#guess this is a little bit surrealism era? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

myfavebandfizz · 7 months

Text

Clash Magazine Interview

In Conversation: FIZZ

Debut album 'The Secret To Life' is out next Friday...

Oct 20 2023

Welcome to Fizzville – your new favourite indie supergroup has arrived. Fondly referring to their fans as ‘fizzlets’ and sporting bright, clashing colours, FIZZ is infused with the psychedelia, euphoria and sheer imagination necessary for when friendship is the only thing saving you from disillusionment with an extractive industry. Comprised of Martin Luke Brown, Orla Gartland, Greta Isaac and dodie, the band blend everyday moments with surreal levels of theatricality on debut full-length, ‘The Secret To Life’.

In spite of their respective successes as individual artists, FIZZ evidently provides the opportunity for a new era of experimentation for its members. ‘The Secret To Life’ is a cathartic release of emotion and tension, blending the band’s musical maturity with a charmingly youthful spirit for life. The process behind the record was crucial. Motivated by an inherent desire to avoid overcomplicating music-making, FIZZ’s time at Middle Farm allowed them to go back to basics and focus on the most crucial theme of all, friendship.

Describing this project as infused with play and a liberating sense of creative freedom, it’s clear that the four friends believe their solo work has been enhanced by FIZZ. Providing the perfect chance to embrace their inner child, ‘The Secret To Life’ is about exploring the weird and wonderful spectrum of emotion.

CLASH caught up with the super group to discuss origin stories, avoiding the tendency to overthink and the delirious laughter that takes over when four friends decide to record together over two weeks.

This seems like an oddly appropriate first question: What is the secret to life? Why that title for your debut record as a band?

Dodie: I don’t think we planned it as a title. We didn’t really plan anything going into this project. We wanted it to be very free – almost like a holiday from our own artist projects. It was interesting that what came out was very loud and very maximalist. There’s a song about strawberry jam, there’s a song about a looming breakup, it’s grounded and also whimsical. ‘The Secret To Life’ was a phrase that came out and then we realised that all the songs made sense as the answer. But, for me personally, I think the secret to life is gratitude in little things. And I say that, I keep saying that, but I have to keep reminding myself to actually stick by that.

Greta: I think when we went down to Middle Farm, which is the studio where we recorded the album, we went in with no real agenda of how we wanted it to sound or whether or not we were actually gonna make it into a serious project. I think we just wanted to go down and make it about the process because I think we’d all in our own ways become very results-driven in our solo careers. So, it felt like a bit of a retreat from that process. Pretty quickly we realised that the trust we’d accumulated over ten years of friendship found its way into making music together; bridging the gap between youth – which is the more whimsical side of the album – and adulthood which is the more serious side. So, I think the secret to life is both of those worlds coexisting in this very beautiful mess. I guess that’s why we called it ‘The Secret To Life’. It just felt appropriate to celebrate such a wide spectrum of emotions.

Orla: I also like that it’s a bit culty. Not that we’d really thought as far ahead as the lead single or who our audience would be, but I feel it had a bit of a weird kind of energy that felt a bit culty. I like the idea that we’re selling an album called ‘The Secret To Life’.

Was there a specific moment when you all decided to form the band?

Orla: Yeah there’s many different versions of this story, isn’t there?

Greta: Yeah in the FIZZ-lore there’s multiple ways it came about, but I think there’s one sort of famous text.

Dodie: Famous to us.

Greta: That Dodie had sent to Orla (because me and Martin live with Dodie and we’d been chatting about it in the flat) a text message saying “Do you want to start a band?” And Orla said “Yeah I’m down,” and then Dodie was like “No seriously.” Like should we just go round to Middle Farm and see what happens. But I think by the second week, because we went down in one week in December 2021 and then a second week in July 2022, by the end of that week in July we realised we had a whole album. It felt worth pursuing seriously. Rather than just a joke.

What was it like recording as a group at Middle Farm?

Dodie: It’s the best bit for sure. We were writing and recording at the same time because, again, we were really trying not to think too hard about anything. Pete Miles is the producer at Middle Farm, which is the studio we went to. He really encourages play. He basically set us up little recording stations where we stayed and recorded. There was a lot of red wine and vibes. Yeah we had a great time. Lots of fits of giggles.

Greta: So many hilarious vocal takes that are probably still buried somewhere in the album if you listen closely. I think simultaneously singing together is so powerful, and kind of spiritual in some ways. But then also can be fucking hilarious if someone sings a bum note or pulls a funny face when they’re singing or whatever.

Martin: We tracked all the vocals round; we had four mics and we were all facing each other tracking vocals at the same time. By the nature of being directly opposite each other and being able to look at everyone – just the faces that people would pull while they’re hitting certain notes – we laughed a lot for sure.

Greta: There’s something about also singing with your friends, when you’re laughing in a recording environment and you’re not meant to laugh, because of time, pressure or tiredness and you just want to get it done. There’s something about that kind of laughing. It’s almost like vomiting, it’s like involuntary vomiting. You’re just like, I need to stop laughing but I can’t.

What are each of your favourite moments on the album?

Orla: The second verse of ‘Close One’ right at the beginning, where it goes “careful”, and it drops. That’s just so fun.

Greta: There’s a guitar solo in ‘The Secret To Life’ at the end where Orla is playing it, and it’s just so sick, and so sexy I always forget that Orla can play guitar so amazingly.

Martin: There’s a bit in ‘The Grand Finale’, which is the last song in the album. Me and Gret do a verse. We call it ‘Paul’s a Plumber’. That’s the section. And it’s like Thomas the Tank Engine meets…

D: The Beatles, I think.

M: Yeah, it’s just so so silly. It’s such a fun thing. Maximum, maximum silly. I love it.

D: My favourite is in ‘As Good As It Gets’. There’s a note that Gret hits, that when she was recording it I was literally like ‘Ahhh!’ It still gives me goosebumps, literally it will always give me goosebumps.

The album explores a variety of different emotions so effortlessly. How did you go about approaching the blend of emotional intensity and playfulness?

Martin: We honestly just did it. We just did it and afterwards we were like “Oh, it worked! Cool.” Yeah, truly.

Orla: I think so much of it was unspoken about intentionally because it felt like such an experiment. The only thing I was intent on, and felt across the board, was fighting the urge to overcook or overthink any decision. It’s not something that we’ve ever discussed as a band, because the whole point of it was not to discuss anything and build up a trust in your own instinct that I definitely lost in my projects. The speed at which we wrote with, lent into fighting the urge to overthink things. We would just go in and throw the vocal down, and the vocal you sing the first time is the final take. It’s like this really fast fever dream.

Martin: It’s how we were feeling on the day. We were just gassed and excited because it was this playground for us.

Greta: Yeah, the songs are like a huge mirror of how we were feeling that day. We were writing them and finishing them in a day or two essentially, there wasn’t much time spent on properly going through the tracks and tweaking anything. We just didn’t allow time for that. I think Martin’s right – each song is a true reflection of how we were feeling that day. We have sad songs and more funny, stupid songs, which is testament to the full spectrum we allow ourselves as a friendship group; to both be vulnerable and cry one minute, and then crack jokes and chat about Paul the Plumber the other.

Much of the album feels like they’re almost a guttural scream into the void. Were they cathartic to record?

Dodie: Yes, totally.

Orla: Especially ‘Hell Of A Ride’ for me. I think I was thinking about aging so much at that time, without even ever having acknowledged that within myself. There’s something really amazing that happens when you have a feeling in you that you haven’t said out loud, and then someone else suggests a lyric that is literally like a mirror to that. ‘As Good As It Gets’ as well, but in a different way. It was the three of us gals and our friend Soren Bryce, she was like a character in the studio for the whole album and her own projects are post-punky amazingness. We channelled her energy when all four of us were yelling around the mics. That was so cathartic.

There’s something deeply comforting about this album despite its wackiness and surrealism, especially because it evokes some of the nostalgia of music from the sixties and seventies.

Martin: I think the whole thing was kind of accidentally all of that.

Dodie: We didn’t know what to expect.

Martin: We were playing, it was just play. We didn’t really listen to references and stuff. We recorded a lot of it to tape, a lot of it was recorded live, so we had the drums and the bass and someone else playing at the same time. I think the whole philosophy of how it was done was quite old-school anyway. Then by virtue of us playing and not having rules and boxes that we were putting ourselves in, we were making stylistic choices that were a bit bolder and more theatrical. I don’t think that’s culturally a thing now. People are more humble and safe with their choices. I think all of us grew up on a lot of that stuff, like The Beatles, Yello and Queen, and that elaborate, theatrical pop stuff, but it definitely wasn’t deliberate, was it? It just kind of happened.

Greta: When we went to the studio we only really had our voices and the instruments, and some fun synths and stuff that Pete had in the studio. I think coming from London, where a lot of the sounds and stuff can be found in plugins or whatever, you’re kind of limitless in the possibilities of what your music can sound like and that can be quite overwhelming. But in the studio we had some sort of template of real instruments and voices. You just have to write the songs. I think adding that restriction actually allowed for a lot of theatrical, more complex arrangements for me personally. The excitement and the musicality came through the writing and rearranging, rather than sounds that you can just get on a computer.

The visuals of the band are as striking as the music. Were there any films or pieces of art that inspired the aesthetics of FIZZ?

Greta: I can think of a few films in particular when we were planning the creative of the album and how we wanted it to be put out: Alice in Wonderland, Willy Wonka, Wizard of Oz. Actually, what I’ve realised about those films as well is that there’s an alternate reality in those films, but ultimately there’s something farcical or fake about them. I think there’s something really charming about flawed adults wanting to create joy and the outcome of that is quite strange and wonky. Like Tim Burton, also a great example. Things that have a darkness or a twist to it but are quite alluring and charming. It’s creeped it’s way into how we dress and the artwork that we did with a photographer called JP Bonino, who helped bring Fizzville to life. We also worked with this illustrator called Miranda Bruce over in the States, who did ‘The Secret To Life’ album artwork.

So much of the music, live performances and visuals feel like they attempt to help listeners embrace their inner child. How important has FIZZ been in helping you discover your inner child and why do you think that is?

Dodie: I’ve spoken about this quite a bit, but in my own artist project I’ve learnt to be louder over the years but I still feel restricted. I feel like I have to be very careful and considered about what I’m saying in my music, and also making sure every single harmony is ‘correct’, whatever the fuck that means. Whereas in FIZZ I put that to one side. I can yell and I might be a bit flat, but it literally doesn’t matter if it’s right or not cause it sounds kind of cool. Is it my inner child? Maybe.

Greta: I think so.

Dodie: It’s play and a lack of pressure. That has been really freeing. It’s so interesting how I didn’t realise I could turn that off. But I can, thanks to FIZZ!

Greta: We should sell FIZZ medication…‘Thanks to FIZZ that voice in my head is gone!’

Orla: Yeah for me I think it’s like a learning not to shrink thing. With there being four of us in this, you’d expect it to mean there’s less space for everyone. But I think the energy of the other three gives us all permission to be the loudest, most grabby version of ourselves and I think, to me, that’s actually harder to do when you’re on your own. Whereas with this we push each other to the front. We’ve got the safety of the other three also shouting, which allows you to shout even more. It’s so sick.

What do you think your younger selves would think about FIZZ?

Dodie: Oh my god, she’d fucking love it. She’d be so jealous, which I have to remind myself because it’s so cool.

Orla: I think kids would love this. I really want us to do a kids tour. Maybe we could do matinees for under 10s.

Dodie, Greta & Orla: I should be so lucky, if you’d only hug me!

Orla: It’s so colourful and loud. We’re cartoon versions of ourselves. Baby me would definitely be at the barrier. Just rocking out.

Has working on FIZZ influenced your solo projects?

Greta: I think it’s definitely influenced my trust in myself. I think in my project I’ve definitely put a lot of trust in other people, which has been so valuable in so many ways. I love working with the people that I’ve worked with. But I definitely thought I needed other people to make music and to know what I want. FIZZ has been a really great exercise in knowing what I like and fighting for that: trusting that that is the right decision because it is my decision.

Orla: It’s learning to back yourself and pick your battles as well. I think that’s something that we’ve all learnt to do with all aspects of this project because you know there’s four opinions and all of us are used to having our way in our own projects. Sometimes you learn to let go and other times you can fight for your ideas. I think learning to respond to that is definitely something I’ll take back to my project. Know when you’ve got a little fire in your belly – it’s worth the airtime.

#fizz #yourfavebandfizz #fizz band #all #interview #clash magazine #clash magazine interview

0 notes

gerogerigaogaigar · 11 months

Text

James Taylor - Sweet Baby James

I listened to James Taylor a lot as a teen, that probably says something pretty damning about me idk, so I've got some nostalgia. But nostalgia cannot erase the fact that James Taylor is basically nothing. His music is catchy and sweet and hollow. The hits are nice, Sweet Baby James is a cute little lullabye and Fire And Rain is his big hit for a reason, but it mostly sounds sterile. I think if you looked James Taylor right in the eyes you would instantly know he has no soul. James Taylor could not pass the Voight-Kampff test.

Bob Dylan - Bringing It All Back Home

When Dylan went electric people got mad. It's so silly right? This is obviously one of Dylan's finest albums and people didn't want to listen to it because it moved away from folk and toward electric blues. The first half is made of mostly energetic blues rock songs, and the second half is more in tune with classic Dylan featuring acoustic guitar and harmonica. The album features mostly surreal and evocative lyrics which range from the fanciful (Bob Dylan's 115th Dream and Mr. Tambourine Man) to the stark and serious (Maggie's Farm and It's All Right Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)). People may have felt betrayed in 65 but this would herald in the best years of Dylan's career so fuck them I guess.

Love - Forever Changes

If you trust me even a little bit then please, I beg you, listen to this album. This is the perfect merging of folk rock and psychedelic. The perfect middle ground between artistically purity and accessibility. Out of all the psychedelic acts of the 60s Love has the most atmosphere. The spacey rocking of Hendrix and the jangly hippiness of the Byrds but with the ability to turn them more sinister or morose as they please. The poetic quality of the lyrics is unmatched. Alone Again Or is a simple breakup song, kinda, but they way the guitar trails off after the chorus of "And I will be alone again tonight, my dear" is mesmerizing. The line "I could be in love with almost anyone / I think people are the greatest fun" lives in my head rent free. The mood of the album always evokes a kind facade of happiness overtop a deeply sinister world. Arthur Lee was an unparalleled songwriter on this album and it's predecessor and it is a monstrous shame that Forever changes is never mentioned outside of greatest album lists. On my life this is the best album of the psychedelic era.

Notorious B.I.G. - Life After Death

It's really tragic that Biggie only recorded two albums before his death, but at least he had a perfect track record right? Life After Death is a pretty lengthy double album so some listening fatigue might set in, but for a two hour album this thing is crazy consistent. Biggie shows off both his tendency for lyrical miracle style rhyming and cohesive storytelling that make him popular with nearly every sector of the hip hop world. The crime centric lyricism with a large focus on the danger of the lifestyle is still the major player here. The songs about Biggie's sexual prowess have been tempered a bit too, they're usually a little more camp than on Ready To Die (props to Lil Kim for the line "suckin your dick is like smokin the roach" that's so brutal). Sean Combs is on production duties here and he kinda never misses. Overall it's a little more bloated than Ready To Die, but how can I complain? If we hadn't gotten this then we just wouldn't have gotten another Notorious B.I.G. album before his death after all.

#500 album gauntlet #james taylor #bob dylan #love #notorios b.i.g

1 note · View note

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

Photo

Words: 5,229 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is Part 7 of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Daryl continues to worry about Y/N and wonder about her past, but they continue to bond inside the safe walls of Alexandria.

Your name: submit What is this?

From that day forward, you and Daryl were almost inseparable. The growing closeness between you was obvious and spending your time together was like a subconscious habit you couldn’t break.

When he wasn’t around you, Daryl felt like something was just missing and it seemed you always ended up together, even if it was just to do nothing.

Not too long after your last bad run-in outside the walls, Deanna insisted on having a town get-together as a morale booster. There would be food and a bonfire and supposed comradery. You were lying on your couch when there was a knock on the front door earlier in the day. You winced from the continued soreness in your ribs as you climbed to your feet and when you rounded the corner into the hall you could see Aaron on the front stoop.

You immediately gave him a look when you pulled open the front door.

“Y/N,” he said with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

You nudged your head as a way to say “come in” and Aaron stepped inside. You walked back up the hallway and stood in the kitchen, waiting for him to follow. “I know that isn’t why you came by,” you said.

“It is too!” he argued. “Well… it’s at least one of the reasons…”

“Uh huh.”

“Tonight—”

“No,” you interrupted.

“But just—”

“Aaron, you know I hate this pretend bullshit…”

He sighed heavily. “It’s not pretend. It’s real. This place is real.”

“And so is what’s out there!” you argued back. “Daryl and I just almost died. That just happened! Am I supposed to forget about my busted ribs or this,” you asked, gesturing to the bruising on your neck, which thankfully was starting to fade at last.

Aaron’s face softened and turned apologetic. “No. Of course not. But if we stop trying, if all we do is think about what’s out there… what’s the point of living?”

Goddammit. He had a damn point. You sighed heavily and closed your eyes for a moment. You shook your head. “I hate you,” you said sarcastically.

He smiled. “Love you too. Starts at 7. I’ll wait for you to show up, and if you don’t, I’m going to come get you, okay?” He started to head toward the front door but turned around halfway. “Oh—and hey, maybe think about bringing Daryl with you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “…what’s that mean?” you asked suspiciously.

“What? Nothing! Just—you two are kind of alike in some ways. You know he won’t go unless someone drags him,” Aaron said.

“Uh huh…”

Aaron only grinned back at you. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said. You heard him open the front door and returned his shouted goodbye.

“Fuck,” you said aloud. You needed a shower and something to wear that would hopefully cover up worst of the bruising on your neck… At least you could count on dim lighting conditions since it was a bonfire.

That evening, Daryl was sitting on the steps of the house hoping, waiting to see if you would step outside. Finally, he saw you coming out onto the porch, shutting the door behind you. You were wearing a long sleeve thermal, with the sleeves partially pushed up to accommodate your wrist brace and the still balmy evening air. You had a light scarf looped around your neck, and Daryl knew that was purposeful. He got up as you came down the stairs and strode toward you.

You saw the archer and couldn’t help but smile at him as he approached. He had that stride, leading more strongly with one shoulder and foot than the other.

“Hey.” There was something about his deep voice that instantly put you at ease and you paused in the middle of the street.

“Hey,” you returned. You noticed again that his hair was shiny and looked soft, clean. He’d obviously cleaned up. “You going to this thing?” you asked.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shrugged. “I dunno. Was thinkin’ about it. You’re goin’?” he asked.

You nodded. “Gonna try. I guess,” you said with a laugh. “Aaron talked me into it…”

“Yeah, uhh—yeah, he came by here earlier, too.” Daryl rocked on his feet a little bit. He wished he was better with words because he really wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful, even just in your jeans and thermal, bruises and broken wrist and all. “Well, if you’re headin’ there I’ll walk with ya.”

You nodded and Daryl fell into stride beside you. As you approached the center of Alexandria, you could already hear loud laughter and conversation and there was a warm glow from lanterns and the bonfire. Kids were running around playing the kinds of games you did when the world was free—Ghost in the Graveyard and Hide and Seek. You shook your head as you took in the scene, your feet faltering a bit. “Surreal, isn’t it?” you said vaguely. Daryl couldn’t help glancing at your expression. Far from looking content or like you were enjoying the domestic scene, your brow was furrowed and there was a faraway look in your eyes.

“Mhm,” he acknowledged. “C’mon. Let’s get a drink at least.”

You followed him through the crowd, feeling somewhat more at ease, more okay with him beside you. Daryl handed you a cold beer and grabbed one for himself, nudging his head over toward the reservoir just outside the circle of firelight and bubble of conversation. As you left the refreshment area you snagged a bottle of whiskey too. You collapsed down onto a wooden bench with a sigh and stared toward the water. You took a long drink from your beer and drummed your fingernails against the glass. Daryl was standing nearby, his blue eyes narrowed as he stared out over the water.

“Hey,” you said, drawing his attention. “Come on and sit by me at least. Then they can’t accuse us of being totally anti-social.”

He let out a small snort in place of a laugh and rolled his eyes. His stomach fluttered a little as he complied and took the other seat next to you on the wooden loveseat, spinning his beer anxiously in his hands. The bench was small; your shoulders were almost touching.

“Look what else I got,” you said, reaching down and lifting up the bottle of whiskey. Instead of the reaction you expected, Daryl just gave you a calm but perceptive glance.

“Ya plannin’ on gettin’ drunk?” he asked sharply.

You stared down at the bottle in your hand and your eyes fell again on the brace on your wrist. “Maybe,” you said quietly, not even really sure you had said it aloud.

Daryl’s brow furrowed more deeply. “Why?” he drawled.

You shrugged. “Does there have to be a reason?”

He licked his lips and leaned back in his seat. “Usually is one, whether or not there needs to be.”

He was annoyingly observant. You’d known him a matter of weeks and he always seemed to see right through you. But you simply uncorked the bottle and took a pull. It burned your lips and left a warm trail all the way down into your stomach. You chased it with another sip of your beer and tried to distract yourself by just staring out at the water again, looking at the glowing orbs of porchlights in the distance reflecting there. Every so often you could feel Daryl’s eyes on you.

“What?” you said, finally turning to face him. You were only a few inches apart. You thought you saw his cheeks grow a bit pink for a moment, but in the dim light you couldn’t be sure.

“Nothin’,” he said, turning away and gazing out across the water the way you had been just a moment earlier.

You sat together in silence for quite a while and although it felt tense at first, both of you relaxed into it. You alternately sipped from your beer and took pulls off the whiskey, a dangerous pattern because you weren’t paying any attention to how much you were drinking and you were a lightweight even before alcohol was a rare commodity.

But the longer you sat, the more you felt like there was a bubble in your chest, growing bigger and bigger and waiting to burst. Finally, you couldn’t hold out in the strenuous anticipation any longer and spoke what was on your mind. “You ever wonder how this place is going to fall?”

Your words were quiet and definitely a bit slurred. Daryl’s eyes snapped over to yours which were already on his face, surprising him as they flickered back and forth between his, holding his gaze steadily. He gulped and nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted.

“Or when…” you added.

“Yeah…” he agreed again. “I do.”

You sighed and turned back to look at the water. “I think about it all the time,” you said softly, and Daryl thought he heard your voice break. You stood up abruptly and whipped your empty beer bottle into the water, watching the ripples expanding across the small pond. You wavered a little on your feet and Daryl jumped up, hands extended in case you needed to be steadied.

“I think ya better slow down on that booze,” he growled.

You simply gave him a defiant look and took another pull from the bottle. You held it out to him but he only stared you down.

“Nah. If you’re gonna be stupid, then I’m gonna be sober. And I’m gonna get ya some water,” he said, turning to leave. His momentum stopped when he felt your hand gentle on his arm. He looked back at you in shock and couldn’t help the kneejerk way his body stiffened. But it was only from surprise. A split second later his stomach flipped at the feeling of your hand there and he wished you would never take it off. But you had obviously perceived his tension and you withdrew it quickly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, sinking back down onto the bench, wanting to kick yourself for grabbing onto him.

The archer was left puzzled and chewed his bottom lip as he considered you a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

You were alone on the bench, waiting for Daryl to return, your head more than a little hazy from the whiskey, when footsteps approached. You knew they weren’t Daryl’s. They didn’t have his cadence and his footsteps were almost silent, even when he wasn’t hunting or tracking. You turned to see Spencer and internally groaned.

“Isn’t right that you’re over here all alone,” he said, walking around and sitting in the seat that was Daryl’s without any invitation.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, leaning away from him.

“Look pretty alone to me,” he said, downing what was left in his drink glass and actually taking the bottle of whiskey from you to refill it with a healthy share.

“Yeah, well, that seat—the one you’re in—it’s reserved. Already taken,” you said, snatching the bottle back.

He scoffed. “What? By that redneck? Seriously?”

You shot a sharp glare at Spencer, but knew the sting was likely diminished by the glazed look in your eyes on account of the booze. “You know his name. It’s Daryl Dixon. Not ‘that redneck’.”

“Whatever,” Spencer laughed. “Guy’s a nobody. Who cares?”

“I care. Now get the fuck out of his seat,” you growled.

Spencer only smiled back at you. “I think you’re just afraid that if you let me sit here, something might actually happen between us… Come on. You know there’s something here—as much as you fight it. Some spark.”

You stood up abruptly and stepped away from him, scoffing. “What the hell is wrong with you? I feel like I’ve been perfectly clear with you over and over again. Did you forget that I punched you out?” He seemed impervious to your refusal and only stood up too and stepped closer to you.

“Come on, Y/N. You know you want this,” he said, reaching a hand out and trailing his fingers down your arm.

You shrugged him off. “Don’t. touch me. I won’t tell you again.”

He soured somewhat immediately. “What is your problem? Is it seriously something to do with that hick you’re always hanging around? You have something going on with Daryl?” he said, mockingly. “Seriously? What a fucking joke. He’s a mess. Just some—dumb redneck. You deserve way better than him. You deserve someone with their shit together, someone who will string together more than two words at a time. Someone like me.”

You physically recoiled from him again. “You’re a fucking joke. Everything you’ve ever had in life has been handed to you and you’ve turned out to be a spineless, spoiled dick. You have no idea what’s out there and you wouldn’t last a day. You’d be lucky to ever be even a quarter of the man Daryl is.” Your jaw was set. “Now fuck off and go find someone else to bother,” you growled. “Try one of the other sheltered suburbanites. They’d probably fall for your bullshit.”

“I can’t believe this shit,” he muttered angrily, but you heaved a sigh of relief as he stalked off, hopeful that he would finally get the fucking hint for once and leave you alone for good. You turned back to stare at the water in front of you, gentle ripples still bouncing off the shore from when you’d tossed your bottle in. Your uninjured hand went to clasp around your wrist brace absently.

You didn’t know that Daryl was only a few feet away, returning with some water for you, and that he had been watching the entire interaction. And Spencer’s words had stung. Sure, Daryl knew Spencer was an idiot and he certainly had no high opinion of the moron but Spencer had also just verbalized some of Daryl’s own deepest insecurities about himself and even… about you and how you felt about him… and that had stung him deeply. But then came your words… and he felt complete disbelief, sure he had misheard. He felt paralyzed for a long moment as he puzzled over what you had said and how you had said it. But you had been forceful and purposeful. Daryl hadn’t imagined that.

He was so shocked that his boots were rooted in place. He stood there with that cup of water in his hand, dumbfounded, before he finally snapped himself out of it and went around the bench to stand beside you. “Hey,” he said, holding out the water. “I just, uhh—I just saw Spencer stalk off. He looked pretty pissed. Was he botherin’ ya? Are ya alright?”

You accepted the glass and drank deeply from it, suddenly realizing that you actually were pretty thirsty. You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine. And maybe now that fucking asshole will finally leave me alone… Idiot,” you mumbled, looking back at the water.

Daryl shifted awkwardly on his feet. His heart was racing as he thought about what you had said. He watched with concern as you took another drink of whiskey from the bottle, this time grimacing a little at the burn. “Would ya quit that?” he asked, drawing your eyes to him.

You studied him for a moment. “Wanna get out of here?” you asked, glancing back at the crowd around the bonfire. Daryl followed your eyes and then looked back at you. His expression was unsure. He was trying to guess at your meaning. “Just—go for a walk or something. We can at least tell Aaron we came,” you said.

He chewed his bottom lip for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, alright. Somebody oughta babysit ya anyway,” he snarked. You pulled a face at him in response and one corner of his mouth twitched up.

“Alright then, chaperone. C’mon,” you said. Bottle in hand, you started to follow the edge of the reservoir, moving away from the glow of the bonfire and the loud laughter and conversation. Daryl walked next to you, content just to walk quietly. You ended up on the other side of the pond from the party, leaning on the railing of the dock and looking back across the water. Daryl walked past you to stand at the end of the dock. You meandered over to him and took in his broad shoulders and muscular arms. You couldn’t help biting your bottom lip. Oh, fuck You are in trouble… you thought to yourself. “Can you swim, Dixon?” you asked him suddenly. He had just enough time to snap around to look at you before you were grinning at him and pushing him hard, your uninjured hand flat in the center of his chest. He went plummeting into the water backwards and came back up gasping as you laughed hard at his expense.

“Are ya frickin’ kiddin’ me?! The hell is wrong with ya?!” he barked at you, treading water. His long hair was plastered to his face. “Oh, yer dead,” he growled at you.

“I’m dead? What are ya gonna do?” You slowly paced backwards on the dock, a wide, genuine smile crinkling your eyes, and the sight of that was enough to make any real annoyance Daryl had evaporate. He couldn’t resist that megawatt smile. “You made it so easy! You were just standing right there at the end!” you said back. “What, I was supposed to just not take that opportunity?”

Daryl let out a chesty growl and pointed a finger at you. “You and whiskey should not mix.” He pushed his wet hair out of his face and swam back to the edge of the dock. “Well…” he said expectantly, staring at you.

You laughed again and shrugged. “Well?”

“At least come help me get the hell out of here,” he rumbled.

You let out a loud laugh. “How stupid do you think I am? I know you just want me to come over there so you can pull me in or splash me or something! Besides, I can’t pull you out. Wrist? Ribs? Remember?”

Daryl muttered under his breath and pulled himself out on the dock, his wet clothes sticking to him, complete with sopping wet boots. He stared down at the water pouring off him onto the wooden deck.

You pressed your lips together in a pleased attempt to stifle more laughter.

“You’re dead,” he growled again, looking up at you. “I ain’t babysittin’ your ass no more. I dun care if ya do fall in and drown,” he barked, starting to stalk toward you to leave the dock.

“Oh, come on, Daryl. It’s pretty funny. I mean, if it were reversed—”

“My damn boots,” he interrupted, giving you another glare.

You stared down at his feet and grimaced. “Right… well… come on. I’ll walk you back to your house so you can change. It’s the least I can do,” you said, trying hard to stifle more laughter at the glare the archer was giving you.

“I should throw ya in right now,” he said. “Maybe it’d sober ya up,” he said, shaking the water from his arms.

“Hey—I probably shouldn’t be swimming! I’m a cripple, remember?”

“Uh huh. Convenient,” he muttered. He started down the sidewalk, leaving wet footprints. You jogged a little to catch up with him and although he could feel your eyes on him he was determined not to look at you, trying to pretend he was still mad. It didn’t last long and when he next looked up you saw that one corner of his mouth was quirked up in a half-smile. Your grin widened. “Ya are gonna pay for this eventually, ya know,” he said gruffly.

“Worth it.”

You walked with Daryl in a comfortable silence all the way back to the house he was sharing with many of his group members, although some had split up and moved in to the other house by now. You froze suddenly at the bottom of the stairs as Daryl climbed them.

“Woah,” you said. You pressed a hand to your head.

Daryl glanced back at you and rolled his eyes, letting out a sharp exhale. “Whiskey?”

“Yeah, it’s like it all just hit me at once.”

He let out a gruff laugh. “It ain’t hittin’ ya at once. Ya been slurrin’ for over an hour now.” He came back down the steps and gently grasped your elbow, his heart jumping as his fingers made contact with you. “C’mon. Let’s get ya some more water.”

You smiled at him a little abashedly as he led you inside. It was the first time you’d ever been in their house and you looked around, taking in Rick’s spare pair of boots by the front door and Judith’s high chair at the table.

“Here,” he said, shoving a full water glass into your hands. “I’mma get some dry clothes and rinse off this pond smell all over me. Thanks to you…” You laughed again and shrugged.

“You look good all wet though,” you said, the words surprising you even as they slipped out.

Daryl’s blue eyes narrowed and he ducked his head, mumbling a gruff “whatever” before disappearing downstairs to retrieve some clothes, completely baffled and unable to come up with any response to that. He hoped you hadn’t been able to see the warmth he certainly felt in his face. He came back quickly with a towel over his shoulder and some clothes under his arm and pointed at you vehemently. “Now just sit down and quit with the damn whiskey. Don’t go anywhere.”

You saluted him and affected a serious face, resulting in him rolling his eyes at you again. But you left the whiskey bottle on the counter and took your glass of water into the living room with you. As you sunk down on the couch, you heard the shower turn on. You unwound the light scarf from around your neck and tossed it down carelessly. Daryl’s crossbow was sitting on the coffee table and you picked up one of the spare bolts from where it was laying on the table and spun it absently between your fingers. You collapsed back on the couch so you were laying out flat and stared up at the shapes of the shadows on the ceiling. They shifted a little as your vision seemed to spin. You planted a foot on the floor to ground yourself.

You knew it was stupid to get drunk… but sometimes you just wanted to try to forget.

That’s where Daryl found you when he came back out, now in his change of dry clothes. “Y/N?”

“Over here,” you said, still spinning his crossbow bolt between your fingers. He looked over the back of the couch at you, leaning on his forearms.

You smiled up at him, just a small one, but it sent his heart fluttering. He was always amazed that that smile was just for him.

“Well, I think I smell a bit less like pond now,” he drawled.

You leaned up on your elbow a little, ignoring the twinge in your ribs. You dramatically sniffed in his direction and he gave you a look. “Less pond,” you said. “For sure.”

Leaning up closed half the distance to Daryl as he looked down at you and you felt suddenly like the air was charged. Probably just the alcohol, you thought to yourself, gulping at the sudden lump in your throat.

Daryl felt it too and he suddenly couldn’t hold your gaze any longer, running away from the feeling. It was magnetic. But he told himself there was no possible way you were feeling the same thing and he straightened back up and just like that the electricity, the heaviness in the air evaporated.

You glanced down at his crossbow bolt in your hands with a fluttering in your chest. “Probably shouldn’t leave these lying around with a baby in the house, ya know,” you said, waggling the bolt at him.

“She ain’t crawling much yet. But yeah… you’re probably right.”

“It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” you said. Daryl gave you a questioning look, one eyebrow raised. “Judith.”

Daryl smiled and looked down at his hands on the back of the couch. “Ya. It is.” You liked the way his expression softened at the thought of her.

You strained to sit up straighter, an arm wrapping around your ribs. Daryl watched the tight expression of pain take your face over and then pass and he felt another hot flash of rage about what had been done to you outside the walls. And he had so many questions he wanted to ask you, so many worries… but you were so closed about it…

You spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re lucky. You have so many people, good people, and—they all obviously care about you. A lot.” Your voice was soft and Daryl finally looked up again and met your eyes with his. He felt a rush of nerves.

“Ya. Don’t make any damn sense, really,” he drawled.

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

Daryl felt those annoying butterflies flit to life in his stomach again. God, you hardly had to say anything, do anything for that to happen. What the hell was wrong with him? “Ya got people, too,” he said. “That care about ya.”

You let out a somewhat wry laugh. “I’ve got Aaron and Eric. Aaaand… that’s about it,” you said. You discarded his bolt back on the table.

“Nah. Ya got more than that.”

Daryl’s response drew your eyes back to his in surprise and you swore that his gaze was flitting between your eyes and your lips. Your lips parted slightly of their own accord. You felt suddenly breathless and the space between the two of you was charged again.

You gulped at the tightness in your throat suddenly and looked away, running scared. “I’m just—I’m not good at letting people in,” you whispered, not meaning it to come out so softly.

“And ya think I am?” Daryl laughed gruffly. “People have a way of gettin’ in anyway. If they want to.”

You were struggling to come up with something to say to that when the front door suddenly opened. Daryl straightened up and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You suddenly remembered you weren’t the only two people in the world.

“Oh, good! Daryl, you’re—oh!” It was Carol. “I didn’t realize we had company!” Her voice had been much more relaxed, much lower when she first spoke, but her tone and face suddenly brightened when she realized you were there.

You climbed to your feet and gave her a tight smile. “I was just heading out actually. It’s late,” you said, shooting a glance over at Daryl. He rubbed a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck.

“Ya, alright. I’ll walk ya out,” he murmured. He could feel Carol watching the two of you all the way across the kitchen and up into the front hall.

You stopped in the entryway to turn and give him a small smile. “Thanks. For tonight,” you said quietly. He gave you a dumbfounded look.

“I didn’t do anything,” he murmured. “’Cept not kill ya after ya pushed me in the damn pond.”

You laughed at his confusion. “Yeah. You did.” You turned to leave but froze once again with your hand on the doorknob. “Oh—and you can tell Carol she can knock off the suburban sweetheart act with me, okay? I’m not buying it. I’ll see ya, Daryl. Goodnight.”

Daryl spun around to see Carol standing at the end of the hall, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the space you had just occupied. “Did ya hear—”

“Huh,” Carol interrupted. “Yeah. She’s the only person to figure that out so far.” She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded before looking back at the archer. “I like her.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Ya, she’s annoyingly observant. Rick tell ya she knew he was a cop immediately, too?”

“Well, sorry to interrupt your date,” she said with a small smile. “She didn’t have to leave just because I showed up.”

“Would ya quit?” he rasped gruffly. “Wasn’t a ‘date,’ alright? We’re just—” he shrugged and Carol raised her eyebrows at him knowingly.

“Wait—why is your hair all wet?” she asked, moving closer to Daryl.

He groaned and rolled his eyes again. “She fuckin’ pushed me into the damn pond,” he admitted in a low growl. Carol let out a loud guffaw.

“Oh, yeah. I definitely like her,” she said with a grin. “You should bring her around more often. Let everyone get to know her.”

Daryl rolled his eyes again and headed for the living room to collect his bow. “Quit tryin’a meddle, would ya?”

Carol laughed and tried to look affronted. “I haven’t done anything! God, you’re so sensitive,” she teased him. “What’s that?”

Daryl’s hand closed around your scarf, which you had discarded carelessly on the floor. “Y/N’s.”

“Little warm still for scarf weather isn’t it?” Carol asked, peering at it curiously.

“Ya. She was—she was wearin’ it because of the bruises on her neck. One of those assholes was—” he broke off as he remembered turning the corner and seeing the guy on top of you with his hands around your neck. He felt another hot flush of rage. “When we were outside the walls, one of ‘em was choking her. She’s got marks all around her neck. Probably didn’t want anyone else seein’ em.”

“God. I couldn’t see them in here. It’s too dark,” Carol muttered. “That’s horrible,” she said. Daryl nodded, feeling the soft fabric between his fingers.

“Mhm.” He gave one more nod to Carol. “G’night,” he said, heading immediately for his space in the basement, the scarf still dangling from his hand. He flopped down on his back on the bed, running the soft fabric between his fingers. His stomach was turning as he thought of you, that brilliant smile you gave up so rarely staying in his mind’s eye. He squeezed his eyes shut and chewed his bottom lip, trying to banish it. The hell were all these damn feelings? The archer finally let out a frustrated sigh and set your scarf down on his bedside table before putting out the flame of his lantern and rolling onto his side, chasing sleep.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #my gifs #daryl dixon series #alexandria #sacrifice #part 7 #daryl dixon fluff #daryl fluff

494 notes · View notes

bxllafanficc · 3 years

Text

Lady of mischief- Part five

Pairing: Loki x Greek!goddess f!reader

Summary: Asgard is having a change of power so there are several events Loki has to get right before he can announce victory against his brother as the next king. But one lady’s approval will change the whole outcome if the stakes are right. That lady is you, intended heir to the throne of Olympus but tied down to a marriage of convenience with one of the princes of Asgard. The prince you choose to marry will be the next king but you refuse to let yourself be a pawn in this game for power. Loki, with his intentions to take you as his queen has far greater reason to marry you than just for the reason of being king. You however, would rather cut off your left arm than exposing yourself for the fact that there’s another purpose besides Loki getting a throne to sit on.

One week later and you found yourself at a sea cliff on Asgard’s largest known bay. You’d brought Henna with you, just like every other day since you got officially banished. Now you couldn’t stand being in the castle and spent almost every waking hour in the city, avoiding the royal family at all cost. Odin even demanded you ate breakfast with them since you were an honored guest but of course you never showed.

Zeus left the day after the banquet and not a word from your parents. They probably didn’t even blink the second he told them their daughter had been locked in with an entire castle of self-centered gods.

“Gods are assholes!” You threw a rock at the size of a basketball into the water and glared at the splash, secretly hoping your father Poseidon would sense it and feel guilt. That was impossible, of course. A Greek god holds no power at the realm of Norse gods.

“My lady, you’re a god.” Henna stayed seated at a comfy rock she found the first day coming to the cliff. She said it was the perfect fit for her to relax her always perfect posture without sloping. You always told her you don’t care if she sloped at non-formal occasions.

“Yes, Henna. Me included.” You were just surprised she didn’t faint because you used such a mundane word, a thing you picked up from the humans on a visit once.

“I can’t stop thinking about what I said to the prince. It was a decade ago, yes, but he still remembers it. Probably thinks about it every time he sees me!” You tried to concentrate on the real reason you were here. To practice. You’d never win anyone’s respect if you couldn’t control your powers. You started with the hardest, the sea; a force that doesn’t want to be tamed.

A pulsing body of water drove up from the sea and flew in front of you. The goal was to force it into a perfect shaped globe, forcing the sea to obey so thoroughly. To your luck the liquid started obeying your wish when you put all your concentration to use. Almost a solid globe. You’d only need a few more seconds to-

“And I’ve already said you should apologize to him. Who knows, you two might hug it out and the next thing you know you wake up naked in his chambers the next day.”

The almost globe burst into millions of droplets and salt burned in your eyes at the shock. Your vision blurred out and you coughed on the water that went down your airways. Heat went to your cheeks and you looked down at your soaked clothes.

“Goodness, Henna! You’ve spent too much time with the Asgardian maids.

You can’t say stuff like that!” Your voice was still faint from the couching as you scolded her. You had to put your focus to use once again to extract the water into fine droplets hanging midair in front of you. The dress was far too pretty to get stained with saltwater. The jewelry looked surreal in the light the dress radiated. Every thread of the fabric seemed to be created of pure shining starlight or liquid diamond. The dress held the beauty of a thousand stars.

No one knew where it appeared from, however. You had your own guess, of course. It laid neatly folded on your work desk one afternoon and if it was the first born prince, he would’ve left some grand note with it as well. The dress just laid there in absence of anyone claiming the rights. An apology for sure.

“Well, you said asshole if I’m not mistaken.” There it was. Henna cleared her throat as a sign to drop the subject but you knew she had a big smirk on her lips. You didn’t want to turn around to confirm it.

“Let’s try again, my lady. Why don’t you try claiming the entire wave coming right there?”

You analyzed the wave and realized what Henna was asking. The size of it was huge and it would surely crash into the cliff side underneath you. Your job was to stop that impact and lift it up to your level.

It was dead silent as you waited for the wave to arrive. With a last big engaging try you felt the power of the sea surging through you. Blocking the impact of the wave lashing itself forwards was similar feeling to getting that same wave right in the face like a wall of bricks. But it was not in vain. The water started to rise to the cliff you stood on and you had to replace your feet for a better stance. Every second the sea threatened to leash out of your hold.

“How mighty.” A soothing voice, yet laced with viciousness, appeared only a hot breath away from your ear and you screamed.

The scent of new books hit you too late and the wave had already been unleashed on the threat behind you. The water had devided around your frame, covering Henna and Loki from head to toe in seawater without showing mercy. The sea held no mercy. Right…

A moment of silence and Loki still had his eyes tightly shut, his entire body frozen in place. He’d been less than an inch from you and you hadn’t noticed. He was still less than an inch from your bodies touching.

He slowly went to wipe one of his eyes clean of water and tasted the layer of salt glancing his lips. You cursed yourself for noticing the shameful way his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. Did he take the warm weather with him somehow or why was it suddenly growing hot again? And why did he look so different with the drenched clothes hugging his frame, hair slicked back. The dripping from the each strand fell and caressed the heavy outline of his collarbones.

What were you even thinking about. He must’ve done something. A spell of some sort.

“That was unnecessary.” He said it as simple as ever and it made you grit your teeth.

Stop staring at his abs, dammit!, you thought.

It had to be a spell. This couldn’t be real.

“Why are you here?” You weren’t prepared for this. He was supposed to be on a mandatory meeting right now. Did he just right up ditch that?

“You’re no fun… I came with a proposition.”

“Of what sorts?” You eyed him with careful detail, trying to sense a trick of some sort. His gaze lingered on your appearance a little too long from what seemed appropriate. It was a thorough scan up and down and the soul behind the eyes held a strange glow. Of course he was shocked you wore the dress he bought.

“We can teach each other things. You tell me stories and history of the Ancient Greece, your kind’s gracious era and I teach you illusion magic.” He could tell your raised eyebrow was a sense of confusion. “Like, combining water and light into something entirely new. I’ll teach you how to conjure spells-“

“Like the one you’re doing now?” It just slipped out of you and it was too late to ignore. It was now his turn to look confused. The tip of his tongue came out once again to wipe off some salt and you looked away.

“What?” He asked.

“Whaaat?” You repeated along with a dumb giggle you had no idea where it came from. The already tight fabric of Loki’s shirt was riding up from the wet fabric rolling itself up. You really did try not to think about how the pearls of droplets looked like glitter in the sun on his toned stomach, but realized that you already failed. You swallowed a hot lump of dryness that caught in your throat.

So no spell then?

Loki sighed and cracked a tense muscle in his neck, a green light drying him and his clothes from bottom and up in a matter of a second (Henna remained drenched).

“Just say no quickly, there’s no reason to drag it out. I’ll leave you be when you’ve answered.” You bit your bottom lip and actually took a moment to think about it.

“Actually, it doesn’t sound too awful. But don’t you already know everything about my realm there is to know?” That earned a genuine smile from him and you thought about how that was a rare sight.

“You’d be surprised of how understocked Asgard’s library is when it comes to your history, your highness.”

“And stop calling me that! It’s weird. You never did it before so why do it now?”

“I thought you disliked me being informal.”

“Oh do shut up!”

Loki laughed and nodded in agreement. It was just then you realized how you were still inappropriately close to him and how his breath smelled of something sweet. Something brushed past your hand and Loki retracted his own with a flinch and an apologetic look.

“I’m s-“ Loki started but Henna’s loud cough and pointed glare.

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“I don’t… I don’t find you disgusting.” You watched his expression and expected him to get upset but nothing in his body language seemed tense. If anything, his jaw and shoulders seemingly dropped.

“That’s like the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” His chuckle was bright but your gut still twisted in shame.

“No but like, I don’t find your touch disgusting. I never did, actually-“ The amount of truth you entrusted this man with was almost too much. The words were so tense on the way out that you started coughing.

“Then why did you-“

“I don’t know! No more questions though. All I know is that it was far from unpleasant and that’s all you need to know for now.” Loki raised his eyebrow, lips slightly parted. You understood you’d talked before your brain caught up with you again.

“No, that came out wrong. But you know what I mean!” Your hands fiddled on the edges of the dress, only to flatten out the fabric right after. The dry lump just couldn’t seem to go down.

“Oh I sure do… And I agree with you on how we speak to each other. I hate speaking to you formally! It doesn’t sit right for me especially. Then I wouldn’t be able to say the stuff I actually want.”

“Like what?” You regretted asking immediately but couldn’t bring yourself to step back as he leaned in.

Lips brushed against your earlobe and his scent was all up in your world, along with the surreal warmth that always seemed to follow him.

“That dress looks absolutely ravishing on you, (Y/n). I never thought you’d wear it to be honest. We’re you really planning on fleeing the castle on such an occasion and not letting me see any of the beauty?” His voice turned low again and the always present rasp seemed extra present today.

The dry lump finally went down.

“You could’ve gifted it to someone else if you wanted to see the dress on an actual body instead of a hanger.”

A low rumbling came from his chest and erupted in his throat. It took you a moment to realize that the sound was a chuckle.

“See, I don’t think that’s true. Yes, any person could wear it, but I can’t think of anyone else who could wear one of the most beautiful things crafted ever and the most beautiful thing in the room would still remain the person in it.”

You couldn’t move your body. It was frozen in place even though the blood in your veins was literally boiling. You were almost thankful that he was so close. That way he wouldn’t see your red cheeks.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Why would I lie about it? Meet me in the library tomorrow after breakfast. I look forward to our time together.”

(A/N: Hi! Don’t hesitate to comment on each chapter what you thought about it/if you liked it since that keeps me motivated to keep writing. Also reblog so my story reaches a wider audience, if you really liked it! Your support is much appreciated. Also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this series. Have a good day, lovelies!)

Find the other parts in my MASTERLIST

Tag list: @liffydaze

@queen-of-mischief

@girl-obsessed-with-things

@obsessivelysearching

@reverse-iak

@perpetually-exhausted-and-tired

61 notes · View notes

queerdraws · 3 years

Photo

Cleaning Out the Rooms - a Harry Du Bois playlist Alcoholism, getting better?, memory loss, being a superstar, The Final Dream, forming political opinions, bad breakups, past transgressions, being a strange and inconsistent being, and persisting despite it all 26 songs (r-slur warning for Turnin’ on the Screw - QotSA)

including: David Bazan, They Might be Giants, The Mountain Goats, British Sea Power (of course), Queens of the Stone Age, and more. Full track listing and lyric excerpts under the cut

---- Turnin' on the Screw - Queens of the Stone Age (This is the opening track on Era Vulgaris, seemed like an appropriate opening song / introduction to Harry's general essence) ----

... They say those who can't just instruct others And act like victims or jilted lovers You can't lose it if you never had it Disappear, man, do some magic

Want a reason? How's about because You ain't a has been if you never was

I sound like this

Scared to say what is your passion So slag it all, bitter's in fashion Fear of failure's all you've started The jury is in, verdict: r******d

I'm so tired, and I'm wired too I'm a mess; I guess I'm turning on the screw

---- Bless this Mess - David Bazan (Harry being a drunk and a general mess, things going in cycles) ----

God bless the man who stumbles God bless the man who falls God bless the man who yields to temptation God bless the woman who suffers God bless the woman who weeps God bless the children trying her patience Trouble getting over it Is what you're in for So pour yourself another 'Cause it'll take a steady pair of hands Holy or unholy ghost Well now I can't tell, but either way you cut it You should get some distance if you plan to take a stand God bless the house divided God bless the weeds in the wheat God bless the lamp hid under a bushel I discovered hell to be the poison in the well So I tried to warn the others of the curse But then my body turned on me I dreamt that for eternity My family would burn Then I awoke with a wicked thirst

---- Don’t Sit Down Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair - Arctic Monkeys (general Harry vibe. off-kilter) ----

Break a mirror, roll the dice

...

Find a well-known hard man and start a fight Wear your shell suit on bonfire night Fill in a circular hole with a peg that's square

But just don't sit down 'cause I've moved your chair

...

Bite the lightning and tell me how it tastes Kung fu fighting on your roller skates Do the Macarena in the devil's lair

But just don't sit down 'cause I've moved your chair

---- I've Been Seeing Things - They Might be Giants (feels very Harry's detecting style, surreal happenstance) ----

I've been seeing things I've been seeing things Don't have answers but I've got lots of questions

Carpool's up, someone gets out Hand someone else a violin case I'm trying not to let them see me looking at them But I'm pretty sure there was a dollar sign

Keep your eyes peeled and you'll see stuff Which at first seems like unimportant irrelevant things

Can't just ask some perfect stranger "What are you hiding in your violin case?" Shadow them at a distance instead Try to get inside their head

Where'd they go now (Where'd they go now) I got distracted (I got distracted) Begging me to stay (Begging me to stay) Wearing a disguise (Wearing a disguise) That lady (That lady) Must have ditched the kid (Must have ditched the kid) Hidge the down (Hidge the down) [???] What's she up to now? (What's she up to now?) Trembling cold by the airport road Watching them stack containers in rows Seagulls, helicopter, windblown trash Something doesn't add up

I've been seeing things I've been seeing things No one asks but I'm packing all kinds of attention

Later I'm watching a news report Camera pans across a crime scene Unremarked upon detail Empty violin case Okay maybe not the same case Different material, different color Still you have to wonder Am I the only one who knows

I've been seeing things

---- Music is the Victim - Scissor Sisters (breakup Harry. drug-addled disco Harry) ----

I left my heart in San Fransisco It's at some motherfucking disco The people there where dancin' on it And that's including Ms. Matronic

Hell if music is the victim then so am I Of lovin' and a cheatin' the snake gon' bite I beg and I scream and I cuss and I cry If music is the victim then so am I

Of your bad fun Money's all gone but you need some Lover's on the phone but they got none Daddy ain't home from the dog run And you're riding through the city with a shotgun

I left my bag in Pasadena Where all them girls was doin' Tina Them bitches sure were crunked up on it I said I'd rather smoke some chronic

Hell if music is the victim then so am I Of lovin' and a cheatin' the snake gon' bite I beg and I scream and I cuss and I cry If music is the victim then so am I

---- Down to Your Soul - Right Away, Great Captain! (about the Final Dream and pre-game Harry) ----

And I see things I actually don't see. I knew it wasn't actually you a few feet from my reach. I looked into your eyes and I began to lose my teeth, And I felt you were dreaming the same thing.

And I know you don't know what I'm capable of But if you give me just one more minute I'm sure That you would be shaking right down to your soul And I'd hope that the fear of the lord brings me home. I'm a man in a body of water so tall Could swallow you whole and forget where he's going But I carved a map in the back of my arm Don't worry I'm coming home I said don't worry cause I'm coming home

---- No Surprises - Radiohead (suicidal harry, pre-game. Maybe immediately before the game. A little Big Communism Builder) ----

A heart that's full up like a landfill A job that slowly kills you Bruises that won't heal You look so tired, unhappy Bring down the government They don't, they don't speak for us I'll take a quiet life A handshake of carbon monoxide

And no alarms and no surprises

…

This is my final fit My final bellyache

…

No alarms and no surprises, please (get me out of here)

---- Cleaning Out the Rooms - British Sea Power (The instrumental part seems to have been used / referenced for a background music track. And also the name of that one thought project. as expected, it fits beautifully. Wake up in a new life, down by the seaside. Cleaning out the rooms. She’ll be coming soon.) ----

Where life is good in a way Swept away upon our hearts, in cold coal ceremonial On a rainy day, hang it up Get the vacuum and suck it in Cleaning out the rooms, I'll clean it up Dark cloud, drifting out of view I'll never know, she'll be coming soon, that is all I'll wake up in a new life, ship shape and shoe shine Cleaning out the rooms, I'll clean it up She'll be coming soon Drifting into view, way in the west, white cloud If everybody knew, I never knew, she'll be coming soon I'll wake up in a new life, down by the seaside In a new life, down by the seaside Cleaning out the room, I'll clean it up Dark clouds, she'll be coming soon Down the chimney, out the window, that is all

---- In the Morning of the Magicians - The Flaming Lips (waking up with no memory, but bad vibes) ----

In the morning I awake

And I couldn't remember What is love and what is hate

The calculations error

Oh, what is love and what is hate? And why does it matter? Is to love just a waste? And how can it matter?

Oh...

As the dawn began to break I had to surrender The universe will have its way Too powerful to master

---- Once in a Lifetime - Talking Heads (Huh?? What's happening?? same as it ever was, same as it ever was) ----

And you may ask yourself, "How do I work this?" And you may ask yourself, "Where is that large automobile?" And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful house" And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful wife"

...

Same as it ever was, same as it ever was Same as it ever was, same as it ever was

...

And you may ask yourself, "What is that beautiful house?" And you may ask yourself, "Where does that highway go to?" And you may ask yourself, "Am I right? Am I wrong?" And you may say to yourself, "My God! What have I done?"

---- Don't Change - David Bazan (alcoholism, cycles of wanting to get better, depression, slipping in to old coping mechanisms, plus a little bit in here about dreams. This is a song for if Harry continues partying after the memory wipe, I suppose) ----

He seems nice You met him once or twice But you wonder what he's like When he's sober

Then again You hear he has no friends Just people that he spins To do him favors

When he wakes up in the morning he tells himself Today I'll make a change But falling into his bed at night he thinks Man it was a beautiful day to stay the same

I'm so deep That only in my sleep Do the secrets that I keep Float to the surface

So I hold them down Till they don't make a sound Like they accidentally drowned Except on purpose

And when I wake up in the morning I tell myself Today I'll make a change But falling into my bed at night I think Man it was a beautiful day to stay the same

---- Airbag - Radiohead (born again, back to save the universe) ----

In the next world war In a jackknifed juggernaut I am born again In the neon sign scrolling up and down I am born again

In an interstellar burst I am back to save the universe

In a deep, deep sleep of the innocent I am born again In a fast German car I'm amazed that I survived An airbag saved my life

In an interstellar burst I am back to save the universe

---- A Comet Appears - The Shins (puppeting a man-body around pretending to be a living thing. drinking, depression) ----

One hand on this wily comet Take a drink just to give me some weight Some uber-man I'd make I'm barely a vapor

They shone a chlorine light on A host of individual sins Let's carve my aging face off Fetch us a knife Start with my eyes Down so the lines Form a grimacing smile

Close your eyes to corral a virtue Is this fooling anyone else? Never worked so long and hard To cement a failure

---- The Communists Have the Music - They Might be Giants (Big Communism Builder, but especially Harry's shallow understanding of Communism. Party-boy communist) ----

I got handed an Ayn Rand sandwich Straight from the can, it tasted so bland I asked a lass to pass me a glass Of Engels' Conditions of the Working Class

Right away they dragged me to the committee To explain my un-American activity They're gonna see they made a mistake If they'd only let me play my mixtape

I'm not partial to the martial Or the plutocrats, in their beaver hats And the fascists have the outfits But I don't care for the outfits What I care about is music And the communists have the music

---- Harlem Roulette - The Mountain Goats (Harry thinking about Guillame le Million? Generally: that vibe of secret, maybe supranatural machinations happening just outside your field of view. A kinda lonely, pensive vibe, sprinkled with past drug use, driving...memory) ----

Unknown engines underneath the city Steam pushing up in billows through the grates Frankie Lymon's tracking "Seabreeze" in a studio in Harlem Its 1968. Just a pair of tunes to hammer out. Everybody's off the clock by 10:00. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. Feels so free when I hit the avenue. Nothing like a New York summer night. Every dream's a good dream, Even awful dreams are good dreams, If you're doing it right. Remember soaring higher than a cloud. Get pretty sentimental now and then. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. And four hours north of Portland, a radio flips on. And some no one from the future remembers that you're gone. Armies massing in the dusky distance. Ghosted in the ribbon microphone. Leave a little mark on something, maybe, Take the secret circuit home. Nothing in the shadows but the shadow hands. Reaching out to sad, young, frightened men. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again.

---- Suture up Your Future - Queens of the Stone Age (Harry's gonna fix his mess) ----

I'm gon' suture up my future I ain't jaded, I just hate it See, I been down too long It's kinda hard to explain Burned and buried, all I carried

...

Tried explaining unexplained Got caught in the plan All this talking at once I've been giving my love away To the things that tear it apart I'm gonna suture up my future

---- Lampshades on Fire - Modest Mouse (Harry trashing his body / having already trashed his body, just kinda a Harry-vibe song) ----

...

Well, the lampshade's on fire when the lights go out This is what I really call a party now Well, fear makes us really, really run around A-this one's done so where to now? Our eyes light up, we have no shame at all Well, you all know what I'm talking about The room lights up, but we're still dancing around We're having fun, having some fun now

Pack up again, head to the next place Where we'll make the same mistakes Open one up and let it fall to the ground Pile out the door when it all runs out

...

As our feelings are getting hurt Oh, we want you to do the work Our ass looks great inside these jeans Well, we want just our water clean

Well, this is how it's always been And this is how it's going to be So you just move on

---- Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes (Harry "can-opener" du Bois. Talking to the skills, solving things, detecting, generally being a terrifying force of nature / the pale) ----

I'm gonna fight 'em all A seven nation army couldn't hold me back They're gonna rip it off Taking their time right behind my back

And I'm talking to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette

And the message coming from my eyes Says, "Leave it alone"

Don't wanna hear about it Every single one's got a story to tell Everyone knows about it From the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell

And if I catch it coming back my way I'm gonna serve it to you And that ain't what you want to hear But that's what I'll do

And the feeling coming from my bones Says, "Find a home"

---- Body of Years - Mother Mother (Harry's past that follows him, Harry's half-decomposed body that marks the years of abuse it's been through) ----

All the remains of a cadaver of days I keep hidden away, keep them there just in case I wanna visit that place Blow the dust from the bones Off a body of years that I leave all alone Just a body of years

See the skin disappears And the blood turns to stone In a body of years now a pile of bones Like a sheet of veneer Each a piece of my soul It's a body of years that I leave all alone

It's Just a body of years, now a pile of bones You know Old soul who falls down Can't stop trippin' on these Old roads I go down Get back up and get my foot in the door And my face on the page Make my mark in the world With a bat and a blade It's a body of work that you can't ever change Like a body of years that you take to your grave It's just a body of years that I leave all alone It's just a body of years, now a pile of bones Like a sheet of veneer Each a piece of my soul

---- The Cap-m - They Might be Giants (just a Harry vibe song) ----

When I talk you keep looking away from me 'Cause you probably think that I'm high on pot But I'm not, I'm not

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm You say it's such a joke But I don't see you laughing

People seem to think you can't be called the Cap'm Unless you drive a boat Well, I don't I don't

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm Go ahead and mess with me You'll find out what will happ'm

...

Did you say what I think you just said My hat looks good on me? I agree, I agree

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm You act like it's a joke But I don't see you laughing

---- Broke - Modest Mouse (oops! all mistakes. Broke it all. Want to forget it but can't) ----

Broke account, so I broke a sweat I've bought some things that I sort of regret about now Broke my pace and ran out of time Sometimes I'm so full of shit that it should be a crime

Broke a promise 'cause my car broke down Such a classic excuse it should be bronze by now Broke your glasses, but it broke the ice You said that I was an asshole and I paid the price

Broken hearts want broken necks I've done some things that I'd love to forget, but I can't

Broke up, and I'm relieved somehow It's the end of the discussions that just go 'round and 'round And 'round, and 'round, and 'round ... It was like everything was evidence of broken time

You're living on fancy wine You'll drink that turpentine You're starting conversations You don't even know the topic

---- Spent Gladiator 2 - The Mountain Goats (Defiantly alive) ----

Like a spent gladiator, Crawling in the coliseum dust. Who can count on his remaining limbs, All the people he can trust. Like the one who stands behind him, Cheering him on. Ecstatic when he stands defiant, Wild with abandon when he's gone. Just stay alive. Keep your eyes on the pay line. Like a village on the step, About to get collectivized. When the men emerge with rifles from the haystack, Everybody looks surprised. Like the mice in the forgotten grain, Way up on the top shelf. Like someone who's found a small town to escape to, Keeps one eye on his abandoned, former self. Stay in the game. Just try to play through the pain. Like a fighter who's been told its finally time for him to quit. Show up in shining colors, And then stand there and get hit. Like the clock that ticks in Dresden, When the whole town's been destroyed. Like the nagging flash of insight, You're always desperate to avoid. Like the bloody-knuckled gunman, Still stationed at the breach. Like that board game with the sliders, And the children on the beach. Stay alive. Maybe spit some blood at the camera. Just stay alive. Stay forever alive.

---- You Only Live Once - The Strokes (just general Harry, talking about the skills, choices you can make, what kind of cop you can be) ----

Twenty-nine different attributes Only seven that you like, oh-oh Twenty ways to see the world, oh And twenty ways to start a fight, oh

...

And countless odd religions too It doesn't matter which you choose, oh, no One stubborn way to turn your back, oh This I've tried and now refuse, oh

Oh don't, don't, don't get up I can't see the sunshine Oh, I'll be waiting for you, baby 'Cause I'm through Sit me down Shut me up I'll calm down And I'll get along with you

---- Pork and Beans - Weezer (Superstar Cop) ----

They say I need some rogaine to put in my hair Work it out at the gym to fit my underwear Oakley makes the shades to transform a tool You'd hate for the kids to think that you've lost your cool

I'ma do the things that I wanna do I ain't got a thing to prove to you I'll eat my candy with the pork and beans Excuse my manners if I make a scene I ain't gonna wear the clothes that you like I'm fine and dandy with the me inside One look in the mirror and I'm tickled pink I don't give a hoot about what you think

Everyone likes to dance to a happy song With a catchy chorus and beat so they can sing along Timbaland knows the way to reach the top of the charts Maybe if I work with him I can perfect the art

No, I don't care I don't care

---- Freaks - Surf Curse (head filled with skills, The Final Dream) ----

Don't kill me just help me run away From everyone I need a place to stay Where I can cover up my face Don't cry, I am just a freak

I am just a freak(x3)

My head is filled with parasites Black holes cover up my eyes I dream of you almost every night Hopefully I won't wake up this time

I won't wake up this time(x3)

---- The Smallest Church in Sussex - British Sea Power (oh yeah this is mandatory) ----

#disco elysium #harry du bois #harrier du bois #hdb #disco elysium playlist #generally wanted to keep this playlist fun to listen to despite the subject matter to there are still a lot of songs w good beats #communists have the music gets stuck in my head all the time #also sorry to repost this #i forgot to tag anything and if you edit something to add tags it doesn't seem to show up in search

102 notes · View notes

rsmrymnt-tea · 2 years

Note

Hey!! Since Dola's an artist what do you think her art looks like? What mediums do they prefer? Are there any artists that she really looks up to?

- 🐝

Okay okay! Making this took a long while because I overthought things as usual. And like... I know that almost all of these have statements to the work but I'm coming from a mostly formalistic/aesthetic/vibe place when I give these as pegs for what her work looks like >.<

I didn't include any pictures since it felt a little... odd? To be taking pictures off of the artists' Instagrams and sites + I would absolutely need more than the 10 picture limit >.>;; But links are there!

So like... Dola as an artist has two identities she presents. One is as herself, the other is as a collective (and I guess you could say that these are her two eras since at some point she can't really label her art with her name anymore?)

As herself, she works mostly with painting and illustration, eventually involving embroidery and thread painting in her output. Growing up, she dipped her hands into an assortment of different media due to her family all wanting her to take up their specific craft, but in the end she found herself drawn to the same media her parents use.

(For reference, I picture her father's art to be similar to Alphonse Mucha's—but not his art nouveau work, but much more along the lines of The Slav Epic mixed with Peter Mohrbacher's The Angelarium pieces. Meanwhile her mother's work would be along the lines of what Miriam Shimamura and Ekaterina Koroteva do except imagine the themes to be more supernatural baroque and rococo? Both parents are very influential to her own work.)

At her peak, Dola's art style would be something like... A mix between Nicolai Fechin and Mildred Hankinson? Along with a touch of Zivko Kondic and Lucy Davies, with the embroidery and thread painting aspect coming in for added dimension to the work, giving it something akin to a low relief soft sculpture. Her work would often have a lot of moody lighting to them and more surreal and fantastical subjects, usually set in some darkness or at night. Sometimes they'd be a twist on realism, showing scenes of domestic bliss except its with a demon or angel or some other kind of monster >.> Her time in the Devildom + with demons/angels/sorcerers + working with magic has had an impact on what she likes depicting, though she’s careful not to make anything like… too specific.

At some point though, she realizes that like… she can’t really keep using her name forever and that with magic, she can do a lot more with her art than what she’s already doing. So she creates a pseudonym that makes it sound like she’s a collective of artists when it’s really just her on her own doing a lot of work to make sure her real identity doesn’t get out. Magic and bribery and having some fellow sorcerers integrated into the art world go a long way.

(Though idk what name to give the ‘artist collective’ yet. I keep wanting something relating to the fact that she’s still around long after she should’ve died as a little joke for herself lol)

And I think Dola would take the event of establishing the new art collective/identity as a chance to branch out into trying new things that she hadn't really had the chance to. The most prolific of her work would be sculpture and textile/fiber art, usually in the form of high relief mixed media on canvas/flat base of choice or installation art that can either be purely decorative or be functional.

Thankfully I found things that match the vibe I have in my head for what she does. Works like these from Andrea Silva Guzman, these (x, x, x) works from Kellen Meyer, and at times work like Janet Echelman's and this gorgeous installation that I just found out about by Bruce Munro. I think she explores different media a bit and builds an insane portfolio over the years, but what remains consistent is the organic forms and a bit of... Whimsy? Fantasticality? And I think a touch of her artistry from her earlier years always remains. But she's a lot more secure and relaxed about her work while working with this identity, and it reflects in how much more wondrous everything is I think.

dgsfdjg Does any of this make sense... Kinda have to bash everything together in your head a bit to get the full picture, but overall I think these get the point across >.>

I actually have this idea that at some point, at the end of her 'mortal' life where she's expected to die, she creates this insane exhibit inspired by time in the Devildom as a final project before she retires as herself forever.

Imagine a large dark room, likely a black box theater, the Devildom night sky projected at the ceiling and just enough light to find your way around. There are seven large paintings of each of the brothers' avatars, though they're mixed with high relief scupturing so that each animal looks as though it were coming at you from the painting. And each one is detailed with fiber and other media to make it look like each animal is made of something magical. A few warm lights illuminate each, giving them strong shadows that make them look a little terrifying, to be honest.

I feel like it's a bit better to like... Attempt to draw what the room looks like when I can? It's been on my mind for almost a year honestly + the idea of Dola bringing the brothers into her home studio to collab on a piece that now lives either in Serenity Manor (which I headcanon to not have portals that just lead to rooms in the HoL because that's lame to me dfhgjkdfg) or the House of Lamentation.

sydfugfg anyway so sorry this took almost a whole fucking month to answer holy shit?? Something about it made me so anxious... I think I just took this way too serious for how little it actually shows up in anything I write about her >.> But I guess it makes sense since it's all important to her and informs what her spells look like because I fully believe she would polish off her magic with her personal touch aesthetically lol

#chat & colloquy #🐝 nonnie!!#dolasach #hsjghsfdkjg i hope that the links all make up for the lack of pictures included in the post itself >.>;;#since each one gives a shit ton of pictures that i felt a little weird nabbing?#man this took so long... and its so hard to describe very specific art that doesnt exist that i also cannot personally make?#ngl looking for art was so fun but now i have an inhuman urge to go back to embroidery again even though I definitely don't have the time #for it right now >.>#i hope this answer actually answered your question dfhdjfkg goodness #wait actually theres the question of if theres any artists she looks up to and tbh i dont think she would #she'd have artists she respects but no one really to look up to?

9 notes · View notes

eveenstar · 3 years

Text

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝒶𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒

𝙰 𝚁𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚁𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝟸 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪɪɪ

Summary: After the meeting with Dutch, (Y/N) the time-traveler, decides to take a look around the camp while trying to convince herself this was not a dream but reality.

Tags/Warnings: Nothing to add.

Note: Back again from the dead with another chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Well, this was awkward. You couldn't hope to be in a worst situation than this (well, you kinda could) but hey, at least they seem to believe you, right? What else to think when somebody drops out of the sky in the middle of your "home"?

“Well, Miss (L/N), from what you told me and the gang…You’re my great-granddaughter?” Dutch asked, his hands grabbing one of his books while he took a seat on his bed.

“Yes, sir.” The girl stood awkwardly on the tent’s entrance. She didn’t know what else to do, what, hug him? She didn't even know he existed before that old, strange lady appeared in her life. For her, Dutch was nothing but a stranger and maybe he thinks the same of her.

“It’s…nice to meet you. A very interesting experience.” He sounded almost content with it, but also a bit shocked by his voice. “I hope your life is better than, you see, ours.”

The girl let out a nervous laugh. Almost immediately covering her mouth after it. “I’m actually being hunted down by the government. Me and my group, we…did some things they didn’t agree with.”

“Oh. I see. A revolutionist?” Dutch looked at her, his gaze made her feel a bit intimidated.

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to call it.” How would she describe what a hacker was or the modern technology? Well, (Y/N) did take parts in a few riots so perhaps revolutionist was a appropriate term to call it on the 1800s. But she wasn’t so sure about that. The life she left behind, James and the others, everything she knew was...well, not dead, but non-existing now.

“Don’t be so nervous, Miss.” The man said in a gentle tune. “I promise you, none of us will bring you any harm.” He stood up, slowly caressing her arm.

“Thanks.” She returned a kind smile, but was it the truth?

I wanted to go back that exact time, I didn't want to be there anymore. From all the movies and tvshows I'd seen, messing with the past doesn't go well, never. So who was I to tempt fate?

"I have a few more questions for you, but you need to rest. Must've been hard getting here." Dutch guided you outside and handed you some stuff, probably to make your own tent. You really hoped there weren't many bugs out here. "I'll let you get settled first."

You nodded, before taking a few hesitant steps towards the "light" (or, in this case, a fellow tree a bit distant from the others). You didn't want to bother anyone, so you began making your little forth underneath a tree and next to a few rocks. But, not that you haven't gone camping before, but this was harder than it looked. It's like your own house was fighting against you. Things kept falling or getting in the way, and nothing was going according to plan. A frustrated sigh escaped your lips.

"Need some help?"

You flinched at the voice and turned around to meet eyes with, by your memory, Javier Escuella. He was taller in person. That's all you had to say, for now. He had a soft yet deep gaze on his eyes, but if we're being honest, he looked threatening. He raised an curious eyebrow by how long you were taking to answer his simple question. You nodded, then chuckled nervously and waved around the "tent" you were building.

"I'm having a bit of trouble here."

With a better set of hands, your little fort was finished in just two hours. This felt different, y'know? Surreal to say the least. Few birds were singing, the horses in the background, the wind blowing through you, the nature, the sounds of people talking, a life you've never known. Not like this. It was kinda similiar to the life you and your friends had, the only difference being: You didn't held camps in the wild. Like Dutch, you were the leader of your group, and James was your right hand. Maybe you did resemble him a bit, just maybe. Now you were here, talking and interacting with people that in your time, were long gone. You were changing history, the past, everything. Was this the right choice?

"Are you okay?"

"Sì," You immediately looked at him, "Sorry, kinda drifted off a bit."

Javier stared at you in confusion, "Drifted?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry hah. I got lost in thought."

For your delight, Javier laughed at it before excusing himself and leaving you there to your own miserable mind. Your bed felt heavy and rocky, but it's better than nothing. You had no idea what to do now, should you go meet the others? Well, they certainly thing you're strange. Mary-Beth seemed to like you, and she could become your first friend here! Keep the hopes up, (Y/N), you're definitely gonna need it here.

"Ahem, hey Mary!"

"(Y/N)! How was the meeting with Dutch?" She paused her book and glanced over to you, while patting her hand next to her. "Come, sit!"

"It was alright," You replied almost robotically. Your mind was empty to any functional thoughts.

"This is like a fantasy book. You came from the future to change the past, and met a long lost relative." Mary-Beth almost had stars in her eyes while thinking about the "amazing" story of yours. For as amazing as it sounds, it really wasn't something that cool once you experienced it. You felt out of place. "Tell me, how is the future?"

Your mind ran through all the memories you have, every information, every place, every moment now lost in time.

"It's...harsh, unfair and cruel. Like it always has been, I suppose."

"It can't be that bad, surely." For as much as the media likes to portray the modern age as a fairy tale, it's more of a terror genre. You remember the cruel things people had told you over the years, how your dreams were not realistic enough, "become a doctor!" everybody said.

"They don't care about us. They don't care for people like you and me." Jamie told me once. I wonder how he is now. I miss everybody, especially those late nights when we used to sing our hearts out and dance as if there was no tomorrow. It's too late now.

You gave her a small smile, "Not always."

She returned the smile, happily.

"So what's wrong with you, you old fool?"

A tall, bearded man drunkly limped towards someone older, Hosea Matthews, and spoke in a way that the older man didn't seem to like one bit. Hosea didn't even spare him a glance,"Go sleep it off, you drunken baffoon."

Bill Williamson, as you know remembered correctly now, stepped closer to Hosea and stared at him, almost as if he was daring him to repeat it again, "Excuse me?"

Like the winds change the tides, Hosea got up in a swift movement and pointed his gun at Bill, who fell to his feet. "I've excused you quite enough! Go sleep it off, is that clear?"

Bill hurriedly got back on his feet and stepped back, hands in the air with, what you could call, a frightened look on his face (which changed to angry after a few seconds).

"Okay!...Okay."

The few people that were present either got back to whatever they were doing or didn't even mind the occurence in the first place, like it was something normal to happen around here. You excused yourself and made your way to Hosea, who was sitting on a wooden table. You wondered where they got all this stuff, including the tables. Did they make them? Steal them? You rolled your eyes at the thought of the gang going to a local bar and stealing all of their tables.

"Uh, hello!" You greeted and took a seat in front of him. "I don't think we've been properly introduced, I'm...Well, you probably alright know who I am." You chuckled.

"Hosea Matthews, " He looked at you with a serene look on his eyes. He reminded you of those elderly folks you'd meet around town who were incredibly nice for their own good. "Have you been handling this alright? I know how this gang can be sometimes."

"I haven't had the chance to meet everybody yet, just Dutch, Mary-Beth, Javier and you, sir."

"Well, all in due time. You can come to me if you need anythin' else."

"Thank you, I'll make sure to remember it."

Hosea was like a father to me, or for most people in the gang. Wish I'd met someone like him before. He was a good man. I remember, when I first met him, that I thought he'd ask me plenty of questions about the future. To my surprise, he didn't. I think he wanted me to have some space, process everything that's happened so far. I miss him the most. Apart from Arthur, and Dutch. Who lost his way.

When I arrived, I had to make up my mind. I had to compose myself because this was about to be my new life, "for now" , I thought. I was ready to face this reality of time-traveling and the way things worked in that era. I was foolish. So, so foolish.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #the way of time fanfiction series #dutch van der linde x reader #javier escuella x reader #rdr 2 modern!reader #rdr2 time-traveler!reader #dutch van der linde #javier escuella #arthur morgan

113 notes · View notes

misdre · 3 years

Text

misi's beyblade AUs masterpost

i like making AUs, i have many of them, here's a post of them from oldest to newest. (at least approximately) (the ones that got no art of them have photos from unsplash. i just enjoy setting the mood)

⸻⸻⸻

Magical boy AU takao is an ordinary middle schooler who one day gets dragoon the magical spinning top from a cute little azure dragon, seiryuu, and transforms into a magical boy to protect the world from evil for some cosmic reasons that i haven't come up with yet. the rest of the characters have similar powers from their holy beasts and takao needs to gather up his team to fight the evil and. you get the drill is there art of it? yes 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 is there a fic of it? no note: i originally created this just because i like designing the outfits so i haven't planned the story much (this used to be my main focus but then 4kingdoms happened GJSDHGHSDG) i'd want to though, i'll get back to it eventually...at some point...... one of the charm points of this AU is that the holy beasts are these digimon-like animals that hang out with the characters and each have their own personalities.

Fairy tale monster AU takao and gramps live in a cabin in the middle of a forest full of monsters and takao decides one day to venture out to look for a silver-haired boy he once saw, he meets up with the other BBA characters one by one in the grim woods. is there art of it? no is there a fic of it? yes note: my oldest halloween fic. the characters are all these different cute spooky creatures and it's intended to sound like a fairy tale.

One day, he determined that the time was ripe: Takao decided to leave for an adventure. For his grandfather was old, it was not at all unusual for him to lay down to bed before sundown. Once the hut had fallen in drowsy silence, Takao packed his one and only bag with what little he felt he needed, took his cap and jacket, and stepped over the doorsill. He had left the safe warmth of the hut behind.

Royal fantasyverse AU (the tale of four kingdoms) takes place in a fantasy universe with four kingdoms (east, west, south & north) created by the four holy beasts, in an era where each kingdom happens to be ruled by an exceptionally young king due to their respective circumstances. when the four meet for the first time, a snowball of events is set in motion that's going to affect all four kingdoms. is there art of it? yes 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 is there a fic of it? yes 1 / 2 note: like a period drama with magic and gay and tons of worldbuilding. probably has way too many mysteries for the boys to solve because i have no self control when it comes to creating twists. this is The one AU that i have crammed every usable canon character into, i need enough people to inhabit four fucking countries

After creating the four lands, the holy beasts created people to inhabit them. Because the beasts were celestial beings and couldn't but guard people and the world they lived in from far above, they needed human vessels to lead the four nations. Thus they created four kings who would rule over other people using the four beast’s powers. The four kings were neither human nor gods, but something between – they were messengers, or icons, of the four holy beasts.

Omegaverse AU a canon divergence AU (i guess??) where genders are replaced by A/B/O and everyone being either canine or feline. max is a late bloomer canine and finds out he's the only alpha of the BBA boys thanks to a certain feline omega. is there art of it? not really but i do have dog boy max and cat boy rei art (which are a bit too cute for this kinkfest. i mean they're obviously aged up for the real thing.) 1 / 2 is there a fic of it? it's been in the works for like, five years but i always shy away from finishing it note: it's omegaverse, it's exactly what you'd expect. the smut is so filthy i've been too embarrassed to even post it. hiromi is also an alpha by the way

Coffee shop AU highschooler rei goes on a venture to hit on a local Hot University Teacher and coffee shop owner judy in a cafe owned by her, ends up receiving a bunch of flirty cups of latte from barista max working there. is there art of it? no is there a fic of it? yes note: i mean, rei being into blonde MILFs is pretty much canon

Now that Rei looked at the boy more carefully, he realised his hair was just as fair and eyes just as blue as he knew Judy Mizuhara's to be. Maybe they were related? It wasn't that strange if Judy had hired a relative's kid to help out at the shop, right? He certainly looked American, but he had spoken Japanese. And then, all of a sudden, the boy turned to look back to him. Startled, Rei blinked his own golden brown eyes and shifted them back to his now empty cup. God, it was rude to stare at someone, wasn't it? He'd been too deep in thought to even notice doing it. Not that the boy had looked judgmental – he only seemed to wear a smile.

Soulmate AU max keeps having dreams with peculiar scenarios about a boy named rei. one day he borrows a book on soulmates from hiromi and finds a chapter talking about meeting your soulmate in the realm of dreams. is there art of it? no is there a fic of it? yes note: i don't even care for soulmate AUs, this was my own dare to myself to find a single soulmate trope that interested in me enough to write a thing of it.

Max was walking through a crowded airport, carrying a heavy backpack with him. He had never been to this airport in his life, but somehow he knew exactly where he was, and where he was supposed to go. And he was in a hurry, and Rei had at some point emerged from the crowd, as usual, keeping up with him without bumping into any of the people that should have blocked his way. “I'm sorry, this is probably my fault,” Rei said. “I haven't even travelled in ages anymore, but these dreams just keep coming back to haunt me.”

Chess player AU rei is a young chinese chess champion participating in the world junior championships, ends up falling for the american chess prodigy max somehow in the process and is determined to get to play against him again. is there art of it? no is there a fic of it? yes note: so this is one of the weirder ones i've done. it was inspired simply by me having a very vivid mental image of a scene of them playing dramatic chess together. this is probably my most underrated AU even by myself, i think the writing is pretty solid for such a short story of a topic i know practically nothing about

As a child, Rei had initially been taught to play xiàngqí, a Chinese game much more popular back in his home country; but chess with its refined, uniquely shaped pieces was love at first sight for the young Rei. He was a fast thinker and had amazing concentration skills once he set his mind on something, and he also had an outstanding memory, making it easy to memorise game patterns he once saw and then use them for his advantage. This all granted him natural talent in chess. But despite his skill, he had a bad habit of easily losing his temper and becoming indecisive once his focus wavered. Also, he was just a tad bit too sentimental. These traits often became his worst enemy in important matches, much worse than the actual opposing player. Keep your cool. Focus. Play well.

Flower shop + fake dating AU yuriy doesn't really know anything about flowers but is working part-time in a flower shop for the easy cash. he keeps getting a pair of weird customers who ask about flower language for hypothetical situations. is there art of it? not by myself and i don’t have a link to the fanart made of it unfortunately is there a fic of it? yes note: did i write this for valentine's day? i feel like i maybe did. this is my only AU (and fic in general) so far that's about a non-BBA character as the main lmao

“So, I need some advice for a particular situation,” the customer then began, idly tapping the counter with his hand. “I mean, not a real situation, of course – hypothetically speaking, if someone was just pretending to be going out with another person, but they weren't really going but it just needed to seem that way to everyone else, what kinda flowers would get the message through?” Possibly an idiot, Yuriy concluded his analysis. “So you need suitable flowers for a date,” he stated, shooting his eyes at his notes about common flower-usage.

Classical music AU (the heart that i love) max is a piano prodigy attending a classical music college that holds annual music competitions for the students. he's got some haters for being the son of a world-known pianist who's one of the teachers, but he also ends up having a budding romance with rei the mysterious chinese violinist. is there art of it? yes 1 / 2 is there a fic of it? yes note: the origin of this was my "max and mao are besties" college AU. then it got mixed in with my thirst for classical instruments and max being bullied.

Max isn’t exactly a synesthet, but he has always been able to see music as pictures – as entire sceneries, as great adventures. This tendency of his emerges especially strong whenever he’s learning to play a new piece on the piano; as he moves along the melody, the scenery is also being built around him like a jigsaw puzzle, creating a complete picture piece by piece; and once he has mastered the song, he’s able to freely traverse and immerse himself in the world inside that puzzle. Some pieces have a more relaxed or soothing scenery than others, some are exciting and thrilling – even deliciously sinister in the way that a good horror film can be. Setting himself down in front of a piano is always an invitation to a world of his choice.

Bakeneko AU after moving to a small rural town in japan, max hits his head and starts seeing things, such as a weird white cat following him around. after a while, he's convinced that he's being haunted. is there art of it? yes is there a fic of it? yes note: another halloween AU, a more surreal one where max is human and rei is. well. not

Max kept walking, his eyes still on the narrow road. He hadn't noticed while deep in thought, but it really was quiet that evening. The sun had nearly set by now, leaving the sky striped with the dusk of the approaching nightfall. There was no wind to rustle the treetops, no birds chirping, nothing. Only the sound of Max's own footsteps on the pavement, and the matching sound that followed. Followed. What if someone actually was following him? A sudden, violent chill struck down Max's spine, causing his hair to stand on end. He stopped. After a short delay, the steps also stopped.

Genderbend AU a canon divergence AU where everyone's a different gender from canon (duh). starts off as an alternate version of the g-revolution world championships where the girls meet for the first time and befriend each other. rei is a professional model in addition to being a blader in the baihus, and max from the PPB is delighted to be able to battle her. she has no idea that rei has fallen for her at first sight, though. is there art of it? yes 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 is there a fic of it? it's... in the works. note: i created this because i wanted to design attractive girls, what about it. absolutely partial to maxine's huge badonkadonks.

It wasn’t like Rei hadn’t already taken notice of her before, given that they were participating in the same world championship tournament, but the real turning point was the first time they stood on the opposing sides of a bey stadium. It was the day when the match-up roster signalled the match between the Chinese team and the American team, the Baihus versus the PPB All Starz; and despite both teams consisting of five players, it came down to, to Rei’s immense joy, the tag team of Rai and herself against the two most interesting US players, Rikki Anderson and Mizuhara Maxine.

Vampire & merboy AU rei is a starved vampire just about to end his own life when he meets merboy max at a forest lake. is there art of it? of max yes is there a fic of it? yes note: yet another halloween monster AU, this time they are both monsters though. this one’s a pretty grim one i have to admit

Rei succumbed into deep thought, considering his few options, when something grabbed his unsuspecting hand. Something yanked him forward in one mad splash and forced not only the rest of his arm but also his shoulders and head underwater. Half a second later Rei, so badly startled that he’d come close to slipping into insanity, found himself staring at a pair of bright blue eyes only inches away from his own face. His other hand and lower body still firmly on land, Rei pulled himself back with strength that he didn’t even know his weak body still contained. As he did, he also pulled up whatever was clutching his hand, which turned out to be another hand – a white hand with elongated, dirty fingers, so sharp at the tips that they looked like daggers.

Mafia AU max is the boss of the BBA mafia family, rei is a hitman and max's right hand man, the rest have various roles in the organisation. salima, mariam and some other girls (at least) are reporters doing investigative journalism on organised crime who get interested in covering the story of a group of russian elite detectives doing a thorough investigation of the BBA. is there art of it? of rei and max yes 1 / 2 / 3 is there a fic of it? it's in the works but it's just a gratuitous reimax smut note: this is a story i wish existed but this kind of police investigation action thing is so not my genre of expertise. that's why i'm just doing a PWP of my boys and the rest exists on conceptual level

“Did you know,” Salima said, perfectly peppy about it, “that there are secret underground auctions for stolen artwork that’s sold in the black market? Not just online auctions in the dark web but actual, physical events held somewhere in the city! Isn’t that so intriguing? Can you imagine how an event like that would look like, Max?” Max can – in fact, he doesn’t need to imagine. But he’d rather not think about it; the memories bring the familiar taste of bile in his mouth and make his gut curdle with a mixture of disgust and very particular guilt. The mere thought of it makes him set his coffee aside and bring a hand between his tightly shut eyes.

⸻⸻⸻

the next thing i come up with? who knows............

#bey things #i am only moderately insane #so i'm a person who never reads her own writing #but for this post i did. i read my old oneshots #and i wasn't disgusted by them!! actually i was rather impressed with them!!!#i didn't know such a feeling existed. to read your old writing #and be like how nice! writing of my OTP just the way i want it!#genuinely i was charmed by the soulmate AU because i'd forgotten most of it #bc i was so embarrassed about it for some reason? but it was a very nice story

42 notes · View notes

tafferling · 2 years

Text

Final.

It's a bit like the end of an era.

Techland has been amazing at supporting this game and I'll be forever grateful for its existence alone.

No, seriously, I don't know just how to put into words how meaningful Dying Light has been to me and how things wouldn't be the same for me without it. Or without Kyle Crane, but you know, let's focus on the game for a second here.

It was my ladder when I'd fallen into the deep dark well and my light at the end of the tunnel and it's given me the need and courage to write and be creative. Plus, I've made some great friends because of it, people I'll forever treasure.

Looking back at my first Tumblr posts, this was what I started with:

My wee little Kyle Crane Funko Pop that I made. I made it with TONS of love and then I wrapped it up and sent it over to Techland as thanks. And I'd send them a hundred more.

So. Yeah. It's still a bit surreal to see they've supported the game for so long. And then to see the Final update message. I mean, not that I'll quit playing it, I still do. Still will.

'm just grateful, I guess.

Very.

So. Good Night. And Good Luck (for real, I am gonna take a nap)

#Dying Light #Dying Light the Game #Good Night and Good Luck #Kyle Crane #Techland

6 notes · View notes

takerfoxx · 3 years

Text

Magia Record, Season 2, Episode 7, First Impressions!

Good Lord.

Um...okay...

Well. I, uh...

Okay, look: while watching this show, it seemed clear to me that the deconstruction era of the PMMM franchise was over. The show had dissected the genre, the movie had dissected the fanbase, so for the spin-off show we got a more traditional story that built upon the world that the previous two had created and filled in the gaps that came from having to adapt a mobile game plot with a whole lot of style. Like, sure, it was creepier and more surreal than your average magical girl show, but all the deconstructing was simply reusing that which the OG show already did, and we still have a classic good guys vs. bad guys plot.

Clearly, this franchise still has a few tricks up its sleeves.

So, um, before we get to that, let's wind things back a bit and talk about what we have learned!

Yeah, anyway...

So. Kuroe's in a bad place. Pursued by the WoM (seriously, are those girls she walloped dead?), being consumed by her Doppel, and there's that creepy invisible lady. Not much more to add there, except good luck, I guess.

Also, back at the B-Team, we suddenly got a ton of development with Condiment Queen Mitama. I have to say, what with her serene smile and bad guy demeanor, I was worried that she would just go full villain. Like, okay, fine, but I'd prefer it if they didn't. Like, Madoka Magica really doesn't need classic villains, which is why despite them having entertaining personalities, Touka and Alina Grey always sort of felt a little out of place with their campy Saturday morning cartoon supervillain attitudes.

But no, instead we got what amounts to a highly disturbing flashback into why exactly she is the way she is, sort of like Kyoko's monologue in the church. Mitama is someone who became a magical girl out of a desire to do good and spread joy, found out the hard way that that's not how it works, and instead turned to trying to help her fellow magical girls. Unfortunately, that meant she was forced to witness their own self-destructions as they succumbed to madness, despair, and witchdom, over and over. It's the sort of thing that breaks a person, so she literally had to wall herself off in order to survive.

Now, I've seen some complaints from people who've played the games saying that this part feels rushed. And I get it, and I feel that the creators felt the same way, hence why they resorted to their usual trick of upping the surreal horror to give it more impact. But as for me, it honestly worked, as did the part where Momoko reached out to Mitama, promising to help bear the burden. Maybe the argument can be made that it was a little sloppy and out of nowhere, especially in light of how little focus these characters have gotten lately, but I really do love how this show has delved into the psychological aspect of these girls dealing with being caught in this system, especially veteran girls connected to the rest of the magical girl community as opposed to some isolated rookies or renegades like we saw in the OG show.

Meanwhile, we have the team-up of the classic team and the new girls, as they try to save their friends Mami and Tsuruno. Mifuyu gets a message in via what basically is a Howler, and says that they need to connect with them with a full version of what the original person is in their heads. Okay.

First, I had a giggle when Madoka didn't know what connecting means, which really does show that the OG squad really was isolated from the rest of their own community.

Also, um...

Okay, confession time. Before I saw this episode, I already heard that it ended on a horrifying note, so I went in wondering what that might be. I was expecting some really twisted witch business, some real kind of mindfuck and not something that would truly shock me.

I wasn't expecting this.

Or this.

And certainly not this.

Wow.

See, this goes back to what I said earlier about them still having a few deconstruction points in the chamber. Normally, that bit where Yachiyo was running down all of Tsuruno's positive qualities in her head to stirring music would have worked...in any other show.

But this is still Madoka Magica, and even while she was rattling all that stuff off, I couldn't help but think, "Okay, but what about her weaknesses? What about her negative qualities? Don't you need those too?"

And this bit really does drive home the point that Mami and Tsuruno both had something in common: they're the mom figures who put on a brave face for their friends to hide their own insecurities and thus got taken for granted. And hate to say this, but Yachiyo only really knew the Tsuruno that Tsuruno wanted her to know. She never really got to know the real person.

So, um, is she dead? I hope not, because I do like her. As for Mami, I'm thinking it'll have to be Kyoko that connects with her, since she's the one that has seen all sides of Mami.

But oh yeah, apparently that part was also in the game, but it looked more like this.

SHAFT goes hard, y'all.

#puella magi madoka magica #pmmm #magia record #tsuruno yui #yachiyo nanami #kuroe #mami tomoe #kyouko sakura #iroha tamaki #touka satomi #alina grey #mitama yakumo #momokodoll

10 notes · View notes

hellorebecca · 4 years

Text

Back From the War

Some 80s era Stancest I wrote a while back. Inspired by some of @nekoaimy‘s posts on the subject.

*****************************************

"So, um, you okay?" Stan asked, his hands unsteady.

Ford nodded, and sipped from his mug of coffee. "I feel better, now."

"Okay," said Stan. He breathed out a sigh, ran a hand through his hair. "Okay."

It was almost surreal, remembering the events of the past hour: him and Stanley fighting over the journal in the portal room, him branding his brother's shoulder (and oh, was that going to leave a mark), the shove, the panic that filled him as he floated above the room--

Then, the rope, the relief, as he was slowly pulled back to earth by his brother's strong arms.

Stanley cleared his throat, snapping Ford out of his reverie. "So, what's up?" he asked, a look of concern on his face. "You kinda spaced out for a second there."

Ford shook his head. "Just thinking over the day's events," he said softly. Then: "How's your shoulder?"

Stan looked ashamed, as if he had been the one who had burned his own brother. "I mean, it hurts, but... it's fine, really. I mean, I can still use it." He rotated his right arm for emphasis. Ford couldn't help noticing the wince that Stan made at moving it around.

“Let me take a look at that,” he said, setting his mug down and reaching his hand towards his brother’s wound.

Stan hesitated; then, he slowly took off his jacket and shirt, carefully avoiding touching the cloth to the brand. Ford drew in a deep breath as he took in Stanley’s bare back. His muscles were cushioned under a layer of fat, and there were scars scattered across his skin. There was one particularly nasty one, just above his waist, that Ford wished he could ask about, but he just didn’t have the time.

Right. The brand. “How badly does it hurt?” asked Ford, as he carefully inspected the still-blistering scar.

“Honestly, it’s not too bad,” Stan answered. “I mean, I’ve definitely had worse.”

“Hmm.” Ford gingerly touched the tips of his fingers to Stan’s brand; he couldn’t help his heart from sinking when Stan flinched away from that. “Well, first we need to clean it, of course.” He went to the cabinet and got out a rag and the first aid kit. He ran the faucet cold over the rag, and added a little dish soap for good measure. Gently, he washed the burn, taking care not to pop any of the blisters. He then fished out a tube of aloe vera from the first aid kit.

“Pull your hair back for me,” said Ford. “I don’t want this to get messy.”

Stanley did as he was told, and Ford carefully spread the lotion over his brother’s charred skin. As he did so, he thought of long, hot summer nights, when they would rub aloe vera into each others’ sunburned backs. It was a good memory, and Ford felt a pleasant shiver thinking about it. Stan let out a sigh of relief, apparently releasing some of the tension from what had happened that night.

“Good, good,” said Ford, as he checked his handiwork. “Now I just need to cover it with a bandage.”

“You’re not gonna kiss it better?” asked Stan.

“No,” said Ford, suppressing a laugh. “It just wouldn’t be sanitary.”

“Ah,” Stan replied, and if Ford didn’t know any better, he’d almost say Stan sounded… disappointed. “Well, alright.”

Ford took out the gauze and the medical tape from the first aid kit and said, “Um, I can kiss you, though.”

“What?”

“If you want me to,” Ford added. “Not… not on the lips, of course, but I can kiss you. Just—just say where.”

“Um.” Stan craned his neck towards Ford. “Are you serious?”

Ford grew oddly hot. “I mean, ah, touch has been known to lower the body’s stress levels, which can help with, with the healing process—That’s... why I suggested it.”

“Ah,” said Stan, turning his head away from Ford again. “So you’re just being a weirdo.”

Ford swallowed. “Stanley, I...”

Stan waved him off. “It’s fine. Just… bandage me up, man.”

There was no point in disobeying that, so Ford carefully positioned the gauze on Stan’s burn wound, then applied the tape to make it stick. “We’ll need to reapply the bandage every day until the burn fully heals,” he said when he was done.

“‘We,’” Stan repeated. He turned around to face Ford. “Does that mean I’m staying?”

It was strange, how shocking Ford found the question. “I guess so,” he answered, considering his words carefully. “At least, for now. But—Stanley, it’s not… safe, here.”

“Because of the portal.”

Ford nodded. “Not just that, but yes.”

Stan groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “So, when do I need to leave?”

Ford held up a hand. “Stanley...”

“No, no, it’s...” Stan starting pacing around the kitchen, gesturing wildly. “I mean, I know you don’t—well...”

Ford caught Stan by the chin. “Stanley, please, just—listen to me.”

“C’mon, Stanford, it’s fine,” said Stan, who still resisted meeting Ford’s eyes. He sounded like he was going to cry. “If you don’t want me around...”

That definitely wasn’t true, so Ford needed to prove it false. If he was any less sleep-deprived, he might have done something else. As it was, his brother’s chin still in his hands, he laid a kiss upon Stanley’s lips.

Stanley tasted of cheap cigarettes and stale coffee, but Ford didn’t mind, far more interested in the way Stan warmed up to the kiss, tense at first but soon kissing back, running his hands through Ford’s hair. It was the culmination of everything they had been dancing around for a long, long time.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna do that,” Stan gasped out, once they broke away.

Ah, right. The offer he made from earlier. “Guess I lied,” Ford panted.

They drew in for another kiss, deeper, more passionate. It left them so breathless and panting that it took a while before either of them spoke again.

“So, why can’t I stay, for real?” asked Stan. “Because I know there’s something there.”

Damn. Stanley knew Ford all too well. “There’s… an entity, that takes control of my mind when I sleep. I don’t want it to harm you,” Ford admitted, as much as he was willing to admit.

“Is that why you’re so strung out?”

Ford nodded. “Mostly, yes.”

Stan grunted and lifted himself about the counter, sitting on the countertop. It would annoy Ford were he not so charmed at the moment. “Okay, so, is there like, a way we can get that—thing out of your head?”

“There is one way I know of.” Ford scrubbed his face and frowned. “But it involves dealing with creatures that I’ve found to be—quite frustrating, in the past.”

Stan looked at Ford expectantly. “Well?” he asked.

“You’re going to laugh,” Ford replied glumly.

“C’mon, just tell me!”

“Unicorns,” Ford answered.

Stan let out a loud guffaw, and for a moment Ford truly hated him. “What, ain’t they really fond of virgins?”

“Actually, no,” said Ford stiffly. “Though the requirements for dealing with them seem just as strict as in legend. And by the way, I’m not a virgin.”

Stan grinned. “Sure you’re n--”

“Would a virgin kiss you as well as I just did?” Ford replied smugly. He took a certain amount of pleasure in the shock on Stan’s face.

“Man, you really have changed,” said Stan. “Gone a long way since your ‘kissing machine’ days.”

Ford groaned. “Please don’t mention the kissing machine, Stanley.” He took the journal off the kitchen table and started flipping through the entries. “Anyway, if you’re really serious about this--”

“Of course I’m serious,” Stan retorted.

“I’ll warn you again, unicorns are not easy to deal with,” said Ford. He found the entry on unicorns in the journal and handed it to Stan. “Their standards for good behavior are very exacting. I doubt you’d be able to live up to them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan grumbled. He seemed upset by Ford’s assertion. He always had carried a chip on his shoulder on being the lesser of the two Pines twins. “I’ll just kill one of them, so what?”

“Stanley...” Ford started.

“What, they need to be alive?”

“No, you’ll just need the hair from their manes,” answered Ford. “But killing a horse—or horse-like creature—can be harder than it looks.”

“Eh.” Stan shrugged. “I mean, I killed a llama once.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Lama-with-one-L or llama-with-two-Ls?” he asked.

“Llama as in the weird animal with the long hair,” Stan said with an eyeroll. “Cripes, you’re a nerd.”

“Technically, that could describe both--” Ford got a poke in the ribs. “Oof. But seriously, are you sure you want to do this?”

“I mean, if it’ll keep you safe,” said Stan. He looked down at his bare chest. “Though, uh, I’m gonna need some clothes that haven’t been singed.”

Ford looked Stanley over. He was still naked from the waist up, and though that was fine for an evening of making out, it was less than ideal for a night in the cold and snow.

“Hang on,” said Ford. “There are some sweaters in my room.” He dashed over there as quick as he could, unable to suppress the irrational worry that Stan would be gone by the time he got back. He fished through his drawers and found a bright and cheery Christmas sweater, a gift from Fiddleford when they were still in college. (Ford didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was Jewish and had never celebrated. It was good at its main purpose, at least, which was keeping warm.)

Back in the hallway, he was struck by the sudden realization that this was real, that he had really kissed his brother and his brother kissed him back. It was funny, how repressed they both had been about it, and how open they were now. He supposed it made a certain amount of sense—incest was a Rubicon that neither of them were prepared to cross, even as odd a pair as they had been, but once they set their mind on something, there was no doubt, if it were in any way possible, they would get it.

Once they put their mind on something, there was no doubt they would get it. Ford smiled at the thought, and hurried back to the kitchen. He found Stan sitting on a chair, a far more reasonable position than the counter. “Here,” he said, and handed Stan the gaudy sweater.

“Bit late to be wearing this,” said Stan, looking it over.

Ford shrugged. “If it keeps you warm.” He grabbed his coat from his chair. “Here, wear this, too. Do you still have your gloves and hat?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stan grumbled. “I’m not gonna freeze to death, Ford.” He grunted as he struggled to put on the sweater.

“Careful,” said Ford. He helped pull the sweater down. “You still need to look out for that shoulder.” He gave his brother a quick peck on the cheek.

“Heh heh.” Ford enjoyed the way Stan blushed. Stan cleared his throat. “Alright, so they live in this glade, right?” Stan said, as he put on the coat. “Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back in a jif.”

“Stay safe, Stanley.” Ford squeezed his brother’s hand. “Remember to come home in one piece.”

“I will,” Stan replied softly. He pat Ford on the shoulder, then pulled him into a brief kiss. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone, knucklehead.”

“Okay, okay,” Ford said with a soft laugh. He watched Stanley go out of the house and into the unknown, once again the brave hero of their youth. For the first time in a long while, he felt a deep, sustaining hope, one that would last him the rest of their lives.

#Stancest #I'm in the mood for sap okay so sue me #my drabblings

98 notes · View notes