubs.

Fanzines probably fascinated Arthur as an outlet for his own writings and silly drawings. He probably created a cringey pseudonym and collaborated with a lot of them.

Its canon that England likes to critic american movies, and, taking from there, I think he’s the type of guy that has an opinion for everything. So I can imagine him also writing about what bands he enjoyed and what bands sucked.

Yeah, I can also see him being drunk and just reciting a poem while some rock band played behind.

With some ability, and a lil bit of tricks, Arthur could escape normal Government activities and perform with punk bands at nights. People were so into the music that he had no problem passing by.

Some cover art in CDs show Enlgland with a guitar and a bass (yes, not many people remember the bass cover art). So he probably plays both guitar and bass. He also probably plays the drums. Of course, he’s no virtuoso and he only knows the most basic stuff in those three instruments. I can see him being into songwriting tho.

Music equipment:

Guitar: Definetely a Telecaster

Bass: Fender P-bass and I can also see him having a Rickenbacker 4001

All these instruments are full with stickers. Punk instruments look really cool btw. (I wish my bass could look like those I see in certain punk bands)

England’s probably the kind of guy that doesn’t cut his strings at the head of his guitar.

He can actually play guitar/bass and sing at the same time.

England plays bass with a pick (what an asshole, we bassists know picks are not allowed)

Contrary to popular belief, I can see England appreciating good rock music from other countries and supporting them. He probably insists that punk music was born in the UK though.

1977: The Queen was going to celebrate her silver jubilee. And England had no problem with this. He really had none... but he HAD to be in that boat trip with the Sex Pistols. There’s no way he was going to miss that. He later had to explain his abscence that day to his Government officials (Btw, my hc for England’s relationship with his monarchy is “It’s complicated”. I can explain this later. Just remember that he was really pissed those days)

I can see Arthur in general being really involved with the scene. A lot of the stuff they were making actually matches with his canon interests and even personality. So he probably enjoyed those days and felt quite at home. I can even say that, for a long time, he hadn’t felt that kind of connection with his own people.

Although I can see England being attracted by the nihilism in the scene, I think his romanticism protects him from embracing it fully.

England had to live a double-life during this era. Not that it was new for him.

Arthur was pierced several times by some random, drunk teenagers. He doesn’t remember who tho. He was also drunk. Obviously his piercings close really fast, unless he has a permanent jewel in there.

I can actually see England expanding his music taste. Although punk is in his heart, it wouldn’t be strange for me that he’s overall a rock nerd and enjoys other genres, specially those with fast drum beats and heavy riffs. So I can see him having some metal favorites too, having a certain taste for prog rock and even digging into hardcore.

I’m still unsure if England would have been a massive Pistols fan as fanfics usually portray him. I mean, maybe? I would say he is definetely into acts such as the Pink Fairies (I mean, c’mon, its perfect). The Clash and the Damned probably also have a place in his heart.

After the punk scene dried out (the 80s weren’t that great for punk music although it was the birth of even heavier forms of music based on punk), England also was eager about the new genres flourishing during these times based on punk. Acts like folk punk might have had an appeal for him. He’s also fond of the punk-ish bands from the 90s like Green Day.

“Punk will never die!” shouted England while stage diving in some random small concert. He likes to support new bands these days.

The most fascinating thing, maybe in a more poetic sense, is that England’s immortality probably also helps him to keep up a punk spirit as much as his nationhood allows him, instead of aging poorly and angry like a lot of punk musicians... I mean, he aged poorly, but for other reasons lmao.

#hetalia #hws england #lofi-tophat: really long hc #in the next issue: America is a swiftie WITH EVIDENCE #I do enjoy some american metal bands but I don't see America being that much into heavy music #he probably doesn't even care if punk was born in the us or not so england maybe won that one #guys i could ramble forever with my music hcs but ill just leave you with Moldovas extensive pop collection #finland's passion for folk metal acts like korpiklaani #and cuba shouting AZZUUUUUCAAARRR in karaokes #btw pirate metal exists kind of as a subgenre but it exists and england is into it

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dialovers-translations · 4 years

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DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, MORE BLOOD Vol. 5: Mukami Yuma [Track 2]

Original title: ユーマのいる教室

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, More Blood Vol. 5 Mukami Yuma [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Tatsuhisa Suzuki

Translator’s note: Translating this CD alongside Yuma’s MB route is giving me a culture shock because it is almost like two entirely different guys. It really shows just how much the franchise has changed compared to its earlier days. (That’s saying a lot considered the MMB CDs aren’t even particularly ‘fluffy’) I know some people prefer the darker/more intense versions of the boys but I think I personally would rather have this Yuma. The more aggressive one would probably kill me just by poking me with his little finger. xD

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 + Epilogue

→ LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 2: The Classroom where Yuma is

*Scribble scribble*

“Argh...Aah...? Ugh.”

*Flip*

You walk up to Yuma, asking what he’s doing.

“...Aah? Oh, it’s you. What, ya ask? I’m doin’ yesterday’s homework. When I told the teacher I didn’t do it, he wouldn’t let me go home until I finish this shit. I could just ignore it and leave anyway, but then Ruki’s gonna give me an earful.”

*Scribble scribble*

“I’m copyin’ his right now.”

You tell him he shouldn’t do that.

“It’s fine! If I try and do it myself, it’s gonna take a fuckin’ eternity.”

You ask if he will go home later then.

“Nah. I’m almost done. So wait there, ‘kay? I’ve been asked to run an errand too, so let’s walk home together.”

You nod.

“Ah, speakin’ of which! Kou doodled yer face and it turned out so funny and ugly, I’ll show it to ya as well!”

*Flip flip*

*Thud*

“Uhm...Where did it put it again...? It’s gone...!? Where did it go!? I could have sworn I put it in here...”

You tell off Yuma for making a mess.

“Aah...? There’s stuff ‘round my desk? Oh shut up. It’s not that bad it’s worth cleanin’ up. Besides, when I run out of space, I just use the desk of the dude sittin’ next to me so who cares.”

You look at the desk next to his, frowning.

“Yeah. ‘Bout half of the stuff on that desk is mine as well. I borrow it whenever I’m runnin’ low on space.”

You shake your head in disapproval.

“Who cares? They always let me borrow it with a smile on their face.”

You offer to clean it up.

“Why should I clean it up? Just forget ‘bout that guy’s desk.”

You insist.

“Who cares ‘bout some other person’s desk? Cleanin’ up is a big pain in the ass...”

You start cleaning it up yourself.

*Rustle rustle*

“Didn’t I just tell ya it’s fine? Why are ya so worried ‘bout some other dude?”

Yuma leans in close.

“You’re my woman, right? In that case, don’t be thinkin’ ‘bout anythin’ or anyone but me. ...Or are ya tryin’ to butter up to this guy, hopin’ to seduce him afterwards? Am I not enough to satisfy ya?”

You shake your head.

“Then just leave it be. It pisses me off so stop cleanin’.”

*Rustle*

“Besides...You haven’t forgotten ‘bout our lil’ bet, right? I said I’d tease ya until ya start voluntarily beggin’ for my fangs, right? Are ya sure ya should leave yer back wide open like this?”

You flinch.

“You’ve realized? What I’m gonna do to ya now, that is.”

He runs his hands across your back.

“I’ll punish ya for worryin’ ‘bout some other guy. A penalty to ensure ya won’t ever pull this sorta shit again.”

You try and break free from his grip.

*Rustle rustle*

“...Ugh. No point in strugglin’. I’m holdin’ ya from behind after all. No way I’m lettin’ ya go.”

*Rustle*

“Come on. Put yer hands on the desk.”

*Thud*

“Well then...Where should I suck ya? For example...How ‘bout I latch onto this throat over here?”

*Rustle rustle*

“No? Then would ya prefer yer legs? ...Like yer thighs, the softest part where my fangs would just sink right in.”

*Rustle rustle*

“Also...From the groin (1) would be nice as well. Pretty sure I’d be able to indulge in plenty of sweet, delicious blood.”

*Rustle*

"...And it’s quite the embarrassin’ place. However, suckin’ yer blood while yer face is turnin’ red from shame would be simply irresistable.”

You protest.

“Aah? Ya don’t want me to suck from yer legs either? Ya sure are selfish, tellin’ me ‘no’ this whole time...It has to be a punishment, remember? Geez, it can’t be helped. Come on, face this way.”

You turn your head towards Yuma.

“...And then, get on top of me.”

*Thud*

*Rustle rustle*

“Make sure to keep yer arms wrapped ‘round my back, ‘kay? If not, you’ll fall from the chair.”

You ask Yuma what he is doing.

“I got tired of yer whinin’, so I’m gonna suck ya gently like ya want. Besides...If it feels good, it might actually be harder on ya. By the way...Yer body has gotten really heated. I haven’t even sucked ya yet, but you’ve gotten quite worked up. One bite might just push ya over the edge (2), don’t ya think? Come on...I’ll suck from yer nape. Ya better focus on the sensation of my fangs sinkin’ into yer flesh...”

Yuma bites you.

“Mm...”

*Sluuuurp*

“Nn...”

*Sluuuurp*

“ーー Haah! Just as I thought...Those are some hella sweet cries. We’ve only just gotten started...I’ll be takin’ my sweet time suckin’ yer blood...”

You whimper softly.

“Hehe. Ya can’t get enough of the thought of that, can ya? Even if ya keep quiet...I can tell by yer expression. Well...Don’t ya think it’s ‘bout time ya start beggin’ for it yerself? Tell me that ya want my fangs. Or else...I won’t ever let ya go.”

You shake your head.

“Che...Ya still won’t say it? You’re so damn persistent. In that case, this place is up next...”

*Rustle*

“I’ll suck from yer wrist so ya get a good view. Pretty sure this’ll make ya realize just how badly yer body craves me, whether ya like it or not.”

Yuma bites your wrist.

*Sluuuurp*

“Nn...”

You pull out the hourglass.

*Cling*

“...Haah? ...Aah? The fuck’s this sound? Ah! Ya turned back time again, didn’t ya!? ...Fuck!”

*Tick tock - Tick tock - Tick tock - Tick tock*

ーーー

You are running down the street.

“...Oi! How long ya gonna keep on runnin’ for!?”

Yuma catches up to you.

“...Woah there! Gotcha! Ya made a run for it as soon as we rewinded, we’ve made it all the way to the city!”

You try and explain.

“No ‘buts!’ ...No, whatever. I’ve kind of lost interest, so we’ll continue our lil’ game later. ...For today, I guess we can just do our shoppin’ and head home. Come on, I brought yer bag along as well.”

*Rustle*

You grab your bag and thank him.

“Haah...”

The two of you start walking.

“That bein’ said, this challenge is takin’ longer than I expected. I was convinced ya’d bend in no time but you’re surprisingly sturdy? Well, you’ve been usin’ the hourglass tho so it isn’t really fair. Without that lil’ thing, the score would be long settled by now.”

You protest.

“Whatever. Anyway, let’s head to the supermarket.”

You ask him what you have to buy.

“Ingredients for today’s dinner. Also some seasonings. I’m droppin’ by the pharmacy as well. Azusa’s runnin’ low on bandages so we gotta stock up on some new ones. Also...I wanna look for some cotton gloves as well.”

You raise a brow, asking if he really needs those.

“Not for me, but tiny ones for ya. I’d be convenient to have them layin’ ‘round for whenever ya help out in the garden, right?”

You agree, smiling.

“...No need to thank me. Come on, let’s get goin’.”

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) 付け根 or ‘tsukene’ is always a difficult word to translate for me. It is basically the ‘root’ of your leg, being the part where it connect to the crotch & hips.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #yuma mukami #diabolik lovers more more blood #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers drama cd #drama cd

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ae0nx · 3 years

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FRUITS BASKET S3 EPISODE 1 + 2 RECAP!

Yayyy! Season 3! Finally! I’m hoping this season will make me understand/sympathise with Akito and maybe even Shigure a little bit more because... honestly? My opinions on episode 2?... I might get some flack for my opinions on them... 😬

But, first: I’d like to appreciate how on the Funimation app we got a little interview/message from a few of the english dub VAs! Specifically Colleen Clinkenbeard, Jerry Jewell, Eric Vale, Ian Sinclair and Brina Palencia (Akito, Kyo, Yuki, Kureno and Isuzu). And it was nice seeing some of their opinions of the characters they play and how much they’re emotionally invested in the story. (Ian’s such a nerd ‘I wanna see giant mechs later this season’ 😂 - I lowkey stan him lol)

You should definitely check it out if you’re interested in what they would have to say!

ANYWAYS, let’s get into it...

---------------------------------------------------------------

EPISODE 1

I really love this depiction of the original zodiac and how you can just tell from the tone of the scene how desperately the God of the Zodiac was clinging on to these connections that they had with the participants in the banquet. How much they clung on to and loved the cat... Also, interesting how Tohru’s narrating this scene... almost like she can relate to the desperation of wanting to keep things the same... but we’ll get to that later. But also, Tohru is a God

This new opening is beautiful, I love the way that camera moves around the still illustrations and how the general tone just hammers down that... this season is gonna be some real shit lol (which makes me nervous for the opening for the second half 😳). It’s so warped and the general blue, grey and black tone that follows around every Akito scene we get in the anime has bled into every scene in this opening concerning the rest of the zodiac. Almost... like something is decaying. It’s great, it’s just very sad lol. I love the song tho, issa bop.

One of my favourite things in stories is when we get a bigger villain than the ‘pronounced’ villain of the story. Ren’s introduction through a manicured outstretched hand towards Kureno and Hatori is so weirdly gross in what it insinuates (especially when you apply her connection with Shigure) but again... I wanna know why she’s such an asshole to Akito specifically besides the bad mental health management within the Sohma compound. I have an inkling of what it is through memory of the manga, but like Akito and Shigure... I just wanna understand why.

Also, Ren is gorgeous and I’m sorry for simping.

I mean... she’s kinda got a point? She just didn’t need to be so mean about it lol. It’s pretty clear that the connection the zodiac have to each other is real and something they cannot control. BUT, wouldn’t it be easier if this connection wasn’t perpetuated by outer circles of the family and if Akito herself wasn’t so cruel about it? But, I guess Akito - through her relationship with her mother - kinda doesn’t know how to genuinely show love and affection. (Which brings me into my thoughts of how the manga ends and how I kinda... have a few problems with it which I will get to... when that comes lol)

Lol - weeeeeeeee! (flashes back to Tohru being yeeted into the river). Is this a part of Akito’s god-like powers?!

Again. She’s got a point! They’ve both got a point. But, they’re both the source of the problem. It’s really painful to see two mentally ill people duke it out. This whole institution is just rotten.

- I am super curious about what Akira’s relationship was like with the zodiac and if it was just as dark. I’m gonna assume it slightly already was, as the exclusion and degradation of the cat curse is already dark in itself but maybe the rest of the zodiac were just fine with how things were? I dunno if we actually will get the full backstory of Akira and his zodiac but I’m definitely intrigued

Ok, but if four crying children came up to me after I’d just consummated with my partner to reach out at my stomach chanting ‘we’ve been waiting for you’. That would disturb me and scar me for a while too so... 😂. I know it’s supposed to be ethereal and spiritual but... dude, wtf lol

...I don’t like how much I’m into Ren being such a Villain™ 😅

- Akito being seen as a crying child by the older zodiac members has always been interesting to me because yes, they could see her as that through mainly the age gap, general empathy and the way she sometimes irrationally acts out. But, also the depiction of Gods being seen as children having tantrums has being reflected in many different beliefs and myths (especially Greek Mythology) and I just like the fact that this all powerful, all knowing being would be compared to a child. It gives you a different perspective on power.

- Is the paper note in the CD case that Kureno gave back to Tohru an extra addition or was it always there?...

Mannnn... I really wanted Isuzu to fuck shit up after seeing Tohru so upset but... *le sigh* (outfit’s still on point)

But, I’m so glad we get an equal Ethereal Goddess to save Tohru! HANAJIMA! We love her, we stan her. <3

- ‘Tohru will be in my custody’ 🤣 I personally think Hana’s bluntness was a kindness in her conversation with Yuki because if I found Tohru upset? I’d automatically start firing metaphorical shots at everyone in that house

- Shigure fearing Hana makes me sleep better at night <3

Hana’s just like ‘hmm... sounds like someone I know... 👀’ I’m here for this parallel between Tohru and Kureno in the hopes that Tohru doesn’t ever get in as bad a situation as Kureno. Ahhh... Kureno... (Also, Laura Bailey was killing it in this scene as always)

- Hmmm... there’s something terribly poetic about Kyo saving Tohru’s scarf from oncoming traffic... but also, Kyo can’t help himself aha

KWEEEN! I love this look for Uo, it’s very Kyoko. I already said this in Season 1 but I STILL need to get wool-lined jacket. Outfit Appreciation goes to her - 3.5 stars.

<3<3<3 Friendship is magic!

- Megumi is such a good egg as always! From him going to get Uo to him being so wise with his outlook on love and how it takes time to really flourish. The best!

- This whole episode ends really nicely from Tohru’s return home and Kyo washing and returning Tohru’s scarf and Yuki being happy to see Tohru and Shigure being somewhat decent. It was nice to get a bit of relief after the tornado of emotions

Also, this was a nice screencap! Even Kyo is smiling!!! :))))

EPISODE 2

*takes sip of wine* ...ok.

👀... later lol

This scene really highlighted how Tohru is starting to see Shigure and the whole zodiac curse in a new and darker way. For the first time, it felt like Tohru was a little bit more guarded around Shigure and I hope they delve more into this season. Her description of her feeling around the curse being like a ‘dark well with no bottom in sight’ is pretty spot on. Ugh.

Aw! Is this the last we’re getting of Small!Momiji?! I love them :3 (Momiji’s shorts look a little shorter too, like he’s growing out of them ahaha)

- I haven’t found the Yuki fan club funny since their first scene in the anime but their poor disguises made me chuckle

- Yayyy! Kyo has an obsessive fan club too? ...Yay?? 😅 haha

- ‘I won’t kill them but they can go to hell’ why is Kyo speaking like me?! 😂

The fact that we got a scene of Yuki kinda admirably looking at a group of friends (boys and girls) playfully physically interacting and he unconsciously reaches out to Machi almost like he forgot about the curse? Heart eyes... 🥰

Again. Relatable. 😂 God, Yuki. You really are an airhead. Bless your soul. <3

And that look says it all. Damn. Kyo’s sense of hopelessness is heartbreaking but I still stand by it being understandable considering his circumstances.

Kyo freaking out about Tohru being visually upset was super cute but I couldn’t even appreciate the fluff because the whole scene had such a morbid tone to it, despite it being so visually romantic:

KYO’S FACE!!! 💔 Ahhh, my emotions!!!! Also, that shot from Tohru’s perspective under her bangs is great.

- Poor Mitsuru, I’d ask for extra pay just for dealing with Shigure’s ass.

Hahah - what a great metaphor!

- Now that Shigure’s ‘true form’, so to speak, has been fully exposed all his comments that are supposed to be teasing come off so much more awful. Him insinuating Mitsuru wasn’t ‘upper class’ enough for Ritsu was awful

COLLLDDDD. AS. IIIIIIICE. But seriously, Shigure this whole episode was cold in many different ways but I definitely felt this personally since I’ve been told something like this by a family member before... 😕 Also, it’s just gross how both Shigure and Akito are taking their own personal issues and mistrust of each other out on to other people. The curse and the institution behind the curse complicates a lot of feelings for sure, but there’s a difference between wrong and right and I get the general feeling that they both are just using the muddy waters to their advantage. Although, I feel like Shigure is taking more advantage of this than Akito but I’ll get into that in a bit.

- There’s also something about this episode that made me sympathise a lot more with Kureno in a more understandable way. But, it also makes me question the ending of this whole story and the resolutions that happen and what life for the whole Sohma institution/family looks like after the curse has broken.. I guess, I should read ‘Fruits Basket Another’ after this, huh?

😳... Shigure is so petty, man. Really?!

So...

I hate this relationship. I’m sorry. I know there are loads of people who like this relationship. And I’m still giving myself space for the show and the story to convince me why it’s worth it. But... I really don’t like this relationship. It’s so toxic. In so many ways. And in a weird way, this scene made me feel a LITTLE bit more for Akito than Shigure. It feels like Shigure gaslights everyone in his life but none no more than Akito, herself. I hate the fact that he keeps saying he loves her while hurting her or disregarding her. You know, almost like he’s treating her like a child. But on the other hand, I hate the fact that Akito has lowkey gaslighted herself into thinking she can treat people however she wants because she is ‘God’. I understand this is part of the way she was brought up and it seems like life in the Sohma compound has been very isolating for her so there’s been no one really to show her better (or have the confidence to show her better). But, at least I can be a little bit more sympathetic on her side than Shigure’s. I dunno... it’s just all very ugly and toxic and I’m hoping that it’ll turn around somehow.

I just hope it’s not one of those relationships that are ‘so good cos it’s so bad’.

...I’ll briefly talk about the ending theme to end this on a good note lol:

I really like this ending! I dunno if they’re gonna have two endings and two openings for this season but this ending definitely feels like it should’ve gone in the second half as it’s almost spoiler-y? But, then again what anime opening and ending isn’t packed with spoilers lol

All the illustrations are gorgeous, I’m assuming they were drawn by Takaya-sensei herself as it seems very much in her current style of artistry but my favourite illustrations are definitely the ones shown above! <3

---------------------------------------------------------

Ahhh! Fin! Sorry, about this one being super long and you probably having to scroll past a whole lot on your dash 😝 As usual, I had a lot to say. I’m open to hearing from people who actually like Shigure and Akito’s relationship btw, it’s just that everything before and episode 2 just really didn’t sail the ship for me, personally. I do want to understand! Haha

See you soooon!

#fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket season 3 #fruits basket 2021

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origami10 · 4 years

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Ajin ch 86 thoughts

Okay, it’s been a little bit! Thoughts and spoilers under the cut! (Warning, this is very long)

Writing this in a word doc because a) I don’t want to risk going on tumblr and b) I don’t want to risk the post getting deleted in the middle [note from the end: this ended up being four pages long in a Word document, so I’m sorry]

Ahhhh, last time buying the digital magazine >< Until... if... Sakurai starts publishing something new...

It seems kind of unfair not to have Ajin be the cover feature if it’s ending DX I guess they’re just starting with a new series, though. Is that how that works? (It has a main character with white hair so I might be interested...) It’s at the beginning of the mag.

Okay, yeah, pages 111-175. Aggghhhh I’ve always put off reading the end of series, but I think this is the first one I’ve been up to date with when it actually ended. Promised Neverland was close.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

ooh completely new characters...?????? whoops overshot the starting page by a few ughhhh it’s definitely the last one... I mean we knew that, but still..... OMG NO IT’S IZUMI AND TANAKA ISN’T IT?? jeez woah I can’t wait to hear other readers’ reactions [edit: yes this was about clover, and she recorded her reaction, which was beautiful ;u;] also omg they’re at least appearing together

omg Sakurai’s author’s note: “It’s very cold, isn’t it. Everyone, I hope you don’t catch a cold.” YOU’RE NOT EVEN GOING TO ACKNOWLEDGE IT’S ENDING?

okay, so at least some time skip Tanaka: New identity, who dis Ooh, Izumi called Tanaka “anta” – the rude/familiar version of ‘you’, rather than the polite one. Honestly I don’t remember but it’s probably what she called him previously. And then turns around and called him anata the next page X’D Okay, I’m glad that not being consistent is okay in Japanese, I always worry/wonder about that ooooh so Tanaka doesn’t have a new identity YET. I wonder how long it’s been?? omg Tosaki prepared it?? Was he thinking that far ahead? Or is he not dead.... ??? okay so he made it ahead of time oh, and Izumi was the one who asked him for it??? Oh wow, Izumi has yet another change of identity. I wonder if she’s back to (omggg I forget D: her original name... Tainaka [hah]) Also another great shot emphasizing their height difference X’) lmaoooo I always love when there manages to be some humor oh, they’re only about three years apart! I wonder if that helps pin down the timeline at all??

Aw, Izumi still respects Tosaki lmao “I’m going home.” “You really have places to be?” Oh I guess that wasn’t quite it- she really was wondering if he was had a living location... so he has been kinda on the run >< [Sakurai. Sakurai, happy ending. There is, right? Right?]

Oh dude I really didn’t think we’d get any resolution on that ship and like, idk if this counts as resolution but it sure looks like it does right now okay I’m really sorry but part of me is like ///we’re using so many of the remaining pages on this/// although oh I guess it’s only been 10 pages... it feels like so many since the chapters have been so short lately...

heyyyyy I mean we kinda knew the U.S. ajin would be back or else what was the point of introducing them Ogura not being dead at the end of the series is extremely impressive (also hopefully Kai :prayer hands: as in I think he survived) so Ogura didn’t tell them he was coming back huh ... with the crew??? :eyes emoji: lmao AND they thought he was dead, I’m cackling oh okay so they had heard he wasn’t dead the close up of Jim’s face reminds of Kai somehow I guess this manga isn’t so long (and the U.S. ajin left enough of an impression) that at least we’re not like WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE “I’ll kill you!!” “Go ahead!!” HA Winnn I think the people in this series need to get their idea of ‘fun’ checked I don’t really understand what he says in the bubble after that... I’ll have to check the English did he like, metaphorically die because he’s out of FKs? I’m not up on my cigarette brands enough to know if that’s an FK or not... I think it’s what the brand turned into...? oh no what’s this omg is it gonna be Kai? Are they all gonna be in there? Kotobuki?? also this is already super sad that not everyone got out of jail free... unless they did and I’ll see... but also it’s realistic so all for the best I guess? i have no idea OH HA I thought it was the juvenile detention center but it’s Takahashi ! o_o not entirely sure I understand what Takahashi says to the guard either at least everyone’s having... fun??? KAI KAI KAI gahhhh this looks exactly like how ch 69 started and agh they’re both in juvie but ahhhhh they’re together?? I’m already scared to read and actually find out –o- oh wait they have dates to get out! and they said plural ‘we’ “That was fast” I feel like that panel represents what this chapter means to me somehow lmao they just want them to be not their problem anymore... that really wraps it up nicely, hilariously, and realistically I’m glad I’m not translating this because there are really a couple lines where I don’t completely understand them “something happened that day” um, yeah WOW I did NOT think we were going to get an answer to whether Kai was an ajin now or not, but I feel like that definitively answers that question????? also that’s terribly funny HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW KEI REVIVED HIM?? -punches a wall- Kai’s whole personality is ‘I don’t really remember that happening’ >_____________________________> Kei... gave Kai a reason to live... because he almost died...? I still kinda have faith in this wrapping up well but GOD Kai is not a character to invest all your emotion into, laughs cryingly Kotobuki: “You literally never make any sense, man.” oh no “ano natsu” GAH

I just realized that this almost certainly means Kai and Kou never met. There isn’t enough keysmashing in the world to express my desire to throw my laptop at a wall right now

In no way shape or form did I ever expect to get closure on Akiyama, even on him getting out of the barrel

Manabe definitely stole whatever it is he’s holding but it was probably some kind of personal effects...? [my powers of prediction suck most of the time] he really looks beat up now ;u; Izukyū-Shimoda... Win, that’s not where you traveled, is it? Maybe I saw it on the Sunday NHK travel program... but it’s also the end of the train line and has ferries going out into the ocean islands. Is he getting away, or going home.......? or to Hirasawa or something...?

well that was an extremely abrupt shift are they really shooting Satou up into space they’re not using him as a test subject are they that sounds like an even more awful idea than I ever could have come up with okay... oh jeez can we please please not have Satou be Captain America you just KNOW he’s going to make trouble again, ,, , , ,!!

oh jeez Eriko! I didn’t expect to see her but it’s nice! it’s really sinking in that that’s all the closure we’re going to get on Kai isn’t it Eriko tsundere as if that needed confirmed okay cool, so she’s out of the hospital (for now)

It does seem appropriate? Likely? That Kei didn’t go home. WE BETTER SEE KOU THIS CHAPTER oh, it’s fall (or winter? Izumi said it was cold...) oh phew

Sakurai said RIP KeiKai shippers I guess.... but they still influenced each other so that’s still shippable even though they’re not together? sigh not everything is so straightforward and I guess it’s good it reflects that

Kei looks happy enough was Kei working a blue collar job with Kou or something? That’s 100% unexpected Kou adorable omg what is his new name gonna be Also ;-; so they’ve giving ajin rights but everyone’s still staying undercover...? or Kou isn’t I guess, that’s sweet oh wow we admit Tosaki’s great I guess last chapter’s statement that they found his remains must have settled whether he’s alive or not ‘iroiro atta na’ YOU THINK also pretty sure that’s Kai’s line from the drama CD what’s with that Kei face??? OMG PERF also that is scarily close to what I wrote in a fic, but also pretty much to be expected crap I guess at least Tanaka and Izumi are with each other? KAI’S MOON JACKET WITH THE SMILIE we really messed up characterizing Kai as the sun haha he’s out he’s out he’s out is he going to meet someone literally zooming out on everyone (like at the end of last chapter too) is kinda messing with me Like they’re still around and doing stuff but we aren’t (don’t get to) watch them anymore Kou saying ‘let’s all meet again’... my heart is warm ;0; LMAO

we can at least rest assured that everyone stayed in character

I can’t I can’t I can’t [note, this was when I thought Kei saying ‘nah’ was the last page]

O MM FRICKING GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

omg Sakurai you’ve done it again bwahahaah a coworker hit him and is like ‘oh cool fine nevermind’ this is WAY more hilarious than I was expecting for this chapter How do I always forget that Ajin has so much comedy not remembering what page number the chapter ends on is nice

Tankobon releases May 7th in Japan Elizaaaaaa Kei’s got a Shion coat

alright uh well I guess that’s good, in a way, we still get to imagine whatever we want

Finishing it hasn’t sunk in yet, I’ve have to get back to you on that one.

#Ajin #Ajin spoilers #ch 86 #ahhhhh

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11 of that one story in which Robin #3 is magic, literally.

Read on AO3

Robin woke up again when somebody knocked gently against his door. Sleepily, he crawled out of his bed and walked over to the door. He had fallen asleep in yesterday’s clothes and given the bright sunlight already shining through the curtains, Robin must have slept through the night.

Tentatively he opened the door just a crack. He expected Alfred, not Nightwing to be standing there, looking quite nervously. He was dressed in civilian clothes and it painted a quite different picture than that of the serene vigilante of before. He seemed tired, vulnerable.

“Can I come in?”

Robin opened the door wordlessly and stepped aside to make space for him.

Nightwing entered the room and looked around. The room was a little more lived-in than it had been when Robin first saw it, but it still wasn’t anything special. Still, somehow he was embarrassed by it. Robin had been made to be striking and the room wasn’t special compared to all the others in the manor.

“It’s nice,” Nightwing said, walking up and down.

He was uncomfortable in Robin’s presence and stalling time on top of it. With a sigh, Robin sat down at his desk chair.

“Do you want anything in particular, Nightwing?”

Nightwing frowned at him, confusion sprinkled all over his face like his freckles.

“Night- you can call me Dick, if you want to.” Dick stopped talking, halted, and realization took hold of him. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Richard ‘Dick’ John Grayson,” Robin replied easily, the knowledge of the previous Robin’s identity as clear as if he’d downloaded it from the batcomputer. “Twenty-one-years old, Blüdhaven vigilante operating as Nightwing . You’re also a founding member of the Teen Titans, a group of mostly teenagers to young adults, most of whom were former sidekicks of-“

“Woah, woah, kid, slow down.” Dick held up his hands in a placating manner, now grinning sheepishly. “I see you know your stuff. But yes, you can call me Dick if you want to.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Well, I have to ‘know my stuff’ as Robin. Not that I’m doing much of that right now.”

Dick winced and, deflating like an old balloon, sat down on Robin‘s unmade bed.

“It’s not an easy time for Bruce- all of us really. Jason’s death… Nobody but that fucking clown is to blame, but Bruce still feels responsible.”

Dick’s eyes hardened and his voice edged on the corner of terrifyingly dangerous just after mentioning the Joker.

“But I’m not Jason!” Robin argued. “I’m not much of anyone but Robin, and Batman doesn’t even let me be that!”

Robin crossed his arms over his chest, already in a fool mood. The day had hardly started and he was already angry. Great. Dick observed him silently and Robin didn’t want to know what kind of impression he was making on the other vigilante.

“I might not be able to change Batman’s opinion on that, not given the terms we are on now, but I could use another set of eyes.”

Dick seemed to be hesitant saying those words, but Robin almost immediately began vibrating with energy.

“You want my help?” Robin asked, almost toppling his chair when he hurried to stand up.

Dick nodded seriously. “Yes, that’s why I came to the Cave originally. I’m tracking a ring of arms dealers and Batman has the better tech, but I think I’ll work just as fast with you helping out. So do you want to-“

“Yes!” Robin shouted. “Yes, yes, yes, please. I’ve been trying to solve old cold cases from the police, but without leaving the manor my investigations have been going super slowly and please let me help!”

Dick laughed and stood up. “Alright, alright. Down to the kitchen again then? Alfred's made breakfast and my files are downstairs. I suppose I have to get them from the Cave. You can change into something fresh in the meanwhile.”

“Sounds like a plan!”

As soon as Dick had left the room, Robin rushed to his wardrobe and quickly put on new clothes. A pair of sweatpants, gray this time, and a comfortable black and yellow Batman sweatshirt later, Robin was sitting at the kitchen table, munching on his cornflakes while Dick was sorting through his files.

Alfred had tsk’ed once in disapproval, but given that Robin wasn’t supposed to be in the Cave, they had to take their work upstairs.

Working alongside Nightwing was fun. The vigilante was perceptive and Robin admired how efficiently he worked, and how well he knew his city and its criminals. He gave Robin a quick rundown of what organization they were dealing with, how they operated and what had tipped Nightwing off.

Then the two of them started tracing the organization’s work back to Gotham, slowly dismantling them. After a couple hours had passed, they had connected the dealers with their buyers and began strategizing how to take them down.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Nightwing told Robin.

Robin smiled, this time with nothing holding him back. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself either, Nightwing.”

Nightwing messes up Robin’s hair delightfully, not even stopping when Robin shrieked.

“I told you, it’s Dick. If you’re gonna stick around a while longer, it’s only right you call me by my name.”

Robin pushed away the sheets of paper they had covered with mindmaps and leaned forward on the table, mustering Dick.

“Are you also going to stick around?”

Dick scratched the back of his head, eyes darting to the family photo sitting on the window sill. It was a small picture in a wooden frame depicting Alfred, Bruce, Dick and Barbara somewhere in the gardens. Right next to it was another picture of Jason, probably only a few months after his adoption, in his school uniform, standing in the foyer together with Bruce. Bruce was beaming and Jason smiling shyly. Robin wouldn’t know what he’d do if Batman ever smiled at him like that, probably start crying.

“I think I’ll show up a little more often,” Dick finally answered. “The Titans- they’re fine. Blüdhaven, of course, still needs me, but she’s not called Gotham’s sister city for nothing. If Gotham gets worse, Blüdhaven does as well. It’s in my best interest to keep an eye on Gotham as well.”

Dick said Gotham , but Robin guessed what he actually meant was Batman .

“I’ll make sure everything works out here in your absence,” Robin promised. “Or, I’ll try my best at least.”

“That’s more than enough, trust me,” Dick smiled.

That was when Alfred entered the kitchen and with barely ten words, told them to pack up so he could prepare lunch. Quickly, Robin and Dick cleaned up and put the various sheets they had stolen from the arts and crafts room in different folders so Dick could take them home comfortably.

Dick put everything in his blue messenger back and set off to deposit it back in his room. Since he said nothing to Robin, Robin decided to follow him. The family wing looked just like it did a month ago, freshly cleaned with nothing out of place.

Dick opened the door to his room and let Robin inside. Now that Robin was seeing Dick’s room for a second time, he could see how well it fit Dick. The CD player in the corner was angled in such a way that you got the best sound and the stacks of CDs next to it were a wild mix of modern pop, the 80s and bands that used to be popular a couple of years ago.

The right wall of the otherwise blue room was covered by a large mural. The skyline of a city with a lot of air balloons swinging gently in the wind above.

“Where is that?” Robin asked.

“Huh?” Dick turned his head to look in the same direction as Robin. “Oh. That? That’s Paris about ten years back? It was the first big vacation Bruce and I took. We went to Europe and tracked through France. Nobody knew who we were, it was quite refreshing. Especially since I hadn’t gotten used to the fame that came with being Bruce Wayne’s ward yet. There was a tournament or so near Paris and the sky was full of the balloons. It was the highlight of the vacation for me. And if not for the drug-dealing ring we accidentally shattered, I think it would have been Bruce’s as well.”

Robin, who had sat down on the bed, did a double-take at hearing about Dick and Bruce's adventure.

“You accidentally took down a drug-dealing ring? How do you even do that?”

Dick laughed and sat down on the ground, leaning against his bookshelves. “Okay, so it’s probably not even that funny, but you know how Bruce has a sixth sense for crime? So we’re walking down that beautiful alley and Bruce just freezes and squints at some shady dudes in one corner…”

Dick latched onto the story, narrating in great detail Robin and Batman’s adventure in Europe. And because he kept making references to other missions and the like, Dick kept going off track and told Robin more and more stories.

The longer he talked, the happier did Dick seem to become, and Robin too was pulled in by his enthusiasm. Some of these stories Robin knew, but the more he learned, the more did he realize that factual knowledge couldn’t compare to Dick’s vibrant description of the time Batman and Robin saved the holidays. The life Dick had lived was so colorful and fantastic - Robin wanted something like that for himself.

He could do without taking a swim in the sewers, but he’d give everything for Batman to look at him with the same fond exasperation Dick talked of.

“And that’s the reason why Bruce and I shared a hotel room,” Dick ended his monologue. “Talking rooms - is there a reason we relocated to the guest wing?”

Robin shrugged. “I think that’s Alfred’s doing. Bruce wasn’t sleeping well here.”

“Or at all?” Dick guessed with a sigh. “It’s no surprise with Jason’s room next door.”

“I found him in there in my first week,” Robin blurted out. “I don’t know what he was doing. He was just sitting on the ground and I had no idea how to act!”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Dick said. “Everybody grieves in a different way.”

Robin knew that Dick was trying to reassure him, but his words weren’t helping. Robin was well aware of how grief worked, it was part of their job and so he knew it, but he still couldn’t do anything to support Batman because he kept locking Robin out.

“But I still want to help him and I can’t because he won’t even let me come near him.”

“I promise I’ll talk to him when he gets him tonight. Maybe I can get Bruce to slow down a little. We’re not as close as we used to be, but maybe I can improve the situation a little.”

“And what should I do in the meantime?”

Dick reached up and pulled a book out of his shelf. Easily, he threw it at Robin. “Live a little.”

Robin caught the book and turned it around so he could read the cover. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

The book looked rather old and worn. A quick flip through revealed pages covered in all kinds of ink and markers.

“What’s this?” Robin asked.

“The first Harry Potter book,” Dick answered. “I had to read it for class a couple years back and took a lot of notes in it. Kids your age are supposed to like it-”

“You mean one month going on one decade?” Robin replied snarkily, but Dick didn’t even bother to reply to that.

“-and even beyond that. It’s just a fun book to read. Try to broaden your horizon a little further away from Robin or you’ll go mad.”

Dick fell silent and crossed his arms in front of his chest as he tilted his head slightly. He was observing Robin - no, the mask Robin couldn’t take off.

“And we need to do something about that too. You can’t keep running around in the house with a mask and without a name.”

Robin just rolled his eyes. He supposed this was where he differed from regular humans. Robin was all he was and all he ought to be. He didn’t need to broaden his horizon.

“I have a name! I already told you that! It’s Robin.”

“Yeah, no.” Dick shook his head. “Robin is a title . You need a name.”

Robin didn’t get it. Maybe this was another one of these civilian life things he was supposed to follow now? It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, the others just didn’t understand that Robin was all he would ever be and all he was supposed to be. It was fine, he didn’t mind if he would actually get to do his job.

“I’m fine without, really,” Robin insisted.

From Dick’s sigh, Robin deduced that he didn’t believe him, but it wasn’t like this discussion would go anywhere anytime soon.

“Just try it, alright? You don’t just have vigilantism in your DNA.”

Robin was going to argue that he very much did, going by the components that constructed his DNA and its donors, but decided against it in the last second. If Dick was too stubborn to see it, Robin would just have to accept it and move on. At least he’d have some more entertainment for the next weeks.

“Thanks for the book,” Robin said instead.

Dick smiled. “No problem. You can tell me what you thought of it when you’ve read it. I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it. Bruce would always try to overinterpret the book instead of just enjoying it.”

Robin blinked.

“How do you just enjoy it?”

Dick began to laugh and threw back his head so far, that it knocked against his bookshelf, but even the sudden pain from that didn’t seem to deter him.

“I’m serious!” Robin said, his cheeks flushed red. “Explain!”

But Dick kept on laughing, bright and joyful.

#dc #batfam #batman #dick grayson #tim drake #bruce wayne #robin's requirements #fanfic

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Text

Why Not?

Mary and Suey need to use their words

(Start at the beginning)

*angst; face fucking*

Sometimes you wonder if Mary’s attraction to you stems from the fact that you had no idea who he was when the two of you met at Mickey’s. Sure, there’s some Venn Diagram-like overlap between your crowd and his—but your exploits and his had never touched. You have a few mutual friends-of-friends that everyone always seems to know—but no substantial connections.

Mary’s never made his past sexploits a secret—even if he’s demurred on the gritty details—so you know his other forays into relationships have mostly been from people already in his orbit from the neighborhood or from his “fan” pool.

Basically: all people who already knew his music.

It doesn’t keep you up at night, but occasionally—when there’s a prolonged, awkward silence, or the two of you get into a heated debate that proceeds slammed doors—you can’t help but wonder. It doesn’t help that Mary seems reticent to bring you to shows—big or small.

And, ok—maybe at first you didn’t really care: everyone and their sister knows a guy who’s “in a band” that never actualizes, and you two are oil and water on your best days, so why invest energy into a band you’re going to be compelled to dislike after the breakup? Once you guys had passed the 3mo mark, however, you knew you had to get serious about it if you wanted to be serious about Mary.

You would have thought it would’ve made Mary happy—you taking a marked interest in his first love—but he’d honestly seemed ambivalent about it. You talking about his songs and asking him questions only seemed to irritate him to no end … so you’d dropped it.

When he’d told you about another Saturday gig—that wasn’t closing Mickey’s—you’d once again offered to come … and he’d been a dick about it, prompting one of your worst fights to date.

“Why do you even wanna be there?” he’d huffed.

“I’m your fucking girlfriend,” you’d retorted.

“So you just want to piss on me and mark your territory, is that it?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I thought I’d support your fucking passion is all.”

“You never cared before.”

“Oh—I’m sorry! Was I supposed to know everything that mattered to you two fucking seconds in?”

“I just think it’s fucking suspect that all of sudden you wanna be around.”

“So the other girlfriends are fine. It’s just me who’s a fame whore?”

“They’re all into the scene.”

“And what the fuck does that mean? I’m not a bandophile so I couldn’t possibly be interested?”

“It means I’m fucking done with that shit. The switching? The bed hopping? If that’s what you want, fucking tell me right now.”

“Where are you even getting this shit from?”

He’d looked you dead in the eyes.

“You have a reputation, Suey.

At first, you hadn’t even understood enough to be insulted.

“For fucking what? I barely follow the local music scene.”

“You think I didn’t ask around about you? The ‘Ice Queen’? Likes to fuck, but will eat you up and spit you out?”

You’d felt hot and cold all at once—your face flushing then draining of color.

“Are you fucking … are you fucking slut shaming me?!” you’d hissed as you’d jabbed a finger at him.

He hadn’t backed down. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to wonder if a girl who’ll fuck anything that moves wouldn’t be looking to take her act elsewhere. The guys might dislike you, but you know they’d never pass up free pussy.”

You’d been trembling with anger at that point and scrubbing tears from your eyes.

“I’ve never … I’ve never hidden the fact that I like to fuck. I can’t believe you with your … your orgies and partner swapping have any fucking thing to say to me about my one-night stands.”

“How do I know you’re not using me for easy access, huh? I can barely even tell if you like me instead of my dick sometimes, and now all of sudden you’re interested in my band?”

You’d screamed and knocked a bowl off your counter, not even caring when the ceramic had shattered into shards.

“I’M SHOWING YOU I LIKE YOU BY BEING INTERESTED IN YOUR FUCKING BAND, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.”

Then you’d grabbed a mug and thrown it in the ground for good measure. It hadn’t shattered, but the handle had broken off. Dissatisfied, you’d turned to your dish rack, but before you could start breaking dishes, Mary had had his arms wound around you.

“Hey, hey … it’s ok. Shh, c’mere.”

You’d screamed again and struggled against him.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Suey, calm down.”

Mary had managed to pick you up slightly, transferring you from the mess in the kitchen area to the living space, where he’d pulled you both down to the floor against the couch. You’d struggled some more, but only in an obligatory sense.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. Fuck,” Mary had breathed.

You’d only wailed in response, tears now flowing freely.

“I didn’t mean … fuck. I don’t think …” he’d babbled.

“You didn’t think,” you’d blubbered. “All those dudes, and you’re the one with a fucking drawer. How fucking dare you.”

Mary’s hold had tightened, but it wasn't to restrain you.

“Fuck, I know. I’m sorry. I just … it wouldn’t be the first time I thought some girl liked me, when all they wanted was to fuck the band. It’s a fucking sore spot, ok?”

“I’m supposed to be ok with you thinking I’ve been playing you?”

“I just fucking panicked, ok? I—I really fucking like you.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“Fuck off.”

You’d both chuckled.

“I just really fucking like you, and sometimes I just get too far into my own fucking head.”

You’d leaned back into his chest.

“You’re a fucking asshole and what you said was trashy. You said it to hurt me, and that’s not ok, Mary.”

He’d sighed and rested his forehead onto your shoulder.

“I just needed to hear you say it wasn’t true.”

“That’s still fucking insulting, but—” you’d tilted your head toward his, “Mary, I’m not dating you to fuck your bandmates. Now, fucking apologize.”

“I’m sorry I … that I was … my—”

“—that you were fucking cruel.”

“I’m sorry I was fucking cruel.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you had sat like that for a while until Mary had broken the silence.

“You scare me when you react like that.”

“I know,” you’d sighed. “I just … got overwhelmed. I’m … I am working on it, you know?”

“How?”

You’d curled a little into yourself.

“I do go to therapy, you know. It’s been—it is—a process.”

“K.”

“K?”

“Um, ‘ok, I acknowledge your effort and support it and won’t push as long as you’re getting help’?”

“Thanks.” You’d waited for a beat then had said, “Now you have to give me one. One personal thing.”

You’d waited patiently as Mary had considered.

“I was on my own at 19, so the guys are like my brothers—I love them, but they’re fucking annoying, and I hate them sometimes too. I’d give any one of them a kidney, but not my girl.”

You’d sighed. “I’m not going to fuck your brothers, Mare.”

“Yeah, I know. But thanks for saying.”

After that he’d helped you clean up the broken bowl. A week later you’d found your mug back in the cabinet—the handle was out of line with the break, but somehow still firmly secured back into place. You’d also stopped asking about attending his shows.

Thanksgiving came—he’d spent the day with his extended band family; you’d traveled out of state to spend it with your best friend—as you’d been doing since college. She knows a little about you and Mary, and you were happy to stay up drinking contraband wine with her on the trundle bed in her room as you’d scrolled through the handful of personal g-rated pictures you had.

It’s Saturday (your bus back home is at 6am the next day), and your bff and you are downtown just hanging out. You fucking love the energy of South Street, especially Crash Bang Boom, formally Zipperhead. One of the stops on your itinerary is a record store, and on a lark you go to see if Mary’s record is here. You know from one of Mary’s rants that they’ve been struggling to get wider distribution without a formal label, but that there’s a pretty good trade network amongst some of the indie places, and Philly isn’t so far away. You have to do more than a cursory search but!

It’s here!

You pull it out, intent on calling your friend over, when two guys who’d been browsing near you accost you.

“I hear they’re hot right now!” Boy 1 says.

“They used to be so hard to find,” says Boy 2.

You beam. “I know, right? They’re great.”

“You a big fan?” asks Boy 2.

What you mean to say is, I think their sound is very unique, but what you say when you open your mouth is, “I’m dating the lead guitarist.”

The two guys look at each other and snigger slightly.

“Yeah, ok,” says Boy 2.

You scrunch your face at them.

“I am.”

“Ok, maybe online you can peddle that crap, but c’mon,” says Boy 1.

You know not to feed the trolls … but these guys are kind of pissing you off. You tuck the DIY CD under your arm as you fish out your phone; it takes you a few seconds of poking, but you bring up the g-rated pics of you and Mary—most of which are slightly-blurry selfies. You think they’re endearing. Boy 1 and Boy 2 aren’t impressed.

“Are you serious?” sneers Boy 1. “These are clearly post-show selfies.”

“Fucking sad,” says Boy 2, shaking his head.

You’re at a loss because the majority of these are from your couch, so you toss your hair at them.

“Whatever. I don’t need a bunch of fake music boys to validate me. Krissy! Let’s bounce.”

You do end up buying the CD for her—which she promises to listen to in full and then report back.

When you get back to your place Sunday night—cranky and bleary-eyed—you’re surprised to find Mary asleep on your couch, cocooned in your afghan, even though it’s barely early evening. You divest yourself of your outside clothes and backpack before crawling over him.

“Mmph,” he grumbles.

“Hey,” you say, draped over him. “Why’re you on the couch?”

He manages to turn his head toward you slightly.

“You weren’t here.”

“Mare. You can sleep in my bed.”

He wiggles around so you’re both face to face.

“Yeah, I know. Wanted to know when you got back.”

“I still don’t see—”

He kisses you and manages to get his arms free to wrap around you.

“You’d’ve let me sleep if I was in your bed,” he says as he breaks the kiss.

“Yeah, maybe. Only because you’d need it.”

There’s some making out that begins to border on foreplay before your stomach rumbles unhappily. Mary laughs.

“You’re fucking great.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you grumble. “I think I last ate over 12hrs ago.”

Mary shifts to a sitting position. “I’m about to become your best friend.” He wiggles free and makes his way into your kitchen. You wrap the afghan around you as you shuffle after him. He beams at you before opening your fridge and doing his best impression of Vanna White. You peer in to see that there are multiple Tupperware containers jigsawed into your fridge.

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Is this …?”

Mary’s grin is almost a rictus.

“You don’t think I look out for my baby doll? Friendsgiving leftovers, just for you!”

You crowd into his space.

“I don’t know what I should eat first: this bounty or your dick!”

Mary wraps his arms around you, but says, “Lady’s choice.”

Despite how hungry you are, you drop to your knees—afghan pooling around you—and mouth at his zipper. He caresses your head and shoulders, but when he doesn’t insist, you take matters into your own hands; you pet at his semi before unzipping his jeans and taking out his cock and balls.

“You don’t—” he gasps even as his hands are cupped around the back of your head.

“Shut the fuck up,” you say right before you take the tip of him into your mouth to suckle.

Mary likes it fast and sloppy, but tonight you suck him at your own pace—one hand rolling his balls and giving sporadic presses to his perineum. He’s trembling and whimpering, his hands clenching and unclenching in your hair. After one particularly hard suck he cries out, “Oh fuck, please.”

You shuffle around so that your back is against a bottom cabinet, and you make a soft grunt so that he looks down at you. His lips are wet and his eyes are glazed as you widen your mouth and moan encouragingly at him. His hands grip into your hair as he begins to fuck your face.

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” he breathes. “So sweet. Your fucking mouth.”

Usually you do your best to deep throat Mary, but today he seems to sense not to choke you. He’s still fucking your mouth, though—thrusting as deep as he dares, undeterred by the saliva dripping down your chin.

“I fucking missed you—missed this.”

You make sure to lock your gaze with his.

“Fuck.”

You bring your hand back up to his balls.

“OhpleaseOhshitOhfuckOhplease,” he chants, eyes now closed.

You slap your cunt a few times before you slip a hand into your tights to work at your clit in time to Mary fucking your mouth.

“Oh fuck, yeah—that’s right. My cock makes you so hot.”

You let the hand fondling him fall away so you can brace yourself against the counter, and Mary starts fucking your mouth faster. He’s still staring down at you, but now he’s only chanting Fuck over and over again as he pummels your mouth. You think he’ll probably cum first, but it’s actually you—your own adept fingers pushing you over the edge—and it’s only after you moan in time that he shoves you down on his cock as it kicks and shoots its load down your throat.

He lets go of your hair well before you’d even consider tapping out, so you make sure you suck up and down the length of him before he grunts and pulls away from oversensitivity. He looks down at you with hooded eyes as you continue to gently massage your own climax out.

“You’re too fucking good to me,” he says as he recombobulates himself.

You’re just easing the waves of your orgasm at this point.

“So fucking make me a plate,” you purr, knees splayed as you continue to finger yourself.

Mary grunts at you as if he’d like nothing better than to squash you into the floor and fuck the shit out of you—but by the time you’re done massaging the throbs out of your clit and and standing up, he’s got the food containers out and is constructing your plate.

Mary feeds you from the full plate in his lap—quite a departure from the norm (you love feeding him at your feet)—and the two of your talk about your holiday. He tells you about their mashed potato food fight. You tell him all about Krissy’s drama—which mostly entails her parents thinking that her living at home means she’ll be a nun—but you offhandedly mention Boy 1 & Boy 2 in context of your day out.

Mary tenses.

“What?” you ask as you catch his eye. You’re not going to bring up seeing his band if you can help it.

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

Mary sighs.

“You just. I hate that they didn’t believe you. You are my girl.”

You wriggle up and shrug.

“They’re not wrong. A few close up selfies don’t prove anything.”

“It still fucking sucks, and I hate it. Can we go to bed when you’re done?”

You snort. “You just want to snuggle.”

“So what if I fucking do? I brought you candied sweet potatoes at great cost to my life and limb. You owe me.”

You huff in laughter. “All right, dude. Fine. Let me brush my teeth and then we can … snuggle.”

“Damn straight.”

It’s maybe two weeks later when Mary’s on your couch watching the WWE, your feet in his lap as you play a game on your phone (no way was him being here is going to make you miss your chance at getting a high placing on this week’s special challenge). During the commercial break he plucks at your alumni sleep pants.

“Hey. Have you noticed you haven't worn anything nice in a while?” he says to your leg.

You look up at him over your phone, incredulous.

“Um, ok. First of all: rude. Second: Dude. Half your shirts are from high school and half of those are covered in blood. What the fuck.”

His hand sneaks under your pant leg to stroke at your calf. When you shy away—shaving a long-forgotten routine now that the weather has chilled—he firmly pulls you back to continue his exploration.

“Yeah. I don’t own anything nice—you have all these cute as fuck clothes just chilling on your curtain rod collecting dust.”

You heave a sigh.

“Well. You work most nights, Mary. You know I try to be here if you’re going to be around, and what?—I’m gonna dress up in my own home?”

He squeezes your calf muscle.

“Christ, you’re defensive. Let me fucking finish my lead in, woman. I just mean we should get out.”

You creep the foot of your free leg under his t-shirt to press into his boney ribs.

“Ok, but when? Your schedule’s not very conducive to that, you know.”

He looks at you, searching your face, before insinuating himself between your legs and rubbing his hands up your thighs.

“We’re playing at Regency in a few weeks,” he says as he leans down to kiss your belly. He looks up at you. “You could put on one those ‘fuck me’ numbers you got.”

Kiss.

“Come see me play.”

Kiss.

“I could fuck you in the bathroom.”

Kiss.

He takes the hem of your pants between his teeth and begins to tug it down.

“Mary! My ranking!”

“Fuck your ranking,” he says as he yoinks your phone out of your hand and shoves it down the front of his pants. You gasp as he yanks your bottoms the rest of the way free, and then proceeds to run his tongue through your folds. Your hands grip his hair tight as he worms his tongue around and over your clit, sparking your arousal. You let your head fall back, moaning, as he tongues you.

He breaks away suddenly. “So will you think about it?”

You look down at him through hazy vision. “Wha—what?”

“The show. Will you think about coming to it?”

The only thing you’re thinking about right now is his tongue back on you.

“Fuck. C’mon, Mary.”

“The. Gig,” he continues, before giving you one, long lap. “Wanna show you off,” he says, growling into your labia.

Christ he should make up his mind. As if it was your reticence from attending.

“Yeah!” you gasp, encouraging him, as you grind yourself into his waiting mouth. “Wanna be shown off!”

He yanks you down prone, hoisting your legs over his shoulders so he has better access to suck your clit between his plump lips. The sensation is heavenly, and you make pleased noises.

“Gonna show off my hot girlfriend,” he pants as he comes up for air. “Make everyone know you’re mine, rub it in their faces.”

You grab the back of his head and rub his face into your pussy.

“Shut the fuck up and get on with it for chrissake’s!”

He eats you out in earnest then—his tongue and lips adeptly coaxing you toward climax—the sound of the snarling wrestlers and cheering crowd the soundtrack to your orgasm; he licks you steadily as you squirm and thrash through it. Once you're thoroughly spent, he divests you of your top and crawls up your torso while unbuckling his jeans—your phone plopping onto your stomach and sliding down into the cushions.

“Hold your tits together,” he rumbles before thrusting between them a handful of times, head thrown back. Then he leans over you—guiding his cock to your mouth with his hips, before he’s fucking your face into the couch—unashamedly moaning when he hears you gag. He pulls out in time to cum all over your face and neck, hand flying between his legs—too intent with his art to even grunt out his pleasure.

Looking down at you, he bites his lip and says, “Fuck you’re beautiful. Can I take a picture?”

(This was something you’d gotten used to—Mary always wanting to take pictures of the oddest things with his ancient, digital HP camera.)

When you hesitate, he says, “No, you’re right. It’s …” He begins to climb off you, but you put a hand on his thigh.

“You … you can,” you stutter “but … I’ll keep it for you. Just … transfer it to me and delete it immediately.”

He rolls his eyes. “Big help you having it when I’m lonely and want to jerk off,” he says—but he's already off the couch, tucking himself back in, and rummaging through his worn backpack.

The two of you had done a little photoshoot then, trying to get the best angles, the best shine, your sexiest pout—and a few with his fingers in your mouth. When he’s satisfied, he hands you your shirt so you can wipe off—which you promptly rejected in favor of cleaning off in the bathroom sink (“Gross.” “What? I don’t understand.” “I wear this shirt!” “My jizz is literally on you right now!”).

When you come back out, Mary already has his memory card in the USB convertor and is attached to your laptop.

“Don’t I get to help choose?” you ask as you sit down next to him.

“My pictures.”

“My face!” you retort.

“My pictures for my use.”

You lean in to see which he’s chosen.

“Oh, not that one! I look like Jaba the Hutt with that chin!”

Mary squints at it, shrugs, then turns to grin at you.

“I won’t be looking at your chin.”

“Fine,” you grumble flopping back. “But I want my complaint filed on the record.”

“Ok,” he says and kisses the tip of your nose.

You push him away and wipe at your face. “Gross, Mary. Don’t be all mushy and shit.”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, Suey,” he says into the computer.

When he finishes—4 photos now living in a folder on your desktop entitled “MarysSecretJackoffMaterial”—he lets you drive. You promptly drag all the smutty images of you into your trash and delete them immediately.

He has to leave for work not long after that, and you’ve gotten sucked into the WWE storyline. It isn’t until you’re ready to go to bed that you realize your phone is still in the depths of the couch. Once retrieved, you text him.

Me [12:37am]: Goddamnit, Mary! My RANKING.

Mary [2:28am]: XD

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gutter punk #gritty girls #my writing

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pilot-boi · 4 years

Text

Shouting in Cafes: Chapter Seven

Highway Skyline

They’re burning down the highway skyline, on the back of a hurricane that started turning when they were young.

AO3 LINK

Neptune made a point to carefully open the car door and get inside. The car was… Nice. Surprisingly nice. The seats were clean and smelled like lemons, the floor mats were spotless. No trash. No stains. Sun was checking his hair in the rearview mirror.

“Huh,” Neptune said, not fast enough to hide the surprise in his voice.

“What?” Sun asked, freezing.

“It’s nice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No beer bottles.”

“Wow, dude. I’m hurt, truly,” Sun said, pressing a hand to his chest in a facsimile of hurt. Or maybe it was real hurt. He could never tell with this guy.

Neptune supressed a laugh at his performance. He couldn’t afford to let Sun see him be happy. That would mean he was winning, and they weren’t friends. Nope. Totally not.

“Ready to ride?” Sun asked with a smile that said danger.

“Just… here? We’re going way over the speed limit here?”

“It’s fine!” Sun waved him off, adjusting his mirror and shooting himself a grin in the reflection. “There are never any cops or pedestrians here. Don’t worry so much, Neptune!”

“I have to worry. That’s the only way you won’t freaking kill yourself.”

Sun laughed, and he did have a nice laugh dammit. A laugh that made you want to laugh along with him. Neptune barely restrained himself from doing just that.

“Okay! Here we go!”

Sun was out of that parking space so fast, Neptune thought he might get whiplash. He stopped the car just as quickly, then started it up again before either one of them could get their bearings.

“Su- Su-” Neptune stuttered out between the breaks, his nails digging into the leather and his glasses threatening to fly off his face.

“Aw, see? We are good friends!” Sun called over the purring engine. “We’re already giving each other nicknames!”

“Shut up!”

The pavement screamed underneath them and Neptune watched his life zoom past. Oh, look, there went the time Scarlet knocked his head into the terrible birthday cupcake he got him and Neptune had sprinkles dropping out of his hair for at least a week.

Sun bucked the car onto the empty street and took off, wind tangling in his hair and eyes open wide. The trees turned into green blurs, the buildings into only smudges of paint on a blue backdrop.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Neptune yelled and promptly sealed his mouth closed. Air poured down his throat at top speeds and with it most likely a million bugs. No thank you, this was terrifying enough all ready, he didn’t need that.

The road bumped and threatened to make him bite his tongue off. And he needed that, thank you very much. For screaming, if nothing else.

“You know, you sure do take the Lord’s name in vain a whole lot,” Sun said as casually as if they were out for lunch. He pulled out some sunglasses and tucked them into Neptune’s hair without even asking. Yellow reflective aviators. What had he really been expecting?

“I’m already Catholic! It’s fine!”

“I’m not really sure that’s how it works,” he said conversationally as he pulled on a pair of honest-to-God fingerless driving gloves. He was going to die. Forget getting in a crash, his heart was going to stop.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Neptune screamed. Sun had started fishing around in the space between the cupholders, and his face was turned completely away from the road to do it. Neptune’s heart raced. Street signs smeared. Sun’s speed neared one hundred.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Cool your jets, dude! I’m just grabbing some tunes!”

“We’re going to die!”

“Oh, so now we’re a we?” Sun quipped, winking at Neptune and still not even glancing at the road that his car was practically devouring.

“What the hell are you talking about?! Just keep your fucking eyes on the road, you absolute maniac, or I’m going to have an actual stroke!!” Neptune screamed, his lungs in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest. He was going to tear the leather upholstery with how hard he was gripping it.

Sun laughed. Laughed! Like they weren’t doing something highly illegal and could die at any second! “We’re not gonna hit anyone! Hey, dude, do you dare me to beat one-fifteen?”

“No!”

More laughter. That laughter was going to be the last thing he ever heard.

Sun finally got what he was looking for. He wiped the CD (who still used CDs?) off on his tank top and popped it into the player. Big band jazz music blew from the speakers, the bass cranked up because of course it was. Still. Jazz? Trumpetey, 1920s, New Orleans jazz?

“What the fuck is this?!”

“You really lose your censor when you’re out of work,” Sun said, leaning casually back into his seat, seemingly ignoring his hair flying in every direction from the wind, and facing directly towards Neptune to speak.

“No, I don’t! I think it’s the life or death situation I’m currently facing!”

“My driving isn’t that bad,” Sun pouted, his eyes wide again. Damn those eyes, how dare they look like they’d been plucked straight from a noon day sky.

“Shut the fuck up and stop giving me those puppy eyes! Keep your goddamn eyes on the- You almost hit that sign watchoutwatchoutwatchoutwatchout holy fucking shit!!”

Neptune’s face was suddenly freezing, what with all the blood draining out of it and all. His hand had made its way to his heart somehow, bunching up in the fabric, while his other arm pressed up against the car door as if that would help if they hit something. If he had a heart monitor on, it would read well over one hundred.

“Puppy eyes?” Sun asked, said eyes lighting up once again and that fucking grin spreading across his face.

No. Oh God no.

“It’s a thing you do, Shut up a-”

“You noticed a thing I do?” He sounded delighted. God fucking dammit, what the hell?! Neptune was having a fever dream. That was it. He was dying of a horrible sickness, and this was the torture his brain had conjured up for him.

“Dumbass! Holy shit! Please just focus on the road!”

Sun sped up.

“No. No no no nononono!!”

“Yes yes hell fucking yes!!”

Neptune glanced over. Sun was grinning from ear to ear. A spot light that split the darkness. A smile for punching the sun, for setting off illegal fireworks just to have some color in the sky. A smile for street racing at unimaginable speeds just to bond with a barista he barely knew.

“You’re actually planning on killing me,” Neptune panicked, at whatever could pass for a normal tone of voice in this death trap. “If this was a trick to kill me, congratulations, it’s fucking working!”

Sun had the audacity to laugh. “I’m actually going to die in this neon blue convertible with a maniac at the steering wheel!” Neptune yelped, the calm demeanor his horrified realization had brought gone in an instant.

“Wow, you’re morbid!” Sun laughed. “Chill out, dude! I just want to get a little air!” His grip tightened on the steering wheel and he leaned forward as if that would make them go faster.

“A little…?!”

Neptune un-squinted his eyes and focused on the road up ahead. Sure enough, there lay a steep hill that Neptune had somehow managed to forget about. How could he? He drove up it every morning and back down it every night. It made your stomach fly up into your throat even at regular speeds.

“This is suicide!” Neptune cried, gripping his seat belt tight enough to snap it right in two.

“Not if we don’t die!”

“If we don’t die, we get arrested! That’s not better! You get how that’s not better, right?!”

“How is dying better than getting arrested? Besides, there are never any cops here!”

“You’re insane!”

“We’re almost there!”

“I’m going to vomit! Seriously, I swear to Go-”

“Hold on!” Sun yelled, teeth bared in a face splitting grin and eyes bright with manic fire.

Everything in the car went flying, including its passengers. Miraculously, that flight was only an inch or so out of their seat and not through the windshield. Still, the experience of rocketing over a hill at hundred of miles per hour speeds while bass-boosted jazz blared out of the speakers was a unique experience that Neptune never wanted to repeat.

Neptune’s seat belt caught him as he threatened to fly overboard. Sun was cheering his head off, Neptune was too terrified for any sound to escape his throat. His voice seemed to have been left on the pavement below.

There was a split second where he could have sworn that time froze and he was able to watch Sun’s huge eyes crackle with electricity and excitement. The red leaves of the trees on either side of the road swished with the new wind. The road beneath them blurred, the center lines losing all meaning. All within half a second.

But then their tires bounced once, then twice, and finally they were on the road again.

And Sun was grinding to a halt.

And swerving into a ditch.

He let the car turn completely sideways, pressing down hard into the brake. Dirt flew up around them along with clumps of grass and a few pieces of Neptune’s remaining sanity.

They lurched forward, then stilled.

And Sun hollered. “Holy shit that was awesome!!”

Neptune’s voice returned. “Am I dead?” he asked, frozen stock still in his seat, too scared to move.

“Not yet, bro!”

There was silence for a moment. Then a laugh bubbled out of Neptune. And another. And he was grabbing at his stomach in an effort to control them.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” Sun chuckled.

“I guess,” -a laugh break- “I save them for near-death experiences!”

Sun giggled a little. Then he joined, too.

Both of them clutched their sides with the laughing, and the more Sun laughed the more Neptune laughed because his laugh was so infectious it was annoying, but Neptune couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed. It faded in and out from high pitched snickers through his teeth and tongue to deep roaring claps of thunder. Woodland pixie. Hearty ship captain.

“Why the hell do you have bright yellow aviators, dumbass? That’s so lame!” Neptune cackled, pulling them off his head and wiping tears from behind his glasses.

“Why the hell do you have blue freaking hair? Like, more blue than my car! What the fuck?!” Sun pointed out before sputtering into more indistinguishable laughing.

They both slid down further and further into the leather seats, their shoes resting on the dashboard, the occasional putter of laughter from one of them sending both back into a laughing competition that their sides couldn’t handle anymore.

The wind messed up Sun’s hair. Bad. All that gel helped when it was styled correctly, but when Mother Nature had her way with it, it turned into a hot mess. Or just a mess. It splayed out around his head, combining with the straw yellow color and making his head look like he’d jumped into a haystack and a fan at the same time. The back just stood off his neck, straight up in the air like someone had just ordered it to attention.

He kept running his hands all through it. Like it helped. Neptune probably didn’t look that great either.

Sun’s chest was heaving with laughter and adrenaline, and there were bright pink spots high on his cheeks. His sparse freckles dotted under his flush and speckled like constellations across the arms brushing back his hair. Bright yellow hair framing eyes like drops of sky.

“Do you want me to take you back to your car?”

Neptune opened his eyes. Woozily, he addressed his surroundings. Sun was inches away from his face, eyebrows pressed together, one hand climbing through his messy hair. Had they been…? No. No stop. Neptune had just passed out from exhaustion and Sun was waking him up. That was all that had happened.

How late was it? The orange and pink shades of sunset scraped against the tops of the red-leaved trees that closed in around them. It shone through the gaps of the trunks in slats that blinded Neptune momentarily and lit up the flecks of gold in Sun’s blue eyes.

What was happening?

Sun just asked him a question. Focus Neptune.

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” He thought for a second. Sun was still really close to his face, and for some reason his thoughts were moving more slowly than normal. He could count the individual freckles speckling his cheeks. “I won the bet.”

“It wasn’t really a bet. Just an agreement,” Sun murmured, his eyes flicking over Neptune’s face as if trying to memorize it.

“Sure, sure, but I survived.” He was too close. Why was he so close?

“Yeah,” Sun said, finally leaning back and rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “Am I really that bad of a driver?”

“Don’t make me start laughing again.”

Sun smiled bright enough to light up a dark room and clapped a hand on Neptune’s shoulder before starting up the car.

His hand was warm. Calloused and huge, and warm. Neptune definitely did not glance down at it.

Nope. Totally did not do that.

#rwby #neptune vasilias #sun wukong #seamonkeys #mine #my writing #coffee shop rwby #writing wednesday #chapter 7 #shouting in cafes

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theladylovingcrow · 5 years

Text

New Places, Friendly Faces Part 3 (Sanny)

https://theladylovingcrow.tumblr.com/post/189298208331/new-places-friendly-faces-part-2-sanny

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny Wagner (Sanny), lil bit of Danny/Ronnie but he's quickly swept away with Sam

Length: about 2.3k

Warnings/Tags: Alternate Universe, Diner AU, No band AU, fluff, some angst, awkwardness, first dates, you know the ones where person A's date is failing and person B comes and sits with them, sorry i forgot what its called but that, hand holding, flirting, Sanny

Summary: Danny was nervous; he had been building up the courage for *weeks* to arrange a date, and now.... He wasn't quite sure what to think of the situation he found himself in. The night certainly wasn't going as he had expected it to - and his emotions had never ridden a roller coaster this fast. Hell, the beautiful angel holding his hand wasn't even the one he had arranged to meet 2 hours ago.

Author's Notes: Yep! I've officially adopted an every Monday post schedule for this, so that's cool! Just an fyi about the ending of this chapter, I'm so sorry to disappoint of you're hoping for a magical portal but that's not it (that wpuld have been cool but this is a mundane story)

https://theladylovingcrow.tumblr.com/post/189298208331/new-places-friendly-faces-part-2-sanny

----------

"Right... well, I'm officially off duty once I ring you up, so why don't you two get out of here and have some fun."

Danny fished into his pocket one handed, finding his wallet. He tried to open it and get a ten out while still holding on to Sam, but it was pretty difficult so he was forced to let go in order to pay. He thought it was a little overly dramatic of his heart, but it literally stopped beating out of disappointment for a second. God. He was already completely whipped.

Sam stood up and grabbed the keys, going back to his other table to put on his coat while Danny got his change back from Ronnie. She, now sitting at the table with her other brothers, waved them goodbye as they exited the cozy diner, stepping out into the frigid snow.

Sam immediately grabbed Danny's hand back, putting both of them in his pocket as he started to walk around the back of the building to the employee's section of the parking lot.

Sam suddenly stopped, turning to look at Danny. "Shit, wait, how did you come here? Do you have a car?"

"Uhh, my mom dropped me off."

Sam nodded and kept walking. Danny, for some reason, didn't want to leave it at that - Sam didn't seem overly judgemental, but he wanted to show that he wasn't a completely helpless dork.

"Usually I get her car on the weekends," he continued, "but she had some thing to attend over in North Star and she couldn't get a ride. She brought me here and gave me money for the bus to take home."

"Hey, well, now you don't have to take the bus!"

Sam grinned at him, unlocking the door to his sister's car and opening it for Danny. He smiled to himself and ducked his head, getting in. Fuck whatever societal expectations - not like they really applied to gay couples anyways - he loved to be treated sweetly, too.

Starting the ignition and carefully backing out of the parking space, Sam laughed, loud and happy. Danny looked at him curiously.

"Oh my god, I just picked up a total hottie and we're going on a rendezvous in my sister's car! This is crazy!"

Danny laughed, too, amazed at the situation. Like, holy shit, he was in this guy's (sister's) car that he had met less than an hour ago and they were on their way to who knew where. And he didn't even care! Never in his life had Danny been less concerned about the future; his music, his golfing, school, the world at large, none of it mattered when Sam was sitting next to him, singing along to Jimi Hendrix and looking absolutely stunning in the passing lamplight.

They drove for a time, speeding past cozy houses and dense acres of trees that outlined the starlit sky. Sam didn't seem to have a destination in mind any time soon, and Danny didn't really care if the car never stopped driving. The radio started to fuzz out as the got further into the woods, and nothing but an old talk show was coming in, so Sam had Danny put in his Clapton CD he'd left in Ronnie's car.

"I was looking for that! Figured I'd left it in here, but I don't get the car as often now that she's working more."

Danny nodded, enjoying hearing these little bits about Sam's siblings. It always interested him - learning small facts about people and getting glimpses into their lives, even more so when he was very interested in that person themselves, too.

"So, Ronnie is older than you, right?"

"Yeah, yeah she's a year older than me, she just started taking some classes at the adult school in Saginaw. She's been working at Gerald's for awhile, but she gets adult hours, now, which is good because we like to stay out late and go see her," Sam laughed.

"Oh, that's cool. What about your brothers, the twins? Are they your only other siblings?"

"Yes, fortunately. I don't know how Mom and Dad handled us, we're all within three years of each other. What about you, are you an only child?"

Danny had been right, they were all close in age. Four kids, two of them twins! He still couldn't wrap his head around how that could possibly work out for the parents, but they all seemed to be nice people and clearly got along well. It was pretty nice, actually, having a (potential) boyfriend with a good relationship with his family - Danny knew that it might of been a slightly unfair dating requirement, but he wanted someone who loved their family as much as he did.

"I have a younger sister, she's a freshman at Frankenmuth High. I'm a senior, by the way."

"Wait, what? Me too! I wonder why I've never seen you if we go to the same school. How have I never noticed you before?" Sam exclaimed, making a sharp turn and pulling off of the paved road onto a dirt track.

Danny contemplated that, too. How one Earth had he never seen Sam if they went to the same fucking school? Sam was, like, *magnetic* or something, it didn't make any sense.

Sam interrupted him, not meaning to, as he was about to speak. "Alright, we're here. Sorry, continue," he grinned at Danny, looking sheepish at cutting him off. Danny smiled in return, telling him it was alright.

They got out of the car, shutting the doors gently so as not to disturb the peaceful nighttime forest, and also not to dent Ronnie's car.

Danny resumed what he was saying as Sam led him around to the trunk and started rooting around. "About not seeing me at school, well, you didn't have a reason to until now. I mean, it's not like a lot of people know me, I don't have many friends and I kinda tend to stay to the side."

"I can't imagine how you don't have tons of people hanging off of you," Sam said, looking up at Danny with his foxy eyes glinting in the moonlight. (That was cheesy, Danny knew - but his eyes were beautiful) "Like, the only explanation I can come up with as to why you don't have half of the school constantly begging you to notice *them* is because everyone is crazy."

He blushed and grinned, enjoying the feeling of being the one flirted with for once. It was beyond comprehensible for Danny as to why Sam seemed so taken by *him*, but it wasn't something he wanted to give up anytime soon if he could help it, confusion or not.

"Wow, you are a smooth talker, aren't you?"

Sam snorted. "Hardly. I'm telling you what I honestly think, and it's this: I've known you for maybe two hours, and you are the kindest, sweetest, smartest, most beautiful person I've ever met. Past maybe my mother, but that's different. You deserve all the friends in the world, and you could have any boy or girl you choose, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm choosing you," Danny said, blushing and grabbing Sam's hand. He didn't know what it was, but he was being particularly mushy today. Luckily, Sam seemed to really like it.

Sam led him away from the car after locking it up, one arm carrying a briefcase looking container, and the other's hand holding Danny's. They walked through the light snowfall and under heavy bows of trees, going along a path Danny couldn't see but that, apparently, Sam knew well.

Danny had the quick thought that Sam was going to murder him, and maybe he shouldn't ignore his survival instincts, but he decided that Sam would *never* kill him. He also asked, though, just to be sure.

"Are you planning on killing me out here?"

Sam laughed his donkey bray, swinging their hands and taking another slight turn around a large tree. "No, I don't think I'd be able to physically overpower you, you're probably way stronger than I am."

"Oh, yeah? But what about a gun? What's in the box, Sammy?"

Danny was grinning inside, though externally he blocked it so that his facade wouldn't slip. Sam stopped and stood in front of him.

"I'll show you what's in the box!" Sam said, holding it up in front of his crotch like that SNL sketch.

"Ooh, my favorite!" Danny wiggled his brows, staring at the box where, right behind it, was Sam's dick. They both laughed, faces rosy and eyes crinkled.

Danny was glad that he had chosen Sam over Ronnie, not only for the fact that Sam actually liked him back, but that he got along so well with him. Even if the romance was a bust, he could tell that they would be very good friends, the connection was that immediate. And, he liked the idea of being best friends with a guy and then also getting to fuck his brains out at the end of the day.

'I'm getting ahead of myself, he said he has standards.'

'*No*, he said that he won't fuck you in his sister's car, but he wants to.'

"Sam, dude, where are we going? What are we doing out here, like, really?" He choked out, dying to know and also hoping that the plans included at least a kiss.

Danny hadn't been this desperate to kiss someone in- possibly forever, really. He didn't know why he was so intent on getting Sam's lips on him (though, he supposed he did: like, *look* at Sam's mouth). It wasn't like himself to be this out of control - albeit on his own head - but Sam had this effect on him.

Logically, Danny knew that if Sam wanted to go slower he would totally respect that choice and not even be put out about it, he liked just being with Sam that much. But, a kiss.... He wanted just a taste, in case this was the only date he got to have with Sam.

"We're almost there, and then I'll show you," Sam said quietly.

They continued walking, going up a gentle slope and then around a giant boulder. When they came around the other side, Danny saw that the rock had been obscuring a pristinely white, snow covered clearing. All around them, flakes fell softly from the sky, some decorating the trees, and others landing on their heads.

Sam turned to look at him, grinning. "Isn't it pretty? I feel like, whenever I come here, I've entered another dimension or something."

Danny nodded, his breath nearly taken away by the delicate magic of the moment. Well, it wasn't completely perfect - his nose was running, his gloveless hands were both freezing and clammy in Sam's, and he had no fucking clue where he was - but Sam was so, so beautiful in this place he had brought them to.

They stood and stared at the scene, taking in everything, from the stars peaking out from in between the clouds to the feel of their thumbs rubbing back and forth over each other's knuckles.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam broke it, speaking softly, "This is one of my favorite places on Earth to be. We come here during all seasons, but there's just something more.... *special*, I guess, when everything is pure and damp and quiet."

"It's really nice, I can see why you like to bring people here."

"Actually," Sam paused, looking shyly at Danny, "I've never taken anyone else. As far as I can tell, my family are the only people who know about it."

"Really? I- thank you so much for bringing me to such a special spot for you," he gasped, grinning back at Sam's little smile.

Danny was floored, absolutely amazed with this moment in his life. Sam had, for reasons he couldn't understand but figured he'd better stop worrying about, taken him to a place that no one else had been to. It was an intimate, deeply trusting gesture that he'd made, and Danny received it full-heartedly. The scenery felt sacred, now, in a way that he couldn't quite describe but that filled him with content.

"This really does mean a lot, that you're letting me view your spot. I don't know how to say thank you enough for trusting me with this- can I, maybe, take you somewhere special to me next time?"

He was shooting his shot, and praying to whatever deity felt nearest in this winter forest that it would hit it's mark. Sam had decided to take him here right after meeting him, so it *would* work, right? Danny really fucking hoped that it did, and that he hadn't ruined the relationship they were building. It was newly born and a little confusing, but in a good way; they were already fused together somehow, a connection running through them to make it seem like they'd known each other for years instead if hours.

"I'll go anywhere you wanna take me," Sam answered. He looked aware of how cliche what hed said was, but he also didnt seem to care. Damny was internally screaming with joy. "I wasn't sure where I was driving, at first, but I ended up on the path here, and it felt right. You being here feels nice and right."

Danny was smiling openly, happiness on display. He swung their hands and looked up at the sky, where the snow clouds where starting to clear, the last of the flakes finishing their journey to the ground. Sam leaned into him slightly, a pleasurable warmth permeating into Danny's body through the many layers of their clothing.

"This is perfect! I was hoping the clouds would clear up, cause this wouldnt really be much fun without it. Now, c'mon, let me show you the inside."

Danny was completely confused, again. "The inside?"

-----------

@satans-helper @okietrish @karrotkate @lazingonsunday @lantern-inthenight @ryetheruler @oblvions @bigthighsandstupidguys @mountainofthesunn

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theentiregdtime · 5 years

Note

hey if you’re still in a mood for bryan adams/macden asks: please consider “cuts like a knife”

Dennis is dropping Mac off on a date.

Which is fine. It’s an inconvenience and a complete waste of an hour of his evening, but otherwise… it’s fine.

Traffic is light, he can pick up dinner on the way back, and he’s playing his Bryan Adams CD in the car without any objection from Mac, for once- presumably because he feels guilty for asking this favor of him.

Which he should! And he should give Dennis the usual ‘thanks, man, you’re the best!’ and swear to pay him back and babble on and on about how awesome this is to the point where it’s entirely annoying (but Dennis doesn’t tune him out, he never tunes him out, even when he’s rambling incoherently).

Mac isn’t doing any of that, though. As a matter of fact, they’re hardly talking at all. It’s quiet between them. Not the effortless, familiar quiet, but the kind that sits on the back of your tongue and burns a hole in your throat.

The only thing filling the stillness between them is the stereo, good ol’ Bryan Adams singing about how there was only you and me and there’s nowhere unless you’re there and you told me that you’d wait forever.

“I feel like you’re mad at me, dude,” cuts the silence like a knife.

What? He isn’t-…!

Ah, shit, that’s fair.

Dennis does have quite a history of berating Mac over his dates- but that’s because they were always thinly-veiled charades that he made a big, flamboyant show of so everyone could see just how well he was keeping the closet doors shut.

But they’re open now. They’re open and it’s different and Dennis isn’t mad. He’s not even jealous or bitter about how he’s going to go home tonight and watch a movie alone and his best friend will be out here gallivanting about town with someone else. There’s just…

Something in him is burning. He can’t quite place it, but at the same time, he knows exactly what it is and simply doesn’t wish to look it in the eye.

Mac is out of the closet. He’s dating guys now, and this is the first of them he’s formally gone out with, at least as far as Dennis is aware. He doesn’t pretend to know what Mac gets up to when he spends the afternoon at the Rainbow and comes back covered in sweat and glitter, or what he did over the course of the year they didn’t speak.

It’s real now. It’s genuine. It isn’t a stage act. It isn’t a six-ring bullshit circus of Catholicism and heterosexuality and look how normal I am whilst he parades around like a damned rodeo clown.

That means if he grabs someone by the shoulders and says he loves them, he’ll mean it. If he ducks in to give someone an excited kiss, it’s going to connect and he’s going to want it. If he goes out on a dinner date, he’s going to wear two colognes and someone is going to like the smell of it. If he moves in with someone, they’re going to sleep in the same bed, and if they sleep in the same bed, they’re going to hold each other. If he buys someone a gift, it’s going to be because he knows them, really knows them.

And there aren’t going to be any more movie nights or monthly dinners or drunken brownouts at the bar. Dennis is going to be alone- and he’s never been truly alone. It was Dee and his parents, then it was Mac, then it was Maureen, then Mac, then Mandy, then Mac-

He isn’t certain what silence is going to sound like.

When he pictures it, he’s on the sofa watching a movie, and no one is eating chips too loudly and leaving crumbs, no one’s feet are encroaching upon his personal space, no one is pausing to make idiotic commentary every ten minutes, and the movie just plays and plays and keeps going until it’s over and time is passing and everything is growing old. He’s reading a book undisturbed because there’s no one in the other room on a goddamned exercise bike or making themselves a sandwich or taking a shower. There is Dennis Reynolds and then there is blackness, deafening quiet, like the vacuum of space, and there is nothing in between.

“I’m not mad,” Dennis insists unconvincingly. He’s not sure why it sounds like a lie, because for once, it isn’t.

The CD skips over to the next song, and an upbeat guitar begins blaring a bit too loudly for their conversation. He doesn’t turn it down, though, because he doesn’t want to have to hear the nothingness in between.

Driving home this evening, could have sworn we had it worked out…

Dennis likes this song. Of course he does, it’s his mix CD- but it strikes him differently now. Typically, he’s slapping the steering wheel and cutting people off in traffic and singing loudly, thinking about wanting something so badly and feeling it slip away but still wanting it, and the reckless thrill and romance of the give-and-take of it all.

Well, I heard it on the street, heard you might have found somebody new…

But it doesn’t feel that in real life. There is nothing exciting or arousing or mysterious about this. It just feels like trying to hold onto water.

Who is he, baby? And tell me what he means to you…

“I do think this is a waste of my night, but I didn’t wish to hear your whining, so I’m here!” Dennis snaps a little callously, but he isn’t shouting yet. “I’m driving the car, aren’t I?”

Mac doesn’t respond right away. It’s just the music again.

Mac was supposed to wait. He was supposed to wait for Dennis. He was supposed to be fine with nothing for years and years, fine with both of them stalling by messing around with inconsequential women, until Dennis decided he was finally ready. He was supposed to always be an option. He was supposed to always be there, just waiting in the corner of the ring until Dennis tapped him in.

The door was always supposed to be open and now it’s starting to shut.

I took it all for granted, but how was I supposed to know that you’d be letting go?

Yeah, that stings.

“It’s just, like, we’re not talking and-”

“Then talk. Why must I be the one to talk? I am trying to focus on the road, Mac!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to, because you’re just gonna yell at me.”

Dennis doesn’t glance over, but he’s sure Mac is pouting.

Or even worse, maybe he’s not making puppy dog eyes and sticking out his bottom lip as he does when he’s being melodramatic. Maybe he’s hurt, wholly and genuinely hurt, and his face is just dead.

Dennis doesn’t glance over.

“Oh, that is- I am not going to yell at you, you sound like a child-”

“You’re yelling at me now, Dennis.”

“Because you’re being absurd!”

It’s silent again.

Can’t you see we did the best we could?

Mac clicks his tongue.

“See, this is what I was talking about,” he sighs in defeat.

Dennis is not going to apologize. No way in hell is he going to apologize. He isn’t even going to pretend to- Mac is acting absolutely ridiculous.

“Sorry, but you left for like a year,” Mac continues to rant, loud enough to drown out the stereo. “All I’m trying to do is go out on one date!”

Dennis comes to a sudden halt at a stoplight, hoping Mac’s seatbelt locks and snaps against his collar. It’s what he deserves for starting this purposeless argument.

“I didn’t make you drive me to North Dakota,” he levels, voice devoid of any tone whatsoever, and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, yeah, but I’m doing this for you!”

Oh, what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Is he meant to get down on his knees and thank him for the opportunity to be his chauffeur?

“I didn’t want you not to have the car tomorrow morning if I end up…”

Someone behind them honks, even though the light’s been green less than a second. Normally, Dennis would spin around and memorize such a rude man’s face to seek reprisal, but he doesn’t have the time nor the energy at the moment. Instead, he merely hits the gas and takes the next corner.

“And what if you don’t? You expect me to come back out here at god knows what hour of the night to pick you back up? Like some sort of schoolchild? As if it would be beneath you to take a goddamn taxi?”

Mac is broke, he’s always broke, Dennis knows that. He knows that because all of their money was in the same place for years, and it was all Dennis’, and then he was a ghost and Mac was left to pay the bills alone.

But he seems to have spent the past year getting himself together, supposedly enough to save his money and actually spend it on something other than ironic shirts and scratch-offs and dangerous schemes with Charlie and shopping on the dark web. He’s gotten himself together enough that he really doesn’t need Dennis for anything…

And that’s terrifying.

Oh, it cuts like a knife…

“Fine, then don’t pick me up.” Mac throws his hands in the air in an act of surrender. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

Dennis’ fingernails dig into the steering wheel, and he tosses some words around in his head, feels them out, because he needs to say something and it needs to be convincing, and goddamn it, he’s going to say something because-

“You should get over. It’s coming up.”

He wonders what would happen if he didn’t hit the turn signal, if he missed the stop by accident, if he just kept on driving. He wonders if the door would still be open.

When he looks over to check the flow of traffic in the turn lane, he catches a glimpse of Mac’s face. It’s only been a year, but he looks a lot older than Dennis remembers. He looks less energetic, less happy, less carefree. He supposes they both do.

It’s like there’s a weight on them now. Mac is out of the closet, and suddenly it’s not just fun and games and casual touching and almost kisses and laughter and late nights and sharing beers and crafting fake marriage schemes and pretending it all means nothing. They can no longer fall into the safety net of denial. Everything means something now, and that makes Dennis want to say and do nothing at all, because every word and every touch is a glass one drop from spilling over into something for which he isn’t ready.

But Mac was supposed to wait.

There’s no more time for him to wait, though, because they’re at his stop.

“Thanks,” Mac mutters under his breath before kicking his door open.

He’s angry now, but he isn’t going to do anything about it, because Dennis did him a favor by driving him here. That’s how Mac is. Even when he’s bursting at the seams with rage or excitement or something else entirely, he chokes his emotions down for the sake of their friendship. Dennis is usually apt at keeping things in, too, but tonight it feels like bile is rising in the back of his throat.

Mac’s feet hit the pavement and he tugs his jacket sleeves over his wrists, bracing against the cold air. He turns to close the passenger side door, but before it shuts, Dennis reaches an arm out. His knuckles just barely graze Mac’s shoulder.

“Mac, wait…”

Mac doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t walk away, either. He simply stands there, staring like a fish, eyebrows curved and lips tense, like he might go if Dennis tells him to go, but he might stay if Dennis asks him to stay.

He doesn’t ask him to stay.

“I’ll pick you up later, okay?” he offers, their eyes finally meeting dead on. He hopes Mac will know what he means by it, to save him from having to admit to anything aloud.

Mac swallows, contemplating, and for a moment, Dennis thinks he may respond with an ‘I’ll let you know’.

“Okay,” he says instead.

Dennis wonders what Mac might say if he tells him he’s ready, tells him he doesn’t have to wait anymore, tells him he doesn’t even need to go meet this guy because there doesn’t need to be another guy.

He doesn’t say any of that, either.

“I’ll… rent a movie,” he mumbles, “and you can tell me about your date.”

“Okay.”

Mac nods softly, looking at Dennis like he could say anything in the world and he would still reply ‘okay’.

'Stay with me.’

'Okay.’

'Don’t go on any more dates.’

'Okay.’

'Wait for me.’

'Okay.’

“Text me,” is all that ends up leaving Dennis’ mouth.

“Okay.” Mac closes the car door.

Then he’s stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, spinning on his heel, and making his way into the restaurant. Then he’s gone.

And the door is really shut.

All that’s left is the music. All that’s left is Bryan Adams still singing to him like he knows him and sees exactly what the fuck is going on and just how fucking pathetic he looks right now.

Oh, it cuts like a knife…

“Yeah,” Dennis says to himself, as he turns forward and pulls back onto the road. “It sure does, buddy.”

#asks #ptsunnydee #OH IT DOES NOT FEEL SO RIGHT #ok i know this prompt so clearly coulda been mac's pov about maureen or mandy or w/e but i couldn't get this out of my head #tysm for the ask but at the same time ouchhhh #iasip #it's always sunny in philadelphia #it's always sunny #dennis reynolds #mac mcdonald #macdennis #fics #my writing

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starwitch3000 · 5 years

Text

What’s Your Story? - 4

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Summary: Reader goes on a cleaning spree that takes a turn. Help is needed.

Warning: language, drinking, bit angsty I guess, bookshelf abuse?

masterlist - ff.net

chapter three

You couldn’t put it off any longer. It had been over three weeks since the breakup. Today was the day you started deep cleaning your apartment and you started my trashing a bunch of stuff you ex had bought as long as you had no essential use for something. To begin you changed into so comfy clothes and turned on some music.

What started as some easy cleaning, like getting rid of old clothes and emptying your apartment of all the junk he left behind, turned into making your apartment look like it had been hit by a natural disaster. Never mind cluttering your dining room table with all of your work that was a normal mess you were used to.

There were piles of books, magazines, cds, movie in both the dvd and old vhs variety, and don’t forget books because shit did you have a lot of books scattered all around your place as you removed them from their home. An old beautiful bookshelf that your ex has bought for your birthday last year. It’s old dark wood had ornate designs carved on its sides and it was large enough to shelf all your books and still had space for other items and trinkets. You loved this bookshelf very dearly ever since you got it except today while cleaning today you realized just how much you actually hated it.

This was a gift from some ass hole who clearly never cared about you, but you spent so much of your time and effort on him and all this bookshelf did was remind you of him and your time wasted. It made you sick just looking at it. So you decided to get rid of it. Except that was proving to be difficult seeing as it was a very large and heavy bookshelf that, even with everything taken off of it, was extremely difficult for you to move on your own.

You really didn’t want to to let this bookshelf win but you could feel a panic attack rising, so frustrated to the point of tears you texted Natasha a 911. Desperately needing help getting rid of this thing.

Just moments after the text sent your phone immediately began ringing as Natasha called you.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on? Are you okay?” A panicked Natasha rang through your phone as soon as you answered.

“This thing won’t get out of my apartment,” you sobbed into the phone.

“What? Honey what are you talking about?” Natasha voice was calm but you could hear how worried she was.

“This disgusting ass useless bookshelf,” you explained through your tears, “I barely got that thing moved away from the wall and now it’s just sitting there mocking me!”

Natasha sighed through the phone, “of course you can’t move that thing by yourself it like a million pounds.”

“I can’t look at this thing anymore,” you tilted your head back to blink back more of your already streaming tears, “god I can’t even believe I’m freaking out over this stupid thing.”

“That’s the one dickhead got you right? You have a perfectly valid reason for freaking out over this what he did was terrible and it’s perfectly understandable that you’re still feeling this way,” she reassures you and that helps a little, “but listen honey, I’m tied up at work at the moment. We had a big case come in, so I would come over and help you get rid of the bookshelf but I can’t. Really sorry, but I’ll send Bucky over okay? He should be able to help.”

“I’m sorry for freaking out,” you sniffled.

“Do not apologize about this,” she quickly assured you, “I’m sorry I can’t make it over.”

“It’s okay,” you sniffle.

“But I was serious, I’m sending over Bucky okay? I don’t want you to be alone right now. He’s on his way.”

You nod and immediately feel stupid, “Okay thank you.”

Hanging up with Natasha you took some deep breaths to try and put this meltdown at bay before Bucky can show up. You throw your phone in your purse and wipe the tears off your face taking a quick survey of the room. Oh boy, it is a disaster a lot of the stuff you took off the bookshelf was haphazardly thrown about the room so you busy yourself with making neat stacks of your books and things at least to give your living room more walking space.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to get there and you buzz him in.

“Wow,” He says once you open your door and let him in, “This is not what I was expecting…”

“I tried straightening up a bit before you got here but there’s just too much shit,” you sighed closing the door behind him.

“I was actually thinking it was going to be way worse if I’m being honest,” He shrugs, “Nat gave me the rundown and said you needed help getting rid of a bookshelf.”

“Yeah,” You walk up to the large bookshelf that towered over the both of you, “It’s got to go.”

Bucky let out a low whistle as he gave the bookshelf a look over. You were barely able to move it from its spot against the wall next to your tv stand, “Jesus this thing is huge how did you guys even get it in here.”

Rubbing your forehead you thought about it, “I think asshole hired some guys to move it up here. I’m not sure it was here when I got home from work one day and we never had a reason to move it since.”

Bucky nods and makes an attempt at moving the bookshelf. He’s able to get it maybe a foot further than you did before he has to stop.

“Holy shit okay think you can give me some help?”

This time you nod and get on the other side of the shelf. It barely budges with you both putting in all of your effort.

That overwhelming feeling in the pit of your stomach grows, “I’m never going to be rid of this stupid thing,” you kick the side of the bookshelf and sit on your coffee table covering your face as you feel yourself start to cry again.

Bucky clears his throat uncomfortably as he doesn’t know how to handle a crying friend very well, “Uh, you got a drill or something? Maybe we can take it apart. Might be easier to move if we can get the shelves out of it.”

“No I don’t,” you miserably say into your hands shaking your head.

“Okay that’s fine,” He says walking over to you kneeling down in front of you putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Tell you what how about I bring over some of my tools in the morning and we’ll get this thing out of here then.”

You nod keeping your face covered as a sob you were desperately trying to stop erupts from you.

“Hey now,” he says softly, “It’s alright let it out.”

“I hate feeling like this,” you mumble.

“I know but you’ll get through this. I know you will,” his voice is kind as he tries to make you feel better, “this was a bad breakup you just need some time. And you know, sometimes you’re going to feel great and like all of this is behind you, but sometimes shit like this is going to happen. That’s why you’ve got Nat and I. We’re here when you need us.”

You sigh dropping your hands from your face and give Bucky a miserable smile, “Thanks.”

“Want to go get drunk?”

“I would like that a lot actually.”

“Alright,” He stands up offering you a hand that you take to stand up as well, “Let’s get out of here. That thing wins the apartment for the night.”

You both grab your jackets, you made sure to grab your keys and purse as well, and you left the apartment. Walking outside the first thing that shocked you was how dark it was outside.

“Wait, what the fuck, how late is it?” you ask digging through your purse for your phone as you both walk.

“Nearly ten I think,” Bucky answers checking his watch, “Why?”

“Nothing I just didn’t realize how late it got. I’ve just been cleaning all day never occurred to me to look at the time,” you say giving up your search and let your bag fall to your side. The two of you head to the Milano where upon entering your greeted with the beginning of Seven Wonders by Fleetwood Mac playing loudly throughout the nearly empty bar. Peter was nowhere to be seen but Mantis and one of the guys you remember seeing the other night, the bald one with his arms covered in red tattoos, were on either end of the bar that they had cleared off so they could play coaster hockey.

Mantis notices you and Bucky when you walk in and she reaches and turns down the music.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Mantis says cheerfully and you give her a smile.

“Who touched the music?!” Peter’s voice shouted from a door that was behind the bar, “I told you guys not to touch it!”

“Oh shut up jackass there are actual humans here!” Mantis shouts back, “Ignore him, he’s doing inventory. Oh no what happened to you?”

She had taken in your red eyes and puffy cheeks and got worried.

“Oh you know, just the run of the mill Tuesday night meltdown,” you shrug and grab a stool from the bar to sit in.

“I got you,” Mantis nods and then hops up onto the bar and reaches over to grab some shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey, “so shots?”

“Mantis get off of the bar come on dude,” Peter sighs flabbergasted as he appears through the door carrying some boxes behind the bar.

“Well you said I wasn’t allowed behind the bar after last time so what did you want me to do?” She innocently asks.

“Stay out of shit,” he answers easily, “Hey (Y/N) and James? I think? I’m not entirely sure.”

“I’ve just been calling him the cat smuggler,” Mantis snorts lining up the shot glasses and filling them.

“It’s Bucky actually,” Bucky confirms taking a seat at the bar as well.

“I’m Peter this asshole is Mantis and that other asshole is Drax he likes to pretend he’s invisible,” Peter nods to Drax who was behind the bar with Peter moving the boxes Peter brought with him.

“You’re just jealous Quill,” Drax says, his voice is gruff and you find him slightly more intimidating than you did before, “It’s nice to meet both of you.”

“Grab some beers would ya,” Mantis says to Peter, “They’re too far away for me to reach.”

“What the hell are you doing?” He questions noticing Mantis’ set up of shots.

“Drinking with friends,” she says like it painfully obvious, “(Y/N) had a meltdown so it’s my sworn womanly duty to help her get super drunk so she forgets her problems.”

You nod in appreciation to Mantis and raise the shot glass she hands you to hers. The two of you clink and then down their shots. Hissing as the whiskey goes down you set down your shot glass for Mantis to refill.

“Well when you put it like that it makes perfect sense,” Peter says sarcastically but gets the beers that Mantis demanded anyways, and everyone passes around drinks until they each have one for themselves.

“Alright so what’s the story tonight?” Peter asks leaning against the counter.

You took a deep breath and shared a look with Bucky, “Well I started getting rid of shit in my apartment today, spent all day doing that actually, but then I realized that I had this dumb ass bookshelf just sitting in my living room that just had to go but it’s like impossible to move so I may have had several freak outs over it.”

“Reinforcements were called but that sucker just won’t move without having to take it apart,” Bucky confirms nursing a beer.

“What’s so wrong with this bookshelf?” Mantis asks.

“Her ex bought it as a birthday gift,” Bucky answers.

“It was a nice gift at the time really, but now it’s just this big gross chunk of unmovable furniture and I hate it. Looking at it just makes me sick I want it gone,” you spat at no one in particular taking a swig of beer to chill out.

“Well I mean we can probably go and help you get rid of this thing,” Mantis offers and your heart pangs from her compassion, “Five people is bound to be more help than just two.”

“We were just going to grab some tools from Bucky and Nat’s place because I don’t really have any anymore and get rid of it in the morning,” you shrug not really wanting to burden other people with this issue.

“Nonsense Drax has enough muscle to scare that shelf right out of your apartment,” Peter says.

“But your bar-”

“I would be leaving with my only two customers,” Peter cuts you off and moves to shut off his music, “It’s fine this place was dead tonight anyways.”

Mantis jumps off the bar and grabs a jacket she had laying on a table, “Grab some beers Peter were still going to need those.”

“Looks like we’re leaving,” You say to Bucky who looks far too amused to object to the situation.

“Looks like it,” He grins.

Peter grabs the beers as requested and they all move to leave the bar until Drax speaks up.

“Wait. Hold on,” Drax says and then disappears through the door behind the bar. The four of you exchange questioning looks but wait in silence for Drax to return. He does moments later. With two sledgehammers in hand.

“Uh… whoa there, what are you doing Drax?” Mantis questions.

“If we are going to remove this cursed shelves then we must do it properly,” He explains gesturing to the sledgehammers he’s holding.

“You can’t be serious…” You say stunned.

“Unfortunately he’s always serious,” Peter says and you look over to him wide eyed. He gives you a wink, “You get used to it.”

“(Y/N) I don’t want to alarm you but you might be making friends with some criminals,” Bucky comments jokingly.

“You know what,” you say shaking off the situation, “Life is already weird enough this might as well happen.”

So you all leave the bar after Peter locks up and head back to your apartment. You were a little shocked that you guys weren’t stopped along the way because of how sketchy your little group looked. Either way you all made it and you let everyone into your building, including the hammer wielding Drax.

“Alright fair warning I might have been cleaning all day but this place is a mess,” You warn unlocking your door walking in ahead of everyone to get the lights. They all follow you in and you hear Mantis gasp.

“Holy shit that dumb ass had some taste,” She immediately went over to the bookshelf to get a better look at the intricate carving along the side, “Are you sure you don’t want to sell it? Because I will totally buy this off of you right now.”

“No,” Drax answered for you, “It must be destroyed.”

Mantis pouts looking at the defenseless bookshelf before moving away from it.

“Alright let’s move some of this stuff so it doesn’t get ruined,” Peter says setting the two six packs he brought on you coffee table and rolls up his sleeves. You all take a moment to clear out your living room, moving most of the stuff into the adjoining dining room and kitchen just so you all have enough space.

“I feel like we’re prepping to murder somebody,” Mantis comments, “Should we lay down some tarps or something?”

“Nah I’ll just vacuum later were just killing an inanimate object so there’s no blood.”

She laughs, “You have a point.”

The two of you back away as the three boys move the bookshelf a little more away from the wall so there’s no accidental property damage. You and Mantis grab one of the six packs and crack yourselves open a beer each.

“You think your landlord is going to make new rules about not letting strange people with sledgehammers into the building?” She laughs.

“Honestly this kind of feels like his fault for not having that rule to begin with,” you say with a shrug.

“Alright this will do,” Drax declares then picks up one of the sledgehammers he had left leaning against you living room wall and makes a gesture for you to take it, “You should have the honor of the first swing ma’am.”

“Oh…” you gulp taking a drink of your beer before handing it off to Mantis. You walk over to Drax and the bookshelf ignoring Bucky and Peter dramatically taking cover as you take the sledgehammer. It’s very heavy and you’re shocked you didn’t immediately drop it. “Alright let’s do this.”

Drax steps away to give you some room and you step a little closer to the bookshelf.

Is this really happening right now? You’re seriously about to destroy this bookshelf with a sledgehammer? This feels insane. But also, you feel all the things you were feeling earlier. All the heartbreak that your ex had put you through. You loved him. Loved him. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with him. Then he just goes and dumps you for some job opportunity without even talking about it. It was clear that you meant nothing to him but during your relationship he was everything to you.

That anger wells up inside of you and you grip the hammer tight in your hands taking a deep breath before taking a swing sending the head of the hammer straight through the middle shelf breaking it with a satisfying crack.

You let out a shaky laugh setting the sledgehammer down carefully in front of you while Mantis cheers, “That felt really good.”

Drax claps a hand on your shoulder like a proud parent, “Let’s finish the job.”

You spend the rest of the night taking turns at breaking the bookshelf all while drinking, laughing and getting to know each other a little better. By the time the bookshelf is reduced to nothing but slabs of wood and splinters on your living room floor you definitely feel like a weight has been lifted off of you. Things feel better.

chapter five

#peter quill x reader #peter quill #peter quill bartender au #bartender au #modern au #starlord #starlord x reader

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scaryastheyseem · 7 years

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Animorphs Secret Santa

It’s time for @animorphsecretsanta! This is for Poppy @hostilepopcorn, who loves AxMarco and the true meaning of Christmas. I hope you like it! I could not come up with a title.

Untitled Secret Santa 2017 Fic

The space alien sitting across from me has a pointed chin and my best friend’s brown eyes. He is struggling to untie the red satin ribbon on a Whitman’s sampler box of chocolates, because human hands, he keeps reminding me, are large and clumsy and don’t have enough fingers, and he is still getting used to them. “Behold,” I boom, in my best radio announcer voice. “A mighty Andalite warrior, brought low by human gift-wrapping technology.” My voice cracks halfway through the sentence, which sort of ruins the joke.

Ax glances up from his work long enough to roll his eyes at me. He didn’t roll his eyes before we started dating. I’m clearly a bad influence, which is awesome. “I am not a warrior yet. I am still an aristh. And I have not been defeated. Merely—set back. These human hands are—”

“Vastly inferior to Andalite hands, because everything humans have is vastly inferior to Andalites, up to and including our Porta-Johns, yeah, yeah, I think I get it by now.”

He blinks, startled, then gives me a tiny smile, like he’s testing out his face. “I was going to say unexpectedly strong. It is difficult to properly calibrate the amount of pressure I am applying to the ribbon.”

“Give it to me.” I hold out a hand. “I have a lot more experience calibrating my fingers or whatever.”

Ax hands over the chocolate box. “You are making an innuendo.” He sounds delighted with himself for figuring it out.

“Yeah. I have no idea what it was supposed to be implying, though.” Ax’s efforts to untie the ribbon have fucked up the bow to the degree that it actually does take me several minutes and one broken fingernail to untie it. I pass it back to him, and when he opens the box, his face actually lights up. I mean, with a big, goofy grin and round cheeks and sparkling eyes, like a box of chocolates is the best thing to ever happen to him and like nothing bad has ever happened to him, and he’s so bright and blinding that I have to look away for a second and count the pine needles under my bare feet.

Ax either doesn’t notice or is polite enough not to say anything, and when I look up again, he’s already eaten three chocolates and is cramming a fourth into his mouth, scrutinizing the little chart that tells you which flavors are where intently. The wrappers are neatly folded in a stack next to him. “The hazelnut is better than the caramel,” he tells me. “But both are vastly inferior to the dark-and-white-chocolate swirl. Suh-wirl. Hazelnut. Zel. Zel. Caramel, zel, mel.”

“And the store clerk thought I was insane for buying my boyfriend a sampler box of chocolates for Christmas.” Actually, Jake thought I was insane, too. Not that he could talk. He got Cassie a flashlight for Christmas. Mind you, this is a guy who breaks into the Yeerk Pool on a regular basis. A guy who’s been running circles around Visser Three since the eighth grade. He’s not an idiot, except for when he totally is. Who buys the girl they made out with on an alien planet—the girl who would totally be their girlfriend, if only they had the guts to ask—a flashlight for Christmas?

Jake, that’s who. I can’t tell you his last name. Partially because of the whole guerilla warfare thing, and partially because I don’t want everyone to know how totally clueless he is when it comes to girls.

I’m Marco, by the way. The handsomest, most intelligent guerilla warrior of the bunch. This is Ax, my boyfriend, an alien who can turn into a human, and into a lot of other animals. We can all turn into other animals. Can’t tell you who we are, the Yeerks are everywhere, etc. You know this already, try and keep up.

“This is an excellent gift,” Ax says reassuringly. There’s chocolate smeared across the lower half of his face. Not a cute little smudge on the corner of his mouth, either. We’re talking a full-on Hershey beard. I want to kiss him anyway, because being in love is stupid. “The variety of flavors and textures serve to enhance the already highly favorable experience of consuming chocolate, and not knowing the nature of the filling before biting into it adds a welcome rush of adrenaline to an otherwise danger-less dessert experience.”

“Wow, you should write ads for Nestle.” Ax’s brow furrows, and I move on, hurriedly, before he can force me to explain the concept of advertising again. Don’t get me wrong, Ax isn’t an idiot either, and he’s been on Earth long enough to have seen ads. It’s just that Andalites don’t really do ‘money’ or ‘companies’ or ‘capitalism’ the way humans do, so he kind of doesn’t get what they’re for. “I’m glad you like it. Merry Christmas.”

“This day bears no significant meaning to me,” Ax says, like he has every day this month. “I am from another world. Andalites do not have the same calendar as humans.”

“Ax-man, some humans don’t have the same calendar as other humans.”

“I am aware,” Ax says haughtily. The effect is somewhat spoiled because—again, chocolate face. “Rachel has made this point clear. Several times.”

Rachel hates Christmas carols, so obviously, I’ve spent every boring reconnaissance mission since Thanksgiving doing my best Mariah Carey impression. I told her it was my duty as Ax’s boyfriend to educate him about Earth culture, which as it turned out was a terrible excuse, because Ax told us last week that all human music sounds the same to him. Which is to say, terrible. Even Nine Inch Nails. Even Offspring. Which, aside from being a total affront to the glory that is The Downward Spiral, meant that I had to throw away the mix CD I’d been making him and beg Nora to drive me to the mall so that I could spend two hours searching for the perfect gift. Jake showed up to help me, which mostly consisted of him following me around and saying things like “I dunno, he likes food, right? Maybe get him a crockpot? My dad got my mom a crockpot.”

“Your dad has been married to your mom for twenty years,” I said. “I’ve been dating Ax for three months. Also, even if we had been dating for twenty years, a crockpot would still be a shitty gift, I like to think that I have a little more game than getting my boyfriend a cooking implement for Christmas. Also, he’s an alien who eats by absorbing nutrients from grass, and he lives in the woods and doesn’t have a kitchen and he probably couldn’t cook without starting a forest fire, and then where would the Ramones live, huh?”

Jake had been nodding along, but now he stopped and furrowed his brow. “The Ramones?”

“The baby skunks. The ones that Cassie saved. We named them after the Ramones.”

“I think you might be freaking out a little, dude,” Jake said, in the same carefully neutral voice that he used to talk about things like Visser One and murder. It should have felt out of place in the mall, but there was a Yeerk pool entrance in the Gap changing rooms. Jake had almost bled to death on the linoleum outside GameStop once. Jake-the-general fit right in with the fluorescent lights and the tinny Christmas carols, the same way that he did in school, or my bedroom, or every other part of my fucking life.

And he was right. I was freaking out. Which was stupid—I’d been in way more stressful situations than this. “I’m not freaking out. I’m just not getting Ax a crockpot,” I said, in my best semblance of a normal teenage boy with a normal amount of stress over my boyfriend’s Christmas present. My secret boyfriend, who was an alien, fighting a guerilla war with me and my best friend and my boyfriend’s best friend and my best friend’s girlfriend and my best friend’s cousin, who one of these days was going to snap and murder me for telepathically singing Mariah Carey songs in the body of an osprey.

You know. The normal amount of stress to have over that.

And in the end I’d panicked, and gotten Ax a freaking Whitman’s sampler, and it turns out that a Whitman’s sampler was the perfect present for your alien boyfriend of three months, who was now singing the praises of rum coconut with his bony shoulders under my arm as we sat together under the biggest tree in the forest where he lives. Even human morph is taller than I am, so he has to slouch pretty dramatically to make it possible for me to even put my arm around his shoulders. Which he does, every time we sit anywhere together, even when it means half-lying down on a bunch of tangled tree roots like he is right now. It can’t be comfortable. I’ve never asked him why he does it. The answer would probably freak me out way more than any Christmas present.

“I did not get you anything,” Ax says. He frowns. “This is not like a birth-day. Birthhh day. When you are given a gift on this day, it is customary to reciprocate, is it not?”

“It’s cool,” I say, jumping on the distraction. “I mean, like you said, you’re not even from this planet. You didn’t know what Christmas was until like a year ago, and you don’t have any Earth money anyway.”

He rifles through the chocolate box, squinting at the little flavor chart. “I have means of acquiring Earth money.”

I hold up a hand. “Please do not tell me about any more of the felonies that you and Tobias commit together. I’d like to maintain plausible deniability when you two are inevitably sent to Andalite Juvie for your crimes.”

“Tobias and I have never committed a felony,” Ax says huffily. “Property damage not involving a motor vehicle and not in excess of two hundred fifty of your human dollars—“

“Not my dollars, and are you saying you and Tobias have never fucked up a car?”

“—is not a felony.” He pops another chocolate into his mouth. “Ah. Peppermint. You are the one who has stolen and summarily destroyed a motor vehicle. Neither Tobias nor I can drive.”

“Like I have my license yet?”

Ax rolls his eyes and looks up at me through brown frizz of curls falling into his eyes. “Would you like me to steal you a car for Christmas, Marco,” he deadpans, and I laugh and give into temptation and kiss him. He tastes like chocolate and pine needles.

When I pull away, several minutes later, he says, “Why are you not with your father?”

“Please don’t talk about my dad while we’re making out.” I sit up and shake tree bark out of my hair.

Ax doesn’t follow me. He stays lying on the forest floor, hair a halo around his head, staring up at me with wide, unblinking eyes. “Christmas is traditionally spent with one’s family. These Messages and the Very Special Episodes were clear on that subject. I care for you, very much.” The way he says things like that, like they’re observable facts of the universe. The sky is blue. You have thirty-two seconds left in morph. I care for you, very much. “But we have only been ‘dating’ for three months. I do not think I can count myself part of your family yet.”

“Half of my family is probably on the Blade Ship, being used as a meat puppet to torture some poor Hork-Bajir and plot the destruction of our entire planet.” My voice comes out sharper than I want it to, but Ax doesn’t blink. Ax doesn’t blink enough, even as a human. We need to talk about that at some point. “The other half is sitting at home with his new wife, watching Charlie Brown Christmas and eating tamales, totally oblivious. Excuse me if I thought that spending the day with my boyfriend sounded more fun than watching my dad make mushy faces at my math teacher.”

“You could have gone to Prince Jake’s house. Your families have known each other since you were children. Surely they would be a viable substitute for your own family unit.”

“Oh, sure. Chinese food and movies with a known Controller, and the slim-but-terrifying possibility that Rachel will try and remove Tom’s Yeerk with a chopstick.” And Jake’s parents giving me pitying looks out of the corner of their eyes when they thought I wasn’t looking, in between scolding Jake about his failing grades. And Jake’s silent thousand-yard stare through Tom’s forehead, like all the failures of the world were on his shoulders. And Rachel’s skinny fingers with their blue glitter nail polish twitching on the edge of the table, just waiting for one of us to give the signal. “You have to admit, that family isn’t exactly relaxing.”

“So I am your last resort.” Ax looks—it’s hard to read his facial expressions, but I think he looks disappointed, and like he’s trying not to be, or at least, not to let me know. He squares his jaw and looks off to the side. Yup, that’s definitely a my boyfriend just said that he’s only hanging out with me because his dad and his best friend are both totally fucked up face.

I lean forward and take Ax’s face in my hands, so that I know that he’s listening to me. “You’re my boyfriend. Usually, people want to spend time with their boyfriends. I bought you a box of shitty chocolate specifically so that I could spend time with you, without worrying about alien space battles or alien office politics or being stuck as a flea for the rest of our lives because of alien morphing technology, or—alien things in general?”

“You realize,” Ax says calmly, like it’s totally normal for me to be leaning over him and squishing his cheeks between my hands while I talk, “That you are an alien.”

“Bzzt. Wrong. We’re on my planet, therefore, you’re the alien. Take me to the Andalite home world, then we’ll talk about me being an alien.”

“I would take you to Andal, you know.”

The thing is that I do know, I really really do. Ax wants to take me to his planet and introduce me to his parents and tell me about their trees and their grass and all the other things that Andalites think are important. And it’s too much, the way that his face over a box of chocolates is too much, the way that I care for you, very much is too fucking much. I steamroll over it, I have to, because if we start talking about family and homes I will actually have a full on panic attack, right here, in front of my alien boyfriend and this big old tree. “You are, as weird as it sounds, the most normal thing in my life. And I care about you. And I want to be here, with you, right now.”

Ax opens his mouth to say something, and I kiss him again. He tastes like chocolate, and pine needles, and absolutely nothing else.

#hostilepopcorn #animorphsecretsanta #animorphs fic #axmarco #aximili #marco #my writing

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 years

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William Gibson interviewed: Archangel, the Jackpot, and the instantly commodifiable dreamtime of industrial societies

William Gibson's 2014 novel The Peripheral was the first futuristic book he published in the 21st century, and it showed us a distant future in which some event, "The Jackpot," had killed nearly everyone on Earth, leaving behind a class of ruthless oligarchs and their bootlickers; in the 2018 sequel, Agency, we're promised a closer look at the events of The Jackpot. Between then and now is Archangel, a time-traveling, alt-history, dieselpunk story of power-mad leaders and nuclear armageddon that will be in stores on October 3.

It's been nearly 20 years since I first interviewed Gibson and in the intervening decades we've become both friends and colleagues. He was kind enough to submit to an email interview again, in advance of Archangel's publication.

Cory Doctorow: This feels like an intermediate step between today and Agency, which is, in turn, an intermediate step on the way to The Peripheral. I know that when you first wrote The Peripheral, you didn't really know what The Jackpot was... Is this you taking successive runs at either side of The Jackpot, trying to get up to the edge of it so you can get a better look at it?

William Gibson: It feels like that to me now, but the whole thing’s been completely unintentional.

Mike and I (Michael St. John Smith, the actor, who’s also a screenwriter) started bouncing things around after I’d finished The Peripheral, which I assumed would be a one-off, but I found myself still in the grip of the “stub” alternative timeline thing, so Archangel wound up with a similar mechanism (rules of time travel invented, as far as I know, by Sterling and Shiner). Meanwhile, Agency was conceived as a book set in 2016 San Francisco/Silicon Valley, but treating contemporary reality there as if it were a near future (which of course it feels like to me, because I’m old). But I’m also slow, so Trump got elected before I’d finished, and suddenly I had about half of an ms that felt like it was set in a stub, a world that never happened. Extremely weird feeling! So I had this one extra thing to be pissed off with, about Trump! But then I wondered what would happen if I considered it as exactly that, a stub, but to do so I felt I needed to hook it up with the further future of The Peripheral, the London of the klept. Meanwhile, Archangel had been coming out from IDW, and when I went down to meet them at ComicCon, in 2016, the possibility of a Trump win naturally came up. So, through to November 8th, part me was looking at that, and the other part was No Fucking Way, and, well, you know.

For the record, in the graphic novel's script, pre-election, the Pilot winds up where he winds up in the comic, but it’s a nice WTF moment.

CD: You've written screenplays and novels but not, AFAIK, comics. You're on record as thinking that the comics previously adapted from your work were visually disappointing. You are one of the most visual writers I know, a font of extremely specific and striking visual details -- tell me what it was like to be able to collaborate with drawing-type people who could make visual things happen? How did it compare to screenwriting, how close did it come to your mind's eye, did this scratch some long-felt itch to conjure those visuals up and make them tangible?

WG: Well, previous attempts were well-intentioned, I don’t doubt, but comics have gotten a lot more sophisticated in the meantime.

Maybe because I'm a very visual writer, I don’t actually have any specific urge to see someone else render the things I’ve already seen, myself, in mind’s eye.

That said, the process with IDW was extremely gratifying. The talent and experience of a lot of professionals, all bent toward making this thing right. And budget not an issue, just a question of what could be drawn and fit in available space. You want an atomic explosion, you’ve got it!

CD: You once told me that Neuromancer was optimistic because it only featured a couple of limited nuclear exchanges instead of the holocaust we'd all be expecting. The futures you've written this decade all feature much more grave catastrophes, with much higher death-tolls. Is your optimism (such as it was) waning?

WG: I think I was relatively optimistic then, and remain so, but less so. I’ve never felt that my optimism, such as it was, was particularly logical. Often it felt deliberately quixotic to me.

But I’ve also observed a tendency, over my years as an sf reader, for sf writers of a certain age to give the After Us The Deluge speech, so I promised myself I’d try to be watchful of the onset of that, try to fend it off as best I could. I suspect that when people notice how much of the world they grew up has already ended, it’s quite natural to feel that the world is ending. Because the world one knew quite demonstrably is. But it always has been ending, that way. You can read the ancient Greeks, say, doing it at great length. When younger, though, this sounds like something one can simply choose to avoid, just as old people, to the young, appear to have made some sort of inexplicably terrible decision to become old.

There aren’t many catastrophes in my work, in our traditional cultural sense. There’s the California quake that forms the backstory of the Bridge trilogy, and the somewhat deliberately goofy Singularity that closes it. Otherwise, the catastrophic landscapes are simply human civilization, ongoing. The Peripheral introduced something new, for me, with the idea that our cultural model of catastrophe is still largely one of a uni-causal event of relatively short duration. We are ourselves of relatively short duration as individuals, and thus do we look at the world. Is our widespread use of fossil fuels a single extended catastrophe? Did it become one at some relatively late point? Is our species itself catastrophic (see Sterling’s “Swarm”)? Would it seem so to tigers, could they consider such things, and know that we’re on the brink of bringing about their extinction? I don’t see why it wouldn’t.

It seems to me in retrospect that Ballard’s work had a certain arc, in its employment of catastrophe. Early on, he’d unleash catastrophes of the sort our culture recognizes as such, though with wonderfully poetic results. As he continued, however, the catastrophe became humanity. Not a world made desert, or drowned, but a world made Cannes writ large, and terrible through being the very opposite of deserted.

CD: One place where this catastrophic business wraps around to touch your visual sense is in the cyberpunk aesthetic: for decades, you've been frontrunning the mainstreaming of bohemian subcultures. Archangel features gorgeous, eyeball-kicky sequences in an illegal nightclub in war-torn Berlin, with lots of well-dressed weirdos (there's also a Bowie-esque protagonist in the cast of characters). Today, it's hard to imagine a genuinely underground culture that isn't also something you can buy at the mall, with a few exceptions (e.g. extreme racist alt-right Pepe trolls who have to order their t-shirts off the internet or get them in a flea market). Can you imagine an uncommodifiable futuristic bohemian subculture that today's post-cyberpunks could deploy to make really edgy teens and young people? (Scott Westerfeld suggested that tomorrow's punks might opt for acne in a post-zit world)

WG: I accepted Sterling’s description of bohemias as “the Dreamtime of industrial societies” immediately, but I also took it (and still do) to imply that that might not be true for post-industrial societies. Bohemias were the product, if Sterling was right, of societies in which information was relatively unevenly distributed, specific information being what you needed in order to auto-other yourself into subculture. Roots of “hip”: to know, to be "with it”. A more universal, post-geographical availability of information seriously messes with that, because you don’t need to physically go to Montmartre or the Haight to get with it.

Mr. Baby’s club in Archangel is envisioned as a scaled-up version of what you get when Berlin’s Weimar bohemia becomes a platform for the postwar black market, so imagine it as primarily extra-legal, but staffed in part by pre-war counterculturists.

It’s interesting to consider the Pepe trolls as a subculture, because if they aren’t, why aren’t they? Yesterday a friend showed me a passage from Joshua Green’s book about Steve Bannon, Devil’s Bargain, describing René Guénon as an influence. So I checked out Guénon’s Wiki for the first time. Highly recommend it. Trippy, as we used to say! Guénon was, among other things, a convert to Islam (albeit a raging esotericist along with it, so not just any Islam) and otherwise deep into Egypt. So in the way of things internet I wound up diving his correspondence with Julius Evola, who kept him up to date on what Aleister Crowley was up to, and explained why this Jung character was even more dangerous than Freud. Both these guys, Guénon and Evola, were obviously total hipsters (in the original sense of the term). Subculturalists, unmistakably. With-it dudes. Whatever “it" was.

But then I never felt I truly understood many aspects of what I’d experienced in the countercultural ‘60s until I got a prof at UBC whose central interest was the mass psychology of fascism. Guénon and Evola and, hell, Bannon, come with big deja-vu, that way. Guénon also influenced Andre Breton (doesn’t surprise me). So the Pepe trolls, however distantly, have this weird lineage, which feels countercultural to me. (Is Bannon hip to the Dark Enlightenment?)

Subcultural “cool”, it seems to me, is inherently commodifiable. Subcultures may have pre-dated cool, but I wouldn’t bet on it. There was a countercultural boutique in Greenwich Village in the 1890s, called The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, the first I know of. Sold the outfit a girl needed to self-other into Village-ness (but she still needed cigarettes, too).

CD: Last question: When I first interviewed you, 20 years ago (!!), we talked about why Japan was a wellspring of cool futurity and China was (in the cyberpunk pantheon, at least), an also-ran. Now, Chinese authors are winning Hugo awards and China is projecting more heavy zaibatsu-style force into more territories (including orbit) than Japan ever dreamed of. In The Peripheral, China is a mysterious, closed technocracy that may or may not be the source of interdimensional semi-time-semi-travel. Now that you've written two more books that circle The Peripheral's future, are you homing in any more on what role China plays in this future you're playing in?

WG: In The Peripheral, I thought of China as a much more sophisticated and advanced species of klept. So that “the” klept, as Netherton thinks of it, comes out of the jackpot controlling everything still habitable that isn’t China. Which has become some sort of super-advanced sphere of its own, with little need of dealing with outsiders. Which gave me this other, unknowable realm, a sci-fi Faerie, where impossible magic can conveniently happen without my having to invent an explanation for it. But that’s not any literal prediction for China. That’s me using China as a plot device.

What I wanted from Japan, when I started writing sf, was that it was Japan. It was wonderful for me that it was Japan during the Bubble, because that slotted perfectly into my being sick of sf futures basically being America. But that was really just another excuse for me to write about Japan. The thing that makes me nuts about Japan, as near as I’ve ever been able to express it, is the way in which all of all their culture, their stuff, seems to be fractal. You can break it down into smaller and smaller bits, and each one is still Japanese. For whatever reason, I’ve never gotten that from China. For me, Japan’s gotten steadily more interesting as that Next Big World Player thing has receded. I don’t want to hang with whoever has the most money and spaceships. I want to hang with whoever has the best shadows, the most exquisitely weird and poetic history of being whacked with alien technology, becoming the first industrialized Asian nation, trying to take over their side of the world, getting nuked for their trouble, and inventing the Walkman. I think it’s probably something like you and Disneyland: I’m just so there.

https://boingboing.net/2017/09/22/the-jackpot.html

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