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istumpysk · 2 years

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Samwell II (Chapter 15)

Sam soon found himself clutching tightly to the gunwale and watching the sweep of the oars. The way they all moved together was somehow beautiful to behold, and better than looking at the water. Looking at the water only made him think of drowning. When he was small his lord father had tried to teach him how to swim by throwing him into the pond beneath Horn Hill. The water had gotten in his nose and in his mouth and in his lungs, and he coughed and wheezed for hours after Ser Hyle pulled him out. After that he never dared go in any deeper than his waist.

There's a familiar name!

Getting another look at Hyle Hunt from another person's perspective seems intentional.

+.+.+

"Looking for mermaids, Slayer?" asked Dareon when he saw Sam staring off across the bay. Fair-haired and hazel-eyed, the handsome young singer out of Eastwatch looked more like some dark prince than a black brother.

Funny that you say that. . .

Notice Samwell has never called Jon handsome? Because he's not! Stop trying to make handsome Jon happen.

+.+.+

Sam did not know what he was looking for, or what he was doing on this boat. Going to the Citadel to forge a chain and be a maester, to be of better service to the Watch, he told himself, but the thought just made him weary. He did not want to be a maester, with a heavy chain wrapped around his neck, cold against his skin. He did not want to leave his brothers, the only friends he'd ever had. And he certainly did not want to face the father who had sent him to the Wall to die.

It was different for the others. For them, the voyage would have a happy ending. Gilly would be safe at Horn Hill, with all the width of Westeros between her and the horrors she had known in the haunted forest. As a serving maid in his father's castle, she would be warm and well fed, a small part of a great world she could never have dreamed of as Craster's wife. She would watch her son grow up big and strong, and become a huntsman or a stablehand or a smith. If the boy showed any aptitude for arms, some knight might even take him as a squire.

+.+.+

Maester Aemon was going to a better place as well. It was pleasant to think of him spending whatever time remained him bathed by the warm breezes of Oldtown, conversing with his fellow maesters and sharing his wisdom with acolytes and novices. He had earned his rest, a hundred times over.

+.+.+

Even Dareon would be happier. He had always claimed to be innocent of the rape that sent him to the Wall, insisting that he belonged at some lord's court, singing for his supper. Now he would have that chance. Jon had named him a recruiter, to take the place of a man named Yoren, who had vanished and was presumed dead. His task would be to travel the Seven Kingdoms, singing of the valor of the Night's Watch, and from time to time returning to the Wall with new recruits.

(Lol, love that we're getting a reminder that Dareon probably shouldn't have been sent to the Wall.)

+.+.+

The voyage would be long and rough, no one could deny that, but for the others at least there would be a happy end. That was Sam's solace. I am going for them, he told himself, for the Night's Watch, and for the happy ending.

+.+.+

He tried to bolster Gilly's courage and give her what cheer he could, but that proved hard. She would not come up on deck, no matter what he said, and seemed to prefer to huddle in the dark with her son. The babe liked the ship no more than his mother did, it seemed. When he was not squalling, he was retching up his mother's milk.

Psst, Sam.

"Dalla's boy. He cries when he wants the teat. Mine . . . mine hardly ever cries. Sometimes he gurgles, but . . ." Her eyes filled with tears. - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

"I was not born blind," he reminded them. "When last I passed this way, I saw every rock and tree and whitecap, and watched the grey gulls flying in our wake. I was five-and-thirty and had been a maester of the chain for sixteen years. Egg wanted me to help him rule, but I knew my place was here.

It's not every Aemons place though.

+.+.+

He sent me north aboard the Golden Dragon, and insisted that his friend Ser Duncan see me safe to Eastwatch.

Ser Duncan in the north! This trip happened long after he was kissing slender brown-haired girls, yes? I apologize, I don't know my history.

Then there came a brown-haired girl slender as a spear who stood on the tips of her toes to kiss the lips of a young knight as tall as Hodor. - Bran III, ADWD

+.+.+

No recruit had arrived at the Wall with so much pomp since Nymeria sent the Watch six kings in golden fetters.

Wow, something other than ships. I'm speechless.

+.+.+

Egg emptied out the dungeons too, so I would not need to say my vows alone. My honor guard, he called them. One was no less a man than Brynden Rivers. Later he was chosen lord commander."

"Bloodraven?" said Dareon. "I know a song about him. 'A Thousand Eyes, and One,' it's called. But I thought he lived a hundred years ago."

Welcome to the story, Evil Mentor #3.

How would a singer know to name the song that?

"I have been many things, Bran. Now I am as you see me, and now you will understand why I could not come to you … except in dreams. I have watched you for a long time, watched you with a thousand eyes and one. I saw your birth, and that of your lord father before you. I saw your first step, heard your first word, was part of your first dream. I was watching when you fell. And now you are come to me at last, Brandon Stark, though the hour is late." - Bran II, ADWD

Also, can't help being reminded of something.

They passed under the arches of a carved stone bridge, decorated with half a hundred kinds of fish and crabs and squids. A second bridge appeared ahead, this one carved in lacy leafy vines, and beyond that a third, gazing down on them from a thousand painted eyes. - Arya I, AFFC

Figuring out whether it's Bran or Bloodraven spying is going to drive me mad. It's more fun to pretend it's always Bran.

+.+.+

Even so, it was a better voyage than the last one Sam had taken. He had been no more than ten when he set sail on Lord Redwyne's galleas, the Arbor Queen.

[...]

Lord Redwyne's twin sons had despised Sam on first sight. Every morn they found some fresh way to shame him in the practice yard. On the third day Horas Redwyne made him squeal like a pig when he begged for quarter. On the fifth his brother Hobber clad a kitchen girl in his own armor and let her beat Sam with a wooden sword until he began to cry. When she revealed herself, all the squires and pages and stableboys howled with laughter.

Sam and Sansa deserve to make fun of Horror and Slobber together.

+.+.+

It was not until they were back at Horn Hill that his mother told Sam that his father had never meant for him to return. "Horas was to come with us in your place, whilst you remained on the Arbor as Lord Paxter's page and cupbearer. If you had pleased him, you would have been betrothed to his daughter." Sam could still recall the soft touch of his mother's hand as she washed the tears off his face with a bit of lace, dampened with her spit. "My poor Sam," she murmured. "My poor poor Sam."

The Brienne is loud in this story.

+.+.+

It will be good to see her again, he thought, as he clung to Blackbird's rail and watched waves breaking on the stony shore. If she saw me in my blacks, it might even make her proud. "I am a man now, Mother," I could tell her, "a steward, and a man of the Night's Watch. My brothers call me Sam the Slayer sometimes." He would see his brother Dickon too, and his sisters. "See," I could tell them, "see, I was good for something after all."

Hey, you know what I noticed? Samwell keeps saying Dickon's at Horn Hill when he's not. 🤔

His own mother was a thousand leagues south, safe with his sisters and his little brother Dickon in the keep at Horn Hill. - Samwell I, ASOS

+.+.+

Or so he thought, until Blackbird left the land behind and struck east across the bay for the shores of Skagos.

The island sat at the mouth of the Bay of Seals, massive and mountainous, a stark and forbidding land peopled by savages. They lived in caves and grim mountain fastnesses, Sam had read, and rode great shaggy unicorns to war.

Sounds like Rickon will fit right in!

+.+.+

Skagos meant "stone" in the Old Tongue. The Skagosi named themselves the stoneborn, but their fellow northmen called them Skaggs and liked them little.

lmfao.

+.+.+

Only a hundred years ago Skagos had risen in rebellion. Their revolt had taken years to quell and claimed the life of the Lord of Winterfell and hundreds of his sworn swords. Some songs said the Skaggs were cannibals; supposedly their warriors ate the hearts and livers of the men they slew. In ancient days, the Skagosi had sailed to the nearby isle of Skane, seized its women, slaughtered its men, and ate them on a pebbled beach in a feast that lasted for a fortnight. Skane remained unpeopled to this day.

This is only world building, right?

Imagine Rickon recruiting the Skagosi in the fight for Winterhell, hahaha.

+.+.+

"If the captain is good, we won't come that close. The currents are treacherous around Skagos, and there are rocks that can crack a ship's hull like an egg. But don't you mention that to Gilly. She's scared enough."

"Her and that squalling whelp of hers. I don't know which of them is noisier. The only time he ever stops crying is when she shoves a nipple in his mouth, and then she starts to sob."

Psst, Sam.

"Dalla's boy. He cries when he wants the teat. Mine . . . mine hardly ever cries. Sometimes he gurgles, but . . ." Her eyes filled with tears. - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

The next day the rains began, and the seas grew rougher. "We had best go below, where it's dry," Sam said to Aemon, but the old maester only smiled, and said, "The rain feels good against my face, Sam. It feels like tears. Let me stay awhile longer, I pray you. It has been a long time since last I wept."

Cold rain will not give you pneumonia, but this is still stupid.

+.+.+

She rose at once, and together they got the old maester out of his wet clothes and buried him beneath a pile of furs. His skin was damp and cold, though, clammy to the touch. "You get in with him," Sam told Gilly. "Hold him. Warm him with your body. We have to warm him up." She did that too, never saying a word, all the while still sniffling. "Where's Dareon?" asked Sam. "We'd all be warmer if we were together. He needs to be here too." He was headed back up top to find the singer when the deck rose up beneath him, then fell away beneath his feet. Gilly wailed, Sam slammed down hard and lost his legs, and the babe woke screaming.

The next roll of the ship came as he was struggling back to his feet. It threw Gilly into his arms, and the wildling girl clung to him so fiercely that Sam could hardly breathe. "Don't you be frightened," he told her. "This is just an adventure. One day you'll tell your son this tale." That only made her dig her nails into his arm. She shuddered, her whole body shaking with the violence of her sobs. Whatever I say just makes her worse. He held her tightly, uncomfortably aware of her breasts pressing up against him. As frightened as he was, somehow that was enough to make him stiff. She'll feel it, he thought, ashamed, but if she did, she gave no sign, only clung to him the harder.

Samwell and Victarion competing for most inappropriate erection in AFFC.

I'm not spoiling it, you'll have to wait.

+.+.+

The captain broached a cask of firewine to fortify the oarsmen. Sam tried a cup and sighed as hot snakes wriggled down his throat and through his chest. Dareon took a liking to the drink as well, and was seldom sober thereafter.

Drinky, drinky.

+.+.+

As Blackbird rounded the south coast of Skagos, they spotted the wreckage of a galley on the rocks. Some of her crew had washed up on the shore, and the rooks and crabs had gathered to pay them homage. "Too bloody close," grumbled Old Tattersalt when he saw.

We'll hear about this galley again.

Jon feared for Sam and Maester Aemon. Cotter Pyke had written from Eastwatch to report that the Storm Crow had sighted the wreckage of a galley along the coast of Skagos. Whether the broken ship was Blackbird, one of Stannis Baratheon's sellsails, or some passing trader, the crew of the Storm Crow had not been able to discern. - Jon V, ADWD

I think it belongs to Salladhor Saan? I'm not sure. Seems like it might be important though.

The galleys Oledo and Old Mother's Son had been driven onto the rocks of Skagos, the isle of unicorns and cannibals where even the Blind Bastard had feared to land; the great cog Saathos Saan had foundered off the Grey Cliffs. "Stannis will be paying for them," Salladhor Saan had fumed. - Davos I, ADWD

+.+.+

Exhausted as they were, his rowers bent to their oars again, and the ship clawed south toward the narrow sea, till Skagos dwindled to no more than a few dark shapes in the sky that might have been thunderheads, or the tops of tall black mountains, or both. After that, they had eight days and seven nights of clear, smooth sailing.

Then came more storms, worse than before.

Was it three storms, or only one, broken up by lulls? Sam never knew, though he tried desperately to care.

It's three, but one is worse than the other two.

+.+.+

Gilly was sobbing. The babe was shrieking. And up top he could hear Old Tattersalt bellowing at his crew, the ragged captain who never spoke at all.

Psst, Sam.

"Dalla's boy. He cries when he wants the teat. Mine . . . mine hardly ever cries. Sometimes he gurgles, but . . ." Her eyes filled with tears. - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

Sam was at his wit's end by then. He had almost gotten used to the smells, but between the storms and Gilly's sobbing he had not slept for days. "Isn't there something you can give her?" he asked Maester Aemon very softly, when he saw that the old man was awake. "Some herb or potion, so she won't be so afraid?"

"It is not fear you hear," the old man told him. "That is the sound of grief, and there is no potion for that. Let her tears run their course, Sam. You cannot stem the flow."

How can one man be so smart, and so stupid at the same time?

+.+.+

"Sam," the old man whispered, "you have two good eyes, and yet you do not see. She is a mother grieving for her child."

I guarantee there's some theory out there that Aemon and Syrio Forel are the same person.

+.+.+

It took Sam a moment to grasp what Aemon was suggesting. "That couldn't . . . she wouldn't . . . of course he's hers. Gilly would never have left the Wall without her son. She loves him."

"She nursed them both and loved them both," said Aemon, "but not alike. No mother loves all her children the same, not even the Mother Above. Gilly did not leave the child willingly, I am certain. What threats the Lord Commander made, what promises, I can only guess . . . but threats and promises there surely were."

"No. No, that's wrong. Jon would never . . ."

"Jon would never. Lord Snow did. Sometimes there is no happy choice, Sam, only one less grievous than the others."

Yeah, and thank you for giving us Lord Snow, grandpa.

+.+.+

No happy choice. Sam thought of all the trials that he and Gilly suffered, Craster's Keep and the death of the Old Bear, snow and ice and freezing winds, days and days and days of walking, the wights at Whitetree, Coldhands and the tree of ravens, the Wall, the Wall, the Wall, the Black Gate beneath the earth. What had it all been for? No happy choices and no happy endings.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to howl and sob and shake and curl up in a little ball and whimper. He switched the babes, he told himself. He switched the babes to protect the little prince, to keep him away from Lady Melisandre's fires, away from her red god. If she burns Gilly's boy, who will care? No one but Gilly. He was only Craster's whelp, an abomination born of incest, not the son of the King-beyond-the-Wall. He's no good for a hostage, no good for a sacrifice, no good for anything, he doesn't even have a name.

I love how incensed he is.

Samwell communicating to the reader that Melisandre might burn Gilly's son has to be a good thing, right? Would George reveal the swap, then immediately tell you what's going to happen? I don't think so. It all has to be a cover-up for Shireen, yes? Sacrificing a baby and a child is so unnecessary.

+.+.+

The wind was in the sails, and to the north Sam could even see a scattering of stars, and the red wanderer the free folk called the Thief. That ought to be my star, Sam thought miserably. I helped to make Jon Lord Commander, and I brought him Gilly and the babe. There are no happy endings.

There are happy endings!

Today I learned the Thief is mostly likely Mars, or the ASoIaF equivalent. I have nothing else to say.

+.+.+

"No." Sam wiped his nose, and pointed south with a fat finger, toward the gathering darkness. "There," he said. No sooner had he spoken than lightning flashed, sudden and silent and blinding bright. The distant clouds glowed for half a heartbeat, mountains heaped on mountains, purple and red and yellow, taller than the world. "The worst isn't done. The worst is just beginning, and there are no happy endings."

"Gods be good," said Dareon, laughing. "Slayer, you are such a craven."

I love that he points at lightning right before saying that.

(and right before someone calls him craven.)

Final thoughts:

Please give me a Samwell x Gilly happy ending. Please?

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #samwell ii

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twiceblackvelvet · 4 years

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Eclipse

Request; Could I request for LOONA kim lip with prompt "were you singing my song?", fluff? Thank you! ^^

A/N; i lost this request somewhere. tumblr hates me here. i took this on a little bit of a different route than the usual because well, it wouldn’t be me if i didn’t try to be different lol. anyway! enjoy anon. sorry for the wait.

Warm air traps you in place sitting idly, headphones placed in your ears, and a glass of water filled to the brim with ice placed beside your leg. The window slightly ajar to allow the very little breeze on offer to hit your skin, a small offering of mercy from the rays beaming down from above. Your shadow being illuminated by the deadly sun being your only companion other than the herds of people walking around the city below you. All of which likely suffering from the heatwave far worse.

It’s calm, peaceful, albeit for the beads of sweat threatening to pour down your forehead at any given moment. The soft melody playing from your phone up to your headphones is particularly catchy, though, you’re not sure if you’ve heard it or not before now. Whoever is singing has a delightful tone that makes the hairs on your arm stand to attention. It’s beautiful you think. You quickly tap the little heart on the screen to make sure you don’t lose it amongst the playlist.

Eclipse.

It somehow becomes the song for you in the weeks following. Every time you listen to it your ears take note to different parts of the song that you hadn’t picked up on previously. Be it the instrumental, the adlibs, or just the voice. Anyone else would have been driven to insanity after having listened to it as often as you have, and yet, you catch yourself more often than not using the repeat feature.

Part of you doesn’t wish to learn more about the person behind the angelic voice, after all, sometimes that can lead to disappointment if it turns out they’re a beautiful singer but an awful person. Yet, the girl displayed on the screen has you more than intrigued if truth be told. You soon learn that she isn’t a solo artist as you had assumed but rather part of a group with eleven other people. After consuming all of their music in one afternoon, it becomes clear to you that whilst all of their music is to your liking, her own song stands out the most to you.

It’s like the shuffle option on your phone just knows when to hit you with those atmospheric synths, sitting on a train headed towards work. It’s a quiet day, people simply seated and minding their own business which is a relief. Your headphones placed firmly inside your ears, the lack of noise surrounding you is a huge upgrade from the usual commotion you’ve grown used to dealing with. Your hand resting atop your lap gently taps along to the beat as you zone out briefly until the train comes to a halt.

Lack of people around is not a privilege you’re offered once you’re out of the station as the streets are lined with people scurrying along, likely doing the same as you. You instinctively turn the volume up to an almost deafening level before striding onward.

Draining. That’s the only way to describe your day. Everything that could go wrong, managed to, and everything that could go right evaded you like the plague. The walk home made even more excruciating by the fact that your headphones have decided to give up on you. Every step feels like it’s going to be your last if you aren’t in the comfort and safety of your own home soon.

Without even realizing it, you slowly begin to hum a tune as you walk, your brain’s way of offering you something to focus on other than the dark streets ahead. The lyrics soon begin to jumble out of your mouth too, not in the correct order, key or rhythm they’re supposed to, but you do your best to sound quietly decent. It’s relaxing and makes you feel a little bit more at ease.

Well, it would, if it weren’t for some very loud steps from behind you beginning to grow closer and closer to you. Your first instinct is to swing around extremely fast and hopefully knock whoever this strange person is flying far enough away from you to be able to at least get a head start on them. However, they’re a lot quicker than you imagined and instead their body collides with your own and the two of you end up laying in a heap in the middle of the sidewalk together.

You’ve seen this happen plenty of times on television or in films, yet what they don’t show you or explain is just how painful it is to hit the ground with force and have a whole other body on top of your own. A visit to the chiropractor will definitely be happening in the foreseeable.

“I’m so sorry, oh my god! Are you okay?” The words hit your ears like a sharp sting, either that or this collision has truly broken your spine. “Please say something.”

Your eyes readjust to look up at the owner of the body still uncomfortably pressed against your own. A hood is pulled up over their head but you can see some brown flowing hair poking out of the side of it. Dark eyes that are wide and alarmed, likely because you still haven’t said a word or that it’s only just become aware to them that they’re pressing down onto you.

“Sorry, again,” the stranger apologizes once more as she finally stands up and offers a hand for you to grab. “Come on, you can’t lay there and be silent, either speak or get up at least.” A chuckle follows her words and you’re convinced it’s the softest thing you’ve ever heard.

Latching onto her hand, you finally stand on your own two feet once more. Her grip almost crushes the bones in your own, but she relinquishes it as soon as she sees that you’re okay.

“Do you usually run into people at full force?” You ask, annoyed tone obvious and aiming right for her.

“N-no.” The stranger stutters. “I just got a little bit excited when I heard you singing, can you do it again?”

Great, you think, not only has she managed to damage your entire frame but now she’s after your sanity too having overheard your out of tune singing, if you can call it that.

“No? I wasn’t singing for you. It’s scary out here, there are random people who will run right into you after all.”

Almost in slow motion, or maybe it’s just the trance-like state she’s put you into, the woman removes the hood covering the majority of her head. Those brown locks of hair end up sliding down her back gracefully and her features become clearer without the darkness of the material blocking them. She looks, familiar. Though you’re certain the two of you have never met before.

“Please, just like a few seconds of it and then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.” Her begging right before you bizarrely makes your heart swell inside your chest. Never did you imagine that this was the encounter you’d be receiving when you first heard the impending footsteps behind you.

“Why?”

She clears her throat and looks around awkwardly as if there are people around to overhear your conversation. There isn’t.

“I think it was my song you were singing.” Though the words exit her mouth at a normal rate, time seems to slow down between you both the more she continues. That and you’re ready for the world to swallow you whole, spit you back out, and then swallow you again. Because, yes, that familiarity you felt stems from the fact that this is Kim Lip stood right before you. “It sounded really pretty, please.”

All of the air in your lungs couldn’t force the song out of your throat even if you wanted to accept her request. But you definitely don’t. Frankly, you’re embarrassed enough and you can’t imagine how she must be feeling about it all. It’s best for both of you if you simply walk away now and forget this ever happened. Which is what you attempt to do. However, her hand latches onto your coat and pulls you back into place in front of her.

“Come on, I’ll sing it with you.” She stares deep into your eyes. Genuine in her approach, you can’t help but give in to her request.

Despite having heard the song several times and just singing it merely seconds ago, hearing Kim Lip right before you softly let out the lyrics herself, you stumble over a few of the words which earn you a bright smile from her. Your own embarrassment being the only coherent thought in your mind other than just how perfect she sounds and that anyone would believe you’re listening to the version from your phone and not a real person before you.

She suddenly grasps your hand, presumably to be encouraging, however, your nerves get the better of you and suddenly you can feel it shaking against her own skin. She doesn’t let go, simply holds it a little tighter.

“You’re a good singer.” She stops mid-song to not just tell you but almost convince you. Her features show that she can sense you aren’t confident in this moment but she’s imploring you to try or at least one day believe it. “Thank you so much for singing with me.”

Her hand finally let’s go of your own and she places the hood back over her head, her face darkening in the process to where all you can properly see are her sparkling eyes that you’re sure look as if they’re on the verge of tears, though, you’re unsure why.

“Are you okay?” You decide to ask her.

She heaves a deep sigh and looks away from you briefly before answering.

“I’m fine, I’ve just never heard someone else sing my song yet.” The corners of her lips curve up into a brief smile before she continues. “Thank you, I should probably head back but please keep singing. I might see you around someday.”

Before you even attempt to thank her yourself, she’s darting off just as fast as she collided with you into the night. When you began your day, never did you imagine such a thing would happen, nor are you certain it actually has, however, a quick nip to your arm proves you are awake and not in a state of sleep to dream this whole thing up.

The Kim Lip heard you sing her song, and liked it?

It’s a small world after all.

#loona #kim lip #kpop #girl group scenarios #loona kim lip #kim jungeun #kpop scenarios #girl group imagines #kpop imagines #loona scenarios #loona imagines #kim lip x reader #fluff

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haberdashing · 4 years

Text

Biting Your Own Neck (4/?)

Mid-season 2, Jon’s life is abruptly upended by the intrusion of two unexpected and eerily familiar visitors.

on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

“You want to talk about trust, about sharing things with each other?” Jon stood up from his seat--Sasha’s seat, a place he never should have had to occupy, a place he never would have occupied if it weren’t for the intruders in their midst--and looked right at Not-Jon (and Not-Martin, by proxy, since the two were standing side by side, nearly touching now). “Fine. You go first. Why are you here?”

“We’re from-” Not-Jon began, but Jon cut him off.

“The future, or a dimension that’s essentially the future? Yes, I got that much already, thank you. Why did you come here from there?”

“We didn’t mean to.” Not-Martin said.

“Martin!”

Jon looked over at Martin when he heard his own voice call Martin’s name; Martin, for his part, was looking right back at him with an expression that seemed somewhere between surprised and terrified, but it was Not-Martin that spoke up.

“Look, Jon, I’m not going to just- just lie to them about what happened-”

“I didn’t say that, did I? I just meant-”

Even before he looked over, Jon could feel Tim and Martin’s gazes darting between him and the actual speakers, Not-Jon and Not-Martin, who apparently also used the names Jon and Martin for one another as well as having the same voices that the actual Jon and Martin did...

“Can we start by having you two pick different names? We’re-” Jon waved his arm in a sweeping gesture to indicate that he was including Martin in particular. “-already using Jon and Martin at the moment, as it happens.”

“I’m not going to stop calling him-” Not-Jon gestured towards Not-Martin, and Jon noted with a sinking stomach that the gesture was eerily similar to the one he himself had just made. “-Martin. That’s his name.”

“Fine, then, you two can call each other whatever, but we need something for the rest of us to call you, unless you want me to just keep thinking of you as Not-Me and Not-Martin for as long as you’re here.”

Not-Jon and Not-Martin both paled visibly at the words; Jon wondered, idly, what their own experiences with Not-Sasha were, if they really were from the future, presumably one where she hadn’t been so suddenly unmasked by another duo of imposters. Probably not terribly pleasant, judging from the grimaces on both their faces.

Not-Jon nodded once. “Fair enough. Perhaps just a variation of your name that you don’t normally use would work--Sims, perhaps, or Jonathan...”

Jon shook his head. “No. Those are still my name, and you’re still not getting any part of my identity out of this.”

Not-Martin let out a soft sigh and a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Did you have something in mind, then? I mean, it is your plan and all...”

“Er...”

Jon had not in fact had anything in particular in mind, had only a nebulous idea of what he didn’t want these doppelgangers going by, but as he thought about it, an idea came to mind.

“You want a version of my name that badly? You can be Jonny. Nobody’s called me that for some time now, so there should be no chance of confusion.”

Not-Jon--no, Jonny let out a rough laugh. “Fine by me, though don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing there. But if you insist, I will be Jonny D’Ville,” Jonny leaned forward in an exaggerated bow. “Your humble captain.”

Jon could feel his face heating up, which only intensified as he heard Tim call out “First mate!” from his seat nearby.

Jon was only able to stammer out a soft “That works” before Tim spoke up again, this time looking Jon’s way as he spoke.

“Hang on, since when do you know about the Mechanisms? Don’t tell me you only get won over by my musical tastes in the future-”

Jonny replied with a quick “No” before Jon could bring himself to do the same.

“So what’s the story, then? You said you weren’t into them!”

Jon let out a sigh before responding. “Technically, what I said was I wasn’t in the habit of listening to their CDs.”

“Close enough. Did you just change your mind, or what?”

Jon looked away from Tim, only to see Jonny was gazing his way as well.

“You might as well tell him.” Jonny was grinning and looked a bit like he was trying to stifle a laugh.

“Tell me what?”

He wasn’t getting out of this one, now, was he?

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes briefly. “I’m pretty sure most musicians aren’t in the habit of listening to CDs of their own work, Tim.”

“You’re... you’re saying you were in the Mechanisms.” Tim’s gaze darted between Jon and Jonny. “You’re saying you’re Jonny fucking D’Ville?”

“...yes.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Prove it, then.”

Jon did his best to mimic the gesture as he looked back at Tim. “Why would I lie about this?”

“I mean, either you were lying then or you’re lying now, so...”

“It wasn’t technically...” Jon let his speech trail off as he realized that fighting over the point was probably detrimental to the whole trust thing Jonny was trying to encourage in them. (Had he predicted this happening, or even somehow orchestrated the whole thing?)

“Alright. Alright, I’ll prove it.”

And then Jon began to chant. It was the first thing that came to mind that would serve as proper proof, not just something that would show his vocal talents but something that even most fans of the band wouldn’t have bothered to memorize...

“Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH-”

Jon was pretty sure he heard somebody quietly laughing in the background, though he couldn’t recognize the laugh by sound alone and didn’t want to look around, didn’t want to see all the strange expressions that must be on everybody’s faces just to know who the culprit was.

“-OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO-”

Jon did, however, glance over at Jonny briefly, only to see that not only was he not the one laughing, he was either mouthing or singing along to the chant. (It was hard to say which, especially when Jon knew well enough that Jonny’s voice would sound the same as his own, so he couldn’t just listen for a different voice joining in.)

Jon went on for another line or two of chanting before trailing off, looking over at a dumbfounded Tim with a half-suppressed grin on his face.

“Is that proof enough for you?”

There was silence for a moment before Martin spoke up. “...what kind of band is this, exactly?”

Jon looked over at Jonny, though he couldn’t say exactly why, but Jonny just shook his head. “Think you can handle this one on your own.”

“It’s a, a band of immortal space pirates that all live on the same spaceship, Jonny D’Ville being the lead singer and, and also the first mate, they tell stories based on folklore and mythology but all adapted for a science fiction setting...”

“God, you’re talented.”

Jon glanced at Not-Martin first before finding the actual source of the words in Martin, whose face was rapidly reddening as he added, “Well, I mean, I, I knew that already of course, but... Musically. I didn’t know you were so musically talented.”

Jon let out a harsh laugh. “If you think I’m talented, you should meet Morgan. He played four different instruments for the band--four! All I can do is sing and work the harmonica a bit.”

“Still...”

“Why didn’t you just tell me about all this when it came out before?” Tim interrupted. “You knew I liked the band, after all, so why not just take the credit?”

“I, uh.” Jon could feel his face heating up again. “It, it was shortly after I got promoted, and I just, I didn’t think-”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t think being part of an awesome band of space pirates fit the image you were going for as ‘Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London’, is that it?”

Jon wasn’t sure what to focus on--the truth of Tim’s accusation and how petty and simple those worries about his professional image seemed now, how eerily accurate Tim’s impression of how Jon started every statement tape was, how he could hear his own voice softly laughing as Jonny quietly cracked up...

Jon settled for resting his face in his own hands such that he could avoid looking at anyone.

“So we’ve got my name settled, then.” Jonny said, the voice enough to get Jon to look up again. “But what about Martin--my Martin, I mean?”

Was there something weirdly possessive in the way Jonny said my Martin, like they were a unit, two halves of a whole, or was Jon imagining it?

“Er.”

“Um.”

The two Martins stared at least other for a long moment, neither one rushing to give a response, and Jon couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of it. If their story was a lie, if this other Martin was just an imitation of the real thing, Jon had to admit that it was an awfully good imitation.

“Kay?”

It took Jon a moment to recognize that Not-Martin hadn’t just abbreviated the word “okay” there, was in fact proposing Kay as a name for himself. Kay as in the letter, presumably, as in the middle initial in Martin K. Blackwood that Jon still didn’t know the full version of, even though he’d done rather a lot of research into his coworkers in the last few months...

Martin hesitated for a moment before tersely nodding. “Yeah, Kay, that works for me if it works for you.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if it didn’t work for me, would I?”

“...fair point.”

“Sounds like we’ve got that settled then. I’m Jonny, and he’s Kay, at least as far as you lot are concerned.”

“Who are you calling ‘you lot’?” Tim asked. “And why don’t I get a freaky supernatural future double like you two do, anyway?”

Jonny and Kay exchanged a glance before the latter spoke up.

“...I think we’d better save that particular story for a bit later on.”

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

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bella4rosy · 4 years

Text

Record Player

Description: In which Steve Rogers discovers that his neighbor shares his taste for big band/swing music, and she plays him some records of her own. Mildly inspired by the french movie Blind Date. Set between Winter Soldier and Civil War.

((Contains: Domestic Steve Rogers. Old movie references. The Rat Pack. Bucky taught Steve how to foxtrot. Tony Stark making old man jokes. Tony Stark and Natasha playing matchmaker.))

The first time he heard the music, he thought he was having a stroke. He spent at least five minutes scrambling around his apartment trying to figure out how he was hearing a big band even though his record player was off. He was one more minute away from calling Tony, thinking he was under some kind of attack, before he realized it was coming from a different apartment.

He wasn’t sure if this revelation confused him more than the mysterious source of the music itself. Not a lot of people listened to the stuff from his time, this he knew. Playing those songs or requesting one or two of them at Tony’s galas had often earned him a mocking joke or two from his teammates. “Old man” or “grandpa” were the most popular, albeit uncreative, nicknames.

But here he was, hearing one of his favorite albums being played by someone else loud and clear.

It was coming from behind the bathroom wall. The building had been laid out so that the bathrooms of most units were back to back, meaning tenants shared a bathroom wall. His neighbor had never made much noise before, and he was rarely reminded that there was another person with their own life and routines occurring on the other side of that thin plaster. Until now.

He racked his brain trying to figure out if his neighbor was someone he’d met before. Maybe in passing in the stairwell, or in the laundry room? Was this a man or a woman? Were they a real neighbor at all? He remembered bitterly the time his neighbor in the last apartment building had turned out to be a Shield agent. Maybe Tony or Sam were playing a joke on him? He briefly considered calling the scientist again. Regardless, whoever this neighbor was, they were familiar with the old soldier’s music taste.

It was seven in the morning. Tony probably wouldn’t be awake yet, if he’d even gone to bed at all. Steve made coffee and started some housekeeping he’d put off during a mission.

The neighbor let the whole album play before the music ended. They didn’t replay it afterwards.

The second time he heard the music there was singing with it. That’s how he found out his neighbor was definitely a woman. A lovely mezzo-soprano voice lilted through layers of orchestra and running water.

Steve, upon the discovery that (1) his neighbor was female, (2) she could sing beautifully, and (3) she was currently singing in the shower, had the decency to blush like a gentleman. He sat like that on his couch, legs propped up, book in hand, face red as a tomato for six minutes until his gaze could refocus on the printed words in front of him.

She sang through the whole album, a different yet familiar one this time, continuing after the shower stopped running. When the album was over, there was a brief pause until he heard the door down the hallway open and shut. She was leaving her apartment.

It was eight in the evening.

He looked up from his book towards his own front door. It was at that moment that a seconds-long daydream, like something from a Gene Kelly film, played out in Steve’s head. A daydream in which he hopped off his couch with an appropriate degree of urgency, book discarded. He would open his door to see the flash of her hair disappearing down the stairs. He would call after her and ask for her name. He would stop at the top of the stairs and lay eyes on her for the first time, and she would be beautiful, probably dolled up to go out with her own friends. She would look up at him with a dazzling smile and say--

Steve shook himself. His heart was pounding in his chest. The heat returned to his cheeks. What a silly thought.

The third time, he had started it. He hadn’t been aware she was in her apartment or he wouldn’t have played it so loud. He had spent the day cleaning the apartment and listening to some records of his own. He was up to his elbows in bleach, scrubbing his bathtub when the current album finished in the other room. He wasn’t in a hurry to switch discs.

It was maybe two minutes before he heard her voice on the other side of the wall. It was distant, like she wasn’t in her bathroom, but rather, deeper in her apartment. She was singing the words to the last song he’d played, unaccompanied. The rhythm was perfect, and she imitated the vocal tone of the time period in a way he didn’t know was possible. When she came across a line or two that she didn’t know, the lyrics faded into light humming.

Steve realized he had stopped scrubbing to listen better.

He wondered briefly if she knew how to dance to this kind of music. Evidently, it was something she had an interest in; surely she could have the musicality to dance. Then his thoughts were bombarded by the revolutionary notion that if she couldn’t, he would love to show her how.

Before the serum, Steve had trouble finding partners to go to dances with. Bucky, of course, had been kind enough to teach him a couple dances anyways, for practice. It wasn’t until after the serum that Steve had been confident enough to actually invite a girl or two onto the floor for a foxtrot. And by the time he went into the ice he wasn’t half bad at it.

Peggy would have been impressed with it, he thought bittersweetly.

It had taken him a long time to make peace with the dance he missed with Peggy, but he realized by now that it wouldn’t be fair to deny himself the chance to dance again. Or fall in love again, for that matter.

Steve’s thoughts came to a halt.

He had stopped scrubbing a while ago. The singing had stopped too, although he couldn’t place when.

As confusing as these thoughts and feelings were, when he took up the scrub brush again, Steve wished with unmatched desperation that she would sing some more.

The fourth time, she was playing an artist he did not recognize at all. The big band style and the songs were the same as the ones the two neighbors had listened to before, but he couldn’t place the singer. This troubled Steve greatly.

It was practically routine by now. She would play music and sing at seven in the morning, presumably while she got ready for work; and every once in a while, she would do the same in the evening while she got ready for bed or maybe to go out with friends. If Steve was home to hear either, and he usually was, he spent the time in a trance, listening attentively while drawing, reading a book, or drinking his coffee.

The songs however were typically ones he’d heard before, so this new voice was decidedly not part of the routine. After the fourth or fifth track, the curiosity ate the supersoldier alive, and he picked up his cell phone.

“Cap-sicle. Are you calling me from your rotary phone? How long did it take you to dial this number?” Tony Stark was relentless.

“Shut up, I have an important question for you.”

“Is it something you could Google? We’ve shown you Google,” Tony rambled. “Pepper, haven’t we shown Cap Google?” He could hear Tony yelling, aside.

The phone couldn’t pick up Pepper’s response. There was the sound of a toolbox falling followed by explitory grunts.

Steve padded closer to the bathroom door, and continued, “Do you know who this is?”

He held the phone out, microphone first in the hopes that it would pick up the music through the wall.

It was Pepper who answered, “Oh, that’s Harry Connick Jr. We hosted him at a fundraiser once, I think. He’s wonderful”

“He’s alive?” Steve asked curiously. He didn’t know people alive today still made music like this.

Steve was scribbling the name into his notebook when the neighbor started to sing again.

“Oh my god, Cap, is that a girl? Pepper, that’s a girl!”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat at Tony’s question. He pressed the phone back to his ear and ran as far from the bathroom as he could. Yes, it was a girl. Steve wanted to say, But not one I’ve met.

Pepper’s voice floated through the phone, “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“I don’t,” Steve said before hanging up.

After the fourth time, Tony teased Steve about the music as often as he got the chance. They would be gearing up for a mission, and Tony would ask if Steve needed to play a pump up song and then suggest some sappy track title by The Rat Pack. Natasha caught on the fastest, as did Clint shortly after that. As far as Steve could tell, though, the others on the team didn’t quite know a girl was involved. Tony had enough respect not to let that cat out of the bag yet. But it was only a matter of time.

The mockery and chuckles would die down as soon as they got on-site for their missions, and by then Steve would be pushing any thoughts of thin walls, showers, and record players far from his mind. For the sake of his survival, of course. He couldn’t imagine what would happen in his line of work if he was caught daydreaming.

It wasn’t until he was on his way back to headquarters that Steve let his mind wander to thoughts of his neighbor’s voice or her showering habits. (Bucky would have elbowed him if he’d heard that thought, either proudly or disapprovingly, depending on the day.)

It hadn’t taken long for Steve to realize that he looked forward to coming home to the music a little too much; but it was taking longer for him to acknowledge that coming home and hearing her was so relieving to him because it meant they were both safe and sound again.

That wasn’t a bad thing to look forward to, right?

The fifth time Steve heard the music, Natasha and Tony heard it too. The minute it started, Steve knew he was done for.

The two avengers had come over to his place, he wasn’t sure what for specifically; maybe they had just been bored since their respective partners were preoccupied with work and thought bothering Steve would be a good use of their time. They were standing in Steve’s living room bickering about some bet Tony had made with Clint the previous weekend, when an enthusiastic, syncopated band intro played audibly from behind The Wall. Natasha and Tony’s words died on their lips as they slowly turned their gazes towards the bathroom doorway. Then, as the lyrics began, they turned their heads perfectly in sync with each other to look at Steve, who (until now) had been turning the pages of a newspaper mindlessly while they argued.

It was too late to duck behind the pages. Natasha’s critical gaze had already caught the pink undertones overcoming the supersoldier’s cheeks. As embarrassed as Steve was, he was fighting hard to keep a smile off his face at the sound of the voice.

Tony pointed a hand at the offending Wall, and said, “She’s your neighbor?”

“Is this what you do now?” Natasha asked Steve. “You don’t go on dates, because you have a crush on the record player from the apartment next door?”

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say she sounded offended.

“You’re dating your neighbor?” Tony asked again, his hand still pointing.

“We’re not dating,” clarified Steve. “I’ve never even talked to her.” He hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

Now Tony and Natasha looked even more shocked.

“You’re joking?” Tony yelled.

Steve winced. He hoped his neighbor hadn’t heard that.

Tony started marching towards the front door. Steve leapt off the couch to stop him before he did something Steve would never recover from.

What ensued in Steve Rogers’ apartment in the next few minutes could only be described as a superhero, sibling-style brawl. The object of the game was simple. Tony and Nat did everything they could to get out the front door to meet the mysterious jazz singer, embarrassing Steve in the process. And Steve did everything he could to stop them. Everything.

He and Tony exchanged kicks and punches. There were some illegal bites and scratches on Romanoff’s part. Headlock, armlock, leglock. Steve tried it all. The coffee table got smashed to bits under Steve’s weight when Nat thought it would be smart to flip him over her shoulder. He was just pulling himself back on his feet when he heard the unmistakable sound of Tony’s Iron Man suit repulsor. Then silence.

Sure enough, his arm was outstretched, the Iron Man gauntlet encasing his left hand. Steve’s gaze followed the direction of the blast from his position on the floor.

There was a hole in Steve’s wall. His bathroom wall. Which also meant Tony Stark had just put a hole in his neighbor’s wall.

Steve’s eyes rolled, and he let his head fall back onto the floor with a thunk. At least the shower isn’t running this time.

Nat was stepping over debris from the living room fight to the bathroom to peer through the hole, her boots on the floor making the only sound in the two units. The hole was about the size of a teacup saucer and was smouldering at the edges. She straightened up and looked at the boys.

“Well, you better go apologize, Steve,” the redhead exclaimed, not without smugness.

“Yeah, Steve, that doesn’t look good,” Tony said, delighted.

Steve, jabbed the back of Tony’s knee with his elbow. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but it was enough to make Tony stumble and scowl.

Steve wasn’t too quick to get back on his feet. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his face felt hot. These nerves reminded him of when he’d asked girls out before the serum, when he’d been nervous because he knew they’d say no. After the serum, it was easier, because he knew they would say yes. Now he was nervous because he didn’t know what his neighbor would say at all. He’d just put a hole through her bathroom wall!

Tony was already in the hallway, gauntlets retracted and concealed. Steve approached the door, as Tony lifted his hand to knock. Steve looked over his shoulder at Natasha who was leaning nonchalantly against his own door frame.

The door in front of him swung open.

“Hi,” Tony began, charmingly, “Sorry to bother you, but my friend here has been enamored with your music tastes, and hasn’t had the guts to talk to you.”

Steve tried to ignore the fact that Tony had just used the word “enamored”, and that the word “taste” made Steve’s eyes drop to the woman’s lips.

“Sounded like there was a fight,” she said, almost teasingly. Almost.

“Anyways, I put the hole in your wall, which I can pay for by the way. But it’s all his fault.” Tony gestured plainly to Steve.

There was quietness in the air as the two neighbors laid eyes on each other for the first time.

The woman’s body language came across as confident but curious. She’d opened the door ready to argue with whoever had done that to her wall, common love for music aside. The fact that it turned out to be Tony Stark hadn’t made her irritation vanish. She did look like she wanted to know more, though. Her arms were at her sides, and her lips were slightly parted, ready to make another teasing quip.

The woman’s hair was the color of chocolate and dripping water onto the shoulders of her shirt. She had flushed cheeks which were dotted with freckles. Her eyes made Steve��s heartbeat stutter a little bit. They were dark and framed by naturally thick lashes, but they danced the line between being green and blue. He wondered to himself if they ever changed color and decided in that moment that he would love to find out. She was average height and build for a woman in her twenties, which he surmised she was.

She observed that Steve’s blond hair was slightly mussed from the roughhousing, and there was sawdust stuck to the back and shoulders of his shirt from the shattered coffee table. His hand was rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly, and his complexion was having a hard time hiding his shame. Sure, she’d seen Steve Rogers’ pictures in the news before, but none of the pictures did him justice. He was gorgeous. Despite his nervous body language, he exuded fortitude and strength, and she decided she wouldn’t mind if this neighbor of hers did a little bit of fighting on her behalf sometime. She hoped her breath hadn’t caught too audibly when her eyes met his ocean blue ones. He had the kind of eyes that could give away any emotion she asked them to.

Steve and the neighbor broke out of their trace when the door down the hall clicked shut. Tony and Natasha were gone, they’d disappeared into Rogers’ apartment. Neither neighbor had even noticed.

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “He will fix the hole from the repulsor blast,” he assured her. She gave him a funny look at his vocabulary.

“I’m Steve.” He offered his hand to her like a gentleman.

“I’m Rita.” They shook hands. “Can he fix the record player too?” she asked.

Steve grimaced, and muttered an inaudible “oh no”.

She left the doorway and came back a minute later with the record player. It was completely mangled from the energy blast, vinyl Harry Connick Jr. album practically fused to it.

“It was within the line of fire, I guess.”

“It’s a good thing I have one you can borrow,” Steve quipped, respectfully.

Rita chuckled, and they both looked shyly at their feet. “Won’t you miss it?” she asked.

His gaze snapped to her face. “I like what I hear from your side better anyways.” The words spilled out before he could stop them, but once they were spoken, he decided he liked her reaction far too much to ever take them back.

The record player almost slipped out of her hands completely. While she fumbled, he caught it from the bottom with one hand easily. She tried not to notice the way her heart leapt from fleeting fright or the way his arm flexed under the machine.

“Can I take you out for dinner sometime?” he asked earnestly.

“To say sorry?” She baited, meeting his eyes.

“The first time, yes. I would use the dates after that to say other things, if you would have me.”

“Yes.”

They smiled at each other, as she hefted the defeated record player back into her own arms.

Just then Tony yelled from Steve’s unit, “Did you do it? Did you ask her?”, followed by a muffled grunt that was undoubtedly from Natasha hitting him on the stomach.

“Yeah,” Rita and Steve yelled back together.

“Atta boy,” Nat called proudly through the hole.

Tony really was going to fix that.

#Captain america #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha romanoff #fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #vinyl #records #neighbors au #blind date #the rat pack #gene kelly reference #marvel #writing #steve rogers x oc #mine

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ultravioletmeouch · 5 years

Text

Under the cut (and kinda above it) is Nightingale, the original short story which was the inspiration for my show Dream Detective (and the pilot of the show!)

This was written back in 2016 and my writing has evolved so much but I still love this!

---

He takes a drag of his cigarette and pushes his body against the door as he jiggles the doorknob with a sweaty hand.

Detective Everett Malone swears under his breath as he slams his body against the door. Only then does it open.

Filing cabinets line the walls of his office, and the whirring ceiling fan disturbs the loose papers littering his desk. He’s really regretting not cleaning them up before he left. The Detective makes his way to the chair that faces away from the window, which sits slightly ajar.

He flicks on the radio. It’s Miss Otis Regrets, a sombre tune accompanied by the lovely voice of Ella Fitzgerald. Not upbeat enough to distract him from his work, but not so upsetting that he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his mind all day.

When she woke up and found

That her dream of love was gone, madam…

One last drag of his cigarette as he shuffles the loose papers on his desk around, and stubs out the cigarette in an ashtray when he finds the sheet he’s looking for.

It was a different murder than the kind he was used to; his work usually led him to the slums where he found that one guy, down on his luck, had murdered somebody that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This one was a welcome change of pace.

…She ran to the man who had led her so far astray.

And from under her velvet gown,

She drew a gun and shot her love down, madam.

Malone rests his head in his hands as he stares blankly at the paper. Words blur into a single dark entity that he can’t make out.

When the mob came and got her

And dragged her from the jail, madam,

They strung her upon the old willow across the way.

He blinks and rubs his weary eyes. It’s this overly warm weather, he swears, and now’s not the time to be falling asleep. This case was given to him with the knowledge that he was one of the best detectives in this city – he couldn’t let his client down.

And the moment before she died,

She lifted up her lovely head and cried, madam…

But Detective Everett Malone has never been one to slack off in the past, and nobody could possibly blame him. Just this once, because the heat had this effect on people, and surely everybody else would be feeling the same way… Just this once…

…Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today.

‘Detective Malone.’ His eyes blink open. Standing over him is a woman with dark hair down to her shoulder blades. A sequined deep blue evening gown compliments the eyes that are staring into his soul. She looks familiar, but he doesn’t remember why. ‘Good, you’re awake.’

‘Did I fall asleep?’ Malone looks around. Circular tables accompanied by chairs yet lacking the presence of human life surround a stage, empty with the exception of a single microphone and piano. This isn’t his office. He’s been here before.

The woman – he presumes she’s the singer – nods, with a glint of a smile lighting her face. ‘But it’s okay. Come backstage, I have a room. You can rest there if need be.’ Malone stands from his table and follows the singer.

‘Your name’s slipped my mind,’ he says. ‘What did you say it was?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Do you mind telling me?’

‘In time.’

He doesn’t quite know what happens next, but when he comes back into consciousness he’s sitting on a sofa and the singer is pouring him a drink. Did he tell her what he likes? He doesn’t think so. Malone doesn’t know what she’s pouring into the glass and doesn’t question it; the liquor – whatever it is – looks good enough. She pours herself a glass.

‘I have a case to solve,’ he murmurs. ‘I can’t stay here.’

‘Have a drink,’ she replies. ‘It’ll help.’ He takes a sip, but there’s nothing there. ‘Tell me about this case.’

‘It’s a murder,’ Malone explains. He examines the glass carefully, but there’s definitely no liquid in there. ‘It took place in this very nightclub last night. You must know something, Miss…’

‘My memory of the night must be fuzzy. I’d like to hear it from your perspective, Detective.’

‘One of the patrons was killed while enjoying a drink. I believe it would have been during your show.’ He looks to where the singer was sitting beside him, but she’s no longer there. Now she’s sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. Malone puts his glass down and keeps an eye on the singer. ‘An autopsy hasn’t been carried out yet, but I’m sure it was poison. I thought it might’ve been the waiter, but his story checks out.’

The singer stands. ‘Something like that couldn’t happen, not here.’ Malone blinks, and now she’s standing by the door. ‘The crowd is waiting for me. You can rest here if you want, but I would like if you watched me perform.’

‘Nobody’s out there.’

A smile tugs at her lips again. ‘Look closer.’

Once she’s gone, Malone lays down on the couch and closes his eyes.

‘Hey, watch it!’ The scolding voice of a man is what awakens him to the cool breeze of a summer night. People are filing into the nightclub, trying to get around him. He follows the other people, but is stopped once inside.

‘Do you have a reservation?’

No. ‘Yes.’

‘Right this way.’

He’s sitting at a table now, and he’s the only person in the club, besides a pianist and a woman standing at the microphone. She has dark hair down to her shoulder blades. A sequined deep blue evening gown compliments the eyes that are looking out onto the non-existent crowd. He’s seen her before, but he can’t remember her name.

She sings a familiar tune that he’s heard before, maybe yesterday, maybe years ago. The singer looks at him and flashes a brief smile. He looks down, and a glass of red wine sits before him. Malone doesn’t enjoy wine, but he picks it up with the stem of the glass resting between his fingers and swirls it around anyway.

It smells fruity, and reminds him of a time when he picked berries with his mother a long, long time ago. Was that an experience he’d had? Malone doesn’t know.

There’s a hint of something else in there, but he’s not sure what. Perhaps a wine connoisseur would know.

He stares at the glass, and the wine inside. There’s a reason he’s doing this, but he doesn’t know why. Malone feels the singer’s eyes on him again, and the smile burns through to his skull. He’s urged to take a sip of the wine, and does so. His eyes return to the singer, and she’s watching him now. She’s no longer singing. Just watching. The piano keeps playing, but the pianist is looking at him too. This isn’t strange.

But his vision is fading, and he’s choking, but he can still breathe. This is normal. They’re still watching. The singer hums a tune, and he recognises it now.

Death is no dream…

…For in death I’m caressing you.

She’s singing that song again as she brushes her dark hair and it falls over the sequined blue dress that matches her uncaring eyes. He knows her name; it’s on the tip of his tongue, but slightly out of reach.

‘What do I tell the waiter?’ Malone asks her. These aren’t his words, but he’s speaking them anyway.

‘Tell him that it’s from another one of the patrons, on the house.’ She puts the brush onto the table and faces him. ‘Are you nervous, Detective? We’ve been planning this for weeks.’ Was she talking to him? He’s not a detective. He doesn’t know what he is.

‘No. This is fine.’

She gives him a bright smile, and a kiss on the forehead. ‘Good. We’ve been working together for so long, I couldn’t have you backing down now.’

He gazes into her eyes for a moment longer before making his way onstage. Malone sits down at the piano, but he doesn’t know how to play. He looks out onto the crowd, and only one person sits there. It’s him.

Malone looks himself in the eyes, and there’s no emotion there.

The singer – her surname, it begins with N, he’s certain – comes onto stage and his fingers begin caressing the ivory. He doesn’t know how to play, but it doesn’t matter.

All through the winter you just hang around,

Now you’re going back home.

This is slower than usual, but he keeps her pace. A bird, a blackbird – no, the blackbird is part of the song, but he knows it’s a bird.

Malone looks back at himself, sitting in the empty crowd. It’s just himself, himself, and the singer. Something N-something, a bird.

He looks back and it’s sitting on top of his piano. Brown. A blue chest. It’s singing along, but he can’t remember its name.

She’s stopped singing now, and it’s just the bird whistling away as he continues playing the piano. Malone looks over to himself again, and himself in the crowd is choking. He needs to know what’s going on before he dies. The other he. The he playing the piano is fine, he’ll keep playing and looking at this bird with the beautiful song.

Looking at the singer with the beautiful song. She’s sitting on the piano now. The bird is gone. Was there ever a bird? The Malone in the empty crowd is motionless now, his head down on the table.

The singer smiles at him. The living Malone smiles back.

They’re not his words, but he speaks them anyway.

‘I love you, my dear Nightingale.’

He awakes with a start in his office. The fan is still whirring around and around, and the paper beneath him has stuck to his face with sweat as the adhesive.

Detective Everett Malone remembers her now, the singer at the nightclub where the murder happened. Ruby Nightingale. He hadn’t questioned the possibility of her involvement, and he was wrong to overlook it.

It’s only a hunch that spawned from a dream, but he has to follow it. The client hired him knowing that he’s one of the best detectives in the city, and he has live up to that reputation.

Malone unsticks the paper from his face and heads to the door. He slams his body against it, because he knows this is the only way to get it open. He doesn’t turn the radio off, and Josephine Baker’s Bye Bye Blackbird fills the empty office.

#tez writes #didn't reformat b/c heck

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tuwam · 6 years

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🛁 ( reverse diotaen )

random acts prompts!dio x taen. @rosaeau

this house is not a home to you, but you decided to go ahead and lay down, lay down.

perhaps, she likes the pain. not perhaps, of course. of course she likes things like this. vigorous scrubbing and too hot water on her skin. of course she does. of course taen likes to strip away all the things that make her too soft, too alike what everyone tries to see her as.

dio knows better.

knows better than to deny her as well. so when she’s texting him that she’s outside the club. so late that he’s actually finished closing down. banging so loud she might actually wake everyone up. everyone included the town that’s still trying to pretend they weren’t up and drinking the night away. everyone including the woman asleep in his bed, worries presumed gone after a night with him. worries that’ll be back in the morning he’s sure. but he doesn’t pay attention to her, makes sure to cover her, tug her under just a little more so she won’t hear the commotion that’s about to bleed in.

because taen brings all of it with her. doesn’t know how to silence it really. and dio’s not sure he should tell her how. even so, there must be a reason she keeps showing up.

he’s not tired, but he does drag his steps across the wooden floor. the apartment above the club is more of an attic. furnished, tasteful but wood nonetheless. so everything taen does starts to vibrate through, makes his skin bounce and ring. he’s tired, spent from one person usually, and still he can call on some kind of energy to deal with taen. to answer her.

when he does open the back door. when he finally gets downstairs, she’s laughing as she falls into him. laughing, smelling of her latest endeavor. conquest as she’d call it. she smells and still she laughs. dio doesn’t even pay attention to it, can’t really. the bar’s clean enough that it smells less of sweat and alcohol. but he smells of sex and cigarettes. the smell never really comes out. it’s why when taen clings to him - claws at him really, she smells it and sticks to it.

she likes to smother herself he notices.

she’s caught in it. thrashes in the web thinking she’s the spider. but he holds on as they walk up, as her laughs get louder and the strings wrap around her. they wrap, they cling, they dance.

sick parts of both of them find enjoyment in this. the deeper parts of her that can’t find what’s sick in all this. or rather, the parts that know and acknowledge still do it. because what’s sweeter than mindless indulgence. dio’s acknowledged that this is his livelihood just how it’s her nature.

so he doesn’t need to question anymore. doesn’t waste any breath.. just runs the bath and watches as she falls in even when he says it’s hot. watches as she settles on top, face down and mess starting to seep off her and into the water.

he watches the bubbles blow and blow before he decides to drain it, holding her as she thrashes, as she laughs again and tells him she was just blowing bubbles. laughs as she plays her sanity.

sometimes, taen can’t get what she wants from the things she does. she’s adamant about that. needs that sense of control. whatever’s broken it for the night, for the day, she’s come here to find it again. come even while knowing dio’s not one to give it to her.

the shower sprays and he stands in with her, hands in her hair first. the blood’s caked in deep and he wonders how long she’s sat in it. wonders how long she’s played in it as it’s turned underneath her nails red. each pull and scrub of his nails over her scalp has her settling, has her stopping the random shakes of her head and letting him continue. it starts to drain out her clothes too, streams of red running around and around and down the drain. red and white and too familiar. steam and the stench of blood, too familiar. her mark, and her battle. purity trying to remain and humanity just trying to exist.

the bathroom door’s closed and he’s already lit the incense to keep the smell from spreading, to trap them in here while the rest of the world sleeps outside. much like the girl still asleep in his bed. much like the harsh parts of the woman in front of him, that starts to go into slumber with each scrub against her body.

he’s not sure how to scrub out what’s starting to build a home. doesn’t know how much rage he has to pull, take, in order for her to feel what she wants. so he continues, no matter how hot the water it, how it steams up and sears at the skin, he continues. because he doesn’t feel the heat, doesn’t feel the smacks to his chest, only feels the thrashing of the lines that connect them. always. they’re wired and pulled so tight they burn. and with each drag of the water and his fingers, they start to slow. she lets him breathe.

‘sing.’ when taen does speak, it’s a whisper that’s still loud over the water. “you’re the singer.” he reminds her. hands having finished in her hair. but he does hum, just a little, just enough to get her to settle again so he can turn her around, face pressed against his chest. because his boxers had been on but he’d slept without a shirt. taen lets it happen, moves around in the water that’s started to pool by her toes. moves about and stares as the red leaves her body.

drains out and dio wonders if she thinks the chaos drains out too. if she thinks she soaks it in and then expels it.

‘it’s not pretty.’ is what she says. at that he knows she realize where the chaos comes from, and how her body copes. he keeps humming.

ten seconds in and she’s following. starting from the same tune he’s started and making her own. taen loves the idea that she’s made him do something and then made it her own. even if he made it knowing she wouldn’t follow unless he did. power seems to shift between them and neither makes an attempt to discuss or grasp it. dio knows and taen knows.

that when he’s trying to scrub the stains out her back, the scratches she gives him in return her aren’t retaliation.

“it’s old and dry of course it isn’t pretty.”‘why won’t it stain.’ when taen says things like this, looks annoyed and childish, he remembers she’s human.

for humans, what stains isn’t on the surface. dio knows. humans sometimes forget. he’s slipping the wet clothes off her once they’ve finally drained of blood. she’s scrubbed and refusing to leave the bath, so he draws a new one. new water and cleaner water. she sits so low he doesn’t see past her nose as it fills. sits so low he sees the image of red that she’s been seeking, still clinging to her. despite clear water and white bubbles. she wants it to stain so bad. so so bad. instead he takes to drying her hair, refusing to answer a question she knows the answer to. he’s not here to provide answers, temporaries but never answers.

‘who’s in your room?’ she asks when he’s done and he’s discarding the clothes. when she’s still leaning against the tub and the water’s turned lukewarm, small swirls of blood that still fall off starting to float on the surface.“no one.” he responds when he hands her another shirt and a pair of sweatpants. she doesn’t get out just yet, stares for a little bit. he thinks she might start up another challenge again. thinks she might sink back in the water.

‘i didn’t tell you to clean me.’ this isn’t her being ungrateful, this is a strange kind of denial.dio doesn’t answer until she’s stepped out and into the towel. doesn’t answer until she’s slipped into the clothes, quiet and mumbling to herself. plans, annoyances, curses even. doesn’t answer until the tub is drained and scrubbed clean. a small film remains, even with bleach, a small fade of color that only he’d notice.

i didn’t. ( clean her that is, he didn’t )

he doesn’t say that, instead he hands her a cigarette.

“yeah yeah.” and starts humming again. smoke consuming and overpowering. the stench, the chaos, the rage and the insanity. all mellowed together, snuffed in instead of out.

there are no words to describe the depth of your indifference, cause i see you’re here to stay. should’ve known i picked my fate..

#rosaeau #{ inbox: dio. }#ohp

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undertheinfluencerd · 3 years

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https://ift.tt/2WXiicO #

Warning: SPOILERS for Afterlife of the Party.

Here’s a full guide to Netflix’s Afterlife of the Party soundtrack, which delivers a short list of poppy, upbeat party songs by American pop and R&B singer Spencer Sutherland and one score track by composer Jessica Rose Weiss. Starring actress Victoria Justice of Nickelodeon fame (VICTORiOUS) as Cassie, a fun-loving, albeit irresponsible social butterfly, Afterlife of the Party follows Cassie into a purgatory-like afterlife after a freak accident kills her, where she’s offered the opportunity to right all her unresolved wrongs on Earth, thus earning passage to the “Above” (heaven) or, if she fails, to the “Below” (hell).

Matching the Afterlife of the Party‘s comedic “death-but-fun“ premise is a 5-track EP soundtrack that errs more on the side of fun than death. Put another way, while Cassie is stuck in the In-Between, a limbo state between heaven and hell, the album has both feet firmly planted in heaven. In fact, the album is exclusively upbeat and danceable, featuring four original songs performed by Sutherland, who stars in the movie as the famous fictional singer Koop whom Cassie idolizes; one of which includes a duet with Sutherland and Justice. Though Cassie’s fangirl obsession with Koop is repeatedly made obvious throughout the film, what’s understated about their budding connection is how, despite the chasm separating life and death, their separate journeys seem to have always pointed towards each other, with a charming twist ending that sees the two entering a “pearly gates” of sorts hand-in-hand.

Related: The Kissing Booth 3 Soundtrack Guide: Every Song

For his feature film debut, Sutherland’s character has more of ambient presence in the movie, whereas the real-life pop singer Sutherland plays a more central role to the Afterlife of the Party soundtrack. Pop music fans may know Sutherland as a contestant on the UK version of The X-Factor in 2017, performing Marvin Gaye’s sultry “Let’s Get It On” for his audition and James Arthur’s “Say You Won’t Let Go” in a group performance. Sutherland has also released multiple singles starting with “Heartstrings” in 2013 up to “Freaking Out” in 2019, before landing both an acting and singing role in Afterlife of the Party.

At the helm of the Afterlife of the Party soundtrack, Sutherland is the movie’s musical heart and soul. On the topic of entering the movie industry through the channel of music, Sutherland expressed in an exclusive interview with Alexisjoyvipaccess his eagerness to take on more acting roles: “I’ve found such a passion in acting now from this, and I would love to do a lot more in acting, but also a lot more in musical acting, because it was very cool to tie the two together. It was amazing.“

Whether or not that means we’ll see Sutherland in more musical acting roles in the future remains to be seen. Nonetheless, his performance in Afterlife of the Party is key to the “party” aspect of the story, and it seems likely that Netflix will continue along this pop musical trajectory with its future titles. With that in mind, here is a breakdown of each song on the movie’s soundtrack, as well as an additional song heard in the movie.

“Blush” by Spencer Sutherland – Played multiple times throughout the story, Sutherland’s “Blush” (or, rather, Koop’s “Blush” from the character’s perspective) is arguably the main theme song of the movie. Introduced by a radio DJ voiceover as “the number one song of the day” at the movie’s opening when Cassie is considering various outfits in front of her mirror, “Blush” is soon after described by Cassie and her best friend Lisa (Midori Francis) as “their song” when it’s heard playing at a dance club. This is significant when later, after Cassie dies, Cassie fulfills her role as Lisa’s spectral wing-woman by trespassing into Max’s (Timothy Renouf) apartment, Lisa’s hunky neighbor, to sabotage his record-player into accidentally playing “Blush” during a chance encounter between Max and Lisa, who is wearing a “KOOP” shirt at the time. Max takes advantage of this “coincidence” to ask Lisa on a date to see the music video set of a Koop song.

“Drive” by Spencer Sutherland – While hanging out in Lisa’s apartment, Lisa initiates an “impromptu dance party” with her deceased friend Cassie after commanding Google to “play ‘Drive’ by Koop.” It’s revealed during this exchange that Lisa introduced Cassie to Koop’s “greatness,” further suggesting of the importance of Koop’s music to their bond.

Related: Every Song In Cinderella 2021

“One Look” by Spencer Sutherland – The music video Max refers to when asking Lisa on a date, Sutherland performs “One Look” in the flesh (as Koop) while standing in front of a blue convertible with a surrounding team of backup dancers. Taking advantage of her ghostly transparency, Cassie transports herself onto the music video set, much to the awe of Lisa, and she starts dancing in front of Koop, who seems vaguely and nonchalantly aware of her presence. During the song, Cassie approaches Koop for a kiss before she’s abruptly snapped back to the In-Between headquarters, where she’s chastised by her quirky guardian angel Val (Robyn Scott) for neglecting her purgatorial responsibilities.

“Home” by Spencer Sutherland & Victoria Justice – Breaking up the Sutherland monopoly on the Afterlife of the Party soundtrack is a duet track with both Sutherland and Justice, heard during the story’s end after a recently deceased Koop and Cassie meet in an elevator ascending to the Above (heaven). As the two walk hand-in-hand towards Above’s idyllic, flowery mountain range, the song starts as the end credits roll, signifying that Cassie and Koop are finally “home.”

“Score Suite” by Jessica Rose Weiss – The one non-Sutherland song on the movie’s soundtrack, “Score Suite” is the only listed track on the list attributed to the composer of the film. While somewhat more somber in parts, at least in relation to Sutherland’s dance tracks, “Score Suite” is predominated by a majestically whimsical tone familiar to many rom-com scores.

“I Only Have Eyes For You” by The Flamingos – Not listed on the official Afterlife of the Party soundtrack, “I Only Have Eyes For You” by The Flamingos plays from the record-player in Max’s apartment, presumably as intended by Max this time, to set a romantic mood for him and Lisa, as they cheers to “regret” over wine, confess their feelings for one another, and kiss.

Next: F9 Soundtrack Guide: Every Song Explained

#marvel #avengers #marvelcomics #spiderman #mcu #ironman #comics #captainamerica #thor #avengersendgame #marvelstudios #xmen #dc #marveluniverse #art #cosplay #tomholland #hulk #disney #comicbooks #dccomics #peterparker #tonystark #blackwidow #marvellegends #endgame #deadpool #marvelcinematicuniverse #loki #bhfyp

The post Afterlife Of The Party: Soundtrack Guide (& Spencer Sutherland Songs) appeared first on undertheinfluencerd.net.

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firethatgrewsolow · 7 years

Text

Swiss Time - Chapter Seven

**Sorry for the delay! And thank you @ladygrange for everything you do for me! Hope you guys like it. <3**

Robert peered through the hotel window, the snow-capped mountains that had seemed so foreign to him when they arrived now a familiar comfort. Their week was almost up, culminating in the show in a couple of days. The time had flown by, and he realized that he was reluctant to leave. A little, anyway. He’d not seen Natalie since their castle adventure and subsequent dinner two nights before, and he found himself growing restless, even missing her a bit. His gaze shifted to the streets below, dotted with shoppers and late lunch goers scurrying about. A swirl of dark hair captured his attention, and he sat up, narrowing his eyes, only to fall back into the armchair as the woman turned around. Definitely not Nat. She was due to move over the weekend and would probably miss the gig, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit. He wanted to sing for her, see her light up as he knew she would. He smiled, his mind returning to the impromptu performance on the way back from Chillon. Christ, how stoned had he been? But it didn’t matter. Her laugh was all he’d wanted to hear. Bloody hell, what are you doing? The click of the door behind him dispensed with the reverie, and he glanced toward it as Jimmy shuffled in.

“So, did you and Natalie enjoy Chillon? You didn’t mention going.”

Robert took in the guitarist’s mildly perturbed demeanor. “I haven’t seen you since. Where were you yesterday?”

Ignoring the question, Jimmy plowed on. “Did you tour the torture chamber? It’s supposed to be quite remarkable.”

“Nah, we, uh, didn’t make it there.”

“What a shame. I’d heard it was not to be missed.” Jimmy tapped his finger gently against his chin. “Hmm, I wonder if she’d consider going again.”

“Not likely.” Robert chuckled, kicking his feet up onto the ottoman. “I think once might have been enough. She knows a lot about it, though. Said she was going to write an article for a magazine.”

“So, our little Natalie Grace is a writer, then? I had no idea. She is full of surprises.”

“Well, she’s shy about it, but she must be pretty good. It’s for a children’s magazine, but a popular one.” Robert cleared his throat, patting down his jacket for cigarettes. “You know, um, she’s probably not coming to the gig.”

“Why is that?”

“School stuff.” Spying Bonzo’s pack on the coffee table, he snatched it up. “I’ve been trying to think up ways to convince her to stay. When we were at dinner . . .”

“Dinner, too?” Jimmy asked, cocking his head. “My, my, aren’t we getting chummy.”

“Well, seeing as how she was free for the evening since you didn’t have a date with her after all . . .” Robert trailed off, pointedly raising a brow.

Jimmy stared back in silence, finally breaking out into a grin. “Couldn’t resist.” He reclined onto the sofa. “ So, you have a thing for our girl, eh?”

“I could say the same for you. Jesus Christ, Jim, she’s a kid.”

“Of course, I’m only joking. You were talking about convincing her to stay?”

“Yeah.” Robert nibbled his lip, treading carefully. “I was thinking that she could, well, maybe she could write about us. Like an interview and a piece about the gig.”

“You mean a review of the show?” Jimmy scoffed with a terse laugh. “That’s absurd.”

Robert shrugged his shoulders. “Why? What could it hurt?”

“What would she bloody know about any of it?”

“She’s pretty smart.” The singer pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “And it might be nice to have her around.”

Jimmy glanced to the window as a patter of rain hit the glass. “She is nice to have around, I’ll give you that,” he murmured, the thread of something blooming in his mind.

“I’m sure she’d be complimentary,” Robert added, subtly emphasizing the word.

Complimentary. Jimmy pursed his lips, wheels in motion. It wasn’t an entirely unpromising scenario. In fact, it was somewhat intriguing. A young, likely very malleable writer with a strong connection to a major music promoter. Nobody would have to know that she was barely fifteen, nobody that mattered, anyway, and it would be a welcome change from the stodgy old fucks they always sent out to the gigs. A friendly word in the local paper certainly wouldn’t do them any harm, and who knew where it could lead. She wouldn’t be fifteen forever. But that was down the road. For now, at the very least, he would have a bit of fun with it. “You know, I think you’re right. That’s not a bad idea. It’s actually a rather good one.”

Robert blinked, surprised by his friend’s acquiescence. “So, should I ask her to do it?”

“Not directly,” Jimmy replied, shaking his head. “Let me take care of it.”

“They want me to do what?” Nat set down her teacup with a clatter, pushing her breakfast away. “I’ve never done an interview. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Oh, it can’t be too hard,” Susan chided, waving her hand dismissively. “Besides it’s the local paper. You don’t have to be Hemingway.”

“Whose idea was this?” Nat cut her eyes at her conspicuously quiet aunt. “Well? Whose?”

Susan hesitated, drumming her fingers on the dining room table. “The paper’s editor, from what I understand.”

“Really? So, I’m a fifteen year old nobody that’s hardly written anything, and somehow, mysteriously, I’m interviewing one of the biggest bands in the world?”

“Well, Christian is friends with . . .”

“Oh, no.” Natalie grimaced, running a hand through her hair. “You pulled some weird strings, didn’t you? Susan, I don’t want to be that girl in school. Half the kids will probably be going, and if they see this dumb interview, they’ll know that . . .”

“You’re a wonderful writer?” Sue finished, dropping a sugar cube into her tea. “That’s what they’ll know. As long as you don’t ask tough questions and give them a good review, you’re golden.”

“Review? Of what? I haven’t even listened to their full albums.”

Susan smiled coyly, stirring her steaming concoction. “The show, darling. Although, you should probably brush up on the records, too.”

Natalie’s jaw dropped. “You want me to review the show?”

“Not me . . . them,” Sue purred, taking a sip of her tea.

“Them? Oh, my God. The editor had nothing to do with this. I knew there was something funny about all of it.” Nat skimmed her thumb along the rim of her cup. “Who is them? Robert?” Her aunt looked artfully away. “Wait, it’s Jimmy, isn’t it?”

Susan abandoned her tea, making her way to the bar. “At the end of the day, does it matter, Natalie? Good lord, you’re impossible to please. Maybe they just want to do something nice for you to help you out. A burgeoning writer and all that business. And what if it was Robert? I assumed you had a nice time with him. You have no idea how hard it was to sneak away without you seeing me at lunch the other day.”

“Sneak away? What are you . . .” Nat’s jaw dropped again as it dawned on her. “You saw him come up to me. There was no meeting with the architect.” She frowned at her aunt’s giddy grin. “What are you, some kind of twisted matchmaker? I’m only fourteen . . .”

“Fifteen, you just said so yourself,” Susan chimed, wagging a finger in the air. “Jesus, Nattie, I’m not trying to get you two together in that way. At least, not yet.” She smirked, exchanging her teacup for a thin, crystal flute. “Listen, it’s a fantastic opportunity. They’re notoriously crafty with the press. They rarely grant interviews, and they wanted you specifically.” She held up her glass with a glimmer in her eye. “And when the kids from school see you’ve interviewed the band, you’ll be an absolute queen on the campus.”

Queen on the campus? Jesus Christ. “But what about moving into the dorm?”

“We’ll figure something out.” Hands on hips, Sue expelled a weary breath. “You cannot possibly be trying to worm out of this.”

Nat sensed there was more to it than just a random act of kindness. Altruism didn’t suit the band. Surely an ulterior motive was involved, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it would be. She slunk back into her chair, resigned to her fate. Sue’s right. What does it matter? There were definitely worse things than spending time with four handsome, talented musicians. And funny and sweet and silly . . . She clenched her fists, crushing the thought.

“So, that’s a yes, I presume?” Susan beamed triumphantly. “Perfect! Their albums are in your room, along with a brand new record player. Courtesy of Christian, of course. I also pulled some clippings from my personal collection. I like to keep an archive on the bands that I . . . particularly admire.” Sue popped open a bottle of Champagne, pouring a long, fizzy stream. “And don’t worry, love,” she cooed, peeking at her wristwatch. “You’re not meeting with them for another five hours. You’ve got all the time in the world.”

* * *

Natalie tapped her pen on the pages in front of her, exasperated beyond belief. The interview was an unmitigated disaster. Bonzo and Jonesy hadn’t even shown up, and getting answers out of Jimmy was like pulling teeth. She’d spent every spare minute preparing, even gotten a tiny bit excited, and apparently, it was all for naught. He didn’t want to talk about anything personal, and she’d been shunned when she asked about life on the road. Everything seemed off limits. What was the point, she mused dejectedly. Hadn’t they been the ones who wanted to do it to begin with? And in hostile territory, no less. Her gaze roved over the guitarist’s candle laden suite, landing on a trio of half-melted pillars situated on the coffee table. A small book lay beside them, tattered and torn, and she squinted in an effort to read the title. His clipped cough brought her gaze back to his. A reprimand for being curious, she determined as she scanned his blank visage. Prickly didn’t seem to do him justice. Maybe leave off the ly. Hell, he’s probably enjoying this. How in the world was she going to put any of it together? She ran through the options one more time. Influences, go back to influences. “So, um, what inspires you? Are all of you into the same kind of music?”

Sighing dramatically, Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Oh, God, not that again.”

Nat cracked, finished with the cat and mouse game. “Dammit, this was your idea!” She threw down her pen. “What do you want me to ask you, then? I’ve heard a couple of things about a shark.”

“Natalie, dear, you do cut to the chase,” Jimmy hummed, amused at the rise he’d finally elicited.

“Let’s just say that I’ve done my homework.” She crossed her arms, her gaze flickering back to the book on the table. “Would you rather tell me about your interest in, uh, more spiritual matters?”

“Ooh, I see you have done your homework,” Jimmy replied smoothly. “In that case, why don’t you tell me?”

Recognizing Natalie’s stormy scowl, Robert hurriedly intervened. “Come on, Jim, just answer the questions. We asked for this, remember?”

“Ah, fair enough,” Jimmy conceded reluctantly. “Pity it has to be so one sided.” With another heavy sigh, he resettled into the sofa. “Well, I’d say we all have different influences, to some degree. There’s a melding here and there, but I think that’s what makes us able keep it fresh and interesting.”

Encouraged, Natalie leaned forward. “There’s quite a lot of blues in your records so far.”

“Oh, yes, that’s the root of it, I suppose.” Jimmy glanced to his bandmate, who was clearly champing at the bit to have a word. “What say you, Robert?”

“What we’ve tried to do is to sort of reinterpret some of the stuff from America . . . Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf. It’s endless, really. All those sounds, we kind of spin it round and round until we take it somewhere else.”

“Right, the expansion of it. That’s important.” Jimmy crossed his legs. “I want to create, well, we want to create something that’s dynamic and keep pushing boundaries.” He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “Something heavy that strikes you, and just when you’ve reached the edge, it softens. Or vise versa.”

“Light and shade,” Natalie offered, grateful that he'd begun to open up.

Jimmy exchanged a look with Robert. “Exactly.” He turned back to her with a devilish smile. “Sort of like making love.”

Natalie swiftly dropped her head, praying that the lighting was dim enough to hide the blush she felt racing onto her cheeks. Her saving grace was Peter, who lumbered into the room.

“Let’s go, lads, interview’s over. Ahmet just got back, and they’re ready.”

More than a little relieved, Nat closed her notebook and capped her pen. “Thanks for taking the time.” Even though it was mostly a waste of it. She shoved them both into her satchel as Robert bounded up to her.

“Would you like to come and watch? We’re just gonna run through some stuff, sort of a sound check. It won’t last long.” He held out his arm, his dimple deepening. “I’ll take a request, if you like.”

Her lips curved at the prospect. What did she have to lose? “Sure. Lead the way.”

Arm in arm, they plodded out of the room and into the hall. As they reached the elevator, Robert peered behind him for the others, but they were still in the suite. He punched the button, secretly hoping it would make haste so he could have her to himself for a few minutes. His wish granted, the car arrived almost immediately, and he hustled on, selecting his destination as quickly as he could. He caught a glimpse of Peter and Jimmy in the distance as the doors slid blessedly shut. Mission accomplished, they were alone. “You, uh, seem to know a lot more about us than I thought. Very impressive.”

“I did some research,” Nat replied, basking in the warmth of his sideways smile. “Aunt Sue is a pretty good resource. Keeps tabs on certain groups that she finds . . . stimulating.”

“I bet she’s got quite a file.” They shared a muted laugh. “I take it you’ve listened to the albums?”

“Um, yeah, that would be part of my research.”

“Right. Of course.” Robert quietly cleared his throat. “So, ah, what’s your favorite song?”

Natalie pursed her lips as their eyes met. “Moby Dick, I think.”

“The one about the whale, huh?” Robert teased, the corner of his mouth curling up.

“The one with no vocals,” she shot back with a smirk.

“Ouch, that hurt.” Robert clamped his hand over his heart, and they shared another laugh. “You know, you did a good job back there with Jimmy.”

Natalie snorted, shaking her head. “You must be kidding. I hardly got anything out of him.”

“You got more than most, believe it or not.” A ping in the car signaled that they’d reached the first floor. “Pagey likes you. I can tell.”

“Good God, what does he do to the people he doesn’t like?”

Robert snickered as the elevator doors surged open. “Nothing. That’s what.”

They navigated through the lobby and into the casino, winding around the masses and entering a cavernous room toward the back of it. Natalie slowly canvassed the drafty space, examining the ancient looking wooden planks that made up the ceiling. They were cracked and peeling, in need of a facelift. Hell, a full renovation, really. “It’s like a matchbox in here.” She meandered to the wide glass windows overlooking the pool, which was empty, save for a fully clothed woman reading a book. “Are you guys all set up?”

The floor squeaked underneath Robert’s feet as he padded to the front of the stage, inspecting the equipment. “Yeah, looks like everything’s here.” He gave her a wide grin. “So, what would you like to hear?”

“I don’t know.” Natalie surveyed the scene, nodding at Jonesy and Bonzo as they passed by. “This is kind of a lot.”

“If you’re going to be a music journalist, you might want to get used to it.”

Natalie jumped at Jimmy’s words right behind her. Shit! Where had he come from? Probably just thin air. She spun around, her brow wrinkling. “A music journalist? Who said that? I write articles about castles and history, not . . .”

“This is history, history in the making, darling, and you’re in the center of it all. It’s fate. Can’t you see that? You’d be a fool not to take advantage of your position.”

Nat studied the guitarist warily, at that point quite sure that there was more to the situation than met the eye. As she pondered her response, he turned on his heel, making his way to the stage. A group of men in suits were taking their seats beside the platform as pops of bass and the rattle of drums shook the rafters. Grabbing the microphone, Robert sidled up next to Jimmy, and the four musicians engaged in a few seconds of hushed deliberation.

“As it appears that our little Natalie can’t make up her mind what to request, I think, ah, I think we’ve got something to dedicate to her, yeah?”

The opening strains of Chuck Berry’s “Nadine” filled the room, and Natalie giggled as Robert substituted her name instead. It was a rowdy, lighthearted rendition, and she was reminded of his silly serenade two nights before. How anyone could classify him a some Rock God or sex symbol was beyond her. He was simply too goofy for the label. At the end of the song, they launched right into a poppy Elvis tune, and then another that she remembered as a child. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught shifting shadows at the door to the theater. She watched Robert nod to the large man that was serving as a guard of sorts, and people began to file in. She pored over their faces, some giddy, some disbelieving, all transfixed as the Elvis number morphed into Buffalo Springfield, which somehow seamlessly transformed into a rollicking “Good Golly Miss Molly.” It was evident that the boys were completely attuned to each other. It was tight, but still lively and fun. They were obviously a great band, but as she followed Robert’s bouncing figure across the stage, she couldn’t help but wonder what all the fuss was about.

Robert beamed, flushed from the applause and cheers of the burgeoning audience. He glided his eyes over the crowd, delighting in their delight at the unexpected show. “We’d like to do one more. It’s from the first LP, and it’s something I hope you’ll like.” His gaze landed on Natalie at the foot of the stage. “Particularly one of you.”

Nat could feel the stares of those around her, and she grinned as he winked at her, his gravelly voice cutting through the din.

“I can’t . . . quit you, baby . . .”

In an instant, her grin vanished. This was different than the other songs. Very. Her body shook from the ear shattering boom of Bonzo’s drums and the thunderous bass and guitar that accompanied it.

“Woman, I think I’m gonna put you down . . . for a little while . . .”

Robert’s wail made her mouth fall open as a wall of sound like she’d never heard before roared around her. Bluesy and seductive, it enveloped her, heart and soul, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. He was nothing like the silly serenader on the trail. This side of him was new, completely alien to her. She swallowed as a wave of heat rippled through her, a current of electricity the likes of which she didn’t know existed. As her wide eyes locked on his knowing ones, she finally remembered to breathe. Jimmy was right. History was in the making. And she fully intended to take a piece of it for herself.

#Robert Plant fanfic #Robert Plant fan fiction #Led Zeppelin fanfic #Led Zeppelin fan fiction #Jimmy Page fanfic #Jimmy Page fan fiction

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chaunceyandchumleysdad · 7 years

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Riot Fest Day 3 (Sunday September 17, 2017) After another long hot day on Saturday, I couldn’t quite do the early arrival on Sunday. Although I had a few bands on my early schedule, none were “have to see” bands, so my goal was to get to the grounds in time for That Dog. Temps today were a bit cooler although more humid, but the mostly cloudy skies helped alleviate the intense sunlight from the first two days.

That Dog (that dog.) (Riot Stage) For the third day in a row, I had impeccable timing, arriving at the Riot Stage for the beginning of That Dog’s set. They played their entire album Retreat From The Sun (20th anniversary), an appropriately titled album for the hottest weather Riot Fest I’ve ever attended. Retreat From The Sun is a great album and was so cool to be able to hear it all live. Playing the album at the request of Riot Fest, Anna Waronker noted that they never envisioned themselves playing the entire album in sequence and that it was a good challenge preparing for this opportunity. And she is just a marvelous front woman. She was very personable with the audience and very chatty. She talked between every song, stressed about getting the full album in the allotted time, and as a way to encourage her band mates to start the next song, she frequently turned to them and said, “I can keep going!” It was a real pleasure seeing this band and there were a lot of hard core fans there that were just having a great time dancing and singing the lyrics. (Top photo.)

The Voluptuous Horror Of Karen Black (The Heather Own Stage) I really do enjoy the theatrical bands at Riot Fest, and that was part of what attracted me to this band. I was not familiar with them so I had downloaded their album The Anti-Naturalists. I was a bit skeptical, but it’s actually a decent Punk album, mostly Hard Core with a bit of Garage Punk. Kembra Pfahler is the front woman of the band and she is also a filmmaker and performance artist, hence the stage theatrics. She was covered in red body paint and another band member, a quasi back up singer, was covered in green body paint and wearing the biggest wig you can imagine. The female bass player was dressed head to toe in leather. The band is rounded out with a drummer and guitar player who got in some nice riffs. I believe he is also Kembra’s ex-husband and he paused a couple of the times during the show to take selfies with Kembra with the audience as the backdrop. Kembra is also the sister of Adam Pfahler, drummer for Jawbreaker, who was headlining later that evening. The show was entertaining. Kembra got everyone dancing and pleased the crowd by throwing out numerous band t-shirts throughout the show. (Second two photos.)

The Orwells (Rise Stage) I did not have this band on my schedule because I have seen them twice before, but they were still playing as I walked by their stage and paused to catch the last few minutes. I like this band and being from my hometown, I’m always proud to see them on stage. (Photo next to the truck.)

The Mighty Mighty Bosstones (Roots Stage) This was the band I came to see on Sunday. A nine piece Ska Punk band in matching suits that played an amazing show. The horns are the hook and the pace of the music gets you dancing. Singer Dicky Barrett (who is also the announcer on Jimmy Kimmel Live) is an entertaining front man and a powerful singer. There is a big crowd for this show and it was easy to see and hear why. (Photo below The Orwells.)

Built To Spill (Rise Stage) Played all of their 1999 album Keep It Like A Secret. Excellent rockin’ set! Some very nice guitar solos using the wah-wah pedal and sounding a bit like Frank Zappa.

Pennywise (Roots Stage) I had intended to see Minus The Bear at this time, but needed a little food and rest so I headed to my favorite spot to chill, which is the small hill across from the Rise Stage. There was a 30 minute gap on the rise stage so I was able to hear the first half of the Pennywise set from the Roots Stage. It was enjoyable. Good Melodic/Skate Punk.

TV On The Radio (Rise Stage) This band had flown under my radar but my niece Megan suggested I see them and I was glad I did. They are a six piece Indie band with a diverse sound spanning several musical genres. They sounded great and lead singer Tunde Adebimpe is excellent as a front man and very personable with the audience. I watched about 30 minutes of their set and then decided to move around and sample some other bands. (Photo below The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.)

Dinosaur Jr. (Riot Stage) I went to the first 30 minutes of their set. They played their entire album You’re Living All Over Me (1987, 30th anniversary). I generally like the band and that album but I’m not a big DJ fan as their music all kind of sounds to same to me. What I do like about their sound is the heavy and distorted guitar that is pervasive throughout their music. They had a huge crowd for their set. (Photo below TV On The Radio.)

Best Coast (Radicals Stage) Continuing on with my sampling, I stopped for a few minutes to hear this Indie band. They have a very nice sound, leaving me with the desire to explore their music further.

GWAR (The Heather Owen Stage) I had to get me a little GWAR. They are a theatrical Metal band and they wear outrageous sci-fi costumes, have battles on stage and spray the audience with fake blood. They also have a great sense of humor. They play at Riot Fest every year and I’ve never seen an entire set, but they are fun to watch in small doses. This remote area around the small stage was as packed as I had ever seen it.

M.I.A. (Rise Stage) My original plan was to catch part of M.I.A. and then head over to see Paramore. However, the rapping, the dancing and the light show all got me hooked and I ended up staying for the entire set. I can’t say that M.I.A. is something I would listen to outside of Riot Fest, but it was sure a fun show. Maya is captivating, and the interaction with her co-vocalist, the dancers and the DJ made the show flow with compelling spontaneity. In retrospect, it wasn’t great music, but I couldn’t help but get sucked into the party atmosphere. It was a little strange when everyone left the stage with 20 minutes of set time remaining. However, they all returned and fulfilled the remaining time. I’m not sure why Maya chose to do that. Perhaps it was her idea of an encore. However, encores are not something that are done at Riot Fest or probably any other music festival, so it seemed rather odd. At the end, she brought up several people on stage which I presumed were friends and family members of the musical group. It was cool too see these people all joining that party and dancing on stage. The early autumn sunset along with the summer weather added to the ambience of the show. Overall, a different but exciting experience for me at Riot Fest. (Photo below Dinosaur Jr.)

Jawbreaker (Riot Stage) Riot Fest is well known for coaxing splintered bands into reuniting, (Misfits and The Replacements, e.g.) Jawbreaker was their coup for this year. Jawbreaker broke up in 1996 and Riot Fest was able to bring them out of retirement after a 21 year lay off. They are a band that had flown under my radar as Emo is not my favorite Punk genre. (I’m more of a Garage and Hard Core listener.) However, as I started listening to their music prior to the festival, I came to like them. As a power trio, I think their sound had a bit more of a rocking, edgier sound than other Emo or Pop Punk bands I have listened to. Also, with a lot of Emo and Pop Punk, to me it often sounds like the vocal melody and the guitar chords are going in different directions. With Jawbreaker, the vocal melody and power chords are very well synchronized giving their music a more familiar and traditional Rock and Pop music sound. Being the closing band for the festival, they had an enormous crowd. Prior to their set, given the long weekend, I gave myself the option to bail out early if I was tired or not really getting into their music. (As was the case the last two years for closing acts Misfits and Modest Mouse.) However, I really enjoyed Jawbreaker and temperatures had finally moderated to the upper 60’s, so I stayed for the entire set, soaking in the very last drops of this year’s wonderful Riot Fest. (Photo below M.I.A.)

#riot fest #douglas park #chicago #that dog #the voluptuous horror of karen black #the orwells #the mighy mighty bosstones #built to spill #pennywise #tv on the radio #dinosaur jr #best coast #gwar #m.i.a.#jawbreaker

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maple-rose · 8 years

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Scarlet x Ryoma Headcanons

Scarlet x Ryoma headcanons, because they’re my Fates OTP and I’m forever salty they can't support by default =(

Long post is long, so I’ll put it under a cut.

When Ryoma first contacted the rebels and asked to join, Scarlet asked for a duel to prove his capabilities as a fighter. Ryoma was in disguise, so he couldn't use the Raiijnto, but he managed to prove his strength nevertheless. Scarlet was impressed and asked "Where did you learn to fight like that?" he just smiled and said he was a mercenary.

Scarlet had her suspicions about Ryoma's identity; she thought Ryoma looked familiar. But it wasn't something she could confront him about. She tried to ask him but he just dodged the questions.

Scarlet gave Ryoma a ride on her wyvern once. She liked to go fast and do loops. Ryoma was terrified, but he would never show it. Instead his face was blank as he clutched to Scarlet tightly for dear life. Scarlet noticed this, but didn't say anything, instead she just smirked to herself and filed the incident under "possible blackmail material"

Scarlet would often race Hinoka, wyvern vs pegasus. They have a sort of rivalry going on that extend to their mounts being rivals too.

Scarlet would decorate sweets with Sakura. Then they would eat them together.

Takumi was wary of Scarlet at first, because she was Nohrian, and of how Ryoma trusted her so much. Takumi would secretly spy on them (with help with Oboro, who was also wary of Scarlet). But over time, he saw she meant no harm, and in fact, she also hated Nohrians (the government at least). Takumi started seeing her as an older sister, and would defend her against anyone who suspected her because she was Nohrian.

Scarlet is a pretty good singer, she has a somewhat deep and soothing voice. She taught Azura some traditional and folk Nohrian songs, and they would sing together.

Scarlet likes to play with Azura's hair, braiding decorations into it. She said she always wanted to have long hair, but it would get tangled and in the way of her wyvern riding. She also really likes Ryoma's long hair (and admires him for somehow keeping it out of the way as he fights) and likes to bury her face in it. She tried to put decorations in his hair once, but the room grew all lightning-y and she never tried again.

Scarlet loves Ryoma's armor. They would often polish their armor together. Scarlet wanted to decorate his armor but Ryoma told her how his armor was sacred and please don't touch it. Scarlet sighed and said fine, but secretly she still wanted to sneak into his tent one day and make his armor all sparkly (she is a rebel after all).

Scarlet also loves the Raijinto, and wants to decorate it. Ryoma just gave her an "are you crazy" look and told her the story of how the Raijinto is a family heirloom and the only memento of his father. Scarlet looked really dejected, so the next day, Ryoma gave her a normal sword for her to decorate. She was overjoyed and put all her effort into decorating it and gave it back to him as a present. He keeps it with him always.

Ryoma tried teaching Scarlet how to meditate once. But she gets distracted really easily and would never sit still. But Ryoma is really bad at giving up, so he would try many times. Scarlet felt bad and pretended to meditate to get him off her case.

Scarlet's wyvern respects Ryoma after he rescued it from a group of archers, recognizing him as the alpha male.

Scarlet developed a crush on Ryoma first. She admires his fighting abilities and leadership skills and the general charisma he has. She also really loves the straight-forward and honest look in his eyes.

Scarlet was the only person (aside from his siblings) who treats Ryoma normally, either because she didn't know he was royalty (Birthright) or because she didn't care (Revelation), and Ryoma finds her really easy to talk to because of this. He find it liberating to not have to act like the First Prince in front of her. As a result though, she has some good dirt on him.

Being the romantic blockhead he is, Ryoma didn't even realize he was in love with Scarlet until his siblings pointed out how he wasn't his usual calm self around her.

When Ryoma confessed, a bit awkwardly, Scarlet replied by smiling, then kissing him on the lips, making him even more flustered.

Scarlet told Ryoma once that she wants to "decorate him with her love". His face went as red as his armor, and she chuckled at how cute he looked.

They're not a couple that show affection openly in public, at least, Ryoma doesn't. They'll maybe hold hands, but Ryoma will look embarrassed if Scarlet suddenly kisses him or something. But Ryoma will write embarrassingly passionate and romantic letters to her that makes her the colour of her name (he just doesn't like to say them out loud).

Ryoma told Scarlet stories about Corrin enough times that she memorized them. But she didn't mind, she liked hearing about Ryoma's childhood. In return, she told him stories about her grandfather and how cool he was, and how he inspired her to become a knight and take action.

When Ryoma proposed to Scarlet, she was unsure she would be a good queen. Ryoma assured her that she'll make a great queen because she is charismatic and can inspire people to follow her.

Scarlet has some family in Hoshido, since her grandfather served the Hoshidan king (presumably Sumeragi) at one point (she said this at the start of Birthright 14). They came to the wedding and were overjoyed.

Scarlet and Hinoka would share embarrassing stories about Ryoma. He doesn't know they do this of course. If he did, he wouldn't be able to look at either of them in the eye for a few days.

Scarlet!Shiro HCs:

Shiro got his wild side from his mother.

Shiro inherited Scarlet's freckles and her sunny smile.

Scarlet wanted to teach Shiro how to use axes (her primary weapon), but Shiro said "then I'd be weak to Dad" and insisted on learning the lance (Scarlet's secondary weapon) instead. Scarlet laughed but ended up teaching him the lance anyway.

Shiro loves riding Scarlet's wyvern, often tiring out the poor thing and get lectured by Scarlet.

Revelation specific ones: (contains spoilers up to chapter 23)

Even though Ryoma joined the rebels in disguise, later he confided in Scarlet about his real identity. At first she didn't believe him, so he showed her the Raiijnto. Things were a bit awkward for a few days as she tried to act formal around him, until he confronted her and told her to not treat him any differently. She let out a sigh of relief and a laugh and smacked him on the back and they went back to normal.

Between Revelations chapter 13 and 16, Ryoma and Scarlet went back to Castle Shirosagi together, they rode on her wyvern (this time Scarlet flew steady and at a good pace) and they eloped and they camped along the way. Over campfire Ryoma told her about being jealous of Corrin's leadership skills and how he wasn't able to help prevent Corrin's kidnapping (basically everything Ryoma told Yukimura at the beginning of chapter 16 as his reason to go meet Corrin), and Scarlet encouraged him to trust Corrin and make up with them.

After the events of chapter 18, Ryoma wouldn't show any emotion in front of the rest of the army. But that night, in his tent, he cried. Saizo and Kagero saw from the shadows. Kagero moved to go comfort him, but Saizo stopped her, gesturing it's best to leave him alone since he probably doesn't want anyone to see.

Ryoma kept Scarlet's ribbon as a memento (he has a habit of doing that; in Shiro's support with Ophelia, Ryoma gave Shiro one of Sumeragi's buttons he kept)

After everything was over, Ryoma gave Scarlet a proper grave. He would visit her often.

#fire emblem #fire emblem fates #fe14 #fe fates headcanon #fire emblem fates headcanon #scarlet #ryoma #scarlet x ryoma #ryoma x scarlet #I want to draw some of these but have no time

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lonelypond · 8 years

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2024

Welcome to my IdolFools AU, an IdolPunk take on the future, starring μ's.

Love Live, mainly NicoMaki, 10K words, first chapter of 2.

Playlist

IDOL AND FOOLS

Three women raced into an alley, two of them obscured by masks and hoodies, while the smallest ripped down her mask and waved at the security camera she’d decided to stage her show for that night. She flipped her ebon ponytail over one shoulder and winked, ruby eyes mischievous.

“Are we writing or painting tonight, Ni…” the tallest of them came up behind her, but stopped when the unmasked leader hissed at her, “No names, Toasty.”

“Sorry, No. 1.”

“Paint.” The ebon-haired woman grabbed a can of red spray paint and starting sweeping lips onto the wall facing the camera. The other two quickly surrounded it with hearts in rainbow colors. Then No. 1 switched to another can, spraying letters with an expert touch: “Hidden hearts, curious to touch.” She stepped back, looked over the night’s work, turned back to the camera, leaned forward and blew a kiss to anyone watching.

SOLDIERS AND SCIENTISTS

“Who am I, yes? You've grown curious, yes? Then it might just be love Knowing secrets lie hidden in my heart, What will you do about that? It's soldier game Will you ask about them next time we meet?

“Three, two, one, zero! Onto the next battle strategy Please look at me; I'm completely serious Receive my signal and the future will be yours.”

Welcome to this week’s Soldier Game broadcast. Once again, a shoutout to the IdolFools taggers, breaking walls down with heart and art! We’ve got your back. And for you everyday girl loving heroes, tomorrow night, text the number you know with the phrase “soldier heart” for this weekend’s Tunnel Rave code. We might see you there.

“Next we bring you some information from BalletTwist about our latest efforts against government conformity while Diamond Princess and Love Arrow will answer the questions you sent in last week…”

WE MEET

Underneath the very staid and traditional dojo of Sonoda Umi’s family was buried a hidden room, constantly lit by the computer screens monitoring video feeds. Hidden tunnels allowed for three exits. The equipment inside was top of the line, aside from one slightly faulty mini fridge, and fully paid for by Nishikino Maki’s trust fund. Ayase Eli had used her international connections and reputation for straight shooting to gain access to many many lists of contacts. That information had wired the hacking trio straight into the heart of Japanese commerce and culture.

Umi and Eli met in one of the entry tunnels, both on their way from the University of Tokyo. Maki had probably beaten them there. They slid open the final security door to see their partner too absorbed in the scene in front of her to notice their entrance. Maki, her red hair under a black watch cap, grey plaid flannel-clad arms wrapped around her torso, was staring at a video looping on the wall screen. The IdolFools leader finished her sig, turned to look straight at the video camera, crimson eyes sparkling as she winked, and blew a long kiss. Umi and Eli glanced at each other but stayed silent, watching their friend, lost to her surroundings. Finally, after watching so many loops Umi had lost count, Maki shook her head and deleted the video. Snap. Snap. From everything everywhere. Yes, she had a gesture for that. One quick double snap of her fingers, video everyone else was unaware of gone from anywhere anyone else could find it.

Eli spun Maki’s stool to face her. “Why do you do that?”

Maki yelped and jumped out of her seat. “W...w...what; when did you, where…”

Sonoda Umi moved behind her friend, putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Maki here thinks the little one is too cute to go be in government custody.”

Maki frowned and started twisting a curl of her hair.

Eli snorted. “Can’t we just write out ’An Anarchist’s Guide to Disguising Your Physical Presence While Under Surveillance. Chapter One: wear a frickin’ mask’ and get a copy to her?”

Maki muttered, red faced, not looking Eli in the eye.

“What?” Eli resisted the shake Maki impulse.

“We can’t find her,” Umi explained, moving to her computer and pushing in a minidrive.

“Her face and art are everywhere and YOU can’t find her?” Eli sighed. “Maybe she should write a manual for us.”

“I’m getting some pizza.” Maki stood.

“There’s some in the fridge,” Umi pointed.

“Nah,” Maki grabbed her jacket, black, short. “Going home. Class in the morning.”

“Oh right,” Eli stood. “Guess we got here late.”

“We still need to examine these new schematics,” Umi stated as she shifted through files and layers of plans began appearing on the wall screen.

Eli nodded and closed the door after Maki, then gave her full attention to the robotics specifications Umi was projecting. With a quick clap of her hands together, she activated the holographic projector and then stretched her hands apart to adjust the size of the models.

Maki chose the shortest tunnel route. No thermal signatures or movement registering on the exit scanner, so she popped the hatch. Cool air felt great. Maki checked carefully to make sure no one had the seen the alley she exited from. Some dive with food would surely be open.

“Nico-chan, come back here!” Maki heard a shout behind her, then someone bulleted into her side. She whirled and caught a glimpse of impish eyes over a black mask dotted with screenprinted kisses. Almost too familiar, impish, crimson eyes. There was a wink before the person sprinted off again, but Maki had grabbed her tan coat, causing paint markers to spill from a pocket, all over the street.

“Damn it,” the woman grumped, shaking her head.

“Wait. I’ll help.” Maki knelt, still holding the coat.

The person waved away someone behind Maki’s back, and she heard footsteps running the other way.

The voice Maki occasionally heard in her dreams turned pleading. “Please let go. I need to skip.”

“Don’t run off; I want to talk to you, Miss No. 1,” Maki heard herself say out loud. The shorter woman grabbed her and pulled her into an alley, hissing, markers forgotten.

“How do you know that?” Ruby eyes burned with an intensity that lasered through the darkness.

Maki smiled, proud to be able to claim her Resistance efforts for once, and pointed to herself. “Diamond Princess.”

No. 1 stepped back with a low whistle, her glance screengrabbing every detail of Maki’s appearance. She pulled down her mask, kissed Maki on the cheek, whispered “Thanks” and took off at a blisteringly fast pace, not bothering to pick up her markers. Maki stared after the ebon blur, thoughts whirling, before kneeling down to retrieve the markers. Her cheek burned and her heart was racing as fast as “Nico-chan” had left.

WE MEET AGAIN?

Another party. Maki straightened her tie. Every time her mother tried to get her in an evening gown, Maki refused, but her mother kept pressing. Maki had finally just bought the most expensive tuxedo she could find in the hopes that her effort would at least quiet her mother, but no. Actually, Maki found herself thinking as she watched women sweeping past her in a rainbow of scintillating, glittering colors, some with crystals scattered, a few with the latest graphene technology shimmering between hues, she might not mind wearing something like that if only her mother wouldn’t make such a fuss. But as it was, Maki stood in her suit, champagne glass full of sparkling water in hand, hair slicked back, nodding at the beautiful butterflies who smiled at her, perfectly comfortable in her designer anonymity. Although a Nishikino was never invisible.

Until now. There was a fanfare, and every head turned to the ballroom’s main entrance. Two men walked in, followed by a towering figure. No, Maki thought as she paid closer attention, it was a smaller person on some kind of rolling platform. Hair done in an outrageous hairstyle, figure buried in a stiff but voluminous take on a black and gold kimono, neon characters streaming across its presumably graphene surface, face completely obscured by the artificiality of the makeup. Then someone handed her a microphone, and a high, cutesy, girly, giggly voice began to sing about the perfect boy. Maki frowned. Sure, the government had an official policy to encourage “traditional dating,” but there was no cleverness to it. Have some painted, perfect doll deliver a song about the “perfect boy,” your future together painted in the faux idyllic, puerile colors of modern pop. There was no perfect anything, and certainly no perfect boy. And no more access to birth control or support of “alternative” lifestyles. Just a government plan to make more children to put into more boxes to keep a strict eye on as they grew old enough for policed, drug-hazed meetings or arranged marriages to make more children to put in more boxes to continue the aforementioned government policies. No imagination at all. Maki rolled her eyes and turned away as the singer’s voice continued to pierce. Maybe the IdolFools would be prowling tonight, tagging walls with smart, empowering snark, while the idle rich partied. Umi would surely contact her if that happened. Maki longed to see someone not being simple. Or under government control.

The singing had stopped, and the doll-like figure had disappeared into the crowd. Maki sighed, her slouch even more pronounced, indifferent to her evening prospects. She didn’t count many friends among the current crowd, but it was probably time to find an acquaintance to make conversation with. And then she felt a hand on her sleeve, squeezing slightly. She turned. It was the doll. The makeup was even more disturbing up close, pasty, white, almost Kabuki, with blush and eye shadow overemphasizing features. The eyes were black, no pupils. Maki shivered.

“Didn’t the brilliant Dr. Nishikino enjoy the great Nico Ni’s performance?” Maki swore the doll simpered.

“How do you know m…” Maki straightened up, every nerve suddenly jangling at the invasive touch.

A fair-haired woman with green eyes slid between Maki and the doll. “Yazawa-san, the Mayor would like a moment of your time.”

The doll nodded. Maki noticed her hand was still on Makis’ sleeve, grip stronger than Maki would have guessed from such a fragile looking “creature.” “Perhaps later, the doctor will share a drink and her thoughts with me, after we’ve been properly introduced.”

Maki shrugged. “I’ll share them now. Your performance was very … simple. And probably appealed to many. I’m sure it was an excellent example of what popular music can offer, but I prefer instrumental.”

A giggle. “Ah, the doctor hides behind her classical training.” The doll winked.

Maki started, startled once again by the singer’s familiarity. “How do you…”

“Yazawa-san,” the other woman was insistent. Yazawa raised her hand from Maki’s sleeve and bowed deeply, while Maki just glared at the brazen singer.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Dr. Nishikino. I won’t be singing any more, so there will be no need to hurry home.” Nico Ni turned and slid off behind her assistant.

Maki frowned into a vacuum of emptiness Nico Ni had somehow intensified. Maki felt as if she’d stepped into a spotlight highlighting her solitary status. How did a conversation with a giggling government front leave her feeling like she’d been left behind at the start?

BACK AT THE SHOP

“No IdolFools tonight, huh?” Maki wondered, fidgeting with various items on her desk while watching a video stream of the news. Coverage of the party and Nico Ni’s performance. Maki was grateful she hadn’t seen herself in any of the video clips.

Umi shrugged, typing code with her usual speed. “No sighting. And it is now well past their usual hour to appear.”

Maki swept right and brought up another Nico Ni performance, frowning at the screen on her worktable. “You don’t think the government is much more advanced in AI and robotics technology than we think, do you?”

Umi shook her head, chuckling. “Maki, you’re the professor of NeuroLinguistics, you tell us. Why do you ask?”

“Something didn’t feel right about that Yazawa … person.” Maki said the last word doubtfully, shivering a bit, remembering how the singer’s hand had lingered on her forearm. “And I can’t find any information about her, anywhere, no pictures, no history, no nothing. Is she just a government invention?”

Eli stepped away from the projection she was manipulating to look over Maki’s shoulder, watching the video Maki had up. Nico Ni at the Tokyo Dome. Thousands and thousands of screaming women pushing toward the stage. “Doubtful. Music and dance are very complicated, and she’s done impromptu live, solo performances.”

“Fan?” Maki glanced up at the blonde woman.

“No. I just pay attention to popular culture, and she’s dominating the news. She never goes anywhere without her back-up dancers aka bodyguards, A-Rise.”

Maki did a quick search. “I met one tonight, Kira. There’s information and pictures on them, but Yazawa’s never seen out of costume.”

“Why do we care?” Umi wondered, pausing to lean her chin onto her hands.

“Very good question.” Eli bounced back on her heels. “Why do we care, Professor Nishikino?”

“She knew too many things.” Maki couldn’t really explain the dissonance in her nerves that the Idol ‘s presence had set off. Even thinking about … her? It? them? caused a shudder.

“You are a public figure,” Umi, the voice of reason, pointed out.

“And cute,” Eli winked.

Maki pushed her chair back, looking at the floor, blushing slightly. “I just know it’s frustrating. I don’t know why. I don’t really want to. I want pizza.”

“You always want pizza. It’s a pattern. Patterns are dangerous,” Umi noted, concern in her voice.

A buzzer went off. Maki leaned in toward her computer screen, alert. Facial recognition software triggered. “They’re out.”

“Where?”

Maki checked where the surveillance footage was coming from. “The hospital?”

“Your hospital?” Eli sounded startled.

“My family’s, yes. They’ve never gone anywhere near it before. Our security’s pretty tight. Must be a shift change. Or bribery?” Maki sounded puzzled.

The three women who called themselves IdolFools came into view, dressed in dark grey mottled, loose hoodies, two masked. They worked quickly and efficiently, neon colors going up into a diamond dressed in a dark suit and tie, topped by a tiara.

Umi laughed. “It’s your tag, switched up.”

“What?”

“Diamond Princess plus Tuxedo.”

The shorter one, once again unobscured by a mask, turned to the closest camera and bowed with a flourish. Then all three tagged the art and fled. No. 1 Idol. Idol MEnOW. Toasted Idol. Maki had become familiar with each of their tags.

Maki frowned, another set of memories pushing forward. “I saw her last night.”

“Who?”

Maki hmmmed. “No. 1. She ran into me when I came out of the H Tunnel Alley. One of the others I didn’t see called her Nico-chan. I wanted to talk to her, but she ran off.”

“One Nico who doesn’t want to talk to you, and one you couldn’t get away from. You’re being Nic-ursed, Maki-chan,” Eli poked her friend.

“If a third shows up, it might be best for you to leave the country,” Umi advised solemnly.

Maki shrugged, made sure she had all the video footage of tonight’s IdolFools’ adventures logged, and double snapped.

Eli sat on a stool, in the middle of her projected schematics. “Do you ever wonder if she wants to be seen? It was only coincidence you noticed the first two times.”

“Of course she wouldn’t. That would be stupid,” Maki declared.

Eli grinned as she began moving layers. “People are weird. That’s what makes them more interesting than your robot singer.”

“Yeah.” Maki pulled up another video, still puzzled, still caught between unadmitted fascination and obvious frustration.

Umi stood and stretched. “Now I want pizza. How many slices should I heat up?”

“All of them,” Maki and Eli answered.

Eli stretched. “We should start working on that speech algorithm again. I got a little more data from my defense connection.”

DARKNESS STRIKES THE DAY

Eli was used to the occasional stares. Her blonde hair, fair skin and blue eyes frequently drew attention in a country allowing itself to further and further distance and dehumanize anything “other.” But she was usually fairly safe in Akihabara; it was a melting-pot neighborhood, full of pop-up stores, the latest tech, impossible foods, fast moving multitudes, and many of the eccentrics who had either dropped out or been discarded by mainstream society. It was near Chiyoda, the neighborhood the Sonoda family dojo and Maki’s townhouse were located in. Eli came here as often as she could, to see what was new in stores and to hear the street gossip. She rarely drew much attention, but today, something felt different, dangerous. She could feel the stares, the attention. She regretted not having a hat or hoodie to pull over her hair. People were walking closer, muttering, bumping her, a sudden elbow, a push off balance, and she fell into a young man, who shoved her onto the pavement. Suddenly, she was the center of a circle of anger.

“Baka!”

“Gaijin!”

“Too stupid to walk.”

Eli was down on one knee, trying to stand, but people were closing in. She saw one young man pull his leg back, preparing a kick, an older woman raised her handbag. Eli crossed her arms to protect her head and felt a hard jab into her side, stealing her breath. Something sharp bit into her cheek.

“Get to your feet,” Eli ordered herself, pushing up against three people, when suddenly there was a loud roar and someone next to her, yelling and moving to protect her.

“Back off!” A woman commanded the crowd.

Someone else grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, dragging her quickly out of the pack while the voice continued to shout.

“Go home. Find something to love. Stop causing trouble.”

Eli almost laughed at the anger mixed with honest sincerity in the voice behind her.

“You’re okay.” A small woman with bright green eyes was was pulling her into an alley. “We know where to take you. You’ll be safe.”

“Thanks.”

They stopped. “I’m Rin.” The woman smiled and took off her hat, handing it to Eli. “I think if we just walk casually from here we’ll be fine.”

“What about…?”

“Honoka? She’ll be fine. She’s always fine. She knows how to handle crowds.”

Rin, who had revealed short dusty ginger hair under her hat, led them down alleys, always watching, eyes moving quickly, steps almost quicker. Eli had to push to keep up. She was unfamiliar with this part of the town.

They stepped out into a small lane with a row of shops, a restaurant in the middle. Rin went quickly into the one to the right of the restaurant. Eli glanced up at the sign, not in Japanese, a Greek letter. μ's.

Inside was a friendly clutter, clothes, the smell of coffee in the air, low lighting, fabric scattered everywhere, couches. A chime clattered as the door closed, and a melodious voice trilled, “What sort of a stray did you bring us this time, Rin-chan?”

A woman pushed through a bead curtain, long dark purple-tinted hair gathered over one shoulder, turquoise eyes winking with amusement. “Looks like a hungry one. Kotori, bring a tray out.”

“Uh huh.” Another trill of melody. After the harsh voices in the street, Eli felt like she’d stepped into a different time and country. The rustic looking fabric the purple-haired woman had wrapped around her voluptuous figure added to the distortion.

Rin disappeared for a moment and came back with a first-aid kit. “Sit down.”

Eli sat in the chair her rescuer pushed toward her. Rin quickly cleaned her cheek. Eli saw blood on the gauze. Rin frowned. “I don’t think stitches. Nozomi?”

The woman she called Nozomi moved closer, leaning in to look at Eli’s cheek. Eli found her head turning to stare into the other woman’s eyes.

“If you don’t look straight ahead, I won’t be able to check your wound.” The turquoise-eyed woman smile. “I’m Tojo Nozomi. I won’t hurt you. Rin and Honoka always bring their strays here.”

Eli breathed in. There was a strange spicy spell. “Ayase Eli. And thank you.” She turned her head away as commanded. Soft fingers touched her cheek, tracing the cheekbone lightly.

“Just a butterfly bandage. Shouldn’t scar.”

A third woman, with fawn-colored hair and gentle golden eyes, came forward, teapot and plate of cookies on a tray.

“Chocolate?” Eli asked hopefully.

Kotori laughed, the skin around her eyes crinkling in a friendly fashion. “A few, yes.”

“What happened?” Nozomi asked.

RIn pulled her hat off Eli’s head, revealing the blonde hair. “Out-of-control crowd.”

Nozomi frowned. “That must have been frightening. Are you all right, Ayase-san?”

Eli had a mouthful of cookie but nodded as Kotori poured out tea. “Not really new. I should have been more careful. I’ve been too busy to come to this part of town recently; I didn’t realize the mood had altered so.”

“Bad rolls downhill, good climbs the mountain slowly,” Nozomi declared, reaching into a pocket to pull out a deck of Tarot cards. She looked at a card, and then another. Then she met Eli’s glance, her brows lowering.

“What?” Eli wasn’t sure if Nozomi’s look was intended as an inquisition or an invitation.

“Oh, this is just a hobby. It helps me figure out … hmmm ...” Nozomi frowned, her attention returning to the cards. “The Hermit means solitude -- or isolation --but paired with The Star it means you’re on the path the universe meant for you.”

Eli took another cookie, ignoring the pain in her side and cheek and deciding not to respond to the mysticism. “Is this your store?”

“Yes. Kotori makes clothing, Rin and Honoka put art on T-shirts, we sell vintage stuff plus warm drinks and cookies. The universe nearly always needs warm drinks and cookies to stay in balance. All guaranteed not tagged by the government.” Nozomi giggled. “Although if you’re a government agent, I should not have said that.”

Eli grinned. “Nope, totally not government approved, although I probably shouldn’t have said that.” She paused. “Well, I am a student at a government university, so slightly government approved.”

“You look harmless enough,” Nozomi stated. Kotori giggled. Rin was repacking the first-aid kit.

Eli glanced at her watch, mechanical, Swiss mechanism, very very old and unhackable. “Thank you, ladies, but I have an appointment. Maybe we could meet again sometime?”

Nozomi took out a different card, with a contact number. She slid it into Eli’s hand. “Please.”

“Honoka will be sad not to see you,” Rin pouted.

Eli got up and Impulsively hugged Rin. “Give her that for me. With my thanks.” Then she pulled the hat back off the smaller woman’s head. “I’ll need to borrow this, though.”

“Bring it back soon!” Rin shouted as Eli opened the door, flashing her brightest grin at the three women as she left.

ANOTHER MEETING

Her mother had won this time. Purple gown, plunging back, lace overlay. Maki knew it was important not to become a blip on either her parents or the government’s radar. So for a party celebrating the wedding of the university president’s son to a defense ministry higher up’s daughter, the traditional female formalwear came out. Maki was perfectly comfortable, the dress fit well and she’d worn flats. Her only irritations were the gleam in her mother’s eyes and the men she would keep bringing over to meet her very single daughter.

Maki pulled her phone out. No messages. Not that she and Eli or Umi communicated by phone much. Yes, they had a secure, encrypted app disguised as a weather update, but still, they avoided unnecessary communication over networks. She would see the other two later tonight, after fulfilling her social obligations.

“Good evening, Dr. Nishikino. A pleasure to see you again. Did you come to hear me serenade the happy couple?”

Maki recognized the drawling voice and groaned, putting her phone away. Nico Ni. Black eyes stared into hers, then the painted lips broke into that disconcertingly artificial smile. The makeup was in a new configuration today, red stripes slashed over cheekbones and lips, dark blue slashes over the eyes, contrasting with the pale pale ivory caked on what Maki assumed was some kind of pliable ceramic skin.

“Are you meant to look like moveable doll?” Maki decided to forgo the empty, polite chatter.

She couldn’t tell if the singer was frowning or smiling as the smaller woman leaned in, both hands on the table. “Does the doctor want to know if I’m real or robot? To take me back to your lab and experiment?”

“N … no …” Maki stuttered, turning away, discomfited by the Idol’s near touch.

Yazawa laughed, then straightened to walk past Maki to her next victim. Her hand glided up Maki’s arm, trailing over the shoulder, a light, tantalizing touch as she leaned down to whisper in Maki’s ear, her voice throaty. “I like this look better. It’s delectable.” Maki nearly knocked her chair backward as Yazawa moved away quickly. She could feel a blush spreading everywhere.

BACK AT HQ

Umi leaned back in her chair, glancing between the bandaged Eli and the shaken Maki. “Am I the only one who had a quiet evening?”

Maki hadn’t bothered to change. She threw her handbag against the wall behind her worktable and grumbled at Umi. “You always have a quiet evening. You don’t have a crazy, stalker demon doll after you.”

“Or a cute street tagger to keep a constant eye on,” Umi countered with. “Takes a stalker to know one.”

“Shut up.” Maki, dress flaring out behind her, stomped over to the workout corner and bumped the speed bag with her head. Several times. Which reminded her. “I have a melody.”

“What?” Umi paused her code entry.

“For your ‘Love and Peace’ lyrics. We can record in time for the usual broadcast.” Maki glared at the speed bag, picturing a certain singer’s blank eyes on its surface.

“Excellent,” Umi nodded. “Shall we start?”

Maki swatted the bag. “I am so not in a ‘Love and Peace’ mood.”

“And I need some sleep.” Eli yawned. “I think I’ll just curl up here.”

“Good idea. Sleep is essential for any successful endeavor.” Umi stood. “Tomorrow, then.”

THE BROADCAST

“Being able to be earnest is lovely It's not logic but an earnest feeling Do you possess rules of freedom and courage?

“Don't fear progress Share the joy Even if it's only those two, I want to uphold them without fail.

“Oh, Love & Peace Let my heart become a gentle breeze Yes, I want to give you energy so you'll do your best Oh, Love & Peace When you're sad, I vow To always hold you tight, don't forget that.

“Even if it's painful, cry no more Let's graduate from the solitude, Love & Peace.

“Becoming too reckless is agonizing Let's look back and take a deep breath Everyone loves freedom and courage.”

“Thanks for listening to the new song from Soldier Game, ‘Love and Peace.’ Be a kind wind out there, people. Help each other. Find someone to hold you tight the government doesn’t approve of, as long as that person approves. Pick up a fallen friend. Take care of yourself. And now a quick word from our Diamond Princess:

“Does anyone else find government shill and demon doll Nico Ni a creepy, artificial fake? I’ve been wondering: Is government robotics research suddenly advanced enough to produce a minor talent to push their traditional family agenda? Are the screaming hordes at the Nico Ni concerts brainwashed by propaganda, or in an auditory, robot-induced alpha wave haze? What don’t we know? Are all your awful government entertainment choices actually government-constructed robots and androids? Did they decide to declare war on our ears and not our enemies? You know where to post your thoughts.”

It was always weird to hear their filtered voices, Maki thought as she listened to their podcast in her headphones yet again. She wasn’t certain she’d expressed herself clearly about the demon doll. It felt weird to accuse a person she’d met of being a robot, especially when she knew technology was not that advanced … as far as she could find out. Plus, the fingertips on her shoulder had been warm, and the tingle they’d left hadn’t been a surge from anything electrical. Maki had been shocked in the lab enough times to know that. But she knew something was off, and she had no idea how to describe it. But she worried that she’d been too harsh.

Eli pulled off her headphones and spun her chair around as the IdolFools flashed up on the wallscreen.

“Look at this,” Umi pointed.

The three taggers, two masked and obscured, as usual, and No. 1, taking pauses to grin at the camera as usual, were finishing their night’s work.

Three phrases, two of them lyrics from the latest Soldier Game offering: “Love and Peace.” “Be A Kind Wind.”

“They’re fans,” Eli stated.

Maki was staring at the last phrase, for once ignoring the on camera shenanigans of No. 1. “AI-Rise,” she whispered.

“AI-Rise.” Maki pulled on Umi’s arm. “The bodyguards are the robots?” She was silent for a minute. “And how would they know?”

“They do know things,” Umi said in a respectful tone. On the screen, No 1 started painting a red heart, obscuring AI-RIse.

“But we still can’t find them to verify anything.” Maki paced away from the screen, right hand rushing through her hair.

“No,” Eli agreed, clapping a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “But you can find Yazawa and distract her while we take a look.”

“No,” Maki turned red, shaking Eli off. “I refuse.”

“No, you don’t,” Eli continued, talking over Maki. “If the government has AI that advanced, 1, they’re years ahead of you, and 2, they’ve been keeping you out of the loop.”

“But that’ll compromise my identity. And Soldier Game.” Maki continued backing away, arms crossing in front of her as if to ward off the thought.

“No, you won’t be associated with this at all,” Eli shook her head. “We can knock you out while you protect the pretty porcelain doll.”

Maki yelled. It probably echoed in the dojo. “What!?!?!”

Umi snorted, her hand now on Maki’s shaking shoulder. “Just forget the self-defense I taught you. I won’t do any permanent damage.”

“This is a bad plan,” Maki stated. “A really, really bad plan.”

Eli’s blue eyes had chilled into no compromise mode. “You know you want a look at those robots, Maki, if they are robots.”

Maki slumped against the wall, forehead pressed against the concrete, refusing to look at her co conspirators. “Yeah. But I still bet Yazawa’s the robot.”

Umi fist bumped Eli, who answered. “We’ll take that bet. Pizza’s on you for a year if you’re wrong.”

“Pizza’s always on me.”

“That’s because it’s all you’ll eat. Pattern,” Umi teased.

“Not true.” Maki pushed herself off the wall. “I eat su...”

“So,” Eli interrupted the discussion. “We are agreed, it’s worth a risk to see if the government is using robotics technology that advanced.”

“Maybe.” Maki hesitated. “Are we really going to do this based on a tip from some random street taggers?”

Umi frowned at her friend. “So, since you are uncomfortable around Yazawa, you suddenly doubt the people you’ve been supporting for months. Who are out on the streets, taking risks, making a difference, encouraging people like us.”

Maki couldn’t meet Umi’s stern glance. Then Umi double snapped, erasing tonight’s footage. Maki raised her head, shocked, mentally kicking herself for letting doubt distract her, endangering the three women who had earned her respect. Umi was right to chide her lack of conviction.

Maki swallowed both pride and discomfort. “You’re right, Umi.”

Umi nodded, happy with the contrition in Maki’s voice.

“So next time you see Yazawa, ask for a private meeting,” Eli pressed.

“Maybe I won’t see her again. Or she’ll say no.” Maki cheered up at the prospect.

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Umi said.

Maki muttered into her hands, “You wouldn’t bet on anything.”

Umi stared into the distance. “I would bet you’ll see her again. And this evening, I already have wagered a year’s worth of pizza that A-Rise is the AI.”

Umi sounded so convinced Maki turned her head to stare. Umi shrugged. “Call it a strong hunch.”

“Now you’ve got hunches?” Maki snorted at her friend. “Who are you?”

Eli laughed and grabbed her coat. “I’ll see you two later. I have a date.” She pulled on a green hat; she’d been wearing one more often since the attack.

IN CLASS

Maki hated morning classes. She tried to avoid them, but sometimes it was impossible. This one was 8 a.m. Intro to Mechatronics, when students began to meld all the academic fields that were involved in intelligent machines into big-picture future science. It was also when they began to decide on specialties. The class seemed as grumpy as she was, with a large percentage missing. Was everyone out partying last night, Maki wondered. Or did they all lose sleep being chased by people they barely knew in their nightmares. Maki yawned, sorely tempted to just pull out her laptop, turn on the projector, hit play on “My Girlfriend is A Cyborg” and take a nap in the back of the classroom. One more quick glance at the sullen, sleepy faces around her and she concluded, “Oh, what the hell.”

The class seemed pleasantly surprised at the lecture substitute, even when Maki assigned them a paper about the ethics of creating robots who look like specific people. Maki settled into a back-row seat, stretching her legs out into the aisle and letting her head fall forward into her chest. If she was going to dream about robots, it was time to choose fictional options.

“Oh, responsible choice, Professor Nishikino,” Eli laughed as she slid in next to Maki.

“It matches my responsible TA,” Maki pulled out her phone. “37 minutes late for class.”

“I stopped by your office. You got mail.” Eli grabbed Maki’s phone, opening her calendar.

“Email? You hacked my computer?” Maki stared at Eli, who pushed a heavy envelope at her.

“No. Not email. Mail.”

Maki opened the envelope, read the gold-embossed card quickly, then tossed it away. Eli caught it and handed Maki her phone back.

“Restaurant opening. Very fancy, very formal, personally invited by number one government entertainer, Nico Ni Yazawa. Your mother will love this. Very good for the Nishikino name. I put the date in your phone. Wear something nice. Girls like that.” Eli winked.

“Shut up,” Maki hissed. “If you’re any kind of friend, you’ll destroy that card and pretend I never saw it.”

“I love you, Maki, but if you don’t go, Yazawa might show up here. She seems to be finding ways for you to stumble across her. Obviously, she can tell you can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe she’s a psychic robot girlfriend?” Eli leaned her head on Maki’s shoulder.

Maki shook Eli off, and her voice was a little louder than she expected, “Stop it.” Eli pocketed the invitation with a callous smirk as a few students turned to stare.

“Can you handle these hooligans by yourself?” Eli nodded at the students, most still half asleep in front of them.

“Yes.” Maki crossed her arms over her chest, nose turned sharply into the air.

Eli nodded. “I’m going to find Umi. We have to talk about our latest project before presenting it.”

Maki knew Eli meant that she and Umi were going to discuss whether or not there was enough time to prepare for abducting one of the suspected robots. She’d gotten used to the fact that public conversations had to be conducted very carefully.

“I wish you and Sonada-san luck.”

“Thanks, Prof.” Eli bounced up. “My date went well, since you forgot to ask.”

“Your mood gave me a clue,” Maki grumbled.

“Enjoy the cyborg girlfriend movie, might be good preparation for …”

“Go away, Ayase.”

“Yes ma’am,” Eli bowed with a cheerful flourish. “Don’t forget to ask your mother to help with an outfit.”

Maki’s kick connected.

DINNER WITH THE DEVIL

Maki felt very nervous. She wished she’d worn something with pockets. Sure, everything she needed to communicate with anyone else was wrapped around her left forearm, on the experimental grey silk and graphene NZan Kote half sleeve. But it was designed to be streamlined, not fidgeted with. Umi and Eli had not told her anything about the plan. Her mother would have criticized her wardrobe choice had she seen it, and the restaurant was too well lit for Maki to hide in a shadowy corner. Huge windows, huge lights, and while she’d been seated in the back, the table was centrally located. The invitation from Yazawa had not listed a dress code, so Maki had opted for a grey tweed vest, open-collar white silk shirt and floor-length black skirt

There was a list of entertainers and a prix fixe menu, shimmering in hand-lettered gold. So many courses. Maki had half expected the singer to meet her, but no, she had yet to see Yazawa. As a soup course was set before the Doctor, a fanfare announced the start of the show. Nico Ni stepped out into a spotlight, glittering like exquisite jewelry. Maki forced herself to frown. Tonight, the singer was dressed in impossibly tall heels, what looked like a Zoot suit jacket made out of neon green and black striped sheer fabric, with huge shoulders and a short, short fringey skirt. Her makeup was dark, with silver diamonds and tears cascading through her left eye, down her cheek and continuing to her collarbone. Maki watched for a moment as Yazawa mewled some song about two perfect hearts while nearly naked men cavorted around and with the singer before rolling her eyes and continuing the soup course. There was an empty plate in front of the seat next to Maki’s, but aside from that she was alone at the table, and very comfortable with that. She had no desire to make small talk, or any kind of conversation at all. Although she did thoroughly enjoy her soup while mostly ignoring Yazawa’s performance.

She felt someone come up behind her as the salad was delivered. Turning, she saw the same green-eyed woman who’d pulled Yazawa away the first time they met. The singer was on stage, pouring her presumably mechanical heart into a ballad about finding your lover’s face in the aisles of a grocery store or a puddle or something nearly as prosaic.

“Dr. Nishikino, Yazawa-san appreciates your patience. She will be joining you soon.” Kira, Yazawa’s factotum, bowed and left.

Maki nodded and picked at the salad, restless and nervous again. “Oh gods,” she thought, “This is a date.”

Third course was something resembling bruschetta, so Maki didn’t mind. Anything with tomatoes was a win. And then, just as she was starting to chew, she felt someone sweep up very close behind and breathe on her cheek. “Good evening, Dr. Nishikino. I’m pleased to see you. And dressed in such a dashing style.”

As Yazawa smoothly landed a kiss on her cheek, Maki nearly spit out her bread and tomato mix. Yazawa nodded as the factotum pulled out the chair, and the Idol sat facing Maki, legs crossed at the knee. Maki found herself staring at the muscle definition.

“No. No. No,” Maki repeated to herself. “Annoying demon stalker robot. Not random dancer with great legs.”

She looked up. Yazawa’s black eyes were riveted on hers, but their expression was lost in the darkness of her makeup. Maki wondered what color the Idol’s eyes actually were. And then laughed a little when her brain answered, “Electric.”

Yazawa tiled her head. “Something amusing, Nishikino-san? Share with the great Nico Ni while Kira-san gets me … can you recommend any of the dishes so far?”

Maki could answer that question at least. “If you don’t have the soup, you will have missed something.”

Yazawa glanced at her bodyguard and received a bow in response. “Soup it is. And now, the source of your amusement.” Yazawa put her chin in a hand propped on her knee and leaned in.

Maki hesitated briefly, but felt compelled to conversation by the Idol’s unwavering focus. “I was just considering the color of your eyes.”

“Black,” Yazawa answered quickly, blinking. “The eyes of the great Nico Ni are black. The natural movement of pupils is very difficult to mimic artificially, but the professor must know that.” Yazawa whirled in her seat as her soup arrived, leaving Maki to stare at her profile and wonder once again, who was playing with whom?

After a few sips of soup, Yazawa asked a question. “Do you enjoy teaching?”

Maki sighed. Just another interview. Cue the professional charm. A waiter had brought Yazawa some bread twists, and Maki grabbed one, picking it to pieces. “I try not to load myself with too many morning classes, but I do enjoy the challenge of finding answers to students’ questions.”

Yazawa turned, grinning, teeth white and dazzling in the darkness of her face. “No morning classes? Why not? Too many late nights? What does Dr. Nishikino do outside of the classroom?” The way Yazawa dragged out “does” pushed Maki straight back to nervous. The bread twist had been crumbled away, so Maki grabbed at a curl of her hair.

The redhead stumbled. “R … research, reading. I have a pool table in my townhouse. I don’t sleep much.”

The singer laughed. “I find exercise helps with that.”

Maki looked back to the legs. “Ah, you must sleep well with all the dancing.”

Yazawa looked sideways at her. “Yes, that too.”

The damn black eyes stared through Maki again, and she suddenly realized what Yazawa might have been referring to. She reached for her water glass with a shaky hand, and knocked it into the singer’s basket of twists.

Yazawa chuckled and leaned in, her arm resting on the chair behind Maki, who could feel the warmth coming off the Idol’s skin. “You’re just too easy to torment.”

Maki felt frustration and energy building, demanding an outlet. Umi and Eli had impressed upon her that she was not to leave the restaurant or do anything dramatic, but Maki knew if she just sat there she would end up shouting at Nico Ni. Or crashing her chair into something or someone. Or …

“Excuse me,” Maki barked as she stood and rushed for the door. Away. No people. No black eyes. No taunting. No touching. Cool air. Quiet. The restaurant was on a ground floor but pushed back from the street. In the summer, there would probably be outdoor tables and trees full and rustling. She hurried around the corner of the building, out of view of the street, but heard rustling behind her. She turned. Short Skirt. Toned legs. Black eyes of the damned. And because of her stupid heels, Yazawa was at eye level, and so her eyes were even more disturbing. She calmly handed Maki a cigarette, and then offered her a light.

Maki took the cigarette automatically, then tried to hand it back. “I don’t smoke.”

Yazawa grabbed her shoulder. “You do tonight. Put it in your mouth.”

Maki tried to pull away. “What?”

Yazawa grabbed the cigarette, pushed it between Maki’s lips, and lit it. “Would you prefer distinguished professor of robotics and Nishikino heiress throws teenage temper tantrum at restaurant opening as tonight’s late night TWIG gossip buzz?”

“I’m not a teenager.” Maki gulped, then coughed at the heat in her throat.

“Don’t swallow it, idiot.” Nico leaned against the wall, next to Maki, and lit her own cigarette.

“Do you smoke?”

Nico looked from her cigarette to Maki. “You really aren’t terribly fast on the uptake, are you? But not really. I only smoke when I need an excuse to get away from people. Cigarettes are more of a prop.” Nico closed one eye in a slow wink, seductively dragging out her next inhale, lips pursed as she released a thin stream of smoke.

Maki didn’t respond and instead tried inhaling herself, which was worse than swallowing. Her lungs burned. More coughing. Nico drew in another slow breath, watching the Doctor’s face go pale. Then she blew out a thin trail of smoke and tipped the ash off the end.

Kira-san approached, ignoring Maki’s presence as the doctor watched the singer for how-to hints.”You are on in ten minutes, Yazawa-san.”

Yazawa turned to thank her assistant, and four figures, dressed in grey and black, masked, jumped out at the three of them.

Caught off guard, Maki inhaled in panic and really started choking, the cigarette falling out of her mouth. Yazawa looked at Maki doubled over, rolled her eyes, and tried to push her behind a tree. Someone pulled the singer off and threw a bag over head. Yazawa started kicking.

As they tried to pick up the struggling singer, Maki recovered, and reached out toward Yazawa, getting between her and two attackers. The other two tossed some kind of electrified net over Kira-san, and then too late Maki saw the punch heading straight for her jaw. Umi knew exactly where her weak spot was. Maki knocking over Yazawa hadn’t been part of the plan, but as Umi looked at her friend unconscious with the singer half crushed underneath her, she thought it added authenticity.

NO SLEEP FOR THE WEARY

The Nishikino lawyer had made certain that Maki’s statement was taken quickly and efficiently. And that the Doctor had been kept out of the public view, away from the press. And Maki could honestly answer she had no idea what was going on, or why there were four people. Or why they had targeted the Idol. She wondered if anyone had been hurt. Yazawa had a lot of fight for someone so small. But Maki had also seen a picture of Nico Ni unconscious, frail looking, with the knocked-out Maki on top of her.

Maki was exhausted. Her mother had shown up with coffee and concern. What Maki really wanted to get back to her townhouse to see if Eli and Umi had made their way there, not reassure her maternal parent. Surely Eli and Umi had been responsible for the celebritynapping, even though Maki had been surprised to see four people. But who else would have wanted to snatch Yazawa? And anyone else would have left the bodyguard, right? Oh heck, there was no reason to snatch the bodyguard. Maki crushed the coffee cup, expecting the police to call her back for more questions.

“Maki?” Her mother pushed the hair back from Maki’s forehead as the roboticist sat with her head tilted back, a cold pack on her jaw. “The car’s waiting. Let’s go home. You need some rest.”

“I need to go to my house.” Maki removed the cold pack.

“No, you shouldn’t be alone.”

“I want to go home. I’m tired. I want MY bed,” Maki let herself whine. This night had been too long, and her brain kept unhelpfully focusing on the image of Yawaza, legs crossed, leaning in, until the memory of the demon eyes brought out shivers.

“Maki.” Her mother stood, leaning in with concern.

Maki countered quickly, forcing her back. “Sorry, Mom. I’m going home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

There was a staring match. And a disappointed sigh. “At least take the car.”

Maki nodded.

SLIPPERY IDOL

Maki walked into her living room, throwing off her vest, unbuttoning her top two buttons, waving off the robot that glided greet her. It slid back to its corner. That was normal. What was not was Eli and Umi arguing. Loudly. Long night not nearly over, Maki realized.

“She can’t be in the lab. She’ll see who we are.” Umi’s usual calm voice was tinged with the loud of panic.

“But we can’t shut her in the laundry room.” Eli sounded almost reasonable. They’d probably also already seen that there was really no room in the laundry room. Maki kept forgetting to program the experimental housekeeping robot for chores. Although it was programmed to heat and deliver mini pizzas at midnight, if Maki was spending the night at home.

Eli’s next statement bumped her off team almost reasonable. “We should have kept her unconscious.”

“How would we do that? Drugs?” Umi paced. “Maki’s bedroom has the only lockable door. And any transmissions will still be blocked, if she has a tracker on her. We have to leave her in there.”

“You put her in my bedroom?” Maki pushed between her friends.

Umi nodded at Maki, proud of their improvised solution. “We managed to jury rig a solid lock. We took out everything that could identify you before we grabbed her. Since you don’t have a holding cell, and we need the lab.”

“Too bad you don’t have a bondage fetish, we could have just chained her to a wall, and you might have enjoyed it,” Eli teased.

“Oh, shut up,” Maki snarled as she blushed, turning away from Eli to confront Umi. “And thanks for the bruise, by the way. It hurts.”

Umi shrugged. “The plan worked. You’re not under arrest.”

“No,” Maki conceded, walking through to the kitchen, and grabbing a drink. “Shall we get started?”

“Should we leave someone on guard?” Eli wondered.

Maki stopped, suddenly remembering the earlier part of the evening. “Who were the other two? And where are they now?”

“Friends,” Umi stated. “They left.”

“Do I know them?”

“No,” Umi shook her head and headed to the lab.

Maki sighed, went to her bedroom and tried the door, making sure of the lock. “I’d rather have both of you helping, we’ll get things done faster that way. The police are going to wonder why the bodyguard was grabbed anyway. The less time they have to think …”

“Right,” Eli agreed. “Lab it is.”

Downstairs, in the basement lab, Kira was stretched out on a table. Eli ran a finger over her skin. “Texture’s amazing. Can’t tell if it’s plastic or flexible ceramic, with some sort of textile overlay.”

“Wonder if we can get a hair sample?” Umi glanced at Maki’s carefully organized tools.

“First, let’s figure out where to access the interior,” Maki decided, pulling on gloves. “Torso or head, do you think?”

Eli crouched so her eyes were level with the robot, scanning. “Torso would be more protected. Guess we’ll have to take the clothes off.”

“Wrong guess, perverts.” A strangely familiar voice hissed from behind them. Maki turned. Yazawa, still in full makeup, leaned casually in the lab door frame, one of Maki’s black T-shirts hanging nearly down to her knees, feet in a fuzzy purple pair of socks Maki never wore. “You need better security. Now let’s make sure you shut Kira off properly so the rest of my team doesn’t show up here.”

Yazawa moved past Maki, ignoring her, and made a couple of quick gestures at the base of the head. “Good job with the shutdown.”

“Thank you,” Umi nodded. “I tried to be thorough.”

“You’re a keeper,” Yawaza nodded at Umi, then turned to Eli. “You, go to μ's and tell Nozomi I need my emergency gear, especially since the girl genius here doesn’t have any kind of decent make-up removal stuff.” Maki fumed, arms crossing over her chest, as the singer took zero notice of her.

“But …” Eli started.

“If,” and Yazawa’s smile was grim, her hand locked under her bodyguard’s head, her tone brusque, “you don’t leave immediately, Blondie, I hit the panic button, and we all have a nice talk with my superiors. Probably in about ten minutes.”

Eli looked to Maki and Umi. Neither of them had an answer.

“Right,” Eli turned to leave.

Yazawa pulled her back. “And no letting Nozomi distract you. I need that stuff five minutes ago.”

Eli agreed.

Yazawa moved away from the robot, mood confrontational, her index finger jutting right under Maki’s nose. “You are a lousy date. Do you have any food?”

Maki knocked Yazawa’s finger aside, then flushed as the singer’s eyes dropped briefly to the swell of her chest, exposed by the undone buttons. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Food,” Nico snarled, ruby eyes back to demanding a response from Maki.

“She has …”

“Pizza,” Umi and Maki echoed each other.

“No style, no tastebuds … makes sense.” Yazawa eyed Maki doubtfully then turned back to the robot. “Go warm me up a slice, and I’ll open up Kira for you.”

Maki stared at the back of the insanely insufferable demon singer. Umi touched her arm. “Go.”

Maki stormed out of the room, not listening to Umi and Yazawa converse.

WHO ARE YOU

Yazawa had settled into Maki’s couch with a slice of pizza, after opening up the robot head, leaving Maki and Umi alone to work.

She had barked instructions at a seething Maki, though, before flouncing out of the lab. “You’d better not mess up her sense of rhythm. I need them to look good.”

Eli returned very shortly and tossed a green duffel bag on the couch next to the singer.

“Thanks,” Yazawa nodded as she finished the pizza. “How’s NozoNosy?”

“Fine,” Eli grinned. “She said Rin and Honoka were going to meet you in a hour, at the three spot?”

“Good.” Yazawa reached into the bag and pulled out a smaller kit. “Tell the Professor I want to talk to her.”

Eli nodded; Yazawa disappeared into Maki’s bedroom, presumably for the full bath. Eli hurried to the lab. Maki had just stepped back from the table, a metal rod in one hand and a look of awe on her face.

She turned to Eli, her voice cracking with excitement. “It’s organic.”

“What is?”

“The brain,” Umi stated, staring down. “An organoid. They must have grown it; I don’t know how long it would have taken. Looks like 3-D-printed blood vessels.”

Maki whistled. “It’s not that it’s ahead of the science I’ve been working with, it’s just … different. Light years different.”

Eli stepped to the open cranium. The brain was smaller than she expected, and very liquid, goo everywhere in a containment chamber.

“I wonder if they started with some form of mammal brain or if it’s completely artificial? Or just grown from IPSCs?” Umi started taking pictures.

“I’m going to have to review my biology,” Maki admitted. “I’ve been so focused on the EE/AI aspects recently.” Maki typed something above the NZan on her left arm.

“Oh,” Eli suddenly jumped. “Yazawa wants to talk to you, Maki.”

“Why?” Maki shook her head, no intention of leaving this discovery for anything.

“Ask her yourself, Maki. She’s taking off her makeup.”

Maki grumbled as she climbed the stairs. No Yazawa on the couch or in the half bath. So bedroom. Maki paused for a moment, wondering what kind of face was actually hidden under the masks of makeup. The bedroom door was open.

Sounds of water. Maki felt strange pacing in her own bedroom. She moved to the bathroom and knocked. She heard a grunt. Sitting was calmer, calmer than pacing anyway. That’s what the chair was for. Sit and pick up the book you keep next to it. This’ll keep you from thinking constantly about what the walking attitude’s actual appearance was. Robotics. Maki flipped through the pages, suddenly aware of how outmoded the technology described in the book was. Light years different, organic. She speculated if the technique had been developed inside Japan or if the Koreans had had a quantum leap along with their cloning technology. Cloning robot brains. Did the three A-Rise members have the same brain? Maki had never paid attention so wouldn’t be aware of personality differences. Maybe Eli would …

The bathroom door opened, and Maki was confronted by a sight lifted straight from her computer screen. Impish ruby eyes and sharp features, but the tempting lips she’d seen so often in a merry smile were now forced together grimly. Instead of a puckish anti-government prankster cavorting on her computer screen, Maki was confronted with a damp, angry looking No. 1, leader of the IdolFools, ruby eyes afire with acrimony, in her bedroom, in her T-shirt, sans markers or spray cans.

“Some genius.” No. 1 huffed.

Maki put the book down. “... How?”

“Figure it out yourself.”

“You’re …”

No. 1 strode across the room, then bowed. “We’ve never been properly introduced. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Yazawa Nico, Air Special Defense Forces.”

Maki stood. Yazawa had looked small on the screen, but in person she was even tinier. “Doesn’t the military have a height requirement?”

“Oi. You really are a lousy date. Return my greeting, Dr. Rude, and then we can get on with our lives.”

Maki bowed her head slightly, not taking her eyes off the other woman. Yazawa shook her head impatiently and grabbed Maki’s hand. Before Maki could react, her fingers were on the singer’s neck, and she could feel a pulse lively under her fingers. “I’m not actually a demon doll. Or ceramic. That’s the next generation.”

“Right.” Maki pulled her hand back quickly, fingertips burning.

“Nice to see you in person, No. 1,” Umi boomed from the doorway.

Maki turned. “You knew.”

Umi shrugged. “I guessed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Maki tried not to whine. Yazawa snorted in amusement.

“That your crush was your stalker?” Umi bowed in Yazawa’s direction, while Yazawa quirked an eyebrow at Maki, who turned aside, hand reaching for her hair. “I suspected Yazawa-san might appreciate maintaining her anonymity. Even if she was leaving you clues.”

Nico gave Umi a thumbs up. “Call me Nico. I knew you were a keeper.”

Clues, Maki thought, then slammed her hand into her head. She felt someone grab it, and ruby eyes searched hers with a warmth that made Maki melt the smallest fraction. Then Nico’s purposely grating voice bumped her back to now. “Hey, genius, you probably need those IQ points.” Then a shrug and back to … concern? So many switches of tone, Maki couldn’t pin down any one feeling. It was all a rush. Of everything. Of too much. With Nico striding boldly into her next jump while Maki stumbled standing still. “You would have figured it out eventually, your little group snatch stunt just accelerated everyone’s timeline.” Nico glanced at the dresser clock. “And I have to go.”

“You can’t,” Maki said.

Nico sighed and spoke slowly, precisely. “I have to go. I have to make an appearance as No. 1 so that she and Nico Ni don’t go missing at the same time. I will be back. Just finish with Kira as soon as you can. But leave her open; I’ve got to get some kind of programming fix for this downtime.”

“How?” Umi wondered.

Yazawa winked. “I know a girl.” She pulled a pair of grey pants out of her duffle and stepped into them. “Now, don’t hurt my robot, and I’ll explain more later. Right now, I’ve got some inspiration mixed with frustration to paint out.” She started to step past Maki, then stopped, hand to the doctor’s cheek. “Try not to miss the great Nico Ni too much.”

Maki just growled when Yazawa danced around her and left. Then Maki grabbed Umi’s shirt and pushed her against the wall. Umi was amused enough at her friend’s obvious distress to let her.

“Tell me,” Maki ordered.

Eli arrived. “What’s going on?”

“She knew Nico-chan the street tagger and Nico Ni the singer were the same.” Maki heard herself say the names. Oh right. No wonder Yazawa had used that tone. Slow. Definitely slow.

“She also knew the other two street taggers and Nozomi,” Eli added, frowning at Umi.

“What?” Maki dropped her hold.

Umi smiled sweetly.

“Is there anything else?” Maki wondered.

Umi hesitated, but only for a second. “I’m dating Eli’s sister.”

“YOU’RE WHAT?” Eli’s roar was louder than Maki’s had been, and she shoved Maki to the side, towering over Umi suddenly.

Umi didn’t blink and her voice was mild. “Alisa misses you terribly. She hopes to return to Japan soon.”

Maki sat on her bed with sigh. “Leave her alone, Eli. We need to finish with the robot.” She paused. “The Lieutenant Colonel …” was Yazawa really in the military? She didn’t seem the type at all, “will be returning.”

“You’d better check the video feeds if she’s out there.” Umi reminded her.

“Oh right,” No. 1 was out on the street and Maki felt a familiar thrill at the thought of watching her impish grin as she showed off her latest creation. Which suddenly collided with the image of a tiny, damp, angry Yazawa Nico, voice scoffing “genius” as she brushed rudely by.

#fanfic #love live #nicomaki #soldier game #yazawa nico #nishikino maki #IdolPunk #IdolFools AU #cyberpunk #ayase eli #sonoda umi

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thejokersenigma · 8 years

Text

Deadly Voice Part 10

Hi guys - sorry this chapter is sooo long. I’ve been working and reworking it for a while now - but I’m finally just going to give up and post it so I apologise if its not great!

I hope you guys enjoy anyway - oh I am also on AO3 and Fanfic.net under a similar name if anyone would rather read it on there!

Thank you all for following me as well by the way - all comments are welcome and I’d love to chat or answer questions if anyone has any!

Masterlist

It was nearly a week later when I saw the Joker again; he was in his usual booth as I looked out into the crowd from the stage preforming my usual set. He was in black trousers and a white shirt with the top of his pale chest exposed to the air and decorated with golden chains.

Tonight was different to the usual though. He usually kept his gaze on me causing me to squirm, but tonight he didn’t look at me throughout the entire performance. Tonight, his attention was between his phone and the scantly glad waitresses that floated amongst the tables.

I could feel my heart drop at this and I cursed myself silently – why should I care? This should be a welcome relief from his usual behaviour. I tried to keep my head clear and carry on with my set but soon felt something stir in my stomach as I saw him look at a cocktail waitress in a particularly revealing dress – I could practically hear him purr. How could I be jealous of that girl? It was ridiculous - why would I want a murderous psycho looking at me like that?! Yes I couldn’t deny that he was handsome in a rather unusual way and he had a way of talking which could charm anyone – but he was also someone who didn’t care about anything or anyone, could kill without blinking and who would give gifts like live guns and bullets! His insanity was clearly rubbing off on me.

The rest of my performance I kept my eyes away from the back row of booths and I made myself focus solely on my songs, not noticing that my music became more and more like ballads.

As my set finished I left the stage only to be caught by Mr Grimms waiting for me in the wings.

“Hey [L/N]! I need you for the next set.” He called after me as I moved away to get changed.

“What?” I spun around confused – I was done for the night.

“I’ve had my dancer call off tonight and I know you have a background in it.” He stated.

“Yeah from 5 years ago – I haven’t done it since!” I told him.

“That’s more than anyone else has here!” He retorted. “Here!” He handed me a small dress. I held it up and marvelled at the small amount of material

“I won’t fit in that!” He raised one eyebrow at me and before I could say anything he had turned and walked away. I knew there was no use following him.

“Errr!” I huffed in exasperation - could tonight get any worse?!

I made my way to the dressing rooms with my tiny piece of fabric. Once I finally managed to squirm into the dress I looked at myself in the mirror. I could hardly recognise myself, it was a deep green fabric which wrapped around my neck and finished mid-thigh. It clung to every curve of my body and hid nothing – it was good thing I had been so low on food recently really.

After digging in the bottom of my dressing room wardrobe I found a pair of matching colour heels and then headed back to the stage, trying to stay out of sight for as long as possible and constantly pulling my skirt down paranoid.

“Hey [L/N] – hear your my dancer for the night!” chirped Ryan who stood backstage tuning a guitar. He was the singer in a band Penguin hired for Friday and Saturday nights ever since the music line up had changed.

“Yeah – that’s me.” I said unenthusiastically giving him a grimace of a smile.

“Are we really that terrible?” He laughed raising an eyebrow at my expression.

“Sorry – no it’s just this dress is a tad… revealing.” I said searching for the best word to sum up my chronic embarrassment.

“You look beautiful – doesn’t she boys?” He called off his shoulder at the rest of the band who were also tuning guitars and fiddling with other electronic equipment. His response was a chorus of ‘yeahs’ and a wolf whistle from the drummer. Ryan raised both his eyebrows at me this time with a look that said ‘see?’

“Aww cheers.” I said laughing but feeling my cheeks go hot.

“Now let’s go do this!” Ryan rallied before striding up onto the stage with confidence.

I waited for the band to file on behind him and I followed quietly behind them, stopping just out of sight behind the side curtain. I stood awkwardly fiddling with the hem of my dress as they set up their instruments and microphones.

Eventually they were ready and the drum beat started. As Ryan began to sing he gave me a slight hand signal and I nervously headed onto the stage. I knew this song quite well and I moved to the beat, trying to ignore the audience before me, focusing solely on Ryan who I liked and felt comfortable around. I made sure to move right to the lyrics Ryan sang, sauntering away, spinning and moving my hips to the changes in tone to the lyrics. By the time the song was over I could feel my insecurities beginning to slip.

“Ready for the next one?!” Shouted Ryan to the audience and then glanced at me. I gave him a slight nod and a small smile. He grinned at me and signalled for the band to start the next song.

As the songs kept going and I moved more and more I could feel myself letting go and caring less – gone were my thoughts of the gun in my room, gone were the memories of the night before, gone were my feelings of the Jokers lust filled eyes staring at waitresses.

Before I knew it the bands last song began. It had a deeper beat and sexier, more sensual tone to it, so I decided to have some fun. I swung my hips and swayed to music, sliding my hands up and down my body. I strode up to Ryan and he played along with my game until we were grinning at each other. I leaned into him and began to move my hands around him slightly and, though I kept my movements looking flirtatious, I never did anything inappropriate. I kept contact on him as I moved around him before striding off, in time to the lyrics, down the stage like a catwalk. As I reached the end of the stage I spun and dropped down to a squat before slowly rising up back up again.

I probably looked like an idiot pretending to be a stripper, but it was just me and the guys in my head and I was happy for a laugh at my idiotic moves. Finally, I strode back to Ryan and swung into him provocatively, grinding against him like I had seen some of the dancers do at the old club. I heard the last chords of the song and ended my game by flicking my hair back and leaning into Ryan to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks Ryan.” I whispered into his ear.

“Anytime – I mean it.” He murmured back and winked at me. I giggled in my still out-of-it state at his obvious hint.

I soon fell back to reality when a round of applause broke out to the band. I walked off the stage now truly feeling my embarrassment and the warmth of my skin no longing just being due to my dancing. Oh my God, what did I just do in front of everyone?! I really need a drink… I headed toward the bar fanning myself with my hand to try to cool my glowing face.

I sat myself down on a stool at the bar and ordered myself a cocktail. I took a long sip and twirled my straw between my fingers watching the rest of the club life. It was rare that I actually got to have a look out at the club when it was open and busy. I watch the couples at the tables, the huddles of girls giggling and grinding on the dance floor shooting flirtatious looks at the groups of guys chatting pick up strategies and meeting the girl’s eyes.

As I scanned the room I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander to his familiar pale face. He was facing me, watching with thunder in his eyes and I quickly glanced away and turned my attention back to my drink. I could still feel his eyes boring into me so I flicked my hair from over my shoulder so that it fell over my cheek and hid my face. I swallowed thickly. What had I done to deserve that look? Why was he so furious – deal gone south? Someone get his drink wrong? I didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, and certainly didn’t want his anger directed at me.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. My head shot up – I had been too deep in thought to notice anyone walk up behind me. I turned to see Johnny stood over me.

“Sorry Miss [L/N] – he is asking for you.” He muttered and he truly did seem sorry for his boss’s behaviour. I glanced around Johnny at the Joker. He met my eyes and raised his pale hand, beckoning me over with a finger. I shook my head at him defiantly – I was not a puppet to boss around.

“Sorry Johnny – I am not here for his convenience.” I stated, though not taking my eyes off the green haired gangsta. I heard Johnny sigh at the fact I wasn’t going easy.

The Joker raised a non-existent eyebrow at my response and, though the club was loud with music and voices, I could practically hear him growl from across the room. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his purple gun before lazily throwing his arm over the back of his chair aiming his gun into the next booth and at the nearest person.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Of course. I wouldn’t put it past him to pull the trigger if I refused so I abandoned my drink on the bar, slid off my stall and wove my way through the crowd pulling my dress down self-consciously.

As he saw me moving towards him he lowered his gun and gave me a wide grin. “Hello gorgeous,” he greeted eyeing me up and down in my dress as I stopped next to his booth. Now I was closer I could see the start of his muscles through the open part of his shirt and I could feel the blush on my cheeks. “Did you enjoy yourself up there darling?” He raised his invisible eyebrows and his eyes looked dangerous. I presumed he was referring to my dancing previously.

“Yes I did.” I stated simply, not understanding his problem. His grin dropped slightly and he growled dangerously. I looked at him confused.

“Sit.” He demanded his eyes not leaving my face.

“No thank you.” I muttered not moving.

“Don’t push me honey.” He growled shooting me with a deadly glare and fiddling with his gun on top of the table. I sighed at his threat and perched myself on the edge of the booth cushion. He raised one invisible eyebrow but didn’t say anything this time.

“Tell me sweetie, didn’t you like my present?” he asked innocently. His sudden mood swing took me back but I composed myself.

“You certainly have a unique idea of idea of what classes as a present.” I muttered dropping my eyes.

“Speak up sweetie you have such as lovely voice.” He purred showing me his wide grin again and his metal grill shone in the light emitted from lamp on the table. I shot him a dark look knowing full well he had heard me. “And here I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Why? Why would you think that?!” I blurted out.

His eyes widen slightly at my outburst. “Careful.” He warned lowly. “Anger looks goooood on you babe.” He purred. “But don’t take it out on me.” He said innocently placing his hand on his bare chest.

“Not take it out on you?! You are the reason I am angry!” I cried.

“Is it really?” He pouted, teasing me. “What have I done that so bad?”

I couldn’t hold it back anymore – the idea that he didn’t think he was the reason just made me lose it.

What haven’t you done?! It’s all your mood swings! Your flirting and then threatening! Your staring! Your constant presence so I can never relax! The fact that I don’t know if you want to kill me or talk to me! Your weird dangerous presents! And the fact that I killed two people for you and you didn’t even thank me for it!”

“Bingo!” he cried out “We have a winner!” his red lips spreading into a menacing smile across his face.

I was confused and remained silent. “How did you justify it to yourself?” He questioned me, his eyes studying me.

“Excuse me?”

“People who don’t kill for a business – boring people – they have this thing of having to justify why they killed a person.” He explained slightly annoyed, as if normal people were the dullest people in the world. “So tell me what was yours?”

I didn’t say anything. He was right – I had justified it to myself, but why should I tell him. It wasn’t any of his business.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty….” He whispered at me but his icy eyes flashed dangerously.

“It’s not your business.” I muttered at him.

“Most people I can understand,” he said as if he didn’t hear me,” They usually have to kill for a reason – blackmail, money, lust…” he trialled off at me suggestively his eyes seemed to flash with something. “But I can’t see yours. So come on tell me pleeeasssseee.” He whined.

“I didn’t want your blood on my hands.” I admitted.

“But you were happy with the other two guy’s blood?” He questioned his face lighting up with delight at my obvious overlook. I stayed silent. He was right – why was his life any better than the other men’s? Why had I not even given a thought to the lives I was destroying? They may have done illegal things too, but I highly doubted the two of them combined had done as many illegal things or killed as many people as the Joker.

I looked away out to the stage where the next band, a jazz band, had begun to play. It was getting late now and I needed to get to bed.

“Ahh doll look at me…” he drawled. I didn’t move. He growled and slammed his hands on the table as he shoved himself up and across the booth in one fluid movement and grabbed my face pulling me up so I was inches from his. “I’ve let you get away with a lot tonight sugar, dancing with that boy, yelling at me, not looking me in the eye, but I think you need to learn some respect.” He snarled and I winced as his hand tightened on my chin and his fingers dug into my cheek.

Suddenly his grip was gone from my face and his hand slapped across my face. The shock, more than the force, caused my head to fly to the right and I stumbled catching myself on the booth cushions.

My cheek stung and I had to blink back tears as I looked up at him. He pulled his jacket straight but kept his head down, I wasn’t sure if he was trying to compose himself or if he felt bad. Hell of course he didn’t feel bad.

That was it. I wasn’t here to be teased, ridiculed and bruised. It was late and I was going to bed. I stood up abruptly and went to swiftly turn away but he shot his arm out and caught me.

He kept his head down, not looking me. “You’re not leaving me are you?” he murmured without looking up.

“I don’t want to be anywhere near you.” I snapped at him

“Ah doll your hurting me right here!” his mood changing instantly again, he was suddenly looking at me again, grinning insanely at me, pointing at his shoulder.

“I’m hurting you in your shoulder?” I demanded angrily.

“Oh I’m sorry” he let out his signature laugh, “– where’s a heart supposed to be? Here?” He gestured to his crotch, winked at me and continued to laugh loudly. He seemed to have snapped completely. His usual self was clearly only a small layer of his craziness. The slap seemed to have triggered something in him and released his true insanity.

“Oh no wait, it’s here!” he exclaimed still laughing manically and pointing at his jacket sleeve. “Because that’s where yours is baby!” he grinned maliciously.

“In your dreams!” I spat in shock at his mad behaviour.

“Some nights yeah,” he mocked, “but only because the reality inspires me!”

“Your- your…” I stuttered not knowing how I felt or how to describe him.

“‘Your’, ‘Your’,” he mimicked in a high pitch voice. “Come on sweetie – use your deadly little voice.” He purred.

But I didn’t. Instead I withdrew the arm he wasn’t gripping and didn’t hold back as I swung around to slap him in the face. I didn’t look to see what damage I had done I just ran as fast as I could up to my flat and locked the door behind me before collapsing in gasps and sobs against my front door.

#joker x reader #joker fanfic #fanfic #deadly voice #deadly voice part 10 #x reader #reader #joker #violence #johnny frost

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