#this one took a lot less longer than the zen one for some reason??

[samwpmarleau]

fic: touch my soul (you know how)

whumptober day 12: starvation masterlist: tumblr, ao3 If she only has a few more fleeting moments to see him, ever, she’s going to spend it doing what she’s more than once thought about ever since he flashed her that smug little smirk as she quaked him against the junkyard shelves. warning: very nsfw

“God, I’m a mess,” Daisy sniffles, once Mack and Yo-Yo set off to have what she’s sure will be a complicated conversation.

Unthinkingly, she swipes at the tears on her cheeks; the black mascara residue on her fingers tells her now she must look like even more of a mess. Then again, it’s been an harrowingly long day, and frankly, Robbie’s seen her in far worse states than this.

“Still less eyeliner than last time I saw you.”

“I was depressed, you jerk.”

Robbie smiles, making her wish not for the first time that she could’ve known him before the whole flaming head thing. His glimpses of lightness are few and far between, but she’s glimpsed enough to know that once upon a time, that light came out a lot more often. Brooding suits him, sure, but she likes the alternative better. Maybe spending some time on Earth will do him good.

“Anyway,” she says, “once everything blows over, I’m inviting myself over for dinner, so let me know what —”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, with Gabe. Aren’t you going back to L.A.?”

Robbie’s smile fades. “Oh. No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean, I have to take care of the book. That’s the entire reason I’m here.”

“But — you’ve only been here for a few hours.”

“I don’t get a vote.”

“You can’t ask for a few vacation days?”

“No. Soon as the Rider’s done with Coulson, he’ll come back to me and we’ll be gone. I wasn’t kidding when I told you I’ve never felt hate like that from him before. He’ll take over completely if I try to fight him on this.”

Daisy stares at him, incredulous. “How could you make that deal?”

“Daisy —”

“No, don’t ‘Daisy’ me. Mack told me what the terms were, and they’re terrible.”

“It doesn’t matter. The alternative was letting a good man suffer for things I did. The Rider wasn’t going to let go of Mack for anything less than what I offered.”

“Gabe was right,” Daisy snaps, “you do blame yourself for things that aren’t your fault. Yes, Mack’s a good man. But so are you. You really have that low of an opinion about yourself?”

“So, what’s your solution, girl?” Robbie laughs. There is very little humor in it. “You think you can hack a deal with the devil or something? Come on. There’s no way out of this.”

She doesn’t have a good answer to that, but she’s not about to accept that he’s right either, that there’s no escape. It’s too depressing to think about. Hesitantly, Robbie reaches out to grasp her wrist. It surprises her a little, though perhaps it shouldn’t; for someone whose inner demons are literal, he can be impossibly gentle.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve dealt with the Rider for six years, what’s a little longer?”

“Eternity is not a little longer, Reyes.”

Robbie sighs. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know! Anything other than this zen bullshit. It’s like you don’t even care about the people you’re leaving behind.”

“Of course I care.”

“Really? Because you seem real eager to skip off back to hell. Were you even planning on saying goodbye?”

“I already called Gabe.”

“I wasn’t talking about Gabe. I mean, not only about Gabe.” Daisy pokes a finger into his chest. “Actually, I should get two goodbyes.”

Robbie gives a slight frown, like she’s speaking gibberish. “Didn’t exactly have a chance last time. And I didn’t know you’d want one.”

“I told you, I vet my vengeance demons before I hop in a car with them. We were a team. Ish.”

“Yeah, ish. You took off pretty quick.” There’s a slight edge to his words that takes Daisy aback. He elaborates, “The night of the blackout. I went to deal with Canelo’s and get you some supplies, and you were gone. Not even a note.”

She considers telling him what precipitated her leaving. But she can’t throw Gabe under the bus like that any more than she could when he first had warned her away from his brother. There’s genuine hurt on Robbie’s face, though, which is something she admittedly had never stopped to think about. She’d assumed it wouldn’t make a difference to him whether she was there or not.

“Sorry. Look, it wasn’t anything to do with you. You know how I was. I sabotaged myself, and sometimes other people got caught in the crossfire.”

That’s the truth, too. Gabe was just an excuse. She’d seen the writing on the wall, that she could easily get attached to Robbie’s intriguing contrast of light and dark, so she was more than happy to walk right out the door.

“You can’t have thought I was that good of company. As I recall, you tied me up and tried to find evidence that I deserved to die.”

“That was before, and not the point.”

“Okay, well, I can’t change any of that now. You weren’t the reason I left your house that night.”

Robbie looks somewhat mollified.

Given the current circumstances, however, she thinks she still comes out on top of this particular argument. “At least I was in this dimension. Which is more than can be said for you.”

She takes a minute to commit his face to memory. There’s only one way all this can go from here.

“I’m never gonna see you again, am I?”

“I don’t know.”

Frustration, anger, sadness, and panic combine to form a knot in her throat, preventing her from speaking. Not that she knows what she’d say even if she could speak. She’s too drained to know what to do. To accept that no sooner has Robbie come back to Earth than he has to leave again. No time to breathe or have a real conversation. Barely even any time for him to enjoy the Rider taking a sabbatical.

She’s never known him as this, she realizes. As himself. He’s always had another half to him. But, temporarily, that other half has attached itself elsewhere. There is no one listening in or raring to take control. He’s who she thought he was the night they met, flashing her that smug little smirk as she quaked him against the junkyard shelves.

“Daisy?” Robbie prompts.

I’m here now, he’d said, soft and hopeful in a way he wasn’t back then, and that’s good.

Wasting no more time they don’t have, she fists her hands in his jacket and kisses him.

It’s hard and artless, but right now, she doesn’t care. If she only has a few more fleeting moments to see him, ever, she’s not going to spend them being mournful.

Before she can do anything further, however, Robbie pulls away. “Daisy, wait —”

“Ghost Rider can give you fifteen minutes.”

“It’s not that.”

She registers his hesitation and lets go of him. “Oh, you don’t … sorry, I thought …”

“It’s not that either.”

“Okay, then what’s the problem?”

“You deserve better than fifteen minutes. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I won’t. Save your chivalry for someone else.”

He delays a moment more, as if wondering whether this is a test, then abruptly pulls her to him and kisses her like any second now she’s going to change her mind. She almost laughs at the unexpected fervor. She’s only ever known him as reserved, someone who’s painstakingly aware of every movement he makes. The danger he poses.

A danger which now, he doesn’t have. Now, he’s just a man.

She gladly lets him tug off her shirt, but stills his hands as he goes to remove his jacket. “Don’t. I’m kinda into it.”

“You’re — you do know I’ve killed people in this jacket?”

“You’ve also saved people in it. Try not to pop a boner next time you take someone out.”

Baffled, he nonetheless leaves the jacket where it is and complies, “Whatever you want.”

“Dangerous words.”

“Not if I mean them.”

“All right, then,” Daisy says as she tosses aside her pants and underwear. “Make me remember you, Robbie Reyes.”

Robbie’s smile is as bittersweet as the reality she knows soon will crash down upon them. “Yes, ma’am.”

She expects him to lift her when he guides her to the wall, but instead he drops to his knees and nudges her feet apart. He nuzzles the inside of her thigh, then lifts her leg over his shoulder for better access. Kisses are pressed to her soft skin, closer and closer to where she really wants him. His hands slide down the swell of her rear to grip her hips and keep her in place.

Which is probably a good thing, as she tries to buck into him when finally he puts his mouth on her. He licks a stripe along her slit, lapping at her like he’s been craving it. Maybe he has, desiring her all this time yet worlds away from being able to have her. And now he’s inflicting that upon her, infuriatingly avoiding her clit even as he presses two fingers inside her.

She lets out a low huff of annoyance at his measured pace, half of her wanting him to hurry the hell up, and the other wanting to drag this out. He begins shallowly pumping his fingers in and out of her and curls them at the knuckle to brush against her walls.

She inhales sharply as he finally closes his mouth around her clit. Her breathing falters as her pleasure builds, and she tangles her fingers in his hair. She wishes it were longer, so she get a proper grip. Remind him who exactly is in charge here.

Unsubtle hint received, he urges her closer, quickening his pace. Wetness begins to drip down her thighs; his fingers must be slicked in it. The thought has her tightening her leg around him, and he moans against her. The vibration does it, pulling a cry from her as her orgasm hits.

Not waiting for her to ride it out, he abruptly sets her onto the table, unbuckles his jeans, and pushes inside her in one firm stroke. She gasps at the intrusion; he’s not small, and it’s been eight months since she’s been with anyone. But it’s a quick adjustment, for she’s more than wet enough.

She wraps her legs around his waist as he shoves into her again, and again. His hands will leave bruises, she thinks, with the pressure at which he holds her. She doesn’t care. He understood the assignment — bruises mean she couldn’t forget him even if she tried.

“Mark me,” she commands. He slows in question, and she nods. “Do it.”

Looming over her, he kisses her once, then sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder. She winces at the sting but leans into him as he nips up her neck and leaves behind distinguishable red marks that she prays no one asks about. He adjusts his hold on her, then pulls her fast and hard onto him. It’s just this side of painful, not that she’s complaining.

She hopes wherever Coulson and the others are is nowhere near here. Robbie’s thrusts are anything but quiet, the sounds of her ecstasy carry into the hallway, and she can hear the rustling of his leather jacket and muffled squeak of the table every time it shifts beneath her. She feels herself again begin to lose control — and so does he.

“Vente para mí,” he murmurs in her ear.

“What?”

He chuckles and translates, “Come for me.”

Robbie reaches between them to rub her clit and, apparently buoyed by her reaction to his words, caresses her with more Spanish she doesn’t understand. He could be reciting a recipe for all she knows, but whatever it is, she drowns herself in it.

Robbie falls first. His movements stutter then stop, and with a grunt he releases inside her. The sensation snaps every shred of her self-control, sending her over the edge. The room trembles as she comes with his name on her lips.

It takes several moments for her to regain her wits, consumed as she is. Robbie’s no different, if the way he delays pulling out is any indication.

God, if she’d known he was this good of a lay, she’d have fucked him a long time ago.

Well, no, probably not. She hadn’t been in any kind of headspace to do that the last time they were around each other. She’s not sure he had been either.

But she’d have thought about it.

She hears Robbie let out a quiet snort, and doesn’t have to ask why once she follows his line of sight. The screens of three different monitors have been cracked or blown out entirely, and everything that wasn’t bolted down has shifted. She covers her face with her hands. How is she supposed to explain that to Fitz and Simmons?

“Never caused an earthquake before,” Robbie muses.

She groans in humiliation, but lets him pull her up. He looks wrecked, chest heaving and face sheened in sweat, which makes her feel marginally better.

She drops her head against his shoulder, savoring what she can. As both arousal and afterglow fade, reality begins to set in.

It can’t have taken that long for the Rider to dispatch Aida, not with how full of rage he was, and no doubt he’d want to return to his true host as soon as possible. Take Robbie away again, indefinitely, forever.

Daisy clings tighter to him. Maybe if she refuses to give up, he won’t leave.

He has to, though. She knows that. What either of them wants doesn’t matter anyway; Robbie’d made his deal, and the Rider is without compassion. There’s no do-over, no second chance.

Reluctantly, she lets go of him. “Promise me you’ll be careful? Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I can’t. The Rider —”

“Fuck the Rider.” Daisy cups his face in her hands and demands, “Tell me this isn’t goodbye.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

“I don’t care if it’s a lie, just —”

“Daisy, no.”

“Please.”

He gently brushes her hair out of her face in place of an answer. Which, really, is an answer all the same.

“Daisy? Robbie?”

Daisy jumps at hearing Coulson’s voice down the hallway. His footsteps draw closer, too close. Robbie squeezes his eyes shut, like he can feel the Rider approaching. Maybe he can.

Lacking choice, Daisy relents, “Try. You owe me that much.”

“Promise,” he says with a half-smile. He kisses away her scowl.

They dress quickly, silently. What else is there to say?

Coulson arrives just as she’s zipping up her top. With no preamble, she watches vengeance leave him to return home to roost.

She turns away as Robbie’s eyes begin to glow. She’s lost him, again.

[wizardcommune]

tanjirou kamado sfw alphabet

pairing - tanjirou kamado x demon slayer!reader

warnings - there’s a mention of him proposing in r, so if that makes you uncomfortable make sure to skip it!

word count - 1.6k

a/n - i really like writing for tanjirou since he’s a kin of mine; it makes it a lot easier HAHA

also i apologize it got shorter at the end!!

(requests are appreciated! rules + media i write for are in my pinned post)

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

tanjirou is actually affectionate in every way!! he loves physical affection because it’s the most soothing to him, but he’s always complimenting you or giving you gifts, too. he likes receiving affection the same way, but isn’t disappointed if you don’t. (he understands people show their love in different ways, so it doesn’t hurt him at all! as long as you know how much he appreciates you, he’s fine.)

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

it’s likely he met you at the final selection or during one of his missions, and he took a liking to you immediately. you met nezuko by accident, passively pointing out that “there was a demon in his box.” he immediately shielded it, but seeing how you didn’t make any advances calmed him.

as a best friend, he respects you so much!!! seeing you with the others makes him happy too. he’s always doing acts of service to help you, and giving you advice that urokadaki or the hashira gave him!!

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

tanjirou really loves cuddles! (he likes physical affection in general, really.) it makes him feel like you’re both safe.

he’s okay with any position, but he prefers to be able to see your face. he also really likes talking to you while cuddling!

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

he’s great at cooking + cleaning since he helped take care of his siblings! i hc that he’s really good at baking, so he’ll often make random food for you and the others. :)

very very minor spoilers for the end of the manga (it’s the same spoiler as the one in the zenitsu sfw alphabet):

in terms of settling down, his dream was literally just to move in with you and the others, and to actually be able to do that meant so much! 

some day he’d like to have kids, but if you didn’t want any, he’d just hope the others have kids LMAOO

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

ONCE AGAIN IM SKIPPING THIS BC IT MAKES ME SAD

f = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

commitment doesn’t scare him, luckily! he honestly really enjoys the idea of getting to be with his partner forever :))))

i think he’d want to get married a few years into the relationship, but he’d hold off until he was absolutely sure they were safe.

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

he’s so gentle ohh my god

even though he knows you’re strong, he’s still very careful with you!

emotionally, he’s the same! he never wants to say anything that could potentially hurt someone. especially since he’s tanjirou; he’s so kind 

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

hugs are his favorite; he hugs you as often as possible!! they’re really comforting as he’ll always rest his head on yours or on your shoulder. he likes rubbing your back, too!

i = i love you (how fast do they say the L-word?)

really fast, actually! it’s not like he’s rushing it, though. he always says ‘i love you’ to his friends and nezuko because he wants them to know he cares about them. so when he started dating you, he still said it!

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

honestly? tanjirou doesn’t get jealous. he respects you enough to know you wouldn’t cheat on him, so if he ever sees someone flirting with you he trusts you to tell them you’re taken.

if the person flirting doesn’t let up, however, he’ll get more protective and will them to leave.

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

his kisses are very gentle!! he doesn’t want to overwhelm you in case you want to stop. 

his favorite places to kiss you are your forehead and shoulder!! for the former, it’s always comforting to him when he’s able to cup your face.

his favorite places to be kissed are his neck and nose. it always flusters him HAHA

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

king had five siblings, he’s great with kids. he likes them too! he’s sweet anyways, but he always tries to be like. 10x kinder when he’s with some

he really likes giving kids gifts, too! if he finds a cool gem or something on his travels, he’ll gift that to them :)))

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

since tanjirou always woke up so early when he lived with his family, it’s a habit that stuck with him! staying in bed after he wakes up makes him feel restless, so he’ll normally just kiss your forehead and get up

n = night (how are nights spent with them?)

before bed, he always makes tea! it helps him sleep better and he hopes it helps you too. right before you go to sleep, he likes asking about your day or dumb stuff that inosuke did

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

it won’t take to long for him to tell you about his family. he just wants to make sure he can trust you!! he won’t want to talk about it often though, considering how recent they died

it’s a huge compliment when he does, actually! it means he holds you in really high respect

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

this is tanjirou we’re talking about, literally nothing you can do will piss him off. unless you beat up nezuko or something ig??? please don’t do that

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

he works really hard to remember everything! he listens very carefully to you, so it’s not too hard to pick up on things you might like when you mention them in passing

(he’ll normally incorporate those into acts of service, too! if you offhandedly mention not wanting to go get your medicine the next day, you can bet it’ll be left on the table when you wake up)

r = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

the day he proposed! he worked really hard for it to be perfect, and to see it went well makes him go ^^^^^

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

he’s pretty protective, but not to the point of being overbearing! he’s scared of losing more people he cares about fuck you chapter 179

when fighting demons, he would give you space to fight but also keeps an eye on you to make sure nothing happens. 

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he puts in so much effort. he really wants to make sure you know how much he loves you, so he always puts effort into little things like everyday tasks! like i said in q, he listens to you very carefully which can help him make really nice gifts!

he also makes sure he never forgets something like your birthday or an anniversary, as he knows that it would hurt.

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

NONE HE IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT AND I WANT HIM TO HAVE A GOOD LIFE

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

pretty much not at all! besides making sure he looks clean, he’s proud of not having self esteem issues in that regard. 

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

in a way? he really doesn’t like the idea of depending so much on someone, especially since if something happened he wouldn’t know what to do. he has nezuko and the others, so if something were to happen to you he would be able to heal. (it doesn’t mean it would hurt any less, however.)

x = xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

he loves singing! i know that it’s canon he’s a shitty singer, but shhh he’s good at it

he definitely used to sing his siblings to sleep, so if you ask him to he won’t hesitate :((( crying

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

he would really want a respectful s/o. it means a lot and it helps take some stress of his shoulders when he knows he doesn’t have to constantly correct you like inosuke LMAO

z = zzz (what are some sleep habits of theirs?)

if he’s not cuddling you, he really likes holding your hand when you sleep!!! it’s makes him feel really comfortable. 

when he’s on missions, he’s a vv light sleeper, but whenever he’s with you somewhere safe he sleeps a lot better!! 

[nicotinemaiden]

Just found Heaven

I don't really care where I go when I die 'Cause I just found heaven

You can tell the devil that's he's wasting his time 'Cause I just found heaven

Sins washed away, dark turns to light If your body is a temple, take me inside

I feel no pain, pleasures of mine If you give me a taste of eternal life

[Daughtry]

Read on AO3  → 

The second one, a promise.

It had been a couple of days since Shirayuki saw Obi for the last time, peacefully sleeping next to her after the night they shared together. That day, when she finally dragged herself out of bed - tired of the nightmares that told her she would never see him again - she buried herself in her work and didn't talk to anyone more than what was necessary. If she could she would only nod and keep working. It was the only way she could stop thinking.

The next day even the office they assigned to them during their stay seemed too quiet, too calm without him reading small excerpts of the books - interesting facts that may be useful someday Miss, he would say. Some were more useful than others and, of course, sometimes he read things only for her to blush profoundly and throw something at him - there really are things you shouldn't read out loud Obi, she would answer after that, an unhidden smile on her face hearing his laugh. She missed him too much for her own good.

The third day she was growing impatient. So much so she decided to ask Ryuu if he'd seen him. He looked at her confused and surprised, as if she just asked an obvious question, his eyes picking at her from behind the book he was reading today.

"Obi is on a reconnaissance mission on the Bergatt territory to prepare for the soiree of masked knights."

She grunted loudly. How did she forget about that? She was busy preparing the medicine for that same event, relying on trial and error a lot more than she intended.

"I don't think it will be too long until he's back, if that's any help."

Ryuu added, arching one eyebrow, clearly wondering what was wrong with her lately.

She muttered a low yes, of course, thank you before returning to her desk. The young boy kept staring at her for a moment until he returned to his studies, writing in a patch of paper on his own desk. That was - maybe, probably - a good idea. If she could not talk to Obi maybe it was time she talked to the person she less wanted to at the moment: The second prince of Clarines.

She grabbed a piece of paper from the first drawer and tipped her quill on the ink. Good, that was the easy part. She breathed before starting, her thoughts unclear as to what she wanted to write in the first place.

Dear Zen, - she started, feeling confident only in those two words - I know we just saw each other not so long ago - if she was being honest with herself, it had been like two weeks - but I need to see you as soon as…

She stopped herself, crossing out the last words. They sounded… desperate. And a lot more romantic than she needed it to be. At least that was what her head told her. She continued on the same paper, deciding it was best to make a draft and then cleaning it when her thoughts were sorted.

I have to see you, whenever you can, only if you have time, there's no rush.

She crossed out that line too. She was in a hurry. She needed to tell him as soon as possible. She couldn't keep feeling like this and he deserved to know. Yet at the same time she felt she had no right to say anything before talking to Obi.

Shirayuki used the quill to scratch her chin, thinking.

"How would you tell someone you have to talk to them and it's not good news?"

She asked to the air, feeling hopeless. She was always good at talking her mind… in person. It was a lot more difficult doing so via letter.

It took a moment for Ryuu to realize he was the only one who could answer and he seemed startled by the question.

"I-I don't think I'm the best person to ask about relationships with people."

He watched her sulk a bit in her chair, her eyes fixing on the paper. He wanted to ask what was happening, what were those bad news, but he also knew she would tell him when she was ready. He didn't want to pry in something that didn't concern him.

So he closed his book on the table, whipping with his hands little smudges of dust from the corners.

"But… I'll try to be honest."

His voice caught her attention again, her eyes now studying him.

"I'll say there's something important that I have to say and that I would prefer to do so in person. If the person you're writing to cares at least a little about you, they will understand."

She smiled, her ideas clearer in her head.

"Thank you so much Ryuu. I knew you could help me."

He blushed, as always, before opening his book again and returning to it.

Dear Zen, I'm sorry to bother you as I'm aware you are busy. You know I wouldn't unless I had a good reason to do it. And I do. I need to talk to you, in person. We need to talk. And it's not something I could write or you would already know what's troubling me. I hope we can talk soon and I wish for our reunion to be one as friends, as it has always been. Shirayuki.

Reading it for the tenth time, she felt confident. She had been able to write it neutral, kind of urgent and important. Just the right amount. She pushed it to the envelope and sealed it before leaving her office to send it. That little letter was the first step on clearing the mess she forged for herself. Soon, it will all be different, be it a bad different or a good different. In all honesty, it already was.

She turned a corner of the hall just to come face to face with Hisame and she almost hissed at him, wanting to run far away from him. She didn't hate him, didn't even blame him anymore for what happened, but that didn't mean she was fine with having a conversation with him at that exact moment.

"Miss Shirayuki. Always a pleasure to see you."

Can't say the same, she thought, pushing the rude words away from her throat.

"H-Hisame, good evening. I wasn't aware you were still here."

He brushed her words with a hand, shaking his head.

"I just arrived a couple hours ago. Just some business to take care of."

She nodded, hoping it wasn't as visible as she felt it the fact that she wanted to bolt from him.

"That remembers me… Where is your shadow today? Haven't seen him."

There was a glint in his eyes that told her he was asking for more than that, but she answered only to his words.

"He's on a mission, won't be around for a couple days. If you have something to say to him you could rely your message to me and I'll make sure he hears it the moment he returns. If you trust me with such things, of course."

She smiled, just a facade to hide her jitters.

"Oh, I would, of course. But that's not it. I was just curious as to if he was the one who left that mark on your neck. I have a bet to win, after all."

With those small words, she panicked. Her hand moved to her neck without warning, searching for it even when she knew she couldn't feel that kind of mark just with her touch. Had it been there the whole time? Did the whole mansion know what she had done? She hadn't felt it when he'd done it. Why would he leave something like that if this was supposed to be a secret? She hadn't looked at a mirror in a while more than some passing glances, she hadn't felt the need to. Now she regretted it. Her mind kept racing, wondering why Ryuu hadn't said anything to her about it, and forgot she was supposed to be talking. Clearly Hisame saw the sudden display of nerves and the whiteness of her face because he laughed softly in front of her.

"Don't you worry, young miss."

He emphasised her nickname, the one Obi had made already clear it was reserved for him, and it made her angry, knowing it wasn't him who used it.

"You have absolutely nothing in your neck. I just wanted to see if something happened."

He came closer to her, crouching a bit to bring his eyes to her eye level.

"And the amusing thing is: It did."

He laughed a bit more.

"I didn't think he'd have the guts. Congratulations."

"I'm not here to amuse you, Lord Hisame. So if you'll excuse me."

She backed away a step, hoping for him to shut up and let her pass. She has had enough and felt stupid for letting herself be tricked like this. But there was no point telling him it wasn't true. She knew her reaction told him everything he needed to know.

He studied her for a moment longer before straightening himself and moving slowly to the side. She started walking and stopped herself after hearing his voice again behind her.

"I wasn't joking, I honestly congratulate you. I've seen the look on your eyes when you look at each other. This… fake relationship thing you had going on wasn't as fake as you two pretended to believe. I'm just relieved to see you being honest with each other."

She smiled subtly, looking at him over her shoulder, and continued walking on.

Honest. That was the word that failed her. She hadn't been completely honest. She was just now starting to be. But she made herself a promise that she would be. She would tell him everything once he was with her again and she would hope that, after knowing everything she knew, he would stay with her. As a friend, at least.

Before returning to her room she sent the letter she worked so hard to put together, not feeling any better than before doing it.

The next day started worse than any other. The nightmares were unrelenting and the pain in her chest seemed to have expanded to her head, her arms, her legs… She awoke before dawn feeling utterly sick yet being unable to return to bed. Lightning a candle next to the vanity she sat there, doing nothing, for a long time. Once the fog of her mind cleared and her brain accepted that nightmares were just that - nightmares - she picked up her brush and tried to tame her wild hair. She had to at least give the impression of being a normal person today. And she was so close to finishing the medicine she was sure today was the day. She had to give it her all.

When she arrived at the office she was alone. It was too early for Ryuu, or too late. More than once had she arrived at the pharmacy just in time to wish him a good sleep after a sleepless night of work. In any case, first things first: She needed a painkiller remedy. Shirayuki looked at the cupboards and stands, inspecting them. She picked up three petals of bromelain - which should have provided a small relief - before she found a jar of turmeric and decided that mixing the two would prove more effective. She just needed to reach it. It was a common ingredient, why in the world would it be in the tallest rack she had no idea. It was possible that she mistook it for another spice but that color was characteristic and the other she knew were similar were also uncommon. Or used in the kitchen instead of a pharmacy. She decided it was worthless trying to explain when everything here was sorted in a manner she couldn't comprehend. She missed the order of her pharmacy.

She moved the ladder under it without much effort, grateful for its lightness. One, two, three… and four steps took her to reach the jar. Or would have if she hadn't slipped at the last one, freeing the ladder from her hands before it could fall with her. She was ready to hit the ground any moment but, just like every other time she fell since she first left Tanbarun, her fall was stopped by strong arms keeping her steady for a moment before releasing her on her feet. She could still feel the burning of her skin - or his - moments later, crashing with the cold she had been feeling these last days.

"I can't leave you alone and trust you wouldn't hurt yourself even for a moment, can I?"

He sighed but she could hear the playful notes on his voice even louder than the pumping of her heart, so that was something. He was there, now in front of her, a half smile on his lips and dark marks under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all since his departure. Seeing him made her forget completely the reason as to why was she reaching for the jar. The pain, the ache, completely evaporated.

"What a shame. It seems you shouldn't leave me alone at all in case this happens."

She panicked just after hearing herself and tried to hide it pointing to the stairs, making a move to step on it again. Just an excuse at this point - she had exactly the painkiller she needed, right in front of her. He stopped her with a hand on her back and, with a swift movement and just one step on the ladder he pointed at the jar until she nodded and he snatched it out of the shelf.

"How's the medicine coming?"

He asked casually, leaving the jar on the desk and ignoring completely her last attempt at flirting.

"Good."

She thought for a moment, still looking at him, admiring him.

"I mean, it's not ready yet, but almost. I've had… trouble, concentrating, that's it."

He nodded and they both looked away, an awkward silence between them. She had so much to say she lost the words to say them. Looking at him like that, his eyes gleaming with the red of dawn, his hand playing nervously with his hair, his lips a thin line - void of the playfulness that played in them before… She just needed to kiss him. She wasn't sure if that was a normal thought on their situation but she restrained herself after realizing she was moving closer to him. Obi sat on top of the desk, facing the window but looking at her again. She could feel he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how.

"Miss, I- / Obi, I -"

They spoke at the same time and paused at the same time, causing a giggle from her. At least they broke the ice. She decided, as much as she wanted to know what he would say, she needed to speak first.

"I'm sorry Obi. For last time. I should have spoken to you… before anything happened."

She looked away. What they did was natural yet she didn't have the confidence to talk about it as if it was nothing. Not when it happened between them .

"No Miss. I should be the one apologizing. Nothing should have happened. I'm sorry I didn't stop it when I had the chance."

Was he… regretting it? She needed to know. Preferably before pouring her heart at him just to have it drained.

"Do you regret it Obi? That night… Would you like to go back to make things differently, if you could?"

Part of her was afraid of the answer while another was growing annoyed and angrier. This was not exactly how she expected this encounter to go.

"Of course I would. Of course I regret it. How could I not?"

He looked at her as if expecting understanding, but she was just angry and hurt. Most of it directed at herself. It was her fault he regretted it, it was her fault he was looking at her with such hurt on his eyes.

"You heard me the next morning, did you not?"

He nodded and looked away as if embarrassed to admit it.

"I was just… figuring out my entire life."

She allowed herself a small smile knowing she had already figured it out.

“I know how it must have seemed to you, that’s why I needed to talk to you. I don’t…”

She breathed for a minute. This was her moment. She needed to be clear, to say everything that was on her mind once and for all. And so, returning her eyes to his, she started talking faster than she could think, almost not breathing.

“I don’t regret it. I don’t think I ever will. It wasn’t just some crazy night of alcohol and hormones. Well, mostly it was, because that’s the way our body works, but that wasn’t all. I wouldn’t have done it with anyone else. And I mean anyone. I thought it was a mistake. Yes, the next morning that was the first thing I thought. But not because of you! It was a mistake because of the situation. I should have realized things first and done later, not the other way around. But, again, I was so blind I think it had to be this way.”

She was pacing nervously, moving her hands just to have something to do with them, talking more to herself than to him at this point. And she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. She was drowned in all the thoughts that crossed her mind lately.

“I feel horrible lying to Zen. I ain’t even lying because I hadn’t been able to talk to him yet. But I already felt this way before, the last time he kissed me when I thought I didn’t really want to. I just needed it to be over. I just let him kiss me because it was safe, it was what I’ve known for years. And I was so afraid when my heart stood at the same pace while I was with him. I was calm yet nervous. I should have known then as I know now. But I didn’t. And now I feel I’ve been lying to every last person in my life, myself included. I had a path I was sure to follow, everything just to be at his side, and now I’m not even sur-”

She stopped suddenly when she felt his arms around her, burning away every word left on her throat.

“Breathe, Miss. I almost couldn’t catch half the things you wanted to say.”

And she did. She closed her eyes for a moment, hugging him back, and buried herself in his smell. Everytime she was like this she felt lost in a forest at night, a warm bonfire at her side, plants and flowers surrounding her. It was the safest place in the world, his arms. She had thought about it before but never had she seen it so clearly.

“This is exactly what I was trying to say.”

She looked up to his face, a smile wide on hers.

“Usually it’s shorter to say ‘I need a hug’”

And she hit him then, punching his arm with all the strength she could muster. But he saw something in her eyes, in her smile, because as soon as she lowered her hand he brought her closer again and kissed her. Without so much as another word. It was slow and warm and she was kissing him back before even giving the order to her body. It wasn’t the first time they kissed but it felt like it. It was the first time she could do so knowing full well that it was what she wanted, what they wanted. And this time - contrary to the night they spent together - it was him who kissed her. He didn’t run away, he didn’t put a wall between them, he wasn’t telling her it was a stupid decision. No. He was kissing her and she… she was crying. Because she hadn’t felt so right in all her life. It was as if all of her - really - stupid decisions brought her to this moment. To the moment in her life when everything clicked. All the times she had to endure the touches and sinful words of the drunkards in her grandparents bar, all the unwanted attention on the streets, at her own home. All the times she thought she was weird, an exotic gem, something - not someone - to decorate the room with. You don’t need to hate it, it’s part of you, but it’s not you. You’re so much more. He was the first one to encourage her to show it, not hide it. He always wanted her to be herself - not more calm, not more smiling, not more reserved. If she jumped out a tower he would jump with her, not wait to tell her she was being reckless. She paused for a moment, her entire being, the kiss, her thoughts.

“I love you, Obi. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize. And I’m sorry I made you think you were the problem when I was.”

It was the first time she actually saw him trip over the desk, catching himself in time to sit gracefully on top of it. She smiled, biting her lower lip. It wasn’t a bad shock, she could tell because he was smiling even wider than her, even when he didn't seem to notice. If she was going to keep getting reactions like that or like their kiss, she should keep talking. But he didn’t give her time to.

“Mis-”

He interrupted himself immediately, changing his wording.

“Shirayuki, you were never the problem. I was… really scared that morning too. I was absolutely sure you were going to, I don’t know, tell me that it was the worst decision of your life and that you never wanted to even look at me again. I was terrified thinking that maybe you were right and I had broken our friendship forever. And, of course, everything went south when I heard you, crying.”

Even knowing it wasn’t exactly that what caused her crying it still pained him. She could see it in the golden orbs that fixed on her.

“I had to do this mission but I was ready to leave. I wanted to talk to you, to apologize and pack my things afterwards. Instead, the first thing you say to me today? Hey maybe you shouldn’t leave anymore. How- What- You know how confusing it is coming back believing it will be the last time I see you only for you to tell me that?”

And they laughed, because that was the thing they did most when they were together. Worrying about one another and laughing.

“I’m sorry for that too. I just kept having these nightmares where you would go and never come back without even hearing what I had to say. I just needed to tell you. I won’t make you stay, unless you want to.”

He picked her up easily, her legs holding her to his body and her arms up on his shoulders, and kissed her again. Maybe it was the kisses who told her or the little smiles between them. Maybe it was the bigger smiles or the way her arms got up and her upper-body followed back, laughing to the sky - or to the ceiling, to be more accurate. Or maybe it was the way his hand pressed down her back, bringing her to him again just before she heard every word she needed to hear.

“I love you Shirayuki. And, for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here.”

She stopped her laughs and smiles and lowered herself to the ground, looking at him so seriously he seemed startled.

“Would you say that again?"

Shirayuki could swear he was blushing. He was. And she enjoyed it as much as she could for the brief moment it lasted.

"I love you. I've loved you for so long I feel I'm dreaming. I think I'm just saying these things because I'm waiting to wake up at any moment."

The feeling, that unnamed feeling in her heart, so warm, filing her chest with a strange kind of pain. One that hurt but wasn't bad. It was as if someone was gripping her heart with all its strength, so much so she was afraid it would explode. Yet at the same time she felt incomplete without that pressure. She never wanted to feel so empty again.

She brought her hand to her chest without thinking, taking in the universe that was originating inside of her. She had been afraid of many things in her life, never so much as to stop her from doing what she thought was right but she wasn't new to the feeling. Yet at that moment she was terrified. Terrified something would happen that would tear everything from her. Was it normal that, at the happiest moment of her life, all she could think about for a moment was how she feared to lose it?

And then it happened again. He touched her arm - a little pressure to remind her he was there - and smiled while lowering his hand to hers. He didn't say anything, didn't need to.

He was with her.

He was hers .

And if there was something everyone knew about them was that, while together, they could do anything - and so, so much more.

[x0401x]

Have you watched Tsurune, by an chance? If yes, what do you think about it?

Finally managed to write down a reply for this! (Told y’all I was gonna do it and I did not give up, lmao.)

So this ask caught me off-guard for two reasons: one is that I never see it coming when people send me Tsurune asks now that the anime is long over and the fandom is inactive, and the other is that nobody has ever asked me this question so straightforwardly. Whenever I got asks about Tsurune, people would question me about the differences between anime and novel, the anime versions versus the canon versions of the characters, fanservice and ship tease, alterations in character relationships and my opinions on specific episodes, chapters or scenes. As far as I remember, no one has ever asked me what I think of the anime (or the novel) in general.

I won’t go into the novel since this ask is just about the anime (I can do that in another one if you like), but I’ll end up mentioning it every now and then because it’s pretty impossible to discuss about an adaptation without talking about its source material. Still, I promise this review won’t be centered on that.

This is actually a very condensed version of my thoughts, because the real thing would be a bible. It’s still a lot, though. Here comes a long-ass ride.

I guess I should start by making clear that I usually follow the history of KyoAni’s productions very closely as I’m a big fan of the studio. This includes reading the novels and mangas they adapt into anime as well. I had read volume 1 by the time the Tsurune anime came out, so I already knew what the canon was like. I must add that I was also familiar with Japanese archery to some degree and I was reading Zen in the Art of Archery when the anime was airing (it’s referenced early in the novel, so I decided to give it a try).

With all of this being said, when it was announced that Tsurune would get an anime, my first reaction was to worry. This surprised even me, because I usually have high hopes for any KyoAni adaptation, even the ones I end up not liking. I mean, it’s a studio filled with brilliant stars and holds the golden standards of the whole industry, so even when the content isn’t good, the quality of the animation itself is enough to make their shows worth anyone’s time. But the choice of director had me very concerned.

Now, this is Kyoto Animation that we’re talking about. In no moment did I fear for the animation’s quality. Most of Tsurune’s staff members, if not all, already had previous experience working on Violet Evergarden. And we all know that even newcomers freshly graduated from KyoAni’s preparatory school can make a stunning visual masterpiece. Yes, I am talking about Kyoukai no Kanata. And yes, I said visual masterpiece, because we also know that what these productions normally lack is the most essential part: the content.

In those cases, the one who actually makes a difference is the director. I’m a firm believer that the more inexperienced the staff is, the more competent a director they should be placed under. If not a senior animator, at least let it be a rising talent with the best prospects possible. But the schedules usually don’t help with that, so these hatchlings ended up under Yamamura Takuya’s wings.

To elaborate a bit further on why I think brighter animators should be the ones leading new packs (no, it’s not discrimination against the less accomplished, because you gotta start from somewhere), it’s because they usually have this knack for bringing the most out of the stories they’re working on. When the story is great by itself, that’s a different thing, but when it doesn’t quite reach its full potential with just the text, then the one to give it life has to be a person with more vision.

Am I saying that Tsurune is one of those stories? Absolutely. Tsurune is about archery, which is an art that is best appreciated when observed. You can’t get everything out of it just with words, and there are many things in it that people who don’t know much or know nothing about Japanese archery wouldn’t understand without actually seeing them, so the series obviously needed an anime in order to reach its full potential. But other than that, I’ll be honest: I love the Tsurune novel for its cultural baggage, the handling of its characters and its fairly innovative views in the repetitive and boring scene that sports animanga are nowadays, but I don’t consider it a well-written novel. Because it isn’t.

This might seem controvesial coming from someone who defends the canon with claws and teeth, but I’m aware of its flaws. I think Ayano Kotoko has a lot of room for improvement, and she’s evolved remarkably from volume 1 to volume 2. But volume 1 is what the anime was based off, so there was a deep need for a clinical eye in that production. One that could measure the original work’s strengths and weaknesses and balance them out by powering one up and overcoming the other. And also a certain level of knowledge about Japanese archery. Sadly, Yamamura Takuya didn’t have any of it.

As much as I admire Yamamura as a key animator and in-betweener, I believe he has a long way to go before he can be considered a good director, and I certainly don’t think he was ready for his debut when he was put in charge of Tsurune. I would rather, and I mean this in a good way, have seen him work as anything else for the rest of his career. Being a series director was too much for him. I say this taking into consideration not only the fiasco that the Tsurune anime was in sales but also Yamamura’s history in the studio before becoming a director.

This might sound funny, but Yamamura had no idea how big Animation Do and KyoAni were before he decided to join. He also was never very skilled. His in-betweening was actually not approved at first when he was trying to enter the company. He even once admitted that his knowledge of animation was extremely limited at the time, and what a time that was, because the studio was busy up to the neck with the making of Lucky Star back then. He didn’t know left and right, basically, and he recalled in an interview from last year that he is still surprised the studio actually hired him.

Despite all of this, Yamamura joined the company with the intention of becoming a director. While he did manage the feat in the end, it took him +10 years and a few frustrated attempts. Animators usually start out at in-betweening and earn other positions through passing exams. Yamamura failed his first exam to be key animator, only managing to pass half a year later. He also failed his first exam to become a director. At his second attempt, one of their colleagues even suggested that maybe he should stay a bit longer as a key animator, and I couldn’t agree more. While he did pass the test, I can only bring myself to think that he did so with an average score.

Now, I did say that this info came from a 2019 interview, when the Tsurune anime was already over. But they weren’t really what shaped my opinion on Yamamura regarding his direction. It was the anime itself. But this interview served to confirm something I had already noticed from his tragectory to series direction: with him being in the studio for so long and having worked on so many titles, it was weird to me that he was rarely an episode director in comparison to key animation and in-betweening. Episode direction is a step that I consider crucial for one to become either series director, animation supervisor or series composer. I do know that quite a few directors take just as long as he did or even longer to debut and actually do thrive in the end, but observing Yamamura’s work always gave me the impression that he was better off following decisions made by someone else rather than making his own.

Yamamura also loses points with me in that he’s backed up within the company by Kawanami Eisaku, another director who doesn’t get rave reviews on his works. He’s the one who replaced Utsumi Hiroko after she migrated to Mappa, and ever since he took over the Free! franchise, its sales decreased to less than 1/3 of each of the first two seasons separately. I personally don’t like that he seems to look down on Utsumi despite his lack of success in inheriting her legacy, but leaving this aside and focusing only on his skills, I’m not fond of directors who opt for simplistic approaches in general. I think animation is a medium that should be used to amplify the appeal of the source material, not water it down. It also feels like these kinds of directors are always trying to play safe, which (they don’t seem to realize) goes against the audience’s expectations and kills the hype. It strikes me as cowardly, to be frank. I also don’t like when they ignore what the characters had been building up and simply retool them to their own tastes. I was praying that Yamamura would be different from this bad example, but turns out he was actually worse.

I got a really bad feeling when the anime PVs of Tsurune were released. My very first impression was that Yamamura was still too much of a beginner and he wouldn’t be able to make Tsurune into a successful anime. I know this might seem like an exaggeration, but here’s the thing: ever since KyoAni started making its own titles, I’d never seen lack of hype for their upcoming works. Ever.

Until Tsurune.

Every time a PV of a KyoAni show comes out, people go crazy. It’s not always a frenzy like it was with Free! in its heyday or Violet Evergarden when the novel commercials were the only pieces of animation we had of it, but there’s usually lots of debate and speculations going on. With Tsurune, almost no one cared. You’d see next to nobody talking about it save from a few people on Reddit. And honestly, why should they bother? It didn’t seem promising at all. Didn’t show much of the characters or the story’s premise, didn’t highlight any particularly interest aspect of the plot and didn’t leave any impression animation-wise. It was very bland, to say the least. Unfortunately, so was the anime series.

It might be blunt of me, but my overall evaluation of Tsurune is that it was a really boring show. Nearly all elements that made the story and characters interesting were either taken out or squeezed into a cookie cutter mold, cliche version of what they looked like they were going to be at first but turned out not to be in the novel. And I say this because one of the things that make Tsurune a good novel is how it turns stereotypes upside-down. It introduces the readers into what seems like is going to be a typical sports shounen and starts out describing the character archetypes in the most common ways possible and puts them in the most common situations possible, then it reverses them all. That’s what’s most charismatic about the books. It’s what incites actual character development and gives us different sides of each relationship, yet the anime makes no use of it.

The anime also hardly makes any use of all the mystic, Zen and lowkey folklore-ish veils of the novel, which are supposed to add up to the archery elements. The Zen part is actually essential since Japanese archery is fundamentally a Zen form of art. Yes, art. Japanese archery is, in fact, not a sport. This is one of the aspects that elevate Tsurune above other works of the sports genre: it’s only categorized as such because it can’t fit anywhere else, but it’s not really a sports novel. That could have elevated the anime to the same status too, if only the studio hadn’t treated it like a sports one. But they made that mistake.

Still, I think the biggest sin in this adaptation was to try to cling to tropes that are considered successful and ignoring the characters�� personalities, which didn’t match these tropes at all, resulting in both characters and bonds being utterly destroyed and the flow of the story slowing down to a slug pace. By the second half of the anime, literally either nothing interesting happens or the things that were supposed to be interesting don’t hold the audience’s attention enough, which the animators attempt to cover up with queerbait. Everything is so tediously predictable that I’ve seen countless comments from the Japanese side of the fandom about how similar the Tsurune anime was to Free! and how “KyoAni only ever makes male characters like that, don’t they”. They were referring to Seiya and his weird jealousy, by the way. Even first-timers could tell that the characterization was a disaster.

The sad thing is, they were right. The Tsurune anime really did feel highkey like a Free! copycat in the characterization department. The main character is always getting swung about by everyone around him. The best friend is very clearly co-dependent. The deuteragonist is revealed to be bitter because of a deceased relative and is an asshole to the rest of the main cast for a good portion of the series. The rival from the other school is rude as hell for no reason and he’s got annoying groupies on his team who don’t exist outside of idolizing him. There are only four female characters and they have almost no screen time. And the list goes on.

As for the animation itself, I would like to say that it was perfect, but what really rang the alarm in my head was the many beginner mistakes so evident here and there, such as missing frames, the opening theme starting out of nowhere, the colors of the background often being too bland, lack of movement or scenes where the characters are too static, etc. I shit you not that when I saw the title splashing onto the screen all of a sudden in the initial ten seconds of episode one, the first thing I thought was, “This won’t sell well”. Sure enough, it didn’t.

So there you have it. I didn’t like the show. The only things I enjoyed were the archery scenes and the soundtrack. The rest simply didn’t do justice to the original work. I hope this summary has explained why, but if you want more info on it, maybe visit my Tsurune tag. You’ll find me elaborating more on particular topics in response to similar asks. Or you can send me other questions if you feel like.

That’s it!

[lindalevanimamm]

Reality- Chapter 5

(A/N): Just a warning that there are spoilers for the route endings in the game, so if you don’t want them spoiled read with caution!

Once we got back to my apartment, we sat on the couch. Saeyoung turned to look at me. I waited for him to start, ready to learn about how all of this is even happening. “I don’t know where to even start with all of this,” he began. 

“Just start from the beginning. I’m not going anywhere,” I replied. 

“Ok,” he breathed in. “Well I guess it all started with me realizing that my life was repeating. I kept having deja vu I guess. I felt like everything that was happening had happened before. I started to log my days in detail with what happened. Turns out I was right. I woke up, and went about my day and when I went to log what happened I found a log with my exact day on it. From there I tried to figure out why. A few weeks later I discovered I was in a game. I questioned my own existence. Is my life really real? Or am I just living a program? I still don’t really know the answer. I went through the same life day after day. No one really seemed to know either, but now I think I know that Zen was also suspicious. Then you came along. I wanted to make my feelings known. I wanted to meet you. So I figured out how to get us out of a game. It took a long time. I was able to talk to the RFA freely way before you and I could, obviously. Once we all figured it out we decided we needed out. I worked endlessly to get us out and into a reality. Eventually, I figured it out. I wasn’t sure because everything felt the same, but nothing had repeated yet. So then I got to work on getting here while I waited to see if I had gotten us out of the game. Coming here would confirm that we were no longer just pixels on someone’s screen. I did a lot of research. I went through a lot of errors before I finally got here. I was able to use dark energy and a lot of complicated math to figure out a way. I got to work and built the machine I have now. I don’t think I can explain it all. I don’t doubt your intelligence, but it barely makes any sense to me…”

“Yeah I wouldn’t understand,” I laughed. “But I think I get enough. Basically, you figured out you were in a game, hacked your way out and then made some sort of portal to get here.” 

“More or less.”

“So what happened after you made the machine?” I asked.

“I went through the portal. Looking back, that was not the best thing I could have done. I mean if something went wrong I could have died. But it did, by some miracle, work. I found myself here. I had no idea where to look for you so I just started walking. I guess fate is what really brought us together.”

“No, I think it was my overwhelming urge to get ice cream that did,” I chuckled.

“That too,” he laughed. “So then we met. I honestly had no intentions of returning to my universe, or reality, whatever it is. I had told the RFA before I left, but I guess I’m sort of glad I didn’t just ditch them all. But that night my head started pounding. Then I literally saw parts of me disappearing. I wrote that note and then blacked out. When I woke up I was back in my bunker. As soon as I could I sent messages to the RFA about what had happened. I think we’re all trying to figure out what to do with our lives now. Then I worked on fixing the portal, and I think I’ve got it now.” 

“So,” I paused, not sure how to ask my question. “What exactly are we going to do? I don’t want to make you come to this universe and leave everything behind...I mean everything that happened in that game was still your life right?”

“Yeah. Everything with Mint Eye and Saeran did happen.”

“But he knows you’re here right?”

“Yeah, he knows…” I sensed him starting to become uncomfortable so I decided to change the subject.

“How about everyone else and their routes?” I asked. 

“Their routes?” he questioned. 

“Well in the game you were all in there were different routes. So like in Yoosung’s he became a vet, in Jaehee’s she quit her job. What’s happening with all of them?”

“Oh yeah. All the endings did happen, kind of. After we got out of the game we started living lifes. Yoosung has finished school, and is studying more to become a vet. Jaehee did stop working for Jumin and is running a coffee shop. Zen did have a falling out with Echo Girl, but is back on track and is actually in a lot of musicals and movies right now. Jumin, well, he’s still working, but is a better boss and person all around.”

“Woah. So about your route...there were those days you came to see, well me I guess, in the apartment, what was that for you?” I asked. 

“Hehe, well. It was like someone was there. It was weird. I don’t know how to explain it. I was in a game, so I guess who I saw was just a CPU or something being controlled by you.” I felt my heart drop a bit. He sounds almost disappointed. Well of course he is. I’m sure the CPU was attractive, and now he is seeing me. Just me. I’m just average at best. 

“Oh” I softly answered. 

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked. 

“What? No.” 

“Tell me please?” he asked. I sighed. 

“It’s stupid. It’s just, well, I’m sure the CPU or whatever you interacted with was probably more attractive...you almost sounded disappointed and I mean I would be to if I was expecting someone to look like the CPU, but instead I look like me,” I mumbled, not really wanting to tell him, but also not being able to come up with an excuse. I heard him start to laugh. I looked at him confused. 

“Sorry. I thought it was something more serious.”

“It is serious,” I stated. 

“(Y/N),” he took my hands into his. “You are way better than some CPU. You’re real. I like you for you, not because of your looks. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you're the most beautiful person I’ve laid my eyes on, because you are. You are so incredibly good looking, but what’s even more unbelievable is how you act as a person.” 

“Yeah whatever,” I replied. I know I’m not good at taking compliments, but there’s no way that’s true. Saeyoung sighed and let go of my hands. 

“It’s true! But since we’re talking about serious things, we need to talk about what’s going to happen. I don’t think it would be safe to pop back and forth between realities. I have a bad feeling that something would go wrong. I hate to push this decision on you, but it really is up to you on what you want to do. I mean, I know we technically just met and I’d be asking you to leave everything and everyone behind, but-” My mind began to think, ignoring the rest of his apology. I already hate being here. I have no friends. I hate my life. Just a few days ago I thought about ending it. Is there really any reason for me to stay? Yes I’m in school, but I can drop out and start over in their universe. It can’t be that much worse. Sure we just technically met, but I know that I have feelings for Saeyoung and would do anything I could to make him happy. It’s a little crazy, but my life can’t get that much worse…

“I’ll go,” I stated, not realizing that he was still talking. 

“What?” he asked. I looked up into his eyes. 

“I said that I’ll go with you Saeyoung.”

“But what about your family and friends?” I scoffed and then laughed.

“I have no friends Saeyoung. I don’t even know why you like me. But we can find a way for me to communicate with my family right? Just like how I could message you through the app. It’s not like I see my family in person much anyway, and when I do need to I can use the portal. I know you said it shouldn’t be used often, but once a year or so won’t hurt.” 

“But you’re in school…” 

“So. I hate it anyway. I’ll drop out. I’ll tell my parents that I’m just going to drop out and start working somewhere. If I need to go to school in your universe then I will.” Saeyoung sat in thought for a moment. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“Why not? I have no reason to stay alive here,” I replied seriously. 

“Don’t say that.” 

“What?” I asked, a bit taken back.

“Don’t say you have no reason to live. There’s always a reason.” 

“Oh” I shifted around a bit uncomfortable. I’m not wrong Saeyoung. I have no reasons to live. My life sucks. I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m depressed. I’m anxious. So why not go somewhere completely new. Actually that’s a bit scary. But it can’t be worse than how I am now.

We sat in silence for a few minutes in thought. I felt okay with my decision to leave this reality. But I could tell Saeyoung felt bad for asking me to leave my life. “I’ll get started on packing and then-” I stopped mid-sentence realizing I needed more details. “Wait. Where am I going to stay? Is the money currency the same? Oh my God, you all don’t speak a different language do you? How do we even get back?” Saeyoung interrupted me with a laugh. 

“(Y/N), calm down. Most everything is the same I think.”

“Oh,”  I replied a bit disappointed. 

“As for where you can stay it’s up to you. I have feelings for you, but I’m not going to rush anything. You can stay in my bunker, or we can get you a place.” I smirked at him. “What?” he questioned. 

“Did the Saeyoung Choi, Mr. ‘I can’t ever be with anyone because I’ll hurt them’, just admit his feelings for me?” I asked. “I mean what happened to you pushing me away on your route saying I was annoying? Now you’re saying you like me so casually?” Saeyoung looked down, hiding the blush that was creeping up onto his cheeks. 

“Well you played the route. You already know I have feelings for you. You’re the one that has helped me with all that,” he replied. “Can we just pack up now?” 

“Yeah,” I smiled at him. 

“Just bring the important stuff. We will need to keep this place here for you so no one gets suspicious.” 

“Right. I should drop out of school first,” I said excitedly. I’ve always wanted to just drop out. I’ve sure thought about it enough times, and now I finally am. I ran to grab my computer. I quickly emailed the school registration and figured out how to officially drop out. After a few minutes I was done. I looked up at Saeyoung and smiled harder than I had in months. “I am officially a college drop out,” I managed to get out before laughing in glee. 

“I’ve never seen someone so happy to drop out,” he laughed with me. 

“Alright, I’m going to go have a long phone call with my parents about me dropping out.” 

“I’ll go ahead and set up a way for you to message them,” Saeyoung replied. I went to go make the phone call. 

==============================================================

The phone call was quicker than I expected. Surprisingly, my parents took the news better than I thought. I walked back into my apartment to see Saeyoung hovering over his computer still. 

“Well, they took that better than I thought they would have,”  I told him. He looked up and smiled.

“I’m glad. Did you decide where you want to stay?” he asked, then added, “no hard feelings if it’s not my bunker.” I smiled. 

“I think I do want my own place. I don’t know if I can go through that many adjustments at once. I’d probably break down. I’m not good at any kind of relationships, plus I’m like, you know, moving to a whole new universe.” 

“I figured so. Come here I’ve got some options for you.” I walked over and sat down next to him. Saeyoung passed the laptop over onto my lap and I looked. My eyes went wide looking at the prices of rent. The apartments were also incredibly nice. 

“Woah Saeyoung these are a lot of money...not to mention so much nicer than this,” I moved my arms up and in circles. He looked at me confused. 

“How much does this place cost?” he asked. 

“Like 400$ a month. These are over 1,000$!” 

“Oh, weird. How much is a Ph D Pepper here?” 

“Well first off it’s called a Dr. Pepper here, but like two dollars,” I answered. 

“Hmmm, it appears our currencies are not exactly the same. These apartments aren’t that much, but I also want to make sure you’re staying somewhere safe. I can cover the costs.”

“I don’t want you to have to pay for it, it’s a lot!” I argued. 

“Too bad,” he said leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Fine,” I grumbled. I quickly decided on an apartment. Not the nicest, but not the worse either. “I’ll take this one, but at least let me pay you back what I can,” I told him. 

“Maybe,” he smiled at me. He’s not going to let me is he? I can’t burden him with this so I’ll find a way. I passed the laptop back to him. He was typing away. “Looks like you can move in tomorrow!” he said. I smiled. I’m starting over. 

“I’m going to go pack then,” I told him, before standing up and stretching. Saeyoung apparently thought it was the perfect moment to lean forward and tickle my sides. I immediately swatted at his hand laughing and trying to get him to stop. I eventually broke free and ran to my room before he could catch up. 

“HAHA. You can’t get me in here!” I yelled through my now locked door. 

“Sure I can!” Was all I heard him say before he suddenly was opening the door. My jaw dropped in horror. He held up a small pin that he had used to pick the lock. Saeyoung then smiled and lurched forwards, once again attacking me with his hands. I felt like I couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. 

“S-stop! I-,” I took as big of a breath in as I could, “I can’t breath!” Saeyoung just laughed before he eventually decided to stop. I breathed heavily and caught my breath. I was so busy trying to breathe I hadn’t realized where we had ended up. I was laying on the floor, with Saeyoung hovering over me, pinning me down. Once I realized I looked away, trying to hide the blush that I knew was coming. My heart was pounding, from the tickle attack and the fact that Saeyoung was here, and pinning me down. Saeyoung seemed to catch on as he quickly stopped and got off. 

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, now embarrassed. 

“It’s fine,” I mumbled back. I got up and decided to just move on and start packing some of my things into a box I had found. Soon after, Saeyoung began to help, asking what all I wanted to bring. After packing everything up, we laid sprawled out on my floor, exhausted from moving things. 

“Are you sure about this?” Saeyoung asked me. I rolled my head to look over at him and smiled. 

“Yes. Like I said earlier, I don’t have much to live for here. And while I know it will be hard at first, it can’t get worse than how I feel now,” I answered. He looked at me. 

“How do you feel?” I choked on my spit, surprised that he would just ask me flat out. 

“You really want to know?” I asked. He nodded. I sighed. “Well, empty I guess. I feel like I feel so many negative emotions, but also nothing at all. I don’t have friends, and I never really have, so something must be wrong with me. I don’t even know why you’re here. I hate my life. I’m not happy and I don’t think I have anything to live for. I worry about everything, and I do mean everything. But I don’t ever share my feelings with people because I don’t want to burden them. I don’t even know why I’m telling you. I guess it hasn’t really hit me that you’re actually here. My mind is constantly telling me why I’m not good enough for things and it sucks. It sucks to not have someone there for you. It sucks to wake up wishing you didn’t. It sucks to feel like no one understands you. It sucks to question every bit of you. Everything just sucks.” I was trying to keep the sobs from coming, but it wasn’t working. I could feel the tears beginning to stream down my face. I was swallowing the sobs that were trying to escape. I brought my hands up to my face to cover it and wipe away the tears. Why did I even tell him all of that? It’s going to scare him away. He’s not going to like me. I’m a waste of space burdening him. I suddenly felt arms moving me. Saeyoung moved me so that I was now crying into his chest. I sobbed harder. The sounds coming out of me weren’t human. I think he picked me up, all I know was I gripped onto his shirt as I sobbed. He put me onto my bed and wrapped me into a hug once again. His hand moved to rub my back. 

“I know it sucks. I know how hard it is, but I’m here now. You’re not a burden. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ll get through this. I’ll be here every step of the way,” he whispered. Why are you doing this? I don’t deserve this. I moved even closer to him, leaving no space between us as I cried. Saeyoung stayed there and comforted me, whispering that he was there for me. My cries began to quiet. Only a few sniffs and tears here and there. I looked up at Saeyoung.

“I’m sorry” I tried to whisper, but soon realized how harsh my voice sounded. 

“Don’t ever be sorry for your feelings,” Saeyoung whispered back. 

“But I am. I don’t normally cry this much,” I let out a small laugh. “You’ve been here for not even two days and I’ve already cried what three times or something?” 

“Sometimes it’s good to just let it all out. I’m just glad I could be here this time.” I buried my head back into his chest, finding comfort in his heartbeat once again. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, falling asleep in his arms when we’re not even really in a relationship. I don’t care though. I need someone and I’m just glad he’s here.

[guksauce]

~TickledPink!~

Part Three

Pairing: Jjk x Reader Pregnant AU

Word Count: 2,641K

Rated: M

Book Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mild Smut, Adult Language, Fluff City.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: Thank you to those that give this story and myself love 💖 This one was for Taehyung, getting to spread his wings and be the little artist he is!

Tag List: @jamkookies @jk97luv @1-in-abillion

All you know is whoever just threw open your curtains is in direct line of facing your wrath. Early, dramatically slanted, morning rays flood Jimin’s bedroom and your cracked eyes catch the way dust particles fall like glitter to the ground. The idea of waking up and having to leave this bed after Jimin had changed all the linen to clean sets last night, felt like a crime. His generosity spree came back to you in vivid colors; vibrant pink tufts of hair, borrowed fluffy white Chanel sweaters, smiling crescent eyes, and smoky white curled wisps of hot latte steam. Exchanging old stories about each other’s parents and home life from days gone by helped you to almost completely forget the argument you’d witnessed. The argument you’d caused. Jimin had begged you to not let it bother you so much and had shown you nothing but genuine friendship and support, that of which you would forever remain in his debt for doing so. But you would never fully forgive yourself for making a rift.

You couldn’t even be mad at the curtain culprit, especially not when his face was all the best parts of happiness embodied. Childishly puffed cheeks under smoldering taupe eyes, and heart shaped lips curved into a smile so unimaginably warm. He exuded a coziness so genuine it was impossible to feel anything but whimsical.

“Good morning Y/n-ssi.” Protests to even being talked to yet leave your throat in gargled groans as you cover your eyes, providing some relief from the sunlight.

“Good morning Taehyung-ah. What time is it?” Not that it matters, it’s obviously too early to care about times or anything for that matter. Tae’s mood is high above you, raining down in feathery words and soft chuckles. You feel bad for not being more of a morning person so that you could enjoy being rained on by Tae while being warmed by the sun, but he doesn’t seem to mind the groggy attitude you wear as he waltzes to the door.

“It’s 11am. I was going to let you sleep in longer, but I’ve been working on a surprise for you that I would really love for you to see.” Long strides leave behind the potent but endearing scent of fresh paint. It mixes with a familiar cologne and you decide that this is probably what Tae smells like all the time; art.

“A surprise for me? But why?” Before you can question it further, he’s taking your hand and pulling you from your heap of warm blankets and leading you out of the comfort of Jimin’s bedroom. It was the first time you’d been outside of his room since last night amidst the chaos and youd be lying if you said the air outside of the room felt sticky with remnants of tension. You squeeze Tae’s hand as you scan the halls and nearby rooms with wide eyes in fear of being seen by one of the other members.

“They’re gone. They went out shopping for the day, so you can relax.” The gesture isn’t a lot, but the way Tae slows his steps to fall in line with you and gives your hand a much needed reassuring squeeze back, keeps you from gulping for air when you think you might just break down in the middle of the hallway. “Ok! This is where you have to cover your eyes.” You do as you’re told and cover your face with your hands. Tae makes a sound of approval just before you spread your fingers enough to peek through.

“No, no, no! No peeking.” He laughs and uses his own hand to double cover your eyes. The sound of a handle turning is heard, as well as his voice behind you guiding you to the surprise. The smell of paint becomes more pungent as it fills your nostrils, along with a gust of cold morning air through an open window. There’s a dull ache in your head but its worth it when Tae uncovers your eyes and lets out a small “Tada!”

Together you stand in an empty room. Except it doesn’t feel so empty. Instead its full. Very full. Of what, you’re uncertain but you can feel that it holds something powerful. It reminds you of the feeling Jungkook and Jimin described last night; pure elation, as though you aren’t the only two standing in this room.

“Taehyung…You did all of this?” In this room stands tall walls similar to that of Jimin’s room except all of these walls are a beautiful lavender purple. Despite the overwhelming aroma of paint, somehow it morphs into fields of tall stalks of tiny purple flowers and the autumn winds turn into balmy summer breezes carrying tiny white dandelion seeds.

“Yup! We wanted to make sure you had a space of your own and I got to thinking last night that it would be fun to customize it for you.” Crisp white trim kept the room bright and the purple filtered out any harshness that an all-white room would have. It was comforting and calm and Zen.

“You really didn’t have to do this Tae. This is too much.” You say shaking your head as you take one last look around.

“Ah, what’s a little paint? It took no time at all and it wasn’t hard.” Taehyung watches you closely as you look around. He sees the moment your features change from awe to guilt; smiling eyes pointed up to the sky fall to your cheeks and a wide grin droops to pouting lips that you try to hide by walking to the window. He seizes the opportunity. “Damn it, I missed a spot.” He says through a full smile when you turn around. Taking in his appearance, you finally see the hard work built up on his clothes. His white shirt is forever stained with purple paint where he’d spattered it everywhere from the roller, and his black sweatpants artfully ruined with full on handprints in both purple and white.

When he holds out a paintbrush to you and the smile returns to your face, he hopes you wont mind being covered as well.

“You know, as wonderful as this is, I don’t know if ill be staying here. I don’t want to ruin Yoongi and Namjoon’s relationship any more than I already have.” You take the brush from Tae’s hand and stare at the bristle’s already muddied with wet lavender paint.

“I think you should stay. Just because Yoongi was mad doesn’t mean you are disliked.” Tae says softly and you nod. Turning to the wall, you dip your brush into the paint and smearing it onto the surface in patterns that look like the thoughts swimming in your mind. There should probably be a pattern. Up, down. Up, down. Or side to side even but you fill the white spaces with swirls and circles. Tae pauses and almost protests but tilts his head to the side as he considers this a window into how you see the world. He joins you with a lop-sided smile on his lips, trying his best to blend his designs with yours.

“This rooms been empty forever. I’m glad you’re filling it. And from what I heard from Jungkook and Jimin this morning, for more reasons than why you were brought here, they are too.” Out of the corner of your eyes you can see the way Tae turns his head to see your reaction to his words and you can’t help but smile.

“I feel like…I’ve tainted this place.” You admit and he bathes in those words, soaking up whatever meaning he found in them.

“Any family of Namjoon’s, is family of ours.” He says firmly, pausing to choose his next words very carefully. “It’s been just us for so long…I think for all of us its hard to imagine there being anyone else. But really its nice.” Tae peeks again in your direction to gauge your reaction. Your smile is thin and small but it’s there and that’s all he needs to push forward. “Sometimes we forget why we do what we do. Becoming more of an image for others has really blended in with the fame, you know? Sometimes things start to merge, and we get caught up in the work of it all and forget to remember where the power comes from. It comes from our connection with people. With our fans. With our family. With you. I think you coming into our lives has reminded us just how fortunate we are to be where we are and who we are and how we are together.” At this point, Taehyung has lost himself in his self-realization and his words get quieter as he begins to talk more to himself and less to you.

It continues this way while you each fill in the blank space on the wall, talking nonstop to each other. Mostly its Taehyung. His easy-going attitude and free-spirited aura breaks your wall of nerves. He tells you everything from his life on the farm with his parents, to his beginnings with the guys and how fond he’s grown of them over the years. His story is long and really you don’t mind listening because it’s amazing he’s even come this far in such a short amount of time. Your proud of him because really, it’s a lot and you can’t imagine having to cope with all of this fame and fortune and recognition at such a young age.

It makes you admire him a little more as you watch him fill in the last strip of white paint with the purple color, he picked out for you. For you��

“Thank you.” It’s cold on the floor where you’ve made a small nest in the protective sheet covering the floor. The paintbrush in your hand feels heavy and your limbs feel like they might fall off if you raise them above your head again. In hindsight you probably should have let Tae take care of the top half and you the bottom half but being next to each other seemed to work better for conversation.

“It was really no trouble Y/n. It was fun. Its been a long time since I’ve had another person to talk to. Don’t get me wrong,” He starts, wiping his hands on his shirt leaving streaks where more droplets fell onto the fabric, and turns to you on the floor. “I love my brothers. Their great and talking to them is always…well…great. But talking to you about my journey has been really new and refreshing.” Kneeling to you he smiles a thousand-watt smile that all but blinds you. “So, thank YOU for reminding me of who I am and who I’ve become.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” You see his smile and raise him a bigger one followed by a much-needed hug. “If anything, you’ve only given us a new layer of glue. It was a test of our friendship and it survived. Sometimes we aren’t so sure we belong together but its moments like this where we feel like we can. Like we Will.” His embrace is warm and welcoming and you’re sad you hadn’t gotten to know him a lot sooner. Curse Namjoon for being so-

“Taehyungie! We’re home!” Down the hall the lock on the door clicks and the handle creeks slowly. Jimin’s voice is the first to echo the walls of the apartment.

“Can you come help us carry in groceries!” Hoseok asks, the sound of his shoes squeaking on the hardwood floors of the foyer. Everything in your body begs you to run, the muscles in your legs clenching as you try to tug away from Tae’s embrace.

“Don’t run, Y/n. You don’t have to run.” Tae doesn’t know what’s happened to you, so he doesn’t realize the way he’s triggered you by holding you in place until you’ve frozen in his arms.

“I just...I have to get some things from Jimin’s room. I forgot to clean up some stuff and…and.” Footsteps approach your purple room and though being clung to makes your heart beat wildly in your chest, you hold Tae tighter the closer they get.

“Taehyung have you seen Y/n? She’s not in Ji-oh.” You let out a deep breath when you connect the voice with the face that appears in the doorway to your new room. It’s much brighter than the first time you’d seen it. In fact, Jungkook was glowing. He didn’t look plagued with sleepiness or twisted with anger at Yoongi. Instead he was fresh and glowing and…beyond handsome. Gently you step away from Taehyungs hug and wave awkwardly.

“Hey.” You say.

“Hey.” He responds, an adorable smile pulling at his lips. The way the sunlight pours in from the window behind you, it catches strands of his long hair and turns them to warm melting chocolate.

“I was just thanking Tae for painting this room for me. It’s my favorite color.” You smile fondly at Taehyung who bows formally like the little prince he is and turn back to Jungkook. He nods and takes another look around with his hands folded behind his back.

“It’s pretty. He did a good job.” He states, taking a step closer to you. The smile lingering on his face melts you into a puddle as you observe him. For a second you feel bad for leaving Tae standing alone in the corner of your room while you gawk at Jungkook, but he’s content with admiring his work. “And I see you helped.” Kook chuckles as he reaches up before he realizes what he’s doing and wipes your chin, revealing a purple smudge on the pad of his thumb when he pulls away. The gesture is harmless to everything but your heart. You flush immediately and laugh as you rush to start pulling up sheets from the floor.

“I did! It was really fun. Tae and I had a great time. He told me all about his family and how he met all of you and-. “

“What’s this?” The voice that fills the room isn’t smoldering like Tae’s or lifting like Jungkook’s. Instead its deep and layered with mild disappointment.

“I painted Y/n’s room so she will be more comfortable here.” Taehyung says with no signs of wavering as he moves closer to you. His voice doesn’t shake like your knees do.

“Mm.” Unable to read Yoongi’s emotion, you stay glued to your spot in the far corner of the room as his eyes scan the room before settling on the sheets in your arms. “Ill take those.”

“Um…I can take them…” Momentarily you’re surprised that he would even offer to take the sheets. Why would he want to help you after the unintentional tear you’ve made? No. Don’t. Tae said you…you’re the glue.

“I’m doing laundry tonight so I should just wash them.” This time when he holds his hands out in your direction, its no longer a question. He’s taking the sheets. You rush across the room, scooping up the last sheet on your way and keep your focus on the ground beneath you as you hand them over. He doesn’t tug them away from you like you expect him to. Neither does he make any sounds or signs of protest or disgust and really you feel like begging him to punch you square in the face for the trouble you’ve caused. Stop! Tae said you’re family.

“Dinner will be ready in 10 minutes.” Yoongi says no more and no less and it’s a blessing. A blessing because this is normal for him and normal is better than yelling at Namjoon or cursing at Jungkook. You consider this a win and bow softly as Yoongi departs, leaving the feeling of your new purple room in the same condition it was before; happy.

Part Two

Master List

Part Four

[analvelocity]

Rubbernecks

This is a submission I wrote for @thewebcomicsreview‘s “Write a Story You Worthless Piece of Shit”, a writing prompt meme with prompts silly enough that I wanted to try my hand at one of them. I realized I haven’t written any prose recently and I felt the itch, so thanks Daniel for giving me an excuse to go mad in front of a Word Doc for way too many hours.

This one, uh, got away from me, but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope people have at least half as much fun reading it. The prompt I chose was as follows: A middle-aged southern redneck truck driver finds the legendary Kitsune-Neko Katana, the only weapon that can save the world from an invading alien race.

You can find all 4,600+ words of Rubbernecks below the cut.

ANALVELOCITY DOT TUMBLR PRESENTS: RUBBERNECKS

Bobby cracked open the window and felt the now-cooling Mohave air ripple through his cap. As the sun hid once more behind the end of the road, he took off his aviators and hooked them over the top button of his shirt. It was going to be one of the long ones, he could feel it. Just him and the white lines 20 feet ahead of him as he directed 40 tons of cargo through the dusty blackness. This was home to him, and if he was one of those strange monk fellers, he’d much rather be meditatin’ here than on a mountaintop. It was for this reason he chose to leave his radio off, letting the breeze whip his ears at 65 miles an hour as he breathed a sigh of contentment.

This was the life. No Garth Brooks or radio chatter to disturb his personal zen. Always the feelin’ of progress, feelin’ like no matter where you’re gon’ end up, you’ll be right where yer’ meant ta be. When all was said an’ done, there was nothin’ more peaceful than- BOOM. A ripple shook his steel cocoon as he felt an electric shock run from his toes to the last remnants of his hairline. Stunned for a moment, he glanced to his right as he saw blames bellowing out of a line of Joshua Trees running about half a mile of the highway. He could feel ol’ Bessie begin to wobble and shake, and Bobby knew that was a sure sign that he should pull up. As Bobby stepped out of the truck, he felt a blast of hot air lash at his face. He reached into one of the back pockets of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled box of cigarettes. He felt around his pockets. Nothing. He looked up at the door, then again at the bent cigarette in his mouth. With a sigh, he walked up to one of the nearby burning plants and lit it. As he took a couple of puffs and surveyed the landscape, he saw it. At the end of the trail of flame, a series of blinking lights. Now Bobby here was no Boy Scout, but he knew Morse Code when he saw it. “Prob’ly one of them there Wright Brothers types gettin’ ambitious.” He chuckled to himself as he began to walk toward the lights. Far as Bobby was concerned, the ground was good enough for him. His eyes began to readjust to the darkness as he approached the source of the fire. His eyes widened. That was no airplane. The flaming ball of chrome sticking out of the cracked earth before him looked like it had no doors or windows, but as he stepped around it he noticed a single hole burned through what he presumed was the side of it. He inspected the hole, and realized that whatever shot this thing, used some serious hardware. The kind of hardware Jimmy One-Eye would probably give his left nut just ter’ get a look at. Bobby had dealt with more busted radiators in his time than he could count, so he knew this thing was goin’ to be too hot to touch. Still, he left his gloves and kit in the truck, and he needed to get this cargo to LA before morning so he wasn’t interested in staying any longer than he needed to. Bobby’s task was simple - see if there were any survivors, and leave the rest to whatever guvamint acronym dealt with flaming sky eggs. No time to get this engine back runnin’, assumin’ this thing even had an engine.

Wrapping his baseball cap around his right hand, he tested the egg by poking it. Cold to the touch. Cautiously, he put the hat back on his head and placed his bare hand on the surface of the object. A series of beeps. Some more flashing lights. A ripple in the surface, and then beginning to shudder and groan. Bobby stepped back.

The shuddering began to grow and grow in intensity, shivering and rippling as it morphed into alien shapes. Bobby stepped back once more.

Then it stopped. Then it made a tiny, almost imperceptible dinging sound. Then it spat out a girl. At this point Bobby didn’t know how to react. But if he didn’t the egg sure didn’t either as it flung the girl several feet in the air, landing her face-first with a thud at his feet. Bobby leaned over and checked her pulse. He couldn’t feel anything. He rolled her on to her back. She looked Asian, that much he was sure, and covered in deep lacerations and burns from head to toe.

She seemed young, definitely too young to be out of high school. She wore a short blue skirt, the kind of short that would make the most progressive mother clutch her pearls. A white shirt that seemed way too small, exposing her belly button. An odd-looking boy scout necktie that seemed to glow in the dark. She looked like one of those girl hero types that he caught lil’ Jenny watchin’ back at home from time to time. And in her hand, the most absurd looking blade he’d ever seen in his life.

It was long thin blade, with what looked like nine fox tails working as a guard at the hilt. Several inscriptions of cats, were engraved on the blade, each one glowing a searingly bright pink.

“Well that there’s a bit fruity, ain’t it.” He reached down to check her pulse. Nothing. Bobby furrowed his brow. He took his hat back off and wiped the sweat off his forehead. With a sigh, he reached for the sword clasped in her hand and picked it up. What happened after was immediate. The girl’s clothes shifted into some kind of modest private school uniform. But more frighteningly, Bobby felt a surge of energy flow through the sword. Bobby’s world shook, and then everything went black.

********

“Wake up, Chosen-Senpai.”

Bobby shuddered awake to see a blurry figure standing over him. As his eyes adjusted to the bright lights around him, he sat up and felt the shallow pools of water rippling between his fingers. “I ain’t in the Mojave anymore.” As he looked around him, he could see the girl more vividly now. The same girl he pulled from the wreckage, but strangely uninjured.

“Very astute of you, Senpai.” Bobby eyed her with a mix of scorn and confusion. He looked at her, she looked at him. After what felt like half a minute of waiting for the other to say something, Bobby decided to break the ice. “Where ar-“ “The sword holds the past lives of all who have wielded it before. This is the realm where the Chosen meet, to share their combined knowledge and experience with the Hero who wields it.” Bobby’s eyebrow slowly raised. “Who ar-“ “My name is Sakura. Heiress to the GenkiNeko toy chain, forty-seventh wielder of the Neko-Kitsune sword, slayer of the Kawaiiju. I will be your spirit guide on your journey as you continue my work, as the previous owners of the sword have done before me.” Bobby stood up. “Now wait here missy, I ain’t about t-“ “You are the forty-eighth wielder of the Neko-Kitsune sword. It is your destiny.” “I’m a trucker. The only destiny I got is-” “Listen, old man, I like this even less than you do. But the Kawaiiju aren’t going to stop with me. Whether you like it or not, you will need to face them.” Bobby laughed. “Let’s see how these illegal immig’rints handle the 12-gauge I got in the back. I don’t need no’ gay knife fer’ tha-“ “Your shotgun will have no impact on the Kawaiiju, Senpai. Only the sword can pierce their flesh” “Well ain’t that convenient.” Bobby was stunned for a second. He actually finished a sentence with this crazy woman. “What-“ “You must take the sword and follow your path. The sword is just a blade in your hands now, but the Power of Friendship will ignite the Neko-Kitsune Sword’s true power.” “No.” “What?” “I’m not goin’ ter do it. I don’t even know what you want me ter do-“ “You have no choice. It is your destiny.” Bobby scoffed. “Lady, this here?” he gestured to the void surrounding them. “This is America. And it’s my gosh-durned right to do whatever I want. That’s the American wa-” Sakura rolled her shoulders backward and groaned into the sky. “Burgerland, of course. Why did I have to crash here?” Bobby chuckled, looked at the sword still clasped in his hand, then smiled. “Listen, Say-koo-ruh. What if I take this thing to the nearest truck-stop and give it to the first teenager that rolls by?” She paused, pinching her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “That, uh, might work? But there’s a pro-”

“Good, it’s settled then. Now I don’t want ter hear any more of this talk about Nee-Koes and Keet-Soons and Cow-Why-Juice, you hear me?” She shrugged, an almost resigned smirk on her face. “Fine. But when what happens happens, make sure you keep the blade nearby. The last think we need is humanity’s last hope in the hands of an alien invader.”

Bobby shrugged dismissively, and for a while the two stood there for a moment in awkward silence.

“So what the heck is a Sen-Pi-“

********

Bobby shuddered awake, sweating. He checked his watch. Damn, he’d been snoozing out here for 15 minutes. If his boss called in while he was out here, that was probably comin’ out of his paycheck.

“Strange dream.”

He looked around. The sword was still in his hand, but the body was gone. Bobby decided it was probably best not to question it, as he shrugged and made his way back to the truck. On the way, he considered throwing the sword away, but something prevented him.

“Could probably get gas money selling this to a scrapyard.” Bobby chuckled. In fact, now that he thought about it, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

By the time Bobby was settling back into the driver’s seat, he’d already decided on the place – a scrapper mentioned by Billy-Bob in the Trucker’s Network just off the beaten track. And better yet – still on the way to LA.

The past hour, he thought, must have been a hallucination. There were certainly enough engine fumes to rationalize that as such, but a Japanese schoolgirl? That one was certainly new. A pang hit him as he warmed up the engine – was this guilt? Bobby quickly brushed the feeling aside as he pressed his foot against that familiar accelerator.

********

thru-thrum.

A few hours had passed, and a strange feeling washed over Bobby as the white lines on the empty road began to blur together. Hair standing at the back of his neck. A chill of… anticipation? He pushed it aside as he reached to the passenger seat for another cig- hang on, was the sword glowing?

thru-thrum. One eye on the road, he looked across the car and sure enough, leaning against the glovebox was that girly blade. The inscriptions were now pulsing, but the blade itself was now glowing with a pink hue that was growing steadily brighter. This time, Bobby knew he wasn’t hallucinating. thru-thrum. thru-thrum. “The Kitsune-Neko senses her prey. The hunt begins.”

That familiar voice.

THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

“But who is the hunter, and who the hunted?”

“Oh fuck me! Now I’m hearin’ the dead!” THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

Bobby wiped the sweat off his brow. His head was pounding. His hands were shaking. And then, in the corner of his eye, he glanced something in his rear-view mirror. Something advancing. His eyes widened as terror ripped the breath from his throat.

THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

Something giant was slithering along the road at an incredible speed, steadily, advancing on ol’ Bessie. Like a Beanie Baby fucked a Kraken. And it looked livid. Bobby didn’t think. He punched the gas and picked up the microphone on the CB Radio. Shaking, he clicked the button and spoke. “10-33, 10-33. This is Freebird, callin’ from the Interstate 40 en route to Shakytown.” He paused for a moment. “10-33 please respond.” Static. Second after uncomfortable second rolled by. And then, a familar;

“5 by 5, this is the Ludlow Watering Hole. What’s your situation? Over.” He breathed a sigh of relief. But that relief was fleeting as the spectre loomed over his rear-view. But now he knew Maeve was in town. This varmint was gon’ find out the meaning of Southern Hospitality. “I’m about 20 minutes east of your position. I got the hammer down and a bogey on my tail. I need all the drivers you have. And guns. As many as you got. Over.”

A moment.

“Copy that. I’ll contact the boys. You know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” Another sigh of relief. “Oh, and Freebird? Welcome back. Over.” Bobby hung up the mic and glanced at his rear-view. Yep, definitely close now. Whatever he was going to do, he would have to do it fast. And hopefully Maeve wasn’t dragging her feet. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

The sound was very loud now, the sword to his right now shimmering with light, shivering like it was itchin’ for a fix of the good stuff. And that’s when he saw the sign - Fender Joe’s House of Scrap. A lightbulb moment – if he was gon’ take this thing on, with or without the Trucker Network, one of them was gon’ die in that metal graveyard. He twisted the steering wheel to the left, and felt Bessie tilt with him. But Bobby knew Bessie like she was his second wife. And with a flourish, the truck righted itself as he flew through the exit. The pursuer was not as elegant, slamming itself into the wall of a nearby overpass, splattering glowing technicolor blood. But the blood stopped in midair, and rushed back to its host as the tentacled monstrosity regained its composure and resumed its pursuit. As it did, the radio once more crackled into life. “10-8, 10-8. Freebird, we have some boys heading to your position. What is your situation with the bogey? Over.” Bobby had never been so overjoyed to hear anyone speak over that radio. He picked the mic back up. “10-4. I’m about to dig in at Fender Joe’s. Get here as quick as possible. 4-10? Over.” A moment.

“Negatory, you’re a Mud Duck. Please repeat, over.”

“I said, I’m at Fender J-“ The truck slammed through the gates of the scrapyard as he hit the brakes. Carefully adjusting the steering wheel, he shifted the handbrake and the truck whipped around, skidding through the clay for tens of feet before glancing the piles of old whitegoods littering the compound. No time to think. Bobby reached behind his seat and pulled out his 12-Gauge and a few boxes of ammo. “This is going to be Freebird’s last stand.” He thought as he stepped out of the truck and turned to face the entrance. His rearview told him that objects may be larger than they appear. That was a gosh-durned understatement. The Kawaiiju before him stood at least 20 feet tall, with a mass of tentacles ripping through the fence as it advanced on him. As the creature drew closer, he could faintly hear the sound of… was that meowing? “Okay, I know you’re new to this country so lemme teach you somethin’ about the Second Amendment!” he shouted at the creature, as he unloaded two shotgun shells directly into its My Little Pony-lookin’ face. It doubled back and made a high-pitched, ear-piercing shriek, and then rearranged its face back into its original shape. Bobby laughed. Clearly this thing didn’t get the memo, he thought to himself as he popped some new shells into his gun. He was preparing his next one-liner when an errant tentacle whipped him, sending the man careering into a pile of old toasters.

********

“Ergh… Just give me a sec” he said to the figure looming over him. It took a moment for his clearly concussed brain to register that a familiar Japanese girl was standing over him. He fumbled around helplessly on his bed of toasters for a moment until he looked across the compound, realizing that his shotgun was currently sinking into the creature’s bags of flesh.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. Hearing him, the creature whipped around and began rushing toward him.

“Reach out your arm.”

“What?”

“Just do it. And say, ‘Neko Neko Nii!’” “WHAT?”

The creature was once again looming over him now.

“Just do it!”

Bobby blushed and gritted his teeth. “Argh! Neko Neko Nii!”

The Kawaiiju raised a clawed tentacle in the air, and slammed it down above him. SHWING!

Bobby opened his eyes. Somehow, he was still alive. With a pink sword in his hand, held above his head. The creature’s tentacle sliced clean off, wriggling limply on the toaster bed at his side. Sakura laughed. “I can’t believe you actually said that.” Bobby didn’t have time to think. Primal survival instinct kicked in as he shot up, grabbing the hilt of the blade with both hands as he slashed at tentacle after tentacle that whipped at him. And one by one, they all fell. The Kawaiiju roared mightily once more as it threw its full weight at Bobby, who ducked to the side and with one swift uppercut, slashed right through the creature’s torso. Neon blood spewed everywhere, coating Bobby as he wiped the goo from his eyes. The Kawaiiju was hurting now, that’s for sure. “Yeah! How’d you like that?” The creature stood still for a second, then the blood once more began to return to its body, peeling itself from the toasters, the sword, and Bobby himself. Sakura, still standing with her thumbs hooked into the pockets of her blazer, looked on at this with mild bemusement. The tentacles wriggled back into life as they crawled like worms back to their host, reattaching themselves to the sockets as Bobby looked on in horror. He clutched the sword and held it before him. “All right girl, you said this sword could kill these things. Why isn’t this working?” “I told you before, didn’t I?” “Tell me wha-“ he failed to ask as one tentacle, now balled into a fist, slammed him in the face, knocking him to the ground. He could only look on disorientedly as the blade skittered off and disappeared into a pile of refrigerators. He reached out. “Neko Neko Nii!” Nothing. “Neko Neko Nii!” he shouted. The Kawaiiju almost seemed to cackle as it readied itself for the killing blow. “Well Bobby, I guess you were going to die someday.” he said to himself as he relaxed his body and closed his eyes, allowing himself to embrace the void. Six tentacles raised into the air as the creature gurgled with something adjacent to laughter.

It was at that moment that a truck burst through the entrance of the scrapyard, careering through the mud to collide face-first with the creature. Once more it shrieked as it exploded into that glowing rainbow bodily fluid that Bobby was becoming uncomfortably accustomed to.

Dazed, Bobby looked to his side, and shouted out a hoo-rah as five trucks circled around the interior of the compound, before trying to get up once more. Several familiar faces emerged from the doors, each one more heavily-armed than the last. And last, stepping out of the truck that saved him, was a heavy-set woman holding an LMG like one would hold a briefcase. “Just in the nick of time, hey Freebird!” Bobby smiled, pumping his fist into the air as he righted himself. “Maeve! And not a moment too soon! Good to see you babe.” “Now Bobby, you wanna try saying that again?” she said, tapping the LMG with her other hand like a used car dealer would slap a car. “Point taken. Eyes up, everybody, because this ain’t over.” Maeve frowned. “You sure about that? This situation is lookin’ pretty handled over-“ It was at that moment that the truck flipped into the air, spinning into the other trucks as the Kawaiiju revealed itself once more, enraged. Maeve stepped back, shocked for a moment at what she was seeing, and readied her machine gun. “All right boys, let’s show this rubberneck what happens when you mess with the Trucker Network!” The team nodded in acknowledgement as they all began to unload their firearms into the tentacled horror. Pistols, assault rifles, SMGs, shotguns... oh shit, is that a rocket launcher? Maeve and Bobby both ducked out of the way as the first rocket connected with flesh. First an explosion of blood and fire, then the creature reforming just in time for another rocket to scatter alien meat once more. “It’s not working!” said Maeve. “Do what you gotta do – we’ll cover you!” Bobby’s eyes darted around the landscape, riddled with flashes and metal and enough colour to make Lisa Frank start bleeding out the eyes. “Thanks for comin’, Maeve. Glad to know you have my back after all these years.” “Naw, are you gettin’ sentimental, boy?” Maeve looked back and grinned toothily. “We’ll always have your back. We’re the Trucker Network! And more important, we’re friends.” An epiphany struck Bobby like a bolt of lightning.

“The Power of Friendship will ignite the Neko-Kitsune Sword’s true power.”

Without a second thought, Bobby held his arms before him as he lunged toward the beast. It was like time had slowed down, as he moved faster, superhumanly so, toward the creature, ducking and weaving between tentacles. As he approached the creature’s torso, his arms clasped together in a thrusting motion.

In a flash of bright pink light, the sword once again appeared in his hand, and drove straight through the heart just recently exposed by an errant stick of dynamite. The creature shrieked one more bloodcurdling shriek, and then collapsed inward on itself like a black hole. The Kawaiiju was dead, and this time it wasn’t coming back. Everyone looked on, dumbfounded. And then the cheering began. Bobby and Maeve moved into the circle of trucks, Maeve setting down her LMG as a few of the other truckies pulled out some beers from the trucks. Cracking open some cold ones, they all began to chatter among one another. Maeve approached Bobby once more. “Well Freebird, I can’t say this was the evening I was expecting to have, but I think we’re all going to remember it.” She eyed him up and down. “For more reasons than one.” Bobby looked at her quizzically, then glanced at the apparition of Sakura. She was doubled-over in laughter. “Okay what are you laughin’ about?” It was at that moment that he noticed that everyone was looking at him with a bemused look on their faces. Bobby looked down. “…oh.”

********

“…happy birthday dear Jenny, happy birthday to you!”

Bobby looked on at his daughter with pride, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Thank y’all for coming!” she said, buzzing with excitement as she blew out the 18 candles dotting her carrot cake. She looked over at Bobby, beaming. Bobby knew he wasn’t around all that much for her – he was wed to the road and it never let him stay in one place for long. A glance over at her mother’s piercing glare indicated that she concurred.

As the party began to wrap up and the family began to tidy the barn, Bobby approached his daughter.

“Hey Dad!”

“Hi, Jenny.” He furrowed his brow. Was this really the right time? Is this really the right choice? “Come with me, I want to give you your birthday present, but it’s out the front”

“Sure thing!” Jenny gleefully responded.

Bobby was getting cold feet. Her mother would certainly kill him when she found out. Probably for the best that he get out of the state as soon as possible.

He turned around to her as they stepped through the front gate. “So this isn’t just a gift from me, it’s a gift from the whole Trucker Network. So make sure to say thank you to Maeve next time she’s in town.”

“Will do!” Jenny was clearly overflowing with excitement, with her hands balled into fists.

Bobby opened the door of his truck, sighed for a moment, and then pulled out an intricately-wrapped box, short in height and depth but a few feet long. He looked up – Sakura’s ghost was sitting there, sporting an almost Cheshire-Cat grin.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? You know how dangerous it is out there. You know you’ll be exposing her to a world she’ll never come back from.”

Bobby frowned determinedly. “Yes, but will she want to?”

He handed the box to Jenny. Like a ravenous beast, she ripped the box open with her teeth, the ribbons and paper falling in tatters on the dirt road beneath them. Bobby winced – he’d spent all night on that.

She looked inside the box. “Whoa! Thanks Dad!” A moment of silence. “…uh, what is it?”

“This,” said Bobby, smiling as he drew the long metal object from the box. “is a tyre iron. You’re going to need it for the other half of your present.”

He gestured over toward the other side of the street. Jenny gasped. There it was, a brand-new semi-trailer. Not one of the most heavy-duty bits of hardware around, but if his Jenny was going to learn to drive, she was going to drive the best.

“Is it- is it-“ she was practically vibrating.

“Yeah, kiddo.” he smiled. “She’s all yours. Keys are in the ignition.”

“Um, I don’t want to ruin your moment, but…”

He looked out toward the gate of the house. His ex was advancing on him and he didn’t need any supernatural sword powers to know that his time was up.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted.”

********

Jenny ran to the truck and sat in the front seat. She’d never felt so alive; her Dad may be gone a lot but there was always something so magical, so fantastical about the stories he’d tell her about his time on the road. Sitting in this truck, she felt closer to him than ever before. She sighed contentedly, then looked over at her dad. And then a pang of sadness, as she heard the truck rev up and pull out, disappearing into the street once more, her mother screaming and shouting at him the whole way down the block. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Just like that, he was gone again. *chhhk* Jenny looked up. The truck radio was coming to life. “This is Freebird to Sailormoon, Sailormoon please respond, over.” Jenny wiped the tears from her eyes as she hurriedly picked up the microphone. “10-4, 10-4, This is Sailormoon, hearing you loud and clear, over.” “Freebird to Sailormoon, I’m proud of you. Sorry I had to hightail. You know your mother. Over.” She giggled. “Sailormoon to Freebird, it’s okay. Bring me back something nice. Over.” A moment. “10-4 to that.” “Motherbear to Freebird and Sailormoon, this is adorable but you are hogging a vital channel. Cut the shit, over.”

Jenny dropped the mic, embarrassed.

“Sorry Maeve” said her dad. “I’m back on the road again, what have you got for me?”

“Some rubbernecks causing havoc in a town just south of your position. Follow the highway and you can’t miss it.”

“Freebird to Motherbear, roger that.”

Jenny grinned before picking up the mic again. “Give’ em hell, Dad.”

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien Drabbles: Nachtmusik Chapter Four

A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) Chapter Four: The more things stay the same...

“My father would kill me if I got a tattoo,” Adrien sighed, twirling a pen between his fingers as he leaned in to get a better look at the simple reference doodles Luka had drawn.

“You’d have to get it somewhere no one would see,” Luka hummed, going over the runes beneath the leftmost raven to thicken the lines.

Adrien scoffed. “Luka, I’m a model. My body is public property. There is no ‘somewhere no one would see’.”

Luka looked up and frowned. “Your body is yours…and whoever you decide to share it with’s…not public property.”

Adrien set the pen down on the counter and put his hands up in surrender. “Aren’t you getting discouraged yet?” he wondered.

“How so?” Luka went back to the doodle of the ravens.

“Trying to teach me self-worth,” Adrien explained. “Isn’t it frustrating having to repeat the same things over and over?”

“Not particularly.” Luka shrugged. “I mean, you’re only the way you are now because some people—who shall remain unnamed yet obvious—have been telling you you’re worthless and undesirable for years. Realistically, I figure it’s going to take me a solid two or three years of constant fussing and lavishing of praise and affection to get you back up somewhere close to normal. Why would I be frustrated after only four months?”

Adrien didn’t reply.

Luka looked up, an eyebrow quirking.

Adrien stared. “Are you serious?”

Luka’s brow pulled together into a frown. “It…probably is going to take longer than two or three years, honestly…but I’ve got time.” Luka’s eyes flicked back down to the doodles on the back of the flyer announcing a Greek music festival that weekend.

Adrien continued to stare, wondering what he had done in a former life to deserve this man’s friendship and devotion.

“…You could get a tattoo on your stomach,” Luka broke the silence after a minute or two had passed without words.

Adrien rubbed his stomach just above his bellybutton. “I pose shirtless or with my shirt unbuttoned sometimes. I think they’d see it.”

Luka snickered, looking up to surreptitiously wink. “I was thinking…lower, Angel.”

Adrien frowned, looked down, and then burst into laughter. “Geez. What kind of tattoo would I get on my pelvis?”

Luka shrugged, self-satisfaction still clinging to his lips. “What kind of tattoo would you get anywhere else?”

Adrien bit his lip. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

“How about a snake?” Luka offered.

Adrien smiled incredulously. “On my lower abdomen? Isn’t that kind of…I don’t know…suggestive?”

“I think the only people who would see it would be in a suggestive mood anyway,” Luka reasoned.

Adrien covered his face with his hands, shoulders trembling with laughter as he shook his head. “I think I’m too pure to be having this conversation.”

Luka rolled his eyes. “Please. Says the guy who has made suggestive jokes at my expense on numerous occasions.”

Adrien removed his hands from his eyes to playfully slap at Luka’s arm. He glanced furtively towards the stairwell to the upper deck. “What if your mom or sisters walk in?”

Luka snorted unconcernedly. “Juleka would gang up on whomever she most felt like seeing blush at that moment, Rose would go into hysterics over how we’re supposedly a couple now, and Maman would tell me to make sure my box of condoms isn’t expired and remind me how long it’s been since I last had need of them.”

“My father would…I don’t even know,” Adrien sighed. “Have a heart attack? He wouldn’t be supportive of me having a physical relationship with anyone like your mom is.”

“I kind of wish she was less supportive,” Luka grumbled. “She thinks it’s strange that I don’t have any interest in sleeping with people until I feel a really strong connection with them. She thinks I should experiment more.”

“I wonder why, if you’re happy the way you are,” Adrien hummed.

Luka shook his head, going back to tracing the runes on the doodle. “She comes from an era of free love, so it’s weird for her that I would only want one partner in a long-term, committed relationship…. Like…even though she was with our father for a long time, I’m not actually certain that Juleka and I have the same biological father. We look pretty different, and…Maman and my father’s eyes are both blue…but Juleka’s are brown. Genetically, that’s…”

Adrien drew in a slow, deep breath.

“…Part of me feels like they shouldn’t teach kids about genetics and Punnett squares until they’re old enough to deal with the reality that they’re adopted or their siblings aren’t full-blooded siblings,” Luka snorted. “…But we were talking about tattoos.”

Adrien nodded. “You should get the snake tattoo on your pelvis. You could pull it off.”

Luka grinned at the flattery. “You think?”

“It fits your image.”

“Because I was seriously considering it,” Luka informed.

“Were you really?” Adrien leaned in closer, picking up his pen once more and twirling it between his fingers. “What kind of snake? A cobra like Sass?”

Luka shook his head. “Something more stylized, more Zen, less threatening. Maybe a sleeping snake coiled up. Maybe a Chinese calligraphy-style snake.”

Adrien nodded in encouragement. “That would be kind of cool. I’d like to see that!”

Luka blushed. “I’m giving you the opportunity to remember the placement of the tattoo and adjust your enthusiasm.”

Adrien grimaced. “Pretend I made some kind of flirty, teasing comment to save face that made you feel slightly flattered but also a little uncomfortable.”

Luka gave him a thumbs up. “I actually think it would be cool to get an entire Chinese zodiac…plus a cat.”

Adrien’s face lit up. “Like Fruits Basket!”

Luka’s eye twitched as Adrien completely missed the implication. “Uh…what’s that?”

Adrien’s brow scrunched into an unimpressed frown. “You’ve never heard of Fruits Basket? It’s an anime…and a manga, but you have to see it. It’s one of the classics!” Adrien insisted adamantly. “I’ll have to show you. Marinette and I have been getting together for take away Chinese food and anime on Saturdays the past few months. We’re almost done with the anime we’re watching now, and, after that, we’re going to have to have you over to show you Furuba.”

Luka tried not to let the conflicting emotions show on his face. “That sounds like a lot of fun, but I don’t think Marinette would appreciate me intruding.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Marinette wouldn’t mind. She loves having you around. It would be fun, all three of us together.”

“Yeah,” Luka sighed, imagining an alternate reality where both Marinette and Adrien were ecstatic to have him around for all of the reasons he wanted them to be. “But it sounds like anime and Chinese is your thing—just the two of you. You would feel kind of off if Marinette started coming to our jam sessions or family meals, wouldn’t you?”

Adrien shifted awkwardly on the kitchen stool, his nose crinkling. “…That’s different.”

“Maybe it’s not to her,” Luka suggested kindly. “I’ll tell you what, you and I can watch that anime together, just the two of us. How does that sound?”

Adrien’s smile came back, and he nodded. “Deal…. So…tattoos?”

Luka grinned, motioning down at the doodles. “I don’t want a sleeve or anything too big or noticeable. Just some little decorative tattoos here and there that can be hidden easily.”

Adrien switched hands so that he was twirling the pen in his right, freeing up his left hand to point. “I love the concept of Odin’s ravens on your shoulder blades…and a snake around your wrist under your usual bracelet is too funny.”

“I’m also thinking about getting a little pawprint on my finger where I usually wear my ring,” Luka announced tentatively, awaiting Adrien’s reaction.

“A pawprint?” Adrien’s head slowly tipped to the side. “Why a pawprint?”

Luka fought not to show his chagrin. “You know,” he replied conversationally. “like Chat Noir.”

Adrien’s eyes widened, and his face took on an amazed gleam. “Really?”

“Of course,” Luka replied smoothly, inwardly steeling himself. “I am his biggest fan after all…both in and out of the mask.”

Adrien let out one of those dazzling, marble machine laughs, hitting a jerky collection of pitches that somehow managed to sound just perfect to Luka.

“You’d have to fight off hordes of fangirls for that title,” Adrien cautioned.

Luka shrugged. “I’d take them…and I would win.”

“You’re wasted on Chat Noir and whoever he is behind that mask,” Adrien replied in awe, a wide grin spreading from one corner of his mouth to the other. “He could never appreciate you the way you deserve. He’s too full of himself.”

Luka shook his head. “I’ve met Chat Noir. He may come off as a flirty goofball in public, but in private he’s sweet and considerate.”

“Wow,” Adrien chuckled. “If you like him so much, you should marry him. I’m sure you two would make adorable kittens together.”

Luka’s entire face went burgundy as he burst out laughing. “Oh my God,” he gasped, burying his face in his hands.

“As for me, Viperion is much better,” Adrien continued, smirking in triumph as Luka continued to laugh convulsively in a mix of misery, disbelief, and genuine amusement.

“Seriously,” Adrien pretended to pout. “He’s all mysterious and suave and sexy. I’d like to see him in a suit…. Though…Chat Noir is pretty hot. I mean, his butt…”

“Perfection,” Luka snickered.

“Exactly,” Adrien emphatically agreed. “…Do you think Viperion would think I was a slut if I wanted to have occasional threesomes with you and Chat Noir?”

Luka looked up from where his head rested on the countertop. He wiped a tear from his eye and wondered, “How did this become a thing?”

“What?” Adrien hummed, satisfied with his work. “The whole pretending to be gay for Chat Noir and Viperion thing? Remember when Rose got us to play Kill, Screw, Marry last month, and I said I would kill Chat Noir, screw Ladybug, and marry Viperion? And then you said you would kill Ladybug, screw Chat Noir, and marry me? And then Juleka made a joke about foursomes. And then I observed that it seemed like the best of friends always made jokes about sleeping with one another? Like Marinette and Alya and Nino and me, so…it seemed like a logical leap to start doing that with you?” Adrien frowned as a thought occurred to him. “…But is it weird because you’re bi? I know a lot of friends joke about being gay for one another, but…is this insulting? If so, I’m really sorry,” he backpedaled hard. “I’m still kind of new to this whole ‘acceptable casual social etiquette’ thing. Tell me if I cross a line. Please. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Luka straightened and shook his head. “You’re okay. I don’t mind your flirting and teasing. I know you’re a flirty person to start with and that it’s not just me. I don’t have any delusions about that. I mean, I’ve seen you and Nino. You and Nino need to get a room and work out some of the sexual tension between you two sometime. Put the poor man out of his misery, Angel.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “I think Alya is doing a fine job. She doesn’t need my help…but we’re okay?” He eyed Luka anxiously.

Luka nodded. “I know you’re just joking. No offence taken.”

“Good,” Adrien sighed in relief. “…So…tattoos?”

The side of Luka’s mouth rose in a fond smile. “I think I’m going to get the pawprint tattoo on my finger. Do you think this looks accurate?” He indicated the doodle below Munin the raven.

Adrien frowned, pulling the paper in closer.

“I mean, I’m always distracted when I’m around Chat Noir, so I haven’t paid very close attention to what the pawprint on the ring looks like,” Luka explained.

“Distracted?” Adrien hummed, peeking up mischievously. “By his butt?”

Luka had mostly meant the akuma, but…

Luka bumped Adrien’s shoulder and replied a little too genuinely, too tenderly, “By his eyes. I’m a sucker for his eyes.”

Adrien’s heart jumped. “…Mine are prettier.”

“Jealous, Angel?” Luka snickered.

“Confused,” Adrien thought.

Confused because he kind of wanted Luka to be serious. Sometimes, Luka would say something painfully sweet, and Adrien’s heart would ache for Luka’s words to be true. And that was extremely confusing because Adrien wasn’t interested in guys. At least…he had never been interested in guys before. It had only ever been Ladybug, but…sometimes Luka confused him.

“Super jealous,” Adrien snorted.

“Don’t be. He’s not interested in me, so I’m all yours, Angel,” Luka chuckled at his own expense.

“Don’t you forget it,” Adrien clicked his tongue, switching the ink pen to his left hand to draw. “The pawprint is more like this.”

Luka nodded, impressed by the likeness. “…How is it that you have such an intimate knowledge of Chat Noir’s ring?”

Adrien looked up and answered with a straight face, “Oh? Didn’t I tell you? I’m sleeping with him.”

“Oh?” Luka snickered. “Be a friend and get me his number, would you?”

“I don’t think I want to share,” Adrien pouted.

“Share which one of us?” Luka arched an eyebrow.

Adrien smirked, twirling the ink pen playfully. “Either.”

Luka rolled his eyes. “In all seriousness—”

The pen went flying from Adrien’s hand, landing over by the wraparound couch.

“Oops.” Adrien smiled sheepishly. He hopped down from the stool into a feline crouch, scooped up the pen, and slowly rolled up, his posterior leading.

Luka’s brain blew a fuse. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help watching. It had happened so fast, and now he couldn’t keep from staring. He was already a little riled up from all the suggestive flirting, and now…ngeh. His mind was in the gutter.

Did Adrien know what he was doing? He couldn’t. He couldn’t have any idea. Even if he did, he wouldn’t. Adrien may have been a flirt, but he wasn’t a tease. He would never.

Adrien turned back around, and Luka scrambled to put a lid on all thoughts of Adrien’s butt and Adrien naked and sinking his teeth into the flesh of Adrien’s hip until he left a mark and Adrien’s laugh and Adrien’s eyes and how bad he wanted this guy. Because Adrien had no idea, and it was an abuse of Adrien’s trust to be sitting there staring and having those kinds of thoughts when Adrien was under the belief that their flirting was only all in good fun.

“Sorry. What were you saying?” Adrien smiled innocently as he sat back down on the stool next to Luka.

Luka shifted uncomfortably, mentally cursing his preference for wearing skinny jeans that were too tight to begin with.

Belatedly, he realized that Adrien had asked him a question. “Um… Was I talking?”

Adrien nodded, waiting expectantly.

Luka gulped, trying to discretely regulate his breathing. “Uh…I forget.”

Adrien shrugged, not suspecting. “Well, just let me know if you remember.”

“S-Sure,” Luka replied thickly, shrugging off his overshirt because suddenly the main cabin was sweltering.

And then Adrien took hold of his hand.

The touch felt like a hot iron on Luka’s unexpectedly hypersensitive skin.

“May I?” Adrien inquired, motioning to take Luka’s ring off.

Luka nodded, not trusting his voice.

With the retrieved ink pen, Adrien carefully traced the pawprint onto Luka’s flesh, blowing on it to help it dry before slipping the ring back over it.

Internally, Luka was panting. The contact, the way Adrien bit his bottom lip in concentration, the way he puckered his lips to blow the ink dry…simultaneously too much and yet not enough. He almost whimpered when Adrien withdrew his hands.

“Done,” Adrien announced proudly.

Luka pulled the ring back off carefully to inspect Adrien’s work and immediately came to a decision: he was going that very evening to get that pawprint permanently tattooed onto his skin before the ink had a chance to smudge or wash off.

“I love it,” Luka breathed. “It’s perfect.”

“Glad to hear it,” Adrien chuckled, obviously pleased with himself.

Luka caught Adrien’s right hand. “Would you be comfortable with moving your ring to a different finger for a second?”

Adrien nodded, slipping his ring off and sliding it onto the ring finger of his left hand.

Luka picked up his own pen and made two little dots on the finger, reminiscent of puncture wounds. “Done,” he announced.

Adrien frowned, inspecting his “tattoo”. “Bite mark?” he questioned.

“Snake bite.” Luka winked.

Adrien tittered in amusement. “Oh no! Aren’t viper bites lethal? You’d better suck the venom out before I die!”

“Drama queen,” Luka snorted even as he grinned.

“Seriously!” Adrien insisted, hamming it up as he held out his hand. “Quick! I’m already feeling woozy!”

Luka took Adrien’s hand and delicately brought it to his lips for a feather-light kiss.

Adrien’s heartbeat tripped. His stomach fluttered. His breath caught.

Luka looked up, his eyes meeting Adrien’s as the most perfect blush skated over Adrien’s cheeks, highlighting the dazed look in Adrien’s eyes as his pupils widened.

Luka’s breath hitched.

At the same moment, a thought occurred to both boys:

“Shoot. I’m in serious trouble.”

[kumeko]

Title: double, double, toil and trouble

Prompt: Aoi, Sakura dressed as witches

A/N: For the @danganhalloween-exchange for @shsl-corn ! I love these two, my favourite characters and ship from the first game

…

…

…

It was a coin toss these days on who’d get home first, if Aoi’s swimming practice or Sakura’s training would take longer. The Olympics, they had promised each other, gold and nothing less. A dream that could only be accomplished by sweat and tears and maybe a little blood. At least on Sakura’s side—it was almost impossible to spar otherwise. Either way, it wasn’t entirely unexpected for the lights to be on when Sakura dragged her sore body up the driveway to their home.

 What was entirely unexpected was the fact that her family home, an estate that had been maintained for generations, looked more like a graveyard than a home. Tombstones stuck out the Zen garden, skeletons halfway through crawling out of the rocks. Bats decorated the windows, bloody footprints leading up to the house, and Sakura squinted at the spiderwebs in the trees, not sure if they were fake or real. Quickly, she checked her phone—yep, this was her house. No doubt about that.

“Sakura!” Opening the door, Aoi dashed out, arms spread. “You’re home.”

 Automatically, Sakura gathered her tiny wife in her arms, keeping a strong grip as she swung her around. “Yes.” She lowered her face and pecked Aoi on the lips. A deeper kiss would have to wait for later, she still had to find out what happened here. “Did someone vandalize our home?”

 “Vandalize?” Aoi blinked owlishly, cocking her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

 Sakura frowned, not sure if Aoi was serious or not. It was impossible to miss the destruction around their home. “Our house…”

 “Hmm?” Aoi’s lips parted into a soft ‘o’ before she smiled broadly. Wriggling out of Sakura’s arms, she landed on the ground with a hard thud. “Well, what do you think?” She gestured at the graveyard. “It took all day.”

 “It took all day,” Sakura repeated, before realization dawned. Snapping her head to Aoi, she asked, “You did this?”

 “Yep.” Hands on her hips, Aoi beamed proudly. She rolled back her shoulders and stood up straighter as she gave a thumbs up. “We’re ready for Halloween now.”

 “Halloween.” Sakura stared at a furry, fake spider, dangling off the awning. It creeped her out. Just a little. Actually, a lot, especially now that she could see the millions of baby spiders hidden behind it and just how much detail did Aoi put into this? Even the windows featured skulls with candles. “I see.” After a moment, she shook her head. “No, I do not. We did not do this last year. Or the year before.”

 Aoi patted her on her back, her joy undiminished. Doubt was never one to bring her down, a thing Sakura both loved and occasionally hated. “And we had less kids come last year and the year before. If our house looks more Halloween-y, then I’m sure more kids will come. Especially to a house as creepy as this.” She shook her hands, almost bouncing on her feet. “Doesn’t it just look intriguing?”

 “I suppose so.” Sakura furrowed her brow. Part of the reason they didn’t get many trick or treaters was probably their location—no kid wanted to climb the dozens of steps it took to get to the Oogami estate. Even the students of their dojo complained about the winding path. The biggest reason, however, was that Aoi gave donuts instead of candy. An issue that Sakura had stealthily corrected the years after, making sure to buy a bag of chocolates and dumping it into the kids’ bags immediately after the zip-bagged donuts.

 “And I found the perfect costumes.” Grabbing Sakura’s hand, Aoi led the way back to their abode. Her ponytail bobbed as she trotted eagerly; as usual, she was always quick to move, to go somewhere. There was no staying still for Aoi, whether it was in her competitions or in her life.

 And as usual, Sakura was more than happy to be follow. She interlaced their fingers, keeping her grip light. “What are we?”

 “Witches!” Aoi declared. She bumped her shoulder against Sakura’s arm. “There’s capes and pointy hats and we’ll match.”

 That would be cute. Cuter on Aoi than herself, certainly. Though, her wife might find a way. While Aoi still didn’t care much about makeup and the rest, she’d developed a knack for prettying up Sakura. Because it makes you happy, she’d explained, a blotter in her hand. Now close your mouth.

 “Ta-dah!” Once inside, they headed into their bedroom where Aoi was now grandly gesturing at their bed. As anticipated, there were two black hats, two black capes, and two brooms. The surprise instead was on the strangely dark printouts of witches, such as the ones from The Wizard of Oz. The very detailed pictures showing warts and all. The small jars of green make-up destroyed any doubts Sakura had. “What do you think?”

 Instead of Sabrina, they were doing Macbeth. Sakura pursed her lips, not sure how to put it delicately. “It’s very realistic.”

 “Halloween’s all about scary things, so I wanted to go all out.” Aoi crossed her arms, looking extremely proud of herself. “I even found some YouTube tutorials.”

 All very great things. Sakura closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Whatever kids still came would definitely stop after this. She could already picture it, the creepy atmosphere, the extremely realistic witches, the boiling cauldron that Aoi had no doubt found. She had to stop this now. Wrapping an arm around Aoi, Sakura stared into her big eyes and softly stated, “You did a lot of work. That’s great.”

 Sakura might be the strongest fighter in the world, but she had never found the defenses against Aoi’s hope-filled eyes. The only good thing was that no one was going to come anyways.

 “Since it’s so hard to get here, I made a map and plastered them all over town,” Aoi added, her fingers in a victory sign. “We’re gonna scare everyone.”

 Or maybe Sakura could just hide the make-up.

[elenatria]

Jarllan HC: salty Jared because Stellan won the award while he didn’t. His jealousy turned into passionate & steamy night.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268644

He hadn’t talked with Pierce for more than a year. They had exchanged a couple of emails and photos from that insane Mamma Mia II afterparty but that was it, Stellan had to quickly fly back to Vilnius and put those horrible fake brows back on. His stay in Lithuania was all work, jokes between takes, late-night drinks and booing Jared and Emily for their World Cup win over Sweden. Saturdays were reserved for dinners with Swedish specialties because, for all their bragging, those obnoxious Brits knew shit-all about cooking. Truly, he had no time for anything or anyone else.

Now he finally had the chance to catch up with Pierce and his sons while the ceremony’s afterglow lingered on and mixed with the alcohol in his veins. He took their hands in his and shook them vividly, praising them for their consummate appearance on stage (“Although Brad Pitt made you chase him a bit, didn’t he?” he teased Dylan, the eldest of the two, as he ruffled his long silky hair).

The boys walked off and Stellan smiled as he watched Dylan trying to brush his impeccable hair back into place. When he turned to ask the waiter for another glass of beer, he caught a glimpse of that familiar graying head bobbing about happily, nervously, hovering over a sea of shaking hands and cheeks leaning for a kiss, dropping humbly at every word of comfort and every “You should have won that Globe”. So many people had spent the evening telling Jared the same thing over and over again that Stellan could read their lips by now.

He also knew he was staring like a smitten teenager but he didn’t care, he just stood there, drinking in every little detail: Jared’s rimless glasses sliding down his nose with every little bow, full lips puckering every now and then for a kiss, hands crossing coyly in front of his crotch like a debutante at her first dance. That wasn’t his first “dance” and Stellan knew it, they both knew it; Jared had been accepting praise alongside consolation for way too long.

The Swede meant to make a cheeky remark about “the Duke of Edinburgh”, the lanky ever-smiling Brit whose arm, just as empty and trophy-less as Jared’s, was hanging over his boy’s shoulders (probably sharing with him the bitter cup of defeat) but as he swiftly turned back to Pierce, he felt the floor tremble like jelly under his Armani shoes.

Pierce quickly slipped a hand under his arm. “Eeeeasy now, buddy, even I don’t drink that much,” he laughed helping him down to the sofa with careful steps.

“You never drink that much,” Stellan mumbled wrestling with his pocket for his glasses, only to remember he had been wearing contacts since morning.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then flew them open in a hopeless effort to get rid of the fogginess that made him feel like he was swimming in a cloudy fish tank. “You’re just not Swedish enough,” he growled swiping a wrist over his feverish brow.

Pierce chuckled and leaned over him. “You okay, old man? Want me to bring you some water? You’re all flushed.”

Stellan huffed out a deep breath, his quivery knees a bitter reminder that he wasn’t so young anymore, and dragged Pierce’s hand over his lap, cupping the back of his neck for support until their foreheads touched. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he slurred against the bearded man’s lips, “just a little tipsy.”

A familiar figure flashed behind closed eyelids, a hoarser voice, a different beard. Stellan needed more than water, he needed those rimless glasses looking up at him with the same boyish astonishment they had when they first met, he needed--

A reassuring pat on the knee dragged him out of his daze. The dream, the graying red hair, the fifty-eight-year-old schoolboy with the wide-eyed admiration was gone.

“Water it is then,” Pierce said with a broad fatherly smile and headed for the buffet.

The minute Stellan felt Pierce’s weight lift off the sofa, it all came back to him - his moment of glory frame by frame, as if watching the movie of someone else’s life: that handsome kid on stage uttering his name in one single breath, Jared jumping to his feet to clap  before he could even swallow  (what was it he was munching, wild mushroom risotto or vegetarian taco?), the endless walk to the stage (because they had to stash an old man way back on the balcony, they just had to).  

He thought he’d be cool and aloof about it but he wasn’t – not for the first couple of seconds. Those long and crowded corridors, those endless steps, those blinding lights on a podium he never thought he’d walk on, it was a lot to take in. He was panting out the words, sweat breaking beneath brows styled especially for the occasion, until he found his zen-like composure again and turned his talk into what every acceptance speech should be like: a joke.

To his bewilderment, it wasn’t a joke everyone appreciated; when he returned to their table, Jared pretended he was more interested in those tedious “thank you” lists of shiny smiling people he hardly knew than in congratulating him, shushing him every time he leaned in to comment or jest about this dress or that hairdo.

He did get his tight congratulatory hug from Jared as soon as they joined HBO’s after party at Circa 55, lips planting a soft meaningful kiss on his cheek as they breathed “Well done, Stellan, well done”, a perfectly coiffed beard tickling his bare jaw and those pallid hands, hesitant at first, pressing boldly on his ribs before sliding up just enough to make him feel the warmth, the need.

It didn’t last more than a few seconds, Craig broke into their space demanding his own hug with open arms, but it was enough to have Stellan reeling and seeing Jared naked at the bottom of every glass of beer he downed for the rest of the evening.

As soon as Craig broke the spell, Jared, as if waking from a trance, cleared his throat and stated he was dying for a drink. If Stellan could judge by his past habits, he probably was. Like an elusive leprechaun the ginger-haired man disappeared into the crowd before Stellan got the chance to tell him how much he wished he could share the Globe with him.

They didn’t exchange a single word for the next three hours. Stellan spent the evening boasting to his fans about the weight of his Globe never denying a selfie, while Jared made the rounds near their reserved tables, feting their victory and accepting congratulations that more often than not sounded like condolences.

By the time they were both alone, most guests were gone; they were left tired and silent, engulfed by the chattering of strangers, slow music and half-empty dishes.

The Prince of Sunken Cheeks, Long Faces and even longer arms who had claimed Jared’s shoulders earlier was nowhere to be seen. Mister Jared Francis Harris, his back bathed in red and gold, stood alone leaning against a column, statuesque and beautiful in his black tuxedo.

For some reason his posture reminded Stellan of something his agent had emailed him a while back: on Thanksgiving morning and just as awards season was kicking off, Jared had taken a photo with his back turned on the camera, gazing at the ocean from his house in Miami. He was dreaming with his eyes open, contemplating years and years of hard work, wins and losses. He deserved the Globe, Stellan pondered, and that photo was more than a moment frozen in time: it was a moment when Jared was truly happy - a moment when he still had hope.

Stellan glanced at the black leathered case he had left on the table; inside of it the gold-plated piece of zinc he had been handed a few hours ago was already losing its luster. He turned to look at Jared’s back again, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He stroked a hand over the creases of his jacket and walked up to the lonely bespectacled man by the pillar, determined to lift his mood. He was too old, too Swedish, too drunk to let the people he cared for dwell in childish frustration.

“There you are!” he boomed startling Jared out of his statue-like stillness. “I thought you had gone to sleep.”

Jared’s face was lit by a faint smile, his hands buried deep into his pockets. “Sleep? Nah, sleep is for the old.”

Stellan’s lips curled with inebriated joy; he wrapped an arm around the shoulder he had been waiting for hours to reclaim and squeezed hard. “I have news, HBO wants us to work together again, did they tell you?”

Jared tensed under his touch, then huffed out a chuckle. “Is that right,” he murmured with a slow uninterested nod.

Stellan stroked his furrowed brow. After all the success “Chernobyl” had at the Emmys and the Globes, he found it hard to believe he saw no joy in his colleague’s eyes. “Come on!” he shook him. “You should be happy!”

Jared scoffed crossing his legs, his arms still rigid against his own ribs. “Happy.”

Stellan let his hands fall limply on his sides. “You mean you’re not happy?” he muttered, his jaw dropping in bewilderment. “You don’t want to work with me again?”

Jared clicked his tongue swaying his head from side to side as if trying to decide which set of words would hurt less.

Stellan felt his breath catch. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the post-award depression starting to kick in or Jared’s vacant stare avoiding him - as if the two men hardly knew each other anymore.

“You don’t want to work with me?...” he repeated weakly, his confidence leaking out of him one shallow breath at a time.

Jared turned at last, holding his gaze with his own blue, unfathomable stare. “It’s not that simple.”

“What? What’s not that simple?”

“I love working with you, Stellan. You know that. It’s just that—”

“Just what?”

“I’ve already been offered other projects.”

Other projects.

Stellan had never felt so lost before.

There were times in his youth when he’d play in experimental films and soft-porn films and it felt weird and stupid and hilarious - but he was okay with it all, he did it proudly, he knew he had made the right choice. There were times when he had to leave his boys and his girl for months on end, and he’d call them up or pack them all on a plane and take them to stay with him, just to come back from fifteen hours of shooting every day, have a drink with them for five minutes before crashing out on the sofa. That was enough to help him shrug off his guilt and keep doing what he was doing. He never felt disheartened or disoriented, not even when he took a divorce; he never lost his faith, his clarity. He didn’t know if it was bravery or recklessness or some false sense of security but it was always there, it was what kept him going: knowing he’d win no matter what.

But he wasn’t winning now. He never knew what it meant to feel utterly naked, stripped of all hope. For the first time in months he held Jared literally in his arms and the man was slipping away from him like sand in the wind.

Other projects.

His lips spat out the words before he could form the thought itself. “What other projects?”

“Well,” Jared said scratching his head, “there’s this thing for Apple based on Asimov’s books—”

“Apple?!” Stellan scoffed. “Apple is yet to produce any successful TV shows, are you kidding me? Tell them to stick to iPhones, Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, Apple Plus is new but it has potential,” Jared insisted. “And it pays.”

“You mean HBO doesn’t pay?” Stellan retorted.

Jared breathed out an impatient sigh. “Apple pitched ‘Foundation’ to me months ago,” he said, his brow creasing as a red flush crept up his cheeks. “And I need a job. Where were your HBO people when I needed them? Waiting to see whether I’d get a major award or not? Well I didn’t.”

“They are not my HBO people,” Stellan growled, stunned by Jared’s sudden outburst. “And you got lots of awards, don’t whine.”

“Whine,” Jared breathed, squinting in disbelief. “You make it look so easy, don’t you,” he shot back, his blue eyes cutting through Stellan like shards of ice. “Flying all the way from Europe just to get the award and go back. No parties before that, no promo tour, no social media for you. But of course. It wasn’t in your contract, none of it was.” His nostrils flared as he squeezed his lips shut. “No other distinctions before tonight,” he raged, “nothing to herald your triumph or keep you on your toes. No anticipation, no promises, and no days of endless doubt. Just you in your three-piece falling from the sky, snatching the biggest award and then BOOM, back to Sweden. As if nothing happened, as if nothing changed.”

Stellan took a beat to take it all in, holding back the turning of his stomach as the beer’s yeasty sourness reached his mouth. He staggered, trying to keep steady on a floor that felt more jelly-like than ever. “… Okay, now I know you’re drunker than I am,” he slurred grabbing his stomach.

Jared huffed out a chuckle and turned the other way.

“What does this have to do with you agreeing to do that Apple thing?” Stellan protested, bewildered. “Have you signed already?”

“Of course I have,” Jared snapped, “don’t you read the news? It was all over twitter - oh I forgot—” He shook his head crossing his arms like a man who had lost all patience, all hope in humanity.

Stellan furrowed his brow, the realization that he was losing Jared striking him harder than a bucket of freezing water. He was beyond somber now. He was depressed.

“I’m really sorry…” he muttered pressing his shoulder against the column, his long hands disappearing into his pockets as he leaned closer to Jared’s ear. “I didn’t know how bad it was for you.”

Jared threw him a side glance cocking a slightly intrigued brow, his lips fighting to remain shut and unforgiving. He turned back to the stage watching the pianist play an easy, forgettable tune. “It’s quite alright,” he mumbled bitterly. “Thank God it’s all over...”

That phrase, so familiar--

Stellan, still fighting off gallons of beer clouding his brain, couldn’t resist quoting a film, any film, just to lighten the mood. Given his state, it wasn’t such a bad idea to focus on something other than Jared’s foul mood.

“Isn’t that from… from…” He snapped his fingers. “Oh I know,” he said, proud of his memory overcoming his drunkenness. “‘My Fair Lady.’”

Jared blinked once, twice, before staring back in utter disbelief. “You just had to mention my stepfather now, didn’t you.”

Stellan clamped his eyes shut, regretting every single word; he knew about Rex Harrison, how he hated children and never missed a chance to show it to the three Harris boys. He knew how happy Sexy Rexy was when the boys were sent off to a Catholic boarding school, Jared had told him all about his mother’s second marriage over a bowl of beef Rydberg and two bottles of wine. That was the only dinner Stellan had prepared with Jared as the sole guest during the “Chernobyl” filming, the only chance they had to open up to each other.

The chance they wasted.

“Okay, that was a perfectly wrong way to continue the conversation,” he apologized. “It just… It feels so lonely without you,” he muttered giving the base of the column little kicks, his eyes glued on the floor. “I don’t want to do this if you’re not there. The HBO thing I mean.”

“Well you don’t have to,” Jared said icily.

“They want both of us,” Stellan insisted. “It’s about two strangers meeting on a plane that flies over Europe. It’s about Brexit, a dystopian scenario speculating on the future of the continent. One of them carries a briefcase with--”

“You can tell Pierce about it,” Jared cut him off.

“Who…?”

“Pierce. You look great together.”

Stellan’s mouth slacked open. That total prick, that fucking elusive leprechaun. He had been spying on them the whole evening.

“What does Pierce have to do with anything?” he roared not believing his ears. “He’s already booked for the next two years.”

“Oh, is that why you chose me over him, because I was the one available?” Jared snapped.  “Good to know.”

“For crying out loud, Jared, he’s my friend,” Stellan exclaimed throwing his hands in the air, “and you’re… and you’re—"  

“What am I?”

That inescapable cold stare again; Stellan pressed his lips together in a stubborn pout. If Jared wanted him to say it, he wouldn’t indulge him, no way. Not a word, not a breath, not unless he stopped being a child. Fifty-eight-year-old children were beyond his area of expertise.

“A pain in the ass,” he blurted out instead.

From where he was standing he couldn’t see Jared’s expression, only his flustered ear and the edge of his bearded jaw. Still, that unmistakable dimple on the other man’s freckled cheek made his heart miss a beat.

Did he just…?

Yes, he did. Jared was suppressing a smile.  

Jared shook his head and gazed at their table where Johan was lowering the rim of his hat over closed eyes before sinking into his chair, sleepy and half-drunk. “You really should give it to Pierce, you know,” he insisted, not without a tint of sadistic joy. “He’s just as British as I am. Or Colin -- oh he would be just perfect.”

Stellan let his jaw hang and closed it several times before he could form a single word. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh I’m dead serious.”

Stellan heaved a deep frustrated sigh. “Jared, I haven’t played the jealousy game since I was sixteen, shirtless and in a straw hat. There’s a perfect explanation for what you saw, I was drunk and Pierce was helping me sit. What is your ‘Prince’s’ excuse for laying his hands all over you?”

“My ‘prince’? What prince?” Jared blinked behind his glasses, baffled.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Stellan said squeezing the bridge of his nose. “What’s his name.”

Jared’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh you don’t mean—” His jaw dropped. “You can’t mean… Toby.”

“YES, thank you.”

Jared opened his arms, his mouth gaping incredulously, as if he was asked to explain why one and one equals two. “Yes, we were laughing that’s why he leaned on me, he was saying that the Globes were glorified dildos, nothing more.”

“Oh!...”Stellan yelped arching his brows. He looked left and right wondering if he wasn’t the only one who had heard the insult. “Oh, but this is getting better and better…!”

Jared’s face changed in an instant; he wasn’t high on his own rage anymore, he wasn’t resentful or bitter. He was as hurt as Stellan was.

And just as lost.

“I’m-- sorry,” he stuttered hanging his head. “It was only a joke. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Oh it’s fine,” Stellan said coldly, his face a mask of stone. “It’s good to know what you have in your head. What you think of me. All these months of working together when all I needed was this one evening. Quite enlightening.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose once more, hoping he could get rid of those fucking contacts as soon as possible - or maybe gauge his eyes out, why not; the headache that was beginning to replace his alcohol-induced cheerfulness was threatening to split his skull in half.

Jared took a shuddering breath. “Stellan…”

He almost made a move to get closer to him. He stopped.

Stellan wasn’t listening to him, wasn’t seeing him anymore. His eyes darted around looking for the closest exit until they settled on the big black box on the table. For a moment he wished that kid on the stage had never called his name; he wished he had kept eating his risotto without giving a fuck.

Not having any fucks to give was a state of mind, a way of life. Maybe he should go back to it at some point.

He fumbled in his pockets for the cloakroom ticket, shoved the black case under his arm and stormed off.

“Where are you going?” Jared shouted after him.

“Catching the earliest flight to Stockholm,” he thundered, not looking back. “My glorified dildo needs a mantle to sit on.”

[rayroute-clear-saeran-text-sound]

Hi! Could you do a ship for me? I’m 5’3 with long dark brown hair and grey/blue eyes. I’m interested in many types of history and media such as writing, drawing and photography and i’m currently taking a film course. I’m usually the mom of the group and am seen as quite sweet but i’m also very sassy, stubborn and teasing. I enjoy many types of games and play them whenever i get time i also have an extensive folder of memes. I’m a straight girl, Libra and an INFP. Thank you!💕

Yes, of course! I’m sorry, I went for kind of a low hanging fruit here, but I still hope you like it!

I pair you with Yoosung!

He obviously was first drawn to you through your hobby of gaming, so excited to have another gamer besides Seven in the group. But later, your variety of interests and sweet and nurturing personality made him feel at ease and comfortable, and he wanted to be around you 24/7.

 He would love playing any type of game with you when ever and where ever, whether it be a casual card game, board game, competitive round of LOLOL or Smash Bros, or a fun game of tag and/or hide and seek.

 Despite not wanting to be, he would be a sore loser. If you teased him about it, he would pout even more, probably retreating within the safety of his hoodie. You could only draw him out by saying you were leaving, which would startle him into profusely apologizing and begging you to stay.

 Would constantly brag about you to his gaming friends. Any opportunity to bring you up in the chat during a party mission on LOLOL, he would take. He would invite you to join his guild and play with his guild members, but eventually he would regret this decision; he could get jealous pretty easily, especially when you were talking too much with the other guild members for his taste.

 He would constantly ask to be updated on meme culture, as he would sometimes miss some trends due to his studies and LOLOL. He honestly thought it was adorable when you sent him memes, and his heart would absolutely melt if you ever sent him wholesome love memes. However, Seven would call a double standard because Yoosung would only get irritated whenever he would send memes.

 He would act super annoyed whenever you teased him, but deep down he loved it. He would actually find himself sad if a day went by without you poking fun at his cuteness and childishness. 

 He loves your entire personality, but secretly, your sassy and stubborn side is his favorite. Even if he acts like it’s obnoxious to him (usually it’s poor acting and you can see right through him), he finds it fun to watch you refuse to leave something or let go of an idea, and adores when you tell him off; he thinks you’re at your most attractive when you tell him what to do, bonus points if you’re irritable about it. He’s a definite bottom. 

 This boy is impossibly happy whenever you take care of him. He gets stressed over having to care for himself, so he usually gives up on it entirely. He also struggles with making decisions for himself, but he’s trying to get better about it in order to “be more of a man” for you. A guaranteed way to get him to cheer up if he’s having a rough day is to mother him a bit. Your strong maternal characteristics and voice of reason for your friend groups really draws him closer to you, as your vibe makes him feel comfortable. 

 He doesn’t really understand your interest in history, as it’s one of his least favorite subjects; however, that’s not saying much considering he hates any class that has nothing to do with animals. He tries to take a liking to it for you, but unless it has to do with cool warriors and battles, he loses interest pretty fast. But, if he has any problems with history, he knows exactly who to go to for help. Expect a lot of calls in the middle of the night for help with last minute history homework or projects.

 He honestly thinks your passion for the arts is so cool. He wants all updates on any stories you’re writing, and probably will present multiple story ideas to you; most are about his LOLOL character, and all the other ones aren’t very fleshed out, but you have found a few gems in his pile of terrible suggestions.

 He would draw with you sometimes, but he’d start feeling bad when he began comparing his work to yours. You’d draw him his LOLOL character for a gift, and he would start tearing up. No joke, real tears would be shed that day. 

 He’s pretty fascinated with your photography, as he’s been around it when Rika and V were still together, but always assumed it wasn’t that difficult. Photography also left a bad taste in his mouth after Rika’s death, but you managed to change that for him. He definitely had more respect for V’s work after you explained all the different factors that go into a good photoshoot, and all of the little details kind of overwhelmed him. He loved to watch you take pictures, and would secretly wish for you to ask him to be a subject of a photoshoot. Would love it when you wanted to photograph animals, and would beg you to let him tag along. If you were interested, he would put aside his differences with V to ask him to give you a lesson in photography to give you extra tips. 

 He would be such an active supporter of all your film projects. He loves movies, and would love any short film or project you produced. Any time you finished something, he would absolutely go overboard and make a viewing party for you to show it off, inviting all of the RFA over. Usually, only Seven, and sometimes Zen, would show up, but it was the thought that counted. If Seven got a hold of your files, you know he would be on them in an instant, promoting them in the same way he got Zen famous. 

 Anytime you would cry, he would begin to cry too. Any fight with him would be incredibly emotionally charged, but there weren’t very many, as you both managed your relationship well.

 You would often help him study, although it wouldn’t usually go well unless it was history. For almost every other subject, the two of you would either get distracted by games, the RFA, or yourselves. However, he would try harder in school for you

He lives for the fact that you’re on the shorter side. It makes him feel less pressured when he stands at a small 5’7”. He likes the fact that he can just lean down to kiss you on the forehead, and that he can rest his chin on your head.

He would constantly try to get you to wear his hoodies, even if you didn’t want to. He thought you looked adorable in them, and it made him so happy.

Always sending pictures of you to the messenger, trying to flex on everyone with his beautiful girlfriend. Zen is of course always jealous, and Seven always refers to you has his best friend, which makes Yoosung jealous for two reasons: he’s pretty possesive over you, and he thought he was Seven’s best friend.

Your phone rang out and pierced the silence of your dark room, and without sparing the caller ID a glance, you knew who was calling you. Who else would call out of the blue at three AM? 

“Yoosung...you do know what time it is, right?” 

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry...but I need help.” You sighed, grasping the covers in one hand, holding your phone up to your ear with the other.

“I’m sorry too. You procrastinating until last minute on your history homework really isn’t my problem. Goodnight-”

“Wait, Cala! Pleaseee?” His voice took on a whining tone, the one he knew would get him what he wanted one way or another; whether that be you getting so exasperated that you just give in, or you feeling bad enough that you agree to his terms.

“Fine. You know all these favors are stacking up, right?” You sat up in bed, pinching yourself to prevent yourself from dozing off.

“I owe you big time, I know! I just...haven’t figured out how to repay you yet.” His voice got smaller the longer his sentence went on, and you felt yourself smiling.

“Oh really? Because I know how. You could gift me your ultra rare-”

“Anything but that! I’ll even come be your maid for the day!” You examined your nails in the dark, smirking at his sensitivity when it came to his LOLOL items. You could imagine his red face despite the fact that he knew you were joking, and it made you miss him more than ever.

“Just come cook for me this weekend and we’re even. Anyways, what era is the assignment on?” You could hear him heave a massive sigh of relief, so glad that you would help him, regardless of the time.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love you, Cala?” You heard the shuffling of papers, and pictured him organizing his history homework meticulously. 

“Yep, all the time.”

[mysticmelove]

hello! i wanted to request hc’s for the choi’s with a methyphobic mc? i get nauseous and terribly anxious (shaking, stuttering, sweating, crying, etc) when alcohol is around me or mentioned. my mom was a pretty horrible alcoholic, and that’s where the fear/ptsd sprouted. my friends and family all think i’m odd for it, but i experienced a lot of trauma bc of alcohol, so it makes me feel rlly bad when they don’t try to understand. i was hoping for a bit of comfort through this!! thank you so much!

*I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this (I don’t have methyphobia but I understand what it’s like to have something people don’t really understand). That being said, I hope I’ve captured it well enough and I’m truly sorry if it’s not realistic. xx

Methyphobic

(Seven+Saeran x MC) [slight angst]

.

Seven:

“We can go straight home if you want...” Seven could see how anxious she was. She was leant up against the car door, her eyes fixated on nothing, and she was as tense as ever. “The others won’t mind. I’ll just say something came up.” He was the only one who knew; she wasn’t ashamed of it or anything but it was hard for others to understand. MC was a nervous wreck around alcohol, and he knew well enough that it wasn’t her fault or anyone else’s but her mother’s, but it was hard to watch her suffer nonetheless. It felt almost demonic watching her struggle, yet she’d persisted on being in attendance.

“...It’s his graduation party... I can’t miss it...” In reality, MC was dreading to even step anywhere near the party. There had been no promises of alcohol or anything of the sorts but she knew it to be very possible. It wouldn’t be an enjoyable time if that were the case, but Yoosung had been so proud of himself and wanting to share his achievements with everyone that she couldn’t skip it. It’d just be a case of hoping: hoping there’d be no alcohol and that she’d end up enjoying herself.

.

Thankfully, she was greeted with no such beverage. Instead, her time was spent humoured by Yoosung and Seven’s antics; the way Yoosung’s face beamed with joy as he retold his graduation and what he was going to do now, and the way her boyfriend joked with the younger man haphazardly- all the while taking the role of a supportive older brother. Meanwhile, Jumin and Jaehee remained more reserved throughout the humour. And then there was Zen. Zen hadn’t be present when they arrived, Yoosung simply saying he was running late and he’d be there soon. Though he was missed, MC had been enjoying herself a lot more up until the point when he arrived; with him came absolute torment.

He made a grand entrance, of course, as he usually did. Announcing the presence of the beauty which was himself, and, like an almighty bombshell, he held two six-packs of beer. MC’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. Her chest tightened at the sight and she couldn’t help but feel the need to get out immediately. “Now we can celebrate,” the actor laughed, while MC’s face contorted into complete unease. She was no longer enjoying herself in the slightest.

Shamefully, Seven would admit that he hadn’t noticed her initial reaction, too focused on enjoying himself- selfish. He’d been to careless as to even notice the introduction of alcohol to the room but his eyes undoubtedly caught her figure within the small company. She was distraught: her eyes spiked with tears, her chest heaving, and her eyes wide. His conversation was dropped as he subtly left to move to her. She didn’t even recognise his presence until he stood right before her, her eyes wide and red as she looked up to him. “Let’s go,” he spoke ever so gently and quietly as he held her arms softly in his grasp, guiding her out of the space.

MC shook violently against him, Seven leaning against the wall of the corridor and stroking her back tenderly- trying his best to keep her grounded and calm. She kept her eyes pinned to the floor, words becoming trapped within her throat, “I– I’m going to vomit...”

“It’s fine,” he spoke quieter now, “We’re going home and you can relax.”

“Tha– Thank you...” She followed him gingerly out of the apartment, her head was clouded with unmentionable anxieties but she was thankful for Saeyoung’s care.

Saeran:

He had no idea what was going on, one moment they were fine- sat together watching some random film that happened to be on- and the next his girlfriend was shifting around uncomfortably. Her phone had been discarded, though she’d previously been knee deep in a conversation, and she’d grown agitated all of a sudden. She’d distanced herself considerably from Saeran, holding a hand over her chest, and her eyebrows furrowed almost violently. Concerned with the behaviour, Saeran watched quietly- her mannerisms mirroring ones he’d previously seen in himself; something he didn’t wish to see her suffer through. “What is it?”

“Huh?” His voice had snapped her from her thoughts, her head drawn to him immediately. MC hadn’t even heard what he’d said.

Her dazed shock almost left him disgusted, he didn’t know the cause but it must have been horrible. His voice was almost lacking in remorse: “What’s wrong?”

“Oh...” MC came to realise the reaction she’d had to her friends’ suggestions- a night out was never something she’d enjoyed with them. Relaxing her shoulders, she removed her hands from her chest and shook her head dismissively, though nausea still washed over her. “...It’s nothing,” Saeran’s face was a telltale sign of his disbelief, she continued quietly: “really...”

He took the phone from her side, eyeing it as he attempted to open it. “I’ve seen that face before. I’ve made that face before,” his eyes didn’t shift from the screen, “What is it?”

She wanted to take the phone from him, continue to hide her trauma, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. He’d find out eventually, he’d find it weird like everyone else did, and he’d try to awkwardly avoid the subject or ignore it- as per usual.

Saeran watched her hesitation as she reached out for the phone and gave up almost immediately, she’d given in. It didn’t take him long to find her recent conversation but it was just a regular group chat with a bunch of her girl friends. They’d only been discussing the idea of going out for a few drinks for some reason or another- nothing too out of the ordinary. Saeran looked up to her, questioning, “I guess you don’t want to go out?”

“I want to,” MC sighed heavily as he put her phone down, “I just... I can’t.”

“Why not?” He was blunt with his questions as he persisted on finding an answer.

She fiddled with her fingers in her lap, ignoring his commanding glare. “It’s noth—”

He grabbed and held her chin within his fingers before she could finish her sentence, forcing her eyes to meet his and for her to finally listen. “I know that face, MC,” he confessed softer now, “Whatever it was made you scared and uncomfortable.”

At this point, he’d find out even if he had to pry it out of her. She sighed, her voice wavering, “I- I’m methyphobic...” his puzzled face demanded more explanation, “...I have a fear of alcohol...”

An awful silence fell between the two; MC not really wanting to say anymore and Saeran just unsure of what to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You came first?” She questioned herself and her motives, was that really the case? “I was focused on you, and then I wanted to build our relationship and it never came up... I don’t drink and neither do you; it didn’t matter.”

Saeran felt a pang of guilt in his chest but he had been beyond his self pity for quite sometime now, he wanted to focus on her like she did him. His hands encased her cheeks, “I wish you’d told me... I feel like there’s more I have yet to know about you,” he tried his hand in humour but her demeanour didn’t follow suit.

“There’s a lot,” she admitted: “but... if you want to know maybe today is the day I properly open up.”

He was so undoubtedly supportive. MC’s reaction to alcohol was, in part, hard to understand but he didn’t dare think any less of her. And, having found out the cause of her trauma, he felt as though they could relate on an even more personal level; they’d both experienced more than any child should have to and they could serve as comfort to each other. Saeran made it his goal to educate himself more and MC could rely on his support regardless of the situation.

[benevolentcalamity]

This is my entry into the contest wherein we celebrate Zenny’s birthday! It’d be wrong of me not to let an angel’s halo truly shine.

Here’s this being okay... This is the only way I really know how to appreciate him. I won’t disappoint!  ♪ ＼(￣▽￣)/

#happybday_ZEN ^^

They say that time can either hang on a moment, or it can fly before you can blink fast enough to see it go. When you’re doing paperwork, it feels like it hangs, like your coffee mug could slowly get colder but the pile never gets higher. No matter how many papers you fill out, be it for your continued education - meant to guarantee a position that will secure your livelihood - or some other sort of benefit, the stack won’t get past half an inch. But you won’t stop with it, not until you’ve done what you need to do so that you have a home to go to.

Ping-ping-ping!

Blinking, you reach for your phone, taking it into your hand - your fingers are nimble from using it so much - and unlocking it. It’s not uncommon for it to go off whenever you seem to space out, so your heart has long since stopped leaping from your ribs whenever it did. A lot of people in this crazy world seem to know your name, as though they’ve known you for so very long even if you seem to have only known them in turn for about half a year. At least, it feels like half a year.

You smile upon seeing the familiar ‘Yoosung’ accompanied by a puppy emoji as the ID texting you.

“Studying hard for midterms, [MC]! We’re both going to work hard!”

On a normal basis, you’d figure Yoosung would quickly abandon such vitality towards his schoolwork. (Jumin would be in on that one, too, even if you secretly believe he has a hidden faith that he’ll shape up.) But lately, there’s been a bright light in his eyes, a bounce in his step. Maybe he’s been inspired by someone, maybe he’s adopted a new perspective? You’ll never know, but you appreciate that he’s deciding to try and be the greater person he’s always wanted to be.

Deciding to indulge his happy-go-lucky mood, you shuffle a bit in your chair to respond to him.

“You’re gonna do amazing, Yoosung! I’m already so proud!”

His reply is almost immediate, as though he’d been waiting for a proper moment to catch you. “Haaaa. The amount of work I have looks neverending! But it will work out, just you watch me!”

“And I’ll work hard, too!”

Deciding not to bother him anymore, you exit out of the private chat, your thumb lingering for a few seconds with each screen you visit while you momentarily pretend that the paperwork is doing itself.

Today has a strange air, you think, and you decide to check the calendar app to see if the reason lies there.

March 22nd...

Biting your lip, you squint, trying to think of anything that could be today or coming up after. The RFA isn’t having another party for a little while, and there’s not really anything- wait.

Changing apps, you flip quickly over to initiate a private chat with Seven. His head’s never empty, and he never sleeps, so he knows almost everything there is to know about everyone in this association. Maybe he could give you a clue? With the silent hope in mind, you send him a quick message.

“Seven?”

The reply isn’t immediate like Yoosung’s, but it’s a reply all the same.

“Top of the morn’ to you! Lolol” “What’s happening? Feeling lonely? What brings you to me?”

It’s so amazing how Seven always seems so bright in his chatrooms. When you first were getting used to being a member, he came across as an everyday geek: someone who looked like they couldn’t be bothered with you but were actually considerably amiable.

“Is there something coming up soon? I feel like something really important is just days away...”

“April Fools! How can you forget that? You should help me out with Jumin - give him something that’ll really make him upset!”

That’s not it, you think.

“Anything else?”

“Oh yea... Zen’s birthday’s on that day, too. I’ll give him something special, too!”

There’s an intense heat whirring in your ears all the way to your fingertips, and you nearly drop your phone. The only thing saving it from absolutely shattering is finding its way right onto your dog. A loyal Shiba Inu, that one. (You call him Pochie.)

Grabbing it while unwittingly dunking a strand of your hair in your coffee, you take a split second to recollect your bearings and look back at the screen. Coughing into your elbow, you quickly message the self-proclaimed defender of justice a thanks. It’s a blur even once you send it, but now that you’ve finally gotten what’s so important, there’s another part of things you need to address.

Contrary to a few other members, you feel you have a strong bond with Zen. He might be flirty as beans and treat girls the same way, it feels like he makes you feel extra special. Maybe it’s because you two are in the same association, maybe it’s because he feels like Jumin doesn’t deserve to be near you, but any scenario is fine by you.

Deciding to get back to Seven later, you flip quickly through your contacts to find Jumin, and when you do, you- Oh.

“Jaehee.”

You scroll up towards Jaehee - bless her soul - and initiate a chat. The woman had been constantly living off of 12 cups of coffee, maybe more, and at the time she was not always the most pleasant individual because of that, but you two respect each other. You've gotten bold enough as to say you’ve become something among the lines of best friends.

“Jaehee~ Is Jumin available?” You message.

This time, you’re able to fill out a few more papers before she responds, and she takes on a less formal tone than usual. She must be tired.

“Yes. He just got out of a meeting. You’ll want to keep it short though, since he’s always very busy.”

“Thank you~! <3″

Not wasting time, you switch gears back to Jumin, quickly texting, “Do you have time to spare?” This is just politeness combined with professionalism - something he says you desperately needed when you first took over Rika’s position.

His response is swift. “Yes. What do you need?”

“April Fool’s is also Zen’s birthday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. If you want to celebrate it, such a thing would take convincing his directors to give him the day off so that we can with him present. But, it’s not impossible to do so.”

“I want him to have a proper celebration.”

“Understood. We’ll see what can be done.”

He leaves the chatroom right after sending that: an odd habit that you picked up on even in the first few minutes you’ve known him. Contrary to popular belief, Jumin is less than hostile. He’s a very fine man, having displayed that while he believes in you and has faith in you, he has high expectations of you even now.

Zen and Jumin have almost never gotten along. You even now don’t know why, even with how close you’ve been to both of them- no, the entire RFA. With how deeply loved you are by them in turn, you would have expected to be able to uncover every bit of information about them. After all, you are at the helm of this association.

But you’re not... Especially not like Rika did. She knew everything about each member, as the founder, all the way down to their nighttime rituals. From Zen’s face masks to when Jaehee walks through the door to her home. (You still feel unrelenting fury for how much Jaehee sacrificed when Jumin demanded so much of her.)

You shake your head. There’s no time to reflect on how things had been, now that everything’s passed. Saeran and Saeyoung are beginning to rekindle their brotherhood and fill the gap in the former’s missed years of the life he wanted so badly. The white dye’s washed from Saeran’s hair, and his conditions are being taken in and treated. Rika can no longer instill her venom into his innocence.

You wonder what Zen is-

“AAAAAAH-!”

A flick of your wrist, a sad attempt to push the green button on the ringing phone somehow ending in success, and the toppling of yourself and the chair onto the floor with a resounding ‘thud!’.

“... Hello?” You weakly manage through your mangled bangs.

“Honey, are you okay?” Zen’s voice chirps through the receiver. “That was loud.”

“It’s nothing, Zenny,” You assure, tugging your phone into your hand and to your ear, “I just fell out of my chair... In glee! I’m overjoyed that you called me!”

“Really~?” He sings, but then his tone turns serious. “Sweetheart, I’ve been meaning to reach you.”

You blink. “Is something bothering you, Zen?”

“Oh, honeyyyyy~!” He dramatically drawls, and you can sense him leaning back. “April Fool’s is coming up! Do you realize what happens on such a terrible day?”

You want to make a quip about his ponytail being chopped off if he isn’t careful, but that wouldn’t be very nice. Actually, that’s more Seven’s thing, when he isn’t tormenting Elizabeth the Third. That poor cat. (You worry about her, and not just because of Seven.)

“A neverending plethora of pranks,” You chortle,”Seven’s favorite time of the year.”

“Yes-! It’s so irritating - no one knows when to quit, even here! I’m so through with it, and it’s not even that day yet!” He sounds truly irritated... Only Jumin could irritate him this much- Oh.

“It’s also your birthday, isn’t it?” You ask. It wouldn’t be nice to pretend you don’t remember. You just know you can’t let him in on a party.

“Aaah~ You remember!” He coos. “Babe, just knowing that makes me so happy!”

You can’t help the small giggling fit that escapes you. “That’s my mission! I would say that Operation: Happy Zenny is go!” Okay, maybe that’s a bit much.

Some squeaking on his end, before he speaks up. “Oh god... You’re so cute-! The beast inside me grew by around ten percent, at this rate. Don’t forget, you’ll need to take responsibility once it overtakes me.”

A big smile is on your face. “Maybe I need to do a bit more then~?” You sing. “Like this? Huuu~”

More squeaking. “Baaabe~! Don’t tease me so much. Haaaa, how much I want to just get away from here and whisk you away.”

“I could slip by and bring you a frosted lemonade, if you want,” You hum. He’s warmed up to the drink, since he drinks lemon in a great many things. Actually, he loves frosted lemonade. It’s a good alternative to beer. (He’s been cutting down on that and his ciggies, by your request.)

“Aaaah! The special potion of my love! Her little witch’s brew shall let me do my very best~!” He excitedly proclaims. “Ah. You wouldn’t mind doing that? I’d love to see you. Maybe get a bit of love-love energy- Oh, come on!”

You blink.

“Honey, I gotta dash. The director’s looking for me. By the time you’re here, I should be done. I can’t wait to see you~!”

“Mmmwah~” You blow him a quick kiss as your farewell, smiling at more of his squeaking. “See you, Zenny~”

“I’ll see you later-! I love you.”

As expected of you as someone who’s going to be hosting and inviting people to the parties at RFA, you’re doing your best to organize something for Zen. You’re aware of his tastes, so decoration isn’t a hassle. Making the main halls and the ballroom look like something straight out of Phantom of the Opera takes the greatest ease. Something to appeal to Zen’s personal tastes.

While you’ve had people here helping you set things up, you asked Jumin to (nicely) keep Zen busy for the remaining time until the party. You also asked Seven to lay off on any pranks he’d have up his sleeve. He’s one of three - the others being Yoosung and Zen himself - who was the warmest to you even in the beginning, so as a close friend and the head of RFA, he listens to you. Won’t be able to keep him at bay when Elly’s in the picture, though.

You digress, checking your clipboard. It’d probably mean a lot more to Zen if a lot of people he didn’t know didn’t show up. You’re going to need to pull some strings to win over some folks from other production companies as an opportunity to meet the star actor himself. You’ve already extended the invitations to the normal guests that attend pretty much every other party, using your internalized wiles and eloquence to win them over completely. As Jumin observes, this may wind up being a birthday party/charity ball in one, but so long as Zen has a proper birthday party, you don’t mind.

Tugging the pen from behind your ear, you tap it against the clipboard, checking some boxes. “Invitations... check... Decorations...” You take a moment to survey the room, “... check. Food and drinks... check. Cake... Not yet.”

You ordered something big enough to accommodate the vast amount of guests - actually, probably even bigger. It’s more for personal taste, since you like when there’s leftover cake. The guys like to get on your case about your eating habits, even if you have been maintaining your figure. Moreso to make sure that you don’t let yourself go - a self-requirement at best. That and working out and eating right improves your overall health, so it’s a win-win.

A variation of ‘Ievan Polkka’ plays in your head to accommodate the calm coming with the stress.

“[Name]?”

You whip to your left to see Jaehee walking up with a clipboard of her own. She looks sleepy - not tired - but she also looks focused. It makes you feel bad to know you’re pushing her a bit, but you received her assurance that it’s worth it. Actually, she’s overjoyed; Zen is her favorite actor yet and as such she feels your conviction in giving him a good party. So, she’s putting in a little more effort. Maybe more than you?

“What is it, Jaehee?”

“The cake’s here. It’s just barely shorter than the doors...”

You scratch the back of your neck. “Sorry, Jaehee, about all of this.”

Upon hearing you say that, her entire disposition shifts to sunny. Her hand touches your shoulder, and her lips curl into a sweet smile. The kind that says there’s no need to apologize.

“You’re doing so great with this,” She praises, “Zen  deserves nothing less than the best!” I had a feeling she’d say that... “You’re very lucky. Ah, he is, too! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone else work so hard to put together a birthday party.” Not even Jumin for Elly? You’ve actually seen him consider throwing a bash for her - and it took a lot of you to get him to stop entertaining the notion.

“Ah, before I forget...” You tuck the pen back behind your ear. “The guests were sent an invitation to be here at around 7:15, right? It’s  quarter to 7 right now, and I know it’s not very leader-like of me, but I’m a bit worried.”

“Our guests are known for, out of politeness, being at events approximately 15 minutes early so as to appeal to the host, so they should begin showing up at around 7 sharp.” Noticing your stress, she moves her clipboard into one arm and uses the other to hug you. “It’s alright. You’re putting your all into this, and I’m sure the results will be exactly as we plan.”

“I hope so...”

Just then, the door opens and reveals Yoosung, clumsily milling about, tugging on his clothes. (A dress shirt and nice pants and the sort, as you asked.) A pink hue colors his cheeks, deepening as he notices you and Jaehee. He isn’t walking straight, something you found usually signifies that he’s nervous. Then again, if he isn’t happy, he’s nervous or stressed. Usually it’s because of everything that went down, or him beginning to finally get through the hard work his college gives him.

“Yoosung?” You ask. “Are you okay?”

“They’re coming!” He cries. “What do I do, do I greet them? Open the door for them? And where the heck is Seven?” The answer to the last one is probably that Seven’s handling security, making sure everything’s in order and nobody’s trying to pull anything.

“Can you hold the door for them?” You request, to which he nods, running over and has the right door open in a second, a second person - an assistant - grabbing the other door and letting the river of guests to enter. Yoosung’s face is quickly hidden by them, but it’s apparent that he’s holding together as he does for every party.

At this point in time, you’re happy they seem glad for the masquerade theme to their clothes; as though they’re aware of Zen’s standing. Many of them are from affiliated companies with his profession, others being the normal guests. (A strange anxiety consumes your stomach.)

You bow, as does Jaehee, and thank them for coming as they greet you. Just then, your phone sounds from the pocket of your blazer. Tugging it out, you quickly unlock it upon seeing Jumin had sent you a message, raising one hand and bowing again in apology.

“He’s beginning to get testy. Is everything in order?” Letting Seven handle Jumin would be lazy.

You quickly respond after a quick survey of the ballroom. “Yes. The guests have arrived. He can come back now.”

“Understood.”

Now, it’s just a matter of playing the waiting game. As the instruments of the small orchestra - and by small you mean one that will be suitable for a building full of people - fill the air with notes and tones, you find yourself more at ease. Fiddling with your mask, you turn to Jaehee, smiling at her.

“Jaehee, you can go ahead and go dress up,” You tell her.

Excitement fills her eyes, and she nods, checking your mask and taking your blazer, handing your phone back to you after checking the pockets. She then rushes off, a large grin on her face. The last thing you’d want is for her to feel left out, so there’s no chance that you’d let her stay off to the side instead of enjoying the festivities. RFA, under you, is not an organization wherein its members can’t enjoy the same luxuries as the guests. You wouldn’t dream of letting it be like that.

Looking down at your phone, you open up the messenger app - just in time to receive a message from the birthday prince himself.

A selfie, first of all, greets you. He’s clad in a fanciful tux, a mask reflecting that of the Phantom on his face, and his hair is styled a bit differently aside from his trademark ponytail. Like usual, he’s wearing a wonderful smile.

Then the message. “I’m happy to dress so nicely, but I’m not too sure what’s going on. Jumin isn’t saying anything. Honey~ What’s going on?”

“Are you here?” You reply.

“Just about. I see so many cars and limos... I wasn’t told there would be another party, but at least he’s allowed me to look even better than I already do. I can’t wait to see you~ It’ll make this so much better.”

A grin etches itself on your face, and you lower your phone as the guests all grab some drinks. A variety of wines, champagne, whiskeys; sophisticated beverages to accommodate the high-class palate.

Stepping to the podium, you raise your wine glass, tapping the spoon on it close to the mic. Once you have the attention of the guests, you lower both hands, bowing slightly before speaking.

“Good evening, everyone. I welcome all of you to our establishment for yet another party. It gives me great pleasure to have you all here today,” You announce, fiddling with the papers slightly before stilling your hands. “Tonight, however, is not just a charity ball: it is a party to celebrate the birth of one of our most beloved members.”

Your eyes snap upward as the doors open, revealing Jumin - poker faced as usual - and Zen. With a smile, you stretch one arm out, motioning their attention to the pair.

“Everyone, please welcome and give your well wishes to my love, Zen! May all of your wishes come true! Happy birthday!” 

There’s flashes, but more than them there is applause. Through it, you can see a big smile on the face of your wonderful boyfriend. After having your fill, you step down, taking a route to the front in order to greet him. Once the two of you are face to face, you ignore the continuous flash photography,  smiling as he puts his arms around you.

“Oh, sweetheart... I would have been content with taking you out,” He says softly, but the appreciation in his voice is thick. “You’re so thoughtful.”

“I wanted you to have a formal celebration at least once,” You say softly, putting your hands around his neck, resting your palms on his nape. “It means a lot to me that you do. I haven’t seen you celebrate your birthday this way. Do you... like it?”

“Babe, even popcorn and Netflix would have been an ideal way to celebrate,” He mentions, brushing some hair behind your ear. “But it’s wonderful... You worked so hard. Now, I hope you’ll be able to relax. Perhaps a dance?”

You beam, nodding, moving your hand to take his as the guests move to mimic, and the entirety of the ballroom - you notice Jaehee now fully dressed and dancing with Jumin - erupts into a traditional ballroom dance in accordance to the music. From then on forward, all of you step around, sometimes swapping partners, eventually reuniting as the following songs reach their arpeggio.

Zen always makes these small jabs about sweeping you off of your feet like a prince charming would his princess. Though, he always likes referring to himself as a ‘sleeping beauty’ waiting for his princess charming to wake him in his sleep. (You know this since he would sleep with you during times when you were plagued by nightmares. Actually, the two of you sleep together very frequently, face masks aside.)

The clock stopped ticking forever ago, time stopping on behalf of you and your beloved prince. For all you’re aware, it’s still only seven in the evening, the sun remaining just above the meeting between land and sky. You still have time to spend awake, and Zen can remain awake for even longer. Even with this, you know that it’s nigh midnight, maybe past that, and the guests are beginning to grow fatigued. Some have left already - more because of their business than anything, and you accepted their apologies - and some are in the process,  but the others are sticking around even after the dance. Either to speak with one of you two or simply to socialize.

By now, Zen’s lead you away, over to where you two can be alone. Right now, the two of you are on the balcony, wine glasses put aside so that you don’t get too inebriated. You’re aware that even Zen has a limit, which is why you two are here. The stars are a proper curtain for the moment, the dark color of the night cloaking you as though protecting you from any force that would dare try to rip the two of you apart.

And in his arms, you feel the safest.

“I’m very thankful, honey.”

Looking up at him, you tilt your head. “For the party?”

A soft smile. “Sort of, but I’m thankful for you the most. In this big, beautiful world, I feel as though I’m the contender for the luckiest, happiest man. All of my life, I dreamed of someone to share my life with, but what the heavens above gave me was something ten times, a hundred, a thousand... no, infinitely better.”

You blush.

“For as long as I’m alive, I want you to know I’ll take good care of you. I’ll see to your happiness, and see to it that you never regret nor forget a moment. So long as the stars are in the sky, I will be beside you, loving you so vehemently.”

There’s a tug in your heart. Then more - and all of them are more intense than the last. Almost as though there’s something Zen is trying to communicate.

He takes your hand, moving it to his lapel. “Love, tell me... What do you think these clothes are made of?”

Huh?

“Umm...” You tilt your head slightly. Then you remember, and smile. “Boyfriend material.”

A hot whir in your ears erupts when Zen shakes his head, and becomes worse at the sight of him lowering to one knee, reaching into his inside pocket and tugging out a small box, opening it at you.

“No... With your word, they will become husband material.”

[amoralto]

MOJO: Paul McCartney – the MOJO interview. (May, 2003)

(Note: Finally, finally finished typing this up after @sweating-cobwebs requested the full interview what seems like ages ago. Quotes from this and the Yoko interview from the same issue - which I’ll probably type up in full later as well - can be found under the #2003 tag.)

-

In troubled times, Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono remained undaunted and have found peace – with themselves and each other. Johnny Black met Macca in London.

by Johnny Black

When Sir Paul McCartney’s dark blue Mercedes drives into Docklands Arena and pulls up at the side of the stage, the 60-year-old man who climbs out looks sprightly, even jaunty. He throws his elegant grey jacket over one shoulder, as he proffers a broad smile to everyone he greets. There’s a ripple effect as he moves away from the vehicle, a small knot of his employees drifting along with him. Press officer, catering manager, sound man, security personnel… and they each have a little something they need him to do if and when he has a moment.

He appears to be taking it all on board, seems to placate them all, and by the time he pauses about 30 feet in front of the stage, the knot has dissolved and they’re all heading back to their appointed posts.

The figure briefly watches his mainly American band as they jam cheerfully around the distinctive chord progression of Walk Don’t Run by The Ventures, then joins them on the stage, immediately changing the mood as he leads them into Shakin’ All Over, the first truly great pre-Beatles British rock track. Given how much we seem to love speculating about McCartney’s motives, it would be easy to interpret this as a statement of intent – the British boss asserting his personality over his yankee staff – but it’s also undeniably a great track to warm-up on, and he seems to relish playing it. Up there on that stage, bashing away in front of an audience of less than 20 onlookers, he seems just as happy as he would be if he were basking in the approval of 20,000.

It’s March 14, 2003, and for the next few days the 12,000-capacity Arena – a far cry from the Liverpudlian sitting rooms where The Beatles first knocked their live sets together – is serving as McCartney’s rehearsal hall in the run up to a major European tour.

McCartney’s personal fortune was recently estimated at £620 million by People magazine. In the last year alone, he raked in £120m, of which £65m came from US tour receipts and album sales. But money, as he once famously pointed out, can’t buy love. And love, in the words of another Beatles�� classic, is all you need. In the enduringly poignant country music standard A Satisfied Mind, written in 1955 by Red Hayes and Jack Rhodes, such sentiments are explored more fully in the lines, “Money can’t buy back your youth when you’re old, or a friend when you’re lonely, or a heart that’s grown cold.”

Looked at in that light, just how wealthy is Paul McCartney? Here’s a man, adored by millions, disliked by millions, whose young life was shattered on October 31, 1956 when his mother, Mary, died of cancer in the Northern Hospital, Liverpool. The following year, he befriended John Lennon, only to re-live his own grief over again when Lennon’s mother, Julia, died in 1958.

With George Harrison and Ringo Starr, he and Lennon formed the most successful band the world has ever seen, then watched helplessly as it was destroyed by drugs and greed, turning their friendship to dust along the way. After years of acrimony, he and Lennon had just begun healing their wounds and rebuilding their friendship when Lennon was stolen away from him again by the bullets from Mark Chapman’s gun.

The other major relationship that had brought stability into McCartney’s life was his lasting marriage to Linda Eastman, but that was also taken from him too soon when she died from cancer in April 1998, aged just 56. And it was cancer again that claimed the life of George Harrison on November 29, 2001.

To what extent can £620m heal the scars left by those assaults on McCartney’s famously cheery – and oft derided – bonhomie? The answer, as any fule kno, is that it can’t. So what is it that keeps those legendary thumbs aloft? It has to be more than just the buzz of playing Shakin’ All Over with a band half your age.

When, after an hour and a half, the first rehearsal is over, MOJO is pulled into Macca’s wake by press officer Geoff Baker. At the end of a walk through bare and stark backstage corridors, we arrive at the inner sanctum, a dressing room converted into something not unlike a Persian boudoir, complete with velvet cushions, exotic drapes, dishes groaning with fresh fruit and the smell of incense perfuming the air.

Sitting opposite him across a low table, there’s very little feeling of being in the presence of greatness. He wears his celebrity comfortably – like a favourite old shirt. He is perfectly polite, knows how to put a stranger at ease with an amusing aside but, above all, the passage of the years has made him even more gentlemanly. In the flesh, his boyish demeanour compensates for the lines and wrinkles that have come with age. Look into his face at close quarters and what you see are his eyes, still twinkling. Somewhere behind that twinkle, however, there’s a mind like a steel trap. You don’t get to where McCartney has got without one.

What would be a typical day in your life, like when you’re not working?

I tend to be the one who gets up to make breakfast. You’d die for my breakfast. It’s my Zen thing. I cut up all these lovely exotic things, normally in this order: I cut up a melon, a papaya, some kiwis, bananas, peach, and I make a fruit plate and it looks a bit like a mandala when I’ve done it – there’s all sorts of reasons why but it just have developed into this. We’ll also have tea, bagels, humous – quite a big, fancy breakfast. Then it’s a walk in the park with the dog, or if I’m in the country it might be a horse ride.

Later in the day, I like going to the pictures. We’ve got a great local cinema… Normally I’ll go with Heather, but I went to see Lord Of The Rings on my own. Loved it, whacking great film.

You can go to the cinema without being hassled?

Yeah. I do everything without being hassled. It’s actually been one of my pleasures. I actually like getting on the Tube, getting on the bus. I’ll do it if I’m walking and I see a bus going my way, I’ll just jump on. I did it in the 60s. George’s dad was a bus driver and he could never believe I’d do that. People can’t believe it. I had a guy in the street the other day, he was really worried that I was out on my own with no security. I said, “Gerraway.” I’ve always done that. I used to sometimes walk to Beatles concerts, and you’d get a screaming mass of girls and I’d say, “Come on, girls, calm down.” I’d do the big brother thing. I’m very comfortable with that. If not a movie, we’ll watch TV or a DVD in the evening – I usually try to see Who Wants To Be A Millionaire and Blind Date.

Most of us watch Millionaire because we’d like to be one, but that can’t be the appeal for you…

I want them to be millionaires. Actually Heather wants us to go on as a couple. It was funny because we met Chris Tarrant (the show’s presenter) the other night and Heather, in her keenness, said, “We should come on the Celebrity Millionaire show,” … which is for charity, so it’s a good thing… she said, “I know all the answers Paul doesn’t know and he knows all the ones I don’t know.” Chris said, “No, you shouldn’t come on. You’d be terrible.” He just completely took the piss, which was hilarious, because you’d expect him to be really keen.

Somewhere in the evening I’ll have a drink, and get to bed maybe about 11. Is that early? And then I’ll go to sleep and snore. Apparently I snore, but not a lot.

A brace of young women arrive bearing a tray laden with Paul’s lunch – chunky raisin scones, toast and a major pot of tea. Immediately he’s on his feet, exchanging pecks on the cheek, addressing them both by name, inquiring after their well-being. He points at the various delights on the tray to indicate that MOJO is welcome to partake.

Your band on this tour is noticeably young and energetic. How did you find them?

My keyboard player Wix has been with me for years, but I was going to make a record (Driving Rain) in America with David Kahne. He rang me about 10 days before the first session and said, “Do you think you might want to play live in the studio?” So I said, “Yeah, maybe.” So he said, “Should I get a couple of musicians in case you do?” I said, “OK, if you like.” I just left it very sort of casual.

So he thought about some people he admired. He’d never worked with Abe (Laboriel Jr, drummer) but he admired his work. He’d worked with Rusty (Anderson, guitarist). So he told me he’d got these people with great attitudes and who were great players and who could sing.

So I came in on the Monday morning, met the guys, and immediately started making the album, basically live. And that was it. Then, when we did the Superbowl, we needed one more guitarist for that so I asked David, “Do you know anybody?” And he said, “Yeah, this guy Brian Ray.” And he seemed to fit in great.

What do you think people expect from you when they come to a show?

I’m trying to keep a balance, proportionate, between Beatles stuff, Wings stuff and solo stuff. I don’t want it to just be a Beatles show, but I don’t mind giving an audience my most popular stuff. If I go to see David Gray, I’d like to hear him do Babylon because I like that song. And I’d be pretty disappointed if Coldplay didn’t do Yellow, you know?

We still have to rehearse to stay fresh, we’re making some changes to the screens and the lights (at these rehearsals), and I am adding a couple of songs to the set, so it’ll be a slightly longer show.

You were always the one in The Beatles who would turn up at a pub and sing songs. You did it during Magical Mystery Tour and you did it in 1968 on the way back from recording Thingumybob with the Black Dyke Mills Band.

I’d been up in Bradford with (Apple press officer) Derek Taylor, and we were just driving back to London, and we all got bored, someone wanted a pee, so we stopped in a little town called Harrold. And I think when we got to the pub it was shut but we got it to open up and we had a drink and there was a piano there so I sat down and played Let It Be.

Is that as much fun for you as playing in Earl’s Court or wherever?

Yeah. It is. It’s just a different kind of fun. I really do like it. If there’s a piano around it would be very difficult for me to just sit and watch it. It seems to me, in my naivety, that it’s something you approach and tinkle, to see if it’s in tune. It’s not a great desire to perform, I don’t think. I think it’s more that I like music, I like piano… but guitar is best.

Your first instrument was a trumpet. Was that something you wanted, or was it foisted on you by a well-meaning parent?

At the time, I think I must have sort of coveted a trumpet. My dad was a trumpet player and I did like it but when I realised I couldn’t sing and play the trumpet at the same time, I asked him and he said he didn’t mind me trading it in for a guitar. I thought he might be a bit insulted, but he didn’t mind.

The head of another aide pops round the door. It seems the BBC has arrived to show Paul a DVD of a commercial he’s done for the Corporation. Then there’s more rehearsal to be done but maybe we can reconvene later. Not for the first time, McCartney is ushered politely out of reach.

Docklands Arena, soon to be ripped down and replaced with more commercially viable properties, is virtually devoid of character. Fortunately, the stage show devised for this tour offers no end of distraction for the senses. As well as serried ranks of lights of very sort known to man, and some ear-splitting pyrotechnics in Live And Let Die, there are over 30 giant video screens forming a semi-circle around one humongous mother-screen which can be raised up and down as required on worryingly noisy pulleys.

“All our fuckin’ technology and it sounds like a building site,” wails the sound man. He’s consoled by a crew member who’s seen it all before – Gerry Stickells, the legendary Hendrix roadie tempted out of retirement for this tour at McCartney’s personal request.

When he returns to the Arena floor after watching the BBC DVD, he notices that the text on the mother-screen – via which audience members can text each other from their mobiles – is smaller than it used to be. He calls over the lighting director and suggest that “maybe… it might be better if… don’t you think?” Moments later, with the text size already increased, Macca is onstage running the band through the entire show – not that they seem to need it. The set runs almost faultlessly, synchronised with the lights and screens to such an extent that even the ‘Na Na Na’ audience participation section of Hey Jude is rehearsed in real time, with Paul exhorting the imaginary throng – “OK, just the ladies now… fantastic… now just the guys…”

He’s on-stage, performing with more energy than at any time since the heyday of The Beatles, for almost three hours in all, but he comes off at the end barely out breath, and we repair once more to the inner sanctum.

It’s interesting that you use the on-stage screens during Lady Madonna as a gallery of feminist icons…

They actually had Madonna among the visuals, but I thought that was too obvious. So they asked what I’d like to replace Madonna with and I said, “The Queen Mother.” This was two weeks before she died, so when we started touring ti looked like we’d put her in as a tribute.

I didn’t notice Yoko Ono either. Are you two still feuding?

I know that’s the public perception of it, but I do not have a bad relationship with her. We’re not enemies, me and Yoko. We send each other Christmas cards and everything. She’s more like a distant relative.

But you are tussling over the credits to the Lennon-McCartney songs…

There’s no tussle at all, but if, on my songs, like Hey Jude or Yesterday, which John openly acknowledged, particularly in the Playboy interview, that he had nothing whatsoever to do with… John actually made a list for the Playboy thing showing which songs were his and which were mine. I would be quite happy if, on one of the songs, it would be allowed, for my name to just come first. But I’m really not fussed. It’s not anywhere near as big an issue as it looks. It gets played up in the press. It’s a hot little story. And it makes me look stupid. “Why the fuck does he want that?” It’s actually just a very little request.

More importantly for me, it’s Trades Descriptions. It’s so complex and I hate to go on about it but, for example, I was reading a book, an anthology of poetry, and one of the poems in it was Blackbird, which is my lyric. And it said by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Now John had nothing to do with those words, especially once they’ve been extracted from the music and put into a poetry book. I think it’s fair enough to put Blackbird in a poetry book by Paul McCartney. Give Peace A Chance… take my name off it. It was a great, great anthem of John’s.

It’s sort of a mild request I made to Yoko and it’s sort of been turned down. If she’d have said yeah, the publishing company could probably have sorted it out.

Do you think it matters more to other people than it does to you?

I don’t think anyone gives a shit.

But Alistair Taylor, who worked for you at NEMS and Apple for many years, told me he was very upset that you would want to change the credits. He says it was agreed at an early meeting that it should be Lennon-McCartney, and you agreed to that…

Well, number one, Alistair was not in the meeting where I agreed it. It’s all very nice these guys having these opinions, but here’s what I say and this is the truth. There was a meeting with me, John and Brian, in Hilly House, above a carpet shop in Albemarle Street. We went in and they said, “We’re going to call it Lennon-McCartney.” I said, “Well, OK, fair enough, but it would be good to have it occasionally McCartney-Lennon, wouldn’t it, just for fairness for me?”

And they said, swear to God, hand on heart, but there was nobody else in the room and they’re both dead, so there’s no way of me proving this, except I believe it, I was there, and nobody else who talks about it was there, and they said, “We can change it as we go along. And we can change it any time we want out of fairness.”

This was why, many years later, when the Anthology came about, I and Linda, who had just been diagnosed with cancer, rang Yoko, and said, “Could we just, on Yesterday, could we just switch that one track?�� That was the original request. It was just for that one song. And Linda, God bless her, spent quite a bit of time ringing Yoko and that was the start of it all.

And now, I must just be resigned, because it doesn’t really matter, except from the point of view of this Blackbird credit. There is an unfairness there, I think. But it’s an unfairness I’m willing to live with. I don’t mind, and I do think it has rebounded on me a bit because people want to know, “What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” I’ve had letters from people saying, “Paul, you’re doing yourself no favours. I was a big fan of yours but this terrible thing of trying to ruin John’s reputation…” I’m not trying to ruin John’s reputation.

When Yoko was interviewed by MOJO, she said it wasn’t all black during the making of the White Album. There was some lighter moments. Is that how you recall it?

That’s absolutely true, yeah. We’d never have got an album made if it was as black as it was painted. It’s a good album. I remember we presented John and Yoko with an inscribed teapot, and that was a fun time. Unfortunately, because The Beatles were splitting up, the only thing anybody wanted to know about was the split.

It wasn’t all black, even then. We were all pretty friendly, and the times when we weren’t friendly was quite a small proportion of the overall thing. Unfortunately, that’s what gets remembered because it was the most significant proportion because it ended up in a divorce, as it were. In a divorce court, you don’t say, “Oh, she was really great. She’s actually fabulous, and I’m sorry we’re getting a divorce.” That’s what happened to us. Because of the circumstances we had to talk about all the shit.

I think because the Beatles had been by and large a happy, successful thing… four lads getting out of Liverpool, getting out of the working class money trap and doing well… that had all been an up vibe and then with drugs and stuff towards the end of the ’60s it was all taking a bit of a dip. The drugs weren’t working, nobody was giggling anyore, and the word ‘heavy’ came into the vocabulary.

Because all of that was going on it did get nasty. The thing with me having to sue the other guys. I wanted to sue Allen Klein but I couldn’t, so the only way to get out of everything for me and them was for me to sue them, and that was unconscionable, that was something I would never have thought of doing.

It was unfortunate because, in suing the other guys, not only did I get their backs up for a number of years, but the public perception was of me being the guy who sued The Beatles. I held off doing it for months, but it was pointed out to me that the only other option was to go with Klein. So I did it but, luckily, all things must pass, and it did pass. In the end, the others were glad I’d done it. There wouldn’t be Apple now. But it was a very ugly period, and ugly things I had to do to make it work.

You still seem very interested in politics, supporting the campaign to get ride of landmines. But the Wings single, Give Ireland Back To The Irish, was a very direct political statement.

See, I thought we were Irish. So it was a home problem for me… McCartney… Liverpool being the capital of Ireland… it was like a very personal take on it. What if there were Irish soldiers on the streets of Hendon or Speke? Would you like it? That was my take on it.

As evening falls over Docklands, McCartney is whisked off home to dinner with Heather, leaving a promise that if MOJO returns on Monday, a little more interview time will somehow be squeezed into a hectic day. Over the intervening weekend, his Radio 2 commercial, a radically reworked version of Band On The Run, begins airing, along with a short TV film about its making.

When we reconvene at the Arena on Monday morning, the ambience has changed. A troupe of dancers – including a young woman bent on squeezing herself into a tiny Perspex box – is rehearsing backstage; two insurance brokers have arrived to check out the pyrotechnics; the MOJO photography crew, rpomised first access to Macca, is anxious; and there’s an entirely new set to be rehearsed.

As before, Macca opts to take to the stage first. A guitar tech hands him a jumbo acoustic and they lanunch into For No One, followed by Things We Said Today, C-Moon, Honey Don’t… this is the Coliseum set. The band is still unfamiliar with several of the tracks so Macca strums through I’ve Just Seen A Face yelling out the chords as he proceeds. As Geoff Baker strolls past, MOJO inquires whether McCartney will perform Mull of Kintyre when the tour hits Glasgow. “Absoutely not,” says Baker. “We’re frantically seaching for a pipe band at this very moment for an entirely different reason.”

Up on the stage, McCartney says, “OK lads, let’s try Cor Blimey Luv!” and they thunder into Can’t Buy Me Love. Come lunchtime, he is unexpectedly taken off for a meeting in central London, but promises MOJO a swift return.

Two hours later, precisely as predicted, McCartney reappears.

A couple of the post-Beatles songs like Coming Up and Let Me Roll It seems to me to be much more powerful than the originals. Is this how you really intended them to be in the first place?

No. It’s an evolution caused by playing with this band. The parts are already there. What I like about this band is that I don’t really have to tell them. What I’ve done on this whole tour, this band, this new thing, is I’ve let everyone be, let them do their thing, and then if I don’t like it, I’ve reined it in a bit.

Rather than me dictating how to play it, I figure my dictatorial moments have happened – I wrote those songs and I did the original records, so now I don’t feel the band has to stick note-for-note to the original arrangements. It’s also a bit of a louder band than I’ve had before, a bigger sound, so that adds to it.

I know that Rusty is working on his own CD at the moment, but there’s presumably no chance in this band of the other members being allowed to contribute their own songs on the set?

I’ve had to take on the role of boss ever since Wings. It wasn’t like The Beatles any more. Denny Laine, for example, had the reputation of having done Go Now, so you might want to do that, but really the promoters and the audience tended to want to hear my stuff.

At your level of success, you’re effectively the head of a small company. How do you know whether the people are saying that what you do is great because it is great, or just because you’re the boss?

It’s almost impossible, but I think I’ve been at it long enough now to suss… I actually see people telling me, “That’s a great idea!” but I prefer people to speak their minds. So in this kind of team, they’re not just sycophants. They’re more likely to be people who’ll say, “Yeah, that’s a good idea but what if we did this?” And I’ll go, “Wow! Shit! That’s a great idea.”

Do you take to the role of boss easily?

I used to be frightened of it when I was younger because I thought, “We all hate bosses, don’t we?” But I had to get over it because with Apple, we suddenly had this company losing a lot of money we’d earned so I then had to actually tell people what to do – I’m talking about secretaries and staff, The Beatles was still a democratic thing, but we all became bosses then.

That was a strange moment for you, when you had to take over the business side as well as the creative…

We all had to do it, and that had all its famous problems associated with it. After that I had to decide how I would do it in my solo career, which is when I put MPL together. Very small beginnings, one little room in some film production offices, and at that point I really did become the boss. I had a secretary and everything, and then that thing grew, so yeah, I’ve got more and more comfortable with it. I don’t think I’m a very hard boss, but I kick ass when things go wrong.

Do you think your continued success over 40 years – which seems to include a fair number of younger fans – is a bit odd? It’s as if, in the ’60s, Al Jolson or Rudy Vallée had still been pulling in huge crowds.

I think our thing was stuff that goes for all generations. I’m singing things now that I wrote years ago and thinking, “Shit, that’s still appropriate.” Doing Calico Skies, for example, talking about “crazy soldiers, weapons of war”… and look at what’s going on around us right now.

I certainly don’t think it’s any reflection of the state of contemporary music. I think music right now is really great. I’m not an expert, because I’m not a kid buying it, but I always check out people who are said to be good. I’ll see somebody getting a Grammy and I don’t know them, so I’ll check that out.

For instance, I’d heard Eminem on the radio and I thought, “Clever. Good lyrics, good ideas.” So I just went to see 8 Mile and it’s a great little rock ’n’ roll film, like an Elvis film. I enjoyed it and I came out like when I was a kid, that feelgood thing coming out of a movie like you’re walking a bit taller.

What are the eternal verities of a great song?

It’s an indefinable magic chemistry which can come many, many ways. Starting at the top… it’s often a great title. It’s often great words, or great melodies, or great chords or a great sound… but the best ones have got them all.

And there’s always a magic moment. Send In The Clowns, for example, has that line about, “Isn’t it queer… oh, they’re here.” Or in The Drugs Don’t Work. I remember hearing that record, the acoustic coming on, but when he hits that line, it’s like, “Fucking hell, that has to be said.” It hadn’t been said before.

If I had to plump for one single element, it would be melody, because not all songs have got words. I can be moved by a great melody on its own.

Many artists adopt personas. Is that what happened with The Beatles?

We didn’t think that was what we were about. We felt more like a little group of students. It was more an art thing we thought we were doing. We were just (adopts exaggerated Liverpool accent) John, Paul, George and Ringo, you know? I think one of the great things about The Beatles, apart from the fact that we were damn good, was that we were very honest – that could be one of the things that has lasted. Also, we were artists. Our artistic development found a home in people’s hearts and they were able to follow it. Yellow Submarine is a kid’s thing; A Day In The Life is more grown up, so it was an interesting body of work.

It’s also a body of work that has haunted him ever since. Despite multi-platinum hits and a wealth of superlative tracks in his post-Beatles output, Lennon-McCartney remains the standard by which all contemporary songwriters, including him, are judged. John’s untimely death put him on a pedestal, moving him effectively beyond criticism, while McCartney got on with the job of living in the shadow of their unwieldy legacy. It must have been galling, for example, to release his acclaimed solo album Flaming Pie in 1997, while knowing full well that it would never match the sales of, or reap the critical plaudits heaped on The Beatles’ Anthology, a compilation of outtakes, backing tracks and rarities, which had been released two years earlier.

Nor did his renaissance man dabblings in classical composition, poetry and painting do much to revive public interest. But then, on June 11, 2002, Sir Paul McCartney married his ex-model girlfriend Heather Mills, in St Salvator’s Church, Castle Leslie, Glaslough, Ireland. Since then, although things haven’t gone exactly smoothly, it seems as if his life is more firmly back on track.

This is a man who obviously likes to be married, enjoys stability and finds pleasure in domesticity’s little routines, presumably to balance the whirlwind of activity that follows every move he makes outside of his front door. Watching him deliever the line, “Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go” on the stage at Docklands, it suddenly seemed to rank among his most heartfelt.

Following the muted response from critics and public alike to his Driving Rain album of 2001, he makes no attempt to hide the fact that he’s revelling in the acclaim for and success of this tour in America, which has outstripped all expectations. For this 60-year-old knight of the realm to be the biggest-grossing US live act of 2002 – seeing off not just arch-rivals The Rolling Stones but also the young bucks – is clearly a source of immense personal satisfaction.

But who is he really? Bastion of the establishment? Rock idol? Contented hubby? Multi-talented renaissance man? Avant-garde pop genius? All of the aforementioned and more? Or just an old dopehead with a good head for a nice tune?

Over the years, you’ve been busted for marijuana in Scotland, England, Barbados, Japan, Scandinavia… you could probably get in the Guinness Book Of Records for being busted in most countries. Did anybody mention this in the process of making you a Sir?

No, nobody comes and says anything like that. You can be a terrible person and still be a Sir. It must be that way, because they gave it to me. The worst thing about being busted is that you go on computer records. So every time I go to America, they see my name on the database and they know I’ve been busted a lot, but I think they’ve sort of forgiven me. It’s like, “That was his wild youth but he’s all right now.” So they always let me through, but the drug busts, I have had to go and sit with the aliens in Customs, once or twice. It’s a bit embarrasing. That stuff never comes off your records.

What’s the most useful thing about being a Sir?

I can’t think of many useful things about it. George Martin says it gets you a good table in a restaurant, but I get a good table anyway. I ring up and ask for a table for 8.30 and if they say, “Sorry, there’s no tables left,” I will say, “This is Paul McCartney here.” Then you hear a bit of scuffling and suddenly a table becomes free. I don’t actually like doing that, but I will if I’m desperate. But I never say, “This is Sir Paul McCartney.” I never call myself that. I see it as being like a school prize. You don’t really go for it, but get it because of what you are. Like the art prize or the maths prize. It’s nice to get it because it’s an honour, a recognition of what you’ve done, but it doesn’t do you much good. For me, the best thing about getting it was that it was popular. A lot of people said, “Oh yes, he deserved that.” That was important to me.

How about Sir Mick Jagger?

Who cares? I think it’s cool. I don’t think it makes you anything. I think you are ‘it’ already and it’s a prize for being that thing. And Mick is Mick so that’s fine. I can think of people who should get them… like Eric Clapton. He’s a prime candidate. Sir Eric Clapton has a ring to it.

At your level of success, you’re effectively a company. How many people do you employ all told?

Normally, we carry about 140. When you’re in school or college, you’re a scruffy little bastard writing essays all the time, hoping one day that you’ll be a lawyer, a judge, a journalist, rocker, head of a company, your dreams are all there and I’ve actually got my visualisation. I feel very lucjy. I’m really aware that it’s not just me… I’ve had a phenomenal amount of luck.

Heather said, a few months back, that marrying you had brought her a lot of unhappiness. How do you, as a couple, cope with that?

I’d like to help her with it, and I hate to say this, but it’s more how does she deal with it, you know? I think the shock for Heather was that she’d been “Great model who overcomes accident and now she does a lot of work for charity and disabled people.” The minute she married me, it was, “Who does she think she is?” It’s really quite unfair, but she’s a sitting target. I think it did give her a lot of grief. The most grief, the worst thing about it, was that it actually affected the charities she was working for. People actually stopped donating because of what they read in the newspapers, which was largely untrue. They did a lot of silly things. There was a photo of Heather and I at Stella’s fashion show, and it looked like Heather was doing two peace signs with her fingers and some journalist said, “Oh, she’s copying Linda.” And actually, on closer inspection, it was my hands. But who cares? They’re just having a go. I mean, who gives a shit who gives a V sign?

They also claimed she was doing a cookbook when she wasn’t. We get asked to give a recipe to an Amnesty cookbook or a vegetarian society cookbook, so you do that and it comes out as she’s doing a cookbook. It’s changed a bit since the Parky show. A lot of people like that show, and she changed a lot of people’s minds. In fact, we were walking the dog in Regent’s Park this morning and somebody came up and said, “That was really good on the Parky show!” The main point she made that people appreciated was that with this sort of arbitrary press sniping, it doesn’t affect her so much as it affects the charity, and the disabled people who might have got a leg if there’d been the money raised.

Somebody in one of the papers even said she was under investigation for her charity work, and that completely undermines what she’s trying to achieve. It turned out not to be true but, as you know, the apology appears on page 10 where no one sees it three weeks after all the damage has been done. The same thing happened in the early days with Linda but, as Parky said on the show, it comes with the territory – marrying this guy. It’s not so much me, though, it’s just fame. The same thing happens if you marry Tom Cruise, or Michael Douglas. You get a load of shit. You may have married him because you love him, but now you’re a sitting target.

I noticed that George’s death elicited a very different reaction among my friends than John’s did. John’s was horrible because it was sudden and unexpected and he was young. But I think George’s death reminded my entire generation of our own mortality. It’s as if we measure our own lives alongside the lives of artists we loved. Did you get any sense of that?

To me, of course, it was more of a personal thing. Privately, I felt the same way about both of them. I had lost a dear friend who I would never see again. But when John died, because of the shock, during that day I was asked what I felt about John’s death and all I could stumble across was, “It’s a drag.” I couldn’t gather my thoughts. We were just in shock. I was just shouting stuff about the guy who’d shot John.

I was very lucky that my relationship with John had been healed. It had been vicious, but were phoning each other, talking about kids, baking bread, cats, being a husband – all the simple shit that really means a lot to me. That was the consolation before the terrible shock.

With George’s death, because we knew it was happening, I was able to be more considered in my reaction. I was able to go and hold his hand… but the bottom line is that I will see that man no more, and that’s a little bit horrific for me. When you lose someone dear you just wish someone could magic it all back again. And maybe there is some way, who knows, in the great beyond.

After all he’s been through, McCartney seems more at peace with himself than at any time since John’s death. He is keenly aware that, in the public perception, such actions as seeking to change the credits on Lennon-McCartney songs have tarnished his image, but he also knows that one of the greatest tricks of surviving immense fame is learning to recognise that you have an image, realising that your image isn’t you, and stepping away from it in order to get on with real life.

The punchline of that old song, A Satisfied Mind, is that, “It’s so hard to find one rich man in 10 with a satisfied mind.” There’s no telling how long it might last but it would seem that, for the moment, Paul McCartney is that one rich man.

Coming Up

While suffering a near-nervous breakdown during the Fabs’ prolonged disintegration, McCartney quietly worked on an ill-fated side-project that many now agree ranks among his best solo work. Chris Ingham basks in the understated glory of 1970’s McCartney.

Autumn of 1969, Paul McCartney was in a strange place. Feeling redundant following John Lennon’s announcement in an August meeting at Apple that he was leaving The Beatles, McCartney retreated to his farm in Scotland to drink, stay up, lie in and suffer what he would call “almost a nervous breakdown”.

At the same time, in the company of Linda, his bride of six months, step-daughter Heather and brand new baby daughter Mary, he also began to enjoy the ‘glow’ of being in a new family. By the time they returned to his St John’s Wood house for the winter, McCartney was sufficiently energised to do a little work from home. Plugging one microphone directly into a Studer multitrack with no VU monitoring or mixing desk, he overdubbed himself on drums, guitar, bass and keyboards, polishing his DIY recordings at Abbey Road (where he booked in as Billy Martin) and Morgan Studios, Willesden.

The resulting album McCartney – released in April 1970 simultaneously as The Beatles’ split became public knowledge – was almost universally received as a bit of a non-event. Modest, rough-hewn, semi-improvised, it was the unshaven opposite of The Beatles’ pristine work on Abbey Road which had appeared only eight months before.

Yet, over 30 years on, it holds up as a funky home-brew of a record, groovily lo-fi in a way that wouldn’t be fashionable for a couple of decades. The primitive experimentalism and bluesy jams that were for years dismissed as semi-distracted indulgence now sound, well, rather cool. The drumming is rudimentary but deep, the guitar playing bluesy and distinctive (and much admired by Paul Weller for one), the sound is warm and present, “very analogue” as McCartney recognises now.

And as an expression of where he was at – ‘home, family, love’ – it is as vivid as anything he ever did. The informal paeans to his new wife – The Lovely Linda, Oo You – are respectively radiant with natural affection and earthy passion while the majestic Maybe I’m Amazed confirmed that, when he felt like it, his ability to shape inspiration with unmatched pop craft was secure.

Elsewhere, if lovers of McCartney’s straightforward pop are short-changed – the delightful Every Night and Junk notwithstanding – it’s because he just felt like recording other things; the ethereal sound made by wine glasses (Glasses), a dusted-off Silver Beatles instrumental (Hot As Sun), or a rather compelling chant-and-percussion sound painting of an African tribe (Kreen-Akrore). It’s the very wilfulness of McCartney – the organic sound of an artist learning how to express himself in whatever way he pleases – that gives the album a “realness” that somehow appeals more with the passage of time.

As Paul wrote in 1970 to journalist Penny Valentine, who had spoken for many by expressing her disappointment with the record, “even at this moment it is growing on you.” It still is.

Timeless melody

A purveyor of silly songs? No, a compositional genius…

Peter Buck, R.E.M.: Ram is an amazing record. Ram On? That’s like something off Pet Sounds. The Back Seat Of My Car is amazing. Wings’ Wild Life is really cool. It just sounds like he was in the biggest band of all time, he goes, “Hey we just got a drummer, let’s make a record this week, without any songs!” Dear Friend is one of my favourite songs he ever wrote, which is probably about John. I love that song. I actually recorded it with the Minus 5. Needless to say, the stuff he did with The Beatles was pretty decent too. The thing that boggles my mind is that when they broke up, nobody was 30, and George was 26. He was 26?! Jeez.

Brendan Benson: It’s his genuine fascination for music and music theory, him as a composer, explorer and experimenter, especially his post-Beatles work. He’s a great arranger, the way he puts his songs together. Band On The Run is his masterpiece. It works on so many different level: it’s a simple pop record, yet the way he ties in the melodies throughout makes it something more. It’s a work of genius, so huge and epic yet never outstaying its welcome. He tears at the heartstrings with his mix of mellow, dark and pleasing sounds. There’s never anything harsh or abrasive, just super moody songs, full of melancholic nostalgia.

Andy Partridge, XTC: He’s so fab because he’s so ludicrously melodic and he’s not afraid to be soppy. It takes a lot of guts to do that. My favourite song? It’s Getting Better is so fantastically optimistic, with this great convoluted construction, twisting around. And that bass playing –it’s actually just like his singing, piping and flute-like. And Hello/Goodbye, those opening chords reach in like a ray of sunshine. Again, it’s ferociously optimistic. You know you’re going to have a good experience. It’s not this fake seriousness you get now. He’s never had a problem restricting himself to one thing – he can rock out, be avant-garde, do children’s music, pop for the teens… it’s preposterous that he’s seen as the second-best Beatle – I think the whole thing was an equally jewelled tug of love between them. Although I do wonder why you never see McCartney and Angela Lansbury in the same room.

Gladys Knight: For me it was when Paul took control of the group that The Beatles were at their best. He’s so gifted at writing words and I always choose songs for their lyrical content. I must have worn the grooves off Let It Be. I’d get up in the morning playing it, go to bed playing it, cook to it, clean up to it. The title track was just a song that touched my spirit and that’s why I decided to cover it, because it touched my soul.

Tom McRae: The man is a genius for melody. The second side of Abbey Road – particularly Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight is one of the greatest Beatles’ moments and Paul’s shining moment. It goes from this brilliant beautiful ballad, his voice so lush and romantic, to turning, in a split second, into a raucous rock number; the best of both sides of his art all in the space of one song. It’s so emotive and there’s a challenging simplicity in his melody and lyrics.

Ben Kweller: The first album I ever fell in love with was Let It Be. I was eight and listened to it non-stop. Paul’s lyrics are so focused on the subject matter and the emotion he brings to the songs is so sincere and honest. Those massive piano ballads like The Long And Winding Road just make me swell up inside. His voice is so pure and beautiful and his musicianship is often overlooked. He reinvented bass playing and excelled at the guitar, piano and drums.

[docholligay]

An unnecessarily lengthy ode to the deadlock disaster children

Decided I had to submit this instead of comment endlessly on your post… because I just love Ashe and McCree so much more than I could have ever predicted?? I would feel about characters from this game?? You already know this but you did ask for reasons, so I’m gonna give them to ya.

I was drawn to Ashe when I first picked up the game because I tend to prefer longer ranged weapons and also because I took one look at her and said ‘i choose you, criminal lesbian.’ I didn’t even watch Reunion for a little while, but I was/still am so into her weapon-focused kit and the challenge that learning to play her even relatively well has posed (I still run out of bullets and boop myself off ledges more than I care to admit). So for Ashe far more than McCree, there’s a gameplay element to her that does actually factor into loving her as a character. 

I wanted to play McCree a lot when I first got the game, because cowboy, and because me (the prism of my experience of rural life has affected a lot of what I see in mcCree and is probably a solid chunk of the reason I was able to write him into a character I liked) but his gameplay was just too hard and I didn’t love him like I did Tracer, so there was no reason for me to continue. 

Obviously we have very little canon for her, but I love a lot of what we do have. I love that she’s quick to anger and bossy and pretty selfish and quite good at what she does. I love that she clearly cares about McCree even as she isn’t prepared to ever let go of her grudge against him, that’s the kind of tension and conflict that I am always so into, perhaps in part because I have so much experience with it personally. She’s got high expectations of everyone, probably too high, and she prizes loyalty above all else - feels very relatable to me, tbh. I love her aesthetic and her ridiculous voice acting and I really really really love BOB’s mannerisms and general role in her life.

If and when I am ever tempted to do something with Ashe, I think the most interesting thing to work with would be her sort of spoiled brat mentality, and how that hits up against Actual Cowboy Ethos (I utterly, utterly reject the idea of the Deadlock Gang being a biker gang, at least before Ashe took over. I’ts a boring choice made for aesthetics.) The idea of her having conflict with everyone who taught her everything she knows and completely thinking that SHE’S RIGHT really intrigues me. 

As far as headcanons/my writing of her goes, though, I feel like I’m trying to flesh her out as a character who experiences a lot of growth, but never ends up much closer to perfect or even to good (because I don’t think she’s good, I don’t really have any interest in redeeming her at all, though I think humanizing her or exploring the ways that she can be relatable is interesting). I think one thing they did really well in introducing her (and some of the others, obviously Fareeha is similar) is that she’s a person who’s had an entire life, a childhood and a young adulthood and is now a grown woman. I find that super helpful in thinking about what particular things make her immature when she’s first meeting McCree and starting the gang, and then how she addresses or doesn’t address those things as she gets older and has to adapt. I also like that she’s a criminal, clearly not a good guy character, but also doesn’t at this point have a direct tie to the Big Bad organization of the franchise - I’ve not shared many of my ideas for where my fic series is going, but I like the idea of her flat out refusing any/all offers from Talon to team up for several reasons. Like having Vishkar and Lumerico and even Volskaya as sort of villainous presences, keeping Deadlock and Talon separate helps the world feel less manichean/more realistic to me, so I actually hope there’s not a move to tie everyone together too neatly.

I also have NO desire to see her team up with Talon except maybe in selling Talon weapons or something. BUt that’s business, not teamwork. I see Ashe as left with basically a name of the Deadlock gang, but without anyone but BOB who REALLY has her corner. 

I do wish that the whole 'her parents ignored her entirely’ and 'she’s richer than god’ things had been considered a bit more in relation to one another - it doesn’t make any sense to me at all that her parents would continue to bankroll their at large criminal daughter that they don’t care about at all, for instance. My other major gripe with how she’s been handled is actually about her legendary skins - let her look like herself, Blizzard!! Let her have her white hair and red eyes instead of just blatantly embracing the fact that you made another same face white woman who you will play Barbie with and give her dark hair or blue eyes whenever it’s more convenient. Also make her look her age, damnit. 

You’re completely right and all of this is dumb. But I’m not shocked, tbh. LET OLDER WOMEN LOOK IT!!! LET WOMEN BE OLDER!!! 

ANYWAY, her origin story and Reunion give me a lot to work with. ESPECIALLY because I’m not at all convinced that Reunion is the first time she and McCree have seen each other since he left the gang, or at least I feel very strongly that it shouldn’t be the first time. There are a lot of things about how they both act that I’ve chosen to read as suggesting this is kind of a recurring thing, he shows up and makes her mad and messes with the gang but neither of them will actually hurt the other, and then she has to go back to acting like he’s her nemesis when really he’s the one person who can make her break her own rules about punishing betrayal. I’ve got no particular investment in Blizzard telling their stories that way, but to me it makes a lot more sense than that confrontation being their first meeting after 20 years.

I haven’t decided what I think about McCree and Ashe’s relationship in specific, only in broad strokes, and I chalk a lot of that up to my general reluctance to engage with Ashe and what Blizzard seems to be trying to do with her. I’ll have to come up with something, if only in passing, but yeah, I dunno. 

AND SPEAKING OF MCCREE. He’s so sad, I love him. While I don’t see him joining Talon usually, I definitely agree with you that he just kind of bounces around from group to group and place to place throughout his life, and to me that’s in part because I see him as just kind of taking things as they come at him, but also because he’s so deeply convinced of his own 'badness’ and guilt that, without someone else prompting him like Ashe or Gabe, he’ll just default to running on his own so as not to hurt or disappoint anyone, including himself. But even as he’s convinced that he’s not a truly good man, he still works to do the right thing in the ways he knows how and feels cut out for. And I love that he’s polite, and that he seems largely to be pretty unflappable but is willing to get angry and express that anger when something is important enough to warrant it, and also that he’s a fuckin terrible dresser. 

Yeah, I think McCree is a tumbleweed, and he’s always looking for something, and he never really quite finds it, at least not for a long time, Eventually, in the fullness of time, he becomes a sort of officer for Overwatch, in my world, but even there he feels that he is doing a good and useful thing but does he “fit”? Will he ever be settled like Pharah? Loved like Tracer? Who knows! Not him! He’s just a cat dad doing his best. 

Idk, I was skeptical of getting into a game that wasn’t first-and-foremost narrative driven, but I’ve found that many of the characters are set up in such a way that even though they’re not fully fleshed out, there’s a lot to work with that’s super interesting and fun to me, so Overwatch has been an incredibly pleasant surprise. I love others, too, but these two appeal directly to my two greatest weaknesses when it comes to fictional characters (bitter lesbian who yells and sweet guy who tries really hard to do the right thing even though he fucks up a lot because the world is complicated), and it’s very fortuitous that they’re actually linked to one another within the lore. If my faves were like, Zen and Reyes, for instance, I don’t think I’d be as jazzed about the franchise as I am. But I lucked out with these two losers, and as always I love the way that you’ve written McCree (can’t wait to see what you do with Ashe) so I’ve gladly incorporated fanon into my thoughts and feelings about him, so it’s kind of just been a perfect storm for me, and now here I am writing excessively long submissions to you about why I love them.

Yeah, I think it works out nicely when you find a character that the franchise loves too. I did not go into Overwatch expecting Tracer to be my favorite, not even remotely. I expected it would be Widowmaker, actually. But Tracer just got me, something about her sense of goodness without naivete, her courage and her brightness. She’s the hero with the strength to get up and still see that corner of blue in the sky. ANd then go shoot a man to keep it. 

[vael]

2018 Annual Review

Another year in the books and I'll be using James Clear's review format as inspiration for my own Annual Reviews. This year was a busy one for me, but unfortunately not my best.

What went well this year?

I released Bean Grower. It was well received! A few people stuck around after the tutorial and two people played far more than I had expected. (one of them my wife, who played more than just for that sake) Bean Grower is designed as a supplemental game for the studio, which means it is not a main driver for profit or success and that it can't be played continuously. Its purpose is to be a warm-up or even cool-down game after playing one of the studio's main titles.

This was my first ever truly completed game; MonBre was never finished. I learned a lot about game design, web game design, and built out my developer toolkit. After Orbium, I found some time to give the game a small update.

I refactored and released The Orbium. I learned a technology known as React.js for this, and the results were impressive: the site is snappy, easy to maintain, and fun to develop. I made the Game Feed, what is effectively a "Facebook Timeline" but for what you and your friends are doing in games. We now adhere to the GDPR, and we no longer even require an email to sign up. It's now a Progressive Web App, which means it's installable on your phone and hopefully soon will be available in app stores. (the web world is waiting for companies to make that decision)

I started building a house. Two years ago, my boss pitched the idea of moving the company to South Carolina. My wife and I had a lot of trouble finding a house we loved, so I met with a builder in February 2018 to start the process of building our dream home. I'm extremely happy with the floor plan, and the house sits on a happy 2.13 acres. We expect to garden/farm the land starting this Summer. We're currently waiting for it to finish; more on that in the next section.

I changed my name. Finally, after months of emails, mails, phone calls and two court appearances, my family has adopted the surname Victus. I'm done being someone I'm not.

I organized myself. I spent a solid two weeks doing all manner of things to organize myself, spawned from the realization that I'd lose some important files that should have been on a dropbox. (and now are) I organized my bookmarks, files, Asana to-do lists, switched from Simplenote to OneNote, and even washed and organized my messenger bag.

What didn’t go so well this year?

Mental performance. This has been the worst year for my mental performance and health since 2009-10's depression. I used to be an information sponge. I used to speak better and feel more in control. I could articulate my thoughts better. I don’t even like how I’ve written this annual review. I added maybe two files to my dropbox's "Mind Palace" directory this year; it has been my worst year for learning, partly because I felt like what I was learning was turning to mush. I tackled cell phone usage and maybe that helped, but Forest can only take me so far.

I don't know what it was that triggered me into this state, but I can say it was around mid-January that I started to feel sluggish. I've reclaimed short windows of lucidity here and there, but the bottom line is that I felt very average this year and I refuse to believe that it's age. I have reason to believe it's partially hereditary.

Regarding my mental health: I'm a fairly stable, low-neuroticism guy. But this year I felt more prone to anger and apathy. I think, ultimately, I had a lot of moving pieces: changing my name, building a house, learning new tech and working on my hobby work whenever possible, financial concerns regarding the house, and still trying to maintain a happy family.

Extended Family. Now that it's happened, I realize how inevitable it was. We've always been the black sheep and my wife was never fully accepted into the family. I'm not detailing the past eight years of familial interactions here, but after years of passive-aggressive quips at parties, being excluded from group-texts and such, it all went down in an MMS soon after Thanksgiving. Everyone was free to speak their minds being that we're moving to South Carolina. I decided to stop coming around, which does not bother anyone except my immediate family. Where I once thought we'd at least fly up bi-annually, now I have no plans to return other than for a vacation. I will fly up solo for funerals.

The house. So we have this beautiful life laid out for us, really going to do things right, breathe clean air and finally have a place to put things, it'll be grand. The builder says 4-6 months; we assume once the financing begins that it'll be more like 6-7 months, and everyone we talked to said it would probably be the case. We figured October at the latest, maybe fully settled by end of November. It's looking more like 9+ months now. The house was 71% done (an actual metric) on the 19th of December. We're confident we'll be moving in January, but there is no guarantee, and this has made things very stressful for us. The builder’s reason for taking so long is the weather. Google suggests it’s been a very rainy season for them, so it’s probably true.

When building a house, you'll have a monthly escrow payment relative to the amount the builder's taken out of the loan in order to actually build the house. This is an interest payment and while it is tax-deductible, $3,500 has been sucked out of my bank account. Each month that goes by gets higher and higher, meaning each month we're delayed hurts more and more. The money is just thrown away to the bank. Escrow + down payment + saving for the move has been stressful to manage.

What did I learn?

I became a better web and game developer this year.

I think I finally learned to stop playing a game when it becomes a chore.

Most people's work and hobbies aren't going to meaningfully progress humanity, so all that really matters in the end is how many children we have and how well we take care of them.

I learned the value of thoughtfulness when a surprise birthday gift from a friend coincided with my wife returning from her trip; we had a few long talk-fights about how husbands should be, and I have to say I feel great giving her surprises and going out of my way for her. Will try to be more thoughtful with friends and everyone around me.

Changing your name is a pain. Changing it while building a house is just asking for more pain.

Familial relationships are less durable than I'd thought. Also considering technology's role in all this.

2019 Outlook

Sunny! I hope it will be my best year yet. I'm a very goal-driven person, so this house is huge for me. Because of the the security and happiness a house offers, saving has been a priority for me ever since I took my current job in Summer 2012. Every lazy takeout dinner or car maintenance bill has been a direct assault on that goal; that is how I think, and most people find it a miserable way to live, but here I am. It's a great weight lifted.

I'm going to release Fireburner this year. I think I’ve come up with a way for the game to be fun. I hope to surpass Bean Grower in visual quality/polish. It isn’t a game for everyone, however, and while it isn’t a supplemental game for the studio, it also isn’t a main driver.

GAM3 will be totally ready for external developers. I should not keep the engine to myself. I want people building with it. I want to monetize it. 

I eventually want to approach companies to demo GAM3 as a real tool for building web games and even apps! My work with app-ifying The Orbium means it should be trivial to get that working for GAM3; the implications of such being that anyone who makes a GAM3 game also makes an Android or iOS app. That's powerful stuff.

In order to do this, GAM3's player side is getting the same refactoring that Orbium did. I'm going to take a break to tech up before I do this, as it's imperative that I do it right the first time. This means I won't be as focused on "results" this year, but it also means I'll spend a lot less time building each game's tech in the future.

Zen. I'm making an effort to heal and refine myself. I want a lucid mind and flexible body. It's time to take my sleep seriously. It's time to properly manage my dry-eye. My son's (assumed) bus schedule means that I'm going to have more time to myself in the morning before work, so I'll be starting the day off by stretching and making myself a real breakfast at least 3/5 weekdays. I want to be my best, and it's going to start with this effort.

Thanks for reading my annual review! Here’s to hoping 2020 will be even sunnier. :}