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littlefreya · 3 years

Note

Henry's reaction to finding out GF's house is haunted.

Summary: Henry’s friend invites him over to watch a horror film on Halloween, problem is he is madly in love with her.

Pairings: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (3rd person, no description)

Warnings: RPF, fluff, romantic goo, friends to lovers or rather idiots to lovers, brief mentions of alcohol and Henry’s green hoodie p0rn.

Words: 1.6K

A/N: So I had to take it to the “friends to lovers” lane, also I will need all the fluff after what I am about to post tomorrow :|! Divider by @firefly-graphics. Beta’d by my beautiful @agniavateira . Also FYI my house is totally haunted.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed.

Haunted Houses

All Hallow's Eve was Henry’s favourite time of the year. The spicy autumn air was thickly shrouded by magic. Spooky tales and plastic spiders inhabited drapes of thin cotton tendrils and fat pumpkins carved with scary faces would sit on his doorstep to welcome him home or bid him farewell on his way out.

Per tradition, he would rally close friends at midnight for a horror flick and pineapple-anchovy pizza; often a bottle of rum would be added to the party. However, this Halloween fell on a bittersweet period, as his friends grew too old for said spooky gatherings. Starting new families of their own, they had no time to indulge him.

All save for her, who just like him was still somehow single.

How bad would it be to spend the evening just the two of them... alone? Ignoring the fact that it was enough to see her name flicker on the screen of his phone for pure warmth to enkindle in his chest. He thought about her often before he fell asleep and when he woke up; and by often, he meant every single day since he met her.

Though she didn’t think much of him as anything other than a friend she loved to banter with - he presumed. And of course she loved Kal, possibly more than she cared for him. Yet, Henry did what he did best: bury his emotions into a little pit he dug in the graveyard of his mind.

"Heh!” Henry croaked as the door opened. His sapphires ensnared the veils of black that cloaked her, preserving the sight of silk laces tied tightly at her torso in what seemed like a gothic medieval gown.

“I see you took off your costume for the evening."

She narrowed her eyes but only to observe his attire carefully: that same green hoodie and a pair of worn jeans that complimented his… asset.

She wanted to etch her fingers around the thick fabric and have a whiff of this hoodie, or perhaps just steal it and wear it forever and a day.

"First of all, it is called The Witching Hour so I must dress properly. Secondly - where is your costume, Cavill?" she crossed her arms together, looking rather displeased.

“I’m dressed as a homicidal maniac, we look like everybody else does.”

Snorting, she tilted her head, unimpressed. “You totally just stole this joke from Wednesday Addams.”

Henry shrugged and pressed his lips to a thin line. One of his foolish expressive gestures. It made her feel less nervous to which she was thankful. When she suggested they’d hang out despite them being the only two, she didn’t think much of the consequences of being all alone with the man who inhabited her mind and never paid rent. Everything about Henry made her feverish, but it was always easy when others accompanied them. The awkward anxiety of having to entertain him wasn’t her job, not up till now…

Oh, god! What if they had nothing to talk about? What if their playful chemistry was always influenced by the presence of other people?

Beads of sweat began to form below her breasts when Henry shoved a bottle of rum into her hand and then leaned in to steal a casual kiss from her cheek. She smiled with a friendly huff in return, stifling the shiver that coursed through her muscles while he welcomed himself into her home.

Striding forward, he peered at the Halloween decorations she hung across the walls and inhaled deeply - the scent of maple and buttery chestnuts filled the cosy little house, a scent that he could easily get intoxicated with.

It was what she smelled like and here he was, drowning in its excess.

After a quick observation, he turned to look at her, holding his hands clasped behind his back. She smiled awkwardly in return and then averted her gaze, becoming fascinated by the bottle he brought.

‘There it is,’ Henry mused, ‘that embarrassing silence, there is so much to tell her, but she probably… no! She definitely finds me boring.’

This Halloween celebration would probably be the last and it was all sorts of disastrous.

Trying to overcome the silence, he cleared his throat and reached a hand to scratch his curly mane. “So what movie are we watching?”

“Movie?” she asked confused and then quickly corrected, “Oh yes, umm... The Exorcist.”

“Good, love me some green vomit.” his eyes followed carefully as she waltzed into the small open kitchen, placing the rum on the counter and then returning with a large bowl that made his nostrils flare.

“Green vomit goes extremely well with caramelised popcorn,” she suggested and popped a golden flake of popcorn into her mouth.

“Sweet-salty popcorn? I love you!” Henry groaned and snatched the bowl right away. It was only when his mouth was stuffed that he realised what words he just used.

But she didn’t seem to react, thankfully. Instead, she brushed a hand over her many skirts and pointed toward the living room.

Hugging the bowl, Henry strode behind her, entering the dimly lit living room. The traditional pizza was already laid on the wooden coffee table, along with a few bottles of Guinness.

Her couch was small, only fit for a couple. And Henry, being a hulking man, took most of the space. Their thighs immediately ground into one another’s, yet they both pretended as if they hadn't noticed the hot tingle running beneath the layers of clothing.

“I have to warn you about something,” she uttered, hoping that the tremor she suddenly felt in her body was not visible to him.

Henry crooked his eyebrow, looking at the ominous glare she offered.

“My house is totally haunted.”

Not waiting for his answer, she grabbed the remote and pressed play. Henry chuckled at her silly joke, waiting for her to break character but she only peered at the screen.

“Nice try, I am not scared of that stuff.” He shifted in his seat slightly, lifting his lengthy arm and spreading it on the headrest right behind her. Immediately, he regretted this semi-possessive masculine gesture, but it was too late to pull it away.

Her instincts screamed to snuggle into him yet she held back. “Don’t believe me, but I am not making this up,” she insisted, “Every night around 3 am, I hear scratching from within the walls and these thuds from the ceiling, and then one night… I woke up the door creaking.”

Henry glanced at her quietly for a long moment, watching the reflection from the screen gyrating over her glossy irises and then snorted. He leaned toward the coffee table and grabbed two beers, uncorking them with the help of his pinky ring and then offering her one of the bottles.

“I think you have rats.”

“Rats who make heavy thuds and open bedroom doors?”

“Yup, a big fat randy rat.” he teased. “We’ll take a look at your bedroom later, but I promise you, there are no such things as ghosts.”

‘We’ll take a look in your bedroom? Great…’ He berated himself. At this point, he just wanted to sigh and shake his head.

She peered at him oddly, her throat clenching a tad before she turned her head back to the movie with a mumble, “It’s not a ghost, it’s a demon.”

Within a few minutes they grew quiet, deciding to focus on the movie with the occasional dry jokes and bad puns from Henry as an attempt to overcome his anxiety. Outside the window, thunder rumbled in the distance and shy raindrops lightly kissed the glass, tinted with the many vague shades of lights coming from the street.

Now and then, Henry shifted in his seat, his meaty thigh further grinding into her leg which stirred her blood to the point of electric spasms. She lightly pushed against him, pretending it’s by accident when truthfully, she wanted to exploit every second of being in his proximity. Had she any guts, she would turn to kiss him, but the thought alone made her heart clench in fear.

She threw him a glance, and their eyes met. Henry offered a kind grin, avoiding staring at her lips. She smiled back coyly, her heartbeat accelerating with anticipation when the possessed girl in the movie made a horrifying groan that ruined the moment.

And then the room suddenly was swallowed in darkness, followed by a strong clap of thunder that tore open the sky.

In the scant moment of chaos, he heard a scream and then the light came back as if nothing happened, aside from the fact that she was now in his arms, with her legs straddling his waist, and her fingers clutching the collar of his hoodie.

Henry was unsure how and when his hand found itself latched to the small of her back, only that he didn’t want to let go. They exchanged bemused glances and swallowed the dryness parching their throats.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, “I got scared…”

Embarrassed to the point of tears, she attempted to climb off, wanting nothing more than to run to the bathroom and cry in hiding, when Henry sent a hand to stroke her temple and gently brushed his fingers behind her ear.

“Stay,” he insisted, squeezing into her lower back as if to prevent her from escaping.

Her lips parted slowly, the same golden hue that suffused the living room split into her eyes, beaming even brighter as he continued to caress her face before bringing her closer to graze her lips with his.

Halloween was, without a doubt, his favourite.

Tagging: @the-soot-sprite @henrythickcavill because they asked to be tagged in these. <3

#henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x ofc

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

Thread the Needle | Yoga!Din

Pairing: Modern!Din x Yoga Instructor!Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, goodbye)

Word count: 3.5k~

Warnings/tags: Yoga!Din (yes, he gets his own warning), hurt/comfort, language, smut, good ol' fashioned cunnilingus, piv

Notes: ✨ HI FRIENDS ✨ Yoga!Din rides again. This idea has been stewing (pun intended, you'll get it later) in my dumb brain for a while now and I've finally decided to write it. Technically, this takes place a little farther into the future (perhaps when the pair is more of an item, and less of a fuckbuddy fling, but thorough plot? We don’t know her). Anyways, enjoy! Cheers x

He doesn’t mean to be dramatic, but it’s the most agonizing sixty minutes of his goddamn life.

He’s seated on his mat, legs folded into a fucking pretzel—lotus pose, a calm voice inside his head corrects—and he’s steaming.

She isn’t here.

He is—Din, for all his faults, showed the fuck up to class but she didn’t, and in her place there’s some smelly old bat, this woman’s wrinkly ass – sits bones – plunked down at the front of the studio— occupying her spot, where she should be.

His eyes stalk the movements of this other woman as she putters around the studio—the godawful stench of something earthy wafting behind her— and it looks wrong. It feels wrong; like a violation somehow—of the space.

Of their space.

“The light in me recognizes the light in you,” they all utter in unison like a fucking hippie cult, and he books it out of there, swiping his mat up with an aggressive slap and rolling it under his arm.

“Hey,” he calls out, pacing towards the front desk. The receptionist— Riley? Kylie? Din can never remember—glances up from her phone, bright eyed.

Poor thing.

“Who the fuck is that?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the studio, the gaggle of ladies trickling out of it already gossiping and clucking away. Din doesn’t mean to sound accusatory; he doesn’t mean to be this intense. It’s not this girl’s fault, he knows that— but she’s in proximity and she’s shit out of luck.

“M’sorry?” she sputters, blinking up at him.

Breathe, that same voice coos—he can feel the tickle of it behind his ear.

“Our usual Wednesday instructor,” Din begins again, clipped. “Where is she?”

“Oh," she shrugs, "she called in sick.”

With a furrowed brow he pitches forward, craning over the desk. “Is she okay?”

The girl— Miley? —all but flinches back from him, a quizzical expression wormed onto her. “Uhm, yeah she has the flu—nasty one, too, but she’ll probably be back by ne-"

Din doesn’t linger long enough for her to finish. He’s wheeled around, striding from the building, the tinny chime of the bell ringing out as the door creaks closed behind him. The women exchange waggling glances in his wake, tittering in mouthwatering delight—more juicy fodder for their post-yoga soiree.

///

He doesn’t remember driving there. He made a quick stop to the grocery store— their grocery store, now— to pick up what he needed and before he knows it, he’s at her front door, bringing his fist down upon it in hard raps.

He hears movement—can sense it there, can practically imagine it: her lithe body tip toeing over— no, she’s got the flu, maybe it’s more of a shuffle—and peeking through the peephole. There’s a weighty pause and then—

The slow, dubious clicks of unbolting locks, the turning of a handle, the yawn of the wood as it opens.

Her voice is made small with disbelief and exhaustion. “Din?”

“Can I come in?”

She cracks the door ajar, standing in the frame of it now, a thick blue comforter slung over an arm, and she can’t quite mask the stupefied look etched onto her face.

He’s never done this. She’s never done this. He’s been to her place twice—three times, if he counts them fucking in the car in her driveway—and he’s certainly never showed up unannounced.

“Uhm, I-”

“Great.”

Din pushes past her, plastic bag swinging heavy at his side.

“W-What?”

She’s left gaping, mouth and eyes opened incredulously, ogling the way he struts through her entryway, before finally having the wherewithal to close the door. “Hey, what are you-”

“You need to keep your fluids up,” he says roughly—as if it’s obvious—making a beeline towards the kitchen.

She follows after him, bunching the throw snuggly around her shoulders. “Din,” she utters feebly, “I really don’t think you should be here right now.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Please, I don’t wanna get you sick."

He thunks the bag onto the granite countertop, producing two cans.

She doesn’t know why she bothers, it’s not like he’s listening to her anyways. If she’s learned anything about Din Djarin, it’s that he’s nothing if not stubborn—impossibly immovable. He’s tossed his jacket off, slinging it over the island, a determined glint in his eye as he prowls around the kitchen, opening cupboards at random.

“Seriously, I don’t want you catching this. I feel like shit… Oh my god, I look like shit,” she groans in realization, burying her head in the blanket, hermitting herself away.

“You look fine,” he replies gruffly, delving through the drawers in search of a can opener.

Frumpy sweats and a baggy t-shirt with some faded logo on it that’s absolutely hanging off her. Hair tossed up and sloppy, coiled into a loose bun, errant pieces rebelling every which way. A little pale, maybe. Tired eyes. Messy.

Beautiful, he meant. She looks fucking irritatingly beautiful.

Din continues to rifle through her cabinets and he exhales in frustration, “Jesus, where do you keep your pans?”

“Bottom right,” she points begrudgingly.

He grunts, finding one big enough and sets it down on the stove.

She can’t stop fussing over him; making comments here and there, asking if he wants anything, needs anything—water, kombucha, tea, a beer, a snack—if she can help in any way possible—and it nearly sends him over the damn edge.

“Would you quit it and just let me take care of you?” he grits out, and her mouth clamps shut with a pop.

She’s quiet after that, picking anxiously at a thread poking out from the blanket she wears like a shawl—observing as he empties the cans into a large pot, lights the gas stove, and brings it to a boil. She gives him space, stationing herself by the kitchen table, leaning a hip into one of the four chairs there.

Honestly she does try to keep to herself; she tries to accept what Din is doing for her, but she can’t help it. As soon as she sees him ladling the soup into one of her favorite cups—it looks so tiny in his grasp— and bringing it over to her like a goddamn patron saint, she breaks.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah well, you need to get healthy so you can take your class back from that fucking fossil.”

“Din,” she admonishes.

“Baby,” he gives her a pointed look and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, a blush blotting her clavicle. “She fucking smells. Now sit your pretty little ass down-”

“But-”

He presses a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to sink into the chair with a soft oomf, and places the bowl in front of her. “Don’t fight me on this. Drink the fucking soup.”

She huffs, glancing down, and then back up to Din.

“Progresso?”

He grunts.

She blows at the steam rising from the hot liquid. “Chicken noodle?”

Din crosses his arms over his chest and plops back onto the island.

“Classic,” she praises, mumbling into it.

She loathes to admit it, but the first sip tastes like heaven. It soothes her raw vocal chords, worn hoarse from nights of coughing, and seeps deep to warm her cold bones.

Din remains mute through the whole affair, staring owlishly as she spoons it down, slurp for slurp, until he’s satisfied she’s finished. When she does, she arches an eye brow at him— mouth pressing into a thin line. Happy now?

He tips his head and pads over to her.

“Wait, no you don’t have to-" He swipes it from the table, the spoon clanking against the ceramic rim. Din moves to the sink and she groans.

“Just leave it,” she whines, but he ignores her—stubborn stubborn stubborn— he’s already got soap on the sponge and the water running. Again, she huffs and rises to her feet, hem of the blanket trailing behind her.

“Thank you,” she gives in a hushed tone.

It’s so strange— being taken care of in her own place. She doesn’t know what to do, where to go. It’s ill-fitting, foreign, and she can only hover there, buzzing like a pesky insect beside him.

He’s wiping the dish off with a towel when he chances a peek back at her, practically stuttering when he does.

She’s swaddled in that fucking quilt, awkward and impossibly sincere and precious just standing there—watching him play house in her home. A brush of color has sprung up on her cheeks—more light in her eyes, too—and Din, try as he might, can’t pry himself off her.

She’s sick—she’s sick and gorgeous and he wants her. He wants her to feel better, he wants to fuck her, he wants to hold her. He’s overcome with it.

He swallows.

Fuck.

He abandons the bowl and rag in the drying rack and turns to her, her eyes widening, glassy and bloodshot, as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear— knuckles trailing down her jaw.

“Din…”

Her tongue skips over her lip—mocking him—damp and full and begging to be taken by his own, and her breath catches as he drags a thumb across that plump flesh, enrapt with the way her mouth parts so effortlessly for him—so fucking supple. Din’s gut twists and his blood thickens in his veins—the air between them rippling with something velvet and carnal.

He takes a step towards her. Her throat bobs.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she pouts in protest, rutting her palm into his chest, but there’s no fight in it. The blanket slips from her shoulders, hitting the ground with a dulled splat.

“Din,” she tries again, “I don’t want you to-"

He leans in, cradling her cheek, murmurs fanning over her face. “I’ll risk it.”

And he dissolves the gap, sealing her mouth with his in a tender kiss. It’s almost chaste at first, how they rove tentative and unhurried over each other—an innocent exploration— all until his tongue darts out to touch along her lip and she whimpers into him, letting Din dip into the dark cavern of her mouth. She tastes warm, like comfort and broth and rainy days, and he sighs as she brings her hands up to weave into his hair.

Neither of them fight for dominance like this—their tangle of soft sounds is perfectly balanced— Hatha; effort and ease, breath and body. He pushes, she relents—she surges forward, Din bends. They dance like this, slow as tar, until she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs.

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

He seethes, inhaling sharply as his hands slide possessive and greedy down her body, grabbing fistfuls of her waist hidden under all the oversized layers, and crushing her into him. She’s making these airy noises, panting and urgent and fuck if it doesn’t tear him apart—viscerally, from the inside out.

Din walks her backwards, step for choreographed step, foxtrotting until she bumps into the kitchen table. He breaks away from the kiss to reach past her, frantically pushing away the unopened mail and receipts and loose change, the jingling of her keys cutting through the wanton quiet as they clang onto the tile, and he hitches her up to sit there with one fell swoop.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he husks, inbetween the bites he’s searing onto her neck. “Please, just lie back for me sweet girl.”

“Din, I-“

He silences her with a nibble to her ear, coaxing a breathy yelp out of her. “Lie back, baby.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that. She acquiesces, Din’s wide palm splayed on her breasts, guiding her to recline back onto the table. He makes speedy work of her sweatpants, yanking them down her legs and flinging them off to land in a crumpled heap.

He sinks to his knees, pulling the cradle of her hips to the edge of the table before parting her thighs. The gloss of her cunt, wet and glistening for him, makes his hardening cock jump up to his stomach, and she twitches as soon as the cool air brushes against her.

“Fuck me,” he groans, whispering into her heat like he’s pained, like the sight alone is torturing him—like it’s slowly but surely ending his fucking life.

Din breathes her in with a sigh, that summer fruit tang— the scent of her aching and pulsing for him— and he starts tracing up and down her inner thigh with his tongue and teeth, nibbling along the path there until he’s at her apex. He’s dimpling her pliant skin with his calloused fingertips, strong hands wrapped under her knees, keeping them splayed as he kisses along her outer lips, nipping at her hip bones, teasing everywhere but where she needs him most.

It’s devastating—debilitating—and she’s shaking now. Every muscle, every fiber of her, convulsing with anticipation—with the promise of being dissected, of being torn apart and stitched back together again. She’s already got a hand covering her mouth, muffling the sobs he’s drawing out as he toys with her— playing her like a fucking fiddle.

Din’s eyes flit up to find her like this, brow pinched tight and cries stifled, and he chuckles— he fucking laughs— heady and ambered into her legs.

“You doin’ alright up there, teach?”

“F-Fuck you,” she hisses out with a weak whine.

God, she’s fucking perfect.

“You need something, sweetheart?” He smirks— she can feel the shape of it against her thigh, the way his stubble grates along her skin— and she can only mewl, speechless. Pathetic.

“Yeah, I know what you need...” Din hums, before finally - finally - taking mercy on her.

With one single drag, he tongues a broad stripe up her slit.

The noise that rips through her sounds like she’s being strangled— it gets caught in her throat like a trapped animal in hot car— a desperate little thing clawing to get out. Her nails scrape against the wood, leaving nicks in the chestnut lacquer. Immediately, she cants up to him, searching for his mouth hungrily and Din all but obliges as he clasps onto her hips, keeping her still while he fucks into her.

He’s carving her out— hollowing her; burying himself in her folds, nosing against her mound. He laps her up in kitten licks, delving the muscle of his tongue in and out of her, leaving her weak and gasping. Din laves up and down and side to side in clever little swivels, before he reaches her clit and sucks.

Her fist shoots from her mouth to grip his wavy locks, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“O-Oh my god, Din - fuck - Din. Oh fuck oh fuck-"

He loves it when she gets like this; that serene and tranquil exterior— the one that can quell a studio full of strangers into a haze with only the sound of her voice, that voice he can’t get out of his fucking head, the one that got them into this mess in the first place— shattered, mutilated beyond recognition and all she has left is her need— her wild, unbridled need.

Her need for his tongue, for his fingers, for his dick. Din Din Din, she only wants him— only needs him.

He slips a finger into her, easing past his knuckle in one movement, and her chin tips back, crown of her head digging into the table, hair mussing against the wood grain.

Her nipples have pebbled through her shirt, her pretty feet arched and contorted, and she’s heaving - writhing - like this above him.

He adds another digit, pumping in and out, the squelch of her pussy sounding lewd and obscene and fucking divine as he grazes her clit with his teeth, pulling at it.

“Fuck-” she rasps, legs quivering on their own accord— instinct and reflex demanding she tremble— and Din moans into her sex, feeling her walls constrict around his fingers, and he curls them up as he thrusts, hitting against that spongy patch insider her that makes her vision go white.

“Din, I- I’m—"

She can’t manage the rest. Instead of words, she cries— high pitched and wounded, as if she’s barely making it out alive. Her legs clamp around his head, bracing him there, and she cums— she loses it for him— her slick coating his nose, his lips, the hair speckled around his chin. She soaks him, and it leaves Din rocking his hips and humping the fucking air— as randy as a teenager, ravenous for anything, even if it’s just the friction of his pants drawn tight around his erection.

He takes her through her orgasm, lapping at her softly until she’s warbling—a slew of nonsense babbling out of her— and he leans back on his heels to admire his work, eyes singeing into her cunt made puffy and swollen pink, fluttering at the loss of him.

He plants one final kiss to the cleft of her pussy before shifting his weight back up to his feet, slotting himself between her.

Fuck, he isn’t as young as he once was— he feels his age in the ache of his knees. All the yoga in the world can’t erase his scar tissue, can’t undo time.

But he thinks maybe—if he’ll let himself—that she makes him feel younger. Lighter.

He squeezes her calf and begins to move away when she whimpers, bolting upright to palm greedily at the bulge pressing painfully against its constraint, her fingers fidgeting with his zipper and Din— in an uncharacteristic show of strength and self restraint— gingerly clasps onto her wrists, holding her still.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and her eyes snap up to meet his. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, but-”

“You don’t- we don’t have to-"

“Din,” she pants, grabbing onto the waist of his jeans and pressing her center into him, smearing herself along the denim there, her pearled clit catching on the rough fabric. Her eyes have gone jet-black with desire, obsidian lust burning through them. “Din, fuck me. Please fuck me, plea-“

Shit.

He’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life, unbuttoning his jeans in a flash, untucking himself— throbbing, leaking already—from his briefs. He gives himself two rough jerks, his blunt tip prodding at her entrance, before pushing into her with a gasp.

Fuck, she’s warm— not just warm, she’s hot. She’s molten, and she’s milking him for all he’s worth, gripping around him, fucking strangling his cock with how wet she is—how tight. God, she’s a fucking dream—a nightmare too, undoubtedly.

“Fuck baby - shit - you’re—hnng-” He groans—can’t even form a real sentence—all of his blood has rushed out of his brain and straight to the juncture where their bodies meet.

His eyes flutter deliriously at the feeling of her stretching around him like this and for a passing, fleeting moment, he considers the fact that he should be gentle with her— that she’s not feeling well, that she’s probably sore with body chills and God knows what else and that she should rest—

But once her knees are split apart and legs spread long— so fucking flexible, fuck she’s killing him— his well-met concern all but abandons him.

He fucks her hard— so hard she falls back, that unforgiving surface bruising into her spine. He probably hurts her a little—just how he likes, just how she loves.

Din plows into her, digging into the meat of her thighs, slamming into the pussy that takes him so fucking well, the pussy that feels like it’s made for him— like she’s made for him— and the table shudders with each roll of his hips, scraping it inch by inch along the tile, knocking against the chairs with loud, clattering bangs.

“W-Wait— wait wait wait-“ she pants, hands scampering up to his arms.

He slows his thrusts until he’s stilled inside of her, worry creasing around his eyes. “W-What? Are you okay—what’s wrong?”

“T-The table," she whines, “it’s from fucking IKEA. I built this piece of shit myself— there’s no way it’s gonna stay standing with you fucking me into it like this.”

Din barks out a laugh, throaty and genuine, and for the second time today, he comes to the conclusion that she’s perfect.

“Bedroom?” she nods down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he growls before scooping her up, lifting her off the table, her legs scrambling to hook around his waist, forearms bracing around the broad plain of his shoulders.

“Din!” she squeals in surprise, “I can walk, you know.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, giving her a bounce and a light slap to her ass. “You’re sick.”

///

“Onions,” he mutters, leaden eyelids nestled shut.

He didn’t mean to stay over this long—well past sunset, later than he’s ever allowed himself—but how could he be expected to leave? After she came on his cock - twice - and he had filled her up until his cum was gushing from her, extricating himself out of this exact position of woven, spent limbs and sweat stained sheets sounded criminal.

“What?” She cranes groggily up at him.

“The sub. She smelled like onions. And patchouli.”

“Hey,” she tuts in mock offense, “Brenda is nice.”

“Good for Brenda. Doesn’t make her smell any better.”

“God, you are so rude,” she laughs, shaking her head as she nuzzles into Din’s side, lips curving into a sleepy grin against his chest—right above the aching thump of his caged heart.

Taglist (I apologize if I missed anyone!):

@radiowallet @pedros-mustache @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamers @greatcircle79 @iamskyereads @imnotinlove-thisisnotyoursong @fan-of-encouragement @read-and-rec @helmet-comes-off @keeper0fthestars @hellabaybee @ourmotherofyearning @krissology

#yoga!din #I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL #modern!din #modern au #din djarin smut #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #smut #mando x fem!reader #mando x you #mando x female oc #hurt/comfort #fanfic #one shot #star wars fanfic #pedro pascal #din djarin au

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marvelousstevetony · 3 years

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hi you’re so wonderful. Could you possibly write nose kisses + “You’ve sneezed four times. That’s not like you.” from the prompt list you posted for Sam and Bucky ♥️♥️

Omg, thank you, anon! You’re wonderful, and I hope you’ll like this small fic of sick!Bucky and a very sweet Sam taking care of him. I know this is another old prompt, but hopefully you’ll see this anyway!♥️

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Sam sighs as he closes the door behind him and dumps his back on the floor. Shrugging off his jacket, he simultaneously toes off his shoes, and he nearly stumbles when his left sneaker doesn’t come as easily as the right one did. He looks down at his feet and glares at the shoe as if it had been trying to kill him.

Well, it kinda had, Sam thinks to himself. He could’ve fallen over and hit his head and he could’ve died, and it would definitely have been the shoe’s fault and not because Sam was too lazy to untie the laces and— wait. Sam stops his train of thought when he notices Bucky’s shoes are in the hallway, which they shouldn’t be. Sam is sure Buck had said that he’d be in debrief way past dinnertime.

He shoots one last glance at the potentially lethal shoe and kicks it out of his way and heads towards the kitchen to grab a drink before hunting down his boyfriend. It’s a surprisingly easy hunt, though, because Bucky is standing at the kitchen counter when Sam enters the room.

Bucky’s wearing a thick knit sweater that he’d once stolen from Steve, and his hair’s pulled into a small bun at the nape of his neck. Sam can’t help but smile into the soft, navy material when he comes up and hugs Bucky from behind, nuzzling his face between Bucky’s shoulder blades. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Bucky chuckles softly and places his right hand on top of one of Sam’s, giving it a small squeeze.

“You’re home already,” Sam says gratefully. “Did debrief finish early?”

“Uh… snff! Yeah, kind of. We’re finishing up tomorrow.”

Sam hums in acknowledgement and plants a kiss on Bucky’s shoulder before pulling away to fetch a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. He takes a long gulp of it and sets the glass on the counter, then goes to open the fridge and frowns at it when he realizes it’s empty. Or, well, basically empty, apart from milk, a couple of eggs, a few bell peppers and some other basic stuff. Not enough to make dinner out of, though.

“I didn’t think you’d be home, so I didn’t go shopping for groceries,” Sam explains when Bucky asks why he’s staring off into the fridge. “If I’d known you’d be back so soon I would’ve made you dinner, but…”

“We can— snff! We can just order in,” Bucky says. “What… snf! d-do you waahh- huh? huh… uhhUSH’ooo!”

“Bless you!” Sam exclaims and turns to look at Bucky, who’s rubbing at his nose with knuckles, eyes narrowed and mouth hanging slightly agape. He presses a bent index finger to his septum, but whether he’s trying to hold off the building tickle in his nose or coax out another sneeze, Sam can’t tell. It’s the latter that wins, because after a few hitching breaths and a final desperate gasp, Bucky yanks the collar of the sweater over his mouth and nose, succumbing to the sneezy sensation.

“huhh… uhhETCH’oo! ehhh… EIShoo! Hh! UhTSHHh’uh!”

Three strong sneezes rush over him, his shoulders tensing with the force of them, making his body jerk a little forward each time.

“Jesus, bless you, Buck,” Sam says, his tone now somewhere between protective and concerned. “You’ve sneezed four times. That’s not like you.”

Bucky sniffles a good few times before releasing his grip of the sweater and swipes at his nose with the back of his wrist instead. “Snf! Sorry,” he murmurs, voice congested and raspy. “Than’gks,” he adds when Sam pulls out a couple of tissues from the box on the counter and hands them to him.

He gives a couple of useless blows that makes him cough more than it helps clear out his sinuses, and he ends up doing more coughing and snuffling into them than anything else.

“You sound horrible,” Sam states and grimaces when Bucky draws in a breath and waits for another sneeze to overcome him. It doesn’t come though, and all Bucky is left with is an itchy and fuzzy feeling in his head, which he tries to ward off by shaking his head, then lets out a defeated, stuffy sigh. “And you look even worse,” Sam continues when he gets a good look of Bucky for the first time since he came home.

His eyes are all watery and tired looking, and the purplish bags underneath them could rival Steve’s from that time he went three days without sleeping on a mission and came home exhausted and hurt and sick. Additionally, Bucky’s cheeks are flushed the same bright red colour as his nose, which also looks like it’s been abused by rough tissue paper and the cuff of his sweater all day.

“Fuck off, Wilson,” Bucky grumbles, but there’s no fire to it, no real annoyance. Not at Sam, anyway, probably more at the state he’s in. “You’re just… snf! Just repeating what Steve told mbe all day.”

Ah. “So that’s why you’re home early?” Sam realizes. “So Rogers is the one I have to thank for getting my boyfriend all to myself on a Wednesday evening. How did he manage to convince you to go home?” He asks, impressed that even Steve could get him to resign to this monster of a cold.

Bucky ducks his head with a shy smile and rubs the back of his neck. “Said he’d walk me down to med himself if I refused to go home…”

“Buck,” Sam breathes sympathetically and comes to stand next to Bucky, who’s still leaning against the counter. Sam brings a hand to Bucky’s hair and pulls it out of the bun. He snaps the band around his wrist before threading his fingers through the long, dark locks. “He thinks you need to go to med?”

Bucky shakes his head, then clears his throat. “Ndo I— snf! He knows I hate it down there, so threatening to take me there was probably just his way to make sure I went home.”

“Hmm… He’s a smart guy.”

Bucky chuckles at that, low and congested, but it makes him smile, and seeing the way the corners of Bucky’s mouth curl upwards makes Sam smile, too.

“Alright, I’ll order dinner for us. What do you want? Italian? Good,” Sam decides when Bucky nods. “Go huddle up on the couch, I’ll come after I’ve showered, okay?”

Bucky nods again and starts to pull back a little, but Sam stops him before he can get too far away and leans in close enough to brush his lips over the tip of Bucky’s nose. Although the kiss is gentle and feather-light, Bucky nose twitches, and he has to duck his head to rub it against his index finger. When he looks back up at Sam, he has this bashful look on his face that makes him look even cuter than Sam thought possible, and if Sam hadn’t already decided that Bucky needs to relax, he probably — no, definitely — would’ve pulled Bucky into a deep, warm kiss that left both of their lips numb and wanting more. But that’s not what Bucky needs right now. Right now, he needs food, a fresh box of tissues, maybe a cup of tea later and maybe even some of the cold-medicine Sam insists they keep in stock. Just in case, he always says.

“Okay, to the couch you go,” Sam sighs and nudges Bucky’s shoulder when he feigns a pout and tries to nestle into Sam’s embrace again. Rolling his eyes when Bucky looks at him through his thick lashes, Sam pokes softly at Bucky’s side. “Stop with the puppy eyes, Barnes, and a go sit your ass down.”

With a small grin, Bucky heads for the living room, leaving Sam to order dinner and clean up before joining him.

Dinner arrives about thirty minutes later. They eat on the couch, cuddled up in a nest of blankets and pillows while some horrible reality show is playing on the tv. Sam doesn’t know why they’re even watching it, but it’s entertaining enough that neither of them want to sacrifice how comfortable they are to reach the remote.

Through it all, Bucky has been sniffling and sneezing into the tissues Sam brought with him to the couch, and by the time Sam’s going to make tea, the box is empty.

“Umb, Sam? Do you snf— snff! Do you thin’gk you could mbe sombe more tissues?” Bucky asks as his eyes begin to glaze over, lashes fluttering wildly before he pushes a crumpled tissue against his nose and gives into the sneezes. “H’uhh… UhhIShoo! Oh… snf! Heh—? ehh… ehCH’sshh! EISHh’oo!”

“You’ve really got the sniffles today, don’t you?” Sam jokes as he gets to his feet, but his voice is warm and fond.

“Shud up, Sam,” Bucky huffs. “Just get me the damn tissues, will ya?”

Sam holds his hands up in surrender and laughs. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’ll get you tea and tissues,” he says and comes back with a new box of Kleenex and a steaming cup of tea five minutes later. He put the cup on the coffee table, and drops the box of tissues onto Bucky’s lap before dropping himself right down next to Bucky, holding his arms out for Bucky to cuddle into to, and how could Bucky reject such an invitation?

Within a few seconds, Bucky is settled in good and close in Sam’s embrace, Bucky’s head resting against Sam’s chest. It’s nice like this, Sam thinks. It’s nice that they can have this, that they let themselves have this. And in this instant, Sam’s gaze wanders over Bucky screen-lit face, letting himself dwell in the stillness and bliss of the moment. It’s simple, but it’s perfect, and suddenly an overwhelming sense of home surges through Sam, a feeling that makes his breath catch in his chest. When Bucky looks up at him with questioning blue eyes, silently asking him if he’s alright, Sam just smiles and gently cups Bucky’s jaw in his palm, angling his head in just the right position for Sam to lean down and place a kiss right on the bridge of Bucky’s nose.

#my fic #sambucky #anon #i love them a lot okay #pls they are perfect together #and I am SO hyped for tfatws #🥺🥺🥺

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rachelbethhines · 3 years

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Vintage Shows to Watch While You Wait for the Next Episode of WandaVision - The 50s

So the first three episodes of Wandavision have dropped onto Disney Plus and like me you’re probably already obsessing over it. Also like me you’re probably jonesing for another fix while waiting for more as the episodes only come out once a week.

But never fear, we literally have decades of cheesy comedy sitcoms to sift through to keep us entertained during quarantine. Along with the occasional action and/or horror stuff if you’re so inclined. So if you’re trying to decide where to start I’ll be making short lists for each decade that coincides with each episode.

1. I Love Lucy (1951- 1957)

The granddaddy of all American television sitcoms staring the first lady of comedy herself, Lucille Ball. While not the first sitcom to air, tv had been kicking around since the late 40s, this show did pave the way for many technical innovations for the new medium both on and behind the scenes. As such Elisabeth Olsen cited Miss Ball’s work as one of her inspirations for her role as Wanda in the series, as do many a woman entering into the comedic field.

Also the show is just flat out funny. One of those rare 50s sitcoms that manages to overcome some of it’s more dated aspects through shear force of personality and peak comedic screwball antics. The only downside is you have to have Hulu to watch it as the copywrite is tightly controlled even to this day.

2. Amos ‘n Andy (1951-1953)

The 1950s television landscape was overwhelemingly white. It’s no secret that POC had a hard time finding work in the field of entertainment let alone be the stars of the show. Amos ‘n Andy, a spin off of the earlier same titled radio show, was one of, if not the first black led shows on television and so deserves a mention just for that alone.

Now I will not act as if this show is perfect or ahead of it’s time. The series was controversial even during its day for is depictions of racial stereotypes. Eventually the series was canceled because of protests from the NAACP despite being very popular in the ratings. However I’m a full believer that history should be observed and talked about in order to progress further so check out an episode or two on youtube and decide for yourself if it’s worth remembering or not.

3. The Adventures of Superman (1952 - 1958)

Ok, not a sitcom, but as we all know, Wandavision isn’t just a sitcom it’s also a superhero show and this is one of the first tv series in this genre. It and the Fleischer Superman cartoons from the previous decade helped to make the juggernaut industry that we know today.

Plus Superman did an official crossover with I Love Lucy, seriously.

4. The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet (1952 - 1966)

Hardly anyone talks about it today, but Ozzie and Harriet is the longest running sitcom to date. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia being the only other show threating to up seat it come next year. However the two sitcoms couldn’t be any more different.

The series stared the real life Nelson family who had got their start in radio as comedians and singers who then crossed over into tv. While the show was completely scripted it tried to hew as close to real life as possible, kicking off American’s obsession with platonic voyeurism. Much in the way Wandavision has the meta storyline of being watch in their own home.

5. Father Knows Best (1954 - 1960)

Another radio to television entry here, however the series drastically changed the main character during the transition. During the 40s radio sitcoms were very biting and sarcastic, often either going the complete surreal screwball route or were satires of the day. This fell out of favor as tv became more dominated by commercials and advertisers feared offending their potential costumers. So things were greatly toned down as the decade progressed.

Therefore when Father Knows Best hit the small screen gone was the rude and domineering dad and in his place we got the very model tv father; affable, gentle, loving, devoted, and very congenial. All traits we love to see in Vision some six decades later.

6. The Honeymooners (1955 - 1956)

I physically can not make a recommendation list of 50s sitcoms and not mention The Hoonymooners. I just can’t. It’s one of the greatest sitcoms ever made and hugely influential. So much so that The Flintstones ripped off the series whole sale to the point that Jackie Gleason threatened to sue Hanna-Barbera. However there’s little such influence in Wandvision.

See what made The Honeymooners stand out at the time and what gave it such longevity is the fact that the main characters were poor. They lived in a cramped and over crowded sparsely furnitured one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. They owed bills, they dressed plainly, they worked long hours at low paying jobs, and they were often dirty from said work.

Much like how Wandavision will pull back the curtain a little to see the reality hiding underneath their suburban utopia, so too did The Honeymooners defy the the ‘perfect American dream’ that was soled on tv during the 50s to show us the trauma of poverty and the only thing that you can do when you find yourself trapped within that reality, laugh.

7. Leave it to Beaver (1957 - 1963)

You can not get any more quintessentially 50s than Leave it to Beaver. The series has become synonymous with the decade and it’s take on the ideal American family life to the point where it’s become a punchline of numerus jokes criticizing the values and attitudes of the era.

Does it really deserve such mockery? Who knows. I think one needs to watch it for themselves to decide. However it slots right into the aesthetic that the first episode of Wandavision is trying to recreate and it must have been popular for a reason, right?

8. The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis (1959 - 1963)

We featured wholesome family sitcoms and screwball comedies with married folks but we haven’t covered any surrealist humor yet, and Wandavision is seeped into that sort of stuff. That’s because there really isn’t a lot of fantasy in most 50s sitcoms. So while the trappings for episode one of Wandavision is very 50s the effects and premise is more 1960s.

That’s where Dobie Gillis comes into play. Like Wandavision, The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis is based off a comic book, or comic strip rather. However that comic was very down to earth and tame compared to the tv show. More fondly remembered as the inspiration for Scooby Doo a decade later, Dobie Gillis quickly transformed from a typical coming of age show about teenagers to a surreal, sarcastic, tongue in cheek comedy, complete with get rich quick schemes, spys, bongos, and a giant chicken.

9. Bonanza (1959 - 1973)

Yeah, I know all of y’all are judging me right now. “A western in a sitcom/sic-fi list? What are you thinking?” Well one really can’t talk about 50s television and not mention westerns of some sort. They permeated all mediums and dominated the cultural air waves. And Bonanza is far more than just a western.

Bonanza is literally every thing. It’s every genre at once; western, historical drama, sitcom, action adventure, satire, crime drama, soap opera ,and yes even the occasional foray into science fiction, albeit with a more Jules Vern take than a typical spaceman theming.

If Wandavision is a melding pot of seemingly disconnected genres then it’s because Bonanza paved the way with it’s similar breakage of formula.

10 The Twilight Zone (1959 to 1964)

Yeah, you probably knew this was coming. When not being a homage to sitcoms Wandavision is a downright horror movie, but not one with gore and mindless monsters. Rather the show evokes old school surrealist horror, like that employed in the famous (or infamous) Twilight Zone.

What you probably didn’t know is that we have the I Love Lucy show to thank for it. See Lucille Ball and her then husband Desi Arnaz had created their own production company in order to make I Love Lucy. This production company, Desilu Productions, is responsible for picking up Rod Sterling’s pilot and producing The Twilight Zone.

Runner Ups

Good shows that have little to do with Wandavision but are good anyways.

What’s My Line (1950 - 1967)

Just a really fun game show. Stars of the day would sometimes appear on it including many of the sitcom comedians listed above

Have Gun - Will Travel (1957 - 1963)

One of the very few pure westerns that I can tolerate. The lead actually cares about people and justice and will stand up to bigots.

Dennis the Menace (1959 - 1963)

While I have fond memories of the 90s film, I thought it was a tad redundant to put on the list when there’s already Leave it to Beaver.

So there’s the 50s list. On Wednesday I’ll post a list for the 60s and cover some of the more obvious stuff Wandavision was paying homage to.

#wandavision #wanda #vision #sitcoms #1950s #marvel #disney #i love lucy

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love-bokumono-fics · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday - A New Beginning

A feature of the ten most recently updated/posted fics for A New Beginning that are still Works in Progress.

All A New Beginning WIPS can be found here for your perusal!

Ten Rotations (Around the Sun) - by tatertotarmy; WIP, 3/?, 14k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M

Fandoms: A New Beginning, Rune Factory 3

Relationship: Soseki/Evelyn De Sainte-Coquille; Characters: Soseki, Evelyn De Sainte-Coquille, Sofia De Sainte-Coquille, Max De Sainte-Coquille, Odette, Allen, Alisa

Additional Tags: Inspired by Tenki no Ko | Weathering With You, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Contains characters from both the Rune Factory series and the Harvest Moon series, Only major pairings and characters will be tagged, More may be tagged as the story progresses, Alcohol, Bad Puns

Summary: In a gamble to make her clothing designs known the world over, Evelyn de Sainte-Coquille moves out to a dreary city cursed with nearly endless rainfall. As she tries and fails to find her footing, she meets Soseki, a man whose path is always followed by sunlight.

Daybreak, Hope and a Hairstylist - by BabyChocoboAlchemist; WIP, 3/5, 6.6k

Rating: General Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: M/M

Fandoms: A New Beginning, Pioneers of Olive Town

Relationships: Allen/Ralph, Allen/Emilio, Allen/Jack, Allen/Damon, Allen/Iori; Characters: Allen, Ralph, Damon, Emilio, Jack, Iori, Sally

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Feels, Psychological Trauma, Male Homosexuality

Summary: Allen, Echo Valley's notorious hairstylist, leaves the comfort of the valley behind for new beginnings. Carrying with him a world of heartache and burdens from the past, he reaches out in the hopes of forging new bonds and finally finding his other half. He begins a new life as Karina and Jeanne's new hair stylist, hoping to find the one mean to complete him-and the one he's supposed to become. Will his other half be Ralph, Damon, Emilio, Iori or Jack? Watch as our hairstylist encounters Olive Town's bachelors on a series of romantic escapades. (Why am I writing a bunch of crackpairs? Well, because Allen intrigues me, I'm going to play Olive Town soon, and I want to make someone smile.)

Forest Of Echoes: Shattering Scarlet - by Robotkitty5848; WIP, 5/80, 5k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Category: F/M

Fandom: A New Beginning

Character: Allen

Summary: All her life, Alex was told to never go into the Forbidden Woods, the trees behind her house hiding an unknown danger. Anyone who goes into the forest doesn't come out. After a tragic event, Allen refuses to shift back into his human side. But when a stranger enters his life, can she help him overcome his troubles? Or will war break them apart?

Wicked Temptation - by RandomJaz; WIP, 2/?, 3.7k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Categories: F/F, F/M

Fandoms: A New Beginning

Relationships: Rio | Rachel/Witch Princess, Rio | Rachel/Sengoku | Soseki; Characters: Soseki, Witch Princess, Rio | Rachel

Summary: The Witch Princess never cared for befriending humans. Though, she's grown rather fond of a sweet farmer. When Rachel suddenly grows an interest in a local bachelor, the Witch Princess fears a life of solidarity she'd once favored.

Desire - by Robotkitty5848, WIP, 6/?, 11k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: M/M

Fandom: A New Beginning

Characters: Allen, Neil

Summary: Neil always considered the hair stylist an annoying narcissist. Allen found it fun to toy with the grumpy animal seller. Neither of them planned to be lovers, but they didn't expect to see a familiar face return to Echo Village. And they couldn't deny the tension between them.

I'm Trying, Okay? - by Datarabi; WIP, 2/?, 1.8k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M

Fandoms: A New Beginning

Relationship: Neil/Rachel | Rio; Character: Neil

Additional Tags: Romance, Eventual Romance, Fluff

Summary: Rio is bad at saying no to people. Neil doesn't even give them the chance to ask. But sometimes, it feels like they're the only ones that understand each other in the midst of town that's growing too fast for one farmer to keep up with.

Just My Luck - by OwlofNevermore; WIP, 2/?, 7.8k

Rating: Mature; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M

Fandom: A New Beginning

Relationship: Neil/Rachel | Rio; Characters: Rachel | Rio, Echo Town villagers, Tina, Neil, Rod the Pet Shop Owner, Felicity

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, She's Just That Unlucky, Drama & Romance, Good things take time

Summary: Rachel's life was going nowhere in the city. A series of very unfortunate events as her life crumbled around her left her homeless, half drowned in a storm just outside Echo Town, her dog Fido missing, with only the clothes on her back and barely 150G to her name. Echo Town either might just help her turn her luck around, if she doesn't just mess up her life more with her knack for bad decisions and rotten luck. Pairings really inter-changeable until later on in the story, including main pairing. Will be added as they happen.

Our Story - by durotos; WIP, 1/?, <1k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Category: F/M

Fandoms: A New Beginning, Friends of Mineral Town

Relationship: Mary the Librarian/Soseki | Sengoku; Characters: Mary the Librarian, Soseki | Sengoku

Additional Tags: Crack Pairing, Romance

Summary: Blushes, fond gazes, flowers, and sweet nothings topped off with a heart-pounding confession- Mary had practically become an expert on love though her countless romance stories and daydreams. When a fellow writer literally stumbles into her life, Mary realizes everything she thought she knew about romance and courtship was nothing more than pretty words on paper. FOMT/ANB

Tender Aches - by RandomJaz; WIP, 16/?, 93k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Category: M/M

Fandoms: A New Beginning

Relationship: Allen/Rod; Characters: Allen, Rod

Additional Tags: Yaoi

Summary: A childhood friendship carried in to adulthood takes an exciting turn when Allen invites Rod over for some much needed tender loving care and guy time after a busy work rut.

A New Beginning - by Haxaaya; WIP, 4/?, 5k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M

Fandoms: A New Beginning

Relationship: Neil/Rachel | Rio; Characters: Neil, Rachel | Rio

Summary: After the death of her parents Rio does everything to get away from her old life of being a farmer's daughter, that is until she ends up with the responsibility of her parents abandoned farm in a neighbouring village from the beginning of their marriage.

#wip wednesday #a new beginning #hm anb #harvest moon #story of seasons

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adapted-batteries · 3 years

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Making Art

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General/sfw

Relationship: Flynnstone

Word count: 7274

Summary: Instead of never leaving his hometown, Jacob goes off to college under the guise of getting the only degree his dad values, petroleum engineering, but of course also majoring in art history. In “Survey of Native American Art,” he meets someone who he only knew before as “guy who basically lives in the library stacks.” Of course, Fate decides he needs to suffer through a group project with him.

Alternative summary: What would happen if Jacob Stone went to my alma mater and met Flynn there?

Also posted on my Ao3.

-----

Jacob thought well and hard about how he was going to convince Issac to let him go to the University of Tulsa. There were several hurdles he had to overcome: Pa was a University of Oklahoma man, and here he was wanting to go to the nerdiest school in the state; he already knew more than enough to run the oil business, why would he need to waste his father’s money on a useless degree; if Jacob went to Tulsa for four years, he couldn’t keep cleaning up his father’s messes, and there was a real risk of Isaac running the company into the very ground it drilled.

He had solutions to all of these things. The University of Tulsa had the best petroleum engineering degree in the Plains, and he’d always be a boomer sooner fan. And, while his high school grades weren’t too spectacular, his test scores and essay application for the Presidential Scholar program at TU got him a full ride. All he needed was Isaac to let him go and then not kill his company, and he’d be set.

Isaac didn’t need to know about Jacob’s ulterior motives. Tulsa was over 100 miles further from home than Norman was, for one, and Tulsa had a budding humanities program that Jacob really wanted to get invested in. He’d suffer through the engineering degree, but what was going to get him through it were the other courses he had in mind to take out of the humanities, languages, and arts departments. If he was lucky, he’d weasel himself a position of some sort at Gilcrease Museum just so he could learn even more from their displays and get into their archives.

When his acceptance letter came in the mail, Isaac read it with disdain. “When’d ya apply to that place? OU not good enough for you hm?”

Jacob kept the kitchen counter between himself and his father. “No I, well, I wanna do good for the business, and TU’s got the best oil program in the state, you know.”

“I didn’t need no fancy engineerin’ degree to make money,” Isaac countered, eyeing Jacob.

He kept himself from flinching from his father’s glare. “No, but now days you gotta have one to get started. Besides, couldn’t hurt to have one to spread our reach.”

Isaac tossed the nice letterhead on the counter. “Hmph. Well, how’re you gonna pay for that? I can’t just shill out that money.”

“I’ll, I’ll figure it out,” Jacob supplied. He’d already sent off his extra application for a full ride scholarship, which he hoped his more than qualifying exam scores and a 15 page, single-spaced analysis on Choctaw artwork and mythology would be convincing enough to award him.

“Fine, but I’m not co-signin’ any loans.” Isaac fished around in their refrigerator for a beer. “John’s off takin’ care of Sylvia, I need you on the rig Saturday.”

“Alright,” Jacob said. He had planned to spend the evening reading some books he had picked up from the town library, but that’d have to wait. After his dad wandered over to his worn recliner and he heard the click and buzz of the TV, Jacob sighed and set about making them dinner.

---

That August couldn’t get there quick enough. There were many, many times he thought about not going. He’d miss all his friends, his home town, and his pa. But, by the time he loaded up his truck and drove two hours northeast, there wasn’t any backing out now.

When he arrived on campus, he felt very out of place, but that feeling quickly faded once orientation week started. By the time classes started, he didn’t ever want to leave. His experience from oil rigging he already had carried him through his engineering classes, so he could devote himself to his other pursuits. Language courses, literature, history, art, those were the subjects he spent near all his time on. This also meant he spent a fair time in the library.

During his second year, a new student seemed to be competing with how many hours they could clock in the library. He was a nerdy sort, Jacob thought, which meant he was going above and beyond the above-average level of studiousness the student body already had. They quickly established a routine around each other. Jacob would go to his study carol he’d staked the previous year, the leftmost one in a set of three in a forgotten corner of the stacks no one except this new person seemed to want to go to. The newcomer took the study carol two down from him, rarely acknowledging Jacob’s presence.

Their schedule he figured out within the first two weeks of class. Mondays and Wednesdays Jacob would get there first, the new guy coming about an hour later and staying while Jacob left for class. Tuesdays and Thursdays the newcomer was there before him, and would leave around two hours into Jacob’s studying. Fridays the guy wasn’t there at all, at least not when Jacob was, but he practically lived there Saturday, no doubt not going to the football home games.

The beauty of studying in the stacks was that no one talked like they did in the study areas. The hum of the air vents, the scratch of his and the other guy’s pencils, the flip of books, and occasional footsteps of a seeker of knowledge comprised his sound track. He and the guy even alternated who stood and waved their arm to reactivate the lights when they timed out.

Without realizing, he had learned a fair amount about the guy from just studying near him. He was either dressed like a stereotypical professor, or a bedraggled grad student, which predicted how late he had stayed up the night before (confirmed by how prominent the circles under his eyes were). He had notebooks for every subject, and he studied near every subject, though a good amount of the books he hoarded were Native American ones. When he was frustrated, he might mumble under his breath, but most certainly made his hair even more wild by running his fingers through it. When he was hyperfocused, he'd sit on one foot, scratching furiously in a notebook.

Jacob never learned the guy’s name until the next semester when he had a class with him. Jacob had gotten himself into an upper-level Native American history course, filled mostly with history majors finishing their degrees and grad students. Not wanting to seem too eager, he chose a desk one row back from the front row. People he knew from previous history courses meandered in as it neared time to start the class, and some he chatted with, asking how their breaks were and such. The professor walked in right on time, a stack of syllabi on top of a binder in one arm, an insulated travel mug in her other hand.

Dr. Mashunkashey had begun going over the syllabus when the door to the classroom opened, revealing the guy from the stacks. He looked a bit disheveled, running late from somewhere it seemed. “That’s a two for two for not showing up on time to the first day of my class, Flynn,” the professor said, but she didn’t seem that annoyed by it.

“Sorry, I stayed up too late reading,” Flynn replied. “I got a bit carried away following sources referenced in Reclaiming Diné History.”

“Of course you did,” Dr. Mashunkashey said with a laugh, handing him the last syllabus. “Go on and have a seat.”

It turned out the easiest seat for him to take was the one right in front of Jacob. Jacob gave him a nod, which Flynn returned quickly, and then sat down. Jacob focused himself back on the syllabus on his desk, but his mind kept drifting to the man in front of him. He’d caught glimpses of the books Flynn read in the study carrel, and they were quite all over the place in subject matter; any given day he might have had a botany book, or a German biography, or something on Egypt. And now here he was, sitting right in front of him, apparently having spent the previous night doing the same thing Jacob did, though at least Jacob’s morning gym sessions meant he was never late to class like Flynn was.

The sound of a bunch of pages flipping snapped Jacob back into reality. The professor was explaining the main project of the class. “You’ll each focus on a particular tribe’s art, and an era within that. The paper requirements are in the syllabus, standard format. Images are welcome, but don’t shirk on your words because of them. Then, for the second part of this grade, you’ll work with a partner to make some form of art, combining the styles of both of your papers.”

Flynn raised his hand, but Dr. Mashunkashey shook her head. “Yes, Flynn, you’ll have to work with a partner.” Jacob stifled a laugh when Flynn’s shoulders slumped, but apparently not enough as she glanced at him before looking back at the syllabus. “The art component can be anything. Music, painting, writing, whatever, so long as you both incorporate themes from what you highlight in your paper. Since art can take time, and you might want to coordinate what art styles you’ll be using, go ahead and pick your partner.”

Jacob started thinking through the people he already knew in the class, but Flynn startled him out of his thoughts by turning around. “Do you want to be partners?”

“I, uh, sure,” Jacob stuttered. The professor had apparently been watching Flynn to see who he’d pick, and Jacob saying yes surprised her, based on her raised eyebrows. "Do you know what you're gonna do your paper on?"

Flynn didn't hesitate to respond. "Hohokam culture."

"I'd been thinking of doing Pueblo myself, so that should work well," Jacob said.

Dr. Mashunkashey cleared her throat, getting the class to quiet down. “Okay, now that you all have partners picked, we’re gonna get started.” She moved behind the computer and proceeded to give her introductory lecture on Native American art.

---

When the class came to an end, Jacob packed up his notebook and walked around the side of Flynn’s desk. “Hey, since we’re doing a project, we should exchange numbers.”

Flynn had been still scribbling something down, so it took a beat before he looked up at Jacob. “Phone number, yes, that’s a good idea.” He fished out his phone from a worn messenger bag stuffed with books and notebooks, handed it to Jacob, and then went back to writing.

Jacob waited for him to say more, but he didn’t speak, so he opened the phone and texted this is flynn’s number from Flynn’s phone to himself. Flynn was still writing, so he cleared his throat to get his attention. “Uh, here’s your phone.”

Flynn looked up a bit faster this time and took the phone. “Great.” He looked as if whatever was in the notebook was reaching out and trying to drag his head back to it, but he was now trying to fight it, looking at Jacob like he was trying to memorize Jacob. “Um, I’ll...see you around, in the stacks.”

He hadn’t imagined Flynn would be so awkward. “Sure, probably will.” Taking it as a cue, Flynn gave in to the pull of his notebook. Jacob wandered up to the professor; he had a habit of chatting up his professors after the first class, and today was no exception. Dr. Mashunkashey had just finished talking to another student when he walked up.

“I’ve heard good things about you, Mr. Stone.”

“And I’ve heard good things about you, too,” Jacob replied. “I wanted to take your class on Osage history last semester, but it conflicted with a class I needed to take.”

“I’ll be teaching it again in two years, so you’ve got some time,” she replied. Mumbling came from where Flynn was, making them both glance at him. “So you’ve got Flynn as your partner...that should be interesting. Do you know him from somewhere?”

“Yeah, I met ‘em in the library,” Jacob replied.

Dr. Mashunkashey laughed a little. “That sounds like the place to find him. Well, I look forward to your paper. Daniel, Dr. Griffith, liked your final paper so much he couldn’t quit talking about it.”

Jacob’s ears reddened a little. “Oh, well, I’m glad he enjoyed it.”

“Are you considering grad school?”

“Well, I’d uh, been thinkin’ about it, yeah.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he was also doing an engineering degree to take back home.

“If you want to talk about it, stop by my office anytime. There’s definitely fellowships out there for students like you, if finances are a concern.”

Jacob couldn’t help but perk up at that. “I’ll take you up on that. See you during office hours.”

---

Flynn, it turned out, was kind of the worst. Jacob wasn’t in a rush to get the project going, considering it wasn’t due until April anyway, but Flynn wanted to get started right away...at 3am apparently. Jacob hadn’t seen the string of texts until the next morning.

Flynn 3:04 AM: Can you do pottery? There’s a ceramics studio in Phillips Hall, I think I can get access to it.

Flynn 3:05 AM: There’s a few designs that would work for my time, depending on what works with your era.

Flynn 3:07 AM: You could decorate half and I’ll do the other.

Flynn 3:15 AM: Are there specific techniques your people used in their pottery making? We should use a traditional method.

Jacob didn’t reply right away. He went about his morning routine, and was on his way to the gym when his phone buzzed again.

Flynn 8:07 AM: What do you think about woodworking for our project?

Jacob groaned out loud, no one close enough to hear him. No wonder the professor was shocked he said yes to Flynn.

Jacob 8:08 AM: We have months to do this project. There’s no need to start so early.

Jacob shoved his phone in his pocket on do-not-disturb, intending to ignore any messages for the duration of his workout, but now that Flynn got him thinking about it, he sent off one more text.

Jacob 8:09 AM: I think pottery would probably work best. I’m sure we can manage it between the two of us.

Flynn responded almost instantaneously.

Flynn 8:10 AM: That’s what I was thinking. Though if we really wanted to incorporate both, we could also include the woodworking.

“Lord,” Jacob hissed, earning a confused look from the bleary-eyed student working the desk at the gym. He took his student ID and apologized. “Sorry, thanks.” It wouldn’t be that bad, so long as he didn’t let Flynn get under his skin.

Despite his efforts, Jacob’s workout was overshadowed by his loud thoughts. It wasn’t that he hoped Flynn would be cool, but, well, from months studying silently next to each other, Jacob had wondered what he would be like as a friend. He wanted to know what went on in Flynn's brain, what made him tick, what he did outside of class and studying. But now, he realized, Flynn was a brilliant mess of an academic who breathed school 24/7.

---

Flynn hadn’t been in the library Monday afternoon, and Jacob hadn’t gone to the library Tuesday. He hadn’t gotten any texts from him either, so by their second class on Wednesday, Jacob was curious what Flynn had been up to. That curiosity grew when Flynn showed up with a new notebook he hadn't had on Monday, already a quarter of the way filled with notes. "Jacob! So I talked to Kelly, er, Dr. Mashunkashey, and she talked to the art department, who then talked to the main ceramics professor, and he emailed me back saying we could do our project in his studio."

Jacob was kind of shocked at how fast he’d contacted people. “Well, that’s good.”

“I think we could start working on it, hm, next week?” Flynn looked down at Jacob expectantly, as he’d yet to take his seat.

For whatever reason, Jacob got an odd feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it. “I wasn’t plannin’ on gettin’ goin’ so soon, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt. I’ve only read about their pottery techniques, not done them, so extra time might be a good idea.” Flynn was practically vibrating with excitement at his response, which made Jacob laugh before he could stop himself.

Flynn thankfully didn’t think he was mocking him. “Great! The studio is open for us Friday afternoons.”

“I can do that,” Jacob replied. Flynn somehow smiled at him even more than he was, and well, Jacob couldn’t deny it felt nice to have that joy aimed at him. It didn’t last long though, as Flynn sat down when Dr. Mashunkashey walked into class. Flynn turned around in his seat and started going through his notes on the techniques he wanted to try until the professor had her powerpoint up and running.

Flynn wasn’t as insufferable as he thought, his excitement contagious, but Jacob realized this project was gonna be tough for another reason: he was falling for Flynn.

---

Jacob hadn't done any ceramics since art in high school. Flynn said he could, as apparently he minored in art to add to his many degrees, Jacob found out. It unnerved him a bit, to know that Flynn already had 2 Ph.D.'s and 3 masters in Egyptology, two ancient languages, Chinese history and physics, and that Flynn had no plans on stopping from acquiring more. All Jacob had was a high school diploma, though he had a lot in his head from the books he devoured and the time he spent out on the oil rigs.

The ceramics studio was thankfully empty when they arrived. The room was open, old windows hinting at a time when the space used to be an engineering workshop when the art building used to be the engineering building, which the engraved stone above one entrance still said. Shelving with a variety of in-progress and complete works lined most of the walls, with tables in the center of one half of the room, and space for throwing wheels in the other. It smelled like wet earth, and for a moment, Jacob imagined he was out on a new rig after a rain.

The professor who taught ceramics classes gave a basic rundown of the room, clearly with the dual purpose of informing them of where things were and sussing out just how skilled they were. Flynn's rambling at various points about technique and clay types seemed to satisfy the professor, who left them to their devices.

Flynn took a hunk of clay out of the plastic bag and started rolling out coils on top of a drywall square. "Okay, were there specific techniques you need to incorporate from your time period?"

"Well, it was coil-based, like yours, though the clay they used had a different composition ‘cause of where they sourced it," Jacob replied. Flynn had set him on making the base, so he was rolling out a slab to index finger thickness with a rolling pin.

It was clear Flynn had worked with clay before. He already had several coils made and covered to prevent drying out while Jacob hadn't even gotten to the right thickness yet. "Dr. Kanhg couldn't get clay with the mineral composition we needed, but he does have matte glazes we can use to make the clay look the right color, give it the more reddish hue," Flynn said. His eyes then flicked to Jacob's work, brow furrowing. "You're rolling it too thin."

Jacob had been paying attention to his clay, but then he had gotten distracted by Flynn working, how delicate yet firm he rolled out the coils under his palms, the way his hair flopped a bit with his head bent down. Jacob had rolled his clay out all right, to about an ⅛ inch thick divot in the middle with over an inch thick edges from not flipping his slab. If he was making a mini half-pipe, he would've done a fine job. "Uh, sorry, I'll start over." He went to smush it together when Flynn yanked the clay out from under his hands.

"If you do that you'll dry it out with the oil from your hands," Flynn snapped like Jacob was supposed to know that. Flynn folded it twice and then started slamming it on the drywall slab to combine it.

"I've only done ceramics once in high school, man," Jacob retorted, puffing himself up a bit on the stool he was sitting on.

"Clearly it shows," Flynn replied, salt in Jacob's wounded ego. Flynn, not very gently, shoved the drywall square with the now condensed clay over to Jacob. "Pay attention this time."

Jacob grunted at him, not trusting himself to say anything good, and rolled out his slab again. This time he kept his eyes glued to his work, ignoring the pinprick sensation of Flynn's judgemental gaze on him. He rolled it out well enough, and used a large yogurt container to trace out a circle and cut it out.

No sooner than he finished sliding the knife around the trace he made and started to pull the excess clay away, Flynn snatched the circle and started working it to attach the coils. "I was gonna do that," Jacob growled, watching Flynn flip the edges up with more speed and evenness than Jacob would have.

Flynn didn't look up at him. "And I'm sure you'd have to do it twice too."

"You don't know that," Jacob muttered, watching Flynn. He looked around the studio, feeling useless, so he said, "Is there something I can do? It's half my project too."

Flynn stopped working, glaring at him for a moment before softening his expression. "Have you made a coil pot before?"

"No...but I think I can do it from watching you," Jacob said.

Flynn narrowed his eyes a bit, but gently slid the partially done pot across the table to him. "Pinch and smooth down on the inside to connect the clay, but don't push too hard or you'll warp the coil below."

Jacob got halfway done with the coil before he punched through accidentally with his finger, making a hole. "Well fuck," he said as Flynn let out a frustrated sigh. It was going to take forever if he kept working, so he passed it back to Flynn. "Sorry."

"Since you're just going to mess it up, let me make it," Flynn said with exasperation. "You can decorate, if you won't mess that up too."

"Just ‘cause I'm not some genius like you and I mess up sometimes doesn't mean I can't do it," Jacob barked. For an instant he reminded himself of his father, and he cringed a little. He’d startled Flynn too; where Flynn had been repairing the hole Jacob made, there was now a rip again. “Sorry, I, uh, look. It took a lot for me to get here, and I wanna learn just as much as you do, but if you’re gonna treat me like I’m an idiot, I’m just gonna leave.”

Flynn didn’t respond at first, so Jacob started packing up his things and leaving. “No, wait!” Flynn grabbed his forearm; thankfully Jacob hadn’t rolled down his shirt sleeve yet. “I’m not good with people.”

Jacob huffed. “You don’t say.” He glanced at Flynn’s clay-dusted hand, still holding him, which made Flynn release him.

“I mean, school, learning, it’s everything to me. I don’t want to mess this project up. It has to be perfect, everything does, because that means I understand it.” Flynn went to rake a hand through his hair, but at the last second realized his hands were not clean, and stopped himself. “I just want one group project to go right. I hate group projects, but I need you to prove to Dr. Mashunkashey that I can work with people. She says I need to be able to do that if I want to be a professor.”

Jacob was not expecting Flynn to open up to him like that. Nor was he expecting the warmth in his chest when Flynn said he needed him, but he pushed that aside before he did anything reckless. “I’m willing to put in the effort if you are, but you have to let me do some of the work. I’m not gonna flake out.” Jacob hadn’t realized just how spooked Flynn was until he relaxed, tension released from his shoulders.

“Okay.” Flynn looked at the in-progress pot for a moment, then said, “I’m going to finish fixing the hole, then you can try again. You have to be gentle with it.”

“I know.” Jacob sat patiently, waiting for Flynn finish the repair. Once he did, he pushed the pot to Jacob. He started adding a new coil, but after a couple pinches, Flynn stopped him.

“You’ve got to be gentler than that,” Flynn said. “Can’t you feel when the clay is giving too much?” Without warning, Flynn took Jacob’s hand, looking at his fingers. “Oh, of course you can’t, you’ve got calloused fingertips.” He glanced up at Jacob. “Guitar, I assume?”

Jacob was doing all he could to contain himself. “Uh, yeah, and probably from years of working on an oil rig too.”

Flynn nodded thoughtfully at the addition, clearly filing it away wherever he was storing facts about Jacob. He hadn’t let go of Jacob’s hand, and this time Jacob wasn’t going to do anything to make him. “You’re pushing too hard, and thus thinning the clay too much at the join, that’s why you punched through,” Flynn explained. He then moved Jacob’s hand back into position, but this time, keeping his hand on top of Jacob’s. Their hands together almost didn’t fit into the pot, but Flynn made it work. “I’m going to press down so you can feel how hard you can go without breaking it, okay?”

Jacob nodded, not trusting words at the moment. Flynn proceeded to work the clay through Jacob’s hand, somehow just as good as he was before. Part of Jacob’s brain noticed that he didn’t push near as hard as Jacob had been when trying to be gentle, and filed it away, but most of his brain was focused on how intently Flynn was watching their hands work, and then how intently he was looking back at Jacob when he stopped. “Did you feel the difference?”

“Uh,” Jacob cleared his throat when it came out husky, “yeah, I did. Thanks. You really know your stuff.”

He noticed Flynn blush a little at the compliment. “Good. Uh,” Flynn realized he was still holding Jacob’s hand and released him, “now you try on your own.” After Jacob satisfactorily did a whole coil, they alternated until they reached a stopping point a third of the way through. “We need to let it dry to leather-hard before we add any more, otherwise it will collapse.”

Jacob vaguely remembered that leather-hard was a term to describe the texture of somewhat dried clay. “Alright. How long is that gonna take?”

Flynn considered the room a bit, thinking. “Today’s a humid day, so it would probably be best to wrap it with a paper towel and leave it in a plastic bag, then check it tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Jacob went and gathered the plastic and paper towels while Flynn fiddled with a coil. “I guess we can come back Monday afternoon?”

“That should be good, yes,” Flynn replied, swaddling the base of the pot with paper towels. He took a strip of plastic and wrapped the rim, and apparently noticed Jacob watching him. “This will keep the top fresh so when we come back, we can continue working it.”

Jacob nodded. He helped Flynn clean their area, replacing tools and wiping down the table. Done with their tasks, they awkwardly stared at each other across the table for a few moments before Jacob said, “Well, guess I’ll see ya Monday then?”

“Yes...see you then,” Flynn said, and then without warning, he rather hastily left the studio.

Jacob watched him go, then sat back down on the stool he’d been sitting on. “Oh Lord.”

---

He felt kind of guilty when he pulled up Clayton’s contact on his phone. He’d not been great about calling like he’d promised when he left Lawton, but Clayton always told him he knew college was hectic and to not worry about it. Still, as the phone rang, Jacob felt bad about calling just to talk about his personal life.

“Hey, long time no call, eh?” Clayton said as he answered.

“Yeah, sorry man. Some of these engineerin’ classes I should’ve tested out of, but they don’t really do that here,” Jacob replied. He was in his apartment, laying on his bed.

“I bet you could test out of half of that degree,” Clayton said with a laugh. “So what’s new with you?”

“I was gonna ask you that first,” Jacob said, feeling his face heat up already.

“You know I’d tell you the same as a few weeks ago, ‘cuz nothing new’s happened,” Clayton replied. “Plus,” Jacob could hear the smile in his voice, “I got a feelin’ you’re gonna ask for advice about somethin’.”

“How’d you, ugh, never mind,” Jacob scoffed, really blushing when Clayton laughed at him again. “Yeah, I got a...situation.”

Clayton sighed. “And who is he?”

Jacob sighed. “He’s in my Native American art history class, we’re partners on the group project, but I actually knew him before it.”

“...Wait, is this the same guy who you studied with in the library?”

Jacob shook his head, yet again surprised by how well Clayton could read him, even over the phone. “Studied near, but yeah. Turns out he’s doin’ a Ph.D. in Native history.”

"So he’s closer to your age?”

“I think so, though he might honestly be younger than me. The man’s got like five degrees already,” Jacob said, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“So you went and fell for a genius, huh?”

“He’s a smartass,” Jacob said, but after a moment he added, “yeah, I have.” He was super fortunate to have such a good guy as Clayton he could call his best friend. He’d fallen for him too, briefly, but Clayton didn’t feel the same, and then Clayton decided it was his job to be Jacob’s wingman.

“And does he feel the same?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think so at first, but now…”

Clayton chuckled. “Then tell me what happened.” Jacob explained the happenings in the ceramics studio. “Well, he sounds awkward, but I think it’d be best to ask him directly.”

Jacob knew Clayton was going to say that, but he still felt shocked. “I can’t just ask him!”

“Why not?” was all Clayton said.

“‘Cause, well, if he doesn’t, this whole project is gonna be awkward.”

“Isn’t it already though?”

Jacob thought a moment. “Well, I guess, yeah. But I also don’t wanna get distracted before we finish this project. It’s worth half our grade.”

“So you’re just gonna pine away in silence for three months?”

“It might not be three months...Flynn’s too focused on doing this project as quick as we can.” Jacob hadn’t really considered that until now. “If we get the project done quick, then there’s nothin’ stoppin’ me from askin’ him after.”

“That’s the spirit. Let me know how it goes, you know I wouldn’t mind drivin’ up if you needed it.”

“Thanks, Clayton.”

"Anytime, Jacob."

---

Jacob decided that getting the project mostly done was the priority. This meant he had to suffer through two more equally awkward handbuilding sessions before their pot was ready for the first firing. At least in class, Flynn’s back was to him, except when they had class discussions. By the time they started glazing their pot, Jacob swore Flynn knew exactly how he was making him feel.

Glazing was just as messy as he remembered in high school. Flynn didn’t care about the state of the table, or himself, so long as his strips on the pot were perfect replicas of various designs he picked. Compared to the pot making, Jacob turned out to be the better painter. The hardest part for him was picking the designs he wanted to use.

Jacob was halfway through a strip when Flynn asked, “Where did you learn how to paint?”

Jacob snickered a little. “Same as most everything else, self-taught.” He glanced at Flynn, who currently had smears of blue underglaze where he’d wiped his forehead. “Are ya goin’ for war paint too?”

Flynn narrowed his eyes, confused. “What?”

“You got underglaze on your face,” Jacob said, pointing at Flynn’s forehead with the brush.

Flynn swiped at his forehead, making the smear worse, which just made Jacob laugh harder. “Oh yeah? Well-” Flynn decided to go for direct retaliation and swiped at Jacob’s face with his orange-covered brush across the table “-Now we match!”

Jacob tried to dodge, about fell off his stool, and Flynn’s brush ended up tapping the end of his nose. He knew better, he really did, but Flynn had worn him down the past week, so Jacob got off his stool, holding his brush out like a rapier. “You’ll regret that,” he growled.

Taking the challenge, Flynn got into a much more trained en-garde stance. “I rather think you will!” Then, without warning, Flynn jumped around the edge of the table at him.

Jacob realized that he was outclassed, but gave a valiant effort anyway. Quickly, Flynn had him giving up ground, forcing him to the sink that sat in the middle of the room between the tables and throwing wheels. “You’ve taken a class on fencing, haven’t you?”

“Lessons, when I was a kid, but yes, I’ve been trained,” Flynn replied, spying for an opening to tag Jacob. Just as Flynn lunged, Jacob dodged left, letting Flynn catch himself on the sink. Flynn shook his head, a mischievous grin on his face. “You, you’ve got some fight experience too.” He took a swipe, forcing Jacob closer to the finished projects shelf. “But not formal, no...brawls, that’s what you get into.”

Jacob took a jab at Flynn, gaining a foot of ground, but Flynn quickly forced him back two. “Not been in a scrap in a while,” Jacob said, trying again to swipe himself some room.

Seeing Jacob essentially pinned, his left blocked by the stoneware clay reclaim bin and a table, Flynn went for the killing blow. Jacob knew how to read people in fights, and Flynn had gotten to the “confident of a win” stage, so Jacob ducked at the last possible second. This meant he was out of range of the brush, but Flynn was now barreling straight for the shelving. Without thinking, Jacob jumped back up, wrapping his arms around Flynn’s waist as he did and pushing him back away from the shelf.

“I was going to stop myself,” Flynn quipped as Jacob released him.

“I know overshooting when I see it,” Jacob retorted. He hadn’t stepped away from Flynn, nor had Flynn stepped away from him. They were less than a foot apart. Flynn’s eyes were dark, no doubt from the adrenaline of the fight; Jacob assumed he looked a similar state of riled up. He caught himself glancing at Flynn’s mouth without thinking, and was about to step away, until Flynn mimicked him, glancing at his lips.

Jacob closed the distance between them before he could think of reasons why he shouldn’t.

Flynn kissing him back made him forget any of those reasons.

An odd wetness on his forearm made him pull away. Flynn’s paintbrush had made an orange stripe on his arm. He looked back to Flynn, eyes even darker than they had been. “Guess we should finish the pot.”

“Uh, y...yeah,” Flynn said eloquently. “I didn’t know you…”

Jacob laughed under his breath. “You’ve been driving me crazy the past three weeks.”

Flynn’s eyes went wide. “I thought you were angry at me.”

Jacob closed his eyes, a smile on his face. “You really weren’t kiddin’ when you said you’re bad with people.” He opened his eyes when he felt Flynn shaking his head, nose brushing against Jacob’s. “Well, maybe I can teach you a thing or two,” he murmured, giving Flynn a tease of a kiss before pulling away again. “But we really should finish the pot.”

Flynn took a moment to adjust his focus. “Right, yes.” He stepped away, smoothing out his shirt in an effort to make himself look less flustered. He walked over to the pot, but turned back to Jacob following him. “So, we’re doing this?”

The fact that Jacob was now finding Flynn’s awkwardness really endearing was a testament to just how hard he’d fallen for the genius. “I am if you want to.”

Flynn nodded...and nodded some more before he responded, “Okay, good, yes, I very much want to do that again.”

Jacob laughed. “Well, we can make out as much as we want after we finish this pot, ‘cause the next firing is two days from now and it needs to dry before then.”

The motivation of more set a fire in Flynn’s belly; he attacked the pot with his brush, clearly caring less about perfect replication and more about finishing in the same general design so he could go do better things. Jacob put a little more effort into his, and thus was still painting when Flynn finished his underglaze design and cleaned his materials up. Flynn managed to sit there for 30 seconds before he interrupted Jacob. “How much longer will you take?”

Jacob glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Why, you got somewhere you gotta be?” Flynn squirmed on his stool, making Jacob feel the heat of satisfaction in his chest. “I’ll be done when I’m done. I might just reward ya for your patience,” Jacob said with a smirk.

Flynn practically melted under his gaze, ears going red. “Okay...fine.”

It was just too fun seeing the effect of his words on Flynn. “Can you wait a little more for me?” Jacob rumbled, letting his voice get low and gravelly. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Flynn shuddered, making Jacob smile.

After Jacob slightly more hastily finished his strips, Flynn practically threw himself at him. Jacob had to make himself shove Flynn off him. “Hey, I didn’t say you could do that,” Jacob growled more than he had meant to; Flynn shuddered a bit. “We need to clean up, and not make out in a public classroom.” Flynn looked like he was enjoying getting told what to do too much, red flush on his face and neck, but eyes definitely staring Jacob down. “Look, once we clean up, we can go to my apartment, alright?”

Flynn, also very aware of how he was affecting Jacob, moved back into Jacob’s space. “You took entirely too long to say that,” he said, voice low and a bit breathy. Flynn leaned–not to kiss Jacob again, but to grab the dirty paint brushes on the workbench, making Jacob lean into empty air. Flynn looked at him expectantly. “Well? We better clean up then.”

“You little…” Jacob shook his head, smiling deviously. Flynn preened as he dramatically walked to the sink, knowing full well Jacob’s eyes were on him.

They could’ve been perhaps more thorough in their cleaning, if they weren’t both busy imagining what they were going to do to each other once they got to Jacob’s apartment.

---

The next class, Jacob had intended to play it cool, meaning acting like nothing unusual happened between him and Flynn. That fell flat when Flynn, arriving just barely on time as usual, strode over to Jacob with a dopey grin on his face. For a moment Jacob was terrified Flynn was going to kiss him in front of the whole class. Thankfully, Flynn just patted Jacob’s hand, purposely drawing his fingers away sensually, and then sat in his seat.

Once his brain restarted, Jacob looked around as discreetly as he could manage. No one seemed to have noticed, expect Dr. Mashunkashey, who was watching him with curiosity. Thankfully, she started class, and Jacob did his best to take notes and not reach out and pet the back of Flynn’s head.

On the way out of class, Dr. Mashunkashey stopped Jacob. “Jacob, can you talk for a moment?”

Jacob looked to Flynn, who was all but dragging him out of class to “work on the paper” which Jacob knew wasn’t what he was planning. Flynn didn’t seem to think anything amiss, so he said, “I’ll meet you outside,” and left the classroom.

“Everything okay with your project?” she asked, glancing at the door. “I know Flynn can be a bit...much, so if you need me to talk to him, I can.”

Jacob went a bit red, but tried to power through. “Oh, uh, nah, everything’s good. We’ve even started making our art piece.”

Dr. Mashunkashey seemed a bit surprised with his response. “Well, that’s certainly a change. I look forward to seeing what you two make together.”

Jacob’s brain of course heard “seeing you two together” and had to blink a few times to refocus himself. “I, uh, think it’ll be pretty good. It’s been a long while since I worked with clay, though that’s apparently one of Flynn’s many damn talents.” Jacob kicked himself internally, cursing in front of a professor like that.

Dr. Mashunkashey, to Jacob’s surprise, gave a hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t say it’s often I teach students who have more degrees than I do children. Though I think you could put Flynn in his paces from your papers so far.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could be as good as him,” Jacob retorted, pausing as he briefly considered what that would entail, “I’d have to quadruple major or something.”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. Flynn seemed pretty eager to get to work.”

“Yeah...he really likes to work on things when he’s focused on them,” Jacob replied, pointedly making his way towards the door so he didn’t have to directly look at the professor. “Have a good day, Professor.”

“You too, Jacob,” she said with a wave.

Flynn was apparently waiting to pounce on him in the hallway, which Jacob had briefly pondered if he would, so he braced his arm to keep Flynn off him. While it did keep Flynn from macking on him, Flynn also took his arm and entwined his own, and started walking down the hall. “What did she have to talk about?”

“Oh, uh, she asked if we were doing okay–I mean, our project,” Jacob stammered, glancing down at their arms.

Flynn didn’t seem to care and just kept walking towards the stairs. “Oh, well I bet she was surprised to hear I’m not procrastinating on a project for once. Speaking of projects,” Flynn leaned to speak lowly into Jacob’s ear, “I was thinking we could move our research to your place, or mine.”

“Uh huh,” Jacob chuckled. “Well, I suppose we could do that.”

They did not, in fact, work on their project that morning.

---

In the end, they got an A on their papers, project, and presentation of said project. And Dr. Mashunkashey won her bet against her colleagues that Jacob and Flynn would get together by the end of her class.

-----

Post Notes: Sorry for the quick ending, I’ve been sitting on this fic since February and never finished it, so I figured making an ending and getting it out was better than it sitting in my google drive forever. Also, when it comes to ages, I saw them both as a bit older than your usual 18-22 college students; for both they’re at least 23 or so, Jacob from working with his father, and Flynn from doing other degrees.

The University of Tulsa doesn’t have a Native American studies program (they really should though given location and history of the school), but they do have a well-known petroleum engineering program, which is what gave me the idea of how to get Stone to school. Considering Flynn’s all about ancient history studies, surely the ancient American people he knows about too. And I’m assuming Jacob grew up somewhere out near Lawton, OK, based on the mileage he gave in “And What Lies Beneath the Stones” since the actual town Wagoner (Wagner was what they used in the episode) is about 45 minutes southeast from Tulsa.

#the librarians #the librarians fic #flynnstone #flynn carsen #jacob stone #librarians fanfic #fanfic #a. l. writes

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studentville-struggles · 4 years

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A Double Life

Chapter 5!!

A self-indulgent Daniel Ricciardo fic.

Summary: Returning to old passions results in the start of chaos and living a double life. We say we hate chaos, but the thrill is unlike anything else.

Words: 1,941

Masterlist // Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

F1 was no joke.

PhD’s were no joke.

You were exhausted. Exhausted didn’t even begin to cover how you felt. Were you dying? Who even knew at this point.

One monday your legs finally gave out as you were walking into university, collapsing from the exhaustion you were fighting. Thankfully you had just made it into your building, the porters quick to call a medic. You actually ended up having to take a couple of days off of lab work and go home and just spend some time sleeping and spending time with your parents. Your supervisors were so worried for your health and the stress you had been putting yourself under they pretty much banned you from the lab for a week.

You still did the workouts you needed to and prepped for races from home. You just did everything on more than five hours sleep. The luxury. It was so damn needed.

Speaking on the phone to Lando one night, the two of you becoming closer friends since being team mates and him checking in more frequently since finding out about you collapsing, you had been joking about how nice sleep was.

“I used to think that being ordinary was boring. Now I’d do anything for a 10 hour nap and a chippy.”

Your little exhaustion moment had scared you a little bit. You’d always managed to do everything. You could have two intense lives and work it. You had felt that for the last three years you mastered juggling a double life. Was it finally coming to crumble around you? Was this it, was the dream over?

You wouldn’t allow it. You couldn’t. Youd fought so hard for this, to have your cake and eat it. It was never meant to be easy and you knew that, this was just one more thing to overcome. Once you had your PhD you would be able to live any life you wanted. You might even be able to sleep seven hours a night on the regular.

You would make this double life work for a little longer, you had to.

Having re-evaluated routines and switching things up so that you could make the most of both lives whilst still being healthy, you were feeling confident, comfortable and it was growing with each race that passed. Sure, not all of the results were what you dreamed off; after all you were yet to tip Lewis off his pedestal, but you were getting there. Getting the car to do your bidding was the first half of the challenge. Now you just needed to do that, but better than every one else on the track.

The other thing to come out of your health scare; especially after some of the drivers have commented on your less deathly appearance was an interesting change in your friendship with a certain Australian.

Sure, you had the big change from thinking he was rude to being caught smiling at his texts, to hanging out in Australia at the start of the season. That you had kind of seen coming; but this? This was unexpected, and you weren’t quite sure what to make of it currently.

After finding out about your little incident, Daniels’ entire energy changed. He was visibly concerned about you, whether you were better now, how you were doing getting everything under control for good. His reaction to discovering the in-depth extremeness of your routine having binged watched your show – he claimed it was a curious interest to occupy his flight but you knew it was to be nosey and you didn’t mind that – was even stranger He had effectively cornered you at the paddock in China with a written out list and spluttering of expletives with the general message of “what the fuck, no wonder you're exhausted.’.

The frequency at which you two texted and chatted was steadily rising as your friendship bloomed but after his discovery of ‘the incident’, it had sky rocketed. Both in general conversation, but also in his concern for you overdoing things. He’s started to make a point, like Lewis often does, to ensure you take a bit of time for you and to relax; so movie and game nights are now a little thing you get when you meet up for a face to face catch up.

The vibes between the two of you were shifting ever so slightly and you weren’t entirely sure where there were setting themselves.

---

You were very lucky in that your family would often come to support you, especially your mum and dad. Albeit your mum couldn’t watch half of the races due to her fear that her little girl was going to be hurt, but she was there every chance she had.

As the season progressed and you were getting some races closer to home, you felt it was about time to invite the main group of people who were yet to see this side of you. Given the intense patience and grace they had given to you, supporting you though everything and allowing your camera crew all access; it was time to invite your boss. Well your other boss. Your supervisor.

Getting back into the swing of things at work in the lab after the Spanish Grand Prix, you felt it was finally time to give back to your lab family.

“I’d like to take you to work next week, and maybe a few others once I check numbers.” Your supervisor knew what ‘work’ meant for you but with more and more people questioning your regular three day weeks, you were starting to feel like letting your two worlds collide a little more.

“Where is work next week? Monaco?”

“Yup. I’ll give my media team a ring and see how many we can take including hotels and go from there”

“Including?!”

“Full VIP, would be rude of me not to.”

A short phone call later, with some rough numbers figured out, you had five full VIP passes at your disposal. Given you rarely have guests at Grand Prix’ they allowed a few extra tickets this time. As one would imagine with a free weekend in Monaco, the academic staff in your research group snapped up those tickets in no time. Of course, with the amount of time spent in your offices and labs, you were safely assuming three of the five had no idea what your job was, though were very curious as to how and why it was taking you to Monaco.

Academic life was no joke. Everyone was busy, everyone had very little free time. Watching sports was only done by super fans really. There weren’t any motorsport super fans in your office and somehow both your show and driving career had still remained unquestioned. How that was true with the camera crew still following you around, you had no idea.

You had sent out a rough, and very vague itinerary, reminding them to be ready to leave work at 6 pm on Wednesday, heading straight to the airport. You had also sent strict dress code instructions- the smarter end of smart casual, knowing that they would likely, if not definitely, be appearing on camera.

With some of your team meeting you at the airport, ready to get your race weekend media started, the confusion of your university colleagues was growing. It peaked as they had you film a short clip to start the weekends media off, it was only a short Instagram story, post hair touch up, to say hi to fans.

“Hey guys, just me taking over the Instagram stories! We’ve just arrived at the airport to head over to Monaco! Can’t wait to see you guys this weekend and I’ve even brought a few colleagues from the university so you’ll be seeing my two worlds collide as well! See you soon!” Waving at the camera, you cut the video. With all thumbs up from your team, you uploaded it to your team Instagram, views piling in almost immediately.

“Rachel what the hell do you do?!”

“Oh you’ll see soon enough, I don’t want to ruin the surprise now.” You teased, surprisingly enjoying the suspense.

Walking up to the private jet having gone through security with ease, the shock was only increasing, though you everyone was feeling very excited for the flight now they saw the plane. Things were fairly calm after this, the journey quick, smooth and you avoided giving too much away.

Arriving at the hotel you sent everyone off to their rooms, giving timings for meeting the next morning. You would be leaving before them to start greeting the media and doing some press conferences before your track walks, and so had arranged for a few cars to be sent for transferring the rest over to the main hub. Once they were all happy with the plans, not that you’d given many details, merely timings, you could head to your room where Daniel had snuck over waiting to reunite.

He had many complaints about spending the evening having your catch up in a hotel when he had a perfectly good home a few minutes away. At some point during the evening, after the food had been demolished, the words said and a crappy Netflix original on the tv, the two of you had fallen asleep. When you woke a couple of hours later, you were awkwardly hunched on the sofa still, somehow having entangled yourself with Daniels body.

Realising that it was far too late to send Daniel home, you both needed sleep if you were to survive the media day, and you couldn’t send him on his way in the small hours of the morning. Trying not to wake him too harshly, you start untangling yourself from the mess of legs. With Daniel starting to stir, you grab his hand, wordlessly pulling him from the sofa, over to the hotel bed.

Still in the silence the middle of the night brings, Daniel shed the majority of his clothing, slipping under the covers in only his underwear, with you following soon after as you quickly change into your sleepwear.

For something so foreign in your friendship, the ease and comfort at which you snuggled together, falling asleep again under the covers, was almost unnerving. Almost. In your sleepy state, you couldn’t recognise that, only time would reveal that.

Having snuck off to begin your media day trackside, you were eager to see your lab colleague's reaction to where they were. It was as you were heading back into McLarens hospitality that you, as well as the whole group, could see the full magnitude of this job and how it differed to the Rachel they were used to seeing in the office.

“You’re a driver?” Shock? Disbelief? You couldn’t quite tell but the reaction was

“Yes”

“What the fuck? But you’re in the lab like 10 hours a day”

“Now you know why I don’t have time to get things done otherwise in my three-day weeks.”

Once the shock wore off, the excitement and initial questions had settled, you set the group up with timings for the day and let them wander round the paddock freely as you headed back to your meetings, promising to see them during the lunch break.

Having your worlds united felt good. It felt as though some of the pressure you hadn’t realised was there from keeping them separate, was melting away. Although the feeling that was beginning to bubble away every time you bumped into Daniel was very close to being a distraction.

You needed to drive; just get in the car and block everything else out.

#studentville-struggles #rachel tries to write #a double life #dr3 #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo x reader

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elencelebrindal · 4 years

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Gold Saints Power Ranked

So, according to the conversation I had with my friends, that started the previous post about Shaka, this is the result. I am trying to be realistic here, as much as Saint Seiya can allow me. So, no pot bullshit and no miraculous victory for the sake of the show.

Only five of them are properly ranked. All the other ones fall under the same category, sort of. Mostly anime based, but there’s a few canon information from the manga as well. I wanted to be as thorough as possible.

Under the cut so if you’re not interested you don’t need to scroll down like a madman. This is a really long post, and it contains all the stuff I’ve written over time plus the conclusions I’ve got from talking about this with my friends.

I will hopefully be back with the honest opinions maybe on Wednesday. It depends on what happens the day before.

#1 Virgo Shaka

“The man closest to god” If this alone doesn’t convince you that he’s the most powerful of the Gold Saints, remember what the premise of this character is. Eyes closed as to stockpile huge amounts of cosmo, almost a literal deity who has Buddha with him, feared by everyone at the Sanctuary, his “death” shocked every single Saint in a five mile radius. He used the Athena Exclamation to awaken the Eight Sense and travel to the Underworld, instead of... you know, just being annihilated from existence thanks to the power of the Big Bang.

He wasn’t the strongest Gold Saint in the past, being overpowered by Aiolos and the twins, but became the most powerful (especially in terms of cosmo) thanks to constant training and refining. Moreover, he has 13 years of training more that Aiolos, and possibly a good amount of training more than Saga (because come on, you really think he thought about becoming stronger during his tyranny?) and Kanon (was trapped in Cape Sounion for more that 5 minutes, I believe).

All of his techniques are terrifying. His illusions are straight-up dangerous, almost impossible to overcome, and he can get rid of a person’s five and/or six senses in the blink of an eye. Not even Saga, Camus and Shura, who knew him and were still as powerful as they were before dying, could escape from that.

#2 Saga & Kanon

Yes, they are more powerful than Aiolos. Why, you ask? Canonically, Saga is the strongest Gold Saint of his generation and the most powerful Saint to have ever served Athena. Kanon is basically the same. They’re not the actual strongest Saints just because it’s really illogical for them to be better than Shaka, and I’m not going 100% canon here, but somewhat 50/50 between canon and “realism”. And... Well, they’re been alive for longer. For the same exact reason, by the Hades Chapter, Kanon is way stronger than Saga, even though they’ve been on the same level until Saga’s death during the Sanctuary Arc. There’s no way I’ll believe that Kanon didn’t get stronger during the time Saga was dead. It’s unrealistic.

They both have incredible mind controlling power, a claim backed up by the Demon Emperor Fist (Saga successfully mind-controlled Aiolia with this, while Kanon did the same with both Lune and Rhadamanthys), and they're able to conjure extremely powerful illusions. They’re obviously not on Shaka’s level, because let’s not forget what happened to Saga during the Sactuary Arc: Shiryu, being blind at the time, easily defeated his illusions. And! Kanon was able to trick Saga when he came back as a Specter, even if he retaliated. The most dangerous technique they have clearly shows their true cosmo, and I’m not talking about the Galaxian Explosion. Sure, that’s capable of obliterating anything and anyone in its path, but it can be countered. No, I’m talking about their ability to send people in other dimensions. Saga’s Another Dimension and Kanon’s Golden Triangle (I think this is the English name, I might be wrong) are something to be afraid of. Not even the Thanos snap can compare to that. One second you’re chilling out in your dimension, the other you’re lost in nothingness for the rest of eternity.

But, in the past, Aiolos was stronger than them. They only got so far, in the present day, because Aiolos died, thus allowing them to surpass him.

Still on #2 Dohko

To whoever thinks Dohko is not one of the most powerful Gold Saints of this generation... what the hell are you doing!? Seriously, though. Dohko survived his generation’s Holy War, 100% not out of luck, and is by far the most experienced of them all. Not only that, his cosmo is clearly out of this world. This man, misopethamenos (I had to do a double take on that one) or not, spent two hundred years without using a single drop of his cosmo. And believe me, even if his heart slowed down, I doubt his cosmo would have simply stopped growing. It was still two hundred years. Do you want me to believe he just stayed there, idly watching, without gaining anything from that much time passing? Yeah, no.

Still don’t believe me? Saga himself, in the manga, said that he’s the strongest Saint. Not enough to overpower Shaka, obviously for the reasons stated above, but enough to retain his second place alongside the twins.

#3 Aiolos

Yes, your heard me right. Third place. Fair is fair. Aiolos was so powerful that Shion wanted him to be the next Pope. There is no denying that, and there is no denying that canonically he was stronger that Saga. But... you see the problem, right? Aiolos died in the past. Even if he was the strongest back then, he had no way of keeping his strength going. I still believe no one, aside from who already was as powerful as him, could be able to become stronger, so that’s the reason he gets third place.

By the time he came back in the Hades Chapter, I saw absolutely no reasons to believe it was still possible to describe him as the strongest of them all. Moreover, I saw no reasons to believe, would Aiolos be still alive, that he could claim the title of Pope as his own. Realistically speaking, by the end of the show, Aiolos is probably the one with the least experience (having died young this sentence sounds weird) and anyone would be a better choice than him. But we’re talking about cosmo, and his cosmo gets him the third place.

#4 Mu

Yep. Our beloved self-licensed blacksmith gets a spot among the most powerful Gold Saints of this generation. Why? First of all, his master was Shion. And if you have a good master, you are a good disciple. Second, he has the strongest psychic powers of his generation. Much like Shion, in fact. No one is better than him at psychokinesis, teleportation and telepathy, and this is backed up by the Sanctuary Arc. Remember the time Shaka asked for his help because he didn’t have enough power to teleport both himself and Ikki back to Athena’s Sanctuary? Because I do.

He might not be that memorable, in fact even one of my friends claimed he isn’t that good, but I beg to differ. Mu is experienced, he had Shion to help him become a Gold Saint, he can repair any Cloth thanks to his skill, and he’s dangerous. Even if the classic series doesn’t give us the impression Mu could be a real threat, the Hades Chapter fixes everything. The Crystal Wall? Impenetrable. The Starlight Extinction? Oh boy, what a treat. In fact, this technique in particular tells you how versatile Mu’s ability with psychic power is, since he’s able to use it both defensively (aka when he teleported Seiya away from the battle) and offensively (aka when he teleported Deathmask and Aphrodite with the objective to kill them).

Don’t tell me he can be underestimated. because he will kick your ass into outer space.

#5 is all of the other ones, in no particular order, because I believe they are mostly on the same level. Well, that... and they haven’t been described as “the strongest” in canon works.

Milo

Kind of obvious I would still start with him, but at this point you know who my favorite of this 12 idiots is. Milo’s power is a tricky one. At first it might not seem much, and I’ve been around people who described him as weak, but that’s inaccurate. First of all, I think many people forget how devastating Milo’s cosmo is, showed to us by the destruction of Andromeda Island, but this is not the point I’m making.

Rather, I want to focus your attention on the Scarlet Needle. Which, admittedly, is a scary technique, to the point of Milo not using it if the opponent surrenders. We know that Gold Saints are not spotless heroes. They kill without thinking twice about it, they’re brutal, they never abandon a fight until someone dies. Taking this into account, the sheer fact that Milo refuses to use the Scarlet Needle on someone who surrenders is enough to make you think about it. It is stated time and time again what the Scarlet Needle is and what it does. One single hit can make the victim suffer tremendous amounts of pain, even if it doesn’t kill. If we say that this technique mimics the way a scorpion’s poison works, it’s even worse because of the effect it could have on the body. Canonically, the Scarlet Needle causes potentially lethal blood loss on top of agonizing pain, and (but I’m not sure about this) could get rid of the five senses. Moreover, the victim can easily go crazy due to the amount of pain, and I’ve always believed a realistic effect would be an early body paralysis. He uses a technique called Restriction, after all.

Sure, if he doesn’t use Antares, if the victim doesn’t die of blood loss or succumbs to the pain, this technique can be survived. But I don’t think anyone less than a Gold Saint, a Marina General or a Judge could actually survive without Milo’s help. After all, we do see Milo stopping the course of his technique with both Hyoga and Kanon. The reason why I don’t believe he’s stronger than the average Gold Saint of this generation (don’t forget that all of them are god-tier warriors in any case) is the random chance this technique bears. One hit cannot kill a strong opponent, and even if his entire fighting style is based on quick actions there’s no way for him to predict if every single needle will hit, and there’s no way for him to know if someone he hit with Antares would 100% die. In most cases the victim dies, but they have a slight chance of surviving.

Camus

Let’s immediately address the elephant in the room. Camus cannot reach the Absolute Zero. Now, while in my non-canonic works I go the realistic way and make him master this temperature, I will be keeping my logic ass down. The only thing that makes Camus different from the other Gold Saints is the fact that he uses his cosmo to stop the atoms, instead of manipulating them in other ways. In one word, cold. There’s nothing else special about him, and I will not be biased by the fact that I love this character. He is a cold person, he can appear insensitive and strict, but nothing about him tells me he is more powerful than the average Gold. He’s just different, not stronger.

Obviously, I recognize how dangerous his Freezing Coffin is. If you get trapped in there, it’s over. It might not be deadly (even if it should definitely be, given a normal person is going to suffocate inside a solid block of ice), but it’s something to be afraid of. However, it has some important weaknesses. One, it’s almost useless against moving targets. It takes too long to create, so encapsulating a person that’s moving around is not happening. Two, anyone who is able to create a lower temperature while being inside it can get out. On a more realistic level, I believe the Freezing Coffin could be an almost instantaneous technique. Camus’ cosmo is definitely able to summon enough cold energy to create one without needing too much time (think about the Freezing Coffin in Saint Seiya Awakening), but! since he’s not actually able to be that fast... you see where I’m going with this.

Aphrodite

He has the same problem that made me put Milo in the average Gold Saints. I know that he’s dangerous, that his roses are not something to underestimate, but there’s a huge problem with random chance here. He is said to be one of the strongest among the Saints, and people are terrified of him because of his fighting abilities and personality, but I don’t think he makes the cut to be on top simply because of the fact he mostly relies on items to channel his cosmo. Roses and vines can be effective up to a certain point, cosmo or not. Even his most powerful technique, the Bloody Rose, can be stopped much more easily than a blow fired with raw cosmo (that is a weird sentence and I know). It can be destroyed before it hits, and a person can successfully shield themselves. I know a Bloody Rose is powerful enough to pierce a Gold Cloth, but it can be stopped. In the end, the effective power of the rose lies in Aphrodite’s ability to use it, but if his opponent knows him or uses a good defensive technique... well, it won’t work. The vines are similar. Sure, they’re imbued with cosmo, but someone could be able to counteract them, and then what?

Now, if Aphrodite had one particular technique, one that we’ve seen another Pisces Saint use... things would have been different. I would have believed with no question asked that he deserves to be above average. What technique am I talking about? Crimson Thorn. Albafica’s unique attack, that he can use thanks (ironically) to his poisonous blood. That technique doesn’t rely on external items. It doesn’t require roses, or vines, or anything else. Just the blood of the Saint. It’s dangerous because it’s almost impossible to counteract, I believe it to be extremely difficult to be aware of if you’re the opponent, and it’s lethal. That’s pure poison shot straight into your body, with no other media used to inject it. Unfortunately for Aphrodite (or luckily?) he cannot use it, so the random chance of his attacks is very much still there, hindering my ability to put him at the top.

Deathmask

Right off the bad, I deeply respect his psychic abilities. Being able to reach all the way to China with his cosmo is not an easy feat. This is similar to what Camus did to sink the ship even more, but ten times more powerful, since he actually took control of Shunrei’s body to make it levitate and fall. But is this enough to win him the top spot? Nope.

Of course, I’m not saying he’s not powerful. Deathmask is able to snatch the soul off of his opponent body and send it straight to the Yomotsu Hirasaka. That alone is scary. Imagine if there is a man, out there, capable of pointing his finger at you and BOOM you’re not in the realm of living anymore. Your body id still out there, but your soul is trapped with the souls of the dead, ready to die as well. The thing is... there’s nothing else about him. Sure, he can use his cosmo to travel between the two places, but we don’t know how powerful he really is. With us knowing just one technique, and with him not getting that much attention, I have no reasons to say he deserves to be on top. I have no evidence of him being more powerful than the average. There is a reason I liked Manigoldo more than him, after all.

Aldebaran

Ok. Aldebaran is a problem I didn’t account for when writing this. Technically, he is the strongest of them all. Physically, at least. He might not have that tremendous cosmo of his fellows in the top 5, but he is the most powerful in terms of physical strength. Because of this, I was conflicted about whether to put him, if above average or among average. In the end, I decided for the latter. Sure, Aldebaran is an amazing fighter, and could have easily defeated the Bronze Saints at his temple (as stated by Mu, he didn’t fight to his full potential), but physical strength is not the most important characteristic in a Saint. At least, not in a Gold Saint. There’s a lot of enemies in the Saint Seiya world that are not going to be defeated by using physical strength. And even though I fully believe the physical strength of a Saint can overpower another person’s cosmo, I don’t think that mainly relying on it it’s a successful strategy.

Of course, betting everything on your cosmo is useless as well, and the Hades’ barrier is a perfect example of that, but there is a threshold you can cross with your cosmo (i.e. someone with a divine or almost divine cosmo would not have a single problem against this kind of defenses, realistically). With physical strength... eh, there’s a limit. Spiritual power can be enhanced infinitely, I don’t see anything preventing you from doing that other than your own mind, but physical strength is different. I don’t care how powerful you cosmo is, how divine your blood is. Your body has limits than cannot be crossed, even supernaturally speaking. You can refine your cosmo to the point of being able to break a planet in half, but there’s no way I’ll believe something like that is possible with physical strength, and that’s why Aldebaran is not above average. It’s amazing that he’s so different from anyone else, but relying on something that is, no doubt, limited... eh, it makes him less powerful.

Aiolia

I can already fell you people coming for me for putting Aiolia among the average Saints. But honestly... can you blame me? I am aware of the “reincarnation of Achilles” thing, don’t worry. And I don’t deny in any way that he’s powerful and that he is undoubtedly a skilled fighter. But he doesn’t stand out that much. I asked some people to give me an opinion of him, and the majority of them said that Aiolia has to be really powerful since his master was Aiolos (like the thing between Mu and Shion), but I have my doubts. First, Aiolia only trained with his brother for a short time. Second, even though Aiolos was his master, I don’t think it’s accurate to use this as an assumption for Aiolia being more than average. This situation was not a “master chooses his disciple” thing, but a “helping a little brother out” thing.

Now, on a fighting skills level I think he is above average. There’s no way people started talking about him as Achilles, otherwise. He has a fiery personality, I respect that. Though, his cosmo is not that out of the ordinary. Sure, he has a shit ton of techniques, much like his brother, but I have no evidence supporting the fact that he could be more that what we see. I love that he has an healing cosmo, I cannot stress this out enough, and I love that people just tremble in fear because of his presence. But in terms of training he did nothing special, if anything all the gossip about him made it even more difficult to develop a cosmo similar to his brother’s. Like I said, I’m looking at the more logical path here, and it makes sense that his past would have taken away something from him.

BUT I am absolutely not forgetting what Episode G told me. He can generate electricity with is cosmo, something that could kill gods. Now that’s something that would put him above average, for sure, if you don’t take everything else into account.

Shura

He was difficult for me to analyze in terms of power, because it’s never actually him fighting with his raw cosmo, but it’s Excalibur. The sword resides in his arms and legs, so technically you could still say it’s him, but I though about it and concluded that yes, he is the one doing the fight, but without channeling his cosmo through Excalibur I don’t think he’d be that scary. This doesn’t make Shura less than any other Saints, let me be clear. He is the Capricorn Saint, and the Capricorn Saint always had Excalibur to begin with. His capabilities are measured by looking at how skilled he is with Excalibur, not with his raw cosmo. The reason why it was difficult for me to understand where to actually put him is the fact that Excalibur alone is a terrifying weapon (I know I keep using that word, but I’m honestly stressed out and my vocabulary is lost somewhere in my stress-free life).

As far as we know, every Capricorn Saint has a different level of skill and power regarding Excalibur. Capricorn Izo, for example, as Hyoga said had a stronger Excalibur than Shura. Capricorn El Cid, on the other hand, successfully used Excalibur to kill a minor god, even if aided by Sisyphus. Shura as well knows the art of this sacred sword by heart, and in Episode G he reached the power of the gods, but this thing is never highlighted enough for me to actually be able to give him a spot among the above average Gold Saints. The majority of the things we know about him don’t spend particular amounts of time praising his power, and from what I can see I don’t want to gift him a spot he probably doesn’t deserve. Even if I love him.

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gayenerd · 3 years

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This is a 2017 interview done by a fan for the fansite, Green Day Authority. It’s super disjointed and fan interviews never ask tough questions, but eh.

Recently, we asked Green Day's management if it would be possible to get an exclusive interview for GDA, our first ever. After some coordination, it was agreed that I could interview them in Omaha (a show I had already planned to attend). I found out on Wednesday afternoon that I would be interviewing them on Saturday, but fortunately, I had already been preparing a list of questions in case it worked out. Before I go any further, I'll tell you that I had a LOT more questions on my list than there was time for. So, if you're wondering why I didn't ask something in particular, it's probably because we ran out of time. That is the only thing I would change about my whole experience if I had the opportunity. The arrangement was that one of the tour managers would meet me at the back entrance of the arena before sound check. After going through two layers of security, that's exactly what happened. I was the only non-crew person in sound check (!) and it simply felt surreal to be in that position. I enjoyed it greatly but was, of course, also thinking about how the upcoming interview would go. I wanted to represent GDA and the fan community in a way that would not leave a bad impression while also getting some good discussion from the guys. After sound check, I was walked back to a room with a couch and a few chairs. I was able to get comfortable and had some help to set up my recording equipment — thanks again to Lauren Banjo and Daniel, my son, for helping me get exactly the right device for recording the interview. In just a few minutes, in walked Billie, Mike and Tre. I have to say that, in all the times I've seen them, they have never looked better. They seemed relaxed, happy, and bursting with good health. They all sat down, and we got started. Aside from running out of time (though, to be honest, it would have taken hours to work through all my questions), I'm reasonably pleased with the way it all turned out. The guys were so incredibly nice and seemed to be totally engaged in the moment we were all sharing together. They really thought about their answers and seemed to enjoy the discussion. Here's the first installment of the interview — we talked about music, touring, and special shows. I did you all a favor and removed a lot of my rambling when I was asking the questions. Enjoy! "J'net: Guys, you work so hard, and we see how hard you work. During shows, you give so much of your emotion, yourselves, and your life energy to what you do. What keeps you going and keeps you so passionate about what you're doing? Mike: You said it, 'passion.' We only know how to do this one way — give 100%. It's just driven into us, I guess. Tre: It's the way we're wired. Mike: The music moves us the same way with the energy from the crowd. Billie: I agree. We love what we do. I think there've even been times when I thought, 'Maybe I'll take it easy tonight,' and then as soon as you hit the stage, it's just 'All systems go!' It's just a natural response for me. Really no other way to explain it. Mike: I always think, 'I don't know if I'll always be able to give what 100% is today, but I'll always give 100% of what I have to offer.' I don't think these engines know how to run any differently. J'net: Well, it's awesome. Your fans appreciate it so much. I wish you guys could just sometimes sit out in line, y'know? We get in line as early as we can and we compare notes ... "Well, we're driving from Kansas City as soon as the show's over..." Mike: You guys should film some of that. We never get to see it, it's cool! Film some of that interaction and maybe post some of that stuff too, it's rad! Billie & Tre: Yeah! J'net: [thinks to self: challenge accepted!] I'd be glad to do that, yeah. I mean, everybody would, even the people who know how to do that [technical stuff] … like Billie, he's pretty good with all the Facebook Lives and Instagram. Billie: Yeah, I'm getting pretty awesome — Billie Joe Zuckerberg! J'net: Right … 'Now where's the off button?...' Billie: Thank God for two young sons, man! They can tell you everything. Mike: I have to call my wife [laughs]. My wife's still young, she knows how to do that shit! J'net: Music is an emotional experience, and some of your songs are so emotional. Do you ever feel overcome by the emotion when you're performing, or are you somehow in performance mode so you can rise above it? Billie: I definitely go there. Like that line 'I'm like a son that was raised without a father,' — that's a button-pusher for me. Also with Forever Now, and also lately with playing '21 Guns' acoustic … when I get emotional is when I hear people singing along — when I hear voices that loud. I think with Green Day, we create an atmosphere that's as close to a European crowd that you can get — with people singing along, almost like a soccer anthem. And I love seeing people who are normally self-conscious when they lose it. I try to push people to just lose it when they come to our shows. Some nights, people are so pent up with energy, they don't even know that they have inside them. And I try to get people to dance like no one's watching and sing like no one's listening — just go for it! J'net: Do you have favorite show moments that you like to think back on? Billie: Smashing my guitar against the Subaru just the other night was pretty fun. [laughs] That's a first. I've never done that before. Mike: There are favorite moments of each show. We go backstage after the show, and we talk about all the rad things that happened. Billie: There's so many different things that we see going on in the crowd. There was a guy that was like an ex-hippie that was in the house the other night, I think in Portland. He was in the back, and I could see him just dancing and singing all night long. He was probably about the same age as my brother — about 65, and it was fun to just watch him. That's the kind of stuff I like to remember. " Watch for the next installment of the interview! We’ll also be sharing more of the audio from our favorite moments.

The second part of our interview focuses on the band's latest movie project, 'Turn It Around: The Story of East Bay Punk.' They helped produce it with filmmaker and longtime friend, Corbett Redford. The day after the Omaha show, my son Daniel and I started the drive back home to Tulsa, but stopped in Kansas City to see the movie. We went to a great independent theater there, Screenland at Tapcade, and when it was time for the movie to start, we settled ourselves in for a fascinating evening. There's so much to absorb in this movie, but it's compelling all the way through. There is a great deal of history that is lovingly captured and discussed. We feel we need to see it again and again, so It's good to know that a deal is in the works to distribute for home viewing, and that, according to Corbett Redford, "the DVD, Blu-Ray is being worked on, designed, mastered and readied for manufacturing." So many people were interviewed for this movie that I couldn't possibly list them all. The interviews were often just as interesting, funny, or emotional as the vintage footage of events from the beginnings of East Bay punk. It was a touching movie with many emotional moments (at least for us). Two or three of the people who were interviewed in the movie came close to tears as they were talking about the past and their connection to the famed 924 Gilman Street. For Green Day fans, as well as fans of many of the other bands involved in those early days of East Bay punk, there is rare and wonderful vintage footage that really gives a feel for what those early days were like. The writing by Corbett Redford and Anthony Marchitiello is exceptionally fine — it tells a story that could have been overwhelmingly complex in an articulate, accessible, and moving way. The narration by Iggy Pop, the animations (credited to Tim Armstrong, J. Bonner, and Alex Koll), the cinematography and photographic direction by Greg Schneider, and the hand lettering (credited to Aaron Cometbus) are simply delightful and absolutely enrich the content of the movie. I loved the way some of the newer interview footage had a "distressed" look to be more compatible with the footage it was matched with in the film. As Corbett said when I mentioned this to him, "The distressed VHS happened as our crew filmed EVERY interview with an old VHS camera! So that wasn't an effect, it was real! We decided as a crew that VHS and black and white Xerox were going to be our two main go-to 'themes' - so Greg went and bought a VHS camera, and voila!" There were obviously a lot of eyes on this film making sure that every little detail was as perfect as could be. There's no question in my mind that it was made with hearts full of love. Here's part two of our interview: "J'net: 'Turn it Around' is getting such incredible response from most reviewers and many in the punk community. Do you feel more acceptance coming from the community than you may have felt previously? Is there a partial 'return from 86'? Mike: The spirit of the movie is that it was made by the people in the community, and if you took Green Day out of it, it's still an unbelievable documentary. We basically stepped aside and let the movie get made the way it should be made. We realized that should be the anchor — the beginning, that's the beginning. [We wanted] for people to understand the different ingredients it took to make where we are and … to make the beginning… Billie: For us, when I was talking to Corbett, it was — 'Let's do a documentary that could inspire the next generation to create their own scene and not just talk about how you had to be there.' Because almost every scene documentary I've ever seen has a 'glory days' thing about it, where, with this one, you see the people like Michelle Gonzalez, who's a teacher and an author, and Miranda July, who’s a filmmaker and artist, and there are people who are activists, still playing music and active in the community. We approached it like, 'Let's not turn this into a piss and vinegar fest.' Billie: And if it wasn't for Tim Yohannon, even though we had big differences in the past, we wouldn't have had a place to play because he, with other people, created and made Gilman Street happen - and that I'm super grateful for. So if there's a story that you watch out for, it's what Tim Yohannon has done for the bay area scene and globally also. J'net: And Corbett did a great job realizing the vision of the movie. Mike: Corbett kind of did the impossible. You talk about a bunch of people in the scene — you know everybody's in that scene because we're all latchkey kids and come from some fucked up background, right? So then you have to get all the bands to agree to put their music on it this many years later. We had no doubt that he's an incredibly intelligent person and an artful person, but he fuckin' did it. Tre: He's always been super resourceful, and it's kind of like now he's all grown up. Mike: All we had to do was talk him off the ledge a couple times. I mean, we'd go in his office, and it looked like 'A Beautiful Mind.' There's writing everywhere and he's like (Mike demonstrates hyperventilating). It started off he didn't have a beard, and then he turned into Father Time. J'net: Did the fact that he's so well-respected in the community and such a genuine person help him to get buy-in from the people who participated? Mike: And the other people he recruited, like Kamala Parks and Anthony (Marchitiello) and Eggplant and Tim Armstrong, are highly respected and helping to make this thing. And it's like, 'Wait a minute, this isn't like a Warner Brothers movie. This is people who were actually in the scene making it.' And when they would vouch for him, it became even more helpful." We're pretty sure we spotted a cameo of Mr. Redford himself, but I won't put a spoiler here by hinting where to watch for him! For the same reason, I'm not going to tell you details of my favorite parts of the movie. When the opportunity arises, you should pick out your own favorites, and next time we're sitting in line for a Green Day show, we can compare notes. Bottom line, whether you watch the movie because you're interested in the captivating history of East Bay punk or because you want to see how Green Day got their start or both, you aren't likely to be disappointed. The movie is great entertainment but also left me inspired to be the best I can be at whatever I choose to do. The passion that went into the scene way back then, and into the making of the movie itself, left its mark on me. I hope you'll find that it leaves you feeling the same way.

In part two, we talked to the band about the early days at Gilman Street and the new movie, 'Turn it Around: The Story of East Bay Punk.' "J’net: From there, Green Day has come so far. What were you dreaming about back then, have you achieved it, and do you have any dreams you haven’t realized yet — things you still want to do? Tre: Pizza! J’net: Really? You haven’t had pizza yet? [Everyone laughs — these guys are SO polite!] Mike: Back then it was like, 'Can we get a show? Can we get into Gilman?' That’s a goal. It’s always like a series of goals – like 'Let’s get a tour.' 'Oh my gosh, what would it be like to play that one club there?' Maybe it’s a different town — or Europe! 'Let’s go to Europe and tour Europe!' There’s always another thing to be done. We just like to keep it exciting. Even live — even live, if we feel it's not exciting and not eventful or we're just going through the motions, we'll do something to change that because we like to stay in the moment, too. Life should be exciting. J’net: [to Tre] When you gave the drumsticks to that little kid last night (in Kansas City) … Mike: I did that. But Tre does every night anyway. One of us will always do it." Backstory: In Kansas City, there was a little girl on her dad’s shoulders throughout much of the show, although security tried multiple times to get him to put her down. At one point, Mike’s bass tech came into the security pit and leaned through to hand her a set of drumsticks. "Mike: She was hitting right on the beat with them on her dad’s shoulders! A lot of people know this, but every night Tre hides a pair of drumsticks under a seat. J’net: Do you always know if somebody finds them? Tre: Well, I put a hashtag on them and sometimes they'll go and put a picture with #TreCoolsHiddenSticks if they found them. J'net: I would just want to know — if no one posted, did they get found? I would have to go back and see if they're still there. [laughs] Tre: Somebody will find them. I'll tape them under the seats. Mike: Eventually. Someone will find them — like at an Usher show. [laughs] J'net: Or a hockey game. [Laughter] J’net: I got to go to the Hall of Fame Induction and the House of Blues show. What a show! I was beating up on the people next to me, because every time something else exciting happened I was [grabbing people and shaking them], "Oh my God! Oh my God!" That was incredible. I want to ask how that felt, but I’m sure you all thought it felt incredible. But could you ever have dreamed that you would be there? And what gave you the idea to come out as Sweet Children, and have Tim [Armstrong of Rancid] come out and sing with y’all and … to celebrate it in that way? Billie: I think it was all about 'bringing it all back home,' to quote Bob Dylan. It was like, 'Let’s make this as fun as possible.' Just have a great time and do everything you can … there’s so much tension with a lot of bands that have gone in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that you literally can’t get them to be on the same stage at the same time. And someone will stay home. And for us, it was the opposite of that. I’d rather seize the moment to remember how we got there. You start off when you’re a kid in a band, and it’s the most exciting thing in the world. And it’s so important to inspire people to understand that it IS the most exciting thing in the world. J’net: Do y’all listen to any kind of music that you think would surprise people to know that you liked it? Mike: All kinds of music. I just like good songs. I don’t care if it’s country — or the other night Tre went out to a jazz club, and then Jason and I went out to the same jazz club after they’d left — the same jazz club, and we didn’t even know they went. And we saw an unbelievable band there in Kansas City. Tre: I like German AND Italian opera. J’net: Do you really? Seriously? Tre: [Laughs] J’net: Oh ... but THAT would have surprised people. Tre: No … just the German. [laughs] J’net: Well, I’m the Italian fan, myself. Tre: It’s all Greek to me! Greek music. Billie: I’m kind of an audiophile. I like to go deep with finding obscure power-pop bands... Tre: Billie makes the best playlists. And he’s the best DJ. Billie: I just read this book called Never a Dull Moment ['Never a Dull Moment: 1971 The Year That Rock Exploded,' by David Hepworth] and it’s all about the music that happened in 1971, so I put together a playlist of all [that music]. I like getting into to doing my own … which is funny, because everybody's doing playlists and putting them on Spotify and stuff like that, and I do playlists and share them with my friends. Mike: She's got to hook you up with about a million more friends to share it with. [Laughter] Mike: Yeah, when we hit the playlist side of things, he’s ready. Billie: Yeah, and it’s all kinds of different stuff, whether it's like Joni Mitchell and Linda Ronstadt, to like ... Foghat and T-Rex. It’s fun to listen to. Especially back then, there was a certain amount of — people were uninhibited. If you listen to Marvin Gaye singing 'What’s Going On?,' there’s nothing self-conscious about songs like that and what was going on back then. I think nowadays, music is so much more visual or something. Some of the stuff from the past is just inspiring. J’net: And you have lots of influences, I can hear them in your music. There are little bits that sound like country and little bits that sound like different genres. Did you get that from your family, or was it all around you, or what? Billie: Well, it was all around me with my family — and I think when I was a kid I just always wanted to be the one to listen to something different. So, when kids were listening to Kool and the Gang’s 'Celebration,' I was listening to AC/DC and Van Halen, or trying to be the first in my high school to discover punk rock, and alternative stuff, too. Nobody in Rodeo had a clue who the Replacements and Hüsker Dü was. I was like the only punk kid in my high school. And John Swett [High School] was ... 400 people, 350 at the most. Mike: Is that what it was? I thought it was a little more than that. That’s still a lot of people, though, when you think about it. Billie: Yeah, there's 80 people in that graduating class. Mike: And then there was this one kid in that high school [who was punk]. Billie: And half of them actually graduated. [Laughs]"

This is the fourth and final installment of our interview with Green Day. In part three, we talked to the band about their past goals, and the musical roots of each of the guys. I have also included some things that were not part of the interview itself, or our recording. At the beginning of the transcription below, I knew our time was running out — and during the recording, we were packing up. I was throwing on my “Still Breathing” shirt, as I call it, for my photo with the band. But I just kept talking and asking questions the whole time to make the most of every second. "J’net: So, I have one more quick question, and this is just my own personal thing that I’ve always wondered — when Mike sang the second half of 'American Eulogy,' did you [Billie] write it with that in mind, did it just happen, I mean … was it something personal to Mike, because the way [Mike] sang it and kind of spit those lyrics out, it sounds like it’s very … something [deciding to stop rambling on with this never ending question and let someone answer] … Billie: I mean, I just wrote it and asked him if he wanted to sing it. [laughs] Mike: I think you need to sing to what the lyrics are calling for. I tend to sing ... like a little girl sometimes. [laughs] J’net: Not in THAT song. Mike: Yeah, but I was conscious that, 'This song isn't for singing like a little girl.' Or if it is, it's a little girl with attitude. Billie: If you think about 'Outsider' by the Ramones, and how DeeDee sang the bridge to it, it just kind of makes more sense. It just kind of comes from the band. And what else? 'I Was There' – Mike sang the bridge on that. J'net: Yeah. Well, you [Mike] sing that 'American Eulogy' like it was written just for you. Just made me wonder … Mike: [Hamming it up] Why, thank you! A friend of mine wrote that just for me! … 'Hey Billie, I got an idea! We can go ahead and take five.' J'net: So, I'm getting a sense that it's time for you [Tre] to have your pizza that you've never had before. Any last things you guys want to say to the readers of Green Day Authority? Mike: Just that we appreciate them and that they should be good to each other and look out for one another online and offline. But, we appreciate the hell out of them, cause that's our community. They're fuckin' rad. We'll see [them] on tour. Billie: I think for me as a musician, it's always important to be a fan first. Because I'm obviously a big fan of the people I like to listen to and stuff like that. So with that said, [we're] like-minded and kindred-spirits. Tre: In the words of the wild stallions, 'Be excellent to each other!'" Thus ended the interview proper, though there was more conversation, as I asked the guys to take a quick photo with me (the first time I've ever asked for a photo with any of them ... the wait was so worth it given how the photo turned out). Then, touring sound engineer and photographer Chris Dugan reminded me that I had a t-shirt to show the band. It was from Jack Yates, Omaha-based editor extraordinaire for GDA, who has been taking all my scribblings and making them look beautiful on the site. His vintage shirt was from Green Day's first tour — the band had screen printed it by hand back in the day. He thought they might like to see it, and maybe even sign it for him (which they graciously did). Tre sarcastically joked that it was really only six months old. Mike laughed, and said he still has the original screen print stencil for that shirt. While the guys were signing Jack's shirt, I was throwing on my "Still Breathing" shirt, which you can see in the photo. The guys loved, it which prompted me to tell them that it's from the Woody Guthrie Museum in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where I'm from. Mike excitedly told me that his wife's family and Billie's whole family were also from Oklahoma. This prompted Billie to tell a story, which really delighted me. The backstory is that he began to tell this tale at the Tulsa Green Day show back in March, but didn't make it all the way to the brilliant ending. We'd talked about this during the car trip there, and Billie just spontaneously answered our question! "Billie: Yeah, my mom's from Sperry, Oklahoma. Oh, we went — this is a funny story. When we were there, I was trying to find where my mom's house was — it was like, I think, about 15 minutes outside of Tulsa. And we went into a high school, and all the people would talk about was like native burial grounds and stuff like that. So we're just looking for this one in particular. So we went into Sperry High School and talked to the administrators, and I come out and all of a sudden it was like, it clicked [snaps fingers], they were like, 'Oh my God, he's here!' and they run out and one goes, 'You're either … Bruno Mars … or the guy in Green Day!' [Laughter] Billie: 'Bruno! Bruno! Bruno Joe!' Tre: [Laughs] 'Bruno Joe.' Billie: And then they sent me all these hats, because they're the Pirates, so I got all these cool pirate hats." Now, as they were still signing Jack's shirt, and I was still "primping" for my first ever Green Day photo, we had this hilarious conversation: "J'net: Do y'all know about all the mis-heard lyrics in your songs? Billie: Mis-heard? Mike: Misinterpreted, you mean? J'net: No, like people hear them and they think you're saying something else! Tre: Oh, that's funny! J'net: Like, 'Gotta know the enemy … raw ham.' Billie: Raw ham? [Hilarity ensues] Tre: Raw ham. J'net: And, 'Somebody take my pants, I think they're falling off … into a state of regression.' Mike: [Singing] 'Somebody take my pants, I think they're falling off, into a state of regression.' [Laughing] Billie: That's amazing. That's a good one. J'net: And then, my son one day and said to me he hears, [singing ... YES, I sang in front of Green Day!] 'Dump truck! Color me stupid!' Billie: Oh, dump truck! [laughs] J'net: British people hear, 'I wore cologne, I wore cologne' [in 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams']. Billie: Oh, wow … J'net: And in 'Welcome to Paradise' — 'Pay attention to the cracked streets and the broken gnomes.' Tre: Scary. Scary. [Laughs] Billie: Nice. I've heard that one before. I think I've seen a meme. J'net: I just wondered if … because when a new song comes out, before the lyrics are published, we're all trying to figure out, "What are they saying? What are they saying?" Billie: Next time we're just going to write them out different. They'll be like just totally different lyrics. Tre: We'll do fucked up lyrics! J'net: Oh yeah, right. That would be great. Tre: We'll get like six-year-olds to say what they think the lyrics are, and then we'll have that be the lyrics. J'net: That would be great! Or me, because my hearing is shot from so many Green Day shows!" This was where our recording ended. At some point during the discussion that continued un-recorded, I told the guys that this (the Omaha show) might be my last show for a while. I said, "A dear friend of mine has a ticket for me to the Rose Bowl show, but I don't know if I'll be able to afford to get there, so this could be it for a while." After that, we prepared to take the photo, which Chris Dugan (the band's sound guy and photographer) kindly offered to take for us — so it wasn't a selfie, after all! Mike suggested that I sit in the chair, and they'd all stand around me. Of course, I can't even express how sweet this was. Then, because I'd been talking to superfan Fran Green in line that day, I said, "Do you know that girl Fran with long brown hair who's always right in the corner of the barricade?" (I motioned with my hands to show where Fran usually stands). And here's how I remember that conversation going: "Billie: Oh, I know her, she's great! She always wants to get up and sing or something, but I really like her energy right there in the corner. Mike: Which one is she? Billie: She has a lip piercing. Mike: Oh yeah! [smiling] J'net: Well, today is her 50th show! Billie: Her 50th really? J'net: Yes, and she's travelling from the 1st through the 27th and not staying in any hotels — just sleeping on the street or in the car. Billie and Mike: WOW. Tre: Sounds like somebody needs a shower!" Finally, my time with Green Day was coming to an end. I thanked them all, and they walked out. Then, as I was about to leave the room, Tre came back with his wife Sara and introduced me to her. She is just as gorgeous and sweet as her online personality seems. We chatted for a few minutes. I told her we love her because of how happy she makes 'this guy' — I point at Tre. To say both their faces were beaming would be a terrible understatement. Just looking at how happy they are together made my heart melt. As they were leaving, Tre stuck his head back in the room and said, "See you at the Rose Bowl." So now, I guess I'll have to find a way to make it to the Rose Bowl. Hope to see you all there! After all this, I was walked out on to the arena floor and asked to choose my spot. I was just dumfounded with the entire barrier to choose from … don't we all wish that could somehow happen at every show?!?! Later, after everyone came in, I couldn't see Fran in her usual spot, and I was just so disappointed, because I thought … knowing the band, they would probably do something special for her if she'd been there. Well, Billie managed to find her on the catwalk, wished her happy 50th and then started singing "Happy Birthday" to her! Hahaha! Tre also gave her an autographed drum head the next night in St. Louis, and I see that she got on stage before her tour was over. The guys are just the sweetest and love their fans so much!

#i did like billie's story about being mistaken for bruno mars lmao #also mike's line about how young his wife is.....#not as funny as you think it is man #yikes #article #interview #articles #green day

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coffee-fueled-weeb-witch · 4 years

Text

Write Your Witchcraft (#37)

All of the questions

37. Who do I honor (ex: deities, ancestors, myself, etc), and how do I, or would I like to, honor them?

At the moment I work with Athena, Hermes, Hades, Persephone, Apollo, Artemis, and recently also started working a bit with Ares and Hephaestus. I’ve also had a little bit of experience, though not much, with Hestia and Dionysus thanks to one of my best and closest friends working with them. Now, since there’s quite a few of them, I’ll start with what I do for all of them and then I’ll go into more specific things for each one.

In general I have a playlist for each of the gods I work with and then there’s two others- a playlist for Hades and Persephone together and one for Hermes, Apollo, and Dionysus together (If you guys are interested I could make a post with links to said playlists). I’m also in a small coven on discord, consisting of me and my friends, and there I have a channel for each of them that I use as virtual alters. Another thing I do is sit and work out a sigil for each individual god that I can use if I feel I am struggling to connect to them or to help dedicate something to them. Now I’ll get into the individual things- which I tend to work most with Athena, Hermes, Hades, and Persephone, so I’ll probably be listing a bit more for them than the others right now.

Athena

I am always studying and trying to learn about a variety of new things and often dedicate my research and reading time to her.

When in stressful situations with conflicts brewing I try to remain calm and keep a level head, sometimes asking for her help with this as I try to think things through rationally and work on a solution.

Whenever my friends need help understanding something or finding information I do my best to teach and guide them, sharing whatever wisdom and knowledge of my own that I can and helping them find more because Athena encourages me to do so and like her I too enjoy sharing my knowledge.

I have a nice little amethyst gemstone that I dedicated to her and I always have it close by.

I do my best to protect others and have become fairly skilled in protection magick, and when I feel a situation calls for it I will ask for Athena’s protection or for her to help me be able to protect those I care for or am trying to help.

I have a small, white owl statue on my nightstand that used to belong to my grandmother. Because of Athena’s connection to owls, I put it there for her- though it’s so old and fragile it’s literally slowly crumbling into a powdery dust, so I’ll need to replace it sometime sadly.

I also like to dedicate my crafting and jewelry making time to Athena.

Hermes

Since he is connected to Wednesdays and has a lot to do with languages, every Wednesday I spend at least an hour working on my Japanese and I often ask him to help me understand things I struggle with or remember certain things. After I will usually watch anime that involves something he is associated with in some way or I think he may like himself.

I usually offer him some of morning coffee and thank him for helping me out with various things and even just being there.

When I’m getting over stressed and know I need to lighten up I take a step back and try to have more fun and remind myself that I don’t need to be serious all the time, that like Hermes I can just have fun.

On really low energy days for me I tend to binge watch vine and meme compilations on youtube and dedicate that to him.

Hermes encourages me to not be so embarrassed and afraid of being laughed at, so I’ve been letting myself become more... well, myself. If someone wants to call me cringey for being weird or chaotic, then they can. I’m having fun and being myself and my boi Hermes is right there cheering me on, so fuck anyone who doesn’t like it!! In other words, he helps me a lot with being less afraid to be myself and being comfortable acting like a deranged little crackhead goblin and just enjoying myself- so for him I like to just love myself and let go of worrying about what others think of me.

Hades

I love spending time researching death practices and beliefs over the years and in different cultures, so I dedicate that time to Hades. I also put a lot of time into learning as much as I can about spirit work and death witchcraft which I’ve been getting more interested in since working with him.

When I find someone or see a friend who is struggling and seriously considering death to be their solution I try my best to help them. I’ve personally lost someone to suicide and it’s something I don’t want anyone else to experience. I’ve also had a few interaction with the spirit of the one who passed and spent a lot of time helping him work through the emotions he had and get to a point where he was more at peace and not hating himself for what he had done. Since then I’ve also come to learn and understand that it genuinely saddens Hades and Persephone both to see how many young people end up cutting their own lives so short, so for me doing what I can to help those people is so important for so many reasons.

As I said I lost someone I loved dearly, so at times when that starts to weight on me or when my own depression’s getting to be a little hard to deal with I often turn to Hades for comfort and help in getting through it. He is very much like a father figure to me, which I no longer have anything to do with my real dad, so it helps a lot to be able to turn to him for help and guidance when I’m struggling.

I like to leave him little offerings when I can and so far have found that he really enjoys the dark chocolate I give him.

I always make sure to thank him for helping me and also for watching over the souls of those who passed. It makes him really happy and he appreciates it so much.

Persephone

A lot of the things I do for Hades I also do for Persephone, so I won’t repeat all of them again.

For years I’ve struggled with dealing with toxic people who had me convinced I could only be one thing, that I was the reserved and quiet friend, I was always mature, I didn’t goof off as much, I loved darker things and horror and thus could only love those things and behave in a certain way, but Persephone has been helping me understand that this is not true and I can express my softer, more goofy and childish nature. I can be dark and spooky, but I can also be soft and sweet. She is both a Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld- if she can be these two opposite things, then so can I. So similar to Hermes, I like to practice self-love and acceptance for Persephone.

I also like to give her small offerings when I can, which she seemed to really enjoy the marshmallow peep I gave her!

This is one I also do for both Hades and Persephone, and because I know how difficult it can be- when I know someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one, I try my best to offer them comfort and just be there for them.

Apollo

I like to dedicate the time I spend drawing to him and when I’m experiencing a lot of artists block I’ll ask him to please help me overcome it or help me find some form of inspiration.

When I start to feel a bit sick I’ll often ask him for a little extra help in feeling better, alongside Artemis.

When my insomnia’s so bad that I’ve ended up staying awake all night I like to take a moment to just sit and listen to music while watching the sunrise. Likewise, in the evenings when the sun is sinking and the light comes in the window I love to just close my eyes and relax as I let it wash over me and thank Apollo for the brightness and warmth, and for being there.

I often scream-sing along with songs that remind me of him.

I also remember reading that Apollo watches over the decomposing bodies of those who died and graveyards, so I like to thank him for that.

Artemis

I’ve always been a night owl and have always had a love for the moon and stars, so when I can I like to just sit and listen to music and the sounds of the night while looking at the dark sky as I think over the day and will sometimes just talk to Artemis and tell her how things are going and stuff like that.

Like I said before I sometimes ask her and Apollo for help if I’m starting to feel sick.

I actually found a really nice set on imvu for Artemis, so my friend helped me get the outfit for her.

Ares

I haven’t been working with Ares for very long yet, so so far there isn’t nearly as much for me to share. So far, aside from making a playlist, sigil, and virtual altar for him, I’ve been trying to stand up for myself more and he has definitely been helping me to do this. I may write a post actually talking about my most recent and strongest experience working with him.

I’ve also always tried my best to stand up for others (honestly better at it than I am standing up for myself), so now I also consider this another thing I can do for Ares and that I feel he greatly approves of.

Hephaestus

Like Ares I haven’t been working with Hephaestus for very long, so I again don’t have much a whole lot to list yet. Still, one thing I’ve been sort of dedicating to him is the time I’m spending learning how to wire wrap gemstones. It’s not exactly the same as being a blacksmith, but still sort of involves working with metal and crafting and he’s enjoyed me sharing my progress with him and how hard I’m working to learn this new skill despite my disability making it a bit difficult for me.

I’ve also been trying to love myself more for Hephaestus when it comes to my disability. I’ve grown up constantly being made to feel like an inconvenience, a burden, and a waste of time, but help from my friends, my boyfriend, and recently Hephaestus, I’ve gradually been working to overcome the negative thoughts and beliefs that were carved into me.

Well, that’s all I can think of typing for this one- I’ve normally been doing this write your witchcraft thing four questions at a time, but since it took me so long to fully answer this one question I decided to just do this one.

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