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mostlyihyperfixate · 3 months ago

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Okay! I just finished Dual Destinies (save for the FLIPPIN' ORCA CASE; I can't believe my game attempted to get me to move right on to Spirit of Justice without even pointing out the orca case!), so as usual, quick thoughts go!

Uhhhhh…

I really don't know what to think about this game. I'm actually kind of conflicted about it. I can name a whole host of things I actually really, really enjoyed, so it's not like I hated the game. But for some reason I still find myself wanting. But I don't know what I want.

I was talking to my friend Lauren the other day. She's been playing these games, too. She started out pretty far ahead of me, but now she's a couple cases behind on account of having real life friends and real life activities to attend. But I was telling her that so far the Apollo Justice trilogy just doesn't feel like the same game as the Phoenix Wright trilogy to me. Which is silly! They really aren't THAT different. They've got the same set up, the same mechanics, this game had a lot of the same characters. But whereas with the original trilogy I would be talking myself through what the possible solution to a testimony was and eagerly looking forward to being done with my day so I could play just a little bit more…I just don't do that with these games. I mean, it's not a CHORE to play, but I definitely don't find them as interesting.

And you can't even say that it's because of Phoenix at this point. Phoenix is back. And I liked having him back! I didn't feel like he got too much focus, and I was delighted to see him back in the saddle as Teenage Weird Girl Dad--although, sadly, he still sucks at being a dad to Apollo, who probably needs to see if Miles will adopt him, since between Simon and Eustace, Miles seems to have a better grip on how to raise sons.

And I liked Athena! I can't really think of a non-hate sink character in this game I didn't like. Oh, wait. I lied. I didn't really like Solomon Starbuck, but that was more because his sighing took up a lot of time. I wound up feeling about the same about Apollo as I did at the end of the last game. I mean, hey, at least they tried to do something with him! They telegraphed it too hard and made me completely bamboozled as to why his coworkers and/or ostensible friends can't comprehend why he wants to take some time off not only after receiving injuries that required a hospitalization on two separate occasions but also his best friend and roommate died--but, hey. They did at least try.

I would have liked to see more of Klavier. I enjoyed his fairly short role quite a bit, and felt like he and Apollo had better back-and-forth just in the time. But I fully admit that could just be the fact that I've read enough fan fiction now that I've got a fleshed-out Klavier in my head that I am subbing in.

And Simon was a good prosecutor. At first I was like, "He's a little one note, though." And then I remembered Godot and his coffee, and I was like, "Never mind. Continue." Simon didn't bump Franziska or Miles off my top prosecutors list, but in the end, I did enjoy the emo little weeb, especially after his open interactions with Athena.

I wish Trucy hadn't been relegated to an endless magic panties joke.

I liked almost all the cases! The opening wasn't, like, the best opening case there's been, but Ted might have been the best and least annoying of the culprits. Jinxie is ADORABLE, and her dad is great, and even though the culprit was really annoying, he was supposed to be so that's okay. I thought I was going to HATE the Themis Academy case. I'm not interested in reliving high school in any way, shape, or form, and the lawyer school thing sounded so silly. But I wound up getting a real soft spot for those kids. Actually, they way they helped Athena through her PTSD made me literally tear up. I was so worried about a 25-year-old confessing his love to Junie, and then it turned out to be this wholesome thing of him working up the nerve to confess he's 25 and not a genius. It might have wound up being my favorite case.

Case 4 was the weak one for me. Maybe it's because I just am not someone fascinated by space? I guess that's weird coming from a Star Trek fan, but real life space is terrifying, and I'm not someone who spends time looking at nebulas and stuff. So the space center as the sudden most important set piece just didn't spark my interest. I do not care of Solomon Starbuck gets to go back to space. I don't care about space. Sorry.

And Bobby was just…a really lousy final boss. Maybe not Kristoph levels of lousy, but still…for a guy that was built up to be this amazing super spy that had eluded even being KNOWN for seven years, suddenly he's just…on the stand making stupid, obvious mistakes, like saying, "Who knows? My lover? Maybe my kids?" when Phoenix asks who the Phantom took hostage. Destroying evidence right in the middle of court. Generally making himself so incredibly apparent it was hard to take him seriously at all. It wasn't really satisfying to defeat him, in the end.

And I think the crux of my problem was…it wasn't a satisfying game. Maybe if I'd been playing this series when it came out all those years ago, I'd be pleased with the "quality of life" changes made. But it felt like the game ran almost entirely on autopilot. I didn't have to do anything. I didn't have to think. The answers were fed to me. I could only observe, like, one specific part of each level, which really minimized the character interactions. Instead of having to figure out where to go, oftentimes the characters would just go to the next place for me. I realize that the fingerprinting and other forensic evidence activities weren't everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoyed them, and that's gone. Looking at evidence more in depth is gone…it felt like there was really nothing there for me to do. This is the only visual novel series I've ever played (I made my best friend promise not to let me go down the Danganronpa rabbit hole), so maybe that's more typical

And, frankly, I just don't find the 3D stuff as charming as the 2D sprites. Mostly, the artwork's okay. Miles' is the worst by a longshot. But overall, the leap to 3D isn't bad. I didn't hate it as much as I expected to.

So, yeah. Just sort of a weird mix of a game for me. The fact that it didn't feel like much of a game probably has the most to do with it.

I think I'll take a break for a bit before I start up Spirit of Justice. I'm not sure if I'll dive into the orca case first or not. But as much as I enjoy a good hyperfixation, it's time for a bit of a break. It's come to the point where I'm either playing the game, reading fic about the game, or thinking about the game, and I gotta draw a line and give my brain a bit of a break before September. I pre-ordered a physical copy of Ace Attorney Investigations (mostly as a treat for future me getting through her CE convention), and I'll probably still read some fic, but…I gotta let my brain do some non-Ace Attorney stuff for a little while. I've actually been thinking about going back and doing a third draft of my novel, so maybe I should spend some time outlining that.

I'll be back later for Spirt of Justice and the Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for sure!

#ace attorney #aa5 #dual destinies #ace attorney spoilers #aa5 spoilers #dual destinies spoilers

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timekeeperlindar · 2 years ago

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Yo, dragons have an emo phase too? I thought that was just an us human thing...what does an emo dragon even look like anyways?

Lindar sighed, dragging a hand down his face. The dreaded teenage years were slowly re-emerging in the depths of his memory, dragging themselves like the half-rotted corpses of the undead to disturb his waking thoughts.

"Like...well, some choose dark clothes, some paint their claws or horns, some get piercings...the list goes on. All of them do have this one thing in common though: they grow to become incredibly embarrassed with themselves later on in life."

He sighed again, though slowly a smile spread across his face. He chuckled slightly.

"I'm just lucky that mom didn't let me dye my hair or get any piercings. I just wore a dark hoodie most of the time...and eye shadow, which I was quick to wipe off before I got home."

Lindar cringed all over again and hid his face. "...Please don't make me relive those memories again...For the love of Cogs, please don't make me relive those memories again...one dragon can only handle so much cringe."

#{stone hill postal service}#headcanon time!#ask

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willgrahymn · 4 years ago

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Two Love

I’m not gonna lie, this is probably some of the gayest shit I’ve ever written.

Summary: In the silence of the night, it feels like there's nothing but them. Loving oneself is not an easy task, and loving another takes work. If we can't love ourselves now though, we can at least love each other. Maybe then we will realize our own worth. Virgil and Roman know this well.

Word count: 2019

Tags: romantic prinxiety, (domestic) fluff, light angst, human au, living together, non-sexual intimacy, cuddling, communication, and marriage proposal ✨

As always, I’ll reblog with a link to this on ao3 :]!

“I wish you knew how lovable you are,” Virgil whispered into the silence.

Roman didn’t respond, biting his lower lip and not once opening his eyes. Virgil frowned, lightly tracing the tattoos on the other man’s chest, stopping to place his palm against the beating of his heart.

The room was quiet besides the sound of the heat coming through the vents and the occasional car passing by outside. Virgil sighed, laying his head against his love. He was warm, too, and he wished he never had to get out of bed again. It wasn’t like the way he wished during a depressive episode though. This was different; it was cozier, and more like home. He closed his eyes as he felt a hand begin to play with the hair at the base of his neck, and made a mental note to trim it later.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his lips ghosting against his boyfriend’s skin. He thought watching the rise and fall of his stomach, breathing in and out, was what made him want to say it.

“I know you do,” Roman responded, and Virgil could hear the tired smile in his voice, “I love you too. You’re perfect.”

“I’m anything but.”

“Then you’re perfect for me.”

Virgil decided he was happy to settle for that.

Roman continued to play with the dark strands before kissing the long magenta bangs that normally covered his boyfriend’s eyes. And he smiled because his hair smelled like the same raspberry-scented shampoo that he washed his hair with not long ago. If there was anything Roman believed he could do well, it was making his boyfriend feel cared for. He deserved it, and the way Virgil always leaned into his touch like a cat receiving ear scratches whenever he rubbed the shampoo into his scalp was something he simply couldn’t pass up when the opportunity arose.

He was beautiful now in Roman’s arms, and he would be beautiful when he woke up in the morning with his hair messed up going every which way. He would be beautiful when black makeup stained his face in tear tracks and he asked Roman if they could go home after a failed night out. There would not be a time when he was not beautiful, because he never gave Roman a reason to see him as anything less than that. He was a work of art. Frayed at the edges, sure, but he remained invaluable nonetheless.

Blinking slowly, Roman watched as his love shifted to meet his gaze. Dark eyes shining in the moonlight that seeped in through their window blinds. They were as gorgeous as the rest of him, he thought.

“What is it, my Night Light?”

“Oh, nothing,” he smirked, “I was just admiring.”

Roman rolled his eyes, a mix of fondness and instinctual doubt settling in his gut. “You see me every day, you’ll tire of me eventually.” He tried.

“We already went through the phase of being sick of each other when we first met, you’re not getting rid of me now.” Virgil teased, and before Roman could think of something else to say to distract from his statement, he started to speak again softer this time. “I meant what I said earlier, about how you’re so much more lovable than you know. I care about you.”

Virgil took a deep breath. He didn’t consider himself good at this sort of thing, but the weight of Roman’s fingers lacing between his own and pulling him closer was reassurance enough.

“I love you, Roman, and I… I just hope that one day, you’ll fall in love with yourself in the same way I did. You deserve to feel like you’re worth it.”

Roman stared at him, his mouth barely open as he replayed the words in his head. He knew Virgil, knew that he was always more on the pessimistic side, and didn’t try to get his hopes up about things to come. Still, he hoped for him. A hand rested against his cheek, thumb brushing lightly against his lips. Virgil smiled, and his heart felt full.

“Thank you,” he said. “I hope that one day you’ll wake up and face yourself in the mirror, and be able to value yourself as much as I do. It’s only fair.”

He took his partner’s hand, kissing his palm. Even in the darkness of their room, he could still see Virgil’s eyes go wide before hiding his face against his chest. It was cute, but he could tease him about that later. For now, though, he just felt lucky that he was allowed to see him like this. No walls up, and no fake dark persona to make sure others would leave him alone. He was just honest, authentic Virgil, and that was all that Roman wanted.

“I could spend a thousand lifetimes with you and it still wouldn’t be enough.” He admitted. “I would relive all the bad days where we didn’t get along, all the bad days where we doubted ourselves, as long as I knew it would bring me back here just like this with you.”

Virgil stared at him, curious and adoring. “You’re a madman.”

“Nothing compared to my brother,” Roman laughed, “but I guess you might be right. If I didn’t think straight before I certainly don’t now.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. He pulled himself up, face to face with the hopelessly romantic man he’d fallen in love with, dark eyes staring through thick lashes.

With some hesitance, Roman asked. “Have you ever thought about wanting to get married someday? It’s okay if not, I know right now might not be the perfect time to bring it up, but… it came to mind, I guess.”

He held his breath as Virgil considered. He didn’t want to be pushy. All he knew was that if asked, he would accept that commitment, and not dream of another. Because Virgil wasn’t like any of the partners he had known before. He was gentle and rough, sweet and sour, and Roman loved his contradictions. He loved to be loved in a way he could understand.

“Maybe not right now,” Virgil finally replied, “but I’d be happy with that. With you.”

Roman nodded, kissing him on the nose and appreciating the way Virgil’s eyes crinkled when he did.

“That’s okay,” he smiled, and it was the truth. “I just need you to know that if you’re ever ready for that, I’ll be here. I’d love to call you my husband if you’d let me. One of us can surprise the other with a proposal someday, but before that, I want us both to be ready.”

Virgil blinked, slow like a cat. Maybe these kinds of conversations were better left until morning.

“Thank you. I’d uh, I’d like that though, eventually.”

Smiling, Roman closed his eyes. He always dreamed of grand fairytale weddings and proposals, but this, this was good too. Fitting for them. It wasn’t Disney, but they made it work.

Pulling the blanket further over them, Virgil kissed his prince’s cheek only to be pulled into a proper one right after. Soft and slow, Virgil felt Roman’s lips quirk as his hand grazed the rose tattooed at his hip.

Then, he asked. “Of all the people you could choose to love, why me?”

“I think you’re the only one who really gets me,” Roman said, nuzzling into his lover’s shoulder and breathing in the faint scent of lavender. “You smell good.”

Virgil laughed silently, and Roman felt his body shake against him. He could feel that same butterfly-like sensation in his stomach from when he first started thinking of him as more than a friend.

“I think you’re the only person who can understand me though… not in an edgy teenager way, but like with my issues. People see me, but not in the way you do. You’re the one who drove halfway across town to drag my sorry ass out of bed after my ex dumped me and helped me realize it was a good thing. You helped me get out of my comfort zone and experiment with makeup too. I guess in a way, you make me better. And if you can love me with all the flaws that I have, then I can love yours too.”

“Oh,” he whispered, “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you deserve to. You may be as dark and gloomy as a live-action Batman movie, but you still make my world a little brighter.”

“You’re a dork.”

Roman gasped, pulling back and holding his hand to his chest as if he had just touched a hot stove. “You’re so mean!”

Virgil shrugged, and Roman could practically hear the unspoken ‘it’s what I do best.’ It seemed that in all the years he had known him, he figured out how to decipher the mystery of a man hidden under all that black and purple emo attire.

It was 12:27 AM, at least that’s what the clock sitting on their bedside table told them. Virgil was used to being up late, insomnia and all, but since they started living together Roman insisted he come to bed at the same time every night. He appreciated it though. He liked getting ready for bed together and the weight of Roman falling asleep against him. He didn’t want to admit it, but it helped.

The room was nearly silent, the heat turned off long ago. The quiet sounds of rustling pillows and blankets were the only thing to be heard. Warm breaths lingered on Roman’s skin making his hair rise as soft lips met his jaw. He wondered if Virgil remembered watching him scrub violet lipstick off his face in the theater's dressing room while he giggled like a kid at a carnival. If he asked, Virgil would have told him there was a reason he preferred darker shades.

“Do you think we’ll have kids someday?”

“Don’t push it, Princey. You haven’t even decided if you want to adopt a cat or a dog yet.”

“Still! Could you imagine us as dads? We could have Disney movie nights. We already do that, I know, but we could do it with our kid. I’m perfectly fine with just being pet parents, but could you imagine?”

“I can, actually, and now I’m going to be worrying about our non-existent child and their not yet existing future until I fall asleep.”

Roman glared at him before rolling onto his side. All too familiar with the silly things he did, Virgil waited in anticipation and was pleasantly surprised when Roman finally lunged back over, attacking him with a kiss and laughing against his lips.

“You said not yet existing,” he grinned, “which implies that there will be one eventually.”

Virgil sighed, running his fingers through his partner’s hair. “You’re not getting me to agree to adopt a child in the middle of the night, Ro.”

Humming, Roman nodded an ‘okay’ and let the subject go for now. Virgil didn’t even think before he spoke again.

“I want a future with you, Roman, you know that.”

The softness in his eyes was one Virgil would do anything to protect, and he smiled as Roman snuggled into his chest. He loved him, and with the sound of his heart beating in his ears he was sure that he would do anything it took to keep him safe.

“Get some rest, Sleepy Beauty,” he whispered. “You deserve it.”

In the morning, they would both wake up with their legs intertwined, knowing that they could stay in bed all morning because neither had work that day. Roman would get up first, and Virgil would admire him as he stretched. When Virgil finally did pull himself out of bed and found his future-husband in the kitchen making french toast, he would slump against his back and leave a kiss between his shoulders.

And maybe life was never going to be easy, but that could be okay. Step by step, stroke by stroke, they’d make it through as each other’s sword and shield.

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides fic #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #prinxiety #Virgil's Volumes #my god these bitches gay...#reblogs and comments/tags are always hella appreciated but u didnt hear that from me #I FORGOT TO PUT THIS AS ROMANTIC PRINXIETY WHEN I FIRST POSTED THIS OOPS <3 #I guess it's a given but shh

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pendragonsandbuckleys · 3 years ago

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Reclaiming that broken youth.

Summary: Michael had made it his mission to relive a small piece of the past with Alex. First he tried with the rings, two chunky black and silver things that he’d claimed had been left at the junkyard during his one of his shifts. Alex had simply joked that they weren’t his style anymore and left it at that.

The eyeliner had been a much harder sell and still Alex had refused.

And now, as he was ambling his way up the driveway, he was starting to think that maybe his third attempt would not be so lucky.

aka. Michael convinces Alex to let him dye his hair.

Word Count: 4,949

[Also on AO3]

Was it embarrassing the number of excuses he’d found to come and see Alex? Yes.

Was he going to stop anytime soon? Not likely.

Nostalgia had been rearing its ugly head again leaving him craving a time long since passed and he’d been coming up with whatever reason he could to justify seeing Alex. Going to his house, or the Project Shepard bunker, or the Crashdown where he just happened to bump into him.

The photo of the two of them had been moved from the cardboard box to the desk along with the few other pictures he treasured of Max and Isobel - he couldn’t make it too obvious after all. But seeing the two of them together like that often made him miss what they used to have. Things were so much simpler back then, until they weren’t.

The problem with nostalgia though was that the feelings weren’t real. They were an echo of what used to be that tended to leave an uncomfortable emptiness the longer you thought about it.

That time had passed and there was no getting it back. Unless?

Surely they didn’t need to be seventeen again to get that feeling back. That soft, carefree feeling that used to settle on their skin as they kissed in the desert.

That’s why he had made it his mission to relive a small piece of the past with Alex. First he tried with the rings, two chunky black and silver things that he’d claimed had been left at the junkyard during one of his shifts. Alex had simply joked that they weren’t his style anymore and left it at that.

The eyeliner had been a much harder sell and still Alex had refused.

And now, as he was ambling his way up the driveway, he was starting to think that maybe his third attempt would not be so lucky.

Three quick taps on the wood brought Alex to the door and he was so focused on the sight of him that Michael barely noticed the smile it brought to his own face. He was in full casual wear, t-shirt, jogging bottoms, matching bed hair sticking up in a perfect mess.

“Hey.” Alex welcomed him with a bright smile. If he was at all surprised to see Michael on his doorstep on an early Saturday morning with absolutely no warning, he hid it very well. His eyes darted over to see where the truck had been parked comfortably on the driveway, before flitting back to Michael.

“I thought we could have some fun.” Michael spoke with a smirk, forgoing any formal greeting, eyes already glistening with mischief. And oh how differently that sentence would have been taken when they were seventeen.

Alex was about to step aside without hesitation when he noticed the box held gently in Michael’s grip. He eyed it warily, already sensing the reasoning for the visit. “What is that?”

“Fun!”

“Um no, I believe that’s called hair dye.”

“Just hear me out.” Michael grinned as he confidently side-stepped his way through the doorway and into the house. “We haven’t hung out properly in a while and we both have the day off…”

Alex shook his head as he pushed the door closed behind him and followed Michael towards the living room. He never would have denied Michael entry, but there was something about him making himself at home that gave Alex a warm feeling in his chest. “See, you keep saying we but I don’t see a box of dye for your hair anywhere.”

“Yeah, well I never had an emo phase, did I?”

“The important word there being phase.” Alex crossed his arms against his chest as he peered down at Michael’s hands again. It was a white box with a bunch of writing on it, but the guy on the front was very clearly modelling the black dye inside. “You know I never actually used to dye my hair back then, right?”

Michael shrugged and waved his hand in the air as if to say whatever, we’re doing it anyway and handed the box over for Alex to get a better look. “You vetoed my other options so I’m stepping up my game.”

Alex watched him closely, noting how he squirmed slightly under his gaze. At first, when Michael had started dropping by a few weeks ago, always at odd hours, always unannounced, Alex had been worried. The ‘hanging out’ excuse could easily have been a guise, an easy escape from any problems he was avoiding and Alex didn’t know how long was best to let Michael hide from whatever was going on.

But seeing him now, wide eyes filled with an innocent sort of playfulness, it looked like Michael really did just want to spend time with him. Even if he did have the most random idea for a pass time. “Why are you so desperate for me to dress all emo again?”

“For…fun?”

Alex chewed his bottom lip to hide the small smile threatening to emerge. “I’m only off work for a week, you know.”

“That’s why it’s temporary.” Michael turned the box around in Alex’s hand and tapped at the words printed clearly on the back. “Three washes and it’s gone.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?”

Michael wasted no time in getting them set up. He grabbed a spare plastic bowl from the kitchen cupboard, an old towel that Alex didn’t care about dirtying and set Alex’s shower stool in front of the large bathroom mirror.

He should have been embarrassed by how excited he was getting, but he was far too busy being filled with said excitement to care. Against all odds, Alex had actually agreed to do this with very little persuasion required and there was no way he was letting him change his mind.

Alex didn’t interrupt as Michael rummaged his way around the house, finding what he needed and he certainly didn’t show his bemusement at how Michael seemed to know exactly where everything was. And once everything was ready, he took his place in the designated seat, strangely nervous at the thought of Michael dyeing his hair.

Though maybe it wasn’t nerves. He certainly had butterflies, though it could be from the thought of engaging in this teenage sleepover-esque activity. For the boy he liked to come over to his house and willingly run his fingers through his hair for the next hour? Seventeen year old Alex would have done anything for this.

“Right, tell me what to do.” Michael said as he pulled the instructions from the box and handed them to Alex before emptying the rest of the contents next to the sink. He’d probably end up doing it his own way, but he just wanted to give Alex an excuse to stop staring at him as he worked.

As Alex unravelled the instructions a small packet of gloves fell out onto his lap. They didn’t look the sturdiest but it was better than nothing. “There’s the gloves so make sure you wear them,” he said as he placed them next to the bowl.

He gave a quick skim read of the words to get a general idea of what do. There was a lot of writing and he doubted Michael would be patient for long enough to get through it all. “Oh okay, this sounds pretty easy, literally just brush it evenly through my hair.”

Michael nodded distractedly as he carefully fiddled with the lid of the tube. The room wasn’t exactly big and he’d already elbowed a wall with one arm and knocked the empty bowl to the floor with the other. Tripping over the towel had been an added bonus that Alex had enjoyed far too much. He had no idea where this clumsiness had suddenly come from, but now he was being extra careful with everything.

“Put it in gently. We don’t want it going everywhere.” Alex instructed him as he squeezed the dye into the bowl. The coal-black cream squelched as it left the tube and a small drop splattered onto the white tile wall which Michael hastily wiped with the back of his hand. It smeared across the wall at first until he managed to clean it all off.

With everything set up, he clamped Alex’s towel covered shoulders and beamed at him through the mirror’s reflection. “You ready?”

“Go for it.” Alex rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm radiating off Michael. Yep, he definitely felt like a teenager right now.

Michael started out slow. The dye was cool against his fingers as he scooped a blob into his palm. He knew Alex would be able to wash it out almost instantly if it ended up looking terrible, but still, he didn’t want to get it wrong.

He took a breath before reaching for Alex’s hair. Only now did it click just how intimate this activity was for two people who had barely done more than stand a few feet away from each other recently. He thought it would be a bit of fun, getting Alex to dress up in his old high school persona that they both used to love. But now, with the dye in his hand, he realised that meant running his fingers through Alex’s hair. An action that he used to love whenever they kissed. The smooth strands under his fingertips, pulling him closer when he could no longer control his urges.

But they were friends now. And friends dyed each other’s hair, right? Friends helped each other put on makeup or decided outfits if one was going on a date, so doing each other’s hair was no different from all of that.

The strands of hair slid across his palm easily, turning from dark brown to black with a single touch. It felt just as soft as it did ten years ago.

The room was silent as he worked save for Michael’s movements and the occasional hmm from Alex. Michael wasn’t sure if Alex realised that he was making the little noises but he was just glad he was finding it relaxing. The casual glances over Alex’s head and into the mirror showed that his eyes were closed, his lips curled into a small smile.

Michael was surprised by how much he was enjoying it himself. He was used to working with his hands all day, but this was different. Working on the cars was methodical, a heavy-handed muscle memory from years of experience, but this? This was gentle, personal.

It took about as long as would be expected to cover hair of Alex’s length and as Michael moved to the front so he could finish up the fringe, Alex opened his eyes to watch him work, “So really, what’s with all the emo stuff?”

Michael avoided the eye contact as he concentrated on turning the remaining brown into black. How could he explain that he was feeling nostalgic without it sounding sappy?

“It’s probably just some misguided attempt at reclaiming my youth.” He answered as he scooped more dye onto his fingers.

“Okay, but it seems more like we’re reclaiming my youth.”

“Yeah, well, this part of your youth was the best part of mine.” Michael replied without thinking, feeling the heat instantly rise up his cheeks at the honest answer.

The mortification was written so clear on his face that Alex forced himself to hold back a chuckle. They were still working on getting that openness back to their friendship, so for it to come out so easily every now and then was a nice step in the right direction.

“I actually always wanted to dye my hair back then.” Alex spoke up, steering into a new conversation to save Michael’s embarrassment. “It seemed like the next logical step for my fashion choice.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Getting the eyeliner passed dad was enough of a challenge and even then it was something I could take off pretty instantly if need be. I think the dye would have been too much of a risk.”

Michael felt a pang of sympathy for all Alex had to endure back then, he’d seen it firsthand several times all the way up until Jesse Manes’ death after all. But no. They weren’t going to dwell on that today. If they were reclaiming their youth then all unwanted memories were unwelcome and henceforth banned from all thoughts.

He nudged Alex’s shoulder playfully as he moved back to the bowl. “And you didn’t have an expert hairdresser to do it for you.”

“That too.” Alex laughed, rolling his eyes as he heard the sound of yet another blob of dye dropping to the floor, “Though I didn’t expect my hairdresser to get it everywhere but my hair.”

Michael gritted his teeth with a frown as he looked down at the small black splatter, a glaringly obvious stain against the white. “Hey, that’s only the third time.”

He ran his hands through Alex’s hair for the last time, being careful to check that every strand was covered. The dye had already started doing its job beautifully and emo Alex was very much taking hold.

It was as he was stepping back to inspect his finished work did he notice just how much of a mess he’d actually made, sheepishly pointing out to Alex that there was some on the edge of the sink, a few blobs in the shower and it was on the wall in about four different places.

“How the hell did it get there, I didn’t even go near that wall.” Michael exclaimed, utterly confounded at the mess he’d managed to create. Had he been in his own head so much that his hands had taken on a life of their own?

“It’s fine,” Alex laughed fondly as he nudged the bin closer with his foot. “Just put the gloves in there before you touch anything else.”

“…wait, there were gloves?”

Alex turned around this time to look at Michael properly. He hadn’t noticed the lack of gloves on the hands in his hair, but looking at them now he could see they were completely covered not by the plastic, but by a creamy black gunk. Michael had a mischievous look on his face, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he tried not to snigger and Alex could feel himself doing the same. “What is the first thing I said to you?”

“Put it in gently?”

They couldn’t hold back their laughter. Scrubbing his hands removed all but the faint grey tint now dyed into his skin, but Michael didn’t care. Maybe it was all the dye fumes, but it felt like he was on a weird kind of high. Here they were, two boys giggling away like they’d been caught making out in the supply closet at school and in that moment everything felt right with the world.

Leaning back against the sink Michael crossed his arms as he admired Alex’s hair from the front. Even slicked back against his head it was looking good but they still had twenty minutes to fill before it was ready. “So, what should we do while we wait?”

Alex slyly leant over to the bowl, still filled a quarter of the way with leftover dye and waggled his eyebrows impishly at the horrified look Michael was now giving him. “Come on Guerin, it washes out.”

It really was quite a small bathroom with nowhere to run so as Alex stood up to get closer, Michael backed away so much he practically fell into the shower. The laughter returned as he tried to hide as much of his hair as he could with his arms. “Nope. These curls are sacred and there’s no way you’re turning them black. The most you’d ever get on me is the eyeliner.”

Alex gasped gleefully, eyes wide with excitement as he watched it dawn on Michael what he’d just said. He opened the bathroom cabinet and there, at the back of the bottom shelf, was Michael’s latest gift to him. Still unused, he’d only kept it for sentimental reasons, a fond reminder of his past self, but now Michael had no excuse.

“Take a seat.” Alex batted his eyelids innocently as he gestured to the stool he had vacated and Michael had no choice but to comply. He always found it hard to deny Alex anything, but right now, he’d do anything to keep that joy in his eyes.

Alex hadn’t used eyeliner in over ten years. At age seventeen it had taken him weeks to perfect the art without smudging it or poking himself in the eye and when he first joined the military he often missed the soothing action of it. But now, a decade on, he still held the pencil with the hands of someone who would never forget how to use it.

Michael looked up at him expectantly from the seat, a slight tingling rushing through him as Alex held his chin to tilt it upwards. He’d never worn any kind of makeup before, never really had the urge to, but there was always a first time for everything.

There was something quite sexy about Alex knowing exactly what to do, telling him when to look up, when to blink, pressing the pencil down just enough to leave the colour on his skin, but not too soft that it tickled. His hands were very gentle as they held Michael’s face and he felt his mind wandering as he let Alex work.

“Guerin, stay still or it’s going in your eye.” Alex admonished lightly, tongue poking out as he concentrated. He was surprised by how steady his hand was being and he didn’t want to mess it up now.

He gave a few more strokes before stepping away, tapping the pencil against his chin as he admired his work with a grin. An eyeliner-wearing Michael was never a look he’d imagined before, but it sure was a look he was appreciating. It was a subtle change, but one that made Alex want to dress him in a leather jacket and start a rock band with him. “All done.”

Mourning the loss of Alex’s touch, Michael sighed as he got to his feet, knees popping as he stood up and leaned in close to the mirror.

He looked…different. Not a bad different, maybe even a good different. It made his eyes seem brighter and his lashes look darker and the longer he looked in the mirror the wider he could see Alex’s smile getting.

“Alright, I’ll give you this one. It doesn’t look too bad.”

“Right!” Alex was practically giddy as he stepped closer to look at Michael’s eyes through the mirror. Their hands brushed lightly as they both leaned against the sink. “I didn’t think it would look this good, but now I’m starting to wish you’d had this look in high school.”

Michael turned to face him then, bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes roamed over Alex’s face. Maybe this whole nostalgia thing wasn’t so bad when you had someone to share it with.

He grabbed the eyeliner from Alex’s hand before he could be stopped and held it above his head with an eager grin as if Alex couldn’t reach it easily. “Your turn.”

Michael had been banished to the sofa while Alex washed out the dye. He’d willingly volunteered to help but Alex wanted the finished look to be a surprise. Not that he could blame him. If it looked terrible at least it would give Alex the chance to kick Michael out of the house before he even saw it.

Not that that would actually happen, Michael had done an excellent job and the finished article would prove just that, thank you very much.

The muffled noise of the shower turning on and off filtered through the walls as he peered around the room. He’d seen the inside of Alex’s house enough times now to know the layout but not enough to know its contents.

The colourful spines of the neat pile of books stood out against the brown of the table they were sitting on. Their titles were too small to read from across the room but it made Michael wonder what kind of books Alex read now. He’d never thought to ask in all the time he’d been back in Roswell. Did he still read fantasy books like the ones Michael used to see him get lost in for hours at a time? Or were they non-fiction, filled with facts about a world that Alex had always longed to explore.

There were a few plants dotted around the room which Michael was nerdy enough to know the names of. They weren’t the type that required much watering though Michael could almost picture a green-thumbed Alex taking care to provide them what they needed.

But taking up most of the space was a whole range of musical items. A turntable alongside a crowded box of records, because of course that’s how Alex liked to listen to his music. A pair of speakers on either of side of his keyboard, a thick black pair of headphones sitting atop the black and white keys. And guitars. So many guitars.

I mean come on, four of them in one room? Alex was practically begging him to pick one up.

Three of them were next to the keyboard, held neatly on their individual stands, but it was the guitar standing alone that caught his attention. It was leaning almost precariously against the wall, looking like it could slide to the floor at the smallest touch but he had a feeling it had been there for a while. It was the one Alex had tried to gift to him all those months ago, after all.

Before he could stop himself, he pushed off the sofa and edged towards the guitar. Its case had been unzipped just enough at the top to show the dark brown wood poking through and Michael didn’t hesitate to unzip it the rest of the way.

Plucking a few of the strings made Michael wonder if maybe Alex had played it recently. It seemed to be perfectly in tune. It had been a little while now since he’d held a guitar, let alone played one, but this one seemed to fit so naturally in his hands.

The faint whirring of the hair dryer could now be heard through the bedroom door and Michael couldn’t help himself. His fingers fell into place effortlessly and played a tune that he once played for Alex all those years ago. It wasn’t hard to remember, it was one of the only songs he actually knew by heart and the muscle memory of the notes hadn’t failed him yet.

As the strings vibrated under his fingertips, the rest of the world fell away, the soft melody filling the room. He’d missed this, the calm that would wash over him whenever he used to play and for a brief moment as his fingers slipped between the C and G chords he wondered why he ever gave the guitar back.

“Suits you.” Alex’s quiet voice interrupted the notes and Michael almost dropped the guitar in his surprise. He hadn’t heard the hairdryer stop, hadn’t heard the door creaking open but the way Alex was smiling at him told him he had nothing to feel embarrassed about.

The smile wasn’t what he was focused on though.

The inky black hair had turned out so much better than he’d ever imagined. The dark strands contrasted his lightly tanned skin so starkly and Michael could tell that he had taken a few extra minutes to style it a little.

His eyeliner was mismatched and uneven - one eye having been done badly by Michael before Alex, fearing the idea of getting poked in the eye again, had confiscated the pencil and finished the second eye perfectly by himself.

He looked like his innocent seventeen year old self.

But also not. His features were matured enough to set the illusion off-kilter just slightly.

He looked incredible.

Michael wasn’t sure when his legs had made the decision to stand up, but here he was, two feet away from Alex, staring at him with his mouth half open. Alex took the silence the wrong way though as he gave a nervous laugh, feeling his cheeks redden.

He anxiously rubbed the back of his neck and the movement knocked Michael out of his daze. He slowly dragged his eyes away from Alex’s hair and down to his lips, watching them form the words as he spoke. “It looks terrible, doesn’t it?”

Had Alex even looked in the mirror? Had he not seen what Michael was seeing right now?

And it’s not even like the hair and makeup changed him that much. He’s looked beautiful the entire time Michael has known him, he just looked beautiful with his old style right this second rather than his new one.

Maybe Michael just always thought Alex looked most comfortable in his seventeen-year-old style, it was a look he had precisely crafted for himself to best represent the person he was. The black jumpers with bold patterns, the makeup, the piercings. It was the look of a rebellious kid who didn’t want to fit in.

His current style was created through circumstance, through being forced to take on a duty that he never chose but has now made his own. And his style was his own now too, the muted colours much more reserved, but still his choice.

But now standing before him was a beautiful combination of both of those people and oh dear, he’s never really stopped thinking about Alex this way, has he? And more important, how long has he been staring at him without saying a single word?

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his throat had gone strangely dry.

“No.” He whispered in reply as he stepped closer, his feet making their own decisions again and he suddenly couldn’t stop himself. In that moment he couldn’t remember why he had been holding back for all of these months when the person he wanted most in the world was standing right in front of him.

He kissed him before he could stop himself, hands gently grabbing Alex’s face, feeling soft lips against his own. It felt like he was seventeen again, kissing for the first time in the darkened rooms of the UFO Emporium but as his hands crept up into Alex’s hair the sound of a distant car horn through the open kitchen window broke through his dream-filled haze and he realised what he had just done.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Michael stuttered out as he pulled away with a gasp, instantly embarrassed at how impulsive he had been. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes stayed trained on Alex’s chest, not daring to lift them any higher. In one tiny moment of weakness he had broken their agreement and he wanted to kick himself for how stupid that had been.

It had been decided that they would just be friends. No drama, no fighting and definitely no sex. The relationship between them would be strictly supportive and platonic and as much as Michael had longed for them to be something, he had agreed for the sake of keeping any kind of connection with Alex. And turns out, he couldn’t even give him that.

If he had looked up he would have seen the surprise on Alex’s face. Surprise that Michael had kissed him - sure - but more the surprise that Michael had pulled away so abruptly. And far too soon for that matter.

Before Alex could talk himself out of it, he took Michael’s face in his hands and kissed him right back. His heart fluttered as Michael instantly pulled him closer, softer this time, as if they both knew in that moment that there was no rush.

Michael’s entire body tingled, heat filling his chest as Alex lips parted with a tiny breath. He was hardly aware of what his own hands were doing, so desperate to never let go, his knees almost giving out as the rest of the world fell away, leaving them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

As his fingers ran through the soft strands of the freshly dyed hair, Michael was reminded of every other time they had performed this same action, how natural this felt, how safe, like coming home.

“I would have let you dye my hair weeks ago if I’d known that’s all it would take.” Alex sighed as they parted, still only inches from Michael’s face, not daring to move any further lest the spell be broken. He hadn’t seen the day going this way when Michael had turned up on his doorstep with his mischievous grin but he wasn’t about to complain.

Michael gave a small huff of laughter at the unexpected comment, his hands itching to pull Alex closer. He had been wanting to do that for a long time, but he’d been good. He’d stuck to their agreement and given Alex the space to move on, no matter how many times he’d wanted to rebuild that abandoned bridge between them. But it seems the long awaited move had now finally been made and he didn’t have to hold back anymore.

Because here Alex was, black hair, dark eyeliner, standing in front of him with that nervous post-kiss smile that Michael had missed for far too long and now he never wanted to let this moment go.

It seems today had definitely been third time lucky.

Very lucky indeed.

Thank you for reading 💜✨

#roswell new mexico #alex manes fic #michael guerin fic #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #my fic

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coll2mitts · 3 years ago

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#77 Grease (1978)

Slick your hair back and grab your team jacket, we’re hand-jiving our way through Grease, a movie about bunch of hot, self-motivated ladies with their whole futures ahead of them settling for a bunch of schmucks.

Grease is a strange experience to relive as an adult, because it was (as I suspect with a lot of people) ever-present in my childhood, and I didn’t understand the great majority of references then. This movie was intended as an 8th birthday present from my mother; I came home from school one day and the VHS was sitting on our kitchen countertop unwrapped. I didn’t recognize it, so when I asked my mom what it was, she feigned confusion for about 10 seconds before she gave up and said, “I bought it for your birthday, I guess you get it early now.” She promised me I’d like it when I popped it into the VHS player, and she wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t watched this movie in over a decade and I still could recite the majority of the dialogue.

While this movie is a toned down significantly from the stage show, it is still fairly raunchy in parts. What is kind of hilarious to me is Grease’s gradual shift in categorization over time as a “kids musical”. In 5th grade, my sister played Sandy in her elementary school’s production of it. I asked if she remembered any of the lines they changed to keep things “appropriate” (the Kidz Bopification, if you will) and she responded, “No, I just thought it was weird I had to go out and buy a sexy outfit.” Conversely, my 5th grade play was about the history of America and I dressed up like Martha Washington. I’ll never forget the 50 Nifty United States from 13 original colonies... SHOUT ‘em, SCOUT ‘em, TELL all about 'em, ONE BY ONE till we’ve given a day to every state in the U-S-A. AL-A-bama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, CON-NE-TI-CUT...

Anyway, do I think it’s weird that a movie about a bunch of horny teenagers has become Baby’s First Adult Musical? Sorta. Not really. I mean, the dudes act like children for the majority of this, so I’m not surprised, at least. It had, for sure, turned me off from wanting to date high school dudes when I was in high school. The high school girls, however... we’ll get there.

It’s the first day of school, and the oldest high school seniors I’ve ever seen are poised to take on their last year at Rydell High. The “T” Birds and their very uncool matching jackets are reunited after a summer apart and their super-senior leader Kenickie, played by the late Jeff Conaway, regales the tale of lugging boxes to earn money for a sweet ride, which you could feasibly do back in the 1950s. Danny, played by John Travolta, spent his summer getting action at the beach, which he eloquently describes as “flippin’”.

Frenchy and her new neighbor Sandy rendezvous with the Pink Ladies, who have very cool matching jackets and the unabashed confidence to go with them. Stockard Channing, who plays Rizzo, is turned off by Sandy’s pure, seemingly holier-than-thou persona, and is dismayed when Sandy starts to describe her sickly sweet summer romance. Her interest is only piqued when Sandy mentions her hunky date was notorious playboy and Rizzo’s ex, Danny Zuko.

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Sidenote: When I was a child, I thought Sonny asked if her “jugs were bigger than her nets”. I asked my mother what “nets” were, since I surmised that jugs meant breasts, and she didn’t know, which I thought was weird. It wasn’t until THIS MOMENT that I realized he was asking if her jugs were bigger than Annette’s. Who the fuck is Annette? Like the Mickey Mouseketeer Annette?! Rizzo sings about her later and I’m just like.. this revelation has lead to more questions than answers.

Rizzo hatches a plan to call Danny out on his shit and reunite Sandy with Danny at the school pep rally, as they know her boyfriend is an asshat. He predictably reacts maturely; Not wanting to admit his previous story of getting fresh with some cute Australian girl down in the sand was somewhat hyperbolic, he plays it off like he doesn’t give a shit about her, reducing Sandy to tears. Frenchy comforts Sandy like the supportive queen that she is and invites her to join the Pink Ladies at a sleepover.

Honestly, a Pink Ladies sleepover looks lit as fuck. As a kid (and now, tbh) I was Jan, I wanted to be Marty, I wanted to fuck Rizzo, and I wanted Frenchy as my best friend. I would totally be down to drink champagne, eat Twinkies and mutilate our body parts with needles. Sandy is a bit of a late bloomer and reacts to these series of events by puking. Rizzo decides to be a bit of a slag and make fun of Sandy for being an inexperienced virgin before shimming down a drainpipe to get laid by some jerk with a shitty car and a 6-year-old condom.

Sandy, whose night has done nothing to alleviate her heartbreak, sings a song about being in love with a coward. Part of the deal Oliva Newton-John signed to be cast in this movie specified she have her own solo number, so “Hopelessly Devoted” was written and filmed after the rest of the movie had been completed. This feel pretty obvious, since it gives off a very strong 1970s pop Best Original Song vibe. When I was a kid, I used this song as a break to use the bathroom or grab a snack, but as an adult I find myself humming it every so often.

Speaking of contract-obligated solos, we’re treated to a Travolta-led “Greased Lightning”, which I always thought was weird, cause like, who is going to sing a song about their friend getting tit in their sweet car? Jeff Conaway played Danny on Broadway, he deserved better... Also, I’m CONVINCED this song got the Pop-Up Video treatment, but couldn’t find it online anywhere. Otherwise, how the hell else would the fact that they thought John Travolta putting the saran wrap on his crotch was too racy live rent free in my head for like 20 years?

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After encountering Sandy on a date with a jock, Danny decides he’s going to join a sports team to prove to her he can be a motivated team player. Instead, he just physically assaults several members of his school, but it’s fine because he’s wearing a uniform when he does it. This is enough to impress Sandy, as she accepts Danny’s invitation to the school dance.

The other gang members are going through their own drama, as Rizzo is sick of giving it up to Kenickie without receiving a modicum of respect.

“A hickey from Kenickie is like a Hallmark card. When you care enough to send the very best.”

Danny regresses and continues to act like a shithead to Sandy in front of her friends.

“I don’t like tea.” “You don’t have to drink tea!” “Well, I don’t like parents.”

Jan and Putzie begin an innocent and adorable romance, which proves it’s possible to start off a relationship with mutual respect, even if your friends make fun of you for it.

“I also think there’s more to you than just fat.” “...Thanks.”

I love this scene, there’s so many good lines.

Frenchy, who had dropped out of Rydell to pursue a career in cosmetology, is also in crisis as her stint in beauty school went very poorly. After hours, she somehow hallucinates Frankie Avalon advising her to get her high school degree.

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As a child, I was so proud of myself when I realized all these women played other roles in the movie, as if facial recognition was an important skill.

The day of the big dance finally arrives, as National Bandstand comes to Rydell High with roofie-wielding predator and television host Vince Fontaine. Rizzo arrives with the leader of the rival gang, while Kenickie has his best girl, Cha Cha, as his date, because they are both very well-adjusted teenagers that know how to work through conflict by communicating and not using desperate attempts to make each other jealous. Danny and Sandy are cutting up a rug until Sonny attempts to physically assault Sandy, and Danny just lets it happen because another one of his exes, Cha Cha, starts to dance with him while Sandy is rebuffing Sonny’s advances. Cha Cha and Danny subsequently win the contest. Honestly, this is so fucked up, I would have dropped Danny after this lapse of good judgement.

But no, Sandy still allows him to take her on a date to the drive-in, and it’s not until he elbows her in the boob and then tries to cop a feel in front of everybody that she finally blows him off. Then he has the absolute gall to act emo about it because he’s afraid people will think he’s a loser. Jesus Christ.

Kenickie is also hurting, as he discovers that Rizzo is pregnant and she doesn’t want anything to do with him, regardless of what being an unwed mother will do to her reputation. He decides to process these emotions by racing Greased Lighting for pink slips, as he likes to live his life a quarter mile at a time. Unfortunately, Danny steals Kenickie’s thunder (road) yet again, as he’s forced to take his place in the race because of a car door-related closed head injury. Sandy is impressed by Danny’s driving skillz and decides to sex herself up for an unreliable and emotionally manipulative teenager. Danny has a similar inclination and decides to put on a nice sweater to win Sandy back, which is something, I guess. They declare they’re the one each other needs, oh yes indeed.

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The school year ends, and all the boys end up paired with the girls. Rizzo finds out she’s not pregnant and reunites with Kenickie?! Marty ends up with Sonny even though he’s a handsy creep. Danny and Sandy are just an mess with incompatible expectations of each other. But at least Jan and Putzie and Frenchy and Doodie are fairly inoffensive. The end.

This movie is great, even all these years later. The entire cast is fantastic, even those with smaller bit parts. I was *living* for the school staff, Principal McGee and Coach Calhoun especially. Grease also jump started my lifelong love for Stockard Channing. She’s great in The West Wing, but her part as Sister Husband in Where the Heart Is may be my favorite performance of hers. I’ve watched that movie so many times I can’t even call it a guilty pleasure, I love it so much.

Olivia Newton-John wasn’t even sure she wanted to be in this movie and requested a screen test so she could see if she was good at acting. John Travolta was enamored with her and helped convince Olivia she was perfect for the part, and he wasn’t wrong. She gives such a strong performance as Sandy; I bought her transformation from clean-cut cinnamon roll to sexpot completely. John Travolta was also unbelievably charming as Danny, and I found myself giggling at his line deliveries constantly.

The songs are also unbelievably catchy (albeit somewhat annoying after you’ve heard them 700 times). Barry Gibb, my favorite Pras-adjacent composer, wrote the theme for the movie and it just bops so hard. As a well-documented detractor of Doo Wop music, there’s not a whole lot else here for me, but that’s not going to blind me to the excellence of this soundtrack. There is a reason this movie is revered as much as it is. 10/10, fun for the whole family, as long as the kids don’t understand the references.

#100 best musical movies of all time rotten tomatoes #unwarranted opinion #grease

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tired-college-student-writing · 4 years ago

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Here we go Loopty Loo

Summary: Graduation was supposed to signal the final time they all spent time together at UA, to show they have all grown into the Heros they dreamed of being.

It was supposed to be, but when has anything ever been easy for class 1-A?

Pt1 (HERE)

Pt2

___________________________________________

Loop #82

___________________________________________

Aizawa blinked sluggishly as he pulled his head from his podium and gazed across the classroom with critical eyes. The entire class appeared to slowly be waking up, some at their desks, some from the positions on the floor that they had collapsed into when their sudden lapse of consciousness hit.

Now, Normally, Aizawa would be on high alert in a situation like this, especially on the first day with his new first years, but this was different.

“I get to start with you guys this time,” Shinso piped up, staggering to his feet from where he had been laying in front of Momo’s desk, “Look like all 20 of us are here so no Gen Ed to worry about, or trying to hide anything from someone.”

“That’s a relief,” Mina sighed leaned back, in her seat, “Last time it was such a pain trying to act surprised at the LOV crashing things for Mei’s sake.”

“Momo,” Aizawa cut in, “If you will.”

The girl simply nodded and turned her back to the class as Sato and Shoji moved to stand with their backs to her, blocking her from view entirely as she pulled her shirt up and created the usual items, a large collapsible whiteboard and an array of colorful markers.

Deku silently handed her his lunch in exchange for the items as he and Iida quickly set up the offered materials.

“We all know the rules,” Iida started, writing a large 82 at the top of the board and quickly listing off the rules below, “but I’ll restate them anyways if you would like to complain about this take it up with Sero who forgot to inform us that he was a descendent of All for One in Loop #24 and ended up leaving the LOV quirkless after they tried to kidnap Denki.”

Aizawa simply zoned out at this point, knowing he’d be called in to inform the room of the changes he could recall at the end. It was ritual at this point, though they still could not figure out why they were looping.

When they had first started no one had said anything. Confused past their limits on why they felt like they were doing everything over again, trying hard not to change anything. It wasn’t until the third loop did they realize that while the rest of the world seemed to run as it always did, the nineteen teens and teacher were reliving the years the hero’s spent at high school over and over again.

Mineta seemed to be the only student in 1-A not to remember their previous loops, which made it easier kicking that annoying little grape to the curb the second he could justify it. Luckily during the third loop, Midoriya outshone his original first assessment making it easy for Aizawa to expel the lowest ranking member of their class. When Shinsou had made it into their class before the Sports festival that loop the boy had looked nearly sick.

On the fourth loop, they realized why when he was placed directly into their class at the beginning of the year and he nearly had a panic attack. Not that they could blame him, they had all gone through a similar fate earlier in the loops. Since then they rarely saw Mineta, but having the exact same class every time was never a guarantee.

In fact, there seemed to be very little rules to this whole looping business they have found themselves in.

The class was often the 20 that they had currently, but not always, sometimes having one or more of them fighting out from the Gen Ed classes, or even having another student placed with them.

They were often awoken on the first day before the first Quirk Assessment, but sometimes they wake up earlier, though rarely do they wake up after the assessment. While they had awoken as early as Aizawa’s third year in UA, leaving all of the students forced to grow up from age two with teenage memories, the latest they had ever woken up was after Deku and Bakugo’s first fight.

They almost always were planning their respective roles as students and teachers in UA training to be heroes, quirks, and appearances intact, but every once in a while…

“The Bakusquad have all switched quirks,” Mina called once the rules were listed, “I have Electrification, Denki got Hardening, Katsuki got Acid, Hanta got Explosion and Eijiro got Tape.”

Tenya nodded, “I believe that the Dekusquad is the same, with the exceptions of Tsu and Izuku, seeing as I have zero gravity. Shoto and Ochaco?”

“Endeavor was very mad when my exhaust pipes popped out,” The still split haired boy said with a slight grin, “He was sure I’d be his perfect child with my appearance.”

“How pissed is he going to be when I use Half-Cold Half-Hot during the SPorts festival?” Ochaco asked, letting ice and fire form on her hands, curiously on the opposite sides to Shoto.

“Enough that we’ll want all the pictures,” Izuku chimed in, “I still have One for All, so no need to worry about that. Anyone else switch?”

Turns out that yes, this was a quirk shuffling loop. Shinsou, Kyoka, Ojiro, Momo, Toru, and Sato all kept their quirks the same, but while Koda and Shoji had kept their appearances, the tall boy now possessed Anivoice while the shy boy could transform all his limbs and even spout additional limbs if he wished.

The other switch that made the entire class start laughing however was when Dark Shadow made an appearance, only for the source not to be the blushing emo bird-like they all expected.

No, the shadow appeared from Yuga, the boy still twinkling with mirth as Fumikage mumbled the confirmation that he possessed Navel Laser.

Slowly the entire classroom came back to each other, after all this wasn’t the oddest thing they’ve had to deal with during the loops. No other relevant information surfaced, as the students voiced other minor changes they could remember.

Finally, they turned to Aizawa with a single question on their mind. He decided to draw it out some.

“Seems like I’m dating Tensei this time,” He hummed, “I also have a ring stashed away, but worried it would be weird to propose with Tenya in my class.”

Iida snorted, “Interesting, We’ll talk about how to ask him later. Now answer the question, sensei.”

“What question?”

“Oh come on Sensei,” Denki groaned, “Do you still have erasure?”

“Ah,” He hummed, scratching his cheek in thought, “Nope,”

Before his students could start pestering further, the door swung open and All Might popped in, “I AM HERE!”

“Yagi!” The teens cheered as the hero powered down, his thousand-watt smile not dimming in the slightest.

The skeleton of a man had apparently been looping with them from the start, even though it took them much longer to notice then it probably should have, even if the kind man had forgiven them entirely too easy for leaving him on his own until they all noticed in the twelfth loop. Now he was practically Aizawa’s co-homeroom teacher, encouraging all of the students to call him Toshinori, though they usually stuck to his family name as they did with Aizawa.

Izuku squinted at him, always the first to notice the difference with the older man, “You’re not quirkless.”

Heads snapped up as the blond man let out a full belly laugh, “Nope, it looks like the previous users shuffled quirks around a tiny bit, my boy.”

“Neat,” Aizawa said from behind the current #1. The man yelped, coughing blood slightly making the excited whispers from the students cease as they slowly turned back to where Aizawa still leaned against the podium on the other side of the room.

“Oh shit,” Shinsou mumbled, only to jump as another copy appears behind him, smacking the back of his head lightly.

“Language.”

“Copy,” Iida hummed, jotting it down, “Though it seems to work different then Ectoplasm’s clones. Anything else we should know?”

One copy of the homeroom teacher shrugged, “Hizashi named me Agent Emulation this time.”

The one still leaning on the podium gave a slight smile, “I like Eraserhead better, but oh well.”

“Oh you’ve almost finished,” Toshinori said reading over the list, “This should be an interesting loop.”

“Just need your contribution, Toshi,” The clone next to All Might hummed, “So which of the six or seven quirks do you have on top of One for All?”

Instead of answering, the blond wrapped an arm around the clone and started floating towards the ceiling, earning a startled yelp as the Aizawa wrapped around him in shock.

Midoriya smiled sadly at the display, “Float, Nana’s quirk.”

After so many loops, there wasn’t much the group didn’t know about each other, so no one commented on the late-mentor, as Yagi slowly sank back to the floor with a chuckle as the clone dissipated in his grip with Aizawa pouting at the front of the room.

“Anything else to add?” he grumbled with no real heat.

“Oh!” Yagi said as if remembering, “I’m married in this go around!”

“Ooooh,” Toru cooed, “Who is it? Is it David or Tsukauchi this time?”

Yagi laughed a little uncomfortably, “Actually it’s Atsuhiro Sako, better known as Mr. Compass. It seems neither one of us is aware of the others… activities.”

“WHAT!?”

___________________________________________

So this is just a fun little story I’m gonna have fun with. Each chapter will be a loop or multiple loops exploring similar topics and just being all around fun and slightly cracky.

Feel free to suggest an idea if you have one!

#bnha #boku no academia #aizawa shoto #yagi toshinori #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #iida tenya #todoroki shōto #mina ashido #all of class 1-a #execpt for the grape #time loop #AU

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bidaryl · 4 years ago

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that time i was like hey au where daryl gets sent back to the start of the apocalypse hehe but then i was like fuck! what IF!!!! and got emo thinking about it realistically and started writing it :(

He wakes up when it’s just him and Merle on the road.

He went to bed the night before, so incredibly fucking tired. After everything that had gone down those past few months - Beta being alive; the trek back to Alexandria; answering people’s questions about the future; fuckin’ Negan; Lydia not trusting nobody, including him; whatever shit Carol was going through - he was fucking wiped. Asskicker had managed to convince him to take her outside the walls, asked him to teach her how to hunt, how to track. They’d spent hours out there after first light, him showing her some of the basic stuff; how to tell apart different tracks, how to set quick effective traps, other small things. She told him ‘bout Michonne leaving. Daryl had a few thoughts about that, but Jude already looked like she was one bad feeling away from crying, so he shifted focus and changed the subject. She’d picked up tracking quickly, almost quicker than Beth had. Had turned to him at one point of the day after they’d stopped to have lunch, begging to stay outside for a few more hours. Wanting to practice more. He wasn’t exactly a seasoned pro at saying no to her, he had a bad habit of giving in quickly to most of the kids he knew, but the Whisperer’s group was still at large - Beta and his followers were still out there - and after a few promises and compromises, he’d convinced her to come back inside the gates. Told her he’d let her take the lead the next time they came out, warning her it couldn’t be the next day, reasoning he had things he had to do back home, but promised her they could come back out soon. After they’d walked back inside the walls, he made a small appearance at dinner, checked in with the people on guard duty, then headed to the Grimes’ house. Fell onto his bed without even taking his shoes off and crashed. Next thing he knew, he was waking up to a rough kick to the legs and Merle’s cheery voice.

“Wasting daylight, Darleena, c’mon, chop chop, let’s go!” - he claps his hands - “time to wake the fuck up.” Merle adds another kick for good measure before walking off. Daryl pushes up onto his elbows, looking around and trying to get a grasp of where they are and what time it is, before giving up almost immediately when his brain catches up and realises if Merle’s here, he’s dreaming. Or hallucinating. Either way, this ain’t real. He sits up slowly before thinking - fuck it. Might as well see his brother while he’s around. He makes a move and gets up, grabs his jacket from where it was being used as a makeshift pillow, and heads outside. The area looks vaguely familiar but also like every wood Merle and him have ever camped in, so he continues walking over to where Merle’s standing before sitting down and grabbing the spoon and can his brother left out for him.

“No biters so far, but we should keep movin’, get ahead of the ones travellin’ out from the city,” Merle starts, nods his head to his pile stuff that’s already packed up, and stands, stomping out the small fire he had going. “This spot’s gonna be overrun before we can blink. We gotta move out.” Merle wanders off beyond the tree line, muttering something about taking a piss, yelling a “Hurry up and pack your shit!” over his shoulder before disappearing. Daryl nods to himself, quickly shovels what’s left of the can in his mouth and scans the area to figure out what stuff there’s still left to pack. Thinks to himself that it’s a stupid ass dream he’s having, Merle bossin’ him around and making him clean up. Makes him feel like he’s 4 years old again, doin’ Merle’s chores for him.

By the time Merle walks back over, Daryl’s got the tent and sleeping bag all folded up and put together, his bow leaning against the his bike, bag packed and ready to go.

“We good?” Merle asked, grabbing his own collection of things and walking over, standing next to his own ride.

Daryl does one last sweep before nodding and asks which way they’re going as he mounts his bike.

Merle gives him a look, “The fuck you mean, ‘Which way we goin’?’ done told ya, we been over this five times already.” He shakes his head before climbing his bike, starts the engine and rides out. Daryl shrugs and follows. Dream Merle’s as temperamental as real life Merle. Daryl can roll with that.

They ride for the rest of the day, taking mainly back roads and hidden trails they only know about cause they grew up round these parts, avoiding highways as much as possible, still only making it barely 2 hours from where they first started that morning. Daryl follows while Merle leads, stopping twice to try find some gas. He spends the first hour or so feeling guilty, feeling like actual fucking shit, watching Merle zip around abandoned cars, using signals to direct him, wondering how Merle got so faded in his memory. Turns out theres nothing like having the ghost of his dead brother right in front of him to make him realise how many small details Daryl’s forgot about him, how much his memory’s erased him over time.

He spends the rest of the day taking everything in, getting familiar again. Merle’s about as loud and annoying and chatty and demanding as Daryl remembers. Still a pain in the ass, but Daryl forgot about the way Merle told his stories; not just with words, but with his hands, his face. Forgot about how it was Merle who taught him how to ride. How no matter how good Daryl gets on his bike, how many little tricks he learns, how many rides he fixes; he’s always just gonna be second best to Merle. For a second, he wonders why he’s dreaming about this specific part of his life, but figures this isn’t exactly the first time he’s dreamt of Merle, and it’s probably not gonna be the last. Takes a moment to consider whether or not there’s a reason to be dreaming this vividly - a head injuries or an attack. Think’s to himself - maybe he’s dead and his afterlife is just him and Merle, riding around together on their bikes. Rolls his shoulders and jerks his head, tells himself he’s not fucking dead.

Merle’s up ahead, ranting about some shit Daryl wasn’t there for and hollering at his own punchline. Daryl kinda wants to tell him to shut the fuck up but can’t bring himself to say it. He hasn’t heard Merle’s voice outside of his dreams and hallucinations for almost 9 years. It always shakes him up, how much he misses him. Decides if this is a dream, he ain’t about to complain.

He keeps riding.

He’s on first watch that night when they settle into a spot, Merle asleep in his tent after having a beer and a smoke. Daryl keeps scanning the treeline and surrounding woods, more out of muscle memory than protection, too distracted thinking about the day he’s just had. Merle’s here, alive and well, being one of the most warm and comforting illusions Daryl’s had in years. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, the last time he didn’t have blood covering his hands. Feel’s like a prick for being so dramatic; it’s not like he’s Maggie, Michonne, or hell - the King. Never had to bare those responsibilities the way they’ve had do. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand as he sits, shifts his focus to something else. Tries to think about what he’s gonna say to Lydia tomorrow. He knows Negans talk with her ended with them both in tears, her storming out; know’s she doesn’t trust any of them anymore. Gives up and sighs when he realises he’s got no choice but to accept that he’s got no fucking idea how to reason with a teenager, how to word things so she can understand, especially with her well earned trust issues and abandonment complex.

Him and Merle switch out a few hours later, Merle on watch and Daryl sleeping. Daryl gives Merle a clap on the back as they pass each other, know’s when he wakes up tomorrow it’s just gonna be him in the Grimes’ basement. He has a brief second where he thinks about saying fuck it and giving Merle a hug, but decides against it. Not like they were ever the touchy feely type to begin with.

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s bright as fuck. There’s birds chirping, there’s whistling, some clinking of a fork hitting metal. Merle’s voice carrying. Daryl pats himself down, takes in how he’s in the same clothes he went to sleep in, the same tent, and quickly gathers his bow and his knife and rushes outside the tent.

“The hell?” Merle yells, doing a double take as Daryl stands there, crossbow up and aimed. “The hell’s got your panties in a twist? Jesus, fuck. You dreamin’ about the chupacabra again? Bigfoot? Good Lord.” He bends down and starts rummaging around his bag, “Here, calm the fuck down, eat this,” holding out a bar and passing it over, muttering under his breath “jump out of the tent, gun’s blazing, fuck me, give me a damn near heart attack.”

Daryl slowly lowers his bow and stands there for a few seconds before stepping forward slowly and grabbing the snack, staring at Merle the whole time. He takes a bite or two then throws it back before tightening his grip on his weapon, bending down to grab a bottle for some water then heads for the trees without a word. Merle calls out to him, telling him to catch some rabbit instead of squirrel this time. Daryl doesn’t acknowledge him.

He’s still there when Daryl gets back.

Daryl decides he’s fucking done with this dream. Doesn’t get why his subconscious couldn’t give him a greatest hits reel. Like, yeah, let him remember his time with his brother, but maybe also let him relive some of the early days on the farm or some of the early days in Alexandria. Remember the run that he, Jesus, Tara, and Aaron went on that one time. Maybe remember the first time Judith attempted to say his name. The day he and Dog found each other. Maybe even let him relive some days before the fucking world ended.

It takes less than a minute for the guilt to set in, instantly feeling like a prick. Merle died for him and for his family, and he’s fucking missed his brother. So what if Dream Merle never stops complaining? He fucking wishes life would go back to being this simple, when these were his biggest problems. Wishes Merle could’ve made it this far. Could’ve seen what was to come, what they could’ve built.

When he wakes up the next morning, Merle’s still there. Still chatty, still loud, still wanting food they don’t have. Still got 20 different opinions about things that don’t even matter anymore.

4th morning in and he wakes up to Merle having a smoke and thinks maybe, possibly, something’s going on. Maybe it’s more than just a dream. Feels like he should try and figure his shit out. Weighs the options of it being just a really elaborate dream, or a massive mind fuck hallucination. His mind provides the term ‘time travel’ but Daryl’s not gonna fucking acknowledge that. Wonders if he got a head injury without realising and he’s in a coma. Maybe this is what Rick felt like back when he woke up at the start of all this. He quirks a lip up at the irony.

The 5th day in is when he knows something is definitely fucking going on.

The 5th day is when they run into the Atlanta group. He spots Shane and T-Dog first, then Glenn and Lori. Daryl steps back, tries to think if he’s ever dreamt about Lori or about Shane, while Merle steps forward and does all the talking again. It’s an exact replica of the last time this happened. They all come to the same uneasy agreement to let the brothers stay, Glenn swaying the result in their favour again. Daryl feels sick. Glenn’s talking, saying how it’ll be good to have people that know how to hunt, who know what’s safe to eat from the woods, how useful it’ll be to have more muscle. Daryl feels like he can’t fucking breath. He wants to run up to him, wants to fucking hug him, wants to throw up right there, on the spot. Instead he just stands there, takes in Glenn’s face and the lack of blood or brain matter, the way he looks and sounds so young, and tries to swallow the lump in his throat and breath. Merle starts moving forward and Daryl follows on auto pilot.

They make their way slowly onto the camp, the rest of the group looking as standoffish about the Dixon brothers staying as they did the first time. Daryl lets Merle deal with their shit, grabs his bow and heads out into the woods straight away. He hears Andrea scoff behind him.

Out in the woods, he tells himself he’s gonna take a moment to properly think shit through now, for real this time. Try and figure about what’s happening to him. Ain’t no way this is all just a fucking dream. Sure as shit ain’t no coma, either. Shit’s too fucking real. It’s been 10 years since the world went up in shit and he’s had enough knocks to the head to know his memories of the start are gonna be a little hazy. He tries to pinpoint certain moments but it’s rough, tries to remember the specifics of how things originally went down but knows that while he’s observant, always has been, he was still on the outskirts of the group. Wern’t ever really let in on all the details before their time at the farm and he never really put that much effort into learning earlier. He didn’t bother nobody and nobody bothered him.

The start was so fucking simple.

He guesses he remembers the general gist of some things. He can remembers standing back and letting Merle run the show. Doesn't remember Carol ever holding herself like that. Remembers the way Lori looked at him; like he was no better than the geeks, like it was him who her family was threatened by. Doesn't remember Sophia or Carl ever being that small. Remembers how Shane tried to be the leader, loud and tough. Wants to grab a knife and end Shane now, thinking about the story he spun of what happened to Otis. The night Glenn and him found Randall in the woods, neck broken, two sets of foot prints. He remembers Rick, and how he made being a leader look natural, almost effortless, how people just instinctively knew to trust him, to believe in him. How he had the entire group listening to him within a day of setting foot into camp.

The sound of trees rustling brings him back to the present and he snaps into action. Out in the woods ain’t no place to let down your guard, no matter how safe you think you are. He lets himself get pulled back into the task at hand, spotting something moving out of the corner of his eye and shakes himself off, catching everyone some dinner. Specifically aims to get Carls and Glenns favourites even though he knows their tastebuds don’t really adjust to road life until the farm falls.

It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

Glenn thanks him for dinner that night. Lori makes Carl say thanks, too. Sophia and Amy do it without any prompting. Daryl suddenly can’t stomach this, can’t sit here with his family and look at them, knowing whats to come. He excuses himself and goes to sleep wishing with everything in him that he could wake the fuck up now.

Lays there and chews at his thumbnail, thinks he doesn’t know how much longer he can talk to his ghosts.

Later that night in his tent, while Dale and Andrea keep watch and everyone sleeps, he reaches the conclusion that no matter what option he chooses, they’re all fucking crazy.

He’s not ready to deal with everything if it’s a permanent thing. Not ready for any of this to be real, to spend the next 8 years meeting everyone that’s ever mattered to him again. To look at them and remember how they died. Thinks he also isn’t ready to accept this could just be a dream, that he could wake up any minute now in a world without Glenn, without Carl, no Sophia. Most of his family fading back into his memories and dreams.

So he ignores the voice in his head and decides he’s gonna let it go, falls back into the safety of letting himself believe it’s a dream. Convinces himself he doesn’t wanna make waves if he’s just injured and unconscious and this is his minds way of trying to let himself heal. Even goes as far as to let himself feel pissed off about his minds idea of taking a peaceful trip down memory lane is by taking him to the beginning of the end, when the world went to shit.

If he’s being real with himself though, he has to admit that maybe those first few months of the apocalypse weren’t all that bad for him. It was just him and Merle and the bikes and his crossbow. No money problems, no close calls with the law, no more upperclass or businessmen around to look down on him for being redneck trailer trash.

He’s always felt more at home in the woods than any four walls and roof, knows how to navigate the stars, has been living off the land since before he could write. He was thriving when all this began. Wern’t close enough to anyone outside of Merle, never had anyone to worry about, anyone to lose.

The world turned upside down and he came out on top.

Merle brings up the plan to rob the camp a few nights later. They’re on watch together, Daryl having rigged up the perimeter with some string and cans; so they’re kinda just standing around, staring into the night. He talks under his breath with Daryl just in earshot, saying how they need to figure out the best things to take, then haul ass when they do. Whispers that they’re just gonna take the most useful stuff, how it’s not like these city slickers are gonna make it much further anyway. How they’re doing them a favour. Daryl thinks about Glenn in Alexandria, everything that went down with Nicholas and Noah. Throws his mind back to the prison, when he carried Carol out of the tombs after she survived for days on her own, after everyone had considered her dead. Takes a steadying breath and walks away, throwing a ‘whatever.’ over his shoulder.

They’ve been at the camp for just under two weeks when Merle goes to leave with Glenn and the others for the city. That’s when he starts to open himself up to the time travel option.

Everything up until this stage has been more or less calm. He gets up, he hunts, he takes watch, he sleeps. Rinse and repeat. Nothing strenuous, nothing life changing, just a peaceful two weeks of hanging out with his brother and his family.

He’d been rationalising everything to himself, telling himself that if he’s going through trauma and his mind’s officially breaking after 10 years of tragedies and losses, then this is okay. He’s happy to hang out here, back when things were simple and easy. He’s happy to see Carl and Sophia get homeschooled and run around and be kids. Happy to see Carl and Lori back together. More than happy to see Glenn float around camp and get into everything, learn about cars, hang out with the kids, plan trips to the city. Pretty fucking content to sit back and watch Carol and Sophia walk around together.

But then Merle mentions the city run, and Shane and Lori are having secret meetings outside camp together, and Ed’s going stir crazy, ranting about being stuck in the woods for weeks on end with no rescue mission in sight. Dales on top of the RV everyday, setting his watch, being on guard. And it’s too familiar. It’s fucking suffocating. It’s exactly how it went down the first time. Before he realises it, he’s volunteering himself to go on the run instead.

Merle laughs.

Glenn looks between the two brothers, trying to figure out the best approach. Daryl’s better in the woods, not that Merle’s bad, but Daryl’s got more patience than Merle could dream. He always comes back with more food than the older brother, will spend all day out there to make sure everyone at camp gets a full ration, even takes the time to help dress and skin the animals, showing the girls how to do it properly. Merle’s not as particular, more than happy to stroll back into camp with half the amount and ready to dump it and let the ladies do the work.

“You’re needed here, it’s fine. Merle can come with us.” Glenn reasons, “We’re only gonna be gone a few hours, in and out, no problem. We can handle Merle.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happenin’,” Daryl heads to his tent, grabs his crossbow and his backpack, double checks he has his knives, and heads out towards the truck.

Merle stops laughing the second he sees Daryls face and sees the serious look in his eyes, like Daryl thinks he’s already won the argument.

“Now, now, little brother, what on earth do you want with Atlanta?” he puts a hand on Daryl’s shoulder, holding him in place, “You stay here, keep these people feed, and Ol’ Merle will head into the city, keep these city slickers in line. We’re all good here.”

Merle makes a move to head to the truck, nodding at Glenn that things are settled, before Daryl speaks up again.

“You’re staying here, man. Glenn says the city’s overrun. If he’s gonna take a group for the first time, they need’a be quiet and quick. That ain’t you.” Daryl holds Merles eyes for a moment before moving past him, looking to Glenn and raising his eyebrows. “We good to go?”

Glenn glances between the brothers one last time before nodding at Daryl. “Yeah. We’re good. We gotta go now though, if we wanna be back before dark.”

Daryl nods and looks at Merle one last time before making a move to go stand near the back of the truck, waiting for T-Dog while everyone slowly resumes what they were doing. Merle stays standing in the same spot, looking on in part disbelief and part pissed off. Daryl looks on from the corner of his eye, watching as Merle stalks off to his tent before stomping back out and heading for the trees. The camp seems to let out a sigh of relief in his absence and Daryl feels guilty to leave them with him, especially considering his mood, but then remembers how Merle never returned from this trip the first time.

He tells himself that this is the right move, that Merle can make it this time, he can grow to care for the group the same way Daryl did the first time ‘round. Merle can be a fucking asshole at the best of times, but he knows how to care when you give him a reason. If you’re unlucky enough to have him as an enemy, you better run; but if you’re one of the lucky ones that he considers kin, he’ll have your back for life.

#me posting this for me -4 followers :))))))))))))))))))))))#im never gonna finish this becos my writing is not It but i can try!!!!!!!!!!!!#everything about like s7+ can be read as au becos i havnt seen it so im just connecting dots of gifsets and rants i see #m #text

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ohhelga · 5 years ago

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I was tagged by @alecharrdy to share 9 albums I’ve been listening to lately.

Palo Santo by Years & Years: When am I not listening to y&y is the question? I love y&y a lot and I could listen to Olly’s voice forever. I also listen to their first album, Communion a heck of a lot too.

25 by Adele: I’m a sucker for sad songs and a beautiful voice. What can I say?

Maisie Peters: Now she doesn’t have an album as such yet, she’s relatively new, but she does have a lot of good songs in a playlist that I listen to on spotify. I love the tone of her voice, it just chills me out.

Dermot Kennedy: He doesn't have an album yet either (releasing at the end of september) but, he does have a great back catalogue on spotify. I just love his voice and it’s great to put on in the background when I’m pottering around doing housework or sitting on the laptop.

Infinity on High by Fall Out Boy: Look. Listen. Fob makes me relive my youth honestly. My young teenage self adored fob (who am I kidding I still love them) and when I want to get nostalgic I pop fob on and just jam to my little emo heart is content. (basically any band like that from that era just gets me ie blink 182, my chem, panic! etc)

Divinely Uninspired to a Hellish Extent by Lewis Capaldi: My boy, my man, my fellow Scot. He’s funny and he’s an amazing singer. I just love him okay. (am I biased because I'm also scottish? maybe. do I care? NO)

The Game by Queen: Queen. There is really no need to say any more is there?

The Miracle by Queen: Okay okay, I’ll be straight with you. My mum Adores™ Queen & Freddie Mercury. So, I’ve been listening to Queen since the womb. I grew up listening to so many different albums and how could I not love them. And then Good Omens used Queen for their soundtrack? *chefs kiss* iconic. A lot of them time I stick a Queen playlist on, but sometimes I dive into the albums, just depends on my mood.

When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? by Billie Eilish: I enjoy listening to her music when I’m wanting something a bit different.

I’ll tag @nannycrowley, @coldwaughtered, @crooowleys, @merlinss, @weatheredlaw, @aziraphae and anyone else who wants to join in!

#tag games #music

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goldfishasylum · 5 years ago

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Albums of Fall

I have recently been on a quest to find the music that will match my, for lack of a better term, vibes this fall. I’m not trying to be quirky when I say my music taste is pretty wild (I’ve been obsessed with country lately send help) but all of these albums exude the energy I am trying to match as the weather transitions. So, on the off chance you are looking for some new music, maybe consider some of these.

Lover - Taylor Swift

I know, I know, “Taylor Swift?” but hear me out on this one.

I have listened to this queen since I was about eight years old, so I can’t very easily turn my back on her (nor do I want to). I honestly don’t understand why she receives so much hate. What did she do any different than our other pop idols? I may never know.

This album, though, is far from the pop anthems we are used to. I was hesitant to listen because I was a bit nervous after hearing “Me” and “You Need to Calm Down”, but what a pleasant surprise it was! This new sound of hers matches the exact vibe I would like to keep throughout this fall season.

My Personal Favorites:

Lover (duh)

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

The Man

Identity Crisis - WSTR

I recently found WSTR through some friends and I was not disappointed when I heard their new album. I am always looking for some new teenage-angst, punk related music to scream in the car and I believe I have found my choice for the changing weather.

Everything about this album takes me back to my middle school emo phase that I occasionally attempt to relive. So if you’re into that, here are some song suggestions:

Silly Me

Ashtray

Tell Me more

Anonymous - Blackbear

Blackbear has a way of making me feel like I can relate, even though I’ve never been through anything he writes about. If you don’t know anything about Blackbear, here’s a short summary of his music: being famous sucks, everyone else who is famous sucks, I’m lonely. And sometimes that’s all I want to hear about. It’s reassuring to know that as much as they want you to believe it, these celebrities lives are not perfect.

Favorites:

Hate My Guts

NYLA (this one is pretty old, but he finally put it on an album)

Sick of it All

Was It Even Real? - Olivia O’Brien

Boys, Boys, Boys, Feelings

To make a long story short, she’s on point with any emotion you could feel towards a significant other. Olivia O’Brien sings about her own issues as well, which I appreciate. Not everything is someone else’s fault, and you can’t always control that (ya know?).

I’ve enjoyed her music for a long time, even though this is her first album. I highly recommend putting this just to hear someone explain your own feelings to you (if that makes sense).

I Recommend:

We Lied to Each Other

Care Less More

Okay. I’m not sure if that was too short or too long but that’s really all I have. If you can’t tell, I’m a bit new to this blogging thing. Let me know if you listen to any of these or have any recommendations for me!

#blogs #music #fall #olivia o'brien #taylor swift #blackbear #wstr #autumn #vibes #seasons #punk #pop #blog

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slouchyslouch · 5 years ago

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Taking Back Sunday’s 20th Anniversary Tour

Getting back into the tumblr thing again to find other music writers. Here’s a repost from my Medium account.

The first time I listened to Taking Back Sunday, I was probably around 12 or 13. I was just getting into the so called emo and pop-punk scene. Taking Back Sunday was one of those bands that were easy to get into because there was so much affection in the vocals, you had to yell out the lyrics even when you had headphones on. The show at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver exhibited how old music could still bring together a horde of former (and maybe present) scene kids and unite them in glory.

You could feel a certain excitement in everyone at the venue. My friend and I were grabbing beers only a few minutes before the show was supposed to start. As soon as I saw the now elderly members of Taking Back Sunday get on stage and immediately started playing “You Know How I Do,” I had the most intense urge of just getting into middle of the crowd as soon as possible. The cascading guitars of the song pummelled like a vehicle’s engine getting ready for the long trek. Adam Lazarra started to combust on the stage: “So sick so sick of being tired / and oh so tired of being sick,” a line thematic of my generation’s emo kids. Everybody just wanted to be their own person and not have anyone tell them what to do. My friend and I couldn’t stop giggling about how we were going to see them, and here they are on stage as pumped as they looked 20 long years ago.

Slowly, but surely we made our way towards the mosh pit in time for “Cute Without the E,” a classic by the Long Island band. Adam Lazzara at 37 years old still looks great, a kind of scene Jimmy Page as my friend mentioned at the time of the concert. He doesn’t look like a rockstar that’s dwindled to the fringes of the scene but a man still worthy of the stage. I was aways at awe watching him swing that mic on early youtube clips and here he was as nimble as ever tossing the mic around like a whip easily coiled and ready to lash out. John Nolan looks like a dad now with hair flowing down both sides of his face and a semi-kept beard. He still belted out my favourite echoed vocals, always fighting for space in the song but in reality always complementing Lazzara’s wails.

One of the highlights from the concert was the popular “You’re so Last Summer.” Goosebumps crawled all over my body as soon as Lazarra belted that iconic opening line from the track: “She said don’t!” — the crowd relishing in the song’s luster. High school was such a time of isolation and angst for a lot of these late twenties “kids,” but that doesn’t mean we could relive those times with a sort of nostalgic joy. Everyone gathered for this celebration of music can look back into those times of yearning. It’s always nice to look at ourselves now and realize how much we’ve grown and matured.

After they finished playing the album “Tell All Your Friends,” Lazzara had one of the members of the Maine come out to flip a coin whether to play the albums Louder Now or Where You Want To Be. I wanted them to play the former but the latter got picked to the delight of the crowd. It seemed like the younger generation of Taking Back Sunday fans (probably people my age) would have gone for Louder Now because of the song “MakeDamnSure” but I didn’t mind it. It was one of the bigger highlights of the concert by a mile and probably had given me the biggest nostalgia hit. That was one of the first songs I played live with my first band in the Philippines. Those were the makings of musicians following their own path today. At the Commodore Ballroom that night though, bodies flung against one another in the hopes of feeling each other’s sweat and passion, bits of saliva trickling out of everyone’s mouths shouting out the words of a disgruntled poet about a bad relationship: “I just want to break you down so badly,” a line possibly misinterpreted as putting words into action but is actually meant to convey the deeper sadness of having oneself being put down by a loved one. There’s a willingness to hurt the other person but there is a love that holds it back.

Towards the second half of the album, everything slowed down. Most of the crowd stopped moshing and just kept to their miniature head-banging. It was only during the 3rd part of their set where they played “This Photograph is Proof” and “A Decade Under the Influence” where the crowd gained a third jolt of energy to start another mosh and singing along to the teenage anthems of their childhood for the last hurrah. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” a catchy lyric repeated through Nolan’s angst on the track has been ringing through my head for a few days now. The lyric captures a moment of lingering anxiety before a predicted breakup. The opposite could be said about the whole night.

At the end of the show, I was left with feeling a sense of elation, a sort of transcendence within the present world. There aren’t a lot of bands that can do that. Maybe it was the nostalgia hitting me hard, or maybe it was just my communion with the audience. There’s a sense of intimate unity you achieve when moshing with other people who know the lyrics. It’s a shared dance we’ve savoured in our teenage years, a time when everything was easier even if at the time, it felt like the whole world was against us.

I found out about Taking Back Sunday through one of my good friends from my childhood. He showed me the song “Timberwolves at New Jersey” during our preteens, a time for some of us when we started to consider rebelling against our parents. That intro guitar riff with Lazzara singing, “Get up, get up, come on, come on let’s go!” always got me out of my seat and made me want to start moshing. I long for the days when I was just getting into that emo scene and wanting to be a punk rocker so bad. Most of the people my age at the show could probably say the same, and for that one night we collectively embraced that culture not with a mutinous furor but with a devotion to the music.

#taking back sunday #music review #music #emo #pop punk #live review

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rubbersoles19 · 6 years ago

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the more i’m reliving my dtmg love, i’m more and more convinced that billy starved to death.

more angsty headcanons about his career below:

billy didn’t have any family in his life after he was discovered on “america is good at things” when he was six. before that his parent/s were “pageant parents,” grooming him to be their perfect star, and when that happened, he lost touch with them completely. he doesn’t miss them or wonder about them, but he did used to get christmas cards and a gift for his birthday every year, a month or so late. eventually that stopped too and he never bothered checking up on it.

his parents put him through singing classes (most genres), dancing classes (including jazz, tap, and ballet), guitar/piano/any instrument they could name classes, and acting classes. he barely had time for school and didn’t have time for friends, so performing became his entire life. they also began crafted their pretty introverted, soft-hearted child into an egomaniac.

after winning, Billy was voted as the newest judge on the show, and though it ate up from his performing time, he loved the attention and learned how to “generate buzz” about himself to keep himself hot and famous (”Ponzi’s Got Talent”). his persona as “Billy Joe Cobra” solidified. he was judge for several seasons, and his team grew and developed, allowing him more freedom to keep writing and performing besides just judging. his career began to come together

however, when billy hit his “awkward” teenage phase (ie puberty), his managers HATED it and hated him. they pulled him from the limelight and stuffed him in the studio until he “got over it.” they also began to strictly control his diet and exercise routine, making sure he didn’t gain weight and stayed their “long, lanky boy” forever. this lasted for most of his pre/early teenage years, and programmed his body to reject most real foods besides protein shakes and diet pills. they also used public humiliation to keep him under their thumb, including shaming him for needing his wardrobes adjusted, putting scales in most every room in the house, revoking TV and internet privileges (which was the only way he was still connecting with his fans and the outside world), and emptying his home of food. they also began to more closely control his public image without his consent

this phase finally ended when he was released out to perform again, and passed out on stage due to stress/dehydration/malnutrition. they tried to change their methods (only after publicly playing it off as publicity move on Billy’s part), but the damage was too severe, and he continued to struggle with rebuilding body mass and muscle, even as he got taller and taller. this is a huge factor in his death (whether he starved to death or couldn’t handle other complications properly) and is why his ghost is constantly eating.

during recovery, he found an interest in martial arts, and it became his physical outlet besides dancing. the meditation he learned and personal values helped him emotionally work out of his angst and anger, and he still meditates quite often (”Billy’s Achilles”)

while being locked up, he began to experiment more with his own wardrobe and style, and embraced crazy outfits and makeup, which he was all too eager to reveal to the world

he definitely went through his emo phase at this point, but little record exists of it. underneath the angst and anger, billy was terrified of his career ending before it had really begun, which his managers threatened him with if he didn’t play along

during this exile he wrote “Death Adder,” an album fueled by teen angst and body dysphoria, and was immediately pulled from shelves/online sites when his managers found out about it. this rebellion is where he began to lose writing privileges, forced to record pre-written songs or only record songs his publicists allowed. Billy regrets the album, and is glad it isn’t in the public eye; he doesn’t want his fans to see that side of him or adopt the mentality inside the songs onto themselves. but he also refuses to listen to it again bc the trauma associated with it is too real

this means that when he was allowed back in the real world, billy deeply, passionately, and genuinely adored his fans. they were the only people in his life giving him real praise and adoration, no matter what his weight was or his fashion trends of the time were. once he really began to pour himself into the cobraheads, his career picked up and he worked out of his previous angst. the period after the exile was the highest point he had personally felt his career had reached, and he devoted himself to his new image his managers had made for him, since it seemed to bring the fans joy. this is when he released “Loving You is Easy,” and his career sky-rocketed.

#dtmg #dude thats my ghost #billy joe cobra

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weshallneverrevolt · 6 years ago

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Trauma! at the Disco: “This is Gospel” and the Ghosts of Mental Illness

Like many people my age, I have a soft spot for mid-00s rock music. Being a teenage music listener in that time was very exciting; MySpace was thriving, and it opened up previously obscure genres. Before then, I doubt most people my age had never heard emo, or horrorcore, or post-hardcore. But by the time 2005 hit, we were all awash in black clothing and crunchy guitar riffs and lyrics about dying.

We loved this music for its emotional rawness, despite its clumsiness. If you listen to, say, Hawthorne Heights in 2018, lyrics like “cut my wrists and black my eyes” are cringey enough to be physically painful. But for a teenager of the time – even one not actually self-harming – there was nothing more cathartic than these over-the-top one liners.

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Still, the emotional truth was there, underneath layers of embarrassment. We can still feel it today, as one of those bands – Panic! at the Disco – is still capable of writing an emotional powerhouse of a song. That song in question is called “This is Gospel,” and for disaffected millennials it may be more cathartic than ever.

Note: this essay addresses psychological trauma, alcoholism, and substance abuse. Read with care if those things may upset you or hamper your path to recovery.

As we’ve all grown up, very few bands from the emo era have had real staying power. The ones that do embrace a theatrical edge that stretches beyond their genre. For instance, My Chemical Romance took teenage angst and made it into a Queen-esque rock opera called The Black Parade, and Skrillex parlayed his role in From First to Last into the equally angry, frenetic dubstep phenomenon.

This makes Panic! At the Disco especially interesting. Even on release of their debut, A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out, these guys were obviously something different. There was no screaming. The music was tinged with drum machines and accordions. Singer Brendon Urie’s voice was bright, clear, and almost operatic. The lyrics were literary – freshman year “I just read Fight Club” literary, sure, but still literary. Yet underneath these new elements beat the same teenage energy, where casual hookups were epic romances and someone not answering your text was the ultimate betrayal.

Though all of the original band members except Urie have since left, Panic! are still putting out albums in 2018. Their newest, Pray for the Wicked, sounds almost nothing like their debut. Given the band’s tumultuous history and shifting lineup, such a shakeup in their sound is understandable. Most of their original fans are probably as lukewarm on their current catalog as I am, but they’ve found their lane and stuck to it.

One element of the original sound, however, still persists: Brendon Urie can sing his ass off.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in the piano version of “This is Gospel,” from their 2013 album Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die. The album version has the bombastic, electronic arena rock sound other bands from their era have (unfortunately) gravitated to; it’s rather generic, and the over-the-top production and poor mastering drown out Brendon’s voice.

But the band also released a gorgeous, stripped-down piano version, and it’s that version that really matters.

I mentioned earlier that Panic! has a bit of a tumultuous history. They started making music in their late teens, and when “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” launched their careers, they were too young to handle the fame. That had the most pronounced effect on drummer Spencer Smith, who eventually left the band due to his persistent drug and alcohol problems. Being a rock star is hard, but being a rock star at 19 sounds awful.

Per his own annotations on Genius, Brendan Urie wrote “This is Gospel” about Spencer’s addiction. It’s obvious from the lyrics, which are equal parts rage and a desperate plea. He leads off with this biblical verse:

This is gospel, for the fallen ones

Locked away in permanent slumber

Assembling their philosophies

From pieces of broken memories

From there, the song builds to a soaring chorus with the refrain of “if you love me, let me go.” Brendon’s voice is at once powerful and delicate, and his lyrics – comparing words to knives, expressing a “fear of falling apart” – convey a suffering but authentic friendship. Brendon’s anger is not at Spencer, but instead at Spencer’s addiction, a disease and all the awful things that caused it to fester.

Backing up to the opening verse, that biblical theme runs throughout the song. For Brendon, his friend’s addiction feels religious. It doesn’t always make sense, and his friend doesn’t always believe in it, but it still shapes his life. If you grow up religious, you can renounce it when you’re older…but the memories still persist.

Addiction and trauma can go hand-in-hand, but even separately they are almost mirror images. As an addict might drink til blackout night after night, a traumatized person relives their troubled past by acting out, or self-harming, or self-loathing. It’s a cycle you get trapped in, and most of it is tied to something that, far in the past, really messed you up. It becomes a set of rules you live by. A gospel.

There is a concept in psychology called the "repetition compulsion." It's the idea that most human behavior is driven by a need to relive past experiences, even if those past experiences were harmful. It's why people can repeatedly date terrible partners, why addicts can relapse, and why parents who abuse their kids were often abused themselves. Often, these people know what they're doing is wrong. They know they are hurting themselves and others. They fully understand that they should not do these things.

And yet, there is a powerful, emotional tug binding them to their trauma, one they may never overcome. It’s a past assembled “from pieces of broken memories.”

In this way, trauma is scripture, both functionally and figuratively. Like the Bible or Qur'an, it's a way of dealing with huge questions. Why am I here? Why do people do bad things? Why does my heart hurt so much? Trauma provides the earliest and most convenient answers, with the unfortunate caveat that those answers usually hurt you.

Brendon Urie was raised in the Mormon church, and left when he was 17. As a pansexual, slim suit-wearing singer in a rock band, he's pretty far from his LDS roots. Perhaps this is why his performance here - and his lyrics - are so heartfelt. Coming to terms with your trauma often feels like renouncing a religion, complete with all the burned bridges, strained family relationships, and sense of being eternally lost.

The aching truth of surviving trauma is that it follows you forever. It gives you rules for how you think, how you maintain relationships, how you view yourself. Because of those rules, you think it gives you stability. Sometimes that stability feels like love, in the same way that a good partner makes you feel safe. It's precious predictability. But if your trauma truly loved you, then - as Brendon sings - it would let you go. Admitting that is both important and unimaginably painful.

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Another of my favorite vocalists, Frank Ocean, has a similarly beautiful ballad called "Bad Religion." In it, he croons "if it brings me to my knees, it's a bad religion." Trauma is a bad religion, and worse than any of the others we create, it is often one we cannot choose. Leaving it behind feels like betraying an old friend. It’s a "fear of falling apart."

If trauma is the holy book of our lives, we can only move forward by burning it. Build a pyre with your trauma and stoke the flames until the heat frightens you. Let it all burn to the ground. Use the ashes as war paint, and maybe listen to Brendon’s advice:

Don't try to sleep through the end of the world

And bury me alive

Cause I won’t give up without a fight

#panic at the disco #brendon urie #this is gospel #too weird to live too rare to die #music #emo #2000s #2000s music #criticism #mental health #addiction #trauma #mental illness #my chemical romance #frank ocean #spencer smith #essay #why is it good #tw self harm

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