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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 3 years

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idk how many people would even want to see this BUT i wanna yell about Leela and Brax so here's a list of all their scenes togethr/scenes pertainng to them that i can recall (pLEASE add on if i missed anything/ you have any additional thoughts!! i could talk about these two all day!)

right off the bat in Weapon of Choice when Leela is on the outskirts of the Citadel and Brax goes to bring her back (which is interesting in and of itself, bc usually i would imagine a chancellery guard would go do that so what made Brax decide to instead??), Leela kinda goes off at him bc she's hurting and instead of trying to actually explain what's going on Brax doesn't even try to argue he just says "we need you" which is great bc Leela has that instinctive desire to be needed and to help people and he's speaking right to that -- also as far as we know, this is Leela and Brax's first actual meeting in canon? it's implied that they know of each other, which makes sense, but it doesn't seem like they've ever directly interacted before: Brax seems almost slightly uncertain, and Leela is combative, but when he's gentle with her she's actually quite receptive

the literal next scene after that, where the OT4 is all in one room for the first time (they still kinda hate each other at this point but still !!!). Narvin explaining Gryben and being a real jerk about it and Leela (understandibly!) questions if Gryben is a prison world, and Brax (who to this point has been mostly quiet as Narvin and Romana brief Leela) jumps in to both clarify Narvin's previous xenophobic statements while also maintaining the inherent questionable/negative connotations

(btw it's actually pretty important to note that Romana self-edits herself a lot when talking to Leela, especially in the earlier seasons; you can actually hear her revising the things she says to put it in terms that she thinks Leela will better understand. and i mean she does it out of genuine consideration for her friend associate but it often comes across as varying levels of patronizing. Narvin also obviously "dumbs things down" when dealing with Leela early on, but like... Brax never does that on any level. the only difference i can tell in how he addresses Leela vs how he talks to anybody else is that he seems much more kind with her than almost anyone else???)

their conversation about the Matrix in The Inquiry: this is REALLY important (and if you've ever talked to me on ao3 i've probably gone off to you about it lol) because it's layered. they're talking about the Matrix but they're also not because in answering Leela's question Brax is making a very thinly veiled allegory (which he outright states a minute later) to Time Lord society/politicians/most importantly HIMSELF -- he's actually strangely open about his morals/beliefs in this scene and i'm living for it tbh -- and i find it very interesting that even though he does directly explain what he means ("how do you know all this?" / "because i am a politician.") he also leaves it for Leela to work out the implications. like it's a very nuanced conversation bc there's double meaning in it and most people on Gallifrey seem to think that Leela is tone-deaf and can't pick up on that stuff (even Romana sometimes oversimplifies things to her) but Brax totally just lets her take from it what she will bc he believes her intelligent enough to understand. he doesn't think her any lesser because she's human.

ALSO on a secondary note to the above: the fact that Leela has a question/needed clarification (sorry, haven't listened to this in a while i forget how it actually happened) and actively sought out Brax to talk to about it?? like she knows Romana better she could have gone to her but i feel like Leela kinda imprinted on Brax and someone she can go to for help if she needs it; maybe it's partly bc she knows he's under marginally less pressure than Romana is but also the truth of the matter is that Brax was the most genuinely helpful person to her in the previous stories and that probably means a lot to her (esp. bc he acts like the essence of everything she hates about Gallifrey but he doesn't treat her the way she would expect from that). btw this topic is gonna come up again in a hot minute

that part where Brax gives her that information that might help her re: the Andred thing, even though he really probably shouldn't have done that -- it kinda makes me think about what he must have been like with Theta tbh???

actually this is mostly my own conjecture but there's some neat stuff in Spirit bc during the *waves hand vaguely* bodyswap dream sequence thing, Romana is very "!!!! Brax can help us !!!" which is tecnically Leela brain talking, so like there's the implications of the stuff i've said above about Leela having this idea of Brax where she knows he's someone she can go to for help

can u tell i'm soft for them

Leela sounding really sad/distracted when she talks about how Brax isn't there YES i'm grasping at straws but a lot of this relationship really is conveyed through the voice acting bc of how little direct focus there is on the characters. there's actually several scenes in Mindbomb where she mentions him and she outright says that she misses him during her discussion with Matthias

that implied scene with them in Mindbomb!! i have a Lot of thoughts about that!!! it's all conjecture and fanfic fodder!!! but the reason i mention this is because it seems pretty meta that out of the whole Gally Gang, it's Leela who first sees Brax when he comes back to Gallifrey and in turn she's the first person (besides Matthias, i guess) that he sees upon his return?? idk i just feel like that's somehow a meaningful detail??? also her reaction of utter shock after spending the entire episode missing him and how worked up she is when she tries to tell Romana, like I desperately need to know what happened in this missing scene MR RICHARDS PLEASE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED

Leela insisting on going with Brax when Pandora starts hurting him and their whole conversation there is just. so good. like they're both just so soft and then when Darkel comes in Leela instantly goes into protective mode. like they just have such an open relationship bc Brax doesn't even try to be all pretentious with her, like he doesn't even try to keep up any facades when he's with her he's just very genuine and it really says a lot about both of them -- Leela is so good at seeing people, like getting down to the core of who people are and what makes them them (which is why she's good for Romana, btw, bc Romana has a lot of identity issues) and Brax is so tangled up in who he presents himself as that he barely knows who he actually is anymore but Leela can see that and she makes it so he can truly be himself and he doesn't have to hide. also she's so gentle with him when they talk about Pandora, she's very caring and empathetic and wants to make sure he's okay and i am WEAK

it's been a hot while since i listened to Panacea but I think i remember Brax being really soft with Leela when he first brings the gang to the Axis, like just sounding really glad to see her

ok other than the fact that Brax is lowkey relatable in Reborn (daydreaming fanfic about yourself/people you know? simping for Mary Tamm Romana? yeah mood, my man) there's that scene where they're first appraoching the Citadel on the alt!Gallifrey and it seems like none of them, and Brax specifically, have seen it from the outside in a good long while bc he's very in awe and he tells Leela that he wishes she could see it and he sounds sO hEcKiNg sOFT oh my word-

and once again with Leela thinking of Brax as someone she trusts for help: in Dissassembled when everything is going to crap she straight-up says that she wants to go find Brax bc he'll know what to do/be able to help

at the beginning of Annihilation when Romana is depressed and questioning if Brax truly was her friend and Leela INSTANTLY, NO HESITATION assures her that he was; i lost where i had her exact lines written down but she actually kinda goes off to make sure Romana gets the point

literally forcing myself to talk about this bc it makes my brain stall out but like,,, the Brax Hound in Annihilation,,, Leela being like "goodbye, Braxiatel... again" she sounds so sad and like UGH i always kinda forget how sad it actually is for them to lose Brax in Dissassembled bc like, it was so sudden and they didn't get to say goodbye and Leela is always losing people and i have many many feels about this scene and how all that emotion is made very clear in how they each respond to the Hound (might make a separate post abt this later if anyone is interested ::eyes::)

Enemy Lines is utter bullcrap about these two and I will never stop being salty about how they not only sidelined the very good, very subtle friendship they had in s1-4, but they??? made Leela acutally not trust Brax??? when literally this entire time she's been the one person who probably genuinely trusts him the most?? what the heck, David

I haven't heard TW3 or 4 yet but i'm assuming there's nothing worthwhile in those with regards to this duo (correct me if i'm wrong tho lol, i would love to be mistaken in this assumption)

TL;DR Leela and Brax mututally imprinted on each other and have probably the most open and healthy relationship within the OT4 and it is an absolute CRIME that nobody besides Gary Russell and Justin Richards cared enough to actually build on it in canon

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nightklok · 3 years

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Title: 'Cause I've been hurt so many times, I need someone who will try to soothe me, and not use me Pairing: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Pickles the Drummer Rating: E (For one future smut scene but chapter one is T-rated) Tags: Fake dating, Additional tags on AO3 Summary: Abigail considers herself great at her job; she knows how to make a successful album and her track record shows it. Dethklok proved to be the biggest challenge yet but she learned to overcome any hurdle thrown her way. However, what she didn’t anticipate was Seth’s second wedding. Specifically, Pickles’ mother getting on his case about finding a date to the wedding. Logically, she decides to be his fake date for the wedding. Just fake a relationship for a few months until the wedding then 'mutually' break it off; should be easy enough. It’s just the most renowned music producer and most popular musician fake dating. Surely no feelings or trouble will rise out of this.

Chapter One on Ao3 Here! Chapter one is also under the cut

Abigail had learned quickly that working with Dethklok was oftentimes like walking through those Halloween hay mazes blindfolded. Years upon years of working with pretentious celebrities, tight deadlines, and challenges that were thrown her way would never prepare her for working with them. For a group of five who lived together and knew each other the best, it didn’t always mean that they thought the same way and one would think they finally learned what worked best for them after years of working. But for some reason, they continuously went with the same method that never worked out because it seemed like the best to them. And clearly, it wasn’t.

She was no stranger to challenges so when Dethklok proved to be one, she did her usual process of breaking through to them. And that was asking questions to the right people. Charles stated it was just how they were. Knubbler said they were a bunch of dumb jackoffs so she had to hold the least amount of expectations for them...and lower it. Melmord had offered her weed because it would be the only way she could ever handle working with them. Twinkletits had suggested unresolved trauma and perhaps banana stickers would solve it.

She would find soon enough that everyone was right in their own suggestions but it didn’t mean she followed through with any of them. It didn’t take long to figure out that scheduling private sessions with each individual band member was a lot better compared to them being together only to yell at each other. Within a few days of the focus being more on private sessions, the difference being made was incredible. They seemed to thrive better under one-on-one time and having the group meetings at the end of the day so they could go over their progress had helped incredibly.

The only problem that she couldn’t solve was their old habits. Most of the time the sessions were either forgotten or recordings had to take a week or longer just to make sure the sound was perfect. They were still five people with different ideas of how the album could be better; it would be hard to find common ground and even harder to get them to be responsible under her schedule.

It didn’t mean every member was a thorn in her side though. Pickles and Skwisgaar were some of the more responsible ones compared to the rest. They’d sometimes forget to show up but that was expected.

Skwisgaar did have a certain way of speaking about music she couldn’t quite understand but she found herself slowly understanding him the more they recorded his sessions. It became like learning a new language but less on the fun part. Luckily, he was never one to speak much regardless; music did the talking for him and that was a good enough language for them to understand.

And Pickles, despite his years of experience under the spotlight, wasn’t the pretentious celebrity she expected him to be when they recorded together. He did his work without much complaint, left when she was satisfied and his first-week recording for a song would be the last as there generally wasn’t much left for him to retake. He normally trusted her judgment and any criticisms offered were never given for the sake of belittling her. It came from a place of experience and knowledge and it became something she quickly respected him for. He still occasionally missed his recordings, however, but with how time felt so rapid in getting things in order, she didn’t notice he actually began showing up more often.

He couldn’t show up one day due to a last-minute scheduling conflict that day and since he had a valid excuse, she didn’t expect him to show up at all. Deciding to not let those hours go to waste, she spent it contacting Knubbler for a quick meeting. He sent her the tracks he finished for her to listen to and she offered her critique. They were tossing track after track at one another to see what sticks and eventually something did. After sending him the latest track to fix-up by the end of their meeting, she checked her email to go more into the boring parts of her job.

She loved her job without a doubt but it didn’t mean there were some parts she actually dreaded doing. Emails were one of them; business language, having to wait up to a day for a response, and everything else just to show she was a professional despite her name being tied to so many influential things. Maybe she was famous enough to sign off her emails with a ‘k thx’ but didn't quite know if it was even worth the impending backlash soon after. She was known for her professionalism, not lack of.

But the album wouldn’t be finished for quite a while so she simply had to make do with what she could. Regardless, the marketing director wanted to listen to one of the demo songs. The day was winding down, she just had to spend an extra hour or two in the recording studio, then she could grab food, take a long bath and watch a movie until she fell asleep.

The motivation of food and a chance to relax was enough to look through her emails once more as she played the finished track. She didn’t hear the knock on the door but she did hear the door opening but didn’t turn around. She had expected it to be a klokateer doing some late cleaning.

“Abigail?” A voice all too familiar filled the silence. As she turned around, Pickles closed the door behind him quietly as if to not disturb her (even though he already did). He seemed a bit sheepish as he put his hands in his pockets to play off a calm attitude, “I just wanted to know if you still needed me.”

“Well, it’s not the first time you didn’t show up to a session, Pickles.” She answered a little too bluntly. It came off harsher and she had almost expected him to be offended by it but he shrugged instead, “Charles told me you wouldn’t have been able to come today, anyway.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s true I have bailed out on a few sessions, but I was planning on showing up to today’s session. I promise.”

She folded her arms, leaning back against the chair. It was new territory having Pickles actually show up when he wasn’t meant to. It didn’t seem like he was there for anything else too, “And you really mean that?”

He casually held up his right hand in a three-finger salute, “Scout’s honor...if I was a Boy Scout, that is. But I’m here now. That should be enough proof, right?” He grinned at her before he walked to the recording booth, “I got this beat stuck in my head I wanna get out of my system. Won’t take too much of your time.”

She glanced at the clock; it was still early enough to record a few takes and he did seem excited to record. Might as well give some time to humor him, “Alright, you get one hour to impress me.”

“I’ll make it count,” He finished her sentence as he closed the door. Taking the drumsticks and headphones, he took a seat in front of the drum kit and quickly prepared, “This is for uhhh...what did we call 8?”

“ Uncensor My Songs On The Radio You Fucking Tool. ”

“Yeah, that’s it! Anyway, I think I figured out why it doesn’t fit on my end. Can you play from the beginning?”

“Sure, get ready in five seconds” It took just a few clicks to get to the song he wanted. She let the metronome play for just a few seconds for him to get the beat before hitting the record button as soon as the song played.

As soon as the song played, Pickles began without hesitation. The sound was much different compared to his other takes...and it fit perfectly as he had said. She waited though; listened to every hit and snare intensely for a mistake to come and screw his take over. But that moment never happened and before she knew it the song was over.

“How did I do?” He grinned at her as he wiped his sweaty forehead with his arm, “Not bad for one take, right?”

Impressive. “Not bad at all. I think this might be just the parts we needed to get the song to be finally done,” She answered as she hit the record button to pause the recording. She made sure to save the file and backed up the file into her work email. (Charles had requested she make backup copies of each recording without the boys’ knowledge when she began working. Just in case).

She watched as Pickles removed his headphones but quickly stopped him, “It’s great but I think another take would be good to have, right?”

“Oh C’mon! Isn’t it great as it is?!” He pleaded. He was foolish to think he could impress her with just one take.

“I’m not denying that it’s great but I’m sure you would be able to do another take if you got it all memorized, right?” She answered. The tone of her voice just shifted slightly enough to indicate a challenge and that’s all that Pickles needed to hear from her.

“Don’t think I can do it, huh?” He smiled back at her as he put the headphones back on. It was a challenge he could easily win, after all, but she was never one to even let him believe it would be easy. The rush of it and the feeling of adrenaline starting to kick in made it all the more tempting, “Well get the song playing again. I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.”

“You’re gonna end up tiring yourself out, Pickles.”

“You can let me off the hook then if you’re so worried about me.” He answered with the signature lopsided grin he gave out as freely as sweets, “I think there are some restaurants around that we can go to if you still haven’t eaten yet.”

Bargaining and banter had become something that they learned to communicate with. If there was anyone else in the room, there was no way she would be talking so loosely with him. They were alone however and would be for a long time so it became easier to shake off the layer of professionalism she had to keep up with all day. However, the remaining part of her brain that was still in work mode rejected his offer despite the temptation being far too great, “Not a chance; you walked yourself into this one...But if you wow me just early enough, I might take you up on your offer.”

“Get the song playing again and tell me when to stop.”

The truth was she was already satisfied by the third take but she did let him keep going at least two more times for good measure. By the time she said he was finished, Pickles’ legs were sore but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Five takes weren’t bad at all and he found himself confident in the progress.

“Not bad, Pickles. I think there’s something there I can take for the recording.” Abigail answered with a grin that he tiredly returned.

“Hm, not satisfied yet, or just wanna keep my ego down?”

“Maybe.” She watched him put the headphones and drumsticks away before exiting the recording studio.

“I wanna hear it though. Play the best track.” He went to the mini-fridge and offered her a beer which she declined.

“Just get me a coke. The drink, I mean. I’ll play the best track in a second,” She had already labeled the track files by a number scale and taken notes so she didn’t need to relisten. He set the can of coke beside her as he watched her take a few moments to look through the notes before finally deciding on the best track. She quickly spliced it in with the demo and hit play.

Pickles already flopped on the couch, on his second can of beer already somehow (She didn’t know if it was impressive or horrifying). He didn’t say anything while the song played, leaned back against the couch. When it ended he asked, “Is that the best one?”

“Well, I think it is. It’s the one that doesn’t even need much editing. The others are just as great too, in all honesty,” She answered as she checked her notes briefly. She could go into great detail over the tracks, maybe even explain why the tracks were a perfect fit for a song but she didn’t want to ramble. And besides, he seemed a little bit bothered, “But what do you think?”

“Hm. Not as good as I thought it would be,” He said a little sullenly, “Nate’s gonna wanna delete it. I just know it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think he’d want you to delete them especially when he knows you’re having a hard time with this song. They’re all pretty good but if you want to talk with Knubbler since he’ll be doing most of the editing, just give him a call tomorrow.”

“Do you even think it’s good?”

“Of course. If I wasn’t satisfied enough, I would’ve had you still record a few more takes.”

That was an answer that seemed to satisfy him at least as he didn’t say anything else in retaliation. He only asked to play the track again, and finished his second can of beer, “I guess if you think it’s fine, I’ll take your word for it. It’s probably getting late isn’t it?”

“Come in tomorrow and you can listen to it again. If you really aren’t satisfied with it, you can try again,” She offered. She checked at her watch briefly; 10:45 PM. How has it been almost two hours already?

“Yeah, I think that sounds like a plan. We can put a stop to it for now. But uh, sorry for wasting your time.”

She shrugged, “You’re not, Pickles. Don’t worry about it. I would’ve left around this time anyway.”

“Okay, if you say so.” With a shrug, he shifted his mood and stood up. He didn’t seem to sulk longer than he usually did, probably because it was already late and they were both tired, “Did you still wanna eat?”

“Don’t you usually eat with your bandmates?” Usually, mealtimes were the quickest and easiest ways to find them if she needed to. Having memorized that schedule, she knew that dinner was about a few hours ago...or a few hours from now depending on what they did that day.

“Yeah but not today; Offdensen really had us doing interviews all fuckin’ day. I don’t think I’ve eaten lunch yet and I guess you didn’t get dinner either?”

“Nope. I was planning to, anyway.” A late dinner invitation was not rare to get but it was rarer to get one by someone she wouldn’t mind having dinner with. Their relationship with each other was always professional, and he also had years of experience in the music business outside Dethklok. It always felt refreshing to talk to someone who shared the same interests as her. She put her laptop away in her briefcase once she saved all her files; her night was officially done, “Is there someone even able to make dinner at this time?”

“There should be. If not, there are probably leftovers in the fridge. Or we can order pizza, it’s completely your call.”

She slung the briefcase over her shoulder, following him to the hallway. After shutting and locking the door to the recording studio (Charles gave the only keys to her and Knubbler), she walked with him to the kitchen where the conversation of dinner slowly shifted to music and almost anything they could cram in the next two hours.

And by the end of that night, the late dinner invitations became frequent and she had accepted every single one. He always hung around by her last hour of work, even if it meant staying up late. It only meant ordering food to be delivered to them as Pickles convinced her to watch a film she hadn’t seen in years or her convincing him to watch one of her favorite guilty pleasure sitcoms.

For the most part, it was assumed she was just working with him on the album. No one really needed to know about the breaks where they shared a beer and gossiped about the celebrities they had interacted with before. As far as Knubbler and everyone knew, she was using most of the two hours to perfect his recording.

But just a few months later, the hangouts and late-night dinner invitations stopped in their tracks with no warning whatsoever.

She wondered at first if it was something she had done. But then it began affecting his work and it was clear he was distracted about something. She knew and learned enough about him that he was a perfectionist when it came to the drums; he was always a person who wanted to do his job correctly when it came to something he really did care about at the end of the day. Music was his passion, after all. And if he didn’t have passion for the things he cared about the most, then something was going on.

“Do you want to take a break, Pickles?” She asked. It was currently her fifth time asking the same question that week alone.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s keep going.” He answered as he picked up his drums and waited for her to press record.

She didn’t say anything else after that and she let him leave after a few hours. He left before she could get a word out and she would be met with the rising feeling that something bad was about to happen and recordings that not even Knubbler could salvage.

A few days later, she figured out what happened. It took a text from the staff group chat and an email that contained a video to piece the puzzle together.

“Hey, Neon Genesis Evan gail ion. It’s me, your coworker, Seth.”

She did not watch the rest of the video (sober) and instead asked about the video in the group chat. Seth was never invited to the chat for the same reason Melmord was not invited to the second wedding of Seth and whatever poor woman he got roped up with.

Just by that video and conversation, she had connected why Pickles might be upset. It had something to do with the wedding, sure, but what specifically about it? Was it that he had known the girl Seth planned to marry? She wanted to ask so many questions but limited herself to three. But even those three questions were quickly narrowed down to one, then none at all when she realized it would be harder to pry anything out of him.

But, as advised by Knubbler, it was best to keep going. He’d probably breakthrough midway through a recording session. Being someone who knew to listen to others, she listened to his advice for at least a few more days.

She waited those few days and then two more. It was clear whatever was bothering him was still going to continue bothering him until the end of time probably. She had to talk to him against their better judgments; it felt like the only option available to her.

It was a session that lasted over seven hours and she was sure both of them were getting frustrated on their own ends. No amount of coffee or whiskey could even cure the boredom and annoyance that was of a session that would lead to nowhere. It was better to just cut things short and talk about it. If not even the drums could help him feel better, how serious was the situation?

She pressed the intercom button when the song finished and she immediately hit delete. There was no way to salvage the song, “Pickles, would you mind if we talk?”

His expression was perplexed for a moment before he resigned to his fate, not giving much of a protest, “Alright,” he answered with a sigh. He set his drumsticks down as he walked out of the booth, taking a seat by the couch.

She was never all that good at talking to people about feelings in all honesty. And he seemed like a rather emotional guy, to begin with. There were a few moments of awkward silence between them as she tried to find what a good way to start the conversation would be, “I think we know that you seem distracted lately. What’s been bothering you?”

And despite all her mental preparations that he would find it hard to pry open, he actually opened up quite honestly, “Well you know about the wedding right?”

“Yeah, he invited me too.” She answered as she thought back to the weird video message Seth had sent her. She wondered if she should even make a comment about that but decided against it, “You don’t want him to get married or something?”

“I don’t care about that. He could get married as many times as he wants; He’s still getting a fucking Vitamix. But it’s not about that,” He answered, “It’s my mom. She’s been blowing up my phone all week asking about who I’m bringing with me to Seth’s wedding. Keeps talking about how I should settle down, find someone to marry, or whatever. But I don’t have the time to date!”

She stared at him and didn’t say a single word until he caved in.

“Okay, time’s not the problem but dating while you’re this famous is fucking hard. You must’ve seen that public divorce in ‘89 right?”

She definitely remembered. She was on college radio at the time and had taken over someone’s show. It was either some debate or public opinion show and that was probably one of the more shows she had ever experienced. Did it help that she was a fan of his music back in the day? No, but she would not admit that “I kind of knew about it. It sounded like it was an awful divorce for you. But you were only nineteen, weren’t you? You shouldn't stop yourself from dating for something that happened when you were just a teen.”

“Nineteen, thirty-five, ninety, does it matter? It was as awful behind the scenes as it was in public. I’m not gonna bore you with that but basically, I’m done with dating. And she won’t see that!”

“Well...maybe one of your bandmates can be your date?” She offered.

“Nah, been there, done that, it didn’t work out. And plus, would you even fake date any of them?”

She thought for a moment, “Yeah, smart choice.”

“It’s gotta be someone she has never met before to make it more believable.”

“I see,” Abigail paused. She had waited, expecting almost, for Pickles to look at her, drop the ‘except…’, and plead for her to be his fake date but he didn’t. He only reached into the mini-fridge to pull out a beer, offering one to Abigail who accepted. She didn’t like the beer and had to hide her disgusted look as she took a sip and tried to set it down casually.

The conversation had died out like that. She kept on sipping the beer and hoping he would say something. But he didn’t and it became clear that she had to be the one to speak up. There was only one possible solution to it and it felt like the most obvious., “If you can’t find anyone else, I can be your date.” She offered.

Pickles looked at her like she had asked him to play the drums with his mouth, “I respect you too much to get you involved with my family. They’re like...leeches that suck the fuckin’ life out of you! This is a me problem, you don’t need to fix that. ”

“Well...it’s affecting your drumming too.” she pointed out as she looked at him, “And trust me, I know what I’m getting into. I can handle it, Pickles. I work for Dethklok and I’ve certainly been through a lot more than just a wedding party. I appreciate your concern, but let me help.”

“Abigail...” He almost pleaded.

“I owe you, remember?”

He clearly did remember, “but-”

“He invited me anyway, Pickles. I’m still going out of work obligations; I promise this won’t bother me at all.”

“But you know it’s gonna have to be a lot more than just going to my brother’s wedding right? My mom will want to meet you and who knows what other folks are gonna try and meet you too.”

That was one thing more terrifying than the branding ceremony. Was it even worth it to complete the album?, “Then basically we’d just be faking a relationship until the ceremony?”

“I guess yeah...and that’s...three months from now? You really don’t-”

“As I said, I know what I’m getting into. I want to help you and if we have to do this for a week, months, or a year, it’s okay with me.”

Pickles said nothing for the longest time. He held the half-empty can of beer, nulling over his options that probably didn’t help with him being slightly intoxicated, “You won’t hate me right?”

It caught her off guard almost but she remained on track, “Of course not. I promise,” If she hated him, that would mean there would be no more all-nighters together but she wouldn’t admit that.

“Okay. Just so you know you can back out of this anytime, I won’t be offended if you do.” He said finally and that had sealed the deal, “But we need to keep this a secret which I know is probably obvious enough. If the guys find out, they’ll never stop teasing us about it.”

“But if all we really need to do is just please your parents, I don’t think that will be a problem. Don’t worry about me, Pickles; it’ll be fine. I promise that I will back out if I don’t want to do this anymore.”

It was clear he was unsure still and she didn’t know how much more convincing he would really need. But perhaps that was something to let sit and process; and hopefully, in time, he’d warm up to the idea enough to feel like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

There was nothing else she could really do at this point she knew. It was a quick resolution but a slow payoff and she had done what she could for the day, "How about you take the rest of the day off? If you wanna give recording the song a shot tomorrow, we can."

“Alright,” He threw out the half-finished beer can, beer spilled from the can, some of it splashing into the sides of the trash can and leaving a potent smell of beer. She made a reminder to herself to have a klokateer replace the trash can later. But it would be quickly forgotten when he spoke up again, “I uh, appreciate it, Abigail. I really do."

"It's not a problem at all. I hope you know that you can always turn to me if you need anything?"

"I do, yeah, and uh the same right back," He paused for a moment, "I'll take you out to dinner sometime if you want. It's the least I can do."

"That would be nice but I don't need a big fancy dinner. I'm fine eating here, and watching a movie." She answered. She wanted to speak more but her phone began ringing and she saw that it was from Charles, "I should probably take this."

"Oh yeah, go ahead. And uh, if you wanna grab some dinner again you know where to find me. I'm sorry I bailed out on you this week, I'll make it up to you." He quickly left before she could speak.

All alone in the studio, she took a moment to compose herself. Refusing to give herself even more time to let what she had gotten herself into sink in, she answered the phone.

It was only three months but somehow this new task felt like it would end up being the hardest task yet. But, she had an album to finish. It was just part of the job, right?

#metalocalypse #abigail remeltindtdrinc #pickles the drummer #picklegail #my writing #goddd im not sure about this but this has been sitting in my drafts for nearly...4 months now its time to release it sdflj

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dr-passionate-production · 3 years

Text

There was something special about looking over the balcony at night. The business of the main road had long died out, leaving just the occasional zoom of a passing car. The sun's blinding light would be hidden away for hours to come. The songs of nocturnal insects filling the ears of those around. There was something.. Special about it all, something serene.

The cat, laying idly at Kei's feet, had found solace in her silence as she did in his. His soft purring vibrating the tips of her toes. The two siblings weren't fond of TV, especially this late at night. So the usual ruckus of the day was no longer present, allowing the ragdoll to sleep soundly if he so choose.

The freedom to choose.. What a liberty, right? To allow oneself decide their own fate, both good and bad. It could be a simple decision, like what color socks you wanted to wear that day or did you want to call your mother or your father, knowing both would be on the end of either of your choices. But, as we intricate creatures continue to walk the long road we call life, we are expected, and sometimes forced, to make some harsh decisions. Ones that are sure to affect you in the long run, if not your entire life. And as Ms. Kei Sato stood there, eyes gazing away into the nightly abyss, she wondered if she chose right. Out of the handful of choices she was given, did she choose the best one for everyone?

Sighing, she looked down, a hand rubbing at her temple in attempts of easing the oncoming headache that was sure to ruin her night and morning. Curses were uttered, and her eyes glanced around dully at the surroundings beneath her. The cat.. Her toes.. The sleeved shirt she wore. When finally, her eyes landed on the glistening ring that hung from her neck.

...

"... Is the-there something wrong with it?" Hisai asked, taken aback by the way she stared at the gift. It was a golden ring, striped down the center by a lighter shade of gold. The name 'Jeong-joo' was inscribed on the inside, meaning that, yet again, it was a piece of fan merch from the TV show he loved so much. Taehyun, a starry-eyed coworker of Jeong-joo's, had given it to her as one of his many attempts to win her affection. It was an awkward gesture for the both of them, realizing how idiotic it was to give a girl a gift that expensive. It was one of the defining moments of their platonic relationship, one that especially stuck out to the tactician, seeing that he related so heavily to him.

"N-no... I-"

It was too late to reassure. He turned the box to him, worry in his eyes as he buried his face into the case, examining every last detail of the ring. And while it looked stupid in every definition of the word, it did manage to achieve his true goal: to elicit a smile from his troubled girlfriend. He noticed something was off from the get-go. Her usual smile was faded and it looked like his ramblings went through one ear and out the other. She was thinking about something important, he guessed, and while he didn't want to bother her with questions, he was supposed to be there whenever she was upset, like now.

"I- um.. I noticed you're kind of.. Out of it..? I-I guess I-..." He mentally cursed at how his stuttering voice betrayed him. "Are you okay?"

"Hisai.. What do you like about me?"

What did he like about her? What kind of question was that? There was plenty to like about her! Both as a friend and as- .. You know.. A girlfriend..! Where is this all coming from, he wondered. The bothered look on her face was one he hadn't seen before. She was serious about it, so he should as well.

"W-Well..." He stammered, a flower of red starting to blossom on his cheeks. "You're really pretty.. A-and nice... You actually listen to me instead of- you know. Ignoring me like everyone else... And I really like that- um.. That you also give everyone a chance.. Instead of shunning people away because of dumb rumors, you try to befriend them.. And stuff.." The more he spoke, the more confident he sounded in his words. Hisai wasn't good at complimenting someone like this, not like he had experience in it anyway. His mind nearly went blank at the question! Thankfully, though, he managed to pull together a nice coherent answer.

"What if.." Blink and he'd miss the flicker of sadness in her eyes. Her arms folded, as she tried to find a way to voice her insecurities without actually saying them. "What if I was different?"

"Different? Like you had a secret identity?"

"Yes and-... Yes and no.. I'm still myself." She bit her lip, teeth grinding so hard on the delicate piece of flesh that she was on the brink of tearing through. She wanted to say it. She wanted to just pull at her hair and tell him all the things that tore her apart at night. But she couldn't, the fear of rejection and sullying every last moment she had with him and their friends looming over her.

"But a different kind of 'me'.."

"I-I'm confused.. But-! But!.. I.. I'll give 'that kind of you' a chance.. Like you did to me.. Because, in the end, you're still Isa. .. Right?"

His answer was far from understandable. And he couldn't tell if what he said did anything to improve her mood or ease her stress. But the smile he gave her read as if he solved all of her problems. Like he was going to be the sunshine on her rainy day.

Isabella fought back the tears pricking her reddening eyes. He was far too sweet for his or her own good. Just gives her another reason to cherish him more. She pulled him in close, an arm around his shoulders and another to hug his head against her chest, her fingers running through his blonde hair. Isabella was sure he could feel her heart beat against his temple, but she couldn't care any less. Let him hear it.

"Thank you, Sai." She managed to whisper without choking on her tears. They'd have to work on this giving nature of his. She could easily buy him back just as many gifts but it felt as if he was trying to buy her affection. But really-

"And don't worry... I love the ring."

He didn't have to.

...

Hisai.. The sky was empty that night, not a single star was to be seen from the comforts of the balcony. No one was there to listen to her pleads, not even the spirits above. Can I still be given another chance..?

She had completely separated herself from the one who once was. From head to toe, from the mannerisms to the deepening of her voice, she was Kei Sato, amateur gardener, Armani family caretaker. She enjoyed long walks along the dock and the smell of a Monday brew. She watched La Ruota Della Fortuna with her mother and played cards with the pretentious prick she called a father. She made herself at home in a future she was satisfied with living. But..

"Are you sure about this one, Kid? You know you can't go back after this?"

"Kei! ... You're in our group chat now. So text us when you can, okay?..."

"...You know we would have been there for you if you told us! I could have sworn you were the one that said that we should protect each other..!"

"Addie.. What do I do..?"

"Talking to the cat is a new low, don't you think?"

Of course, she tsked. The sly bastard had snuck up on her while she was deep in thought, only to flash a chesire grin when he caught her thinking out loud.

"You look terrible."

"You are terrible.." She didn't have the energy to make a witty comeback. Seeing him next to her sapped any and all tolerance within seconds. Einosuke shifted his position, joining her to face the small area around them, his head tilted up towards the stars.

"How does it feel? The creeping sense of doubt and regret."

Her words left her the moment she tried to open her mouth. She tried to scowl but her face kept twisting back to her usual bitter look. The corners of her lips twitched and her hands reached up to wipe away bubbling tears. But the more she swiped at, the more tears that fell to the point where she had given up on delaying the inevitable. The last straw was the hand placed on her back, rubbing awkward circles as a means to comfort her.

"Miss Kei!" Kei turned to the painfully cheerful voice, her hands gripping tightly onto the suitcase she dragged behind her. The airport was packed with people yet the occultist had managed to pick her out from the crowd. The moment the clack of her shoes ceased, Chiyo held up a hand, her chest heaving as she took a moment to catch her breath. How did she fucking run in heels?

"He- Here, my dear!" Chiyo held up her phone, decorated with all types of gothic imagery and a photo of her and her beloved mothers. She displayed the chatting app she and her classmates used. With a few taps, Kei's number was slotted amongst the already long list of members in the group.

"You're in our group chat now. So text us when you can, okay?"

"Thanks.. Um.. Kageyama-san but-"

"Please." The occult took Kei's free hand into hers, the serious look in her eyes stopping her in her tracks. "Your aura.. You are harboring a lot of bottled up emotions that I'm sure you don't want to say."

She squeezed the ravenette's hand. "If you ever need someone to talk to, dearest. You know you can absolutely talk to us! If not them, then definitely me. Because I know how it feels.."

Kei was.. Stunned. What did she-. She couldn't have possibly known that-. The lump in her throat was unrelenting and so was the grip Chiyo was on her.

"I... I'm gonna miss my flight.." Kei slipped from her grasp, backing away as she shook off the thought. Chiyo was always the weird one, she reminded herself.

"Bye.." She muttered, rushing off to, hopefully, disappear into the crowd.

"Remember to text us!!" The occultist yelled, not at all bothered by the bitter looks she was receiving. She waved both of her hands with a smile, sending her off with her final goodbyes. "We're here for you, darling! Because that's what friends are for!"

"I hate it.."

[Event: Ms. Sato (End)]

#Event Post: Ms. Sato #Sato Kei #Sanae Hisai #Miyoshi Isabella #Sato Einosuke #Kageyama Chiyo #Event End #long post

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revengeisalwaysanoption · 5 years

Note

Can you write something about Niccoli being depressed/ having an episode and boys trying to make him feel better?

He doesn't even know how it started.

Well, he has been feeling low for a couple of days could barely get out of bed to eat something and shower but... It has happened before, and it has always helped to have Martino with him. Not lately.

Usually he blames the weather - it's worse when outside it's all dark and rainy - but he can't even have that, now. There isn't a cloud in the sky, as he looks out the window. It adds insult to injury, as if there was some kind of higher power telling him 'How can you feel so unhappy, when the sun is shining and everything is fine out there?'

Rationally, he knows that it must have something to do with the exams fast approaching in June but it has never been so bad.

He is fucking tired of being told "Stop worrying about the future."

It’s not something he does on purpose, and it’s always too late when he realizes that his mind drifted where it wasn't allowed to.

Does Martino know how exhausting it is to persuade himself that his fears have no reason to exist?

How dumb his inability to take things as they come, minute by minute, makes him feel?

Sooner or later, he will have to choose what to do with this life. Postponing the decision doesn’t make it disappear. It’s always there, at the back of his mind. With all its potential downfalls.

He hasn’t even brought up the topic of moving to Milan, because he dreads both a positive (‘so you can’t wait for me to leave, uh?) and a negative reaction (it’s my future we’re talking about, stop making it about you!’) from Marti.

He can’t see himself living in Rome for another year, but he can't be without Martino.

That's absurd. It's not healthy to be so co-dependent on someone. He needs to learn how to survive without him. Besides, Martino deserves better than dating a nutjob that keeps on dragging him down, with his weird moods and paranoid fears of being abandoned. And it doesn't matter how many times he will tell Nico that he isn't going anywhere. Eventually, he will walk away. Niccolò will do something to fuck this up, like he always does.

Martino will get tired of having to talk sense into him, of his love being doubted and put to test all the fucking time. Of fighting about money, of telling him that he can pay for himself and doesn’t need Niccolò to cover all his expenses.

He will soon understand that they don’t have much in common, that they rarely listen to the same music or appreciate the same movies, books or tv shows. That they don’t even work that well as friends.

He can’t have Marti here, when he’s clearly not taking proper care of himself. Studying when he should be sleeping, eating too little, because babysitting Niccolò is a full time job.

It makes everything worse.

He hates that Martino turn down invitations from the boys just to spend time with him. Hates himself for letting that happen.

"Why don't you just go? Get lost. Stop wasting your time with a depressed fuck like me, Marti! There’s nothing you can do…”

It's a low blow, and he knows it. He regret those words as soon as they are out of his mouth, but it’s too late to take them back. Those are the very same words Martino in that bathroom, all those months ago, when he talked about his own mother. They are like a slap to his face, but Marti still refuses to back down.

“I was wrong, and you know it. Nico, please. Don’t shut me out.”

And he wants to open the door and surrender to his soft touch, to break down in his arms. Put his mind to rest for a while. But he can’t be that selfish.

“Go. I’m begging you, Marti. Leave.” He bites back his tears, holding tighter onto his pillow.

"As you wish." Martino chokes out, defeated, walking away.

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

Martino is persistent, and stubborn.

It's both a blessing and a curse.

He's glad to know that he cares, that he won't give up on him when things get tough. That he can sense when Niccolò is self-sabotaging himself and he won't have any of that.

It's a painful reminder of how little Nico is giving back, how he should be the better man and let Marti find someone who can hand him the world.

He keeps trying to reach out to him, with a few 'hey, call me when you feel better' and a 'thinking about you

'I know you’re trying, but... you're not helping.' He texts back, resorting to half-truths.

It works, but it doesn’t take too long before he starts to regret it.

It has been barely more than 24 hours since he last got a text from Martino, but it feels like a week.'Well done, Niccolò. You drove him away. Mission accomplished.'He mutters to himself, throwing the phone against the wall so violently that its pieces go flying all over the room.

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

Giovanni is the first to show up. He doesn’t ask about their fight, doesn’t even mention Martino.

He sits in front of the door and starts making small talk, telling him about the last movie he has seen and the book he’s reading at the moment.

“I never thought I would like Nick Hornby, you know, but then Eva got Slam for me, because you know, she figured it was about skateboarding… it isn’t, but that’s okay, it’s good… and I actually liked it so much I went looking for more. I bet you’d love Juliet, naked. It’s about music, but it’s nowhere as pretentious as High Fidelity is. It’s a book against pretentiousness when it comes to art, really. I have it here, with me, if you want to give it a try.”

Niccolò doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, but Giovanni doesn’t seem to mind.

He moves on to the latest news from school, about Luchino and how disappointed he was to find out there are plenty of girls crushing on Gio and Elia but none interested in him.

“Can you believe he handed out an anonymous survey?”

“Well. It’s Luca we’re talking about…” They both laugh at that, and Niccolò finally feels comfortable enough to ask if Martino asked him to come and check on him.

“No, zi’… He didn’t have to. I am here for you, is that so hard to believe?” Yes. Yes, it is. “And I’m not leaving until you read this and tell me what you think about this.” He waves his latest essay in front of the yellow tinted glass. He’s just about to try sliding it under the door, when Niccolò finally gives up and lets him in.

“Wow, you look like you haven't slept in a week.”

“Thanks.” He looks up, only to feel crushed by the weight of Giovanni’s concerned glare. How can he be calm, so composed, when Niccolò just broke his best friend’s heart again? “Would you like some coffee, while I read this?”

It’s good. Nico doesn’t agree with half of the things he wrote, but Gio knows how to make a compelling argument and make him go ‘Okay, you have a point there.” His essay is informative, never patronizing or sounding like the same old propaganda. It’s hard to believe he didn’t get a 10 for it. ‘8 for overuse of semi-colons, inconsistencies in style and voice.’

Bullshit. Galante couldn’t give mark that essay with a 10 because he couldn’t stand to read opinions different from his own, couldn’t have students thinking they should pursue writing as a career only to end up like him, teaching Italian literature to a bunch of idiots who couldn’t tell the difference between a metaphor and a metonymy.

“Ha! They keep telling me I’m projecting, that I’m the teacher’s pet but I knew you’d understand! He is lenient with those who can barely write down a coherent and grammatically correct thought, but God forbid if he actually acknowledges excellence! Not that I’m that good, but…”

Hey, hey, hey. No self-deprecation allowed in this room, unless it’s coming from Niccolò himself.

“You are. I mean, I’m no literary critic but I think you’re great. This is great.”

“Says Mr. 9/10.”

“I’m no better than you, I just mastered the art of telling people what they want to hear.”

“Ever thought about getting into politics?”

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

It’s Elia, next.

He doesn’t even knock, just walks in to tell him that he’s gonna cook him something because he looks like death warmed over.

It doesn’t matter if he’s not hungry, at the moment. He can save the food for later, and learn an invaluable life skill in the process.

“I can’t believe you’re losing your shit over moving to Milan, in a couple of months. I mean, if you are afraid you’re not gonna survive due to your non-existent culinary abilities, which is understandable, I am here to help.”

He isn’t bothered at all by Niccolò’s apparent lethargy and lack of focus, he shows him the ropes and then lets him take his time. He slaps his nape when he gets something wrong, but then he smiles at him and helps him fix his mistake. Encourages him to start all over from scratch, if needed.

So what if it takes them hours to bake a quiche, to make an omelette or a tiramisu? It’s not like they’ve got better things to do.

Elia talks much less than one would expect, content to spend an entire afternoon just giving out orders and tips to Nico. Fishing for some advice on how to improve his chances to get laid, by the time they are putting the tiramisu in the fridge.

“Take them somewhere romantic. Cook them a fancy meal. Show them that you never take them for granted and think about the two of you together whenever you are apart.” He has never been one for meaningless one-night stands, and it shows.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that worked like magic with Martino.” Elia sighs, ruffling Nico’s hair. “But I’m interested in making them fall in love with me… I’m trying to get into their pants, here, man.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, then.” He shrugs, grinning when Elia flops dramatically into the sofa and demands a FIFA match. If he assumes him to be worse than Luchino, at this game… Well, he’s in for quite the surprise.

“Well, of course. I don’t know what I expected from someone who can take their shirt off and have people falling over him.”

“Maybe you could come to the gym with me, next time?”

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

Luca storms into his room, with a bag full of junk food and a USB in his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re into, so I’m just sharing my favourite ones…” Of course, he would come bringing porn as a gift.

He’s got no filter, so he doesn’t shy away from a topic just because it would be inappropriate to ask Niccolò if he’s got a food kink – no, because there’s a lady on Twitter that could fit an apple in her ass and that got him wondering how does it feel… - and looks a bit disappointed when Nico moves on to another topic without giving him a proper answer.

It’s probably the first time he found someone willing to hear him out, because he can’t shut up for a second. Mooning over Slivia, moaning about his 4 in Physics - “I know you’re gonna tell me that being held back a year isn’t the end of the world, but… My mom is going to kill me, if I fail” – complaining about his little brother and the lack of a girlfriend.

Niccolò finds it invigorating, to finally have a friend who’s like ‘I’m telling you how pathetic my life is and if you wanna share your woes you’re more than welcome to. If you don’t, I can talk for both of us. We’re not here to compare who’s got it worse.’

When Niccolò think he’s done, that he’s run out of things to say… Luca recalls the last time his mother almost caught him and Martino smoking weed and he had to hand him the joint and hide him under his bed. Only for his mother to say ‘Say hi to Martino for me’ before she left.

“Now she thinks I’m dating him, but that I feel too uncomfortable to come out and she’s dropping hints about how she wouldn’t love me or my brother any less if we were into boys… And I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth… But yeah, I’m glad you find this entertaining.” He huffs, but the smile on his lips tell a different story: he’s quite proud of himself, for making him laugh.

He’s the first not to tiptoe around Marti, to say be brave enough to say “You’re miserable. He’s miserable, so why don’t you both apologize to each other and get it over with?”

“It’s not that simple, Luchì.”

“Yes it is. Now give me your phone.”

#skam italia #nicotino #rames #my writing #giovanni garau #elia santini #luca colosio

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morallyshaded · 3 years

Text

all that matters

In which Cherry gets screwed over, meets some pint sized power houses, and doesn’t kick ass. Oh yeah, and there’s a bit of tenderness as well.

The fight was unexpected.

This was unusual, because she would have normally bolted right now. Fights were not in this particular contract, she had full permission to run. Her current employer wouldn’t be mad at her, she did her end of the contract, and she would receive payment. That’s all that mattered. Besides, tonight she had wanted to leave as soon as possible. With the cash she was getting, she’d be able to afford the latest doll her sister wanted. Josie wanted a doll that looked like her, a custom one. Cherry had placed the order, giving half payment up front with the other half to come. Sure she had to cut down on meals for herself, take on a more risky contract in order to afford the other half, but it was all worth it. She was going to see Josie smile. That was worth everything.

However, before she could bolt, she had found the doors had been barricaded, from the outside. That was a bad sign, something their lookout should have informed everyone of. However, a split second later their lookout’s body fell from the perch, barely alive by the looks of it. Cherry let out an annoyed huff. Not because the fellow hench person was bleeding out on the floor, but because they were so idiotic. It is not that hard to spot people in costumes, not to mention the sirens and colors of the cop cars could be heard from miles away. Now Cherry was going to have to deal with their mistake. She just hoped that whoever decided to aide in the take down of their operation, it was one of the nicer Bats. The ones who would only fracture her wrist instead of breaking her spine.

That was simply not an option. To be hospitalized. To be put into prison. Who would provide for Josie? If Cherry were alone, she couldn’t care less. Her life had but only one purpose, to take care of Josie. Everything else was irrelevant. She could not allow herself to sustain any lasting injuries or see any jail time. Who would take care of Josie? Who would sing her lullabies when the nightmares got too intense? Who would give her spaghetti tacos because she had seen it once on a rerun of iCarly and wanted them? Who would brush her hair, play dress up with her, take her to the mall to see Santa? Not a damn person.

She couldn’t lose. It wasn’t her life to give up.

As long as one of the more brutal bats weren’t here, she’d be safe. However, judging by their plan to barricade the door, they weren’t planning on taking any chances of anyone escaping.

That must mean they want information. From all of them. Information Cherry didn’t really care to give out. Snitching was deadly in the hench world.

So it was either be killed by one of the Bats, or be killed by her fellow henches.

Stellar choice.

She cocked her gun, fully intending on making it out of here alive and uninjured, whenever she heard the tell tale sign of a blade being drawn, before a figure pounced in front of her. The traffic color costume was unmistakable.

Apparently Robin had decided to take down their operation. He was a step up from Red Hood, but still not a good chance.

She didn’t even bother raising her gun, he would cut her hand off anyway. Cherry wanted to keep all of her limbs. She then heard someone land roughly behind her. She chanced a glance behind her, briefly enough to see blue and red. Great. The Super Sons had decided to crash this. Facing off against a Kryptonian and a blood thirsty Robin? She didn’t have a chance fighting her way out.

“What? Not gonna see if your bullets can stop us?” The Boy Wonder taunted, keeping the sword held aloft.

Cherry let out a bored sigh. She hated when these people felt the need to engage in conversation. She just wanted them to kick her ass and be done with it. But apparently that wasn’t going to happen. She was going to have to listen to a bunch of smartass quips and jokes. At least nobody was around filming her, she would hate for this to get out.

“Why bother?” She drawled. “There’s a Super behind me, and a sword that would likely go right through my liver should I so much as raise my gun.”

Robin, seemed to look disappointed for a brief flash, before his smug aura returned.

“Oh good! Because my arms were starting to get tired, do you know how long I’ve been working these-” A cheery voice came from behind her.

“Silence. I’m interrogating the goon.”

She held back a scoff. She knew that was exactly what she was, but goon was more of a word that was used as a joke among henches. She didn’t see the point in correcting him. That would extend the dialouge, something she wanted to avoid doing.

Superboy flew to where he was hovering in front of her, and he narrowed his eyes for a minute, before they lit up in recognition

“Hey I’ve seen you before! You were apart of Livewire’s operation! I didn’t fight you, I was more worried about the other guys, and you like, disappeared!” Jon said, as if figuring out some huge secret. “Why are you in Gotham now?”

Great, more questions.

“We don’t need to know that. What we do need to know is where your boss ran to. He was gone before we set up the barricade.” Robin question, holding the sword closer to Cherry.

He bailed? Wow. This wasn’t the first time Cherry had been ditched by a boss. It was still a dick move though. She was never working for this mob boss again.

“I don’t know, don’t care.” Cherry answered, her voice a flat monotone. She was planning on raiding that office of his though to look for the envelope with her name on it. One way or another, she was getting paid.

“That’s not an acceptable answer.” Robin stated, and Cherry resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Why don’t you care? Isn’t he like, your boss?” Superboy asked, and Cherry noticed something about him. He seemed to pick up on a lot of things. Where Robin was trying to get results, by the book, Superboy was more interested in the why. So curious. It was endearing, but nothing more went into her feelings than that. It was similar to the way someone looked at a cute puppy. Cooed for a bit, forget about it. Momentary. It reminded of someone. Someone awfully familiar.

She didn’t allow herself to explore that connection. Nope. Not gonna happen.

However cute his curiosity was, Cherry had no interest in explaining how hench society and contracts worked. Some things are just trade secrets.

But she should really be getting punched right now. She had to get home to Josie. That was infinitely more important than playing whatever game the two had clearly set up. Not interested. She wasn’t interested in proving herself to the kids, she wasn’t interested in reclaiming her ‘pride’, she wasn’t interested in defending herself. It would be stupid, she knew she would lose in a heartbeat.

Cherry looked down at her gun, she had been so focused on trying to get out, she hadn’t noticed the gun she had grabbed. It was a tranquilizer gun. Huh. This could work. It wasn’t as if she was important enough to get taken to wherever the Super Sons hung out. She was a low level goon.

Cherry was okay with that. So her next actions were purely logical.

Without warning, without any sort of quip, she moved her finger to the trigger and pulled, the dart landing right in her side.

The boys looked startled for a second, before seeing the little flag indicating it was a tranquilizer dart. At that, Robin began cursing and Superboy tried to calm him down.

She sat down, not wanting to drop and hit her head on the cement of the warehouse. She could hear them yelling, but she didn’t care. And as her eyes closed, she knew that she had managed to avoid the worst.

Whenever she woke up, it wasn’t instant. No, sounds came back first. There was quiet. Too quiet. But then she heard the sound of sirens. Judging by how close they were, she knew she had about two minutes.

Sensations came next. She felt the metal around her wrist, and the ground under her. She sat up, slowly, before finally opening her eyes. She winced, feeling her side. One of the boys had kicked her while she was down. Literally. Most likely out of frustration, but whatever. She didn’t care. At least, not anymore from that one flash of annoyance. She had more important matters to deal with. Like the handcuff around her wrist, connecting her to a pipe.

Rolling her eyes, she reached into her hair and grabbed a bobby pin. Double lock. Nobody used single locks anymore much to her chagrin, but it was whatever. She had practiced this act several times. Either via on her own free time, or on the clock. Handcuffs were simple to escape from, ropes were harder. But luckily, it seemed that convenience won the day.

She had about 1 minute before the cops arrived.

She needed 8 seconds.

52 seconds left.

She stood up, wasting no time, ignoring the pain in her side. She ran to the side of the warehouse, and threw open a crate. Luckily, her backpack was still there. Containing her makeup, money, and a healthy supply of guns.

She didn’t care about the discarded tranquilizer gun, she had more.

Grabbing her backpack, she ran into the backroom. The office.

It had been raided, no surprise there. The chaos making it annoying to get to her desired location.

She wasn’t dumb enough not to scope out where her boss kept their pay, in case this thing went south. It seemed her diligence paid off. She opened the book on the shelf, the hollowed out insides filled with envelopes. She plucked the one that said ‘Cherry’, written in pretentious cursive, and put the book back. She wasn’t going to take her fellow henches money. That would be rude.

30 seconds left.

Cherry left the office, and noticed an open window. It seems that the Cub Scout and the Birdie had forgotten to close it. Providing anyone who saw it an exit route. Oh well.

She ducked through the window, conveniently hidden behind crates, and stepped onto the street just as she heard the main entrance opening and the shout of ‘Police!’

Great job once again, GCPD. You let some kids in bright colors do your job for you, all you have to do is round up the bound souls. She shook her head, not wanting to go down that train of thought. It was useless, philosophy was something that she had to hear from more than one boss. She didn’t want to make her own trip down that lane.

Not hesitating, she ducked into the shadows, leaving the scene of the crime richer than when she left it.

Cherry sighed, standing apart from her apartment door. She held the wrapped package in her hand. The doll was half of her pay, but it would make Josie smile. Her side smarted, and she knew she was going to have a bruise. She’d probably have to check for fractured ribs as well. But whatever, a little makeup and it looked good as new. It would ease Josie’s mind of worries she didn’t even have.

And if Cherry had her way, never would.

She braced herself, mentally transitioning from Cherry. Cherry was for work, and for her allies.

Not for her sister. For her sister she was-

“Elise!”

The voice called out, one that made her heart swell up three sizes at least. She closed the door behind her, and saw her little sister run up to her, squeezing around her middle as tightly as she could. Which was not very tight, but it still hurt considering the state of her side. Still, she hid her grimace. She set down the package, and hugged her sister back, lifting her up and twirling around. Josie giggled, and Cherry found herself smiling a soft smile. One reserved for Josie exclusively.

“J! What are you still doing up? I told you to go to bed by 8.” It was near midnight now. Well, at least it was a weekend.

“I wanted to wait up for you! A new episode of TED-Ed just dropped, and we have to watch it now!” Josie babbled, and Cherry was reminded just how curious her sister was about the world. She wanted to know why things were the way they were. Most of the time conjuring up questions that Cherry sometimes struggled to answer.

A swell of pride overcame her, her sister was so smart.

“That’s great!” Cherry said, her bubbly voice coming out just right. She had gotten the hang of forcing her big sister voice without it seeming forced. Josie did not need to know why she hesitated. “But before we do... I have a surprise!” Cherry promised, picking up the package.

Instantly Josie’s face turned confused, but a light of happiness still stuck in her eyes. “What is it? Why did you get me this?” Josie asked, and Cherry merely smiled.

“Giving gifts and expressing affection don’t have to have a special reason.” Cherry explained, her tone never faltering. “When you love someone, you want to make them happy all the time. Nobody should use the calendar as a way to determine when it’s appropriate to show love.”

Josie seemed to take it in for a minute, before scrunching up her nose. “You’re always so cheesy, E. You could have just said ‘just because’.” She snarked, but there was a smile in her eyes that contradicted the taunting expression.

Cherry shrugged, and this time it was jovial. “Yeah, I could have. But what would the fun in that be?”

Josie playfully glared at her before starting to open it. Not paying any attention to be delicate with the wrapping paper. Cherry grinned at her enthusiasm, but it soon turned into a fond expression as Josie gasped.

“You got me a Little Gotham Girl Doll?” Josie asked, her tone bewildered and amazed looking at the lifelike doll.

Cherry smirked playfully, crossing her arms. “Guilty.”

Josie’s grin lit up like a menorah, and she hugged Cherry harder, and this time Cherry couldn’t hold back a silent gasp, but she quickly regained control.

“THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!” Josie yelled, opening the box and taking out the door, looking at it from all angles. “Elise you are the best sister ever!” Josie dashed off to the living room of their studio apartment. Which really only was a couch and a tv. Their little shoebox. They couldn’t fit or afford two beds, so there was one queen one. Cherry knew she was going to have to find a solution in the future, but for once, she didn’t think about it. All she thought of was how happy Josie was.

And as she watched Josie introduce her doll to all her stuffed animals and dolls, Helen she quickly catalogued, Cherry knew the aching in her ribs, and the headaches she endured, and the danger she threw herself in, it was all worth it. Just to see that smile, just so that Josie could have the world.

She gazed as Josie set up all her dolls and stuffed animals onto the floor in front of the couch, putting a laptop (their shared one) on the table, and grabbing her notebook. She liked to take notes on things, on everything. Never wanting to forget a bit of information. Josie waved Cherry over, calling her birth name with increasingly whinier tones.

Cherry didn’t wait a second longer, and cuddled right up next to Josie as she hit play on the TED-Ed video. Cherry looked down at Josie and smiled another soft smile.

Josie’s happiness. That was the only thing that mattered.

#drabble tag tbt #a mere star in an endless night - in character #guns tw #injury tw

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alucywarner · 7 years

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~♥ PRIVACY PLEASE ♥~

[Okay, here we go. Here’s the thing. I’ve watched Moulin Rogue twice in less than twelve hours in preparation for this. I hope you’re not expecting gifs, because the myriad of emotions a certain someone will be feeling is not conducive for gifs. Okay.

So, when Lucy showed up to the Stove/Maddox place, we had a bright and shining Maddox, all excited until Lucy held out her copy of Moulin Rouge, and then we got a groan, and a ‘I really hoped you were gonna forget about that.’, to which Lucy replies ‘Nope, I’d never forget about Moulin Rouge’. So, she wasted no time in setting the thing up, and meanwhile Maddox was grumbling to himself on the couch.

As soon as the thing was beginning, and Nature Boy was being sung, she sat down beside him, she gave his shoulder a little shove.]

You’re gonna like it. Shut up.

Says you. [Is what he says with a lip up-turned in disgust, though he wraps an arm around her and pulls her close to his side through it.]

[Christian was now giving his introductory monologue, and, given how many times Lucy had seen this movie in the past, she was quietly quoting the thing under her breath, bUT, the words ‘The woman I loved is dead’ came from Christian’s mouth, and there was a scoff from Maddox.]

Oh, she dies. Great. Not only is it a musical, it’s a sob story musical. That’s awesome. [Sarcasm af, probably an eye roll.]

It’s a good story. Stop your judging.

~The love interest dies~~~ It’s a great story, Maddox~~~~.

Watch the movie before I make you sit on the floor.

[A ‘hmph’ from Maddox as he settles further into the couch as if to say ‘Make me get on the floor. Just try it.’ But he does stop the talking (for the time being.) And off the movie goes into the introductions of the Argentinean and Toulouse, and the arguments of lyric changes, and job offers, and ‘Above all things, I believe in love’, all without a word from Maddox.

But, as soon as the Green Fairy made her appearance, she could hear just the quietest ‘.. thefuck’ from Maddox, which made her giggle.

Still, he watched silently, though tiny glances up to his face showed that his expression all throughout the introduction of the Moulin Rogue itself was one of pure confusion. Like, he didn’t know what to make of the guy with the crazy facial hair and ladies singing Patti Labelle songs. Which, no, he probably didn’t know what to make of it.

Then the men started singing alongside the ladies, and she could feel him perk up.]

Is that... Nirvana? Are they singing Nirvana in this thing? [Another upturning of the lip.]

Yes, Maddox. It’s Nirvana.

This is sacrilege.

It’s fine. Don’t be so musically pretentious. [Eye roll.]

[More dancing, and more dancing, and some can-can-ing, and some Christian moving around the place, and some Toulouse beckoning him, and then we have the Sparkling Diamond herself appearing on screen, singing about girls’ best friends, and all that. aND THEN, Narrator!Christian mentions the less savory character in this movie. There went his face. Maddox has something to say about this.]

Who’s that asshole, Lucy? He looks like a mole rat with a mustache. He looks stupid.

Christian’ll tell you if you stop talking~.

[’The Duke’ comes from Narrator!Christian’s mouth just as soon as Lucy says that.] ‘The Duke’. Sounds like a douche. I don’t like him.

[Lucy snorts, because boy does he have good judgment. Off goes more singing, and off goes ~Harold telling Satine about said Duke man, and there goes the mix-up with Christian and the Duke, and the dance time with the Christian man, all the sex-mix up talk, and the rest of the song, and doWN SHE GOES OFF THAT TRAPEZE, MY DUDE.]

Oh, cool. So, she’s, like, sick. Right. Got it. Great story so far, Luce.

I’m gonna kick your ass if you keep judging it before you’ve seen the whole thing, sweetie~.

[This shuts him up for a few more minutes, at least. Now we’re with the lovely couple up in the elephant, and Christian is being himself, and talking about poetry while Satine is talking about sex. Nervous af Christian, rolling on the floor Satine. ‘It’s a lil bit funny’ ya know.]

Elton John too. This movie has it all, doesn’t it?

It’s g r e a t.

[Now, Lucy loves this part of the movie (or any part where it’s overtly romantic, actually. Funny how she loves this romantic stuff so much when just three months ago she was scoffing about love to her brother. hm.), so she’s focusing real hard on it, probably with some doofy grin on, and looking all sparkly-eyed at the beautiful Ewan Mcgregor’s voice, and sighing at how BEAUTIFUL this scene is in general.

Maddox must have glanced down at her love-struck expression, because she heard an ‘eugh’, and then looked away from the screen to look at him.]

What?

You like this? Enough to look like that?

It’s ~romantic, Maddox.

Romantic? [A scoff-laugh as he turns back to the screen.] Yeah.

[She doesn’t respond because this little asshole wasn’t gonna ruin her favorite movie. So, it’s out that Christian’s not the Duke, and now the real Duke has come to chill, and it’s all fun and games trying to get Christian out of the room, but OOp, there’s the bodyguard, and you know the movie, Jerica, I can’t keep writing synopses. You know how it goes. The Duke leaves and comes back, and ohboy now we’re ~rehearsING~. And it’s that repetitive stuff, you know the deal, it’ll run for fifty years, and all that good stuff. And boy do I mean they say that a lot, because it’s effecting our pretentious snot on the couch.]

I think my brain is melting.

They have to sell the idea.

Doesn’t stop my brain from melting. And you know what? This Duke guy is a giant creep. I don’t like him.

You’re not supposed to like him.

Well, I don’t.

Shhhh.

[So, One Day I’ll Fly Away, and all of that. Then we’re onto Elephant Love Medley (AKA, fuck me up. Lucy too. Like I said, any romantic song gets her.) Lucy’s fully immersed, and maybe even leaning in a little bit, and then ‘you crazy fool. I won’t give into you.’. Guess who has something to add?]

Wow, it’s like a conversation with you. I can’t believe you’re in this movie.

Don’t mess up this part. I like this part.

[He doesn’t like this lack of attention on himself, tbh, but he’s gonna stay quiet, and watch the seen, and perhaps get a little immersed into it himself. Lucy’s leaned far forward now, and as soon as the fireworks are going off behind Christian and Satine, she’s crying real tears. It’s just too much, every time. (I sympathize.) This doesn’t escape Maddox’s notice, even though she’s leaning forward now.]

Are you... crying? Are you crying over that?

IT’S SWEET, ASSHOLE.

[Hands up.] Right. Sorry. [He starts pulling her back into his arms.] Come cry over here though, you wimp.

I hate you. [But she goes willingly.]

No ya don’t~.

[Elephant Love Medley has left us, and by this point, Maddox is maybe possibly just a little bit invested in the Satine and Christian relationship. Just a little bit, though. So, here, when we are with Zidler and The Duke, the air of ‘da fuck’ is rolling off of Maddox strong.]

BIND SATINE TO HIM? OH, REALLY? [The Duke’s rant goes on, and Lucy is amused that Maddox has reacted that way, considering he keeps trashing the movie.] Oh, he doesn’t like other people touching HIS things? HIS? Nope. Fuck this guy. He’s gross. I don’t like him.

You already said that~.

I’m just driving home the point. He’s a piece of shit. I don’t like him.

[Lucy just grins and rolls her eyes, because the strong reaction meant he was actually interested in the story. So, she was being proven right, and it was great. So, off the movie goes into the ~montage~ of sorts to show off all the gr8 make out opportunities, and just how blinD af The Duke is.

And onto the 8 o’ clock plans, and the supper oh boy, but she can’t make it to the supper, Duke. She’s got to reHEARSE~.]

That’s right. Ghost his ass.

Would you stop? [But she’s smiling and laughing, because she’s super-amused by all of this, if I didn’t say so before.]

Bye, asshole.

[Lucy decided to let him express himself however he wanted. Like, oh boy. So, there’s more making out, and there’s a Harry, and a Harry’s telling a Satine she’s being cray, and all that. Here comes Maddox again.]

Don’t be a little bitCH, HAROLD. [Lucy snorts a laugh as good ol’ Harry is telling Satine to end the things.] She’s not actually gonna, like, break it off, is she? Luce, that’s bullshit.

I think you should just watch the movie.

uGH.

[Satine is singing and coughing, and our good friend Narrator!Christian has come back, talking about ‘last, fatal days’, and as soon as those words are heard, Maddox’s head drops into his hands, with an even louder ‘uGGGGH’ sound coming from him. Lucy pats his back and then pulls him back up.]

It’ll be alright, hon~.

This movie is fucking dumb.

Mhmmm.

[Now here comes the second worst scene in this whole movie, and you know what it is. Zidler and all his brilliant lies, my dude. Lucy can feel Maddox tensing up beside her, and when she looks up at him, there is nothing but disgust on that face. (Same, Maddox.) It only worsened the further the number goes on.]

I’m gonna vomit. Tell me when it’s over. [He puts a pillow in front of his face. Not joking. Lucy takes the pillow away.]

Don’t be a baby. It’s almost over now.

I can’t even look at this guy’s face.

[And then it’s over, and Maddox is breathing a sigh of relief until the doctor is on the screen saying the bad things. He’s up in arms again.]

He’s nOT EVEN gonna tell her she’s dyING? Selfish asshole, I SWEAR. Dumb ass movie characters in a dumb ass movie. [Irritated sigh af.]

[Next scene af, cold stabs of jealousy, Satine, ‘we have to end it’.]

She is actually doing it are you kidding me. [’i have to sleep with the duke’] You do not have to sleep with the fuCKING DUKE.

Maddox, shhh. Listen to the movie.

You want me to listen to this buLL?

Pay attention~.

[So, he does, though huffy, and now it’s the other scene to make me and Lucy rip hearts out of our chests, and Christian is singing, and now there are loving glances exchanged across rehearsal.]

I’m getting whiplash. Oh my God.

I told you to pay attention~.

[The song is being sung, and Lucy’s giving it her full attention, and Maddox seems to be doing the same thing. He actually looks... interested now? Like, he’s fully enraptured in these lyrics, and what’s going on on the screen, and like he’s deep in thought, and his eyes are SET ON THE SCREEN.

Then Nini has to come in and RUIN THE WHOLE THING. ‘penniless writer, OH I MEAN SITAR PLAYER HUHUHUH’. Maddox sits up.]

THAT. BITCH.

[Full-on laugh from Lucy now as the number ends, and The Duke starts in on his whole bit, and then Christian says the thing. ‘shE DOESN’T LOVE U’.]

FUCKING RIGHT. TELL HIS ASS. [the duke is going onnnn.] This guy is a dick head. Why do you liKE THIS MOVIE, LUCY?

I told you. It’s a great movie, Maddox.

It’s a fucking infuriating movie is what it is. I swear to Christ, if the mole rat so much as gets to touch her...

[He trails off, shaking his head. Again, Lucy smiles, because she knows that this all means he’s feeling something about the story. (Even if he does keep interrupting her favorite movie.) So guess what scene it’s time for now??? You know the one.

IT BEGINS, and for a second time, Lucy can feel Maddox tense up beside her. So, she looks up as the Argentinean begins to sing ‘rOOOOXANNE’, and she had never seen him look that MAD in all the time she’d known him. Like, teeth and fists clenched, and all that good stuff. She’s full-on worried about whether or not he’s gonna burst a blood vessel, or something. Because, I’m telling you. The boy is pissed.

And as Christian starts to sing, and there are flashes to Satine and the Duke, a cushion is thrown at the TV.]

FUCK THIS STUPID FUCKING MOVIE.

Maddox, it’s fine. I promise. [She pats his shoulder.]

It’s not even. [And he pulls her back closer into his side.]

It is. [Maybe she realizes he’s projecting onto this a little bit. Just maybe.]

[So, you know what goes on here, and Maddox is wincing, and he doesn’t want to look as it kEEPS GOING, and internally he probably looks a lot like Christian does towards the end of this number.]

OH MY GOD. IS IT EVER GONNA END?? I CAN’T LOOK AT IT ANYMORE.

It’s almost over.

[SO THANKS, IT’S OVER. Maddox slumps, because he’s been tense that whole time.] Oh thank Christ, he knocked him out. [Breath of relief, and Lucy leans on his shoulder, because yup that totally wasn’t taxing on his emotions at all.] Have I mentioned how fucking stupid this movie is?

A couple of times, yeah.

Just checking.

[Next scene, there is a Maddox looking probably more invested than he has through the whole movie, and Lucy is also able to pay attention for the first time in a few minutes, but she could hear him mumbling things like ‘oh what the fuck even is gonna happen now?’ and ‘yeah, running away. bet that’s gonna work’. And once the Duke has given the threat about Christian, there is an outburst of ‘THIS ASSHOLE’, but he immediately settles back down.

Off to Harry telling Satine all of the good stuff, like ‘someone gon get killed’ and ‘oh boy you’re dying’, and then ‘hurt him to save him’, and all that.]

Hurt him to save him? This is buLLSHIT. Let him make his owN FUCKING CHOICE? Harold is a fucKING SHIT.

[Lucy can’t find it in her to answer, because, well, yeah-- he’s not wrong, but oh WELL, just let the poor boy do his ranting and raving.]

Lucy. She’s not doing this shit. She’s not-- this is fucking dumb.

I know. She just doesn’t think she has another choice.

She should’ve just let it be his choice.

She loves him. She doesn’t want him to get hurt.

Hmph.

[He turns back to the movie, and Christian makes his plans to go on back to the good ol’ MR.]

GET HER, YOU IDIOT. FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

[Fun show time, and all that, and more grumbles and grimaces from Maddox. Another cushion is thrown at the screen when the Duke, from the audience, insists ‘she’s mine’, and Lucy moves any other thing around Maddox away from him so he can’t throw anything else.

Christian is with Satine now, ‘pay his bill’, and all that, and Maddox throws his hands up.]

Jesus, what a fucking MORON. [All that fun continues.] I’m gonna scream. I’m gonna.

Shhhh.

[So Christian and Satine are revealed on the stage, and there’s the ‘paid my whore’ bit.]

This is. so. stupid.

[And on goes Christian, and the show must go on, eh? Satine starts singing~.]

It’s the fucking song. [His head goes into his hands again.]

[So that beauty happens, and we have an enraptured Maddox and Lucy again, but then the gun is getting flung everywhere, and Maddox is on edge again.]

Oh, no they’re not. That’s not gonna happen. Lucy. [He looks at her, she avoids looking at him, since she knOWS what happens.] Nope. It’s not. [The duke now has the gun, stalking up upon the the stage.] I’m gonna throw something again. [And then Zidler punches him, yup.]

Harry is gOOD FOR SOMETHING. FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

[The curtain falls, and Maddox is in a false sense of security here. And then the bad thing happens.]

Hold on SHIT.

[Lucy has already started crying, since she knows what’s coming, so she’s not talking to Maddox, and it’s like she’s almost forgotten she was with anyone else. She’s just sobbing to herself, because DAMN THIS MOVIE, i’m crying just writing about it. I hate.

So, there it ends with ‘the grEEEatest thing u’ll eeeeever learn is jUST to love and be loOOVed in reee turrnnnn. And Lucy’s a heap, but brought back to earth by the credits rolling, and by sniffing sounds beside her. She looks over to her boy, and does she see a tear being wiped. You betcha.]

Are you... Maddox, are you crying?

[Like he’s guilty, because he is. He reaches up to get any trace of dumb tears off his face.] NO. No, that was-- I’m not crying. It was just stupid. It was so stupid. I hated it.

No, you are crying. Ohhhh. [She’s teasing him, tbh.]

Fuck. OFF. That was the worst thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

It’s alright, sweetie~.

It’s fucking not. That was-- traumatizing. I never want to see that again.

It’s just a movie, Maddox~.

Give me just, like, five fucking minutes to process what I just saw, okay? [His head is in his hands AGAIN.]

Ooookay~.

#privacyplease #// ya ok here read this novella #and let me know when you're done and i'll do pt 2

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thornheartcat · 7 years

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On genre, presentation, and Anime Bullshit™

Okay this is fucking dumb but I just figured out something that bothers me about the popularity of something like ERASED/BokuMachi and I know it’s fucking dumb to be complaining about something I didn’t like more than a year after it ended and can’t you just let it go Fiona no no I can’t I’m full of salt I’m so full of salt I’m considering going through some shitty books piece by piece and complaining about them (pls tell me if you would be interested in this kind of content from my blog I’m not sure if I should do this or not) but also I think this is kind of a larger problem that is worth talking about in general and I’m using ERASED/BokuMachi as more of an example than anything else

I think part of what made ERASED/BokuMachi so popular wasn’t any of its actual content but its presentation. Specifically, the way it was presented as being this serious drama, and the way it was presented as not being super “anime”. I mean obviously it’s a fucking anime but I mean it wasn’t presented with a lot of the stylistic choices that accompany many anime like candy color hair, or super “anime” voice acting, or comical super-deformed or over-exaggerated facial expressions, etc etc (hereto referred to as Anime Bullshit™). All of that combined with the story being a murder mystery (in theory anyways) with minor genre elements (the time travel) suggested that this show was more mature and worthy of respect than something like, say, Higurashi, which features plenty of Anime Bullshit™, such as a variety of wacky characters (Rena’s OMOCHIKAERI, Satoko and her ojou laugh, Rika’s nipah and mii and nano desu) and candy hair and crazy violence and plenty of hinted genre shit that turns out to only be some genre shit but it’s still pretty genre. ERASED/BokuMachi had none of that obvious Anime Bullshit™. Only realistic hair, no over the top loud characters with dumb gibberish cutesy verbal tics, no extreme violence or fanservice, no crazy anime faces, and a generally lowkey vibe to the whole affair. And there’s nothing wrong with that: Your Name./Kimi no Na wa. had a fairly grounded presentation aside from the genre elements and it’s like one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. But Your Name./Kimi no Na wa. is incredible because it’s a great story with likable characters and it’s well thought out and goes in directions you wouldn’t expect and it looks FUCKING GORGEOUS. It’s good because it’s GOOD.

Basically what bothers me is when people act like something that’s trying to be more “realistic” and “grounded” is inherently better than something that embraces certain conventions and genre trappings, including Anime Bullshit™. ERASED/BokuMachi is simply not a better show than Higurashi. Its characters are more subtle in some ways, but that does not make them more interesting, and I’d argue that every character in Higurashi has more depth and nuance than any character in ERASED, who tend to cross the line from “subtle” to “just boring”. I was endeared to Higurashi’s characters almost immediately but could not muster the ability to give a single shit about Satoru or any of his friends for the entire show. ERASED presents itself like it’s so mature and you’re mature for liking it instead of Shitty Light Novel Adaptation #19054830 that aired the same season. But you’re not. I mean Shitty Light Novel Adaptation #19054830 almost certainly sucks, it sucks a lot, way worse than ERASED, but just because ERASED doesn’t obviously fall into some of the same Anime Bullshit™ doesn’t make it inherently good.

I’m reminded of a review I once saw of BioShock Infinite where the reviewer basically suggested that BioShock Infinite could not tell the compelling and emotionally involving story it wanted to tell because it was sci-fi, because you play a dude who mows down hundreds of people and gets the power to zap people with lightning and shoot crows out of his hands, all in a flying city, all with a story that brings in quantum mechanics, time travel, and alternate universes. As if all of that precluded it from having complex and engaging characters, as if Elizabeth’s ability to open tears in reality made her somehow less interesting and lovable, as if the flying city aspect of Columbia invalidated everything it had to say about America, racism, and imperialism, as if all this somehow softened the blow of the final twists, made the storytelling less interesting or well-crafted.

And that’s bullshit.

Something being genre or pulp doesn’t mean it can’t elicit a powerful emotional response in the viewer/player/whatever, it doesn’t mean that it can’t say anything important or interesting, and just because something avoids some of those trappings doesn’t mean that it automatically IS saying something important or being emotionally engaging, or even that it really is avoiding any of the actual bullshit that those trappings usually entail. Like, yeah there’s not any super obvious fanservice in ERASED, but that bath scene with Kayo and Satoru’s mom got SATORU excited from the other room, and the attention to detail on the mom’s tits conforming to the shape of the tub certainly didn’t escape my notice. Satoru’s mom doesn’t ever age, because god forbid a woman ever NOT look like an attractive 20 or 30 something the viewer might want to fuck. Kayo is basically engineered to make people declare her as their new daughteru and scream about how they want to protect her smile and shit. Just cause she’s not making any cute moe sounds doesn’t mean she’s not another form of moebait. Satoru is hinted at possibly getting together with Airi, a cute, very anime girl more than 10 years younger than him. The villain is a cartoon with zero depth, he just really likes murdering little girls and literally carries candy around to lure them into his car. (And I know in the manga he gets a backstory but it’s a dumb one.) The fancy deep metaphor of the spider’s thread that it brings up ends up basically making no sense and having zero connection to the villain and his story and motives. For all its high aspirations, all its pretense of maturity and serious drama, it’s honestly not that different from a lot of the anime it and its fans seem to look down upon, without even having the courage to embrace its own Anime Bullshit™.

And that pretentious, superior, smug ATTITUDE is what I think bothers me more than anything else about ERASED, and stuff like it. A work can be more grounded and realistic and be fucking GREAT, but that won’t be what MAKES it great, and it shouldn’t act like it is. And if you’re gonna do Anime Bullshit™ or any other crazy absurd genre stuff, just do it, don’t be ashamed. If your material is actually any good it will stand on that.

#BokuMachi is overrated

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lykezoinks · 7 years

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[ This ficlet is a formal apology for all the klangst as well as a birthday present for two of my best friends, @t1dalwav3 & @tokyocrisis!! Go wish them happy birthday, ‘cause they’re the best. This ficlet is based off of our Voltron first responder au fic, Breaking Point, that you can find here if you wanna give it a read! The ficlet under the cut is a spin-off bit for something we have planned for future chapters without being spoiler-y. Happy birthday to my babes; I hope y’all enjoy! ]

title: are we there yet? words: 2,795 ship: klance rating/genre: T for language, humor, shippy nonsense of two dorks flirting and low-key being super into each other

Not to sound like a total black sheep, but Keith has a long list of things that he will never quite understand about society. Now he can add the romanticization of roadtrips onto it. From watching daytime television, sitcoms have led him to believe that roadtripping is supposed to be some grand adventure that friends and families embark on in their pastel colored hippie buses or wood-paneled station wagons. There’s supposed to be sightseeing and maps with overlapping red lines, road games, and songs that should probably never leave a summer camp full of seven year olds. It is not supposed to be a temperamental firefighter crammed in his red pick-up truck with the most aggravating ocean rescue guard on the planet. But here Keith is. With Lance. For sixteen hours.

So far on their impromptu road trip, Keith has compulsively eaten two bags of Twizzlers— empty wrappers now properly stuffed in his cup holders— finished ten pages worth of Sudoku puzzles, and begrudgingly agreed to a game of ‘I Spy’ for the first and last time. Lance kept it going for a full forty-five minutes, and there is no doubt in Keith’s mind that if he has to say the phrase “with my little eye” one more time, he will spontaneously combust.

And thinking about that game makes Keith realize it’s been awfully quiet for the past twenty minutes. And his eyes are getting a little dreary as he drives down a mostly vacant highway. When he glances over at Lance, he sees a head of shaggy brown hair drooped forward like a palm tree leaf.

“Lance,” Keith says gruffly, crashing his knuckles into the other’s arm just hard enough to hurt.

“Ow!” Lance rubs at the sore spot on his arm, and Keith can see Lance pouting from the corner of his eye. “What the hell—”

“You are not falling asleep on me, or so help me, I will make sure we stay in the sleaziest Motel 6 I can find.”

Lance lets out a groan, slumping in the passenger seat with a whine and rubbing at his eyes with a yawn. “You can’t honestly expect me to stay awake while you’re playing…” He snatches at Keith’s phone, watching the screen light up with a grimace. “Dear And The Headlights… Where the hell do you even find these bands?”

Keith is pretty sure his eyes are gonna get stuck mid-roll one of these days. And it’ll probably be Lance’s fault. “Wasn’t driver picks the music your rule?”

“That was before I knew you were gonna play trash.”

“It’s pronounced acoustic,” Keith corrects, ignoring Lance’s mock gagging. “And you have no room to talk if you’re gonna play nothing but Britney Spears and Nicki Minaj.”

“Well, if you’re gonna play ‘acoustic’,” Keith is sure he didn’t say it that pretentiously, “you can’t honestly expect me to stay awake.”

“Put on whatever you want!” Keith’s short fuse is about to be blown, and Lance just perks up in his seat with a wiggle of his torso.

“Relax, geez. Let’s see what’s on the radio…”

Lance starts punching the pad of his finger against the seek button, giving each station a few seconds. Static… Static… Commercials… Some 80’s ballot that should be buried along with the leg warmers… Static.

“Lance, would you please just—”

“Shhh! Sh!” Lance shoves a hand up against Keith’s arm, releasing it as he listens closely to what sounds to Keith like gibberish. It takes a few seconds for it to register that the disc jockey is speaking in Spanish. “Did he just say Fotographía?”

“I don’t speak Spanish, I have no idea what he—”

“Shhhh!”

He’s gonna kill him. Keith is actually going to commit first degree murder and dump Lance’s body out in the desert.

When a steady melody of guitar chords drift through the air, Lance starts bouncing up and down in a way that makes the car shake.

“Wait, this is acou—”

“Yes. But this is Juanes. So shush.”

Keith opens his mouth to speak, has a rant loaded and ready to go on his tongue, but then his breath catches in his throat. Lance has never sounded less annoying. In fact, he sounds… Amazing. His voice is like honey, sweet and soothing as it carries through the car.

“Cada vez… Que yo me voy… Llevo a un lado de me piel…”

Keith forces himself to close his mouth, absently remembering something his teachers used to say about flies nesting. Did it get colder? Why does he feel goosebumps? Whatever snarky comeback Keith had begins to fade from his memory.

Then the chorus rolls in. It occurs to Keith that something is very wrong with his heart. It should not be beating this irregularly.

Lance is completely unaware of the fact Keith is having both shivers and hot flashes, gazing out the window as he continues singing along softly. “Es por eso que debo decir— que tu sooo-lo en mis fotos estas…”

Lance stops his singing, and Keith can’t wrap his head around why a tinge of disappointment settles underneath his ribs. The female voice in the song gracefully begins the next verse, and Lance chuckles softly, looking back at Keith.

“I’m not allowed to sing this part,” he explains, some dreamy smile brightening his face. “This is my older sister Carmen’s part. It’s a dumb rule she made up when I was, like, ten. Which is probably for the better, ‘cause I can’t hit Nelly Furtado’s notes—”

“Y—You… I d—did… I didn’t know you could, you could sing…” Something’s wrong with Keith’s tongue too.

“What are you talking about?” Lance snorts, throwing his feet up on the dashboard, something Keith has told him not to do a million times. But he can’t remind Lance again on account of heat flushing his entire face. “I sing all the time.”

“Singing Ke$ha in the shower does not count as real singing,” Keith explains, narrowing his eyes a little at the road. He sighs, flickering his eyes between Lance and the windshield a few times. “You’re… You’re really… Good at it.”

There’s a few long moments where Keith thinks Lance didn’t hear him. And for a split second, Keith catches Lance in the corner of his eye and could swear Lance looks flustered. But that can’t be true, because then Lance is pushing his hair on top of his head, holding it up with long dainty fingers, and beaming, neck craned and eyes closed. “Well, I didn’t take choir for four years and get half the solos for nothing.” Yeah, okay, that sounds more like him.

Keith doesn’t comment, just shakes his head and lets Lance finish out the song while trying not to choke on his thickening throat.

Lance hums out the last of the notes, sitting back in the seat and sighing contentedly. “Man, I almost completely forgot about that song. My dad played Juanes around the house all the time, so my siblings and I are kinda cursed with knowing most of his songs. It’s like they’re ingrained, dude.” Lance taps his temple for emphasis.

Keith can’t help but feel warmth pooling in his chest. Lance has a way with storytelling. Sometimes he makes it feel like Keith is there. And though he’s not familiar with the feeling of nostalgia first-hand, he thinks he can feel it through Lance. And it feels warm and sunny, bright and rustic, like sepia photographs.

“So,” Lance says casually, rolling his shoulders. “Do you sing at all?” He dips his head into Keith’s periphery, waggling his eyebrows suggestively before Keith rolls his eyes again.

“Do you wanna grab dinner soon?”

“Oh, hell no. You are not changing the subject. You’re turning red, by the way.”

“Ugh.” Right when he thinks they’re getting somewhere. “I mean, I don’t know. I was never in choir or anything like that. And I have sung, just… Never for an audience, I guess.”

“Well, you got an audience of one right here,” Lance gestures to himself, placing his fingertips under his chin and grinning brightly. Keith is sure he isn’t red anymore, because he can feel the color drain from his face.

“No. No way in hell. No.”

“C’mon, Keith!” Lance whines in a tone that makes Keith’s eye twitch a little. Then comes the chorus of pleases.

“Fine! Fine, okay. Plug my phone back in and… Pull up the RENT soundtrack.”

Lance snorts, quirking a brow at Keith. His silence prompts Keith to turn his head toward the other— reluctantly— and sigh.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just never pegged you as a showtunes guy.”

Keith looks back at the road, taking one hand off the wheel to emphasize the finality of his statement when he says, “It’s a rock opera.”

“It’s a musical.”

“A rock musical. Totally diff— Wait, you know RENT?”

“Dude, everyone knows RENT… Or at least ‘Seasons of Love.’ Besides, Mama McClain is obsessed with musicals, so I’m guilty by association, and I know a lot of them.” A pause. “Including your ‘rock opera’… What’s your passcode?”

“Fire.” Silence again. Keith doesn’t bother turning his head this time, groaning instead. “What?”

“That’s creative,” Lance tells the firefighter, sarcasm thick in his tone. “How did you come up with that one?”

“Motel 6,” Keith warns, shooting a half-second glare. “Full of roaches.”

“Alright, alright… So what are you serenading me with, huh? A little ‘Tomorrow 4 U’?”

“God, no—”

Lance interrupts, already starting to sing in the most flamboyant tone possible, “Today for youuu! To-mor-row for me!” slinging his shoulders in some pathetic excuse for a dance move.

“Okay, as gay as we know I am—”

“Incredibly.”

“—yes, incredibly— you are not subjecting me to perpetuating my own stereotypes by singing the song of the drag queen in the show, as much as I love Angel. Besides, that song’s reserved for sing alongs with Shiro.”

“It’s what?” Lance is smirking, and Keith kinda hopes that he can develop the ability to teleport.

“I’ve said too much— Just! Put on ‘One Song Glory.’”

Lance makes some noise that sounds like protest, and Keith adjusts his hands on the steering wheel.

“What?”

“You would pick Roger’s song, you freaking emo.”

“Put it on. Before I lose my patience.”

Keith is bluffing, and Lance knows it. Keith can’t sing, and he’s just not willing to admit he’s not good at something. Lance has had this conversation with Hunk and Pidge several times. They came to the conclusion that if Keith could sing, they would have caught him doing so in the shower at least once by now. They’ve caught Shiro shamelessly belting out Queen songs when he thought no one would be home. Hell, even Pidge gets down to some Slim Shady every now and then. And if Keith could sing, he wouldn’t adamantly refuse to come to Karaoke night with them on Wednesday nights. Or at least come up with a better excuse than, “I really don’t need the second hand embarrassment from middle-aged wine moms trying to sing Shania Twain.” Because all the roommates know Keith can’t resist at least tapping his foot along to Shania Twain.

No way in hell can Keith “Voicecrack” Kogane carry a melody, plain and simple.

But Lance might as well lean back and enjoy the trainwreck. Tapping his thumb on the song title, Lance settles into his seat. He has to give Keith props, though. ‘One Song Glory?’ It’s ballsy. Especially when Keith probably sounds like a screeching cat—

“One song… Glory… One song, before I go. Glory. One song to leave behind…”

Okay… That was clean. Really clean. And low and a little raspy in a way that makes Lance’s lungs malfunction. But that’s probably just surprise given that Keith doesn’t sound like a dying animal. Yet. Lance will wait for the key change. That’s the real testament, anyway.

“Time flii-ii-iies… Time diiiiies! Glooo-oo-rr-yyyy-yy-y!” No. Fucking. Way.

Lance gapes, hearing Keith hit notes and run with them, vibrato low and husky in a way that… Well, Lance is pretty sure he gets a fever or something. And his mouth isn’t really working, so he can’t comment. He just listens to Keith sing the entirety of the song. Then the fact that it’s less than a three minute song pulls Lance back to reality. He just barely registers the fact that ‘Light My Candle’ has started, so he pauses the song before Mimi can tell Roger her life story.

“Um…” Keith is the first to break the silence, shifting stiffly in his seat as he continues to drive down the road like nothing happened. “So—”

“You have the voice of an angel.” What?

“What?”

“You just said…”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“… I… I heard you.”

“Nope. Never happened.”

Keith starts pronouncing a mess of stuttering vowels, and Lance perks up, brushing his moment of weakness off of his shoulders.

“So! That was… Decent. A little pitchy, but decent.” He hums for a moment to fill the silence before an idea sparks in the back of his mind. “So how about a duet?”

“Ugh, Lance—”

“C’mon! It’ll be fun…” He starts thinking up a song the two of them would know, scrolling through a mess of playlists. “Wait, you lived with Shiro before you guys moved in with us, right?”

“Yeah… What does that have to do with anything?”

“That means you’ve seen ‘Grease’ at least fifty times, right?”

Keith deflates, lips pulling into a somewhat pathetic frown. “Seventy three.”

“Perfect!” Lance wastes no time in pressing his finger down on the song. “Oh, I didn’t think about who’s doing what part.”

“Does it mat—”

“Dibs on Danny!”

“Oh, c’mo—”

“I got chiiiiills! They’re multiplying!” Lance starts, snapping along to the beat and avoiding Keith’s more than apparent eye roll. “And I’m loooosing controoo-oool! From the power! You’re supplying. It’s electrifying!”

Keith seems to get over his masculinity in a matter of seconds, crooning along to Sandy’s voice. “You better shape up. ‘Cause I nee-eed a man… And my heart is set on youuu. Better shape up…”

They swap back and forth, neither of them caring to follow the melody all that closely by the time the chorus comes along. Somewhere mid-way through the song, they’re hardly harmonizing. Lance lets himself have fun with the song, throwing his hand against his chest dramatically, belting out the notes with all the breath his lungs can muster. Keith joins in, and it suddenly becomes a contest as to which one of the two can look more ridiculous. Keith fakes a swoon, throwing the back of his hand against his forehead and dipping toward Lance in a way that makes Lance break out in a fit of laughter before he can carry on with the verse.

As the song fades out, they’re both swinging their heads from side to side, snapping and twisting like they belong in a 1940′s dance hall more so than a pickup truck.

By the time the song is over, they’re both laughing wildly until tears form in their eyes. Sucking in a few gasps of air, Lance runs the edge of his finger against the brim of his eye, still snorting a little.

“Oh my God,” Keith chuckles, shaking his head. And when Lance looks at him he’s grinning. Keith. Grinning. It’s almost unheard of.

Lance pulls himself together quickly, mock gawking at Keith with something like horror in his expression. “Keith… Keith, I think something’s wrong with your face…”

“Huh?” Keith says, placing a hand to feel against his cheek, brows furrowing. “What? What is it?”

“You’re…” Lance points a finger. “You’re smiling.”

Keith deadpans, turning his head to stare at Lance for a solid three seconds before he laughs, shaking his head. “You’re such a prick.” On the last word, Keith reaches his arm out and shoves at Lance’s shoulder, setting Lance off balance for only a moment as giggles bubble up his chest.

But then he halts. Keith doesn’t seem to notice, too busy pulling the car over on the side of the road. And Lance is frozen. Because that was a shoulder shove. A Keith Kogane Shoulder Shove, Keith’s number one flirt move when he’s joking around with virtually any guy he thinks is even moderately attractive. And he just….

“Alright, you seem awake enough to drive now,” Keith says absently, throwing his truck in park before slipping out of the driver’s seat.

But Lance is frozen. There is no way Keith was flirting with him, right? But… The Shoulder Shove.

“Yo…” Lance turns his head to see Keith holding the passenger door open. “C’mon, Chinese fire drill. Rapido, por favor.”

Rather than point out how Keith just butchered that pronunciation, Lance undoes his seatbelt whilst pondering life as he knows it.

#klance #voltron #voltron fanfic #klance fanfic #my writing

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