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black-streak · 4 years

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Little Pistol - Oops

Chapter 9

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Song by Vince Staples w/ Yugen Blakrok. It's from Black Panther, and while I'm aware Tim is often the pastiest bat, they asked for this when they mentioned Gotham in the lyrics and made it way too relatable to Tim's (here) and Jason's (canon) experience. Whoops. Also, I might've completely torn and sewn together bits of DC canon to my own liking because reasons.

This chapter is one of the few that was barely planned for. Um... Verbal abuse? Verbal abuse. Of a child. Mentions of neglect and abandonment.

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@zalladane @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @elmokingkong @queen-in-a-flower-crown @karategirl119 @dreamykitty25 @danielslilangel @melicmusicmagic @xahriia @sassakitty @yin-390 @zotinha456 @indecisive-mess-named-me @heldtogetherbysafetypins @theatreandcomicfreak @alexandriamw @messymessyml

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@naoryllis @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @my-name-is-michell @maribat-is-lifeblood @dast218 @novicevoice @shizukiryuu @princess-of-fangirls @bigpicklebananatree @pirats-pizzacanninibles @abrx2002 @breemeister @darkthunder1589 @thestressmademedoit @severelyenchantedwonderland @isabellemasen @multi-fandom-freak0221 @fantasyloversblog @bzz75 @cloudiedraws @orbitsvt @gingerdaile @sotheresthatthought @kadmeread @novaloptr @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @crazylittlemunchkin @18-fandoms-unite-08 @tiny-goddess-of-chaos @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @the-alice-of-hearts @vixen-uchiha @changelinggarden

~---~

Jason had warned him it would happen far sooner than he'd like. Well joke's on him, any time was too soon. Too soon to see his own replacement. To see the person who was supposed to be his older brother but just turned out to be another person who'd abandoned him. Which is why he planned for this encounter. Planned for the moment they would corner him. Box him in. Take him down. Or at least, they would try to. Tim wasn't about to let that happen. He knew how to plan and evade and keep his cool with the best of them. Knew how to strategize and win against opponents that by all rights should be able to take him down without thought. How to use their emotion driven instincts to take them down. He'd done it hundreds of times with businessmen and rogues alike. A couple vigilantes wouldn't change that.

So he thought of every instance, every possibility, every reaction and planned accordingly. And how fitting he'd use this against them. After all, it was the one quality Bruce praised him on most.

What he hadn't expected was to have Robin come across him alone. He'd thought of it, of course, but it had always seemed so unlikely with how much the new Batman mother birded the kid.

Oh how wonderfully lucky he felt. Guess something had to go right in his life once in a while so the world could pretend it was balanced and good.

"Drake. I thought you might have the dignity to not be where you are unwanted.. I see you lost that as well," came the clipped, high pitched voice behind him. He had to give it to the kid, while lacking any sense of control, he had some skill. He reached up to turn off the comm link with Red Hood.

"Devin. If that is the standard for dignity, I suppose you never had any," Red Robin turned, a pleasant little smile staying firmly in place, "where's your babysitter, by the way? I thought you weren't allowed out after your bedtime?"

"It's Damian," the boy growled before turning cocksure, ignoring the last half of the comment, "or are you so dumb you can't even remember the name of the person who unseated you?"

"Funny, I thought it was you who struggled with names? Only seems fitting since you can't even say mine. Tell me, did you know that in many languages, addressing someone by their last name is a sign of respect?" He kept from grinning at the squawk of indignation he received, "You didn't deny never having dignity, so I'll assume I'm correct."

"I have more dignity in one pinky than you'll ever have," he failed to address the full sentence once more, but Red would allow it for now.

"I suppose you're right. You did make yourself disappear rather fast when it was made clear your mother and grandfather wanted nothing to do with you. Now if only you could take the hint now."

"You-" the kid started advancing, drawing his sword.

"Aww, poor baby, can't even fight with his words. Do you want to kill me because I'm right? Or because you know as long as I'm alive, you'll never be good enough?"

"I'm Robin! Batman chose me!" Red dodged a wild slash from the katana trained on him, carefully twisting out of the way but never fighting back, the same way he always had. The way Damian had come to expect by now. But he continued talking as they made their way around the rooftop, keeping the brat too angry to focus on technique.

"Yeah, a fake Batman. The real one had to die for you to be chosen. How does it feel to know your father didn't want you on the streets with him? That he didn't trust you. That he chose me over you every time?"

"Grayson was your brother and he chose me! You have no family," the attacks became more sporadic, angrier. Less in control.

"We don't share blood," despite the accuracy of the kid's words, he knew blood meant everything to Damian. And he knew how to use that against him. "My blood family is all dead. They can't be with me. Yours sent you away. Sent you to a father who didn't want you either. And when Bruce died, yours still wouldn't take you back," Red kept dodging, taking note of how the strikes lost all rhyme or reason as the boy lost words and started only letting out frustrated sounds, "Did you know Ras wants me as an heir? Has made so many offers and attempts to take me in? Your grandfather is so desperate to be my family, meanwhile he couldn't get rid of you fast enough. I wonder how that must feel? To know the only person who wants you is a man who only pities you?"

Right as a slash almost made contact, he drew his bow staff, deflecting the hit and disarming Robin in two perfect moves. It took him only a moment to pin the kid to the gravel beneath them.

"I'm Robin! I earned it!" Screamed from below.

Lowering his mouth to one ear, he spoke with quiet calm, only upsetting Damian further, "You are Robin. And you know why? Because Robin is a position given to those who have nothing left to cling to. Who need direction and commands to keep intact. It was never given to me. I took Robin because I wanted to. It was given to you because Dick saw how pathetically in need of it you were."

"I almost killed you, you weren't worthy," he argued, struggling against the pin.

"You only ever won because I let you. Because I never fought back. Because I knew Bruce wouldn't want me to. Now there's no one stopping me. You were never better than me. If you were, someone would love you."

The body below pushed and pushed and struggled until finally it settled down, angry tears glistening in the night.

"Run home, little Robin. You're unwanted here," he let go and watched the kid scramble up and away, straight into Red Hood. Launching backwards, Robin took one look at the crossed arms and tilted head of the bigger man and turned tail off the roof.

"How'd you manage to get that reaction out of the demon brat?" Hood asked as he picked his way over the where Red still crouched.

"He's useless when he lets his emotions get the best of him. Just had to hit the right buttons," he shrugged, pretending it was not a big deal. Like he hadn't verbally torn up a twelve year old just for being right.

"He got under your skin, didn't he?"

Grimacing, he stood and made way to the other's side, "You didn't hear, did you?"

"No," he admitted.

"I reacted to his words only in that I adjusted accordingly. Nothing was said in the heat of the moment on my part," he assured.

Sighing, Hood clapped him on the shoulder once, "If you say so. Let's call it a night, eh?"

"Yeah…"

#maribat #ml x dc #timari #timinette #Dark!timinette #verbal assault #I guess?#neglect #abandonment #common theme thatll be brought up more later actually

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therecordconnection · 3 years

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A Word on Phil Spector / How Will Phil Spector Be Remembered?

...as a murderer and an abusive maniac, before anything else. I can promise you that. Although most media outlets will probably waste a good minute trying to remind you how famous and successful he was first.

He’s been reported to have pulled a gun on at least four people, three of them musicians he worked with. Those musicians include John Lennon, Leonard Cohen, and Johnny Ramone. The fourth person would be model/actress Lana Clarkson, whom he murdered in 2003.

John Lennon had a totally normal experience working with him.

He reportedly had several guns littered around the studio he used when working on Leonard Cohen’s Death of a Ladies’ Man album, but there are conflicting reports about whether one of them was ever drawn on him.

“It was one of those periods when my chops were impaired, and I wasn't in the right kind of condition to resist Phil's very strong influence on and eventual takeover of the record. There were lots of guns around in the studio and lots of liquor, a somewhat dangerous atmosphere. He had bodyguards who were heavily armed also. He liked guns - I liked guns too but I generally don't carry one, and it's hard to ignore a .45 lying on the console. When I was working with him alone, it was very agreeable, but the more people in the room, the wilder Phil would get. I couldn't help but admire the extravagance of his performance, but at the time couldn't really hold my own." - Cohen, interviewed in Mojo, 2001

The Ramones had their own troubles when it came to working with him.

"Johnny [Ramone] soon met his match in producer Phil Spector. ... The label teamed them with the legendary Spector to oversee the band’s next LP, End of the Century. Spector had been after the Ramones for a long time. “You wanna make a good album by yourselves,” he asked them in 1977, “or a great album with me?” But in 1979, the producer was past his prime and a spooky eccentric. Early on, Spector invited the band to his mansion. “There were a lot of warning signs,” wrote Marky. “Do not enter. Do not touch gate. Beware of attack dogs. The signs looked pretty amateurish, and that made them more rather than less imposing.” Spector wore pistols, one under each arm, and kept bodyguards around. He made the band stay all night, watching the psychological horror film Magic, starring Anthony Hopkins. Dee Dee claimed that one night, the producer pulled a gun on him when he tried to leave. “He had all the quick-draw, shoot-to-kill pistol techniques,” Dee Dee recalled. ...

One day, Spector pushed Johnny too far. The producer demanded that the guitarist play the opening G-major chord of “Rock & Roll High School” over and over. The engineer would play the chord back and Spector stomped around the studio yelling, “Shit, piss, fuck! Shit, piss, fuck!” Then he’d demand that Johnny hit the chord again. This went on for an hour or more, until Johnny got fed up. He finally put down his guitar and said he was leaving. Spector told him he wasn’t going anywhere. Johnny replied, “What are you gonna do, Phil, shoot me?” - The Curse of the Ramones, Rolling Stone

But the most infamous of Spector’s behavior came in 2003 when he murdered Lana Clarkson. This wasn’t just a record producer who was mentally unstable, this was now someone who had committed a murder.

“In February 2003, actress Lana Clarkson was found dead at his house in Alhambra, California with a bullet wound to her head. Clarkson, who was known for her work in the sword-and-sorcery genre and starred in films including Barbarian Queen, had met Spector hours earlier at a nightclub.

Spector claimed the shooting happened when Clarkson "kissed the gun" - but his trial heard from four women who claimed Spector had threatened them with guns in the past when they had spurned his advances.

Following an initial mistrial, Spector was convicted of second degree murder and given a sentence of 19 years to life.” - Phil Spector: Pop producer jailed for murder dies at 81

Hit songs such as “Da Doo Ron Ron” and “Be My Baby” will outlive him. The Beatles’ Let It Be album will outlive him (unless you prefer McCartney’s Let It Be... Naked version of the album. I enjoy both for different, specific reasons.) These things are cultural artifacts and markers of a very different place and time. Some bad guys never get caught; justice is never served. But Spector was one of those guys that we did catch and we did put away. If Spector’s actions horrify and disgust you (as they should) one can at least take comfort in the fact that Spector spent his last eleven years of life rotting in a jail cell for taking the life of an innocent woman.

There is a lot of music made by contemptible pieces of shit that we keep around simply because we enjoy it and we’ve made it our own. The beautiful thing about music, among other media, is that we have the ability to make the work mean something personal to us and the producer behind the desk doesn’t always factor in to the average enjoyment of something. If this is something that you think is impossible to do, I don’t blame you. If you want “Phil Spector: The Good Ending” then the work of Brian Wilson offers that to you: A troubled soul who endured a difficult life, actually got help (eventually), and became a man who learned to smile. He also never murdered anybody, if that also helps.

Regardless, the way I attempt to rationalize it is this: The music we can keep. People enjoy those old songs and they probably mean something special to a lot of people. Spector doesn’t. Spector is something we can throw away and leave behind, without forgetting all of the misery he caused.

In short, that music is sacred, in a way. And in the words of Kurt Vonnegut:

“I don’t want to throw away any sacred things.

What else is sacred? Oh, Romeo and Juliet, for instance.

And all music is.” (Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions, 1973)

Afterword: If Spector is a figure who interests you and you’d like to do more reading on the subject, Mick Brown’s Tearing Down the Wall of Sound: The Rise and Fall of Phil Spector is a good place to start.

#original content #phil spector #john lennon #leonard cohen #the ramones #johnny ramone #lana clarkson #brian wilson #music essay

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harebrainedscheme · 3 years

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Las Mismas Estrellas/The Same Stars

A03 Link Part 2 Part 3

Whatever happened to Dr. Thaddeus Waddlemeyer?

Drake and Gosalyn venture into an alternate universe to bring her grandpa home but what they find has them questioning if they should.

Teenagers were hard.

And not just because of the surplus of sarcasm and smart-mouthed remarks that could puncture Drake’s over-inflated ego in seconds.

And not just because, at the age of thirteen, Gosalyn still possessed a childlike giddiness she tried to mask under a nonchalant self assuredness. Both qualities, Drake recognized as precious and potentially delicate.

It wasn’t even her stubborn, hard headed, immovable determination that so often butted against his own.

The hardest part was the constant tightrope walk that came with trying to find the balance between giving her support- which she claimed she didn’t need- and space - which she seemed to have a preference for.

He knew, as she had told him, he was not her family. Until a few months ago, they had been strangers. And Gosalyn was determined to prove that she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She was fiercely independent, batting away offers of help, even with the most mundane things like preparing breakfast.

But she hadn’t seen herself the day the Ramrod exploded.

Bathed in blood red light, tears filling her eyes. There was a flash, a boom, and then quiet devastation.

In the center of the rubble, Drake saw a child, tiny and lost, fall to her knees and curl into herself sobbing.

He went to her.

His muscles and most-likely-bruised spine protested the movement, but even before her knees hit the ground he was already moving.

He dropped to a kneel beside her and scooped her into his arms as she cried.

“I...I had to, the rift - it- it was going to - it would have…”

“I know. I know,” he hushed, “You were so brave.”

“He’s gone. He’s really gone. I’m alone.”

Getting caught in the ramrod explosion hurt less than hearing that.

Before he could think better of it, the words were slipping out.

“I’m here.”

It didn’t stifle her sobs. He didn’t expect it to. But her hand clutched tightly to his arm and he matched the fierceness of her grip.

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the right thing to say. What did it matter that Drake was there? She was grieving. It was her grandpa she wanted. It was her grandpa who should have been there.

She didn’t speak again and neither did he but he held her as sobs slowed to sniffles and then to silence.

Eventually, she pulled away from him, picked herself up with trembling knees, lifted her head, and squared her shoulders into a tight, wavering line.

It was enough to break his heart.

She tried so hard to be strong, to carry the unfair burden thrust upon her, but amidst the clearing smoke and smoldering, blackened bits of machinery strewn across the wrecked lab, she didn’t even realize how small she looked.

All the books said kids experiencing loss needed a sense of security and stability.

So, Drake and Launchpad had welded a few PVC pipes together, draped them with curtains, and converted one of the more spacious corners of the tower into a make-shift bedroom. It wasn’t much but it had a bed with dark green sheets Gosalyn had picked out herself, a dresser, and a desk. And it was hers.

Drake had helped her decorate the lofty walls of her room with glow-in-the-dark stars, as she dictated their careful placement so they formed ‘an accurate representation of the constellations.’

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Drake raised an unamused eyebrow. “I’m following the sketch you gave me.”

“Apparently not, because you’re doing it wrong.” She pointed to the highest point on the wall where she had already placed a cluster of stars. “That’s the Ursa Minor. It marks the celestial pole, all the other constellations have to be aligned relative to the Ursa Minor.”

She dropped her point to the space of the wall Drake was working on. “Your Ursa Major is sideways, line it up with the Ursa Minor.”

“Ursa Major? I thought I was doing…” he glanced at the paper she had given him, “ ...Piscis Austrinus,” he read.

Goslayn gaped, “Pis-You’re not even in the right hemisphere for piscis austrinus!”

Without another word, she scrambled over to the wall and began drawing dots along the wall with a large black marker.

“Here, just put them on the mark.”

Drake made an undignified noise, “Did you just draw on my wall?”

Gosalyn shrugged. “We’re going to cover them up anyway.”

Drake glowered but began placing stars on the pattern all the same.

“You were able to draw that out from memory?”

“Yeah. My grandpa taught me how to chart the night sky.”

She pointed back to the Ursa Minor. “He said as long as I knew how to find the north star I’d never be lost.”

Her hand lowered.

Drake watched as she did. She didn’t speak of her grandpa too often.

A mistiness clouded her eyes, but she blinked it back, and in a second it was gone.

“I’ll do the Storkules constellation next,” she said, turning away.

“Gosalyn, do you want to talk-”

“No.”

He wasn’t her family. He knew that.

But he couldn’t help the ache he felt deep in his chest each time he caught her in a moment of vulnerability, only for her immediately, reactively, retreat behind her defensive walls.

Not that he could blame her. She had been betrayed by her grandfather’s best friend. Drake didn’t know the extent of their relationship, but in the photograph he saw, the three had looked close, trusting. And no one, not the police, not child services, was willing to help her, to even listen when she said her grandpa was trapped in an alternate dimension.

Not even Drake, not at first, not if it hadn’t been for LP. As worried as he was of overstepping his bounds and pushing her farther away, he was even more terrified of letting this kid down again and reinforcing her belief that if she was going to find her grandpa, she would have to do it on her own.

He couldn’t stand the thought of Gosalyn, brilliant, wonderful, perseverant and Gosalyn, going through life without believing she had someone in her corner, without knowing that she had someone who cared about her.

Because he did. He really did.

She had come into his life as a whirlwind. Running uninvited through what was supposed to be his top-secret base, leaving handprints on the ratcatcher, his display cases, and all the high tech equipment that was meant to make him Darkwing Duck. She had upended his entire world, disrupted his succinctly organized tower with unlaced sneakers left on the stairs and disassembled parts of a crossbow strewn across the coffee table.

And every time he came across another one of her messes left behind, everytime she came down for breakfast still half asleep with pillow tussed hair, everytime she flawlessly executed a move he had taught her during their crime fighting nights, Drake felt a deep ache in his heart, a growing fondness that seemed to push at the seams until it was about to burst. Like grass growing in the cracks of concrete, Gosalyn was filling all the little spaces Drake hadn’t realized were empty.

But he knew he wasn’t her family. He knew the failure of the adults in her life, himself included, had set her on a path of believing that she was alone in the world.

And he couldn’t let her continue down that road. As much as Gosalyn believed that she was tough enough, self-reliant enough to navigate the world alone, Drake needed her to know that she didn’t have to.

He knew that path. He knew the hurt ingrained into kids who were forced to grow up too fast, too soon.

The last words his mother had ever said to him were ‘you’re no daughter of mine.’ Funny. They could finally agree on something.

The earliest attempts were painfully awkward, standing in her makeshift doorway, stammering and blustering his way through a greeting, just to ask if she would like to join him and Launchpad for a movie night, or video games, or a trip to the boardwalk.

And she would smirk and say something sarcastic but endearing. And Drake would think now would be a good moment to put a hand on her shoulder or pat her head, but would that be pushing it too far? Was she comfortable with physical touch? She never seemed to mind when Launchpad hugged her. Actually, she always gave a begrudging smile whenever Launchpad lifted her off the floor to spin her in the air or sit her on his shoulders. Launchpad was always so great with her. But what about him? Why did he always have to overthink everything? Would patting her head come off as condescending? Would the fact he was so hesitant with casual affection where Launchpad was so natural make her think that he didn’t like her?

And just as he started to spiral, it would be her who lightly touched his wrist to ask if he was okay, and that tiny touch was enough to ground him back into the moment.

But it was during the late night talks, under the cover of dark and quiet, when she slowly began to lower her walls.

If Drake couldn’t sleep,which was often, he’d get up from bed to make himself chamomile tea. At first it was his movement and the low light in the kitchen that would draw Gosalyn from her room, just as sleepless as him. And she would turn down his offer for tea but would always take him up on his offer for a glass of warm milk and cookies if they had them

But after a while, when he came down to the kitchen he would find she was already there. And he would ask her what was on her mind, and they would talk, sometimes for hours, sometimes until the world outside the windows began to darkly dawn.

The most recent conversation had been after he found her in the kitchen, only an hour before dawn.

“Jeez kid, did you sleep at all?”

She hadn’t. The last conversation she had with Fenton the night before had kept her up.

“The DNA sample I gave them didn’t even help. He still exists with the exact same genetic coding in a billion other universes. We’re no closer to finding him.”

“Hey, that’s not true, Fenton said he and Dr. Gearloose think they're getting close to creating a Ramrod that won't tear the fabric of reality. That's progress.”

“Yeah... but I'm more worried about…the other thing.”

His heart sank.

The other thing, being Fenton's disclosure that after Mr. McDuck and his nephews were returned to their reality, Mr. McDuck had exhibited odd symptoms. The boys were fine, thank goodness. They were young and pliable and had only been in a different dimension for hours. Mr. McDuck on the other hand…well no one was calling him a young duck, and he had been in the other dimension for days on end.

It hadn't been noticeable at first. Little things, like forgetting the word he was looking for, or forgetting to turn a light off when he left a room, forgivable things, even for a parsimonious penny pincher.

But the old man’s nephews had reported other things as well, forgetting where he was or how he had gotten there, becoming suddenly confused or agitated and bursting into rants about the Marinara Trench. Looking at his eldest nephew and asking how long he had been back from the Navy.

The symptoms eventually dispersed after a few weeks and Scrooge McDuck was back to being the toughest, smartest, and sharpest, or whatever he liked to call himself. Egotistical much?

But after thorough, extensive evaluation from his top scientists, Gyro and Fenton concluded that he had been getting his memories and conscious awareness mixed up between the realities.

He was fine now. He would be fine. But Fenton and Gyro worried that if he had been stuck longer, the effects might have been permanent.

Gosalyn's grandpa had been missing for 6 months.

For someone who didn’t allow herself to be vulnerable, she had expressive eyes. And at that moment, he could see her fear swimming just below the surface.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. I made you a promise. We're going to find him. "

She looked at him, nodded, and gave him her best half smile.

This kid was braver than he could ever hope to be.

The call came on a Tuesday afternoon 6 months after the Ramrod exploded.

He woke up in a confused tangle of bedsheets as he blindly pawed for his phone, buried somewhere within the folds of his comforter.

The trill of the original Darkwing Duck theme was muffled, but when he finally found the source, he clicked off the tune with a touch of his thumb and snapped, “Buh-wuh? What! Who is this!? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Darkwing?” came a timid albeit, melodious voice on the other side of the line, “Uh, this is Fenton Crackshell Cabrera, it’s 1:30…1:30 P.M...Were you asleep?”

UmmffNo! Of course not,” he slurred, “I am the dutiful defender...before dawn, beyond dusk...what do you want, buddy?”

“Ah right,” the voice on the other line chirped.

Drake’s head lolled lazily as he aimed to rest his forehead on his palm but missed.

“I know you said I should only call through WANDA but I kept going to voicemail and this is kind of important…

Drake still hadn’t opened his eyes and his head hung heavy. But what he heard next jerked him awake.

“We found him.”

He and Gosalyn were on the Ratcatcher and out the tower in less than two minutes.

“It was Gosalyn’s DNA idea, actually” Fenton explained as he ushered Gosalyn and Drake to the Ramrod’s control center.

“It got me thinking, if Dr. Waddlemeyer’s genetic signature is popping up in billions of dimensions, what if there was a way to identify a dimension by its own unique molecular signature. Or a DNA for dimensions.”

“When Doctor Intern’s theory proved correct,” Dr. Gearloose cut in aridly, “it was simply a matter of tracking down the dimension that had traces of this reality’s unique molecular signature.”

“And by, traces of this reality’s DNA in another dimension, you mean-” Drake began.

“My grandpa.” Gosalyn finished.

“We couldn’t pinpoint his exact location but we were able to narrow it down to a one-mile radius. We’re going to drop you off at a rendezvous point within that radius. Remember, your subatomic signature isn’t compatible with that of the alternate reality you’re entering so you can't stay for extended periods of time.”

“These,” Dr. Gearloos said, cuffing a bulky metal bracelet on their wrist, “are your timers. We can’t be certain that time works the same in this dimension as it does in ours. So, your timers are programmed to adjust the timestream of the dimension you’re in. After three hours, the window will reopen at the rendezvous point.”

“What if we don’t find him during that time?” Gosalyn chided

“Then we’ll try again, after you’ve returned to this reality and your brain has had time to recover.”

Drake glanced down at the child by his side. Part of his instincts were screaming at him to insist she stay behind. But another, stronger part to him knew, this was more her journey than it was his.

So instead he asked, “You ready, kid?”

She grinned. “Let’s get dangerous.”

Fenton and Dr. Gearloose retreated behind the Ramrod’s command center. The two nodded at him and Gosalyn before flipping dials and typing commands into the machine’s keyboard. The Ramrod hummed and glowed with life.

A brilliant white light, cut through the space in front of them before widening into the shape of a doorway. The rift crackled with energy, warmth seeped from the doorway, filling the room.

Without overthinking it, Drake reached down and grabbed Gosalyn’s hand before stepping through to the other side.

As far as infinite worlds and endless possible realities go, this one seemed pretty tame.

Drake and Gosalyn stepped out of the alley they had arrived in after Gosalyn had insisted Drake stash his Darkwing suit in favor of civilian clothes as to ‘not draw attention’ to themselves when they were on a limited schedule.

The world they had landed in was seemingly identical to the one they had left.

In fact, it looked suspiciously like Cape Suzette.

Gosalyn and Drake blinked against the late afternoon sun. A familiar sky was painted deep orange with streaks of purple gathering above the clouds. Sparkling sea green water lapped quietly against wooden docks. Aquatic planes tethered to piers sat against the bobbing water.

“Where do we start?” Drake murmured.

“There.” Gosalyn answered with surprising conviction, “That house. The one with the red door.”

Drake’s sight followed the direction she was pointing. In the distance a small, unremarkable bungalow sat nestled between the green rolling hillside and the shoreline. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the house. It was modest, with a small unkempt front yard, a fruit tree growing at its side, and a large porch. The most notable feature, as Gosalyn had pointed out, was the bright red door.

“How do you know to start there?”

“I recognize that house. I think...I think I saw it once, in a photograph.”

Drake was about to question further but she was already off, making a beeline for the house.

She bolted across the porch almost as instantly as she came upon it. By the time Drake caught up, she had already rapped a knuckled against the wooden door a bit harder and longer than could be considered polite.

She fidgeted in place as she waited for a response. It was clear by the way she eyed the windows that she was strongly considering attempting to peek through the curtains. But her plotting was interrupted when they heard footsteps approach the opposite side of the door.

The doorknob rattled.

“Yes? Can I help you?” A woman asked as she opened the door.

Gosalyn nearly tripped over herself backpedaling.

Drake didn’t understand her uncharacteristic reaction or how she could be caught off guard when she was ready to run in headfirst only seconds earlier.

Even so, Drake stepped forward, instinctively inserting himself between Gosalyn and the stranger. Nothing about the way she carried herself, indicated she might be a threat. Her eyes were large and wide, expressing a mild perplexity. A mess of black curls swept up by a multi-colored bandana crowned her head. She wore paint-splattered overalls and was seemingly unaware of the bright blue smudge across her cheek.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am. We’re looking for Dr. Thaddeus Waddlemeyer. Would he happen to be at this location?”

A look of confusion crossed the woman’s face. Her large, clear eyes darted between Drake and Gosalyn, who had regathered herself and stood at Drake’s side, if not slightly behind him.

“I-I don’t understand,” she said. Drake only then noticed the accent lilting her voice. “You are looking for my father-in-law? Are you students of his?”

Drake’s mind had scattered as he fished for an answer. A collection of stammers was already tangling on his tongue, as his brain reeled trying to process ‘father-in-law’ when Gosalyn spoke up behind him.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Students. I’m one of his students from the after-school STEM program for at-risk youths he volunteers at. He helped me with my science project last year.”

The woman smiled. “How nice! I always hoped to meet some of his students,” but her smile dimmed almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You are very kind to visit but…” she hesitated, “ I’m afraid he hasn’t been the same since the accident.”

“Accident?” Drake repeated.

Her eyes flicked back to him. Drake very nearly flinched. There was nothing malevolent about the way her eyes searched his, but there was a sharpness to them, like cut glass.

“Oh- you mean- you don’t know? Oh, maybe you should come inside.” And with that, she pulled the door open and beckoned for Drake and Gosalyn to follow.

The interior of the woman’s home was as small as the outside would have suggested, but homely. The interior was bathed in a comforting yellow light. Where a floor to ceiling bookcase didn’t fill a wall, it was adorned in photo frames or richly painted, with vibrant images of vines and brightly colored flowers or entangling patterns. Unopened paint cans were pushed against a wall, paint smeared smocks, were draped over empty chairs. Drake counted six houseplants in the living room alone.

One of the framed photos hanging on the wall contained an image of the woman and a man holding each other by the waist. Behind them the small bungalow with a red door filled the background. To their right was a real estate sign with a large SOLD sticker slapped across it.

Gosalyn and Drake were seated beside each other on the sofa, when the woman returned from the kitchen carrying a tea tray. She pushed aside some loose papers, stray paintbrushes, and a few assorted earrings missing their match, before setting it down.

It was taking all of his self control for Drake not to swivel his head from their host and the young girl that sat beside him. But he could see it, even without looking at Gosalyn.

The same large, clear eyes, the same thick, textured hair, the same full apples in her cheeks.

“Thank you, Ms. …”

A flicker of sadness appeared in her eyes, before disappearing with a wave of her hand.

“I am called Liliana,” she said. Drake noticed a glint of gold on her left hand as she tucked a few stray hairs below her bandana.

“And you?”

“Drake Mallard,” Drake said, extending his hand. Liliana took it politely.

“Gosalyn.” Gosalyn kept her arms folded at her chest.

“Gosalyn,” Liliana repeated with a smile. “That’s a good name. I’m surprised you didn’t hear of the accident sooner, it was all over the local channels. But I suppose the earliest reports wouldn’t have used their names.”

“Ah, right.” Drake responded. “Can you tell us what happened to Dr. Waddlemeyer.”

She nodded. “Almost a year ago, my fiance and his father, Dr. Thaddeaus Waddlemeyer as you know him, travelled to Bullivia. My fiance was a cargo pilot you see, it’s a common profession in this area. One day, he got a call to transport a shipment to Bullivia. I usually travel with him if I’m not working. But that weekend, I was already commissioned to paint the walls of a new restaurant opening in St. Canard.

Liliana swirled her tea as she spoke.

“So Thaddeus went instead. He had an old colleague conducting research in the same city the delivery was to. He thought he could stop in for a quick visit while he was there.”

Liliana's voice thickened and her volume fell. “But they never made it. There was a freak storm and...the plane went down. It was never recovered. We assumed them dead. But then, months later, a miracle happened. Thaddeus showed up on my doorstep. He was disoriented, confused. He had no memory of what had happened. The doctors called it sudden-onset dementia. We have no idea how it’s even possible he survived, much less how he made it back. It was a miracle."

She had been staring at the rim of her teacup as she spoke but suddenly looked up towards Drake and Gosalyn.

“I want you to understand, he’s still the same man he’s always been but the illness, it affects his memory, his cognitive function. When he first returned, he couldn’t remember the year. That’s common in dementia patients but usually they think they are in a year from their past, not over a decade in the future. He seemed to think things that were planned for the future had already happened. He insisted that Berto and I had already been married.

“He’s a bit better now, he’s calmer, he’s adjusted to living with me but...the dementia..the dementia is getting worse. He forgets things that have just happened, sometimes he forgets where he is, or how to use everyday objects. And...and...most days he forgets that the crash ever happened. He wakes up every day wondering where Berto is. The doctors say there’s no fighting the illness. He could have months left, could be years. The best we could do is make him comfortable during the time he has left.”

“Can I see him?”

Liliana blinked and shifted her gaze towards Gosalyn. Drake was surprised to see Gosalyn drop her eyes in response.

“Of course. But, I want you to understand, it might be hard to see how the illness has affected him. He...he’s not as verbal these days. You can still talk to him of course, but it is not always easy to know if he is listening. Sometimes he will respond, but other times...it can be hard to adjust to.”

“I want to see him.” Gosalyn asserted. She was leaning forward, knuckles gripping the edge of the couch.

“Gosalyn,” Drake dropped the word lightly, not as a reprimand but an anchor to keep her from being swept away by whatever rising tumult she must be feeling. He meant it as an assurance. They had made it this far. They weren’t turning back now.

She glanced towards him. She looked at him for only a moment but he caught a conflicted, indeterminable look.

“Please,” she added.

“Of course dear.” Liliana’s smile was gentle and her eyes kind. “I think he is out painting on the back porch. The doctor said hand-eye coordination activities were good for him. Please, follow me.”

She stood, and Drake and Gosalyn followed her as she led them to the back of the house.

Drake had always thought that when he finally met Dr. Waddlemeyer, it would be a happier occasion. He had only glanced at a photograph of him once, but from the way Gosalyn talked about him, Drake had pictured a giant of a man. An ingenious scholar, with a puckish sense of humour, driven by a deep, innate love for mankind and a desire to create a better world.

The silent man before him, sitting unmoving on his chair, a blank easel and untouched paints in front of him, looked like a ghost of the man he had been imagining. He stared out over the porch railing. There was nothing in view except for the empty rolling hillside. There was a quiet serenity to him, like a man who was dreaming while awake.

Liliana crossed over to where he sat and dropped a light kiss on the top of his head.

“Papá, you have visitors.”

“Liliana!” the man exclaimed and reached for her arm, “My daughter-in-law-to-be! How are you?”

“I’m fine Papá. You have someone here who wants to see you.”

“Liliana, is my son home yet?”

Liliana’s shoulders dropped.

“No,” she said softly, “he is not home.”

“Oh.”

“Papá,”

“Hmm?”

“You have visitors.”

“Oh! I do?”

Drake’s heart turned to lead as Gosalyn slowly edged forward.

She had almost raced down the hallway but now that Dr. Waddlemeyer was a mere 10 feet away, she moved with the hesitancy of someone testing the strength of a frozen lake before stepping with their full weight.

Drake’s pulse quickened painfully as he watched her go. This was it. The moment he had done everything to get her to.

“Gr- Dr. Waddlemeyer?” her voice was quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet. “It’s me, Gosalyn.”

The old man tilted his head.

“Who are you?”

Drake felt his heart drop.

Dr. Waddlemeyer hadn’t asked unkindly but as if he was expecting her to continue, as if he knew that he was missing valuable information.

Gosalyn’s voice was tight when she asked without looking at Drake or Liliana, “Can I have some privacy, please?”

“Of course.”

Cotton filled the space where his tongue had been, “We’ll be right inside,” he managed to get out.

Gosalyn made no movement as Drake and Liliana returned through the doorway from which they had come. Drake didn’t tear his eyes away from the lone figure standing rigid and small until he was behind the door.

A minute later Drake was rigorously scrubbing teacups in Liliana’s sink, fully indulging in any activity that would busy his hands and even partially distract his mind.

He didn’t hear her when she came up behind him and nearly jumped when she placed a hand on his shoulder as said, “I should start preparing dinner now, will you and Gosalyn be joining us?”

“Ah-oh-uh-thank-thank you for the offer but we really can’t stay long. But-but-please, allow me to help, I’m actually quite handy in the kitchen.”

Liliana’s eyes glanced at the mountain of soap suds threatening to spill over the sink’s edge and the three lonely teacups inside.

A smirk pulled at the corner of her beak. “If you are as passionate about seasoning as you are about washing, you’ll fit right in. Have you ever made sancocho de gallina before?

Drake shook his head.

“Well, you’re welcome in advance. You can start by peeling those potatoes on that counter.”

The two worked back to back in the small kitchen. Drake focused on making the cleanest, thinnest peels on his potato and not on what conversation might be happening on the back porch, or the potential emotional devastation Gosalyn might be going through at this very moment.

“That Gosalyn,” Liliana’s voice cut into his thoughts, “she has a bright inner light. You must be very proud of your daughter.”

The blade of the knife narrowly missed his finger tip.

“Oh she’s not-i’m not her- i’m-i’m just- I’m her guardian,” he stammered at too high a volume.

Liliana looked him up and down and Drake found himself wishing he was wearing his Darkwind suit. The suit is by no means infallible. He’s dragged himself home with the bruises to prove it, but at this moment, the mask and wide brimmed hat would feel like a form of armor, and there’s something disarming about Liliana’s line of sight.

“I see,” Liliana said. It was brief. Bare, but not unkind. Sympathetic but not assuming. “Her parents?”

That was a more complicated answer than Drake knew how to explain.

“She was raised by her grandpa,” he said after a pause. “She lost him a few months ago,” grateful he had found a way not to lie. He worried that even if he tried, Liliana would see right through it.

“Dr. Waddlemeyer he... he was there for her. He means a great deal to her.”

Liliana nodded sympathetically. “That’s a rough start for someone so young. But I’m not surprised to hear Thaddeaus took her under his wing. That sounds like him. He was the same way with me.”

She smiled her gentle, wry, half-smile.

“I came to this country as a student, alone. My family, my mother and grandmother, my entire world left behind in Colombeaka. I think Thaddeaus saw the same loneliness in me that he recognized in his wife. The other Dr. Waddlemeyer, rest her soul, had been an immigrant too. She arrived as a teenager from Cuckooba. Thaddeaus was kind. He helped me with all the science classes I didn’t understand, which - as an art student- was all of them. But he did more than that, he helped me navigate graduation credits, attended my art shows, introduced me to his son, and after that, well, the rest was history.”

She smiled, but it was a sad smile.

“He...he sounds like a wonderful man.” Drake paused. His eyes drifted in the direction of where he had left Gosalyn, behind closed doors.

“Your family in Colombeaka, are you still in contact with them?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “They died before I could send for them.”

Eyes still closed, she took a deep steadying breath. Then a second.

The silence that passed between them lasted only a moment but in the stillness of the air, he could sense the lightest tremble in her inhale, the barest ghost of a shudder in her exhale.

When she opened her eyes again, you never would have guessed it had been there at all. But Drake had seen it. He had seen the way she pulled back her shoulders and straightened her spine, as if readjusting an invisible load.

She was a woman carrying an unfathomable burden of grief. And yet, she refused to waiver to the weight of it.

“I-” a condolence began to form on his beak.

“No, no, none of that,” she cut him off raising a hand. “No more of that. Yes, I have lost, I have grieved. I have received enough sympathies and condolences for a lifetime. And enough of those pesky senior care center marketers offering to put my father-in-law in a home to ‘alleviate one more concern’,” she shook her head angrily at the thought.

“Having him here is a blessing.” She said firmly. “He is not a burden, he is my family. I...thank you for your concern, but I am okay. I will be okay. I thought I was alone. Again. But then...a miracle. He’s all the family I have left in the world. Caring for him is my honor and my privilege. ”

Tell her. The thought blurted itself across his mind.

But tell her what? That in another life she had a daughter, only for that to be taken from her too? Gosalyn hadn’t given him details, just that there had been an accident that took both her parents, when she was still too young to remember. What kind of comfort would that bring Liliana, to know that in a parallel universe she had the family she wanted, only for her and her husband to die, leaving their child orphaned?

And even if Liliana did believe him, what then? He and Gosalyn couldn’t stay in this dimension for more than a few hours. Would it really be a kindness to tell Liliana she still had family, only to tear it away from her? Hadn’t the woman already suffered enough loss? But then again, who was Drake to keep it from her? Who was he to make that decision?

The realization was like flipping a switch in his mind.

Of course.

It wasn’t his decision to make. It was Gosalyn’s.

So instead he nodded solemnly and said, “I can’t imagine the strength it takes.”

She smiled. A soft, wistful thing, “I am my mother’s daughter. We are made of the same clay.”

She said it quietly, almost a whisper, with a far away look in her eyes.

“Pardon?”

She looked back to him, as if she had forgotten he was there for a moment. She smiled, her wry, half-smile. Holding her head high she asked, “What more can I do but go forward?”

They continued to cook together, Drake following her instruction, as they diced vegetables.

They made light conversation, it took only a few minutes for her to move conversation towards Gosalyn.

“Tell me more about your- about Gosalyn. How long have you been her guardian?”

“6 months. Since she lost her grandpa.”

Liliana nodded sympathetically as she sliced the vegetables on the cutting board in front of her.

“That’s still early in her grief. But, I am glad she has someone who cares for her. You’re very protective of her. The way you watch her...you let her move through the world on her own accord, but you have a tendency to follow close behind, as if preparing to jump to her side at any given moment.”

Drake looked towards Liliana, freezing his chopping mid air. He didn’t know what expression he wore but Liliana must have read something because a moment later she was saying

“Ah, I apologize if I am too forward. It was just an observation. I have been told all my life that I speak my mind freely.”

“Gosalyn’s like that too,” Drake murmured, hoping awe wasn’t seeping into his voice.

Liliana smiled brightly, “Tell me more.”

“She’s...she’s the bravest kid I know. Smart, strong-willed, driven, headstrong. Geez, is that kid headstrong. There’s no stopping her once she’s made up her mind...and brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

“All strong qualities of a young girl. Seeds that should be watered, wouldn’t you agree?” She looked at him with a half smile and raised eyebrow that struck him as familiar.

All of sudden, Drake felt as though he had just shown up in his boxer shorts to a test he hadn’t studied for.”

“Y-yes. Absolutely.”

Liliana smiled fully. “Hand me that jar over there, I’ll show you the secret to perfectly seasoning the chicken.”

#ducktales #darkwing duck #dt17 #hare brain writes #cw referenced transphobia #part 2 in link #this post is too long for tumblr

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

Text

Apparently I never shared this here?? Some more Soulmate AU because fuck if it isn’t cute

For a Saturday morning, Steve is awake surprisingly early.

When his alarm rings at 8am, he shoots up and has exactly ten minutes to become clear headed after too little sleep, maybe 4 hours or so; it's so hard to fall asleep when his skin tingles.

Feet stumble over yesterdays outfit, as he rushes into his bathroom to turn on the shower, drowsy movement guided by a groggy head from lack of sleep, but it's worth it all when he catches himself in the mirror.

“What song best represents you?” Steve had written on his bicep, and the response was-

“Rock you like a hurricane ;)” Which... isn't a surprise. “You?”

“Don't you forget about me”

He still feels a slight blush creep up when he sees what Billy's response had been. “I won't.”

“Show me your moles again” Billy had requested, written across his ribs.

And Steve had taken his time with that; circled every single one he could reach from the comforts of his bed. Up and down his arms, his chest, that he shaves for this exact reason, abdomen, shins... thighs... hips... down where he trims his pubic hair, body oddly... excited to reveal certain locations, and his heart races as he re-reads, in impressive cursive-

“Oh ;)” down between his legs.

He catches himself grinning like a fool in the mirror.

Then looks at his left hand, words on his wrist-

“Take my hand”

The circle in the middle of his palm has faded a bit, probably worn off by Billy as he had gone about his day-to-day in Australia, while Steve had slept in America.

And he reaches for the ballpoint pen on the sink – a tactic he was quick to learn, is to always have something to write with in every room of the house, rather than just carry one pen with him everywhere and occasionally lose it – then retraces the circle in his palm, now fresh and clear blue.

It takes less than 10 seconds before he feels pressure in the same form again, as Billy draws on top of the circle in his own palm.

Next there's a gentle and familiar tickling across his naked hip-

“Good morning princess” and a little crown scribbled above the i.

Steve is so, so tempted to draw out a heart, to just make that tiny little shape down there, but the both of them understand what a heart so low means. So he simply signs off with a singular dot, to show “message received.”

And in the shower he does his best to wash away old messages and song lyrics; to clean up the canvas for today's fresh pen strokes. His skin is itching to be touched and used again already, ready to be marked up everywhere the two of them can reach.

When the clock says 08:09am he's out of the shower and drying his hair – never before has he washed up so quickly, but for good reason, because barely does the clock switch to 08:10am, when the phone on his bedside table rings.

“Harrington residence, this is Steve,” he says all courteous and well mannered, but who else would it be other than-

“Hey pretty boy,” Billy drawls out.

A smile grows immediately. Steve leans against the table and smooths his hair back from where it lies limply against his forehead. “Hi.”

“You busy?”

Steve hums in feigned contemplation and looks around his room, only slightly messy. “I guess I can take a break from my busy morning for you.”

The way Billy chuckles deep in the receiver urges forth goosebumps down Steve's bare arms.

“Want me to put on some music?” Steve asks per the usual.

Since he lives alone and hates the silence of such an empty home, he listens to music near constantly, and it eventually became a bit of a thing between them, to always have something running in the background.

“Yeah, play the song you mentioned earlier.”

The song he had said “represented him best”, although having thought more about it, there are several songs that could describe him and his life, Tainted Love, Sweet Dreams are made of this, Don't you want me. Plenty of songs put in to words how utterly lonely and starved for attention he truly is, but Don't you forget about me had been the subtlest choice in a constant struggle to not come off as clingy.

“Ok, hold on!” the tone he had intended was soft, but it jumped right into eager before the words had even left his tongue.

Swiftly with practiced hands, he slips out the vinyl from its sleeve, lifts up the plastic cover for the turntable, and places the stylus in the grooves of the LP. The music is low and Jim Kerr's voice fills the room.

Steve dances; pumps his shoulders to the beat and spins his way back to the bed, then lands with a poomf next to the phone receiver he had thrown onto his covers.

“Is it too loud?” he asks with closed eyes as he listens to the song.

“No it's good,” Billy says with a clear smile to his tone. “And the song isn't that bad.”

Saying that they have vastly different tastes in music would be a severe understatement. Sure, a few of the records that Steve has lying around his house is technically from rock bands- Van Halen, Inxs, even Simple Minds is rock, but not the right type of rock according to Billy. It's pop rock, it doesn't count.

“Sleep well, princess?”

Steve feels his lips twitch further up at that stupid name that started out as a tease years ago when Steve had been crying about not getting his way with his rich parents, but now it was something dear.

“Mmh yeah,” he mumbles out and leans into the phone. “Didn't get much sleep though.”

“Hey you can't blame that on me, I was at work all day,” Billy laughs, “You're the one that started it all... couldn't stop thinking about you after you fell asleep.”

“And now I'm awake and you're going to bed,” Steve whines only a bit.

“Yeah... time zones suck.”

There's a short silence, as the chorus plays-

Don't you, forget about me

Don't, don't, don't, don't

Don't you, forget about me

“Tell me about your day.” He crawls further up the bed till he meets with his pillows, and takes the pen from his bedside table.

“Same shit as every other Saturday really, spent all day at work getting distracted.”

The insinuation in his tone makes Steve laugh.

“My co-workers really tease me about it sometimes, they noticed all the circles on my skin and asked about it.”

“And what did you say?”

“The truth; that my soulmate was marking all her moles...” It's clear in his voice that Billy stopped smiling. “I'm sorry that I haven't told them that you're a-”

“A guy?” Steve interrupts, his own mood slightly sour, but he gets it; he can't blame Billy for the way the world works. “Billy...” he speaks softly, “I don't want you to feel bad about not telling anyone that I'm Steve and not Stacy. I've only told one person here the whole truth.”

“Robin, right?”

“Yeah, from history.” He pops off the cap on the ballpoint pen, and sits up to start drawing little flowers up on his thigh.

“Hmm...” Billy hums as he has probably noticed. “How's it going with her and Heather?”

“Pretty good; Robin's become an oddly proficient swimmer suddenly.” And Steve chuckles, “I'm kinda feeling neglected though. My best friend is spending more time with her girlfriend than me!”

“Well...” Billy's voice suddenly so warm and sweet like honey, as he says, “What can you do when you're in love.”

And Steve's heart beats an extra few times upon hearing Billy say that word. Love. Yeah, what can you do...

“Anyway,” Billy says as there's no response from Steve. “There is this one guy at work, uhh, think his name is Julien? Julian? Julius? Something with a J, it doesn't matter. I think he might be gay, too.”

Steve perks up a brow with a sly smirk. “Oh? And how do you know that?”

“I dunno,” his response a slight mumble, “He just... gives off a vibe?”

And the other brow goes up. “A vibe?”

“Yeah! Like!” frustration apparent at the fact that Steve doesn't just get what he's saying. “You know... all... well groomed?”

Steve chortles loud enough for it to drown out the music through the phone. “Ok, go on.”

“His hair is just always so nice, face clean shaven and skin always so clear...”

“Oh you must have gotten pretty close to notice all of that,” Steve is still bubbling with leftover laughter.

“Steve...” but Billy sounds so worried. “You know I wouldn't-”

“I haven't asked you not to,” Steve interrupts and looks up into the air, as if he could catch Billy's eyes and give him a reassuring look. He can feel that they're all so suddenly on the brink of a rather important discussion that they've already had.

“I know! I know...” Billy sighs. “I just want you to know that I haven't... been with anyone ever since you and I started...”

Getting serious? Are they serious? With an ocean between them, can they be...

“Yeah, me neither...” Steve's heart thumps as his mind starts spewing out ideas of what it would be like... to be with Billy. “But you can. If you want to. You don't need my permission, Billy.”

“Yeah you've said that already, and the same goes to you, too, of course.”

“I know...”

But there's a clear air of assumption between them, despite the thousands of miles. Assumption, expectation, hope that there's a chance...

The song repeats again.

Won't you, come see about me

I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby

Yet the two of them don't say a word. Just listens to the song, together. The type of silence between them that can only be achieved with someone you're so comfortable with. When Steve feels Billy draw in his hand, and looks to see a heart in his palm. A little, shy heart.

And he can't help but smile warmly; feels his cheeks heat up with unspoken feelings- the kind that just came naturally over the last 7 years, and that he wishes to cherish forever.

He draws a heart around Billy's, just slightly bigger, surrounding it, like an embrace.

“Getting tired yet?”

“Yeah,” Billy sighs, sleepy and exhausted. “I always feel so drained during winter. It's so cold and dark... I miss being a lifeguard, but no one wants to go to the beach in this shitty weather. And I use my body in a different way as a mechanic, and I have to deal with customers and co-workers...” he complains about it a lot, but Steve knows that Billy loves getting to spend all day getting dirty and fiddling with cars.

Once talked about opening his own shop somewhere. Says he hasn't quite decided where to do so yet.

Assumption, expectation, hope...

“Should we hang up?”

“Mmmh, no, let me just hear the song a few more times,” is his reasoning, but they both know that that's not why.

They always struggle with hanging up, which is why they don't do this as much as they want to- other than it being expensive of course. Despite their souls being connected and bodies bonded this way, being on either end of the phone line is when they truly exist together. Even in silence, just knowing the other is there too keeps the world away.

“Want me to trace my hand?” Steve whispers softly, his voice a sweet little thing, only for Billy's ears.

“That'd be nice, yeah.”

And oh how he wishes he could see Billy now; eyes closed, a warm and dopey smile, tan body naked under the sheets. There's nothing he wants more in life, than to fall asleep with his muscular arms wrapped around himself, to share body heat, to share their breaths.

But for now, he can settle with drawing the pen along the lines in his palm; creating an endless pattern that Billy describes as feeling like you're running your finger over my skin.

The closest thing to caressing his soulmate that he can get. For now. And the last thing he hears from Billy's end, is him humming with pleasure of the gentle touch.

#Harringrove #My Writing #Soulmate AU #Fluffy fluff fluff #Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #working on another part

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bluebandana · 4 years

Text

The LP Show: Act 1- Summary

here’s a basic summary of The LP show livestream plus after show!!!!! my wifi kept cutting out so let me know if there’s anything i left out or need to correct!

main stream

we started with an intro then took a 2 minute break and then he came back!!!

he’s in a little room with a sound machine playing crowd sounds!!!!!

song 1: strip that down

song 2: bedroom floor

he forgot about the crowd sound machine and went back for it

newyorklarry asked a question: “what do you love about america” and he said the food, the venues, and the fans!!!!!!

song 3: live forever

question “who is your celebrity crush” he said tom hardy!!!!

he sang the username watermelonlover to the tune of watermelon sugar and then said he loves that song!!!!!!!

song 4: tell your friends

song 5: home with you

question from imgonnaeggyourhousetomlinson “where are you gonna go first when you travel again” and he said LA!!!!

he named off a bunch of countries that people were watching from but my stream cut out in the middle of it :(

talking about his youtube videos!!!!!

he started pulling up photos to talk about

first is from the strip that down shoot with quavo

second is him and rita ora performing for you

third is a pic of him in an outfit he said he didn’t like and asked for disappointing sound effects dfghjkhgfds

fourth is him performing on a balcony that he said was scary but cool

fifth is a picture of him that he said he did not like

sixth is a picture of him naked???

seventh is him and louis on stage!!!!

eighth is a pic with a dog

ninth is the picture with the koala bear from like 2012!!! and he talked about the article about how he and niall got STIs from the koalas which he said was super funny

tenth is a picture of him at the homeless shelter

eleventh is him in a side by side with a baby pic of him!!

talked about creating the show!!!! and gave us a tour of the room!!!

song 6: for you

song 7: little things

with the intro “we always have a 1d moment in the show”

song 8: midnight

he stopped the song bc he missed when he was supposed to start and yelled cut before he realized you can’t cut so then he started over

song 9: familiar

he said “thank you for watching!!!” then took us into another room and then he pretended to wait and then came back for an encore!!!!

song 10: polaroid

took a 3 minute break then went backstage for the after show

(i know some of this was on instagram live but i’m not sure how much)

went to a zoom where we talked to some people who were there the whole time and they were super cute but hard to hear :((((((

we said they’re gonna try and do another act soon in possibly other small venues to give them business and said there are gonna be 10-15 shows!!!

question “what’s your favorite song to perform” polaroid

“have you been cooking a lot?” he said kind of

“favorite Mexican food” fajitas

sang happy birthday to a fan for a second!!

he read someone’s comment about having one of the pictures they showed in their room

talked about the cookie song

“favorite thing about Australia?” surfing

he got asked about writing songs and said he “writes songs in the car because he likes the moving from the outside world for inspiration”

talked about his quarantine hair!!!!!!!! now he knows people like it because it’s super cute!!!!!

said he talks fast when he gets off stage and doesn’t even realize how worked up he is 🥺🥺

got asked what the weirdest dream he ever had is and he said “being naked in a few weird places which has also happened in real life”

favorite solo song and he said “adore” and then a fan correct him and he realized it’s called adore you and then said he’s an old man :(((

question: “favorite marvel character” thor

favorite 1d song to perform girl almighty (explain the lyrics liam)

asked people to help design merch because he said everyone has such cool ideas!!!!

said youngblood was his fav 5sos song and sang a bit

talked about songwriting a little more

talked about working with the trussel trust!!!! donate if you can!!!!!

talked about trying to go to new places!!! especially the ones that one direction never even went to

“do you love midnight or live forever more” midnight

“do you will still draw?” he says he gets hooked on something for a few weeks and then forgets about it later but he hasn’t drawn in a while

he sees everyone’s amazing drawings on social media and he saved a drawing to send to louis!!!!!!

“act my age is niall’s 1d song; what is your 1d song???” alive especially if you really listen to the lyrics 🥺🥺

talked about being put in the band

said right before they were put together he and niall were on the way to the train station

MENTIONED THE ANNIVERSARY

“fav pizza topping” pepperoni

walked around talking to everyone else for a while but it was hard to hear what they were saying over the music

said he’s gonna sing more songs from lp1 and covers and try new things in future shows!!!

talked about liking bacon and pancakes!!!

showed fans that made tshirts for the show!! and a bunch of others who tweeted pics!!!!

said once in a lifetime is one of his favorite 1d songs and he wants to perform it!!!

#the lp show #the lp show act 1 #lmk if i need to change anything!!!!!!!!!#liam payne #mine #thelpshow

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hyperpsychomaniac · 3 years

Text

The Other Side of Me - Chapter 1

Darkwing Duck Fanfiction (90s Series)

The Negaverse Launchpad arrives in Saint Canard and announces his intention to take down Darkwing Duck in preparation for Negaduck’s arrival. Darkwing refuses to take the threat seriously, so Launchpad decides to take on his stronger, crazier, and downright dangerous counterpart himself.

***

“I’m not sure about this one, boss. I’ll do whatever you tell me. But that portal looks… dangerous.”

“Aw, don’t tell me the big bad Launchpad is going to be a pussy about a harmless little portal?”

“I’m no pussy!”

“Then get your butt down there!” Negaduck slammed a fist into the big brute’s shoulder.

Launchpad did not so much as flinch. A frown creased his stubbled beak as he stared into the portal that swirled about their feet.

Sometimes it took a few seconds for his orders to sink through that beefy skull. Negaduck was not keen on waiting for his minion’s neurons to fire. But this would be easier if his guinea pig was cooperative. “Listen, LP,” said Negaduck as he stretched an arm around his companion’s broad shoulders, “I need someone over in that other Saint Canard I can trust. A scout to take care of Darkwing Duck and pave the way for my glorious reign.”

A grin slowly spread across that big, dumb face. “Yeah, I can do that boss.”

“Then listen carefully. And I’ll try and keep it simple, stupid. Everything over there is the opposite. There’s an alternate you over there too. If those nerds at the university rigged this thing up properly, this portal will dump you out within a mile of him. If everything goes to plan, I’ll have access to Darkwing’s world again.”

“Hey, wait. Is this one of those things where you want me to replace my double? I’m a heavy, man. You need to use me to smash some skulls!” Launchpad pounded a fist into his open palm.

Negaduck snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding me. You’d need a shave. And to learn some table manners. No, smash in as many skulls as you see fit. Take out some of Darkwing’s allies. Find out where his lair is. I don’t care. I’m giving you your head… if you know what to do with it.”

“Huh?”

Negaduck grabbed Launchpad by the collar and dragged him down so they were beak to beak. “I’m tired of your screw ups and having to explain everything half a dozen times. You get over there, and you prove to me you’re worth keeping around. Got it, big guy?”

Launchpad glared back at him, but Negaduck did not miss the other man’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulped. “Got it, boss.” He squared his shoulders and moved back over to the portal.

Negaduck grinned. He didn’t care what Launchpad did once, and if, he arrived in Darkwing’s Saint Canard. He needed this idiot for one thing and one thing only.

“Still looks a little rough down there.” Launchpad grumbled as he craned his neck out over the edge. “But maybe it’s not really so dangerous.”

“Only one way to find out.” Negaduck put a foot square into Launchpad’s backside. The big brute pinwheeled his arms and then toppled into the maelstrom.

Which immediately exploded into a green black geyser that splattered and hissed across the ceiling.

Negaduck dropped to the floor and pulled his hat down over his eyes. The air heated to a barely tolerable level. A rush of wind whipped and howled past him. Then with a crash and a whoosh the gale turned back on itself and rushed back towards the portal. A chair skittered across the floor beside him, caught in the vacuum.

Then the portal shut down with a very final sounding whoomph.

Negaduck cautiously peeked out from under his hat. The ceiling had been blasted black, as had the floor. The chair sat where the portal had been, blackened, and cleaved clean in two. The smell of burnt wood and feathers lingered in the air.

Negaduck whistled through his teeth as he stood to his feet. “Oh yeah, that duck is D.E.A-dead.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at his failed experiment. Then he shrugged. “Guess it’s back to the drawing board.”

***

Launchpad dusted dying embers from the feathers on his forearms and hauled himself to his feet. The world tilted. “Stop it!” he demanded with a slur. The portal ride had been hectic, like being inside a green and black tumble dryer that was doing its best to catch on fire. But he wasn’t going to moan about it. He’d walk it off.

Sure enough, the world settled around him. The cracked bitumen at his feet was littered with garbage. Dingy, spray-painted walls hemmed him in. For a moment, Launchpad thought the alley he found himself in was back in the Negaverse. But the sky above was a bright, clear blue, and the sound of birdsong reached him. The alleyway opened to a parking lot. Across the road was a park, which was actually green. There were children playing, and giggling. Launchpad repressed a shudder. “Yuck. What a hell hole.”

And then an eerily familiar voice reached his ears. “Okay, so we need to get eggs, milk, de… er, or is that an o? I have got to stop Drake writing on my shopping list.”

Next to a garish blue sedan stood… Launchpad.

Launchpad blinked and rubbed at his eyes. “What the heck is he even wearing.”

His double scratched at the aviator’s cap perched on his head, then shrugged. “Hey, if I make soup, he’s not going to know what’s in it anyway.” Then, belting out a whistling tune that made Launchpad cringe, he strolled into the grocery store.

Launchpad rolled his shoulders. “Alright, then. Well, he is supposed to be Darkwing’s sidekick. Maybe this whole thing is just a cover. And I can’t fail Negaduck again…” Launchpad bit his lip. But no. Negaduck would not follow him in a hurry. He had most certainly pushed him through to check the safety of the portal. That ride had been anything but safe, and Negaduck was too much of a coward to come through right away until he was sure it was.

Which meant he had some time up his sleeve. “Guess I’ve got some work to do, but…” Launchpad rubbed his hands together as his gaze narrowed on the blue sedan. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun whilst I’m at it.”

***

Launchpad searched the aisles of the grocery store for what he’d eventually determined was ‘deodorant.’ He snatched a spray can off a shelf and grinned in triumph. “Got ya. But you are definitely not going in the soup. Heheh.”

Crime had taken a bit of a dip the last half of the week. It meant he could get on top of the groceries. Maybe get some meals into the freezer. When there were two men who spent half the night tearing around Saint Canard chasing baddies, and one growing kid who could consume an entire stack of pancakes and then ask if she was going to get bacon and eggs with that, in the house, it paid to have something stashed that was easy to make and better than toast. Launchpad’s freezer meals always seemed to last forever. Although, sometimes Launchpad thought that was because DW preferred the toast.

He ended up getting a bit more food than he had originally intended. “Are you sure you can carry all of those?” the register attendant asked him.

“No problemo.” Launchpad hefted the two overstuffed grocery bags to his chest. He grinned out through a bunch of celery leaves and winked.

The attendant slowly raised her eyebrow. “Have a good day, sir.”

Launchpad weaved his way across the parking lot. Lifting the haul was the easy part. But the grocery bags were so overstuffed he could barely see where he was going. “Not the first time I’ve been flying blind.” Every time he caught sight of the blue sedan through the celery, he course corrected.

“Ow!” Launchpad grumbled as his shin collected the tail gate. “There she is.” He had to boot the car twice before his foot found the tail gate catch, and then he dumped the groceries in back.

He threw himself into the driver’s seat, tore into reverse, then scraped the undercarriage on the gutter out of the parking lot. Someone honked. “Sorry, I got to get home to make soup!”

Launchpad tapped the steering wheel, hummed to himself, and glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Huh? I thought I shaved this morning. Wait…”

Launchpad spluttered as his scarf tightened about his throat. Warm breath blew down his neck. “Keep driving. And no funny business.”

“Air…” His scarf loosened just a little.

“Take us off the highway.” There was something familiar about that voice. “Pull into a sidestreet.”

Yeah. Right. Launchpad pulled into a slip lane off the highway as he’d been instructed. “So, you wearing a seatbelt?”

“I don’t need no pussy seatbelt…”

As the slip lane dipped down, Launchpad gunned it. The incline was just enough to get a bit of power out of the four-cylinder engine. His assailant yelped, and there was a heavy thud as his he slammed into the roof.

Launchpad gagged as his air cut off completely. He struggled, one hand wresting the steering wheel back and forth to keep them on course, the other grappling with the material now looped tightly about his throat. He slammed on the brakes. He had previously determined the trajectory of any loose items in the sedan on more than one occasion. He ducked. Tins and bottles took flight. Some thudded into the man in the back, eliciting more grunts and curses. The rest bounced harmlessly off the windshield.

Launchpad got out and, teeth gritted, hauled the man in his rear seat out by the collar. “Next time pick on someone your own size!”

The guy slammed balled up fists on Launchpad’s arms and broke his grip. “That was the idea.”

Launchpad took a step back and put up his guard. Both men froze, facing each other in a fighting stance.

Launchpad’s fists loosened. “You… You look just like me…”

“What the hell was that?” His mirror image barked. “You trying to kill us both?”

“Mom and Dad never said anything about me having a twin.”

The man that looked like him straightened his disheveled jacket collar with a quick tug. “Okay. That was actually a half decent move. Maybe you’re not as domesticated as I first thought.”

“Who are you?” Launchpad demanded.

“Is that stupid cap cutting off circulation to your brain? I’m you, genius.”

The gears in Launchpad’s head grated over. “The Negaverse. DW told me… you work for Negaduck.”

“There you go. Heh. Guess I’m not as stupid as everyone keeps telling me.”

“What are you doing in Saint Canard? I mean, our Saint Canard.”

The other Launchpad flicked a celery leaf from his shoulder. “Not the groceries.”

“Okay, okay… I’m talking to another me. Perfectly normal. So, you work for Negaduck. But that doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy, right? I mean, you’re me… Heheh.” Launchpad tugged at his scarf.

His double dragged him towards him, so they were pressed beak to beak. “Why are you giggling?”

“I am very uncomfortable right now.”

Launchpad released him with a snort. “Great. That’s his bloody laugh. I’m glad we’re supposed to be opposites. But you listen up, pal. You’re going to be more than uncomfortable when Negaduck gets here.”

“Negaduck’s back?” Talking to himself was weird as. But he had to pull it together and focus. Launchpad jabbed a finger into his double’s chest. “I’m not going to let him hurt DW!”

Launchpad grinned. “There’s the guy who nearly sent me through his windshield. Relax, Negaduck isn’t here. Yet. He sent me, his top man, through ahead of him. So, you’re not going to have to worry about him hurting your ‘DW’. Because by the time he gets here, this Launchpad will have put Darkwing Duck at the bottom of Audubon Bay.”

Launchpad threw a punch.

His double shielded his chin with broad forearms, then clapped Launchpad in the side of the head with a right hook that sent him sprawling across the bonnet of the sedan. “Negaduck will be awhile,” he said, as he backed away. “So, in the meantime we’re going to play a little game. I’m coming for Darkwing Duck. Let’s see if his sidekick who I’ve heard so much about can stop me.”

Launchpad hauled himself upright, hands balled into first. But his head still spun. By the time the world settled enough he could stand without toppling over, the doppelganger had disappeared.

“Launchpad!” It would’ve been amusing, screaming his own name. Had his heart not been hammering in his chest. His double had gone. But he had been no figment of his imagination. “I’ve got to warn DW.”

Tins and bottles clattered across the pavement as Launchpad dove back into the sedan and raced towards home.

***

Authors note: So that’s the first chapter. I’ve been (re)watching Darkwing Duck on Disney Plus. Forgot how good it was. And so, now I’m writing fanfiction. This is set somewhere just after that episode where Darkwing goes to the Negaverse (Life, the Negaverse, and Everything). Basically I just wanted to get the two Launchpad’s together in the same universe and see what happens.

I’ve already started posting this on fanfiction.net, but wasn’t seeing much action over there. But seeing as I’m booting back up the tumblr, its coming over here now. I’ll post the other chapters soon.

Read chapter 2

#darkwing #darkwing duck #launchpad mcquack #negaverse #launchpad #negaduck #fanfic #fanfiction #darkwing fanfic #darkwing fanfiction #nega launchpad

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legemjohn · 3 years

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an introduction.

by now the "vinyl resurgence" has been so talked about, so reported on, so lived in that even kids know about it. you can easily catch children barely old enough to drive flexing a collection deep enough to make a lifelong aficionado envious, or a few choice cuts that are worth enough second hand to pay off someone's student loans. this isn't anything new anymore, it simply is. but for me, growing up, i didn't know what the hell "vinyl" was. my first experience with it was crawling around the floor in the family room of my childhood home, pulling back a door on our TV stand, and finding a short row of tall, colorful spines hidden behind a bag of playstation controllers. the pigments were faded, the text eaten up by missing pieces of print, the corners dented... they looked neglected, almost like antiques. i carefully grabbed one and pulled it out from the back of the cabinet, holding it in front of my face and trying to figure out what the hell it was. the picture on the front, while desaturated from years of dusty living, held a bright and warm color scheme that grabbed my eye immediately. hues of red and purple blended together on top of a large drawing of what kinda looked like bird wings, kinda looked like a flower in full bloom. a marble in the middle held a bob ross lookalike landscape inside, almost like a snowglobe. across it all was a single word in blue: "journey". "wait, journey? ugh, i hate journey." in my house, the only music that ever played was journey adjacent. any soon to be "classic rock" hair metal and blues rock bands you can think of, the more stereotypical the better, were the norm. journey, bon jovi, aerosmith... these were what i exclusively heard growing up. before i heard anything else, i enjoyed the music enough, but at this point, i had already had a borderline religious experience listening to "hybrid theory" by linkin park for the first time and realized what i had been missing out on. those aforementioned bands, with their flaccid riffs and sing along choruses just didn't hit anymore. regardless, my initial confusion wasn't quite solved. so, this has to do with the band journey, but what was this? i turned it over to see a list of songs on the back. i didn't really recognize any except for "wheel in the sky", a track that would often play from the speakers on top of the tv stand i was curled under. did this thing have music on it? i flipped it back around and felt one side of it gently open. looking inside, i was taken aback by how bad it smelled. it reminded me of my grandparent's basement, especially the corner of it filled with bins of old picture books that probably had seen more mold than air in recent years. the symptoms of neglect began to pile up. despite the less than stellar sensory experience at hand, i reached inside and grabbed hold of what felt like a thin plate. pulling it out softly, i found myself holding a flat, black disc. looking at the label, the deeply etched grooves, the rainbow pattern that would faintly shoot across the surface just in the right light, it dawned on me... i had seen these before! it wasn't rock music that introduced me to vinyl, but hip-hop... albeit, somewhat subliminally. countless music videos, photo shoots, album covers all featured these flat, black discs... either spinning endlessly or being pushed, flipped, and altogether manhandled by DJs. i didn't know what DJs did, but i at least knew that if someone was behind a machine with these discs on them, they were a DJ. eventually, my mother walked in and tersely told me to put the item back. i obliged and didn't think much of it for the immediate future. but as i got older and my passion for music grew insatiable, what i now knew as "records" or "LPs" became a curiosity i just couldn't ignore. my deep love of hip-hop led me to learn the history of house parties and sampling, educating me not only on LPs as a medium but as a tool. artists like trent reznor would speak endlessly about their experiences at record stores, how a single copy of pink floyd's "the wall" changed their life

beyond just the music in the grooves. i was entranced and i wanted in. meekly, i asked my mother if i could have some of the records sitting in the cabinet, maybe even just the duplicates. she flat out rejected the idea, to my dismay. i didn't even know how i could get a hold of these! i didn't have a credit card, so ebay was out of the question, plus i didn't have any record stores near me. but, i knew i could eventually find one if i looked online hard enough. for what i believe was my 12th or 13th birthday, i spent all my collected present money on a mail order shopping spree. i dropped something like $50 on CDs and 2 records from chicago's reckless records, to the confusion of my parents. while my love of music was growing in a way they couldn't ignore (despite them not even knowing yet i had been releasing music online already), any holiday money i would collect almost immediately got dropped off at a gamestop (or eb games when they were still around... or a babbages when they were still around) and exchanged for the newest tony hawk or gran turismo game. but no, not this time. this time, i was cashing out on music. so, when the package finally arrived and i excitedly had my mother open it, euphoria rushed in at lightning speed when i saw a black square inside, the same dimensions as that "journey" record all those years ago. sure, it was a cheap and somewhat scratched copy of a "the hand that feeds" remix 12" from nine inch nails (and a 45 copy of the "somewhere i belong" single from linkin park below), but it was my cheap and somewhat scratched copy. i didn't even have a record player, but i had finally did it... i bought my very own record. over 10 years, numerous moves, one massive sell off, and a half-decade tenure at a record store later, i currently have a record collection of over 500 pieces. i spent years and years endlessly curating and collecting LPs from all across the world, of any and all genres, and in all manner of conditions. and now i'm selling them. see, now we arrive at the point. (sorry for making you wait so long.) after all this time, i've made the decision to sell the vast majority of the collection i've basically spent a lifetime putting together. it wasn't an easy decision to make, as the idea bounced around in my head for years before i finally succumbed to the necessity of it, but this blog will be my way of giving the history i've been so lucky to collect over the years a proper, respectful send off. so here we go. over the next however long, i will be melodramatically and probably infrequently giving chunks of my collection one final rotation on my turntable, making my peace and saying my goodbyes to a part of my life that's come to define my relationship with my deepest passion: music. i'll reflect and share any stories or thoughts here as i go through, and hopefully someone other than myself will find some joy, entertainment, or even connection in these words. let's begin.

#vinylcollection #vinylrecords #vinylcommunity #records #lps #music #tumblog #writing #nonfiction #personal #nine inch nails

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colde0channel · 3 years

Photo

201029 HONNO - EYESMAG Interview: ‘Wavy’s Graphic Designer (Visual Director); Honno Interview’

Q. The recent recruitment of artists from the label ‘Wavy’ which is led by Colde, has further revealed Honno as a well-known figure to many. It’s quite uncommon for a Graphic Designer’s name (that’s not a musician) to be added into the lineup.

H: I have been working with Colde since 2016, which was way before the label ‘Wavy’ was even established. Our first work together was the album cover design for Colde and Crush’s single album ‘Your Dog Loves You’ (2018). During that time, Colde expressed his opinion on wanting to create a label that could kind of serve not just as a ‘Music entertainment’ but also as an ‘Artist’ agency label. Colde asked me if he could recruit myself and I said ‘yes’ without any hesitation. So far we’ve continued to work together since then. Before I was announced to join Wavy, I was already Wavy’s visual director. As of recently, we wrapped up everything we needed to and made the announcement.

Q. So you were an unofficial Wavy member?

H: That’s right, we’ve (Colde and me) known each other for the past 4 - 5 years when I wasn’t a Wavy employee yet. But I’m now part of the company.

t/n: Colde and Honno were also in the same company before as well which was HIGHGRND.

Q. You mentioned that you are the visual director of Wavy. What type of work did you do?

H: I have been working on the album covers, physical album(s), teaser images, LP designs for the label’s musicians, and I’m still in charge of it now. But of course, it is not a must to work with me every time. Depending on the type of work, if there’s another designer who fits the concept or colour choices better than I can, then I recommend that designer to them. I also designed the current Wavy logo and the merchandise goods. We (Wavy) did not make the clothes ourselves but I worked on the graphics that are printed on clothes and other merch products.

Q. It seems pretty evident that many of the album covers you’ve previously designed, resembles the musicians style. Perhaps, would you say those designs are a result of immense research on musicians and albums, or rather is it a projection of Honno’s design style. And what kind of style direction is it?

I believe that both directions harmonized together very well. For example, pastel-toned soft colours are often used in paintings. In fact, pink is my favourite colour which is evident in Colde’s [Love Part 1] album cover. I would say it’s one of my most memorable work, yet took the longest to design. If you look at the album cover, there’s a big heart (in the middle) but frankly enough I didn’t think like ‘I’ll just draw a heart since it’s an album filled with love songs’. However the heart was actually made by cutting and pasting pictures taken by Colde himself. There’s a saying that ‘all that remains are pictures’. So Colde just took photos to record his daily life. And when he collected all of them, they were just all scenery photos based on ‘Love’. Which is what I also wanted to express (the concept of Colde’s Love Part 1 album).

Q. Do you have a certain approach of expressing ‘Love’ in your work? And I’m also curious if you think ‘Love’ exists in the way you look at the world?

H: Not really. What I tend to focus on with work is, to try and fully express the emotions I feel within that moment. And I expressed what I felt clearly when I worked on [Love Part 1] album cover. Thinking about it now, I don’t think I would have had the guts to make another album cover of [Love Part 1]. That’s just how I feel right now. So if someone asked me to convey the feeling of ‘Love’ as a colour, I would answer ‘blue’ instead.

✧ original source here

Please credit when reposting. Thank you!

#honno #colde

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franboos · 4 years

Text

I don’t want to be your friend i want to kiss you neck

a vds college roommate fic

written by @livsisa and me <3

word count: 2380

chapter three, part 1

previous chapter

it is a quiet night in the house. Lucas is sitting at his desk in his room deeply concentrated, working on a drawing. Jens and Ely are both out with their friends, Annabell is visiting family for the weekend and Isa is already asleep because she had a rough night last night.

The only sound you can hear, beside his pencil that gently scrapes over the paper, is the music coming from his record player. He has a whole collection with a lot of different lp’s. He likes how you can hear the crackle from the vinyl, It makes the music more real.

He enjoys nights like these. When it’s just him, his music and his art. It is calming.

He didn’t expect that peace to be disrupted by some loud banging noises coming from downstairs.

Lucas groans. He hates it to be snapped out of concentration.

He drops his pencil and grabs his phone to check the time. “Oh fuck,” he grumbles. It is 03:32 am.

This happens a lot when Lucas is in a trance with his work. He totally loses track of time. But before he can zone back in, someone starts talking downstairs, with a voice way too loud for Lucas’ liking at this hour.

He sighs deeply, he really wants them to stop yelling. So he gets up and goes downstairs, ready to tell whoever it is to shut up.

When he gets to the right floor he doesn’t expect to see a slightly drunken Jens standing there with a girl clinging to his side who’s pressing kisses along his neck while Jens slides his hands down her back. Something deep inside him ached at the sight.

“Luc!” Jens almost screams when he sees him. Jens disconnects himself from the girl and stumbles over to Lucas, embracing him in a - maybe too tight - hug.

Lucas doesn’t really know how to react. Jens is so close. Fuck that, not just close, he is literally glued against Lucas’ body.

Lucas crunches up his nose, Jens reeks of alcohol and weed. “Uh, hi,” he says while lightly patting Jens on the back.

He looks up to the girl for a second, who is still standing there with a slightly confused look on her face, but then returns his attention back to Jens, who is hanging onto him like a koala.

“Jens…” he whispers in his ear, “you okay?”

Jens hums in reply and nuzzles his face in Lucas’ hair. “smells like coconut.”

“Okay Jens,” Lucas puts his hand on Jens’ shoulders and tries to push him off, only to fail. “Do you want to introduce me to your friend?”

“My friend?” Jens’ voice is muffled by Lucas’ hair.

“Yes, the girl you brought home Jens,” Lucas says, his voice coming out harsh.

Lucas feels Jens’ body tense up before he slowly lets go of Lucas.

“Right” Jens clears his throat “this is, uh,” he looks at the girl, then back at Lucas. “Uh,” he stammers and looks at the girl again.

Lucas gives the girl an apologetic smile but she just rolls her eyes and steps forward. “I’m Jade,” she sticks her hand out and Lucas accepts it.

“Lucas.”

Jens giggles and grabs Jade’s arm, tugging her away from Lucas. He turns around and drags her behind him into his bedroom. “Bye Luc,” he calls out before slamming his door shut.

“Okay, bye I guess,” Lucas says into the empty hall, not moving away from where’s standing.

Jens is with a random girl in his room, alright, that’s normal for a guy to do right? Then why does Lucas feel like someone ripped a hole in his chest? Perhaps because there was a part of him that hoped Jens liked him, now it´s obvious that he doesn’t, at least not as more than a friend. It was a stupid thing for him to hope for, he feels ridiculous for even thinking he might have a chance with Jens, he isn’t even into guys.

The next morning Lucas is sitting next to Isa at the table in the living room.

“And after he clung on me for what felt like hours, he just took her to his room!” Lucas says annoyed. “Can you believe that?” He slams down his mug on the table, a few drops of coffee spilling over the brim.

“Awh, Jens missed you!” Isa teases.

“Ugh, shut up, you don’t get it. They were so loud.”

“You know that my room is next to Jens’ right? I heard enough,” she giggles.

“omg,” Lucas groans, “stop talking about it.” He tucks his head in his arms.

“You’re the one who started this conversation!”

The door to the living room opens, revealing a sleepy Jens wearing nothing but a pair of black sweats. “Good morning,” He yawns.

Lucas swallows, keeping his eyes on Jens as he walks over to the table.

“Good morning,” Isa says, way too excited for Lucas’ liking, “I heard you had fun last night,” she smirks, taking a sip from her coffee, eyes darting from Jens to Lucas.

Lucas elbows Isa in her side and sends her an annoyed look. “what?” she says, still giggling as she pushes back her chair. “I have somewhere else to be.” she blows both of them a kiss before turning around and walking out of the room, leaving Jens and Lucas behind.

“About last night,” Jens sighs, “I didn’t mean to-”

But before he can finish Lucas cuts him off. “don’t worry about it, okay?” He shrugs, trying to look casual but he knows the harsh tone in his voice gave him away.

Jens is about to say something else, but before he can do so, the door to the living room opens again.

“There you are,” Jade smiles, she's wearing one of Jens’ shirts, the maroon-coloured one he was wearing on the day Lucas met him.

Jens doesn't look at her though, he doesn't even say anything, he just frowns at Lucas.

She walks up to him and winds her arms around him from behind and gives a soft kiss to his shoulder. All this time Lucas keeps his eye contact with Jens and he isn’t planning on looking away.

“Jens?” she questions because he still hasn’t said anything yet.

“Hm?” he finally answers, “I’m gonna get some breakfast.”

he detangles himself from her and walks to the kitchen. Jade looks a bit confused, she takes place at the table across from Lucas. “So, how is it going, living here with that crackhead in your house twenty-four seven?” she asks.

Deep inside his head, Lucas groans. Why does she need to talk to him? He really doesn’t feel like having a conversation with the girl Jens slept with last night, but he tries to keep his face natural.

“It’s good, and Jens is chill just like the other housemates.”

“You aren’t from Belgium, are you? Since your accent is different.”

What’s with all the questions, Lucas thinks. Can’t she just shut up?

“I’m from the Netherlands,” he says dryly.

“Ah yes, that’s what I thought. You sound so cute!”

“Can you stop with all the questions,” he groans.

Whoops, there goes his ‘be natural’ plan.

Jade frowns. “Did is say something wrong?”

“Maybe it’s just better if you go,” he says with a straight face.

He didn’t expect Jens to walk back from the kitchen just as he said that with a big bowl of cereal in his hand. He was just taking a bite when Lucas said it, so now he was standing still, a few steps away from the table with his mouth full of cereal.

It is quiet for a few seconds. Jens tries to swallow his cereal without choking on it, which he kind of fails doing because all the attention is on him and he starts coughing.

“I’m sorry, but do you have like a problem with me?” Jade asks confused and a little irritated. She leans back in her chair, crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him.

Lucas suddenly doesn’t dare to look at Jens, because he feels his eyes on him and he doesn’t want to know what his expression is. So he keeps his eyes on jade who is still glaring at him.

“Luc…” Jens says. “Calm down okay.”

“Jade, I just… I-” he throws his hands in the air, contemplating what to say. “I just haven’t slept well last night, okay, and I’d rather just not have any guest here right now,” he says while looking down at the table.

Everyone stays silent so he dares to look up at Jens who gives him a puzzled look.

“Okay well, if that’s the case then I better go,” she says already standing up.

Jens walks to the table and puts down his cereal bowl. But before he gets a chance to have a say in the conversation Jade is already walking into the hallway. He sighs and gives Lucas another look before turning around and catching up on Jade.

She is walking up the stairs to Jens his room, so he skips after her. He doesn’t say anything for a while but leans against the door frame and just watches her as she squeezes into her jeans from last night.

She takes off her shirt, well his shirt, and throws it as his face. “So you’re just gonna let him send me away? Without any protest?” she snaps.

Jens gets kind of distracted by the fact that she’s half-naked and he has to force himself to look at her face. “Jade please, I-”

“Save the speech Jens,” She snatches her top from the floor and pulls it over her head, slightly messing up her hair. “If I knew you had a crush on your roommate I wouldn’t have slept with you in the first place.”

“Excuse me what the fuck? Where did you get that from,” he says and pushes himself off the doorframe, he feels the anger and confusion bubble up inside him. Why the hell would she think that?

“I feel so stupid,” she groans and sits down on the bed to slip on her heels. “Did you want to make him jealous or something?”

“What the hell, no!” he steps further into the room.

“Okay Jens, whatever, but I’m leaving.” She grabs her bag off his desk chair and walks out of his room.

Jens follows her down the stairs. “Well at least you’re walking me out,” she huffs, looking back over her shoulder.

“You know, I really did nothing wrong here,” he says.

“You’re so stupid, you know that Jens? I hope you figure your feelings out soon.”

She opens the door and walks out.

Before Jens closes the door, when she’s already crossing the street he screams, “Lucas was right, all of you questions are fucking annoying!” and just because he can, he adds, “And it wasn’t even a good fuck!” Then he aggressively slams the door shut.

He leans his forehead against de door.

He can’t seem to stop thinking about what Jade just told him. She was apparently seeing something that he still can’t see. he likes all his roommates equally. Maybe he sometimes spends a little bit more time with Lucas, but what does that really say? Some people just get along better with a certain person. They have a lot in common, but there are also so many differences between them. Sometimes it is not as good to be totally the same. It is fun and interesting to get to know each others views in life.

“Did you want to make him jealous.”

Did he? It isn’t new that he takes a girl home, he does that regularly. But why did it feel different this time? Jens has so many questions that his head almost starts spinning. He turns around so that he leans with his back against the door.

But then he remembers that Lucas did just threw Jade out of here. It wasn’t his date. He had no right to do such a thing. Jens doesn’t even care about Jade, just that Lucas made the decision for him.

His confusion is now replaced with anger again. He pushes himself away from the door and walks back up the stairs to the living room.

He pushes the door open with a little to much force which makes Lucas, who is still sitting at the table, lookup.

“What was that for?” he says while walking closer to Lucas.

“Calm down Jens,” he says while taking another sip of his coffee.

“Calm down? You want me to calm down? You literally just forced Jade out of the house.”

“Yeah well, you didn’t seem to have a problem with that just a minute ago.” Lucas snaps back.

Jens takes a deep breath. “Why are you acting so bitchy Luc. You had no right to do this”

Lucas puts his mug down on the table and sighs. “Yesterday you guys just waltzed in while making way to much noise for that hour, and when I came downstairs to check out what was happening, you saw me and just started clinging to me" he recalls, "why did you even do that?" he says, confusion written all over his face.

“I did what?” Jens’ eyebrows shoot up.

“You hugged me, like really tight. You wouldn't get off me. You don’t remember…?”

Jens isn’t sure but for a split second, he sees hurt flash through Lucas eyes.

“No… last night is kind of a blur.”

“You know, it’s fine. I’m sorry for throwing Jade out, but I have a lot of school work to do so I’m gonna head to my room,” Lucas says while standing up, avoiding Jens’ gaze.

Jens doesn’t say anything else, he just lets him walk out of the living room.

“Fuck,” Jens whispers to himself. He is sure there is a real reason why Lucas didn’t want Jade here, but he just can’t figure it out. How did he let this escalate so quickly, they were fine yesterday.

“If I knew you had a crush on your roommate…”

“Stop,” he mutters to himself. He just wants to forget about his conversation with Jade, but all her comments keep popping up in his head. Could she be right?

#oof #a lot of confusion #wtfock #skam nl #van der stoffels #I don't want to be your friend I want to kiss your neck #vds #fic

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wondersofdreaming · 4 years

Text

Lost Boys - TWO

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 2.240

Warnings: Death. Cursing. Family removal. Fight. Family reunion of some sort.

Author’s note: Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @littlefreya @katerka88 @hell1129-blog @radaofrivia @mis-lil-red @omgkatinka @gothwhopper

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated. Seriously, please tell me all the good and bad stuff, else I won’t be able to develop into a better writer, if I don’t know what I’m doing right and wrong. I swear I don’t bite.

[ONE] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

William and Jennifer Thompson had everything they ever wanted. A nice home they couldn’t wait to fill up with children. Their lives were turned upside down when Jennifer became pregnant with triplets. William had nearly fainted at the scan. Triplets conceived naturally were a rare thing.

The couple was ecstatic to meet their children. They both had lost their parents, and with no siblings on either side, they had the need to have a large family. They prepared for the triplets as much as they could. Bought a bigger car, three car seats, three cribs, triple the amount of clothes and diapers.

“I hope you will all be like your mother,” William whispered to the grown belly, while Jennifer was asleep on her side. “She is the gentlest woman I know. She will carry you for as long as she can, even though her body is hurting. She will be your rock, your nurse, your teacher, but most of all she will be the very first woman you love. She will help you play pranks on me. She will cook your favourite foods. She will make birthday cakes the way you want them. She will drive you to practice. She will practice with you, even if you choose three different hobbies. She will help you with your homework, even reading ahead, so she knows what will happen next. She will love you more than anything. Try not to make her cry or angry, trust me you really don’t want that. Being on her bad side is the worst place to be.”

William kissed the skin where a foot was kicking her belly from the inside. He chuckled.

“Be nice son.” He whispered. He felt his wife’s hands caressing his scalp.

“Talking to the boys again?” She asked with a yawn.

“I have to show them who is the boss. If they have just a little bit of my temper, they’ll be quite a handful.”

“They are already a handful. They keep kicking or sitting on my bladder.” Jennifer whimpered. “Help me up please, I need to go to the bathroom.”

William smiled as he pulled his very pregnant wife up from their bed. Their black lab, Shell, jumped up from his bed and walked with her. At 33 weeks pregnant everything hurt. Her feet, her back, just everything. She was so over being pregnant with three boys. Good thing they were being born two weeks later by c-section.

All three boys were born healthy. They were all much bigger than other babies being born at 35 weeks, perhaps because Jennifer had literally eaten for four people since she found out she was expecting three babies at once.

Trevor, James, and Oliver grew up to be robust young boys. At the age of five, they were already known as ‘the three terrors’ in their neighbourhood. Trevor was the adventurous child, he would climb trees, and the moment he started walking, he had walked right over to William’s rock music collection and gotten into his LP’s. James loved solving puzzles rather than playing in the sandbox outside, and he loved watching TV-shows like ‘Columbo’ and ‘Magnum P.I.’. Oliver was the quiet one, he was always up to no good and got his brothers in trouble for something he had done, and he would always fight with James over the remote if an action movie was on.

The boys had a good childhood, until that fateful day where their lives changed forever.

William and Jennifer had been on a date when they were hit by a drunk truck driver. Both parents died on the spot. The boys were divided into three different families, who would take care of them.

Trevor was sent to a family in Georgia, who already had a son a year younger. Trevor would grow up to be a strong-willed man, whose protective instincts always kicked in gear when he saw someone being bullied or hurt.

James moved to Minnesota to a family, who had a son who was three years older. James grew up to be independent. He took no bullshit from anyone, not even his daughter that he would have later in life.

Oliver travelled to Virginia, where the family who later adopted him, had a young daughter. They didn’t love Oliver the way he should have been loved, like how his brother’s new families loved the brothers. Oliver was yelled at often, which hardened his heart. He swore that he would make the world a better place. The only good thing about his upbringing was the young sister, who would be the light of his life. She would make him smile and he would, in turn, protect her. His heart shattered the day she died while he was in college.

The three brothers forgot each other. Forgot they ever were as one unit once. Forgot that they had parents who had loved them more than anything. But each one always had a piece of home with them. A little medallion with an engraving of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton, protector of those who have lost their parents. A social worker had given each of the boys the medallion with their birth names, parents names and birthplace etched on the back so that they would never forget who they were.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Lucas pummelled the stranger to the ground. He looked just like him, except he had hair, curly and long at the top, shorter on the sides and back, and he had a fucking disgusting moustache. Who the fuck had moustaches anymore?

Before Lucas could grab the intruder by the collar, he was kicked in the shin and was hitting the ground, hard. The intruder scrambled to his feet and was out of sight within seconds. Lucas ran after him.

“Captain! What is going on?” A few soldiers asked him as he ran past them.

“Invader. How the hell did he get in?” Lucas barked at the privates. Nobody knew. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw a glimpse of a white shirt, the stranger had worn, disappear into another building. He stealthily moved towards the building, drawing his gun and went in. He was sitting on a chair, a rifle in his hand, a dead soldier at his feet with a broken neck.

“I know you’re there, captain. I think we need to talk,” the stranger said. “Drop your gun, and I’ll let down the rifle. Truce for now.”

Lucas was sceptical, but he went inside and put the gun back into the holster at his hip.

“Who are you?” Lucas asked.

“I have many names, which one do you want to know?” The trespasser smirked.

“The one given at birth will suffice,” Lucas grunted back, which made the smile disappear from the stranger’s face. He went to grab something at his neck. A medallion with a woman engraved on it. Lucas gasped. He had seen everything, gruesome things, death, destruction, nothing was supposed to surprise him anymore. Yet there he was. Looking at a man that could be his twin, and who had a medallion identical to the one Lucas had hidden under his T-shirt.

“My parents named me, Oliver Thompson,” the stranger grunted out. “Your turn.”

“I was named Trevor Thompson,” Lucas equally mumbled and showed his medallion.

“No.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘no’?”

“We can’t be related. I don’t have a family.”

“Well, sucks to be you. Seems we’re brothers. Now tell me, what are you doing at my base?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Stealing weapons.”

“Why?”

“That, brother, is a secret.”

Lucas acted fast. He kicked the rifle out of the thief’s hands and shoved him off the chair. It earned him a fist on his left cheek, but he had tried worse. Two more punches to his torso, to him it was more like tickling. Lucas blocked a few more attacks before the stranger rammed into his crotch area that made Lucas fall to his knees. The burglar moved towards the door, but Lucas grabbed his legs that made him fall. Lucas dragged him away from the open door. The criminal was looking around for a weapon and grabbed the wooden chair. He swung it at Lucas’ head. He got lightheaded for a moment, almost seeing stars, but gained his senses in time to watch the intruder run for his life. They continued the brawl outside next to a few military vehicles. The stranger got the upper hand as he jumped on top of a tank and pummelled Lucas from above. He wrung Lucas’ right arm behind his back, shoving him to the side of a jeep and with a strong move managed to break the arm and dislocated the joint. Lucas grunted in pain, but he had to keep fighting, so he turned around and tried to hit the thief with his left hook. Again, the stranger was behind him, putting him in a headlock, blocking his airway. Soon everything went black.

Lucas awoke in the hospital, groggy from the pain meds, he tried to get out of bed. The nurses had to call security to force him back into bed. The doctor gave him a shot of a sedative to keep him calm. Sleep came to him and with that, dreams. He dreamt of two young boys, who looked identical to each other. He dreamt of a woman, who had a warm embrace, whose laughter was making him laugh in his dream. He dreamt of climbing a tree into a treehouse, where he had a small radio that was playing Iron Maiden.

“How have the three terrors been doing today?” He remembered a male voice saying.

“It has been a quiet day.” The woman in his dream said. She stood from the sandbox, where the two other boys were playing, and kissed the man. He had the same defined jawline as Lucas, the dimple in his chin, the dark curly hair, but he had brown eyes. The woman turned around to watch him in the treehouse. Her blue eyes were filled with love and the smile on her lips made his heart ache.

Lucas opened his eyes. He had just dreamt of his birth parents. He remembered having two brothers, they were triplets. He ran his left hand over his face and groaned in frustration. He felt for his medallion and pulled it out from under his shirt.

“Trevor Thompson

Son of William and Jennifer Thompson

Born in California”

“Nurse!” He boomed. A petite elderly nurse walked in with a stern look. “I need a phone.”

“Listen here, captain. You’re not going to be calling anyone until you’ve healed that arm. Go back to sleep, or I swear I keep you sedated until you learn some manners,” she told him and was about to walk out when he apologized.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. That wasn’t very kind of me to forget to ask instead of demanding it. May I please have a phone?”

“So, there is a little southern gentleman in you. What’d you need a phone for?” She asked curiously.

“Need to make a call to my ma.”

“Aren’t you a good son. Don’t move.”

A moment later she walked in with a mobile phone. He quickly punched in his mother’s number. He looked at the clock on the wall, hoping she was awake already.

“Silvia speaking,” her grumpy morning voice made him smile. She couldn’t function properly without having downed a pot of coffee. That’s where he got his coffee addiction.

“Ma?” He said with a grin.

“Lucas? Lucas! How are you? Why are you calling this early? Going to battle? Don’t think you’ll come back? What the hell is going on Lucas Philip Syverson?!”

He laughed at her nervous rambling. So, making her nervous was waking her up better than coffee. Noted.

“No, ma. I’m not going on a mission. I’m in the hospital…” he started but was interrupted.

“In the hospital?! Why the fuck are you calling from the hospital? Why haven’t your superiors called the moment you were admitted?”

“Ma! Slow down. I’m fine.”

“Fine? You’re in the hospital! Lucas, what is going on?”

“Ma, I need to ask you something first.”

“What?” He could hear the annoyance radiating through the phone, which made his heart filled with happiness, as it indicated that his adoptive mother was still in good health.

“When you adopted me, did they tell you that I had two brothers?”

Silence.

“Lucas…”

“Ma, did you know?”

He heard her take a deep breath.

“Yes. I did know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that I have brothers?”

“Lucas, when we brought you into our home, we signed a piece of paper, saying that we wouldn’t try to contact the other families, or try to find your brothers because you boys had been traumatized by the loss of your birth parents,” she took another deep breath and continued: “We were told, your father and I, that you boys hadn’t spoken for days. When you came to us, you were so timid. You were harder to open up than an oyster. But with a little time and love, you started talking again. You started smiling and laughing, and you never talked about your brothers, so we thought it was for the best. I never meant to hide the facts from you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Ma?”

“Yes, sweetie.”

“I met one of my brothers. And I think he’s in trouble.”

#Henry Cavill #This man #Lost Boys #Fanfiction #Chapter two #August Walker #Captain Syverson #Walter Marshall #My story #I need a drink #Series #henry cavill fanfic

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liam-93-productions · 4 years

Link

Nearly five years ago, I saw One Direction live. Twice, on consecutive nights – on the first two dates of their On the Road Again world tour. Once was for work, to review the show. The other was for the sheer, heady, sugar-rush pleasure.

I was, I’ll admit, a little on the old side for a Directioner, even then. Most of the 45,000-odd crowd was much younger – not that that you would necessarily be able to tell from the saucy suggestions on their homemade signs. “I don’t want to draw attention to them,” Liam Payne had said fussilyon stage.

It was an on-brand comment for the then-21-year-old Payne, who, had the harried, slightly anxious energy of a father-of-four at Disneyland. And no wonder: it was clear, even to me, that Zayn Malik had checked out, barely bothering to conceal his rolling eyes. He would be gone within the month, marking the beginning of the end (or “indefinite hiatus”) for the biggest boy band in the world.

“It was a point where every day, you didn’t know whether it was going to be the end,” says Payne, sitting in the offices of his PR company in central London. “It was so touch and go, at every single show. I was slowly losing the plot.”

Now 26 and almost totally tattooed, Payne has a new album on which he raps about getting rowdy on Bacardi and being “free” from 1D. At the same time his very-nearly-naked form is plastered on buses and train stations in a provocative ad campaign for Hugo Boss.

Yet Payne is as polite and agreeable as if he were talking to his best friend’s mother. He is tired he says after an energetic early morning music video shoot. “There was a trampoline involved,” he says, sucking on his silver Juul. “It was hell – but it will look great.”

Gym beast and sex symbol are relatively new tags. His role as the diplomat of the group was established from the time they were first assembled from five solo applicants on The X Factor in 2010.

Payne auditioned when he was just 14, but was told by Simon Cowell to “come back in two years”. He did – and, eyes serious beneath his enormous fringe, blew the judges away with a brassy rendition of Cry Me a River.

Growing up in Wolverhampton, he had been a talented cross-country runner – making the reserve list for the British Olympics team. But a fan of Usher, Justin Timberlake and Chris Brown, he was drawn to singing as “the thing that made my parents proudest”. His backup plan, had he not got through on X Factor, was to follow his father into an aircraft fitting factory.

Once grouped in One Direction it took the five boys, then between 16 and 19, to pull together. “At the start we couldn’t get past our own egos,” says Payne. There would be fights over who got to sing what part, and even personal style. “Everybody had their own little thing – it was like having four older brothers.”

Payne went on to write songs for the group, contributing to two-thirds of their 2014 album Four (arguably their best) and even earning a production credit on 2015’s Made in the AM. But in the early days he would be the one to sing the opening part because, he was told at the time, he “used to settle everybody”.

Payne says he was a more experienced performer than the other boys, and a “bit more mature” – which he puts down to spending more time with his dad than his peers, and being so focused on a career in showbusiness. “I’d lived a different lifestyle from 14 to 16. Most kids try alcohol and experiment – I never did any of that because I thought there’s a chance that I might make it.”

Management took advantage of this, he says, telling him his “very specific role” in the group was to keep the rest in line. “I was like, that’s great, innit – because then everyone in the band thinks I’m a dick.” He remembers one of the band’s first hotel stays. “We’ve got plates being thrown out the window, mattresses being ridden down the stairs, and I’m getting calls from the manager saying: ‘You need to sort it out’.”

It wasn’t lost on the fans. Where Malik and Styles were the heartthrobs, Payne says he was classed as Mr Boring. “When you’re at the stadium, and if you get the least screams, it’s like: ‘For fuck’s sake.’”

After a year playing 1D-Dad he gave up and learned to have fun. “If you can’t beat them, join them” – at which point, he notes wryly, the band’s public image became more cheeky and carefree. “And the more fun we had, the more successful it got.”

He recalls performing to sold-out stadiums night after night, seeing “hundreds” of iPhones being thrown onstage in the vain hopes of their being returned with a selfie. “It’s like the kids just lost their minds.”

“There were parts of it that were a bit shit, like there is with anything,” he says, “and there were parts of it that was just euphoria.”

He recalls seeing 15,000 fans camped outside his hotel room in Lima, Peru. Security had advised them to stay inside all day, and because “they were the adults, we thought they were in charge. Then over time we started to figure out that they weren’t, and that’s when we used to run off.”

Yet the adrenaline peaks of performing, followed by long troughs of tedium, were akin to a drug addiction, says Payne. He turned to alcohol. “Doing a show to however many thousands of people, then being stuck by yourself in a country where you can’t go out anywhere – what else are you going to do? The minibar is always there. ”

For a time, he was also taking an epilepsy drug as a mood stabiliser that he says affected his cognitive functioning under certain lights. Payne says he had been well advised to take it, to counter the “erratic highs and lows” he was experiencing – “I just needed a little bit of help to keep me stable” – “but under certain lights on stage or during interviews, I wouldn’t be able to tell them my name”.

The day we meet, Payne has made headlines for telling Ant Middleton on the pair’s Sky One show that the loneliness of fame had “almost nearly killed” him. When Middleton asked Payne if he had ever wanted to act on those feelings, Payne said that he had: “100%”.

He is not inclined to discuss this today, “because it’s a bit dark,” he says, a touch brusquely – “but yeah, it was very touch and go at times”. This was both in 1D and afterwards, he clarifies. As One Direction got bigger and bigger, he says, “I was like: ‘I don’t really know how to deal with this’. Once you start, you can’t really press the stop button.”

The “indefinite hiatus” button, though, was easier – in mid-2015, four months after Malik’s departure, the band made the decision together. “It was a little bit dark and twisted towards the end of it,” says Payne, “but the last few shows were really beautiful moments because the pressure cooker had been let off.

“It was almost like counting down to holiday – we were going to wake up that Monday morning with no schedule.” Afterwards Payne was in therapy for two years, and took six months off. “It was difficult at the start, because I didn’t really know anything about myself. It was a bit of a numb feeling.”

(...)

That schedule is about to get busier, with Payne’s debut album as a solo artist finally out this Friday. Laden with chart-friendly trop house, trap and Latin pop influences, LP 1 plays like a water cannon aimed at commercial radio – there is even a Christmas song.

It has been a long lead-up: the first single, Strip That Down, was released nearly two years ago and established Payne as the 1D member most influenced by contemporary hip-hop – perhaps too much so. A picture he posted to Instagram of himself in February 2018 wearing a chain necklace, flipping the bird and bragging about travelling by private jet was quietly deleted following ridicule.

Amid the success of Strip That Down, which was streamed over 1bn times, Payne was also still “struggling” with alcohol: “I just hid it very well.” He went on to spend an entire year sober – a necessary if boring step. “My social life completely plummeted. I always feel like you never get past the awkward first 10 minutes at a party, when everyone’s like: ‘Do we get up and dance, or do we just sit here?’ I don’t know whether it made me happier, but it was definitely needed.”

His more recent stint of self-discipline was to prepare for his nude photo shoot with model Stella Maxwell for Hugo Boss. In the lead-up, he was in the gym between “five and eight times a week, sometimes twice a day” and eating mostly chicken and vegetables – with no carbohydrates after 2pm and nothing at all after 8pm. For the last “stripping” phase, he ate nothing but porridge and white fish for a month. “It was horrible – but it definitely works.”

The shoot had been his idea, inspired by campaigns featuring David Beckham and Mark Wahlberg – Payne’s role models, whose cross-disciplinary celebrity shapes his own career goals. Last year he auditioned in front of Steven Spielberg for a part in next year’s West Side Story remake, and has been submitting audition tapes irregularly since. “It’s just trying to manage the time in between (...), singer, model and whatever.”

Between the trap beats, tighty-whities and tattoos is he attempting to put across a new, more grown-up image? “Oh yeah, definitely.”

In One Direction, he was “Mr Vanilla – no one wanted to know a thing”. Then, with the “chain and rapper phase … I didn’t really know what I was aiming for, but it was actually exactly where we are right now. I just needed to find the right keys to make me feel like the man I wanted to be.”

Which is, he jokes, is “like a really English Magic Mike”. Do you like being objectified, I ask? “I think it’s quite funny,” says Payne, clearly delighted. The other day, he says, someone sent him a picture of an old lady walking past an enormous blown-up poster of him in his pants. Not bad for Mr Vanilla, I say. “Exactly.”

Liam Payne’s debut album LP1 is out on Friday 6 December

#liam payne #the guardian #one direction #lp1 #liam's interviews #02.12.2019

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iwoulddiefordonaldduck · 4 years

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okay so one of my friends said he was going to pay me 20 bucks for a commission if I drew him a few DuckTales characters as FMA:B characters: it was a crossover sort of thing. here are some of the designs I played around with:

also, I added some close ups for better visibility of the text

buut turns out I got really invested on it so here we go:

a Ducktales FMA:B au: Fullmetal... Duckemist?

more about it under the cut

so the plot is not exactly the same and I wasn't sure how I'd get some characters to fit into pre existing roles, but for now, here's what I got:

• HDL as Ed and Al; Huey as Edward, Dewey and Louie as Alphonse (they share control of the armor like that dudes at the fifth laboratory)

• della as both Trisha and Hoenheim (I'll explain that in a minute bear with me)

• Beakley as Pinako and Webby as Winry

• in that same note, Scrooge is also kind of Hoenheim (I know it's confusing right now but I swear it'll make sense when I properly explain this mess

• F.O.W.L main command as the homunculi/Father (I guess the vultures as Father and the rest I'll have to sort into homonculi)

• Donald as Mustang (because my friend said so when he asked for the commission and I really enjoy drawing Don in the blue uniform)

• Daisy as Hawkeye (that's gotta be obvious my dudes)

• Panchito and José will be part of team Mustang Donald I guess. Storkules could be part of it too?? Please someone get Donald more friends

• I have no clue about who can be Hughes & family. Maybe LP/Drake/Gosalyn? I kinda wanted to have LP as Armstrong idk

okay so basically, the plot begins when Della supposedly dies when HDL are still relatively young. The kids needed somewhere to live, and because their closest living relative Donald was currently with the military, taking part in war, they are taken in by their great uncle Scrooge. Scrooge seems to mostly avoid them for unknown reasons. The kids then decide that of they would get at least something good out of their situation and start researching ways to bring their mom back to life. that takes a few years, I'm assuming

obviously, that didn't work, and both Dewey and Louie lost their bodies trying to bring her back, Huey loses an arm and a leg to bind their souls to an armor etc, etc. at that point Scrooge straight up leaves them in Beakley's (and Webby's) care and disappears to God knows where. I assume Huey then asks Beakley to make him automail because he wants to make up to what happened to his brothers as soon as possible (idk I'm still thinking about it).

A few months later, their uncle Donald who had taken part of the recent war and was still with the military gets the word about his nephews from Beakley. He immediately bolts back to whatever-city-that'll-be-Risembool- equivalent to see what really happened. when he gets there he is devastated by what happened. the kids (especially Huey) beg him to let them make up for what they did by joining the military. Donald is really opposed to the idea at first, but after some convincing by part of the kids and Beakley (plus, this way, they'll be far far away from Scrooge and then he can't screw up AGAIN. plus he'll be able to keep an eye out for his nephews if they're under his jurisdiction in the military) he caves in.

after that the plot would continue as normal (like except for the characters that I assigned kinda made-up roles or altered ones). by the time the kids joined the military, HDL would be 11 and Webby 12.

I'm still deciding about the rest but here's some stuff I already decided:

•the transmutation didn't work because Della wasn't even dead to begin with. everyone thought so, but turns out she disappeared thanks to a transmutation gone wrong in a adventure. I like to think of it kind of like the ending of the original FMA series, in which Ed gets stuck in a parallel universe. Except Della got stuck at the moon instead. that's why I said she was both Trisha (dead) and Hoenheim (apparently abandoned them and fucked off to somewhere else— except it wasn't really that)

• Also I said Scrooge was also like Hoenheim, because it looks he left to God knows where to another adventure, but in reality he's after F.O.W.L main command which are the homunculi in this au. also Scrooge is basically immortal so I thought he could be Hoenheim alright

That's it for now I think. hope it's understandable

#dt17 #ducktales 2017 #crossover #fma au #ducktales hdl #huey dewey and louie #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #webby vanderquack #donald duck #daisy duck #stupid crossover #quarantine is making me do weird things #bear with me #please i must be stopped #character design #possible ooc stuff #fma crossover

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dustedmagazine · 4 years

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Listed: Nick Jonah Davis

Photo Credit: Andy Joskowski

Nick Jonah Davis lives in Derbyshire, England, which is a place where evidence of older editions of England is always easy to find. Successive eras likewise coincide in his music. Davis plays acoustic and electric guitars, drawing on both American and English folk and instrumental traditions. He has worked with like-minded folk, such as C. Joynes and Sharron Kraus, and is also an established guitar teacher and provider of therapeutic musical interventions. He’s been recording the occasional solo record since 2009, and in 2016, Dusted’s Bill Meyer had this to say about House of Dragons: “the Nottingham-based guitarist isn’t living in bifurcations of the past, and he isn’t asking us to either. Rather, he invites the listener into a world bounded by the resonance of his tunings and the vividness of his evolving melodies.” Thread Recordings is about to release a swell new LP, When the Sun Came, and Davis has compiled a list of sounds made by some of his favorite associates.

Even for solo guitarists, music is a collaborative, social thing. For this list I’ve picked some music by artists that I’ve collaborated, recorded or gigged with over the last decade or so. Members of the NJD home team.

Kogumaza — “Ursids”

WAAT048 Split 7" w/Hookworms by Kogumaza

When I lived in Nottingham, Kogumaza were my favorite band in town. They play deep, droning riff-based cosmic guitar music which draws on their backgrounds playing with local heroes like Lords, Rattle and Bob Tilton. They’ve also done their homework, having sat in with heavy hitters like Glenn Branca, Damo Suzuki and Boredoms. This tune was recorded in Nottingham, with Nathan Bell of Lungfish sitting in on bass. I was the assistant engineer on this session, and remember getting a pleasing headful of Katy Brown’s kick drum as we set up the mics. Mind-manifesting stuff.

Ex-Easter Island Head — “Large Electric Ensemble Third Movement”

Large Electric Ensemble by Ex-Easter Island Head

Liverpool’s Ex-Easter Island Head are a revelation. They repurpose electric guitars through a variety of extended techniques, with unprecedented, nourishing results. I was lucky enough to play a couple of shows as a member of their Large Electric Ensemble, a 12-guitar band powered by 1 drummer and multiple Arts Council pizzas. I learned a lot from them in terms of playing guitar with craftily-deployed allen keys and bolts. Living proof that people can and do make genuinely beautiful, ground-breaking music without being all precious and up themselves about it. Good lads.

C Joynes and the Furlong Bray — “Sang Kancil”

The Borametz Tree by C Joynes & The Furlong Bray

Joynes and I have been fellow travelers in the solo guitar realm for many years now. We’ve probably seen more of each other’s gigs than anyone else alive. I was really pleased to be invited into the making of the Borametz Tree album. Not exactly sure how you’d describe my role on that project, but it involved some bass playing, some refereeing and, in the case of this piece, heading into my cellar with Nathan Mann to process some sounds through my echo units. I really love this bizarre, swirling piece of music. It defies description and I really can’t see how it could have happened under any circumstances. Power to the Furlong Bray.

Jim Ghedi — “Bramley Moor”

A Hymn For Ancient Land by Jim Ghedi

Jim popped up a few years ago, around the same time as Toby Hay, and has been a sure source of decent sounds ever since. Jim’s initial, masterful solo guitar work has bloomed out into an exploration of both traditional folk and his own songwriting. Having sat right next to him when we played together in my village a couple of years ago, I can confirm that he has a huge, resonant chest voice. Luckily, he always commits to his guitar just as fully, as you can hear on this jaunty instrumental on which I played some weissenborn. Nathan Mann pops up again playing percussion on this one, small world…

Cath and Phil Tyler — “King Henry”

The Ox and the Ax by Cath and Phil Tyler

I first met Cath and Phil at the legendary Sin Eater festival, a 3-day weekend of fine underground music and excellent ale at an isolated pub in Shropshire. Almost everyone on this list played there actually. This is folk music as it should be played, plain and flinty with a complete focus on the song. Understatement goes a long way in this music and, I suspect because of this, Phil is one of the most criminally under-rated guitarists around. There’s a little part of me that lives for Cath’s jaw harp break at the end of this one.

Toby Hay — “Now in a Minute”

New Music For The 12 String Guitar by Toby Hay

Toby has a special place in my heart for lining me up an annual show in a cafe at the wonderful Green Man festival for the past several years, meaning my family could go for free. Here’s a near-perfect example of a miniature acoustic study from his album New Music for the 12 String Guitar. The guitar in question was custom-built for Toby by Roger Bucknall of Fylde guitars. Fylde put out the word that a label was looking for a young guitarist to make a record on a custom-built Fylde that they would commission, and I immediately suggested Toby. He rose to the occasion. Reckon he owes me a handmade guitar though; I’ll give him a nudge one of these days.

The Horse Loom — “Silver Ribbon”

The Horse Loom by The Horse Loom

Steve Malley played in post-punk bands back in the day, gigging alongside the likes of Fugazi. He later picked up a Fylde guitar and went down an acoustic rabbit hole where his love of British folk and flamenco come to the fore. The DIY-or-die roots of his playing flash an occasional fin. After we met I persuaded him to come down to Nottingham and let me record his first album in First Love studio. He did the whole thing in a day and it’s awesome. This is my favorite instrumental from that collection.

Sharron Kraus — “Sorrow’s Arrow”

Joy's Reflection is Sorrow by Sharron Kraus

I started playing shows with Sharron as we were both UK artists on the Tompkins Square label at the time, so it kind of made sense. She’s a bit of an institution in psych-folk circles and eventually I began playing on her records and at live shows, which has been a real joy. This tune features some heavy drones and an occasional splish of my lap steel. It’s classic Kraus — mournful, insightful, immersive. If you want to hear someone with a bigger brain than yours talking about the weirder side of life, check out her Preternatural Investigations podcast.

Haress — “Wind the Bobbin”

Haress by HARESS

Haress is centered around the twin electric guitar work of Liz Still and David Hand. Located in downright gorgeous rural Shropshire, they ran the Sin Eater Festival and still put out essential music on Lancashire and Somerset Records. I reckon they’ve helped me out more than anyone over the years, releasing House of Dragons on vinyl and always setting me up a show when I need one. This gorgeous piece features Nathan Bell again, this time on trumpet. Those Nathans do get around.

Burd Ellen — “Chi-Mi-Bhuam”

Chi Mi Bhuam by Burd Ellen

I first saw Debbie Armour singing with Alasdair Roberts, a good start. When I went up to play in Glasgow in 2018, I asked if she’d like to open up my show at the Glad Café, which she did, alone except for a borrowed harmonium. I was mesmerized, I think everyone was. Too good for a support slot. Here’s a Gaelic vocal piece which demonstrates exactly who we’re dealing with here, a profoundly talented and committed artist with a lifelong immersion in traditional music, using it as a springboard into something entirely her own.

#dusted magagzine #listed #nick jonah davis #kogumaza #ex-easter island head #c joynes #the furlong bray #jim ghedi #cath and phil tyler #toby hay #the horse loom #sharron kraus #haress #burd ellen

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boredout305 · 4 years

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Vitus Mataré talks Jeffrey Lee Pierce, The Last and DIY Production

Vitus Mataré is a Los Angeles-based musician, producer and architect.

Mataré was a founding member of The Last, Danny and the Doorknobs and Trotsky Icepick. As a producer, he recorded some of the earliest and most coveted Los Angeles DIY punk records, including The Urinals’ first three 7”s and the Keats Rides a Harley compilation. Mataré would later produce The Leaving Trains and Savage Republic.

The focus of this interview was Mataré’s brief tenure in Jeffrey Lee Pierce’s pre-Gun Club band, The Red Lights. Short-lived and with a revolving membership, Mataré played The Red Lights’ summer 1978 debut show. Two years later, he became the Gun Club’s first producer—recording the band on his portable Dokorder 4-track reel-to-reel.

Recently, Mataré released a new Trotsky Icepick record, I Haunted Myself (2019). The Last’s ill-fated and obscenely expensive sophomore LP, Look Again (1980), will finally get a proper release in 2020.

Interview by Ryan Leach

Ryan: Do you recall where you first met Jeffrey Lee Pierce?

Vitus: I met Jeffrey Lee Pierce at the Capitol Records Swap Meet. Jeff was there selling records and hanging out.

Ryan: That’s where Larry (Hardy) first spotted him.

Vitus: Right. Jeff was always roaming around the Capitol Records Swap Meet in his typical style. Over the top, excited about this and that. When Jeff found something that he was interested in, he got into it one-hundred percent.

Ryan: Did you meet him in 1978?

Vitus: Yes. I met Jeffrey in 1978.

Ryan: Being a big fan of power-pop and ‘60s groups, it makes sense that Jeffrey was a Last fan. How did he enter The Last’s orbit?

Vitus: There was a gig (September 18, 1979) at Gazzarri’s and The Last played with Jeffrey’s band, The Cyclones. Pleasant Gehman was the singer. We put it on. The show was a disaster. It was hard to get a draw. It was The Go-Go’s first real show and the first time The Urinals played in Hollywood. We put our favorite people in bands together for the bill: Jeff with The Cyclones, The Last, The Urinals and The Go-Go’s.

Kjehl Johansen (The Urinals) punched me in the nose while we were dancing to The Go-Go’s set, so I had a bloody nose for the rest of the night. But before I got punched, I sat down with Jeff at soundcheck. He showed me the chords to “Jungle Book,” a song he had done with The Red Lights. “Jungle Book” is one of the first songs I learned to play on guitar. Jeffrey was teaching me the song and guitar at the same time. That was really cool. We were just killing time. (The Last’s) Joe (Nolte) was there and had already suggested that we start incorporating “Jungle Book” into The Last’s set.

Shortly after the Gazzarri’s gig, we played a show with The Plugz and Jeff came up and sang “Jungle Book” with us. Phast Phreddie also came up that night and sang The Seeds’ “Pushin’ Too Hard.” There were several other gigs where Jeff sang with The Last.

Ryan: How did you and the late Jack Reynolds (drummer of The Last) end up playing with Jeff and Anna Statman in The Red Lights?

Vitus: Jack Reynolds was a whole different story. Jack passed away (in December 2009). I liked Jack a lot—he was great—but he was a tough guy. He enjoyed getting into fights and drinking and perhaps taking drugs to excess. Jack didn’t drive, so I was his driver. We’d be cruising in my beat-up sedan, his drums thrown in the back with no cases, and we’d go by a construction site at 7:30 p.m. on our way to a show at the Starwood. He’d say in his British accent, “Woah, woah, pull over!” He’d find a chunk of concrete with rebar sticking out of it at a jobsite, throw it in my backseat—there goes that bit of upholstery—and he’d walk into the club with it. It’s 8:00 p.m. at the Whisky or the Starwood, so there’s no one there but the bouncers. They’d say, “Hey, fella, where are you going with that?” Jack would respond, “Have I got to stick it up your arse? Out of my way.” Even the bouncers would leave him alone. He’d use the concrete to weigh down his kick drum. After the set, he’d abandon the 200-pound concrete chunk up on the stage. I remember we played a show with 20/20 and the guys in the band were getting their guitar cables snagged on the rebar sticking out of Jack’s concrete block. The three of them couldn’t lift it whereas Jack brought it up there himself.

Greg Shaw brings in a band from New York called The Boyfriends. I don’t know what they ever did—apparently they were really good—but I never got a chance to find out. The Last was opening up for them at the Whisky. It was a night Greg Shaw put together and promoted. We’re late; Jack’s in my car and he had forgotten his cymbals. The Boyfriends had done their soundcheck and they’re gone. We get to the Whisky and someone walks past us. Jack says (affects British accent), “Hey, can I borrow your drummer’s cymbals there?” The guy responds, “Sure. Help yourself.” Well, he had nothing to do with The Boyfriends or their equipment. Jack breaks his drums sticks as usual, so he’s out there playing with beer bottles on the guy’s cymbals. The Boyfriends’ drummer is not pleased about it.

We got an encore. We’re in that little black corridor that’s up the stairs at the Whisky, towards the backstage. The Boyfriends’ drummer grabs Jack as we’re headed back to the stage. I guess the message he was trying to convey was, “Hey, who said you could use my cymbals?” Jack responds by pummeling this guy’s head into the wall. That’s all we heard: “Thud, thud, thud.” The Boyfriends’ drummer went to the hospital that night and they never played. I can give you ten other similar Jack Reynolds stories. So, when Jeff (Pierce) asked, “Hey, would you be willing to play Farfisa with me and do you know someone who can play drums?” I just figured, “Well, Jack’s drums live in my car, so why don’t I bring him too?”

I only played one show with The Red Lights (July 14, 1978, at the Whisky benefit for Lobotomy fanzine). The lineup was me on Farfisa, Jack Reynolds on drums, Jeff on guitar and vocals and Anna Statman on bass. It was rather unrehearsed. We had one practice at a place called The Jungle. Jeff was really fun, but he was unsure of himself. He could get cranky and difficult.

We played The Red Lights show and Jeff did great but he was embarrassed about it for no reason. There were only a few people there and most of them didn’t get it. Nevertheless, it was awesome.

Ryan: The Red Lights only played a handful of shows. Was Jack Reynolds their permanent drummer?

Vitus: Jack wasn’t. Jeff had to use other people. Jack may have played two or three gigs with The Red Lights. I only played that one and I do not know how many more gigs followed.

Ryan: There’s a photo and review of your Red Lights show at the Whisky in issue #9 of Flipside.

Vitus: I remember Al (Kowalewski, founder of Flipside) asking us our names for the show write-up. He asked Jack Reynolds his name. Jack was drunk, possibly stoned and angry so he said, “I’m Jeff Fucking Beck.” Al’s like, “Okay, dude.” And then Jack points to me and yells, “The keyboard player, his name is Keyboard Player!” That’s why Al’s review credits me as Keyboard Player and Jack as Jeff Beck. I remember a lot of nights like that with Jack.

On the other hand, Jeff (Pierce) was never belligerent or impossible when he was drunk. I know other people will tell you totally different stories. I only had great experiences with Jeff.

Later on, I did some preproduction with The Gun Club. I arranged with this guy Patrick (Burnette) over at Quad Teck—it was Hank Waring’s studio—to record The Gun Club. I had everything lined up but then I accidentally drank some gasoline. I got very, very sick and I had to go to the hospital and wasn’t available for that session. They went with Tito (Larriva), which was a great choice. Of course, that later became Fire of Love. But I was originally scheduled to engineer and produce that at Quad Teck.

Ryan: So, you were going to record the Gun Club tracks for the 12” split release that was supposed to come out on Fatima Recordz? The Gun Club was going to get one side of the LP; no one seems to recall the band who’d get the other side. When Fatima went belly-up, those tracks later appeared on Fire of Love (1981).

Vitus: Right. It all worked out for the best and I fully recovered. There were so many incidents back then where something took a wild left turn because of some issue or emergency.

Ryan: Do you remember recording The Gun Club tracks for the Keats Rides a Harley (1981) compilation? Obviously, those recordings predated Fire of Love.

Vitus: Of course. We recorded those tracks at a horrible rehearsal space next to Hollywood High School. I can’t recall the name of the place, but I do remember it was named after the street it was on. I recorded The Gun Club on my cheap, 4-track Dokorder. It was a pretty low-budget, multitrack recorder.

Ryan: Digressing back a bit, to my knowledge the first releases you produced were the Urinals 7”s.

Vitus: I did stuff way earlier when I was a little kid. There were two guys who got kicked out of The Seeds. I recorded them when I was 13 years old. I was using my parent’s reel-to-reel and two fabulous electrostatic mics. They were amazed I could do sound-on-sound recording.

But coming back later, The Urinals Self-titled EP (1978) was the first vinyl record I had recorded by a band other than The Last. The Last was recording (L.A. Explosion!) at Village Recorder in West Los Angeles. There are four studios at Village Recorder. At the time, Fleetwood Mac is in there doing Tusk (1979). They’re tucked away with their cocaine and other vapors. Frank Zappa is in another studio where the air is clean and he’s doing parts of Joe’s Garage (1979) and Sheik Yerbouti (1979). The other studio has a high turnover rate; the Stranglers used it while we were there. And we’re in this dingy little room known as The Royal Scam. All of the equipment in there belonged to Steely Dan. John Harrison, the first bass player of Hawkwind, got us in there. Harrison was the engineering guru for what was happening in the Zappa sessions.

When I got a test pressing of the first Urinals single I was so proud to have it that I gave my copy to John Harrison. Harrison ended up passing it on to Frank Zappa. The next night when I came in—we’d start at around midnight—John Harrison says to Zappa, “Hey, Frank, this is the guy who produced that record I gave you last night.” Zappa is lying down in this little step-down conversation pit on the couch. He can’t see me; I can barely see his shoes sticking out. He doesn’t get up but says, “That’s the worst damn record I’ve ever heard. But with a name like that (The Urinals), they should go far.”

Ryan: Considering Zappa was a big fan of The Shaggs’ Philosophy of the World (1969), that’s saying something. John (Talley-Jones), Kjehl (Johansen) and Kevin (Barrett) really outdid themselves.

Vitus: (Laughs). Yeah. The Urinals singles predated The Gun Club stuff.

Ryan: I was under the impression that you were more interested in producing bands than playing in them. And that those early recordings you made with your 4-track were out of necessity—for groups just starting out or that were too left of the dial to get a recording contract.

Vitus: That’s right. And I never thought about major releases. For example, I never thought of recording The Go-Go’s. I would be hampering their progress. Same thing when The Bangles asked me to record them, back when they were called The Bangs. That’s not really what I did. I wanted to make records that sound like you’re in the shower and the water is beating on your eardrum. I would record bands so they’d have tapes to bring to clubs to get bookings. The recordings didn’t need to be overly clean.

Ryan: It easy to forget nowadays, but back in the 1970s you had different-tiered studios. Places where people would cut demos to pitch to Club 88 on one end and 24-track studios on the other end.

Vitus: Exactly. I was helping bands get their songs recorded. I wasn’t working under some delusion that I’d be in a 24-track studio, cutting tracks with these bands a week later.

Ryan: How did the Keats Rides a Harley compilation come together?

Vitus: There are two different versions of that story. John Talley-Jones has one version and I probably have another. The compilation was sort of my idea. Initially, The Urinals’ record was going to come out on Backlash. And there were two issues that came up at the same time. The Last’s manager, Randall Wixen, had started a publishing company called Backlash. He just took the name and then asked us to stop putting out records under the name Backlash. The other issue was that I played the first Urinals single for Joe Nolte when he wasn’t in a good mood. Joe ended up loving The Urinals, but at the time he said, “Hey, don’t put that crap out on our label, please.” That kind of jettisoned everything. I remember The Urinals were a bit disappointed when I told them, “Dudes, it’s not going to come out on Backlash, so let’s make up another record label name.” They came up with Happy Squid and put it out themselves.

Joe and I always had our differences. I was drafted into The Last to play keyboards, but what I wanted was to be the Magic Alex—the guy who did sound effects and produced stuff. I wanted to record bands. I didn’t want to be on stage. I hated that. I didn’t get to do that with The Last, but I got to do it with The Gun Club and The Urinals which was great.

I wasn’t doing whole records, just demo tapes, but I thought the sampler concept was a good idea. I wanted to put together a record that was a snapshot of what was happening in that particular garage on that street at that point in time. We just pulled all these bands together. The Urinals came up with the title of the record and actually put it together and got it out.

Ryan: It’s an exceptional comp. Living in Arizona, The Meat Puppets mailed their recordings in. But you recorded the rest of the album and the bands are exceptional. Human Hands, Gun Club, Leaving Trains, 100 Flowers…

Vitus: All of those groups had people in them who were interesting to hang out with. They weren’t idiots or burnouts. To this day, the ones who are still alive remain great people to chat with.

Ryan: For Gun Club fans, Keats is a must have. As you mentioned, the recording is raw, but everything is mixed well. You can hear Rob Ritter’s bass and he remains the unsung hero of the early Gun Club. Fire of Love (1981) and Miami (1982) are great records, but their mixes aren’t the best.

Vitus: The tracks on Keats have poor frequency response, but great atmosphere.

Ryan: There’s another Last connection to Jeffrey Lee Pierce and The Red Lights. “Jungle Book” appears on The Last’s ill-fated sophomore record, Look Again (1980). Only test presses were made of that record, correct?

Vitus: I’ll tell you the whole story if you have ten minutes.

Ryan: Absolutely. I remember around 2004 seeing a copy of Look Again at Amoeba Records in Los Angeles selling for several hundred dollars.

Vitus: It’s not a good investment. It’s about to be reissued. I think it’s coming out on a label I’m not allowed to mention. Jonny Bell is doing the remixes right now. We baked and transferred those reels. But what needs to be told about that record is that we were not to produce it ourselves. Joe (Nolte) was to stay out of Jo Julian’s way. He was from the band Berlin. Julian co-engineered and produced the record even though he apparently had zero interest in doing so. There was a studio called Audio Arts. I believe Julian needed to get some sessions in and out and collect some money, so that’s what we were about.

Ryan: That’s a horrible situation to be in.

Vitus: Yeah. We were totally unimportant. Joe (Nolte) quickly realized that there was a bad vibe. Joe had a lot of input into L.A. Explosion! That was Joe’s record. It’s about Joe as a songwriter. I had one song (“A Fool Like You”) in there that made fun of A&R people. The second record was supposed to be a closer split between me and Joe. I would write one-third of the songs, and I would have more say about the production because it was supposed to be more pop. So I get locked out of the control room when it was time to mix. Jo Julian does direct injection on a Rickenbacker 12-string guitar, a Rickenbacker bass and a Farfisa. So, you have all this lovely 4,000-cycle signal with no life to it. John Frank, The Last’s new drummer, couldn’t hear us as we were playing. The mixes were terrible even though Joe’s songs are great. At the very least, it should’ve been interesting, but it wasn’t. Today we’re going back and re-amping the signals. Not adding anything, but getting a clean mix. The record should be out in late spring (2020). And “Jungle Book” is on there. It’s also on the new Trotsky Icepick record that is called I Haunted Myself (2019).

Ryan: Listening to you describe the Look Again situation, I’m able to put the pieces together. At least locally, The Last were really popular around the time of L.A. Explosion!

Vitus: The Look Again debacle killed it.

Ryan: You guys even had a billboard on the Sunset Strip, right?

Vitus: Yep.

Ryan: That’s a real shame.

Vitus: All of that is fine. We got to play some great shows and events. There were wonderful experiences. And we never got dragged on the road and stiffed by some bar owner in Arkansas.

We played a Gronk and Jerry Dreva art exhibit Downtown with The Screamers and The Bags in an art gallery. What an experience. Ray Manzarek autographed my keyboard. David Bowie was in the audience, wanting to produce The Screamers. There was a whole energy to that night. It was better than having a number-one record.

#vitus matare #the last #trotsky icepick #jeffrey lee pierce #the red lights #happy squid records #the urinals #danny and the doorknobs #joe nolte

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