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softlyspector · 9 months

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Summary: After your first tattoo session with Joel, you can't stop thinking about him or, his touch. And it terrifies you.

Read Honeyed first where: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~10.1k

Warnings: a smidgen of angst for fun 😌 then comfort, slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, the 'believes they're hard to love, loving them is like breathing' trope, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse (joel's workin' on that though), tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn't really described), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, undefined unresolved previous trauma, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: This is dedicated to all of you who are also touch adverse. I hope you like this part as much as the first, and feel seen and heard. I love you and thank you for being so kind and open with your love and your own experiences. May you find the patience and love you deserve in your own Joel.

Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Editing this was a labor, so if there are any mistakes blame my tired eyes. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Joel doesn’t want to walk you home, though he figures he should.

It’s the polite thing to do. The kind of thing his mother and grandmother raised him to do.

And it's got nothing at all to do with prolonging this very long day with you. No, nothing so self serving and selfish as that.

His little doe he’d lured so close, still so out of reach with hidden tattoos not on her hip. It’s scary, the want that wells up in him, the desire to see you step that much closer to him, until you feel safe enough to nestle in his shadow.

If you were the deer, he should be the tree, the shade, the haven.

Rage, incandescent and warm and comforting in its familiarity, wells up in his chest again when your earlier admission plays through his mind.

Nothing brings his anger, quick and deadly, like those he cares for being harmed. Rarely did he see cause for it to break the surface—not since Sarah was born and he had a better example to set, not since Tommy calmed down and stopped getting in so many fights.

This, though, with you—the thought of you being harmed, brings it all rushing back. He hopes to never lay eyes on your ex, for everyone’s sake.

I had bruises for a couple weeks after, you’d said. It hurt. He wanted it to hurt.

Those words had stung on their own, but then you’d continued.

I think he wanted to brand me. He wanted to leave a piece of himself on me, whether I wanted it or not.

It grates on him, that anyone could hurt you that way, that anyone would even think of it, and get away with it.

You’re happily finishing the last bite of the quartet of tacos he’d gotten you, unaware of the turmoil that drags taunting claws into the fleshy parts of his chest.

You nod along to the Cash song still playing over the outdoor speakers, though now at a much lower volume as the night wanes later, a content expression on your face.

He likes watching you eat, likes it even better knowing you’re eating something he got you. It satisfies something weirdly primal in him.

The side of your leg is still pressed to his, warm and pliant even through two layers of denim. The buzzing flaxen glow of the sting lights halo over your head; it casts your face in shadow, the long feathers of your lashes spiking down your cheeks.

You seem more relaxed now. The tension in your shoulders has loosened, the crease between your furrowed brows gone as you ball up the used napkins and toss them into the little paper boat the tacos had been on.

He refuses the last few sips of lemonade, and so you drink the rest instead.

“Well,” you say, your voice a little sheepish and shy, that soft round look coming back into your eyes. He imagines you with the twitching, sensitive ears of a doe, poking through your hair, alert and suddenly wary of the extended hand you’d been so trusting of minutes before. “I should probably let you go. It’s late.”

You say it like you think you’ve been keeping him there, taking up his time that he’s eager to get back.

But you haven’t, and he isn’t ready to let you go.

“I’ll walk ya home.”

“It’s alright,” you say dismissively, gathering the trash and standing before he can do it for you. “I’m only a couple of blocks over,” you say over your shoulder as you walk away.

“I’d feel better if you let me,” he admits, following close behind you.

You toss the trash and then turn back to him, nervously running your palms along your thighs, eyes flicking over him. “This is a safe little town, you know,” you reassure him. “Like, I’m pretty sure my neighbors don’t even lock their door.”

Joel blinks. “But you lock your door, don’t ya?”

An inexplicable smile pulls your mouth up at the corners. “Yeah, Joel, I lock my door.”

“Good,” he says gruffly, shoving down the protective feeling that had been rising in his chest. It’s an insane feeling, one that sets something he thought long dead on fire within him.

You just watch him for a moment, knowing eyes sliding over him. “Well,” you relent and jerk your head toward one of the side streets. “I’m this way, if you’re sure you have time.”

Like time had anything to do with it.

He gestures you ahead of him, his eyes falling down the curve of your spine, the shape of your hips and thighs. He’s still trying hard not to think about the bumblebee and the antlers tattooed somewhere on your body, all the parts of you he hasn’t seen.

He’s trying hard not to think about a lot of things.

Like how your skin felt under his hand, dewy and warm. How he’d spent most of the day with his hand covering yours, the hummingbird beat of your pulse against his fingertips.

He’s trying not to think about how good you smelled that close, raw and unfiltered, how irritated he had been when the sharp smell of disinfectant had chased it away.

You carried the smell of summer with you wherever you went, like sunshine and coffee, iced sugar and coconut.

He walks with you through the navy darkness in silence, the flash of amber street light the only thing illuminating your way. It feels nice. He feels like the rest of the world has turned its face away, that it's only you and him and the ghostly eyes of the white glow of the moon peeking through the quickly dissipating clouds.

The Texas dry heat would be back with a vengeance in the morning, but for now the street is pleasantly humid. The air still smells like petrichor, like damp concrete. He should savor it. Tomorrow, the blindingly hot smell of asphalt and dust will return and chase this moment in the dark with you away.

You seem almost better suited to the dark, to the quiet smooth pleasantness of it, like your fear can’t reach you there if it can’t see you, if you can’t see it. Like a prey animal that only ventured into the safety of night.

So he lets the silence last, because it's comfortable, and he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary chatter anyhow.

He can’t remember the last time he did something like this, felt the brush of someone else’s fingers through the dark and the accompanying zing it sent up his arm. He forgot how amplified everything could feel, especially in the low light.

The walk to your apartment is short.

You only live a few blocks from the center of town, and only a few streets over from the studio. He imagines you walking this path each day with the intention of coming to see him, with the intention to walk by the studio, even before you knew him—in the sun, all summer.

You live above the town’s sole bookshop. It’s cute, like the rest of the town is. It’s unbelievable how idyllic the town is, like it’s cut straight from the pages of a romance novel, or one of those shitty Hallmark movies.

He stands just outside the circle of the security light that blinks on over the door. You fiddle with the lock for a solid minute, jiggling the knob just so and then twisting the key in a pattern that you seem to know well, until it finally yields and opens.

Joel clears his throat. “Y’need someone to look at that?”

You don’t seem to hear the question mark tagged onto the end of the question, or to realize that he’s offering to fix it. “Yeah, I know,” you roll your eyes. “I’ve asked my landlord to look at it a couple of times already but they haven’t gotten around to it—”

“I can take a look for you sometime,” he clarifies. “It won’t take but a minute—”

“That’s alright, Joel,” you interrupt quickly and dip your head, embarrassed suddenly. “I’ve let you do way too much for me today. Everyday.” Before he can contradict you—because he isn’t sure what the hell you feel he’s done for you, you step back through the door and hover there in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

The security light casts your face in harsh shadows, the dark stairwell behind you reaching black claws out to hook around your frame.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. You just linger there, fidgeting with your keys, looking for all the world like you have something you want to say to him, like you don’t want him to go either.

Joel watches you, waiting for you to say something, to be the one to sever the connection between you and say goodnight. His chest feels tight as he waits for you to decide, waits for you to decide his shade was a place you could be safe.

Besides, he’s still trying to figure how to say goodbye to you, still trying to figure how he’s supposed to pry apart the sticky want that thrums against his skin. Still trying to figure out what exactly had gotten into him, what had gotten into him in the weeks and months you’d started coming by.

He supposes it's just been a long time. He supposes he’s just out of practice at having feelings for someone.

It’s been just him and his girls and his brother for so long.

He must take too long trying to figure things out because you smile at him and glance away, your expression apprehensive and unsure. “You will let me get you back for the tacos someday,” you warn softly. “‘Night.”

Then you shut the door. He hears you bang up the steps, your footfalls fading until he can’t hear them anymore. The security light flickers out and he’s plunged into semi-darkness, but he doesn’t move until a light finally comes on in one of the upstairs windows a few minutes later, the silhouette of your body outlined behind a sheer curtain.

It’s only then that he turns away and walks back the way he’d come. He smiles to himself and then feels stupid about it.

He’s too old, he thinks again, for his chest to be twinging the way it is, to be smiling in the dark, and missing someone he just left.

He’d see you tomorrow, anyway.

Just as he always did.

Just like you always do.

Joel is distracted the day after your appointment.

Your scent lingers in the air of the studio. He mistakes every shadow that passes the front window for you. The image of you under the soft light in the center of town is imprinted behind his eyes. The way you’d smiled, the feel of your skin under his fingers—soft and damp in the humid air that had ballooned after the day’s rain, consumes his every thought, has his eyes shifting to the front window every few seconds. His back gives an unpleasant spasm from how quickly he turns at even the slightest noise, always thinking it's you finally pushing the door open.

But he sees more than your shadow and the ghost of your silhouette in the window.

Joel sees all the imagined, soft skin under your clothes where an antler tattoo is hidden. Untouched, unexplored skin that he would very much like the chance to explore and touch, if ever you gave him the chance, if you ever wandered that close.

It’s a fine idea.

That you’d come into the studio and lean against the counter and watch him work on a design for someone that isn’t nearly as important as you are.

But, the day wears on, and you never show up.

The day after Joel tattooed you and bought you sugary lemonade and tacos under golden light that you etched divine, you don’t stop in.

You don’t even walk by.

It isn’t unusual for you to go a few days between visits to the studio. He tells himself that it’s normal, fine, that you have a job and a life and that sometimes you don’t get the chance to come by. He tries not to worry about it.

On the second day, with your image still fluttering behind his eyes, the weight of your gaze still heavy on his skin, he starts sketching another design for you. It distracts him, at least, because you don’t come in on the second day, either.

You don’t come in the day after that either, or the day after that. His girls stop by for dinner on Friday evening, and Ellie crashes on his couch for the night to help out in the shop the next day. All that Saturday, all he can think about is you, pushing the door open slowly, pausing in the entryway like you always do with watchful eyes, skin shimmering with sweat from the sun and heat, cups of coffee in hand, one for you and one for him, just like always.

He imagines you smiling at him, your shoulders loosening when your doe eyes land on him, the uncertainty and trepidation melting away because it’s him. Because it’s just him. It’s just the two of you.

But the image, the fantasy, never comes to fruition.

Ellie snaps at him around noon to stop being so fucking weird, dude.

Sundays—the shop is closed, so he doesn’t see you then.

By Monday, five days after he tattooed you and walked you home in the dark, as the sun sets on a ragingly warm evening, Joel is convinced that you aren’t going to come by the studio anymore.

He keeps working on your new design.

Then, a whole week goes by, and then another, and you still don’t drop by, you don’t even walk by, though he catches a few glimpses of you down the road—in front of the boutique, the coffee shop, the record store a few doors down. He sees you at the farmer’s market that pops up every Saturday in the town’s center.

He dreams of you, dreams of the willowy, softly plush curves of your body. Joel dreams of you at home with him, in his bed. He dreams of pushing your shirt up, palming every delicate part of you, tracing his fingers over your hidden tattoos.

He always jolts awake when the dream version of you pushes him back and kisses him hard, his hands cupped around you, your thighs, your breasts, the dip of your waist and belly.

It’s distracting, the ghost of you everywhere he looks. He can’t even bring himself to take your painting down from the front window. The doe you don’t see yourself in.

Adjusting to your absence is hard. He hadn’t realized you’d wormed your way into his daily life so firmly, like an invasive species the environment grows around, and turns when it's taken away.

In one particularly low moment two weeks on, he takes a stroll a few blocks over, worried that something might have happened to you, that something might be keeping you away. He sees you inside the bookstore you live above, newly purchased novel in hand, feet curled beneath you on a sofa in the window.

You seem fine, though an inexplicable twinge of jealousy plucks at his heart. He never thought that you might hang around the other shops like you did with his.

And you never come by.

You don’t owe him anything, certainly not your company.

He resigns himself to not seeing you until your second session, when he’ll finish your tattoo and probably never see you again.

Joel scares you.

His hand lying over yours all day; his offer to fix your door; the way he looked at you intense and heavy and waiting, wanting—it all terrifies you.

The words to invite him up for something to drink had sat heavy in your mouth before you changed your mind and left him where he stood. You’d bothered him enough, taken up enough of his time.

You aren’t sure what southern manners had led him to take you to get tacos and lemonade but surely he’s had enough of you.

I’ve let you do way too much for me, you’d said. And he hadn’t disagreed.

Instead, you lurch up the stairs, let yourself into your apartment and stand breathing hard in the dark entryway, back against the door. Your forearm aches just a little, but in the pleasant way it always does after getting tattooed, instead of in the painful, raw way the one from your ex had.

The familiar itch below your skin that had started with Joel’s art is now overwhelming, because you know what the shape of his hand feels like. You know the precise weight of his palm over the back of your hand, and against the column of your spine. You can’t forget how his jean clad thigh felt against yours, how nice the brush of his fingers had been through the dark.

His voice was so low and graveled when it brushed against your skin, it tingled through your whole body, down to your toes, to the pit of your belly. It was low and intimate and felt like everything he said was just for you, like it had brushed against every tiny hair on your body.

I’m not markin’ you, because it's not mine. It’s yours. It’s for you.

They were words for you, special for you, reassuring to you, spoken so kindly and in defense of you against someone he would never meet, over something that was not his fault and that he hadn’t been around yet to prevent.

There’s a kinetic energy under your skin that burns, like pages of your story with him are already set aflame. Don’t burn this bridge, you think and lean hard back into the door. You close your eyes and tangle your fingers together, squeezing so tight it hurts, until you pinch your skin. Please don’t let me burn this bridge.

You like Joel, more than you have any right to. He feels safe and sure and solid; he’s kind. He scares you, but in a way that makes you want to claw your way through the dark back to him, to see if he’ll touch you again, speak low and kind just for you, work on art made just for you.

When you finally catch your breath, you flip on the lights and toss your keys down as you cross your small apartment. You scrub a hand over your face and take a deep breath from between your fingers.

A moment later, you pluck up the courage to glance out the window, just in time to catch Joel’s broad shoulders turn the corner in the distance back onto Main Street.

Something in your chest pangs, the strings of your heart pull tight and hard up against your lungs until your throat closes.

The feelings he planted in your chest, nestled among your ribs and wove between your veins, seem unfair. It seems horribly unfair, harsh even, that you should be left with the tips of your fingers smoldering, hesitantly reaching out for more.

He’s left a sea inside you, a lonely dark hole. You knew it was there, that black, open emptiness. You’d felt it all your life, but now you know what it feels like when someone sees it, shrugs, and asks to be a part of it. You know what it's like, now, to have someone stand, patient and still on the shore.

He’s left you wanting, craving something that you’ve feared for so long, that always felt wrong. And when your skin started to go tight and your muscles contracted and pulled, he’d somehow known, heard the pain buried away, and released you.

You can still feel the ghost of his knuckles brushing against your wrist on the dark walk to your apartment. You can feel his thigh against yours while you ate tacos together and listened to the folks of your small town laugh and dance to old country music. You can feel his palm cupped around your wrist, dwarfing your hand beneath his.

You can still feel his calloused fingertips, catching at your palm and the inside of your wrist.

He makes you feel safe and seen, like it’s okay that you lingered in his studio for weeks, bothered him endlessly, without any guarantee that you might one day schedule an appointment and actually get tattooed.

You thought the wantneedpull would subside after finally starting the tattoo but its only gown. The pain you waited for, the urge to flee from your own body never came with him. You want him closer, want the warm rough press of his palm against yours. You just want—you’ve never really wanted anyone closer but you want him closer.

You want Joel so close that nothing else bleeds through. You want to melt into the palms that cupped you so gently, so carefully.

You want to become carefully molded wax in his capable hands.

Inexplicably, for the first time in so long, you want someone to touch you. You want to feel Joel’s hands everywhere, anywhere he could reach and even all the places he couldn’t.

And it terrifies you.

You mean to go back to your normal routine, but the first morning you try to stop by the studio, you can’t make your feet carry you there. You pause halfway between the coffeeshop and the studio, Joel’s usual order clutched in your hand.

The gnawing, empty, raw hole inside you has only grown. You look at your pretty tattoo and think of the gently rough hands that had created it, the furrow between his brows while he worked, the scar over his nose, the strong, broad slope of his shoulders, and you feel anxious.

You want it so badly, and yet—

He’s just your tattoo artist. He probably only put up with you hanging around his shop everyday, bringing him coffee, talking his ear off, because there was the promise of money, the promise of work.

You’d just done the stupid thing and gotten attached to him, to the studio, to your fucking tattoo artist. You are just a client and you long to melt into him. You long to press yourself against him, feel the crush of his body against yours.

That want makes you wary, phantom pain, phantom aversion crawling beneath your skin right after.

It makes your head spin, it makes you feel crazy, that you can’t even decide what you feel, what you want.

It’s better if you stay away, give yourself time to forget the itch, forget the feel of his hands, so you turn away and circle the block, back to your apartment where you set the cups on your kitchen counter and take a deep breath.

Your chest is tight, your mind a snarl of half formed thoughts.

Tomorrow, you think, will be better.

But it’s not.

Each day you think about going over, and you don’t. You feel wound tight, like clockwork left to rust. You dream of Joel, his hands everywhere and nowhere, the warmth of him like a ghost you can’t shake off.

The feelings you try to avoid, the desert dryness of need and emptiness that the loss of his touch inspired, doesn’t go away. It gets worse; it outweighs the fear, the aversion.

You only dare to go as close as the record store, checking he was still there, like the whole place would suddenly disappear if you stopped going by, like a witch’s cottage after a botched, half-worked spell.

You feel cursed, like soot, like a monster waiting to steal the soul of the light.

You’re burning your bridge and you don’t know how to stop.

Joel is still there, where he’s always been. His art is still there, though you’re so far away now, you can’t see it clearly anymore.

But you notice among the still ever rotating collection of art and pictures in the window, one always remains.

You know without seeing it that it's the painting of the doe looking over her shoulder, bees flocking like long forgotten gods around her ears.

Ellie and Sarah ask about you on the third Friday that goes by without you stopping in.

The temperature has cooled off a little, the warmth of summer receding just the tiniest bit. The kitchen table is laden with chinese takeout boxes, rice already spilled across one of the placemats.

“You haven’t been talkin’ about her so much,” Sarah notes curiously.

“Yeah, and you’ve been way more cranky than usual,” Ellie adds.

“Ain’t had cause to see her,” he deflects, reaching for the yet un-spilled carton of rice. “Hasn’t been in the studio since her first session.”

The kitchen suddenly falls silent, the clatter of cutlery deadened as it’s set on the table. “What do you mean?” Sarah, he thinks, sounds mildly offended on his behalf.

“Just what I said,” he grumbles.

He doesn’t need to look up from his plate to know Sarah and Ellie are exchanging a look. “Why not?” Sarah ventures to ask, her tone calmer.

Joel shrugs and finally looks up at his kids. Sarah’s head is tilted to the side ever so slightly and Ellie’s brow is furrowed. “Busy, maybe,” he explains. “Got better things to do.”

“Bullshit!” Ellie explodes suddenly. “What happened? Did you do something stupid?”

He sighs hard through his nose and shovels orange chicken onto his plate with more force than necessary. “No.” Then he reconsiders, goes over every moment of that day again in his mind. How much he touched you, selfishly, when he knew you were adverse to it. “I don’t know. Could be she was only around this summer to see if we’d make a good fit.”

There’s another beat of silence before both girls are arguing with him. He lets them go on protesting it for a few minutes before he waves them down. “She’s got a lot goin’ on that you two don’t know. Somethin’ might’ve spooked her that I didn’t realize.”

“Like what?”

Your ex-boyfriend and your badly healed tattoo flashes through his mind. The bruises you said you’d had for weeks afterward, how badly it had hurt. The way he’d held onto you all that day.

Guilt pools in his chest, floods his lungs.

He doesn’t know what might have spooked you.

Just hopes it wasn’t him.

“Well, have you tried to talk to her?”

Sarah peers at him with wide eyes, fingers delicately folded around a pair of chopsticks. “No,” he admits.

Ellie makes a discontent noise. “Just fucking talk to her, man,” she says.

“You always do this, dad,” Sarah says suddenly, shaking her head.

“I do not—I don’t—” he stammers. When was the last time he’d had the opportunity to fuck something up? “What are you talkin’ about?”

They both shrug. “It’s like you don’t ever wanna be happy sometimes. She makes you happy and you always think of everybody else, it's okay to think of yourself sometimes. Maybe whatever’s going on with her doesn’t have anything to do with you. Not everything is your fault.”

He can’t figure a way it's not about him, though, that it might not be his fault.

Joel clears his throat and looks down at his plate. “All right, tell me what you two’ve been up to this week.”

“Hey Joel.”

Joel glances up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. You’re distorted in his vision for a moment before he reaches up to take them off.

Your shape comes into sharp relief, a balm after not seeing you for so many days. You look cheerful, happy to see him.

Excited, even.

He hasn’t seen you in a month.

You’d messaged back and forth with his kid about your appointment, about today.

He hasn’t heard your voice in a month.

Seeing you now, despite thinking about you, dreaming about you everyday, makes some part of him close off, go cold and hard. “Howdy,” he says, his voice toeing the edge of polite and flat. The smile on your face fades a little.

Though the sunshine is bright as always, the air outside is chilly for Texas. You’re wrapped in a sweatshirt. For the first time since he’s known you, all of your tattoos are hidden, most of your skin is covered.

You blink owlishly, your fingers flexing nervously around the cups in your hands. “I brought you coffee,” you offer.

He makes a noncommittal noise and jerks his chin towards the door behind the counter. “C’mon, I’m already set up.” Joel turns.

“Oh,” you say, your voice following him to the back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was late.”

“You aren’t,” he grumbles softly. “Had another client this mornin’,” he says, needlessly adjusting and straightening the supplies he had set out, keeping his back to you.

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to get through this with you—ain’t sure how he’s supposed to make sense of how much it hurt that you’d stopped hanging around. There’s a feeble little thread of hope in his heart that you’ll explain it away, that you even noticed you’d changed your routine. A tiny, weak little thing that makes him hope you thought about him too.

Stupid.

That painful tug of hope makes him feel like a teenager, like an idiot kid who read into every little thing like it was a sign until reality started to distort.

He’s always been that way, hopeful and goddamn stupid. It’s why he hasn’t really been with anyone since Sarah’s mother left. It’s how he got tangled up with Sarah’s mom in the first place. He gets stupid when he thinks he feels something, and he’s never been good at figuring how to hold onto something like that, something so delicate.

He always ends up loving too hard, too much. He always crushes the thing before it has a chance to bloom. His girls, they were his only exception, the one thing he was mostly good at taking care of.

“Guess the coffee was a stupid move, huh?”

Joel turns at the sound of your voice, pulled away from the half self-deprecating thoughts floating through his mind, and finds you hovering awkwardly in the doorway, fingers fidgeting anxiously around the cups. You look like you did the first time you came into the shop, stiff and unsure, wide eyes peering at him like you’re waiting for him to give you a reason to run.

The doe waiting for the snap of the twig beneath a hunter’s boot once again.

Something twinges in his chest, the sharp pain slicing through bone and tendon.

He doesn’t want to be the hunter to your doe.

“No,” he straightens, making an effort to soften his voice. “‘Course not.”

You step cautiously closer, extending one of the cups toward him. “Well, it kinda is.” You smile a little. “You won’t be able to drink it while you work, contamination and all. I just—I was on autopilot again, I guess.”

He takes it from you, the paper cup warm in his hand, and tries not to think about how autopilot for you meant unthinkingly buying a cup of coffee for him.

Again, you’d said. Have you done it before? Accidentally bought coffee he never received?

“Well, thank you, sweetheart.”

You swallow and glance away, nodding at the ground instead.

A long silence stretches between you, and unlike all the times you came into the studio before—it's awkward and heavy. He takes a sip of the coffee and finds it sours instantly in his stomach, mixing unpleasantly with the nerves.

Yeah, he’s exactly like a damn kid.

And he’s not good at this. He’s never been good about bridging silent gaps.

Not with words, anyway.

It doesn’t help that you seem to take up the whole room, the smell of sun and coffee and leaves curling on the air.

He sets the cup aside and goes about washing his hands instead. “Go on and get comfortable,” he directs over his shoulder. “Just like before.”

When he’s done scrubbing his hands in the sink and putting on gloves and fighting the urge to inhale the scent of you penetrating every cubic inch of air in the room, he turns to find you sitting and stripping out of your sweatshirt.

He inhales sharply when the shirt beneath lifts with the material, exposing him to a strip of your skin. You tug it back down, hiding skin that he’s dreamed of in the last three weeks, that he’d like to tease his fingertips along, if you let him, if he could lure you that close, convince you to trust him that much.

It seems like a fucking pipe dream now.

You look soft and rumpled as you fold the sweatshirt, fisting your hands anxiously around the edges of it in your lap.

The tendons in the back of your hands flex, bone straining against the flesh. You’re tense, nervous.

“You’re alright,” he drawls, despite himself. The words come out soft, and your shoulders loosen and slump as you release a breath. Whether you stopped coming around or not, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. “C’mere and lemme see it.”

You offer your arm to him and Joel takes your wrist in his hand, just like he had the last time he’d seen you. He’d touched you a lot that day, and you had let him. You’d let him touch you even after you left the studio and he hadn’t had a good excuse to keep doing it anymore.

Now, he relishes the feel of your delicate skin against his again.

“Looks good,” he says, stepping unconsciously closer to you. “Healin’ good anyway.”

You glance up, the side of your knee brushing against his thigh. Warmth radiates from your body, and settles into him in the invariably cold studio. A smile tugs at your lips and the tension disappears from your forehead. “You’re allowed to compliment your own work, you know. It’s beautiful. Probably my favorite.”

He doesn’t answer, fighting the clawing ache in his chest. “I do okay, I guess,” he concedes, turning your arm. “Just glad I didn’t hurt ya.”

You frown but don’t say anything as he goes through the motions of cleaning your skin and settling in on the stool next to you. You settle back in the chair, a cloud of your scent caccooning both of you, undercut by the annoyingly sharp smell of the disinfectant.

He covers your hand and squeezes the tight fist your hand curled into until you release the tension and relax. “Good,” he murmurs. “Good job.”

You chest hitches and you glance over at him, the movement sharp, but he doesn’t look back at you and you don’t say anything.

It’s quiet for a long time, just the buzz of the tattoo gun to keep him company.

He wonders what it is you’re thinking about. Though your body remains loose, the furrow between your brows is pinched tight in thought.

Joel doesn’t bother you, focused instead on his work, on monitoring the flex of your hand beneath his. He doesn’t strictly need to touch you like this, but he wants to, and it seems like you don’t mind.

At least, you hadn’t minded a couple weeks ago.

Maybe that’s what has your forehead so scrunched up. Maybe—

“I didn’t think you would.”

He glances up, those big eyes he sees in his dreams staring down at him. “What’s that?”

“I didn’t think you would hurt me. I mean—really, I’ve only had one bad tattoo experience,” you say with a roll of your eyes, dismissive of your own pain, like that’s not one too many times. “The rest of my—the rest of my issues are mine. Even from before that happened.” You don’t look away from him. “Besides, Ellie assured me beforehand that you have a light touch.”

Yeah, he thought he’d heard her saying that. He’d been both embarrassed about it and warmed.

“Well, I guess she’s right. Never had any complaints.” He leans back and takes his hand off of yours, flexing his fingers and stretching out the pinch in his spine.

One thing he did not relish about tattooing was the way he had to be hunched over. It makes him feel achy and old even if he knows it’d be much worse if he was still working with Tommy.

You nod and fidget with the hem of your shirt with your free hand. He watches you for a long moment, still not saying anything.

Even though things are a little awkward, he feels better, having you there again; knowing for sure that you’re okay because he’s seeing you with his own eyes. His kids might be right, that it’s all right to think of himself for once. Or, as Ellie put it, to just fucking talk to you instead of making assumptions.

“You ain’t been around much lately,” he offers, extending that metaphorically slow hand to you as he always has, asking for the nugget of whatever truth you held onto so tightly.

Maybe it was never about him, just as Sarah had said.

He looks away from your eyes, goes back to tattooing your arm, filling in your piece, the design he’d worked on for a whole summer. Just for you.

The tattoo suits you. He feels an odd kind of pride that you liked his art enough to trust him with designing something, with putting it onto your skin, and your trust is something he never could have hoped for.

“No,” you start, your voice a bit hoarse. “I guess not. I—I just figured that I didn’t have an excuse to stop by anymore.” You pause and swallow. Your voice is clearer when you speak again. “And you’d already been so nice about me taking up your time.”

Joel has to pause again and glance up, just to judge your expression. To see if you’re serious.

You aren’t looking at him, but staring at the far wall as though the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen is etched there. Your features are tense, like you’re trying not to show what you’re feeling. “Taking up my time?”

You shrug, the easily startled anxiety threading back into your eyes. “And,” your voice is shaky as you continue. “I was a little—I don’t know. Afraid. I guess.” Something must show on his face, the swoop of his gut visible on his features because you hurry to explain. “I just…I’ve never trusted someone the way I think I trust you. So. That’s scary.”

There’s a lot of things he could say, a lot of things he should say, but Joel isn’t exactly good at that kind of thing. He just knows he hates when you look at him with trepidation and weariness.

So instead, he covers your hand again and squeezes tight. He refocuses on your tattoo, on the transformation of your skin. He isn’t sure what to make of what you’d said about trust, or your honesty about it, so he pushes down the feeling that wells up into his gut at that admission. “Well, it ain’t no trouble. Havin’ you here. It was mighty quiet without you around.”

It’s hard to say, somehow, the words sticky and catching in his mouth. A quiet descends in the wake of his words, the low buzz of the tattoo gun driving him crazy. He wishes you’d say something, anything, but he doesn’t have the heart to look up and see if you’re looking at him with big, startled eyes.

“Oh,” you say eventually, softly.

And then—“It was quiet for me too. I missed coming by. Why didn’t you ask after me? Ellie could have gotten to me.”

Joel had considered it. He’d figured you’d had good reason to stay away. And he guesses you had, just not the ones he thought.

It hadn’t been about him, really.

“You’re real skittish,” he settles on telling you the truth. “Didn’t want to push you further than you’d already gone.”

He nods, wipes your skin gently with a damp paper towel. “I looked out for ya. Kept thinkin’ y’da come by.”

“Oh,” you say again and this time the word is laced with surprise. “I…didn’t know that. I looked for you too.”

Joel shrugs in what he hopes is an offhand manner. He cares more than he wants to admit, more than he can admit.

“It’s just because you missed having someone bring you coffee,” you tease gently when he doesn’t respond.

He snorts and the lingering tension dissolves. “Don’t do that again,” he says, still not looking up at you. “Coffee or not.”

Joel shrugs on a dark red flannel before he shuffles you out the shop’s front door.

The air is chilly but dry, and it burns the inside of your nose. In truth, the temperature is mild, not worthy of shivers or flannels, but compared to the unending heat of summer it's practically cold outside.

The skin of your forearm feels warm beneath your opposite hand clutched over the fresh ink, safely and carefully wrapped. You can’t stop looking at your now completed tattoo, still smiling to yourself about the way Joel seemed irritated that you not only paid him for his work but tipped him too. You told him to think of it as repayment for the tacos and lemonade but that had only made him frown harder.

“You don’t have to walk me home,” you say, even though the last thing in the world you want is for him to let you go on alone.

“Sure I do,” he says, turning away from the door.

Arguing wouldn’t change his mind, and you don’t really want to anyway.

Joel urges you down the sidewalk, his gait jilted and slow.

There’s an inch of space between you as you walk down the lamplit street. The horizon is a haze of orange, casting the wide open sky in shades of lavender and periwinkle as it darkens and evening sets in. You can feel the heat of Joel’s body, so close by.

It’s nothing compared to his hand over yours, the warmth and all consuming size of it. You don’t know if you’ll ever have cause to feel his hand again, now that he was done tattooing you.

Joel shifts so his hand hovers at your lower back, guiding you lightly. The gesture makes your skin prickle pleasantly, itchy with heat and that strange want that never went away. You wish he’d put his hand against your spine like he had when he’d gotten you tacos, so you could lean back into it, so you could feel the pressure of his hand.

He doesn't. Joel walks you along the street quietly, his hand painfully close to you and yet not close enough.

That alone makes you ache.

You don’t expect him to say anything as you walk along, mainly because you’re the one that’s always nervously chattering at him, half waiting to be snapped at. He tells you about Sarah’s course load for the upcoming fall semester and how Ellie’s nearly done at her apprenticeship. He talks quickly, like he’s trying to catch you up on a month worth of things you’d missed, like it mattered to him that you had.

He tells you about the clients he’d tattooed, and the designs he’s still working on. He wavers when he mentions the designs and you hope maybe he’ll ask you to look at some of them but he quickly moves on.

When you get close to your apartment he abruptly goes quiet and pulls his hand away from your back. Just like the last time he hovers just outside the halo of the security light over the door.

You struggle with the door like you always do until it finally pops open with a groan. This time when you hover in the doorway, you pluck up the courage to ask what you hadn’t been able to the last time.

“Would you like to come up for some coffee?”

“Late for that, ain’t it?”

Your heart sinks, breaks somewhere along your ribs. “Guess so,” you admit, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for walking with me, I’ll, uh—”

“But I would like that,” he cuts you off. It's so unlike him that you just stare for a moment. “If you’re offerin’, that is.”

You smile. “I am.”

He gestures you forward, reaching out to catch the door in his hand.

You slide into the dark entryway and Joel bolts the door shut behind you before following you up the stairs to the landing where you unlock your apartment door without so much struggle. “I can look at that other door,” he offers again, sounding sheepish this time, like he’s sorry for bothering you about it again.

“I’d like that,” you say, and let him in ahead of you.

You flip on the lights as you move past him to the kitchen, tiny and cluttered and too warm. You sweep your mail off the breakfast table and point Joel into one of the chairs when he starts to shrug out of the flannel.

Both chairs have jackets hanging from the back but he just drapes his over what’s already there. His shoulders strain at the material of his shirt, bunching around his biceps and under his arms, across the incredibly broad plains of his chest.

You yank your eyes away from him when you start to follow the vein in his arm, thinking you’d like to know what his skin tasted like there.

Heat floods your chest at the thought. It’s unlike you, makes you feel shaky in a good way. It’s been years since you’ve thought that about someone, and try as you might you can’t remember if you’d ever looked at your ex and thought something like that.

You wonder what that bit of skin feels like, how soft and firm the inside of his bicep must be.

He looks comfortable and domestic in the warm glow of your overhead kitchen light when he sits down.

You can’t look at him for too long without something in your pulse jumping, a raw little needy nerve that demanded attention. You want him to touch you again, to reach out and hold your hand so delicately in his.

Instead of dwelling on that thought, you turn to your coffee pot, deftly fixing it to brew before you turn to rummage through your fridge. “I have something stronger, if you want it. I don’t like drinking after getting a tattoo.”

“You shouldn’t,” he advises. “Ain’t good for healin’. You should eat somethin’, though.”

“I figured you’d have something to say about that,” you roll your eyes and turn to put the blackberry pie in your hands onto the table. “I won’t complain this time as long as you have some with me.”

He stares up at you, an odd look in his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was affectionate. “All right, dear.”

Dear. That’s new. It makes you feel light, like bubbles are popping in your veins.

You nod at him, warmth spreading beneath your skin, before pointing to the pie. “From Flu’s. You been to Flu’s? She has the best pie. It’s blackberry.”

“Sure, me and the girls have been a few times. Coffee’s good there. Blackberry’s one of my favorites,” he rumbles, and you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. You have a feeling that even if Joel hated pie and was allergic to blackberries, you’d never hear a word about it.

Joel doesn’t look away from you. His gaze slowly shifts from your eyes, to your hand planted on your hip. He slowly reaches out and curls his hand around your wrist. The slow way he does it stills your heart and all the worries shelved inside it. All the room he gives you, to be skittish, as he called it, and afraid, makes your throat go tight and hot. He handles it like it’s not something to fix, just something to accommodate, figure out with you. “Thank you, sweetheart. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get the coffee?”

“It’s my house,” you gripe softly, no bite behind your words. His skin is fever hot against yours, like an ember pressed against your jumping pulse.

But just like the last time he tattooed you and insisted on something to eat, he scoffs at you. His thumb slides across the inside of your wrist. “And you were the one that lost blood today. Sit, and tell me where your mugs are.”

You slowly sit across from him, your wrist still in his hand. “Good,” he releases you and stands. The little bit of praise goes straight to your belly, just like it had at the shop. It settles warm inside you, a good kind of tense. “Cups?”

You point him to the correct cabinet, exhaustion overcoming you all at once now that you’ve sat down. You watch him pour the coffee, offer to get you cream or sugar even though he doesn’t know where those are either. You have to point him to where the plates, and then the cutlery, are kept.

It's an odd little hope that flits through your mind, one that wishes for a day when he would be familiar enough with your things that he wouldn’t need to ask.

He returns to the table and cuts two even slices of pie and plates them before returning to his chair.

You’re just about to dig your fork into the pie when his hand curls around yours again. He isn’t looking at you when you glance up, glad that he still wants anything to do with you, that he so carefully touches you, gives you the thing you crave and fear and are too afraid to ask for.

“Don’t do that again.” He squeezes your wrist gently, voice that quiet, low drawl, an echo of what he’d said earlier.

It’s the same thing he’d said at the shop and you don’t have to ask what he means. You wouldn’t anyway, not when the vulnerability in his voice seems to cost him.

He’s not sure how it happens, how he spends all night at your kitchen table with your trembling pulse beneath his hand.

He’s too old to be doing this type of shit.

He’s got an ache in his neck now that’s going to get him teased by just about everyone. His girls and Tommy already get on him about being a crotchety old man—between the glasses he refuses to wear besides anytime he needs to read something small and the landline phone and his attitude generally.

Yeah, his neck and back issues are going to be next on the docket.

But he can’t really bring himself to care, not when he’s gotten to sit with you through the night and listen to your voice, not when your hand is still securely within his and you haven’t given a single indication you’d like him to let go, not when your calves are crossed with his beneath the table.

He lets himself imagine it better, imagine it more.

You curled in his lap, head on his shoulder, fingers tangled up in the fabric of his shirt or knotted into his hair. In this stupid little dream of his, you’ve just woken up instead of staying awake through the night. You say good morning and he pours you coffee.

He thinks, too, of pressing you back into the table, finding what lay hidden on your skin. He’d go to his knees for you, he’d worship at your feet, if you asked him to.

He wants it so bad he can taste it, but he settles for what he has here with you, the limit you’ve guided him to, hands tangled and legs crossed.

The sun dawns a white gold through the sheer curtains over your kitchen windows. You’d never pulled the heavier drapes closed and the street light had cast your face in shadow when you flipped out the harsh overhead light.

You watch the sunrise, and Joel watches honeyed light shift over your face.

He likes your little apartment. It’s cluttered and homey and reminds him of his parent’s kitchen when he’d been growing up. You have art and photos stuck to every inch of bare wall. The blanket over the back of your couch and the shaw over one of the chairs is crocheted. There’s evidence of all kinds of little projects scattered around your apartment.

Even the little breakfast table he sits at is hand painted.

“You never said you were an artist,” he’d said early on in the night.

“I’m not,” you’d ducked your head and deflected. “Not like you at least. It’s not like I’m any good.”

You’re plenty good. “Right,” he agreed. “Not like me. It's better than mine. You could do your own sketchin’ for a tattoo.”

Even though you’d been embarrassed he could tell you were delighted he thought so.

Now you turn your face toward him in the comfortable silence that’s descended, half your features in shadow. You smile and your teeth shine. “Good thing today’s a Sunday, right? You don’t have to worry after rushing to open the studio.”

You tug your hand back from his and stand, gathering both mugs before you cross your tiny kitchen to set about starting a new pot of coffee.

He watches you, absently stacking the plates crusted with blackberry filling.

Your shirt rides up a little when you reach for the coffee canister, a thin strip of skin showing between your rumpled shirt and your jeans. He’s reminded again of all the places he wants to touch you, to touch the soft curves of your body, trace that line of skin and seek out each of your hidden tattoos.

Not on your hip, you’d said.

So where? Where hasn’t he seen?

The velvet of your thighs, the silken skin of your ribs and back, between your breasts, your sternum.

The kitchen fills slowly with light, orange and red on the far wall, undulating lines of light slicing apart the worn wooden floor. He picks apart the place with his eyes while your back is turned—the paintings and photos you don’t think anything of, the postcards stuck to the fridge, the hand painted, hand knitted-ness of everything, the mismatched mugs and glasses, chipped at the corners, the tiny dish of kibble on the floor—

“You got a cat?” He figures he would have seen a dog by now.

You turn and follow his eyes before you smile. “Sometimes. He comes and goes whenever he likes. He’s not really mine.”

“How’s that?”

“How’s what?”

“That he comes and goes?” Joel stands, meanders a couple steps toward you, trying to discreetly stretch out the throbbing nerve in his back.

“I leave the window cracked in my bedroom.”

And he hates that, just like he hates the thought of you leaving your door unlocked and he just like he hates the thought of you struggling with the door in the middle of the night when he hasn’t walked you home. “Shouldn’t be doin’ things like that.”

“Knew you wouldn’t like it,” you smile, repeating your earlier sentiment and he has a feeling it’s going to become a common refrain. “He’s probably sleeping just now.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ll drive me crazy.”

“This town is the safest place I’ve ever been.”

“Hate to see where you’ve been before.”

You laugh and ask him if he wants to get breakfast when—

“Shit,” he slides a hand over his face. “I told my girls we’d have breakfast. Start of the school year tradition, Sarah's first day back is Monday. I gotta drive down to Austin.”

“It’s still early,” you reassure him without turning, but he can see the way your cheek curves with a smile he can’t see. “I’ll put your coffee in a thermos to go.”

Joel takes the last few steps toward you and leans against the counter. Your breath hitches and your eyes flick up to his, big and shining bright as they always are. A slash of sun falls over them, lighting up your irises. The coffee pot bubbles and hisses, percolating slowly and you don’t look away.

Your lips part softly and your breath fans across his chin. “Don’t gotta leave this minute. I got some time,” he says, watching those doe eyes of yours flick across his face, to the corner of his mouth.

You move a bit closer, your foot slotting between his, and he feels like you’ve finally drifted close enough. Finally come close enough to feel safe, to rest.

You lean into him first, eyes fluttering closed, shoulders relaxing against the line of his body. Joel presses one arm around you, slides his fingers along the column of your spine, and for a moment you stiffen in the cage of his arms.

“You’re all right,” he murmurs and loosens his hold a fraction, but your body suddenly goes lax against him. Your nose slots against his throat, fingers curling gently into his t-shirt. You release a long, slow breath against his throat. “You’re okay.”

He isn’t sure what he’s trying to reassure you of, but it doesn’t much matter because you seem to know, to get his meaning.

“I know I am,” you sigh.

He can feel you breathing, the rise and fall of your lungs, the press of your breasts against his chest. You’re soft in his arms. “Good,” he says, nose against your temple as he slides his hand to the back of your neck, keeping you pressed there. “Good girl.” He feels you shiver and holds you closer, tighter than should be possible.

Your hand is hot when it slips beneath his shirt, pressed against his lower back for the briefest moment before it disappears and roots down into his shirt again, your breath shaky.

When he rubs the tense muscle of your neck you make a noise that forces him to stifle a groan and pull back just slightly.

“You okay?” He asks, ignoring the fire burning low in his belly, trying to temper himself.

Your eyes are damp, the corners wet. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I’m—”

He cups your cheek, tilts your face up, sweeps his thumb over your cheek.

“I’m just a fucking mess, Joel. I always have been. For a long time, I have been. And I don’t know why.”

“Why what?” His eyes are on your mouth, then your eyes, the image of the divot in the bottom of your lip lingering in his mind. “Sweetheart?”

The big, scared, doe-eyed look you send him breaks his heart. “Why it’s so hard. To touch people and be touched.”

“You’re doin’ okay,” he strokes your cheek again, slides his other hand to your hip. “Seems to me anyway.”

“For now. I’m work. I always have been. And I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

He thinks of your pretty little apartment decorated with your own arts and crafts that you dismiss with a wave of your hand, the way you think you bother him, your insistence of paying him back for his time. You make yourself small, and he thinks you have more scars and worries from the past than you realize.

“Trouble? You’re the least troublesome person I know,” he says. “My idiot brother, Tommy, now he’s trouble. Still gotta bail him outta trouble sometimes. You? Nothin’ about you is trouble.” You lean into his hand, watching him closely.

He can’t believe his silent extended hand, his patient hand, has been rewarded with this. “And I don’t mind hard work.”

You search his eyes for a long time, not blinking, not looking away, as you reach up and hook one hand around his wrist. He can see you trying to convince yourself to believe him. You swallow and place your trust in him again, if not necessarily your belief. “Okay.”

“All right. You wanna get breakfast with me and my girls? I’ve been wantin’ you to meet Sarah.”

“She won’t mind?” you ask, gently pulling yourself out of his hands, tugging his hand away from your face.

He lets you go, recognizes the trapped, pained, fearful wanting on your face. You need space. “They think I don’t know it’s more for me than them. They stopping carin’ about it sometime in middle school. Hell, Ellie ain’t even in school anymore. I’m holdin’ on to them bein’ kids, I guess.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He stands aside and lets you fix the coffees. He pulls his flannel off the back of your chair when he passes it on the way out and drapes it around your shoulders.

When you’re in his truck, fiddling with his radio, he catches you clutching it closer, your nose dipped into the collar.

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #honeyed fic

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j0kers-light · 4 months

Note

Heyo!!! So I’m recently on a joker kick, so here’s a little thought I was having. Maybe joker with a reader who is an artist, and one day paints him! I have drawn joker before and everytime I draw him I find the scars so comforting to draw for some reason!

Love the series btw!!!

Hey hi anon!! 🖤✨

Lol I've been on a Joker kick for two years now. I LOVE THIS THOUGHT! Thank you for loving my series, in return I give you a little head canon! (that almost turned into a oneshot:)

You were big on the Gotham City art scene with your giant portraits famously painted in black and white with intricate detail. The only color it held would be splattered on last minute without abandon. It was different, bold, and it paid the bills with money to spare. For three years now you turned your bottled up emotions into a living.

An original Y/L would take a week or two to paint before the buyer would select their splatter color. Critics said you 'ruined works of art' whereas others stated the angry marks you left behind were your version of a signature.

Joker saw your work and instantly fell in love. There was so much pain and turmoil in the flecks of paint. He had to have one. So he sorta kinda stole a piece until it was stolen from him. So Mac did his thing and tracked it down... right to your front door.

You were so happy to reunite with one of your original pieces! If not for your devoted fans and their detective-like skills, you would have never seen it again.

It was a self portrait (or at least what you wanted yourself to look like) with crimson red paint streaked across your throat. It was safe to say the critics hated this piece, deeming it too dark and grotesque to be considered art. Funny how it was auctioned off for a quarter of a million dollars...

Moving on! It went missing right before the final bid only this time you would never part with it again! These days you kept it in your personal living room as a reminder of how far you became as an artist.

It was a slow month in terms of commissions. You had just finished up a fun piece for a local celebrity and you were still picking pink and gold paint off of your skin.

You had some downtime so you found your trusty sketchbook and let the open window carry the sounds of Gotham’s busy streets into your apartment as you doodled some new ideas.

A series of knocks on your front door made you wary. Not too many visitors came by if it wasn't more art supplies being delivered.

So sat your book down and slowly walked towards the door only for it to be kicked in— followed by three men you never wanted to see walk in.

One man was blond, like any college frat boy blowing through daddy's money, who scanned your apartment in unveiled disgust.

The second male was a strong and burly that reminded you of a character from Call of Duty. He stayed near the door and you had no doubt he was the one who kicked it in....

But the last guy, there was no mistaking who he was.

The Joker was in your apartment and he had his eyes set on your beloved piece.

Neither of them acknowledged your presence. The Joker picked up your self portrait and sighed. "Come to Papa..."

He nodded at his two henchmen as they prepared to leave. "Let's go."

You were flabbergasted. How this man bust up in your place, take your ish, and then leave?! Like? Rude.

"Um? Excuse you!?" You said.

All three men froze and stared at you; however, each one held a different emotion. Indifference, annoyance, and oddly... intrigue.

The latter belonged to Joker. He handed the blond the painting and sauntered closer to you. "Why.... hellooo beautiful. You. You must be the artist."

Not too many people knew what you looked like since your work and media appearances were all handled by your manager and dear friend, Cindy. You weren't offended by Joker's comment but you weren't about to let him take your work— no matter how dangerous he was.

You huffed and crossed your arms, "And if I am? Its rude to break into people's homes and take their stuff."

There was a calm before the storm then Joker burst out laughing. You looked on in confusion as he doubled over and slapped his knees as if what you said was really that funny.

His two henchmen weren't phased in the slightest. You eyed them briefly as Joker closed the distance and held a knife to your throat. You had little time to react before the cold metal touched your skin.

"Shhh shhh. I'd hate to make a ah.. mess. Do we have a prob-lem doll?" He squeezed your face tighter in his grip. The texture of his leather gloves made you wince.

"OW! Yes... we.. do! You're not taking my work!"

He blocked your poor excuse at kneeing him in the groin and tutted his lips. "Yeah? Well let's see. Why don't weee.. make a uh, deal? so we all end up happy, hmm?"

Did he hear how insane that sounded? You didn't have to make deals with criminals over your property!

You glanced around the room and noticed all three men's body language was relaxed. It wasn't fair how they had the advantage here.

You could talk a mad trash and hold your own in any normal brawl but Joker was a different level of crazy. You couldn’t take him on. He was too unpredictable and you knew both men blocking the only exit could fight too.

It would be a mess for sure if you resisted. You had no other choice but to strike a deal.

“Fine. You want my work so badly? I’ll paint you. I will paint a piece for you, I mean.” You tried not to stare at his scars but they were so intricate. The artist in you screamed at the chance to draw him.

You wanted to sketch Joker’s scars out with charcoal, outline them with ink, and master their design with any available media you had. You were itching to get started.

The Joker noticed your sudden antsy behavior and read into it wrong.

“Wanna know how I got ‘em?” He craned his neck so you could see his scars better.

“Yes.”

Oh.

He wasn’t expecting such an honest response from you. He stuttered and lowered the knife from your neck in shock. He thought you would create some distance after he let you go, but in fact, you moved in closer to him.

“May I touch them? FOR RESEARCH! To s-study them! I need to get a feel of what I’m… I swear there’s a reason..”

Mac and Frost shared a quick look (none one touched Joker's scars and lived to tell the tale) but much to their horror, their boss agreed.

Joker looked unsure as your hands hesitated, but slowly but surely came up to touch his face.

Time stood still for Joker as this beautiful stranger mapped out all the lines in his skin. He took in your hooded eyes, the slope of your lips, and the way air escaped between them as you discovered each crevice and outline. In contrast to his own, your skin was smooth and an warm brown, a hue he wanted to discover more of.

Your hands felt too good on him. He craved more contact. Joker wanted so much more but you pulled your hands back the moment your thumb slipped into his mouth.

Did he... lick it? Lawd harmacy..

That was enough art study. You had to part ways before you turned into a whore.

You backed away just for safe measure.

You cleared your throat, “I’ll um.. wow. Um I’ll start licking your face, I MEAN PAINT YOUF FACE!” If your skin complexion allowed, you would be redder than a tomato. Why did you say that out loud? And why wasn't he saying anything back?!

“Um y-you can come by next week or so. I should be done then. Oh, and um what color do you—"

“Green.” Joker muttered. He already knew what you were asking. The accent color you splattered on the finished piece. Your signature in the art world.

He picked green since he didn’t know your favorite color yet. He didn't know why but he wanted to know.. amongst other things about you.

“C-Cool. I’ll use green. Usually a commission comes with a deposit but um since you’re sparing my life, I guess that’s enough payment.” You looked away and locked eyes with your sketchbook.

Without a single word you crossed the room and began sketching out samples of Joker’s mouth before you forgot. Not like you ever could.

By the time you looked up, he and his men were gone.

You could call it an obsession the way you strived to perfect Joker’s smile.

The apartment was littered with your many demo sketches before you finally went with your gut and put a paintbrush to the easel. For the next week, you barely slept and only ate enough to keep yourself alive so you could complete The Joker's commission. Your life was kinda on the line here so it had to be perfect.

And you finished right in the nick of time.

Joker came alone this time and he strolled into your apartment as if he owned it. You had yet to get the lock fixed after his henchmen kicked it open but regardless. Joker did not have any manners. Or a sense of personal space.

You were standing back to gauge where you wanted to begin flinging paint when his voice startled you.

“Leave it as is.”

You jumped in fright and Joker steadied you with a firm grip to your waist. You didn’t know that he brought you flush to his chest until you felt his breath hit your neck. You didn't question how he got inside or how you failed to hear him in the first place.

Joker was so warm, it erased all conscious thought from your mind. It sounded insane, but you felt safe in Joker's arms and the relative ease that you relaxed into his hold terrified you more.

The two of you stared at your art in silence even as your heart hammered out of your chest. Was this seriously happening? What did he say?

Oh right. Leave it as is.

You took in your final painting and you had to admit. He was right. It was perfect as is, no color required. There was no pain to purge onto this canvas; a first in your collection. You couldn't bring yourself to tarnish the mysterious beauty you painted in black and white.

As Joker’s scars grazed your skin, burning a clean path up to your neck, the both of you knew..

This wouldn't be the last time you painted Joker.

I feel awful that I didn't find any credit for this beautiful fanart.

#thanks anon!#thanks for the ask!#ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #joker x reader #artist!reader #joker x y/n #reader insert #black!fem!reader #the joker #heath joker #dark knight joker #his lighthouse

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xaracosmia · 9 months

Text

ꕥ — WELCOME TO MARE COSMIA, DICK GRAYSON. 🌗

ꕥ — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: jess age: 26 pronouns: he/they ooc contact: arcadeigannon (tumblr) / @worstboywonder (twitter) other characters in xc: Arcade Gannon, Shoko Ieiri

ꕥ — IC INFORMATION;

name: Dick Grayson age: 29 pronouns: he/him series: DC Comics (Batman) canon point: Post- Night of Owls

app triggers: death, parental death, violence, mentioned child death, mentioned gun violence

personality:

Dick has been described as the one hero in the multiverse that any other vigilante (and even most villains) would trust and respect — but he would be hard-pressed to tell you himself why that is. Despite being known for his charisma, confidence and composure, Dick is a well of insecurities bubbling just below the surface of a carefully crafted facade.

Above all, Dick is a performer, and he will take on whatever role he feels he must in any given situation. Growing up, this role was the light to Batman’s darkness, and acting as a beacon in such a bleak place put a strain on him. It set a pattern, too, of Dick stepping into the role of caretaker, sometimes without even meaning to do so. He cares deeply about others, particularly his family and friends, and despite believing in (and mostly adhering to) Batman’s non-lethal creed, if anything is going to push him over the edge it’s the threat of harm to his loved ones. When pressed, Dick is capable of righteous, blinding fury, even enough to make him homicidal. He carries a deep shame about this, but as with most negative aspects of his life, he is loath to address it unless he actually has to.

He tries to live his life with levity, eager as he is to present himself as the carefree, fun-loving Robin, even though his days as the boy wonder are long past. Mostly he succeeds, although those who know him best know that while the conviviality does come naturally to him, he also uses it as a mask. Dick does have his own dark side, one that he continues to have to reckon with particularly throughout his adult life, and he is more than capable of being petty and underhanded.

Primarily, though, Dick is kind, and deeply compassionate. He’s dedicated his life to helping others, and even when he’s questioned his crime-fighting lifestyle, he’s never questioned his drive to make the world a better place in any way he can. Whether or not he’s truly done so will always haunt him, of course — when he was younger, he was cocky, and as he matured so did the cockiness into a more respectable confidence, but he suffers under the weight of great expectations that he fears he can never live up to. He will never stop trying, though, and as long as he’s capable he’ll do it with a smile, a flourish, and the best quip he can come up with.

something your muse struggles with: His inner critic. Often he’s his own worst enemy. your muse’s greatest strength: His compassion.

history / background:

Born to trapeze artists John and Mary Grayson, Dick grew up in the traveling circus troupe Haly’s Circus, surrounded by wild characters and the drama of show business. Dick was talented from a young age, and nicknamed “little robin” by Mary, who thought of a robin when watching him on the trapeze. He performed in his family’s trapeze act, the Flying Graysons, until his parents’ death during a performance one night when he was eight years old - the high wires snapped during a trapeze stunt and they fell to their deaths as Dick watched.

A young Bruce Wayne was in the audience that night, however, and after a brief (but unpleasant) stint in juvie and then a Catholic orphanage, Dick was adopted by Bruce and became his ward. Dick was resistant, of course, and in turmoil over his parents’ death - besides the trauma, he felt responsible, as he’d witnessed crime boss Tony Zucco threatening the circus performers before the show on the night that John and Mary died, but Dick had not warned anyone. Eventually, he snuck out of Wayne Manor during the night, determined to seek answers. Instead he found Batman - next thing he knew he was waking up in the Batcave, and Batman (revealed to be none other than Bruce Wayne) was offering Dick the opportunity to fight crime by his side and see his parents’ killer brought to justice. Dick agreed, choosing the name “Robin” in honor of his mother and becoming Batman’s very first Robin.

Their partnership was nothing short of iconic, and certainly the driving force of much of Dick’s adolescent growth, for better or worse. As Dick grew older, he and Bruce clashed more often; often when Dick was hurt in the field (shot in the shoulder by the Joker or beaten by Two-Face), Bruce reconsidered his decision to allow Dick to operate as his partner and sidelined him, even going so far as to eventually “fire” him from his role. During this time Dick continued to operate as Robin, albeit mostly solo, until he found a group of friends and comrades in the Teen Titans.

Dick prioritized his newfound independence and relationship with the Titans, and Bruce told him he needed to retire as Robin, leading to their biggest fallout thus far. Dick left Wayne Manor and began working with the Titans full time. After consulting with Superman, Dick conceived a new crime-fighting persona for himself, separate from Batman and Robin (but still paying homage): Nightwing.

During his time with the Titans, Dick fell in love with Koriand’r, made a mortal enemy of Deathstroke, continued to fight with Bruce, spent time in space, lost his brother and the second Robin Jason Todd, fought with Bruce some more, helped train the new Robin Tim Drake, and led his friends through numerous crises. When Bruce was temporarily incapacitated by a broken back, Dick returned to Gotham to help, despite Bruce not wanting him to take up the mantle of the bat – in fact, Dick ended up briefly acting as Batman anyway, after Jean Paul Valley’s failed attempt at the same. This did wonders for Dick’s relationships with Tim and Bruce, but when he returned to the Titans, he found himself replaced by Roy Harper, and he chose to strike out on his own.

He chose the city of Bludhaven as his new home, seeing that it suffered from a similar darkness as Gotham but with no dark knight to protect it. For a time he was also a Bludhaven police officer in his civilian life, hoping to be able to snuff out the corruption in the department, though this didn’t last long before he realized his efforts were largely futile. Still, he made more enemies during his tenure here, including Blockbuster, who he eventually chose to let die at the hands of Tarantula, a choice that haunts him.

It was also during this era that Dick notably killed the Joker by beating him to death, at the time believing that Joker had killed Tim Drake. Unable to accept a repeat of what happened to Jason, he allowed the Joker to taunt him until he snapped. Batman arrived in time to resuscitate Joker, but Dick’s actions could not be undone.

Briefly, Dick spent time undercover as a villain, working in Slade Wilson’s employ, and he used this position both to gather intel and to befriend and train Slade’s daughter Rose as a vigilante. When Slade found out about this, he dropped the radioactive Chemo onto Bludhaven, devastating the city and killing 100,000 people. Dick temporarily relocated to New York.

Following Batman’s apparent death in Final Crisis, Dick returned once more to Gotham to help maintain order in the city. Bruce maintained in his will that he specifically wished for Dick to not don the cowl, having previously expressed his respect for their fundamental differences as well as Dick’s desire to be his own person. However, when a resurrected and unhinged Jason Todd began acting as Batman, Dick felt obligated to assume the mantle.

As Batman, Dick enlisted the help of Bruce’s young son, Damian, making him his Robin, much to Tim’s chagrin. Dick believed Damian needed it more in the moment, and wanted to encourage Tim to come into his own identity. Damian is as much Dick’s son as he is his brother, and Dick will always consider Damian his Robin. Damian’s death at the hands of Heretic — although impermanent — affected Dick greatly, and he continues to feel a sense of responsibility for not being able to save him, as hard as he tried.

Eventually — and largely due to Tim’s investigation — it was discovered that Bruce had not died but been displaced in time, and upon his return to Gotham, Dick stepped back into his Nightwing persona and went home to Bludhaven. His time as Batman had proved to him what he’d already known — he could never truly be what Batman needed to be, as he and Bruce are too different at their core.

When the Court of Owls rose to terrorize Gotham, Dick provided his assistance and consequently learned that his great-grandfather William Cobb was the greatest Talon to ever live, and as a child at Haly’s Dick had been secretly being groomed to become the next Talon. His adoption by Bruce prevented this, but the knowledge shook Dick. During the fighting, he also effectively kills a Talon, marking the second (or third, in his mind) occasion he has used lethal force.

powers / abilities: Dick does not possess any preternatural powers or abilities.

inherent abilities:

Peak Human Condition: Dick has been relentlessly training his body and mind since he began fighting crime with Batman. As a result his strength, speed, stamina, agility, reflexes, and endurance are all at or near peak human capability.

Master Acrobat/Gymnast: In addition to his training, Dick is a natural athlete, and before his days fighting crime he grew up in the circus as an acrobat. He was taught by his parents and other performers, and performed in his family’s trapeze act, allowing him to hone his mid-air stunt work. He has continued to train in the years since to maintain his flexibility, coordination, and skills. (These skills also lend to his proficiency as a stealth and escape artist.) • Master Martial Artist: Dick’s fighting style consists of a combination of his acrobatic skills as well as a number of martial arts disciplines that he has trained in and mastered throughout the years (primarily under Batman’s tutelage), including Escrima, Taekwondo, Capoeira, Jiu-jitsu, Savate, Judo, Aikido, and Karate, among others.

“Genius” Intellect: Dick is incredibly intelligent and received both rigorous mental training from Batman and a premier education courtesy of Bruce Wayne. As a result he is a master tactician, talented detective, and proficient hacker. He is also fluent in multiple languages, including English, Spanish, Japanese, German, Russian, French, and the alien language Tamaran.

Weapons Proficiency: These days Dick primarily fights with escrima sticks, but has been trained in the use of many other weapons. He also favors shuriken (or batarangs), and is a skilled marksman (he is proficient with firearms but does not use them).

Indomitable Will: Dick has a high constitution and mental fortitude, having proven to be able to resist most toxins and overcome various forms of mind control. He was also at one point a candidate for the Lantern Corps.

items / weapons:

Escrima sticks

“Wing dings” (variation of batarangs)

Nightwing suit

Utility belt

Wrist darts

starting ability: n/a starting item: Escrima sticks

extra: does a little jig. sorry this one gets a little crazy discord id: @worstboywonder

passcode: he really is a multiversal constant

#xc appllication #mun: jess #mare cosmia

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nautiscarader · 3 years

Text

2020 in animation - recap

So, 2020.

Yeah, I have to say I’m not entirely satisfied. Would not recommend, 1 star.

But I would be willing to bump it to 1.5, if only because of one factor: the animation.

Because I have to say, this was the best animated end of the world so far! And if there was something that kept our spirits up, it was the cartoon industry!

Just like last year, I should preface this by saying that this is highly subjective selection. Even when one is confined to their Hobbit holes for better part of the year because of *waves hands* everything around,

day still only has 24 hours, so I have missed a few shows. (I should also apologise for omitting a few major ones last year, like Milo Murphy’s Law S2, Ducktales, or She-Ra. This is why I started keeping a track this year). I’m sure I will catch up with those I missed this year some time in the future, but for now, let’s see what this year has gifted us with.

And right from the start, January opens the race with very interesting propositions. We were still riding on an incredibly high wave from last year, with Infinity Train season 2.

This one focused on Tulip’s mirror, and pushed the season towards a much darker and complex story, diving deep into one’s personal journey and identity. There were tears, math, deer, and cops being murdered. Brutally.

t was followed by two newcomers: The Owl House and first season of Kipo and The Age of the Wonderbeast. Both of them would dominate first half of the year, with The Owl House’s traditional, week-to-week airings, and Kipo's seasons appearing in June and October.

The Owl House, a strong contender in "What will be the Next Gravity Falls?" contest, invited us to a world full of magic, mystery, elongated owl demons and some dark secrets. It has also created a milestone for Disney, introducing an LGBT couple with characters of bisexual Luz Noceda and lesbian Amity Blight. Their Grom dance has risen to the top of my animates scenes, polling very closely to the unforgettable Kataango.

On the other hand, Kipo has taken us to the post-apocalyptic world filled with mutant animals, revealing that despite the end of the world, our old vices and animosities have survived in underground burrows, and we have infected the overworld of giant doggos and suit-wearing frogs with them.

Kipo did not pull any punches regarding commentary about our society, at the same time giving us hope in the form of the main protagonist, who was able to spread friendship and understanding amongst the mutes, as well as the humans that had to survive. And in the world that we have found ourselves in, it was a pretty darn good lesson.

February would bring end to two seasons of airing cartoons, Big Hero Six season 2 and Miraculous season 3, as well as another newcomer that won the hearts of fans: Glitch Techs, with its "second" season arriving in August. And while in my opinion he show wasn't as good as the other two new titles, I am clearly in minority, as the show about Ghostbuters-like team of game console technicians gained huge popularity... though not enough to keep the show afloat. As of writing this, it is currently in limbo, which is a shame, as the second set of 10 episodes finally added some much needed ongoing story.

in March, another show from last year ended - Steven Universe Future. As we have expected, it tackled slightly more mature themes, showing how much Steven needed that therapy we have wished him, telling an important tale of finding one's worth and one's self. its ending might not have been as explosive as those of the original show, or the movie, but it left Steven’s story as open as an open road, and deep in our hearts, we all knew it would look like this.

March was also the time when majority of western world caught the coronavirus, and that caused quite a turmoil with the movie and animation industry. One of the first victim of changed schedule was Disney's Onward, which was released on-line on Disney+ quickly after its theatrical release.

I have mixed feelings towards “Onward”. For such interesting promise, I think it made a few questionable and down right boring turns, though the unorthodox message at the end of it was its strongest point, and it was one I haven’t seen in a while, so it was worth watching just for that.

April was relatively quiet (aside from more end of the world stuff); brought us third season of Ducktales that spread throughout the year, while May gave us final, fifth season of She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.

To my eternal shame, I missed on this show when it premiered, and due to the lockdown, I binge-watched the previous four right in time for powerful and explosive season 5. And even though Catra and Adora finally gave us exactly what we needed, some fans felt slightly unsatisfied, calling for a movie, like the Steven Universe one to be made. And I’d be all for it, the rest of universe needs saving from the Horde! Also, cats in space - hilarious.

May also revealed a new player on the streaming field: HBO Max, who surprised us with new Looney Tunes Cartoons, much more in the spirit of the legendary originals than the often-criticised Looney Tunes Show from 2011-2014. And in my opinion, it did; one could feel the same fluidity in animation, dedication to slapstick, and synchronisation with music than in the very first cartoons with Bugs and Daffy.

HBO Max would, however, return in June with first of series of Adventure Time original movies called "Distant Lands". The first centred around BMO, with second one - Obsidian giving us a glimpse into Bonnibel and Marceline's lives.

Distant Lands allowed people to revisit the odd, odd world of Ooo and learn about its colourful inhabitants, taking turns to seeing their past and the future, an, as usual, showing us that post-apocalyptic world can teach us valuable and meaningful lessons.

Just in time for full lockdown in our burrows, aforementioned Kipo season 2 premiered in June, together with another cartoon movie, this time featuring We Bare Bears. While their movie wasn't anything to write songs about, it was exactly like the show, providing some wholesome content right when we needed it.

And just in case you needed more wholesome adventures, Craig of the Creek's second season ended, and its third season began, reminding us of HOW COOL LIFE WAS WHEN OUTERNET WASN’T SCARY AND WE COULD STILL WALK OUTSIDE FOR FUN AND NOT TO HUNT TOILET PAPER.

Just like last year, July was not dogs' days, but frogs'. Amphibia season 2 started raining on our heads, but unlike last year, its schedule wasn't a daily one, spreading the episodes throughout the Summer and early Autumn, with its second part arriving in February of 2021. There were more roadtrips, more mysteries and MORE MARCY.

August was equally strong: aforementioned Glitch Techs "season 2" premiered, offering better and more plot-heavy episodes than the first ten episodes. Unfortunately, the show's future is unclear; the uneven divide of plot between the seasons probably contributed to the show not being renewed. 10 new episodes apparently are written, but await in sleep mode, until Nickelodeon remembers about it.

HBO MAX picked up Infinity Train for its third season, after being derailed by Cartoon Network. And if you thought that killing a mirror cop was shocking... then this season has pushed the limit of what can be shown in modern children's cartoon to a frightening degree. The schedule was once again, weirder, with first five episodes airing on the day of the premiere, ending with a cliffhanger (literally) that only contributed to the shock factor and made us wait anxiously for its conclusion. It was bold, it was dark, it was memorable.

And just like Glitch Techs, Infinity Train waits on a side track, unsure if it will be picked up, or will it be abandoned and left as a canvas for graffiti artists.

However, to end the Summer, a truly amazing TV movie has arrived on Disney Plus, where we came back to good, old Danville and could witness Candace against the universe. The new Phineas and Ferb movie brought back the glorious memories of this fantastic show, with the same humour, writing, abundance of catchy songs and a surprisingly deep moral.

In September we have seen the start of Big Hero 6 season 3 and a odd change of format. Instead of standalone 22-minute episodes, the show now consists of two 11-minute segments. In opinion of many, this weakened the stories, forcing them to be more comedy-oriented, and shortening the potential emotional drama. Still, it gave us funny, short stories, but they did clash with the two previous season, not to mention the movie.

However, if that wasn't up to your taste, Ducktales season 3 also started airing, and continued its first part up until December with more action- and plot-driven episodes, including the Darkwing Duck crossover, serving as a pilot of the spin-off.

Later in December fans have learned that Season 3 will be its last, which broke the hearts of many duck fans; however, it seems that the season has been written as the last one in mind, and the news of the ending was known to the creators, which gives us hope for a kick-ass finale somewhere in 2021.

Miraculous New York, telling arguably one of the most mature storylines, opened the "Heroez" world to some new characters and new opportunities, with two more specials, taking place in Shanghai and Brazil, meant to air somewhere next year. AND I DO HOPE WE WILL SEE MORE LOCAL FOOD VENDOR SUPERHEROES LIKE HOT DOG DAN.

October was the month of two season 3's: Carmen Sandiego and Kipo. In case of Carmen, as it is usual with Netflix, the "season" was only a half-one, with just a handful standalone episodes, and just a dash of more ongoing plot.

For Kipo, however, season 3 was the end, and what a glorious one it was. Fans were saddened to learn of it, but Kipo was always imagined as a 3-part story, and it showed. The finale proved more than satisfying ending to the plot, elevating Kipo to one of the smartest cartoon characters we should all try to aspire to.

In November, Distant Lands: Obsidian aired, focusing on everyone’s favourite candy/vampire couple, and the long and complicated love between Bonnibel and Marceline. And as usual, it showed us that relationships are not always as straightforward as we would like them to be, but with enough music and teamwork, no enemy is big enough.

For the next new show, I’ve waited with the most amount of excitement and anxiety. Because while I was completely fine with other reboots and re-imaginings to take creative takes, new Animaniacs, (airing on Hulu) had to be perfect and had to be the lightning that struck twice.

And sadly... it wasn’t. It was still good, but some people criticised (incorrectly imho) the amount of political topics, while I mourned almost total cast-ration of additional characters, aside from Pinky and the Brain. This truly weakened the possibilities it could have had. It was still very good, but you can feel that some of the original charm was lost, due to these odd, odd limitations.

December brought us a new original Apple TV movie, Wolfwalkers. A beautifully animated folk tale of friendship and social divides, and how short-sight can cause the collapse of both arguing sides, reminding me very much of the intelligence and heart of original “How to Train Your Dragon”.

We’ve had to wait two years for the return of arguably one of the most wholesome shows out there: Hilda. Second season dived into deeper mysteries that permeate the rich and colourful troll-ridden land, we saw the return of some familiar characters, and introduced a whole new storyline, that ended with a surprising cliffhanger. Still as wholesome, but now with a tiny bit of Police incompetence. Also Twig, lots of Twig.

Just like Onward, Pixar’s highly anticipated Soul aired on Disney+, telling a very mature story about finding one’s purpose in life, what that purpose actually means, and whether it exists at all. Beautifully animated, with fantastic soundtrack, it was a stunning tribute to creativity, and it never dumbed down its profound, open message about following your dream.

And just if you thought that Soul was going to be 2020′s last note (pun very much intended), right before the year ended, DC Super Hero Girls concluded its first season on a rather anti-climactic two-parter. That being said, the season, running from March of last year, was packed with short, bite-sized, funny stories, taking interesting spins on existing comic book characters. For a comic book noob like me, it was perfectly fine, and I can’t wait for the second season next year.

And so, we have reached the series finale of humanity.

2020 ends in just under a day. What will 2021 bring us? I do not know, and if the animated shows of this year have taught me anything, is that the future is an always open book, full of worries and challenges, but also opportunities and possibilities.

...

And in reality I was too lazy to check any news sites about upcoming projects.

#infinity train #glitch techs #amphibia #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #animaniacs #carmen sandiego #hilda #DuckTales #big hero 6 #distant lands #dc super hero girls #Miraculous Ladybug #spop #The Owl House

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interact-if · 3 years

Note

Umm hi 👉👈 I realized that most of the asks you guys get are about games and rec lists. You guys deserve so much recognition for the work you put in this blog, so I wanted to ask if I can do a little get-to-know-the-mods thing? If that's okay!

1. Besides writing, what are your hobbies?

2. Do you have a niche interest right now?

3. Any fave songs/artists/bands?

4. Any fave movies/tv shows?

5. On a scale of 1-10, how likely would you survive in your wip's world?

You can totally ignore this if you guys want, no pressure. Anyway, much love to all the interact-if mods! You guys are incredible! ❤

We saw this ask and we went 👀 👀 👀 so we’re happy to answer! Thank you so much for the fun ask!

We also rated our survivability in all of our collective games, since Mars isn't an author! Fun stuff! Spoilers, though: it’s really not looking so great for me (Dani) but that’s fine!!! 😌

1. I’m a photographer as well as a graphic artist (but not like. A painter/drawer kind of artist!) and, on a general level, a maker and a tinkerer!

2. Fountain pens! I only write with ink, and only with fountain pens, and I use bottled inks/converters!

3. I’m pretty eclectic with music, but my top genres are alt rock, indie, indie pop, etc, as well as top 40s and some rap.

4. I feel like this is the hardest one for me to answer? Favorite movies/shows? Avatar: the Last Airbender has been a favorite show of mine since I was a little kid, but I have a harder time thinking of shows I would call a favorite in recent years. There are shows I’ve liked, and a lot of shows I’ve watched. But I’m picky! And demanding! It takes a lot to earn a place in Dani’s Trophy Case of Favorites. 😌 I would say I quite liked A Quite Place (movie), and I liked Us (movie). When it comes to TV shows, I have a hard time being pleased with them if they don’t end well. As a result, I have a penchant for a good limited series/miniseries (because they’re stories that have an end in mind and the plot reflects that, dagnabbit).

5. Heh. Okay.

In The Goodfellows? I think I stand I chance. I can exercise my sparkling wit and lovable personality to the best effect. I’m gonna give myself an 8/10 survivability rating. Even if I don’t have the right skills, I can go crying to the person who does and they’ll save me. Maybe.

In Creatures’ Cradle? I’m super $**!%d. 😌 1/10 survivability rating. And that 1 is me being nice to myself. The day the apocalypse breaks out I would probably be patient 0. I am self-aware. I would not do well in an apocalypse. Zombies care not for aforementioned sparkling wit and lovable personality, and I have all the muscle of a boiled spaghetti noodle. So it’s a no go.

Greater Than Gods (Cruz): Well. I’m going to be optimistic. And say that I have the wisdom not to do things I shouldn’t do and not to rock boats I shouldn’t rock. I’m going to give myself a 7/10 based on insider information, but also based on reckless optimism!

Vardir (Cruz): Cruz says this is a lighthearted game, so 10/10 LOL.

When it Hungers (Roast): I’m giving myself a nice, mediocre 5/10. I think I could put my mind to work here; I joke that I’m the village idiot, but I’m actually pretty smart! Unfortunately, I’m also curious, and maybe a little bad with authorities who won’t answer my questions. So I knocked off a lot of points due to the fact that I’d probably poke the metaphorical bear. So it’s a real coin flip as to whether I’d really make it or not.

Orthall Bay (Nines): Considering the genre is “horror” and the game intro includes the words “monster” and “maim,” I’m giving myself a whooping, enthusiastic 3/10. Yes, folks, I am that confident in myself! Once again, I can’t charm the socks off a monster (or can I?), so one of my greatest weapons is snatched from beneath my feet. Alas!

1. Beloved I’m a college student in the middle of a pandemic... i can hardly even write LOL i do draw at times which u can see in my personal blog (nothing too good really) and i used to do karate before things went to shit <3

2. Nothing niche I believe? All I do is leave Netflix as bg noise every day n play popular videgames (genshin)

3. Porter Robinson <3 I love Bea Miller a lot as well but lately I’ve been feeling Porter a lot

4. The Good Place <3

5. My WIPs:

Greater than Gods: Highly situational, the world GtG is set in is as broad as the real world LOL so I don’t have an universal answer. But keeping it vague, and knowing my own personality, I feel like 5/10. depends on my luck.

Vardir: 10/10 no one dies in Vikgade, unless you’re a hunter but I wouldn’t be a hunter <3

Others’ WIPs

I'm gonna give myself a solid 5/10 in all other WIPs because y'all aren't writing lighthearted stories either. I feel like as long as I avoid the role of the MC I will be mostly fine. I hope. But as Dani said I'm also prone to fight the wrong person and dig my own grave so 😌

1. Well, writing is a very, very, very, distant hobby since Words Hard, but I like to crochet and sculpt a little! Anything to do with fiddling with my hands and I’m good to go. And like, debatable but graphic design is my passion [insert clown emoji here since Tumblr said No]

2. Oh yeah a bunch! DnD yelling at people, thinking of arson, crocheting, rock climbing and simply vibing. I got into podcasts a few years ago and I’m always looking for more recs, so if you have some, hmu 😤

3. Pls,,,,my music taste is,,,so weird do not let me expose myself with lack of consistency but uhh. Current songs that are stuck in my head include; Cult of Dionysus , Achilles Come Down and The Last Shanty

4. If you’ve ever spoken to me before, I probably yelled about Pacific Rim to you or at you. Plus I love all The Mummy films and really enjoyed Castlevania (s3 excluded, we do not perceive that) as well!

5. Ah, mod survival simulator pt. 3

Alright, let’s go! I don’t have a WIP because again, words hard, but like, considering how feral I am when not tryna seem professional hm...

The Goodfellows: I wanna say a solid 7/10 because I’d hardcore vibe with the Traveler and probably instigate so much nonsense. I can also bribe with blueberry cake so maybe.

Creature’s Cradle: maybe a 4/10 and only because of pure spite keeping me alive long enough to smack someone. I’ve prepared for hypothetical zombie apolcapyses and I won’t hesitate to bap, but will be bapped back because I’m weak as hell.

Greater Than Gods: a toss up between 2/10 and 7/10! I can vibe and be chill but I also have terrible impulse control so...

Vardir: hm....I think pretty good survival rates all around? If you ask me to fight then like, okay sure, your knees are mine. So maybe a 8/10?

When it Hungers: .......8/10 just because I’d refuse to die if I can be a cool creature. Living for the aesthetic can and will drag me outta hell. But I’m also clumsy as hell so I’d probably crash as a porcelain or hold a rooster and perish (aka, real rating is a good 3/10)

Orthall Bay: 2/10, nope. Nope I’d be taken out in a heartbeat. Monsters can go pspsps and I’d head straight into the dark creepy forest like a fool if someone comes @ me. Half the time I’ll just assume it’s sfx makeup and vibe until it’s too late.

god, never put me in a universe where I cannot squawk like a bird and throw pebbles from a window. Oof

Anon, you're so sweet! I give you a forehead smoomch <333 As for your questions...

1. If I'm not writing, I'm usually watching video essays on Youtube. My go-to channels as of right now is Disrupt and Aperture! I just really like their videos. Aside from that, I recently got into podcasts. Currently going through Hello From The Hallowoods and Shelter and Warning, which are made by queer creators!

2. Oh oof, there's quite a bit so I'm just gonna put down one thing. For some reason, I really got into collecting tiny astronaut things? I recently bought this astronaut desk light, and I've got a package coming in for the miniatures I ordered. No purpose for them other than I think they're neat <3

3. I'm a bit private with my music taste (even tho I have Spotify connected on Discord lmao), but there's 5 songs that I'm currently obsessed with. I keep replaying them over and over again. Just squeezing all the serotonin I could get outta them.

4. I can't really say I have a fave TV show or movie because I can't really just pick one, but my current fave is 9-1-1 and Resident Alien. 9-1-1 because I just really love the found-family dynamics and how the show tackles sensitive topics, and Resident Alien because it's lighthearted comedy. My all-time fave movie is Flipped! I have the book too and I like rereading from time to time <3

5. You're in for a doozy, anon, because we're rating each other's games <333

The Goodfellows: 7/10

Listen. Shenanigans with the Traveler. I would get up to so many of them and that is what'll get me possibly bodied, not the actual environment itself <3

Greater than Gods: 7/10

I like to think I have enough common sense to uhhh not recklessly flip stones that should not be flipped <3 I'm a cautious and skeptic person irl so I think I'll hold up well? Then again, it's a vast environment change and while I can adapt pretty quick, I wouldn't like the lack of control in the unknown.

Vardir: 10/10

Going off what Cruz said, Vardir is lighthearted and focused on personal growth so I think I'll be okay! Self-growth here I come, babey!

Creatures' Cradle: 8/10

Maybe I'm overestimating myself, but I think I'll be able to survive in a supernatural post-apocalyptic world! Ah, but it depends on the motivation though. I like the idea of rebuilding communities and eventually societies, but the survival turmoil would be a constant battle I'd have to overcome. If we're talking survival itself though, I think I'll do well.

When it Hungers: 8/10

That's probably my wishful thinking but I think I'll be fine. Maybe. Possibly. Don't like the idea of being regulated by an organization so if I was a non-human creature that could pose a problem but I can roll with it <3

Orthall Bay: 6/10

Assuming I'm not playing as MC, my chances of survival uhhh changes quite drastically. Not enough to guarantee an untimely demise, but certainly enough that it would constantly keep me on my toes. I think that's the safest answer I can get without spoiling anything lmao

Thank you so much for asking! It's super sweet of you <3

1. Too many :'D I knit, I sew, I do carpentry (well, learning), I bake, I'm hammering away at HTML and CSS, my job kind of encourages learning new things and I take that to picking up new hobbies!

2. My time is kind of consumed with school work and work work and WIP work so not a lot of time to pursue niche interests right now. I've been watching a lot of horror game playthroughs, true crime youtubers, and an adorable show on Netflix called the Repair Shop <3

3. My taste in music is "what am I vibing with atm?" I've been listening to a lot of 80's music atm (don't @ me), but also Lo Fang and Kaleo, and whatever spotify recommends me on my discover weekly which is usually complete chaos.

4. I love the Mummy even though it hasn't aged 100% well (I'm a librarian, of course it's one of my gotos LOL), Legally Blonde, Leverage, Jumanji (the original), I'm....very bad at having recent tastes... and very bad at remembering my favorites when asked.

The Goodfellows: I'm a creature of comfort, 5/10 if I can just luxuriate in town and not actually interact with the story sfjkdbsdkf

Creature’s Cradle: I'd like to think I have a 50/50 shot XD 5/10, I want to think I'd be decent at a zombie apocalypse but ultimately would suffer an early fate.

Greater Than Gods: 10/10 if I'm just vibing, less so if I'm involved in the actual story XD

Vardir: I'd still suffer without technology but I can also knit for a living in this world so I'm down 8/10

When it Hungers: I feel like I could vibe here, there's tech if dated, hot showers, telephones are around by now... might still get bored. 7/10 though it'd be cool to be another creature....I should make a 'what creature of snv are you' quiz!

Orthall Bay: 7/10 idk I feel like after the first monster of the week I'd just skip town XDDDD I'm the worst protagonist, I see danger I just leave.

#mod talk #long post #interact if: asks

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zeldasayer · 4 years

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I transcribed and translated Pedro’s interview from GQ Germany for all of us. I tried translating as good as possible but bear with me, English is not my mother tongue. By @sixties-loser

Pedro Pascal, the star from “Game of Thrones”, “Wonder Woman” and “The Mandalorian” talks about becoming an adult, film, fashion, corona – and a painful surgery in the exclusive GQ interview.

It seems almost eerie how empty the streets of LA are in the sunshine. Meanwhile a new normality seems to be coming to Europe, most people in L.A. are still cutting their own hair. Many have not seen their friends for half a year. The pandemic is out of control. The reaction towards it too. Inviting someone into their garden for a “distance drink” can cause the same distress as suggesting to switch spouses.

Therefore, it was particularly surprising that Pedro Pascal immediately accepted. He accepted the drink, not to switch spouses. He is one of the rising stars and newcomers this year – if it wasn’t for corona sending the whole film industry into a forced vacation, there would most likely not have been time for said drink. After having his skull crushed in “Game of Thrones” followed the lead role as a DEA agent hunting Pablo Escobar in “Narcos” in 2015 and now he is stepping towards big Hollywood films. From the 1st of October onwards the Chilean-born actor will be starring in the blockbuster “Wonder Woman 1984”. Moreover, the second season of the “Star Wars”-series “The Mandalorian” on Disney+ starring him as the lead is going to air in October this year – but he will be underneath a helmet. Well, we all are under a helmet in 2020 in one way or another. We want to meet the man who a few years ago still worked as a waiter in New York, whose parents were political refugees who found asylum in Denmark and settled in Texas and whose son one day signed up for a theatre group in High School.

Then, the cancellation! While we were in the middle of fixing up the house and the garden for the drink with Pedro and organizing the fashion shoot, which was not easy considering the safety measures in L.A., his management called with an unfortunate message: Pedro – no, not sick with corona – had to get emergency surgery because of a damaged tooth and was lying in bed with a swollen face that was hindering him from speaking and taking pictures. The sun is shining onto empty streets. And our empty garden.

A few days later he nonetheless arrived at our front door without a swollen face but still with threads in his mouth. He was not chauffeured by a limo-service but he came with his own car – he even picked up his make-up artist. He is helping her carrying all of her utensils into the house and declares: “I’ve got time today!”. What a celebrity! It seemed like we did not want to ask him how he made it to the A-List of Hollywood but he wanted to ask us how we made it to the A-list. Pedro Pascal! Yes, what kind of a celebrity?

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for messing with your plans. The surgery was an emergency.

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling wasn’t the product of a secret visit to the plastic-surgeon. Apparently, they are drowning in work because of the quarantine in Hollywood.

PP: I have to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I was rushing to the hospital with a fractured tooth and the worst pain in my entire life – a hospital in which treats people with severe cases of corona. I was unable to reach any dentist! Right in front of the parking lot a specialist called me back. The pain was hell despite the ten injections I got. The doctor said I was not an exception because a lot of people are grinding their teeth because of all the stress.

GQ: What are you most afraid of at the moment?

PP: How the government is handling the pandemic is worrying me more than the virus itself. This shortage of intelligent management of the crisis is a moral shame. The leadership crisis in this country is turning us all into orphans – destitute and abandoned.

GQ: How did you spend your time over the last few months?

PP: I spent it with frozen pizza and sweatpants in Venice Beach. I live in a rear house that’s in a family’s garden. Actually, there are a lot of good takeout places nearby but for some reason I just love pepperoni pizza from the supermarket.

GQ: That does not really sound like movie star-lifestyle. What does it feel like being suddenly stopped from top speed to zero?

PP: Regarding what is going on around the world one should hold back one’s own mental turmoil. I would be lying if I was saying that I am not disappointed. The whole team put a lot of heart and work into the production of “Wonder Woman 1984”. We had a lot of fun on set. I wished to travel around the world and introduce the film with the same lively energy.

GQ: You come from a politically engaged, socialist family that fled from the Pinochet-regime in Chile. What do you remember from that time?

PP: My sister and I were born in Chile but I was only nine months old when we first found asylum in Denmark. From there we quickly came to San Antonio in Texas where my dad started working as a doctor at the university clinic.

GQ: Texas is not known as a socialist utopia. How did you assimilate?

PP: San Antonio is not a Cowboy-town but very diverse with big Asian, black and Latino communities. I remember it as a romantic place, culturally open. The culture shock only came as we later moved to range county in California. There the atmosphere was suddenly white, preppy and conservative.

GQ: How were you received in California?

PP: I’m still ashamed of the fact that I did not correct my classmates when they kept on calling me Peter. I am Pedro. Even if I didn’t grow up in Chile the country and the language are still a part of me. I was very unhappy in that environment. However, I was fortunately able to go to another school close to Long Beach where I felt more comfortable. Through the theater group at that school I found my way.

GQ: Were you able to visit Chile as a child?

PP: Yes, when my parents made it to the list of expatriates that were able to travel to Chile without consequences. First, there was a big family reunion and then my sister and I stayed there for a few months with relatives while my parents went back to Texas. They likely needed a break from us. They got us when they were very young, had a buzzing social life and my mother was obtaining a PhD in psychology.

GQ: Was your mother a typical young psychologist who wanted to apply her theoretical knowledge at home?

PP: You mean, whether I was her guinea pig? For sure! I remember strange tests and sittings that were disguised as games where someone was watching me react to different toys. I cannot have been older than six but I was already aware of the dynamic. My favourite thing was being questioned about my dreams. That was a wonderful opportunity to come up with fantastic stories.

GQ: Was that your first performance?

PP: Of course! My mother worried about my strong imagination because I was living in my own fantasy world rather than reality. I hated going to school. I was always categorized as the troublemaker. At one point, the topics at school became more interesting and my grades also went up. There are so many kids that are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be abhorrent. Why is it so accepted to be bored in class when there are so many stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

GQ: Considering al that has happened this summer around the world: Do you believe that we can seriously demand social change now?

PP: I Hope so. After lockdown, the first time I went out was to protest for “Black Lives Matter” on the streets. The energy was peaceful and hopeful until the police provoked severe conflicts. Nevertheless, we cannot run from problems like we used to this time and we cannot distract ourselves from them either. It seems like the pressure of the pandemic led to a new clarity: We cannot go on this way.

GQ: The “Wonder Woman 1984” Trailer revives the optimism of the 1980’s. From today’s point of view, it seems almost nostalgic.

PP: That’s right. You really are happy for two hours. The director Patty Jenkins created a film full of positive messages. We shot in Washington D.C., then in London and Spain – this sounds like I am talking of a past time.

GQ: Do you miss traveling?

PP: I’m just now realizing the privilege of just packing up one’s stuff and being able to fly anywhere. An American passport used to guarantee unlimited travel. And that’s why it the small radius of our lives is actually unimaginable. Over the last years I often retreated for a break after shootings because I was constantly on the move and overstimulated. My friends were already complaining I had become too comfortable. We all took social contact for granted and are only realizing now how dependent we actually are on human contact. Over the last weeks I often longingly thought about all the parties and dinner invitations I declined.

GQ: In L.A. people spend more time at home or nature than in other metropolises that are more geared towards public life. Could this city become your second home after New York?

PP: My Real Home are my friends. I have been a nomad since I was little and I do not have a place where I have put down roots. Up until not long ago my physical home was a place in between departure and arrival. Therefore, it was something I did not want to complicate through the accumulation of stuff. On the contrary: Without having read Marie Kondo’s book I have freed myself from excess baggage over the last few years and I lived relatively minimally.

GQ: Is there nothing you collect or something you just can’t throw away?

PP: Books! I even still have the literature I read when I was a teenager and when I was in college. Recently, I stumbled upon a box full of old theatre manuscripts and materials from my time at the New York University. I also cannot part from art easily, just like I cannot part from lamps or old photos. On the other hand, I can easily get rid of furniture and clothes.

GQ: Do you remember roles that were really only completely defined through the costume?

PP: Yes, I am particularly thinking about “Game of Thrones”. At that time I understood for the first time what it meant to be supported by a look. This is thanks to the costume designer Michele Clapton. She created very feminine robes and brocade coats for my character that nevertheless looked masculine when worn and I felt very sexy in them. Of course, Lindy Hemmings power-suits and Jan Swells bleached hairstyle for the tycoon-villain in “Wonder Woman 1984” were very important as well. At first I did not really see myself in the role because the cuts and colors of the 80s do not really fit my body. I’m more the 70s type.

GQ: Do you incorporate those inspirations into your personal wardrobe?

PP: In my free time I choose comfort over a cool look these days. Sometimes I miss the times when I expressed myself through a certain style. It is hard to imagine that I went to Raves as a teenage in the 90s; I was a real club kid with ridiculous outfits: overalls, balloon pants, football shirts and a top hat, like in Dr.Seuss’s “Cat in a Hat”. Later in New York I was hanging out with a group of people that felt it was very important to have a certain style. The fact that I am basically only wearing sweatpants everyday is actually tragic.

GQ: whoever plays roles in comic book adaptations becomes a bodybuilder and eats ten chicken breasts a day. You don’t?

PP:My body would not agree with that. It is hard enough to stay in shape normally. When you’re in your mid-forties you have to live with a lot more discipline. Up until before my tooth-incident I worked out with a trainer in my garden multiple times a week to keep the quarantine body in check.

GQ: Apart from the personal trainer, are you in a steady relationship?

PP: I am not ready for that yet. Maybe at some point I will be but until then I’ll let it be. I can’t even offer you absurd corona dating stories.

GQ: What would annoy you the most if you were your own roommate?

PP: I can be quite controlling. I have to conjure all my humanity to prevent myself from going through my entire film collection. When I don’t want something I cannot keep it to myself or be passive-aggressive, I always have to take it to the frontlines. Other than that, I tend to have tunnel view: when I am not feeling well I cannot imagine to ever feel better again. I have trouble relativizing my emotions or to wave off problems. Method-acting would really not be for me. This is why I try to only work on projects that feel good, where there is mutual support and encouragement.

GQ: When we were trying on the clothes earlier you spoke of a lack of self-confidence. How does that get along with a career like yours?

PP: Isn’t it interesting how these characteristics and circumstamces relate? Self-worth comes from inside but it is also influenced by what society values because we often internalise the public gaze. I have lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and made a living by working as a waiter until my mid-thirties because the theatre and film jobs I got did not pay the bills. There were so many times I was almost there. The disappointment of having missed the perfect role or opportunity by a hair’s width can be crushing. When should you give up and what is plan B? That is a question that is not only on many actors‘s minds but also on many others minds who struggle for a living – no matter how much potential they have or how close they seem to be to the top. We are seeing now how our narrow definition of success destroys society. At the same time, we are realizing that where we come from and the color of our skin still decide whether we can exist with dignity.

GQ: What are the positive aspects of a relatively late success as leading-man?

PP: I feel like I can decide over my own life without the pressure of having to accept projects or to have to present a certain identity on social media. This is for sure also because I am a man. Regardless of age, Women have to try harder to stand out.

GQ: Life always consists of risk management – now more than usual. For what would you risk losing something?

PP: Generally, when you never risk something you might never get ahead. That is for friendship, love, work and creativity. I have to be ready to take risks for the things that really matter to you.

#pedro pascal #THANK YOU MY LOVE!#submission

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introvertguide · 3 years

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Duck Soup (1933); AFI #60

The next film on the AFI top 100 is a throwback to before the Golden Age of Hollywood when "talkies" were new, Duck Soup (1933). This film was the last attached to a 5 feature contract that the Marx Brothers had with Paramount pictures. It was moderately well received at the time but has since become the most critically acclaimed of the Marx Brothers films. The movie is only 68 minutes and is absolutely packed with gags. It is not, however, packed with a storyline or plot. I want to very briefly go over the summary because that is not what this movie is known for. Let's unnecessarily start with...

SPOILER ALERT? THIS MOVIE HAS NO PLOT. IT IS ALL ABOUT SITE GAGS AND SET PIECES. READ AWAY!!! IT WILL NOT DO ANYTHING TO HURT THE EXPERIENCE!!!

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The film starts off with the wealthy Mrs. Teasdale (Margaret Dumont) insisting that a man that she is sweet on, Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho), be appointed leader of the small, bankrupt country of Freedonia before she will continue to provide much-needed financial aid. Meanwhile, neighboring Sylvania is attempting to annex the country. Sylvanian ambassador Trentino (Louis Calhem) tries to foment a revolution and to woo Mrs. Teasdale, and he tries to dig up dirt on Firefly by sending in spies Chicolini (Chico) and Pinky (Harpo).

After failing to collect useful information against Firefly, Chicolini and Pinky are able to infiltrate the government when Chicolini is appointed Secretary of War after Firefly sees him selling peanuts outside his window. Meanwhile, Firefly's secretary, Bob Roland (Zeppo), suspects Trentino's motives, and he advises Firefly to get rid of Trentino by insulting him. Firefly agrees to the plan, but after a series of personal insults exchanged between Firefly and Trentino, the plan backfires when Firefly slaps Trentino instead of being slapped by him. As a result, the two countries come to the brink of war. Adding to the international friction is the fact that Firefly is also courting Mrs. Teasdale, and, like Trentino, hoping to get his hands on her late husband's wealth.

Trentino learns from his femme fatale spy, Vera Marcal (Raquel Torres), that Freedonia's plans of war are in Mrs. Teasdale's safe and tells her to assist Chicolini and Pinky in stealing them. Chicolini is caught by Firefly and put on trial, during which war is officially declared, and everyone is overcome by war frenzy, breaking into song and dance. Chicolini and Pinky join Firefly and Bob Roland in anarchic battle, resulting in general mayhem.

After a fierce battle, the end of the film finds Trentino caught in a makeshift pillory, with the Brothers pelting him with fruit. Trentino surrenders, but Firefly tells him to wait until they run out of fruit. Mrs. Teasdale begins singing the Freedonia national anthem in her operatic voice and the Brothers begin hurling fruit at her instead.

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There are many exceptionally good and bad aspects of this film. On the good side, there are a couple of amazing set pieces that the Marx Brothers did like no other. The mirror scene in which Groucho and Harpo stand in front of each other and Harpo perfectly mimics his brother's movements was outstanding. Specifically, there is a point where Groucho stands outside the reflection and moves in a ridiculous way past what he thinks is a reflection. The mirroring between the brothers is exceptional. Add in the same dressing gown and cap to the actual resemblance (they are full actual brothers) makes for quite an effect. This mirror gag was first done on film by Charlie Chaplin almost 15 years earlier, but this is likely the most well known and best done example of the bit by real people. It was repeated by Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, The Pink Panther, Tom and Jerry, Scooby-Doo, and the Smurfs. That kind of mirror quality action was only repeatable through animation, apparently.

The constant wardrobe changes during the frenzied war scene have caused full speculative articles to be written. Groucho starts out in a Union officer suit, then appears in a Confederate officer suite, then a British palace guard uniform, and then in what looks to be a boy scout officer suit, and finally a Davy Crockett hat? The deep cynicism and anti-war sentiment of the brothers was blatant. It is summed up by the line "while you're out out there risking life and limb through shot and shell, we'll be in here thinking what a sucker you are." The United States had just gotten out of a war and many militaristic leads felt the need to show off. This lack of care after feeling so dominant following WW1 was the mindset that in part led to the Stock Market crash and the Great Depression. There was turmoil brewing in Europe and many Americans wanted nothing to do with it after seeing so many young boys getting ripped apart by trench warfare and machine gun fire. The brothers were satirizing all of those figures that we use to teach boys to want to fight for their country. They also went after what they believed were the causes of many wars: money and moral indignation between powerful men.

Although the film gives the audience insight into the mindset of much of the population during those extremely turbulent times between wars, it also boasts some of the most unsophisticated humor of a new visual medium. The silly songs do not translate well and sound like something created by a child. With truly clever artists like Frank Zappa, the Dead Kennedys, and national treasure Weird Al Yankovic, the Marx Brother's songs just sound lame to me. I think the same of Groucho's one liners. With comedians like Mitch Hedberg, Paula Poundstone, Steven Wright, and Jimmy Carr, the work of Groucho Marx feels seriously dated and quite cringy.

The real let down for me in this particular film was the fighting between Harpo and the Lemonade salesman. In fact, the character of Pinkie was "The Joker" levels of psychotic. I know he represented the constant undermining of communism. That is fine and makes a good point. Practically speaking, though, he reveled in causing problems for no reason and he was a constant nuisance. I have been around a lot of teachers and they sat that students who act like that are the bane of everyone's existence. It may be witty, but it is not funny. I have seen movies like Borat and Jackass, who are at least very creative in the way they cause problems and mostly harm themselves. I legitimately hate the character of Pinky and find him devoid of any real humor beyond the mirror scene. I also realize that Chicolini is a play on Mussolini, but I didn't really find him funny either. I want to emphasize that these are my opinions and I welcome comments on why Pinkie and Chicolini are hilarious.

There are some things that I do forgive and almost find charming. Directors from the silent film era had to emphasize that their actors over dramatize their lines so that the audience could get even a modicum of tone. This over-the-top dramatic speaking continued with many actors into the era of talking pictures. You can tell that this film was made near the change over because a lot of the actors talk like they are making one continual speech. Just about everyone is projecting for the cheap seats, and I totally appreciate it and smile. I also appreciate that the Marx Brothers absolutely jam pack the film with gags. I don't think many of the gags are funny, but I acknowledge that the movie is 68 minutes of constant jokes and the Marx Brothers made a concerted effort to give their audience the most bang for their buck. Good for them.

So does this movie belong on the AFI top 100? I am actually going to say no. I think that Horse Feathers is a funnier film and has the iconic football scene that got a screen cap on the cover of Time magazine. If the AFI was going to choose a Paramount produced Marx Brothers film, this one seems to me to only be second or third choice of the five. Would I recommend it? Sure. It is definitely dated and the jokes will not make a lot of sense any more, but some of the scenes have become iconic and it is fun to see what has been so heavily referenced in current media. It is a pretty fun movie to sit back and just experience for an hour, so I would give it a shot.

#marx brothers #duck soup #afi films #comedy #black and white #1930s #groucho #harpo #zeppo #chico #mirror scene #introvert #iontroverts #one liners

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grigori77 · 3 years

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Movies of 2021 - My Pre-Summer Favourites (Part 1)

The Runners-up:

20. THE MAURITANIAN – acclaimed filmmaker Kevin MacDonald (The Last King of Scotland, Touching the Void) presents his best film in years with this stirring, troubling dramatization of the harrowing fourteen-year detention at Guantanamo Bay of Mohamedou Ould Slahi (A Prophet’s Tahar Rahim in a deeply affecting turn) between 2002 and 2016. Jodie Foster is also impressive as Nancy Hollander, the crusading attorney fighting for his release, as is Benedict Cumberbatch as Lt. Col. Stuart Couch, her opposing counsel, who comes to realise Slahi’s confinement has been built on a tissue of lies.

19. RIDERS OF JUSTICE – Danish writer-director Anders Thomas Jensen (Men & Chicken) brings his biting sense of humour and anarchic style to bear in this excellent black comedy starring Mads Mikkelsen as Markus, an emotionally distant soldier called home after his wife is killed in a tragic train wreck. As he attempts to reconnect with his troubled daughter (Andrea Heick Gadeberg), Markus becomes convinced by the theory of a trio of intellectually gifted outsiders who believe that the accident was in fact an elaborately staged assassination by the eponymous criminal biker gang.

18. STOWAWAY – Netflix dropped another sneaky sci-fi hit on us in the form of this deceptively understated space thriller about three astronauts on a mission to Mars who discover they no longer have enough life-support resources left to survive their journey after finding a member of the launch crew accidentally trapped on their spaceship. Writer-director Joe Penna is in comfortably familiar territory after acclaimed survival thriller Arctic, while the compact cast – Toni Collette, Daniel Dae Kim, Shamier Anderson (Wynonna Earp) and, in particular, Anna Kendrick – are all excellent.

17. OUTSIDE THE WIRE – in the near future, civil war has broken out in the Ukraine and US forces fight to keep the peace with the aid of newly-minted robotic soldiers called GUMPs. Drone pilot Thomas Harp (Snowfall’s Damson Idris) is reassigned to the warzone as punishment for insubordination, finding himself teamed with Captain Leo (Anthony Mackie), an advanced hyper-intelligent android tasked with hunting down insurgents bent on unleashing nuclear holocaust on the West. Mikael Håfström (director of 1408 and Escape Plan) ably delivers some impressively weighty action sequences, while asking interesting questions about the potential dangers of artificial intelligence.

16. THE EMPTY MAN – I was a little late stumbling across this spectacularly twisted cosmic horror based on a graphic novel by Cullen Bunn (The Damned, The Sixth Gun) and Vanesa Del Ray, but it grabbed me in the first ten minutes and wouldn’t let go. The ever-excellent James Badge Dale delivers one of the best performances of his career as James Lasombra, an ex-cop who gets mixed up with a nightmarish conspiracy involving a doomsday cult built around the terrifying eponymous otherworldly entity in an head-fucking horror gem that entirely deserves its growing cult status.

15. SOUND OF METAL – had to wait until Amazon Prime released this in the UK last month, but this challenging and emotionally-charged drama was worth holding out, Riz Ahmed delivering his finest ever performance as Ruben Stone, a heavy metal drummer whose life is thrown into turmoil when he goes deaf. Ready Player One’s Olivia Cooke also impresses as his girlfriend Lou, a massively talented singer whose own personal demons are set loose as Ruben’s condition drives a wedge between them, while writer-director Darius Marder (who co-penned overlooked masterpiece The Place Beyond the Pines) shows he’s definitely gonna be a talent to watch in the future.

14. CHERRY – Tom Holland reteams with his regular MCU directors Joe and Anthony Russo for this harrowing but achingly beautiful adaptation of author Nico Walker’s sort-of-but-not-exactly semiautobiographical novel about a former US army medic who returns from the horrors of Iraq with crippling PTSD at the height of America’s opioid epidemic, forced to embark on a spree of bank robberies to feed his drug habit. Holland has never been better, while the Russos prove they’re capable of delivering more than just bombastic superhero action and big effects.

13. SHOPLIFTERS OF THE WORLD – writer-director Stephen Kijak may be known for making documentaries about musicians (Scott Walker: 30th Century Man, Stones in Exile), but he proves he’s got a flair for fiction too with this cannily subversive comedy drama about a Middle American town that goes a little crazy one night in the 80s when a teenage boy hijacks the local heavy metal radio station and makes them play wall-to-wall tacks from The Smiths following the band’s sudden breakup. There’s escapist fun to be had from the irreverent quirkiness of the premise, and the youthful cast are all excellent, while Joe Manganiello delivers a brilliantly nuanced supporting turn as the besieged DJ.

12. BILLIE EILISH: THE WORLD’S A LITTLE BLURRY – I’ll admit to being a bit late to the party when it comes to Billie Eilish – I’d heard snippets of her music (most notably Bad Guy and her admittedly impressive theme for the new Bond movie), but until I watched this deep dive into her life and career, following the creation and promotion of her debut album, I didn’t yet know what all the fuss was about. Well I’m now thoroughly converted – not only is she an incredibly talented young musical artist but also a fascinating and intriguingly down-to-earth person too, and I look forward to following her career in the future.

11. SHADOW IN THE CLOUD – Chloë Grace Moretz gets a role to really sink her teeth into as Maude Garrett, a take-no-shit WAAF flight officer on a classified mission aboard Allied bomber Fool’s Errand in the Pacific in 1943, in this enjoyably unconventional action horror from My Wedding & Other Secrets director Roseanna Liang. The film is largely a one-woman show, with the cameras clinging stubbornly to Moretz while the genuinely terrifying story unfolds around her, and she invests Maude with a ferocious stubbornness and intensity that’s crafted one of the cinematic year’s most impressive action heroines.

#movies 2021 #the mauritanian #riders of justice #stowaway #stowaway movie #stowaway netflix #outside the wire #the empty man #sound of metal #cherry #cherry movie #shoplifters of the world #billie eilish the world's a little blurry #shadow in the cloud

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sharinluna · 5 years

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The Lies and the Truth. Lucien in Chapter 13

Lies have just as much power as the truth.

Let’s talk about a phone call in chapter 12 first.

After Yōurán got home from Jay’s death, Lucien immediately calls her. Jay’s death was Black Swan’s doing so of course he knows what happened in STF. He called her to check if she didn’t get hurt. This is what he says in the call:

Lucien: Lies have just as much power as the truth. They’re also an indirect reaction to the essence of things. The truth is often less pure, anything but simple. Since it’s so complicated, it’s alright if we’re a little slow figuring it out. No matter what the truth is, I’ll always be with you. Up until the moment it comes.

Oh, so many hidden meanings, professor. Let’s look at them one by one.

Lies have just as much power as the truth. They’re also an indirect reaction to the essence of things.

He couldn’t have put it much better. His love for Yōurán was supposed to be a lie to hide the truth, but it became too powerful and became another truth that showed what the “essence” was. Who he was before Black Swan, who he could have become if he hadn’t crossed paths with them.

The truth is often less pure, anything but simple.

He’s cruel Ares who’s tried to lure Yōurán into a trap, but he is also gentle Lucien who cares for her and guides her. That one of them is the truth doesn’t necessarily mean that the other is the lie.

It’s alright if we’re a little slow figuring it out. No matter what the truth is, I’ll always be with you.

This sentence foreshadows what will happen in chapter 13. At this moment, Lucien is already anticipating that Yōurán will find him out someday.

When Yōurán tells him that she wants to find the truth but is afraid of what the truth might be, he encourages her and tells her that he will accompany her along the journey. When she asks, he will answer her, just like he always has.

Up until the moment it comes.

Even if the truth is his “betrayal”. Lucien is perfectly capable of hiding his other identity while leading Yōurán on a wild goose chase. Yōurán discovered who he was because he let her.

Goodbye, Josie

In the beginning of chapter 13, Josie is confronted by Ares. She asks why he teleported her when she was about to succeed. Unfortunately for her, Josie’s fate was set the moment she put Yōurán in danger.

No matter what backstory he has, it doesn’t mean that Ares is not a villain. If he hadn’t fallen in love with Yōurán, he would have used her and discarded her just like he did with Josie.

On the road to Truth

Gavin is gone. Victor is unreachable. Kiro retired. (By the way, Kiro, why is your agency named B. S. Entertainment…?)

When Yōurán hears that a black wind appeared at the twin towers, she hurries there hoping she could see Gavin. She is saved from danger by Lucien’s Evol.

He kept hiding that he’s an Evolver until now. He’s done with hiding.

You knew it was dangerous? Why didn’t you run away? – Lucien

I explained it already in my Chapter 12 analysis. Yōurán is not someone who runs away from danger if people she cares about is involved. She has a tendency to put others ahead of herself to the point of disregarding her safety. (See Lucien’s Overseas date for more about this) It’s her weakness, but also her strength.

Her selflessness is shown in various parts of dates, footage stories and city strolls. Even her show Miracle Finder is a humanistic show sharing heartwarming and hopeful messages, not a sensationalist show for the sake of viewer rates.

If I say I wanted to investigate these incidents would you think I was silly? - Yōurán

I wouldn’t, because I know you. - Lucien

Lucien already knows that Yōurán wouldn’t run from danger. He doesn’t call her silly, or tells her to go home while the men do the work.

Yōurán at first tries to investigate without Lucien, but he can’t have that.

Lucien: I’ve said before, if there’s anything you want to do, I will always help you.

He’s not going to stop Yōurán from walking the dangerous path to truth, but he is not letting her go there alone.

The elevator guy

It’s nice and all that he’s accompanying Yōurán because he loves her and blah blah blah, but it’s also quiet unsettling to see him unfazed in front of the elevator operator when he knows that the poor guy’s misery came from him and Black Swan. While Yōurán sympathizes and tries to help others in her quest for truth, Lucien is doing it totally for selfish reasons. If it’s not Yōurán, he doesn’t give A F. He's not a bad guy gone good. His feelings for Yōurán aside, he is still a bad guy.

I’m mentioning Josie and the elevator guy in my Lucien analysis for this reminder. He is awesome and charming and wonderful and I love him, but I have to say a big NO to his morals.

What you believe in

After they leave the elevator guy, the continuation of their talk in the firefly date happens.

The firefly argument between Yōurán and Lucien about evolution can be summarized as this: Survival of the fittest/Individual sacrifice is necessary for the evolution of humanity as a whole vs Coexistence/We must help each other rather than competing with each other to survive and evolve.

Lucien: If human society keeps developing. It will certainly become like that(disaster).

According to him, whether it’s natural evolution or an ‘artificial’ one by Black Swan, chaos and conflict is inevitable.

Lucien: People will become smarter, more sensitive. But not better, not happier.

But his thoughts about evolution changed somewhat. Seeing Yōurán sad about the weak little firefly affected him to some level. Now he knows that being evolved doesn’t necessarily mean being happier, or better. Yōurán taught him about the feelings of loss, the struggles of the weak to survive, the gentle encouragement to those left behind. Things Lucien considered as irrational sentiment.

Lucien: You must believe, before the worst sets in, that everything can be reborn and transformed.

He didn’t abandon his opinion completely though. I can’t say whether his logic is right or wrong, but it’s no excuse to justify Black Swan’s actions.

Lucien: Promise me, that if that moment really comes, you won’t let the weight of it drag you down too.

= If it really turns out that I’m right, don’t give up. Keep fighting for what you believe in.

I really love this dynamic between Yōurán and Lucien. He’s a bad guy who won’t abandon his bad-guy way of thinking, but he encourages Yōurán to keep on pursuing good even if the bad guys take over the world. They love each other, but they are standing on opposing sides.

The Butterfly’s Choice

When Lucien asks if Yōurán wants to continue, she says yes. She is so set on finding the truth and saving people that she hasn’t even considered how she’s going to stay safe in all this. (Lucien: Oh my sweet silly girl, I admire your courage and good heart but please be careful.)

Lucien gives her an ultimatum. He gives her two choices.

Lucien: The right is to placidly accept a life of protection, with no more mixing yourself up in this world’s turmoil. The left is to actively seek out the truth, but everything is unknown and who knows how many dangers lie ahead

Yōurán: I choose left. I will not run away.

Lucien: And if this choice brings you harm and turns your world upside down? You still choose it?

Yōurán: Yes, I most certainly do.

The Artist wanted to keep the Butterfly in a glass jar forever to be safe from danger. But the Butterfly taught him that if he really loves the Butterfly, he should let her be free. The Butterfly chose, and he didn't keep her locked up. He accompanies her to clear the dangers in her path as long as he can.

Iridescent

Lucien gives her his pen. The same pen that appeared in Firefly karma SNS. The pen’s name is Iridescent. Lucien cannot see color without MC, and he’s giving her a pen named iridescent. If this isn't a declaration of love, I don’t know what is.

Fun fact: Lucien’s Chinese name is Xu mo, so the X carved on the pen stands for his name. Remember Doctor X at the end of chapter 3? That was Lucien.

Lucien opened my hand and placed the pen in it, then he closed my hand back over it with an assertive force.

But it seems like he gave her the pen for more than sentiment. More about that later.

Through a glass darkly

“Through a glass darkly” is a line from the New Testament. Chapter 13 of 1st Corinthians. Like Lucien says it could mean about the truth being blurry but I also think it’s linked to Alice and Through the Looking Glass.

Like Alice in the story, will Yōurán go ‘through a glass’ to the other world? Will it be the same or will it be ‘darkly’ in the mirror world?

The Favor

When Yōurán hears suspicious men coming in, her instinct is to protect Lucien immediately. He gently chastises her to put her safety first, but then he teases her telling her she was cute. If you ask me, he is inwardly gloating ‘omg Yōurán threw herself at me!’

Besides that, he uses this opportunity to be indebted to her.

Lucien: How should I thank you for protecting me? Anything you need or wish, just tell me. When you think of something, let me know.

His teasing mood is suddenly gone. He is so solemn that Yōurán is at a loss for words. Also more about this later.

The Truth that you asked for

Lucien: A good hunter won’t let his prey feel a hint of anything astray before it’s captured. She already walked step by step into my snare.

Yōurán walked into his trap and the truth. She asked for it and he gave it.

His fist fell open slackly, and then gripped tight again. I could only see surprise and concealment on his face.

Lucien knew this moment was coming, but going through it was harder than he thought. Unfortunately, he has to put on an act. He can no longer hold her in his arms and wipe away her tears. It’s time for her to know how dangerous he is.

Yōurán: And all that stuff you told me today, it was lies?

Lucien didn’t answer.

Lucien admits that he is Ares and was manipulating her, but when she accuses his affectionate words as lies as well, he doesn’t answer.

He stayed silent to not lie to her and no, those words came from his heart. They are the most essential truth among all the lies and deceit.

Yōurán: And all those stuff you told me before, were they lies as well?

Lucien: I have never engaged in idle pursuits.

Yōurán is not the only one who walked into a trap, Lucien did as well. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her for real but he did. Still he won’t have it any other way.

Yōurán: …why?

Lucien: I warned you before. You still had time to run.

Oh, but weren’t you secretly glad that she chose not to leave you despite your warnings, Lucien?

I don’t know why, but in that instant I seemed to see a flash of sorrow in his eyes. But in less than half a second, he had resumed his composure.

Lucien is a good actor. Those fleeting moments of emotion beneath the cold exterior are the only hints that there’s more going on. They might dawn on her later, but now Yōurán is dealing with her own hurt.

Iridescent + the favor = the way out

Now, the bad guys are about to capture Yōurán and Lucien can’t stop it. He has to be Ares now. His loyalty has already been doubted. Fortunately, Yōurán grasps the way out of the trap that he has planted for her.

In an instant, I held something sharp onto my neck. How ironic! He clearly gave it to me as a gift, and now it was carrying out its mission like this.

Maybe Lucien didn’t exactly plan on Yōurán using his pen to stab her neck, but hey, it still serves his purpose.

“Let me go…”

“You think you can negotiate with me?”

Yōurán remembers another bargaining chip that Lucien gave her.

“You still owe me a thank-you gift.”

When Yōurán reminds him of the favor he owed her, I bet he secretly thought “That’s my girl!” in his head. She's given him the excuse he needs.

You are Ares, not Lucien.

I can let you go, but next time, you won’t get such an opportunity. Don’t let me catch you next time. - Lucien

It’s time for Lucien to be Ares, her enemy. Their days together are over now. After this, Yōurán will want nothing to do with Lucien.

I will never trust you again, Ares. Because you are not Lucien. Lucien would never harm me… Ares and Lucien have nothing to do with each other! - Yōurán

But will she? Lucien knows Yōurán very well, but he's underestimating her determination. He’s warned her away many times but it didn’t stop her from warming her way into his heart. Does he think it can stop her now?

Yōurán got “betrayed” by him, but she is shouting that it is Ares who betrayed her, not Lucien. She still believes that Lucien is still the same guy she fell in love with.

In the Aquarium Date Lucien as Ares warned Yōurán away because he was dangerous, but what did Yōurán do? She kissed him and embraced “Lucien.”

He’s turned Ares on her, but she still hasn’t given up on “Lucien”.

#mlqc #mlqc analysis #mlqc lucien #mlqc chapter 13

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ericsonclan · 4 years

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Marlon is a Doodie Head

Summary: Sophie writes a letter to her twin sister Minnie to process everything that has happened.

Word Count: 1000+

Read on AO3:

Start from the beginning of the series: here

Sophie sat alone in the sleeping room the girls had been using since they came to Ericson Farm. She’d been feeling agitated in the past few days ever since Marlon and Mitch had returned from the hunting cabin. Thankfully both of them had possessed the good sense to mostly keep their distance from the girls, staying in the barn and busying themselves with chores. Still, the fact that they were just a building away had Sophie’s skin crawling whenever she thought of it. Some nights she could still feel Marlon’s hands as he held her down underneath that quilt. The day he’d arrive back at the farm, she’d noticed that the broken nose she’d given him had healed crooked. She was glad to know he’d always carry that mark as a reminder of what he’d done.

Sitting at the desk by the window, Sophie had a quill pen and some paper before her. She was doing what she always did on a weekly basis: writing a letter to her twin sister Minnie. This would be the fourth letter in a row that remained unsent, tucked beneath her bed until one day she had access to a post office once more. By now news of what had happened must have reached her sister. Sophie was sure Minnie must be frantic. Perhaps she had even considered travelling back West to find Sophie herself. Not that there was any way into the valley until the end of spring. For now, the letters served as an outlet for Sophie’s emotions, a way for her to feel that she still had a voice of her own amidst all the turmoil.

Minnie,

Marlon and Mitch came back today. I wished they had stayed away longer. The only thing that makes my anger at their return more bearable is how happy it made the little boys. A.J., Willy and Tenn have been practically clinging onto their legs at all times since they returned. It’s clear how much they missed them, and Marlon and Mitch seem to feel the same. The whole thing makes me upset that I’m watching these events play out from captivity. If I had come here under different circumstances, I think I would have truly enjoyed my time at Ericson Farm.

Some loud cries from outside had Sophie glancing out the window. Willy, Louis and Aasim had circled a tree and were trying to talk Garbage, Willy’s possum, out of it. The possum seemed unimpressed by their pleas, hissing down at them menacingly. The scene brought a small smile to Sophie’s face. Things certainly weren’t dull here. There was always something going on. Sophie continued her letter.

How is your flatmate doing? I’m glad you were able to find someone so soon after moving out East. From what I’ve heard so far, Renata sounds lovely. I hope I’ll get to meet her someday when

Sophie suddenly laid down her quill. When what? When she escaped from this place and headed East herself? How would she get there? The original plan had been to take food, clothes and other supplies from home and head out from there, paying for a train to take her East. Once her parents rescued her from this place though, they’d likely never let her out of their sight. Marlon had ruined any chance of slipping away.

Her mind wandered to the argument they’d had before Marlon ran off. God, she wished she’d thrown those chamber pots at him when she’d had the chance. Claiming that he just wanted her to be free to make her own decisions and that was why he’d taken her? Did this look like freedom to him? If Marlon had really wanted to help her, he should have snuck her out to the train station, not some snowed in farm in the middle of nowhere. If he’d bought her train ticket and bid her farewell, then she would have believed his motives were selfless. From there she could have rode the train all the way to Boston and…

And then what? The thought rankled Sophie, worming its way deeper into her mind. I never really thought that far ahead, did I? A week away from fleeing East and I didn’t have any idea what I’d do when I got there. Minnie would have let her stay at her place for as long as she needed. Living with her and Renata honestly sounded like it would be a lot of fun. But what would Sophie do in the hours Minnie was off working at university? Sit around and make art, but to what end? She hadn’t been able to get a scholarship to any universities out in Boston like Minnie had. Would she try to sell her art out on the streets?

A worse possibility suddenly entered Sophie’s mind. What if the scandal caused by my fleeing the arranged marriage had spread to the East coast and affected Minnie? Could she have lost her scholarship over something like that? Prestige was everything to institutions. Housing her runaway sister, while not illegal, could have ended up ruining the life Minnie had made for herself out there. Would I just have been a burden if I’d done as I planned?

The hissing had grown louder outside. Sophie looked down to see that the boys had enlisted Violet’s help. She had joined Willy in climbing up the tree to reach Garbage. Now the two siblings were trying to corner the possum in such a way that would force it to jump down into Louis’ coat that he and Aasim were holding out. A chuckle escaped Sophie’s lips. What a wild plan. She had half a mind to go out there and join them. She wanted to finish this letter though. She returned her quill to the paper.

I hope I’ll get to meet her someday when times are better. I’m not sure exactly how I would have wrangled my way out of that joke of a marriage our parents had set up for me. I know your prospects weren’t much better when they were looking for matches for you. I’m proud of you for finding a way to escape all that nonsense and still stay within the family’s good graces. If only my art skills had proved strong enough to join you out there. We could have attended university together.

Sophie envisioned what her days would have looked like within Boston. Maybe she would be able to sell enough paintings to make ends meet and get a place of her own. If need be, she’d distance herself from Minnie, at least until she had finished her studies at university, so none of the consequences of her running away would reach her sister. It seemed like a somewhat lonely existence, living alone with only her art to sustain her. She’d miss all her friends in Richmond: Brody, Ruby, Clem, Prisha…

A high-pitched scream came from below. Sophie looked down to find that the possum had successfully been driven down from the tree but had not landed in Louis’ jacket as planned. Instead it had landed upon Louis’ head, tangling its feet in his dreadlocks and hissing in an angry panic. Louis didn’t seem to be faring much better, running about with his arms flailing wildly and screaming for help. His siblings weren’t having much luck calming him or Garbage down.

She just had to capture this. Pulling out another piece of paper, Sophie began sketching out the scene before her. She tried to capture the heat of the moment, the way the possum’s eyes bulged in anger and Louis’ mouth was open wide in fear. It was certainly a picturesque moment. When Sophie had finished, she couldn’t help but giggle. Perhaps she’d gift the sketch to Louis later. He’d commented earlier on how lovely her art was when he’d spoken with her in the kitchen as she drew with Tenn. Her doodle complete, Sophie returned to the letter.

Perhaps it seems strange to say, Minnie, but I think once I leave here I’m going to miss it an awful lot. So many of the Ericsons are really nice. Of course you know Katjaa, but her husband and younger kids are kind too. I think you’d especially like Tenn. He has the makings of a great artist in him. You’d probably like Louis too. He’s a master at the piano. The two of you could do duets together. He’s played for us a couple times these past few nights. It’s a wonderful way to spend the evening.

Sophie paused in her writing. Now that she thought about it, she had something nice to say about almost all the Ericson kids. A.J. and Willy were a hoot while Omar was a complete sweetheart. She loved the soups he would make whenever someone was feeling under the weather. Violet had proved quite kind as she’d gotten to know her too. She was shy and soft-spoken for the first couple weeks, but over time Sophie had been able to pick up on her dry, biting humor as well as her softer, more thoughtful moments. Aasim was also pleasant to talk with too. She always learned something new when they spend time together. She had no idea how someone living on such an isolated, rural farm could be so well-read.

When I first came here, it seemed like the five months we’d be trapped at Ericson Farm would be a torture. When did everything become so pleasant? Sophie’s memories drifted through her mind, replaying the events of the last month. Everything had been so painful and heated at first, every word between the boys and the girls like pressing on an open wound. But one by one, the siblings had asked for the girls’ forgiveness, sincerely with no expectations of acceptance. Violet had been first and the easiest to forgive given the fact that Prisha had truly wanted to run away with her. Louis and Aasim were next, apologizing to the girls shortly after another avalanche as they attempted to excavate a path for the girls to return to Richmond had almost taken Louis’ life. Sophie knew Clementine had found the gesture hollow, but she’d appreciated the effort they had made to right their wrongs. After seeing the suffering they had willingly undertaken, she had a newfound respect for them and from there friendship had grown.

That only left Mitch and Marlon. Brody had spoken with Mitch the night the two boys had returned. From what she’d told the girls afterwards, it sounded like Mitch’s second apology was much more heartfelt and sincere. Being up at the hunting cabin for weeks had given him time to sort out his thoughts and truly understand his actions. If I hadn’t gone up to the room that night, would Marlon have said the same sorts of things to me? Would I have accepted an apology like that?

The first time Sophie had met Marlon, she’d found his candor and friendliness charming. The entire time he was trying to get a chance to dance with her, Sophie could see how much he wanted to have even a moment with her, and when their hands finally met and they got to dance for those few happy minutes, she’d found herself having the best time she’d ever had at a barn-raising. Talking with Marlon was easy, natural. She’d wished the day could go on and on so they could have as much time together as possible.

Now that was all gone. Marlon couldn’t be trusted ever again. He’d shown his true colors and how selfish a person he really was deep down. But if I was willing to listen to all the others. Should I at least give him that chance? What he’d said to her the day they’d fought had been true. Her plan of escape was shoddy. It took only seconds for the whole thing to fall apart. If Sophie had stayed in Richmond, she would have been married off to a man old enough to be her grandfather and if she’d left she’d have been dooming herself to a life with no prospects, perhaps dragging Minnie down with her in the process. Neither option was good, but for Marlon’s solution to be… this? Deception, kidnapping, brute force? She wished he’d spoken to her that night instead of tossing her on the floor of that carriage. Maybe then they could have worked something out together. Does that mean if he’d asked I would have run away with him after all? Sophie’s mind bristled at the thought. That was ridiculous.

The screaming from outside had finally stopped. The Ericson siblings were nowhere to be seen. Apparently they’d found something else besides possum wrangling to occupy their time. Sophie stood up, stretching her hands above her head. She needed a break from letter writing. She could finish later. It wasn’t like she would be able to send the letter anytime soon anyway. Spending all this time alone was putting strange thoughts in her head. She needed some company.

Sophie headed for the door, shutting it quietly behind her. Maybe Katjaa or the little boys needed help with something or the girls were back from their outside chores. With so many people around, there was sure to be plenty of things to do. As she descended the stairs, Sophie let herself land on one final thought. I’ve heard the others apologies and things are the better for it. If Marlon wants to talk one last time to clear the air, I won’t say no.

#twdg #twdg sophie #twdg minnie #twdg marlon #twdg marlie #twdg garbage #twdg willy #twdg louis #twdg violet #twdg aasim #bless yore beautiful hide au #fanfic

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x--daughters-of-darkness--x · 4 years

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Songs for Screens: Amy Lee Talks ‘Gears 5’ and Evanescence’s First Album in Nine Years

As the 2010s come to a close, it’s high time that one of the biggest acts of the 2000s, Amy Lee’s Evanescence, gets its proper Gen Z-era due.

The band, who have sold 8 million albums in the U.S. and took home the 2004 Best New Artist Grammy, has been largely absent from the mainstream rock scene for the majority of this decade. After releasing 2011’s self-titled album, the band’s lineup continued to shift as it has since co-founder Ben Moody departed in 2003, while Lee took some time off to start a family and raise her now five-year-old son. The band returned another new lineup — two women and three men — in 2017 for “Synthesis,” an electro-orchestral re-recording of mostly previous material that was warmly received by fans but still a stylistic departure from the band’s rock radio heyday.

So when Microsoft Xbox debuted the trailer for its highly anticipated “Gears 5” from its hit “Gears of War” series in September, fans both old and new got a chance to reacquaint themselves with Lee’s haunting soprano on a string-soaked rock cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” Originally conceived as a solo cut for Lee to sing against the game’s score, Evanescence went into the studio to record a full-length version of the single that was released in late November.

The trailer helped tee up Microsoft’s biggest first-week performance for a new title since 2012’s “Halo 4.” It also doubled as a fittingly blockbuster announcement for the proper return of Evanescence, which includes the band’s first all-new album in nearly a decade, tentatively set for release next year.

“It’s been so long since we’ve put out a full new Evanescence album that I think it’s important to re-find our new center and embrace what the band is,” Lee says. “I don’t want it to be a huge departure. I want us to come back to the roots of the core of the band’s sound, but at the same time it’s gonna be rock.”

Songs for Screens caught up with Lee about recording the Fleetwood Mac cover (and the uncanny parallels with her own band), writing new music and how motherhood has re-shaped her perspectives.

How did the cover of “The Chain” come about? It started with “Gears.” They approached me about just singing the music that you hear in the new “Gears of War” trailer, and there was a programmer and producer named Bobby who played me the [instrumental of the] song. I loved the whole idea of the song, but I really wanted the rock to come in and make it into an Evanescence cover. So I said yes, on the condition that my band needs to do this, let us take the rest of the way and make a full version of the song. So I got the band on it, and we were all just really excited about the opportunity to do something new and fresh. It was really fun be with Bobby, the producer who started that preliminary take, and Evanescence-ify it.

Did you identify with the gaming aspect, or the lead character in “Gears 5” in particular? I am a gamer. I can’t say I’ve had a special connection to “Gears” in the past, but I’m getting into it now. I’m a total noob. I am obsessed with “The Legend of Zelda,” the entire franchise — I only have one tattoo on my entire body, and it’s three life hearts. I still play video games to go to sleep at night, instead of reading books like a smart person would.

So the gaming part appealed to me, but also the film and score. I love when I can get these rare opportunities to be a part of a project that is bigger than myself and both visual and musical. From a really young age, what I thought I wanted to do was make movie music. The emotion that’s coming across that trailer and all the anticipation, that gets me really excited to be able to be a part of that voice and the internal monologue of the viewer.

In covering “The Chain,” did you see the parallels between your band and Fleetwood Mac, who has also had several high-profile lineup changes over the years? Particularly with a song specifically about some of that inter-band turmoil? We all love Fleetwood Mac and there are places as individuals where our tastes are different. But this was something we all agreed on, and have loved all our lives. So that in itself was really cool. I loved the original, but this is definitely very different from that song. It has a new feeling to me, it’s like we’re up against something trying to tear us apart and standing and trying our hardest to hold on through that. That’s something I super relate to, having been in a band for maybe 25 years, and at this point it’s been a big part of my life to hold a band together. Sometimes it’s easier than others.

[Guitarist] Jen [Majura]’s the newbie. She’s been with us since 2015, and the other guys have been with me for over a decade now. We’ve seen a lot together, from manager and label drama to just surviving. And thriving, too – we’re a weird little family. It was definitely something that spoke to me on a lyrical level, and I wanted to make that song ours all the way. And one of the ways to do that was to make everybody sing. So at the end of the song I put everybody on it and gave them a part to sing. And I also that it was super cool, as a random side note, that Fleetwood Mac is three guys and two girls, and we are too, which is kind of a rare combination.

You’re also working on your first album of original material as a band with this latest lineup configuration, and the first new Evanescence album in nine years. How’s that taking shape? The writing process has been really fun so far. We’ve been working just here and there, doing our little band camp wherever it makes sense. Whether it’s at my house, which we’ve done a couple times, or we went out in the woods in Canada at a ski resort in the off-season doing our own engineering. Having different spaces is really important for us to keep everything fresh and not feel stuck like this is a job or it’s work. It is work, but it has to be something that you want. We are really craving making this new music. We’ve loved being on tour so much.

You’ve also become a mother since the last proper Evanescence album, with your five-year-old son. How has he shaped your overall creative process? It’s definitely shaped our whole work ethic. Right now, we’ll go on tour, come home, have some family time, go into the studio, so we’re constantly flexing different muscles. I’m historically hyper-focused, and I can’t do anything else until I finish the one thing in front of me. And sometimes that takes a really long time. Since having [my son], you have to learn to focus on more than one thing and multitask.

Do you have a timeline for the new music yet? I don’t. The reason I can’t share one is, first of all it’s not done. We’re thinking about releasing it in a different way this time. It may not be as long as you think. We’re toying with the idea of how to think differently and not release it all at the same time. It might be cool to bring everybody along the way with us while it starts coming out.

#Amy Lee #Evanescence #2019 interviews

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dvp95 · 5 years

Text

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 11

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,995 for this chapter (49,787 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The flat is dark but for the string lights over Phil's headboard and the candles on his nightstand. Phil's fingers are tracing patterns on Dan's chest, loopy circles and spirals that leave goosebumps in their wake. He's humming something familiar under his breath that Dan can't place and his eyes are half-lidded behind his glasses.

They're tangled up on Phil's bed, ostensibly getting ready to sleep, but Dan is struggling. He doesn't want to miss a single moment he's got left with Phil. He'd thrown on some boxers in concession of sharing space with a dog, and Phil has gotten completely dressed in Dan's pyjamas with muttered complaints about the cold. Dan already misses looking at his body, but he has to admit that he likes looking at this, too.

"Remind me again when you're leaving?"

Dan sighs, lightly tapping a line of freckles down Phil's arm and tangling their fingers together when he reaches them. "Sunday afternoon."

"Too soon," Phil says, quiet and light like he's trying to play off how much it sucks.

"Too soon," Dan agrees. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. And we can - I mean, I want to still, like. Date you. Even when I'm not here."

With a little hum of a noise, Phil blinks up at Dan. He looks a little perplexed. "Well, yeah," he says. "I'm just gonna remind you again that I introduced you to my parents. I wasn't planning on running off with the next local idiot who fawns all over me."

"I did not fawn," Dan protests, but his lips are twitching. He presses them to Phil's forehead to hide the movement. He didn't actually believe that Phil was thinking of this as something with a time limit, but it's nice to be reassured. They're quiet for a long moment, and then Dan has to ask the embarrassing question that's been plaguing him. "Are you, like. Are you my boyfriend?"

Phil laughs, not unkindly, and nuzzles into Dan's neck to press a kiss there. Dan can feel the curve of his smirk when the sensation makes Dan shiver.

"Yeah, Dan," says Phil, low and fond. "I'm your boyfriend."

"I'm just making sure," says Dan.

"You're so stupid," Phil says, pulling back from Dan's neck to grin up at him. His eyes are so bright that it almost aches to look at.

There really isn't a good argument for that. Dan shrugs, pulls Phil close enough that he can feel Phil's heartbeat. He buries his face in Phil's hair so that he doesn't have to watch Phil's expression change when he says, "Yeah. I told my brother about you, actually. Told him you were my boyfriend."

Phil chuckles. "I told my brother about you, too. Dunno why you're embarrassed about it."

"Yeah, but that's different," Dan mutters. "You talk to Martyn."

"I get that your family is," Phil says, pauses for a brief moment, "complicated, but I'm not bothered by them knowing about me."

"That's good," says Dan. "Because, er, I'm having lunch with my mum after the morning interviews tomorrow, and I thought - well, y'know."

A gentle hand in Dan's hair pulls him back from the cuddle so that Phil can look at him. His eyes flicker over Dan's face like they're looking for something. Whatever it is, he doesn't seem to find it.

Phil smiles indulgently, shaking his head a bit. "I actually don't know, Dan. I'm gonna need you to use your words. Because right now it sounds like you're inviting me to lunch with your mum. Which, to be clear, wouldn't be weird for me, since you've met mine, but I get the feeling it might be weird for you."

That hadn't been at all what Dan was asking. He thinks about it, though, wonders if if would be better or worse to have backup for this lunch.

Dan loves his mum. Their relationship is strained, distant, has got a heavy buildup of guilt and mistrust on both sides, but he loves her. He isn't sure he can bring Phil into that and explain it, not when he's met the wonderfully warm people who raised Phil.

"I was actually just asking if you'd be okay with me mentioning you, but how about," Dan says slowly, turning the idea over in his head. "We meet you at the park after lunch? I wanted to whine until she brought Colin, anyway, this gives me a good excuse."

"Colin?"

"My family dog," says Dan. "Don't make fun of his name, your dog's name is nerdy and a pun."

Phil laughs and kisses the tip of Dan's nose. "I wouldn't dream of it. I like animals with hilariously normal names."

"So, you'll come? You really don't have to."

"Sure, I just," Phil says and pulls a little face, like he doesn't want to voice whatever he's thinking. "Is she... one of the people reacting badly? Wanna know what I'm getting into, here."

"No, she's been great," Dan says quietly. "She might be weird, but she won't be... y'know."

"I do know."

The smile playing around Phil's lips makes Dan want to kiss him, so he does. He can't believe that he's just allowed to do that, can't believe he somehow stumbled into being the luckiest person alive.

Dan's done a lot of things over the past decade that he thinks would shock and awe his teenage self. He's met and worked with some pretty big names, gotten drunk with his costars at some pretty big events, and publicly made a fool of himself in some pretty big ways.

He thinks this would take the cake, though. Just the simple act of kissing his boyfriend in bed would have been more than teen Dan could have dreamed of. He'd wanted that, of course, in a pipe dream sort of way, like how he'd wanted to stop hurting his girlfriend, wanted to feel some kind of acceptance for who he was so terrified to be. But the world had been way too fucking scary for him to consider it outside of daydreams.

Not to mention the fact that the man he's kissing is AmazingPhil. Dan laughs, pulls back from Phil to grin at him.

"You know," he says, "I used to have the biggest fucking crush on you."

"Used to?" Phil teases, brushing his fingers over Dan's ribs to make him squirm and laugh harder.

"Shut the fuck up," Dan says fondly. "I mean, like, in 2007."

Phil blinks. He's a lot sleepier than Dan is, which Dan very generously attributes to how long it takes Phil to do simple math in his head. "Wait, you seriously had a crush on me when you were sixteen?"

"Maybe," says Dan.

"Oh, that's so cute," Phil coos. He gives Dan a smug little grin and rolls on top of him. Their limbs are so long and they're both so clumsy that Dan isn't surprised by Phil almost kneeing him in the balls in the process, but he's also so far gone that he barely cares. "And what would sixteen-year-old Dan think of all this?"

"He wouldn't believe it," Dan laughs, settling his hands on Phil's hips. "Like, literally, this would have never occurred to him as a possibility."

"Why not?" Phil teases, knocking their noses together gently. Dan gets the impression that he's more charmed than he's letting on with his dry voice. "You didn't wanna come to Summer in the City? Make an impression?"

That makes Dan honk a laugh right in Phil's face. Objectively, that's mortifying. Phil just snorts, though, so Dan decides not to worry about it on top of everything else he's constantly anxious about in Phil's presence. "The impression I would have made on you in 2007 or even, like, ten years ago, wouldn't have been anything good. You think I'm awkward now? You can only imagine what I was like before I had any kind of confidence."

"I'm sure it was very cute," says Phil. "I'd have added you on MySpace."

"I hate you," says Dan, not least because he'd sent Phil a friend request on MySpace. He is absolutely not going to bring that up, though.

"Yeah, sure seems like you do," says Phil, grinning.

Dan doesn't like the smug look on his face, so he takes Phil's glasses off and sets them aside, chuckling when he immediately starts to squint. "It's bedtime," he reminds Phil.

"Bedtime," Phil agrees, and he blinks a bunch before he laughs. "I can't see you. You gotta kiss me goodnight."

Definitely a request Dan can handle.

Once again, Dan finds himself staring at the ceiling of Phil's flat. He's got a snoring dog at his feet and a snoring man draped over him, and he should really be relaxed enough to drift off by now. He's comforted by the smell of Phil's sheets and the soft pattering of rain against the small windows, but it doesn't help get him any sleepier. It's frustrating. He's got interviews all morning - the last of the Isles leg before they get shipped off to the continent for another two weeks of the same circus - and he doesn't want to be cranky for them or have to apologise to another makeup artist for the dark circles under his eyes. He tries for a really long time to fall asleep before he gives up on it for the moment and reaches for his phone.

The familiar cycle of applications helps settle some of the restless energy that's thrumming under Dan's skin. The fingers of his right hand run over Phil's shoulders and through his hair, gentle and idle enough to avoid waking him, as he scrolls through different social media sites with his left thumb.

His feeds are busy enough, since it's not quite late enough to be considered unreasonable in Atlanta or Chicago and Los Angeles is fully awake, but none of it is really catching his attention. He likes a bunch of dog photos and gets lost in a Twitter moment on a topic he's never heard about before. Three different times, he almost buys something that's being advertised to him before he remembers that he already owns something similar to it.

Normally he'd put on some AmazingPhil videos to help him fall asleep, but that feels pretty weird to do when the man himself is literally drooling on his chest right now. Not to mention, he'd have to get up to find some headphones, and that would just defeat the purpose of staying in bed.

Dan spends twenty minutes drafting an email to his grandma, hindered by only using one thumb and his brain not being at full firing power as it is. It ends up saying more or less what he'd texted to his mum, only with an apology at the end. He doesn't know why he does that. He isn't sorry for who he is, or for not telling her, or for not believing in the god that might inform her reaction. He almost deletes the apology, actually, but the fact is that he is. He is sorry for all of those things.

He doesn't want to be. He wants to be unapologetic. But this is a woman who he's always respected and who is so vocal about supporting his career that he sometimes gets embarrassed by the statuses she posts about him on Facebook. This is also a woman who brought him to church for a good chunk of his life.

It's so vivid, even now. Getting his collar smoothed down by her dainty hands, his cheeks pinched by all her friends. The stifling, muggy air and hard pew under him in the summer.

Discomfort. Physical discomfort, as a child, and a deeper sort once he realised he didn't belong there. If he has to narrow it down, he's sorry that he might be giving her a different sort of discomfort in return.

He emails so that he can check for her response on his own time instead of panicking and shutting his phone off like he did with his mum, and then he goes into the app store to download some new, mindless games. Those entertain him for a while, the easy taps of his thumb giving him something to focus on that is not all the ways he's failed his family or the terrifying reality of what he might see in his mother's eyes tomorrow.

Today, he supposes. He'll be lucky to get a couple of hours at all.

In the end, he doesn't get any sleep. He wants to, because he knows he's going to be a zombie at work and at lunch, but maybe that's a good thing. He doesn't know what his mum is going to say, after all, doesn't know if she's going to try and defend his dad or talk about his reaction at all, so perhaps it's for the best that Dan feels everything a little more numbly than usual.

Dan turns off his alarm a split second after it rings, which is never a great feeling after a hard hit of insomnia. It's the final acknowledgement that sleep is not coming, no matter how much he tries to will it. He sighs and gently rolls Phil off of him. The way Phil grumbles and curls into his pillow, cuddling it to his chest, manages to get a weak smile out of Dan. He's just... cute. That's all there really is to it. Thor perks up when Dan gets out of bed, his ears all the way up, and Dan figures that it isn't the worst idea in the world to get some fresh air.

"You wanna go for a walk?" Dan whispers. He has to bite back a laugh at the way Thor reacts - spinning excitedly in a circle on the bed before hopping down and running to the door.

The sun is just starting to rise, giving Dan enough light to avoid injuring himself as he finds something to throw on for the walk. He ends up with his own pyjama pants and some graphic tee or other of Phil's because he can't be bothered to look for something else. He figures that anyone else awake right now won't judge him for it.

He remembers to grab keys and doggy bags before he tries to get Thor out of the door without his excitement turning into barking. He hasn't really barked much in Dan's presence, but he doesn't want to take any chances. It would be just his luck to wake everyone in the building up because he has no idea what he's doing when it comes to training a dog. The dog his family had when he was growing up was cute, but he was real bad at being a dog. Dan's got absolutely no practice with making dogs listen to him, and he's not exactly assertive. He's been chased by chickens more than once.

The chill of the dawn air makes Dan glad he grabbed one of Phil's countless denim jackets, and he pauses on the pavement outside for only a brief moment before Thor starts tugging him down the road. Thor knows the area, even if Dan doesn't, so he's happy to let the dog guide them with his nose and stubby little legs.

It's too early to talk to anyone, for sure, but Dan wants to rip the band-aid off before he has to shift into his public persona. He texts his mum with one hand, can u bring colin please i miss him so much and ive got a friend for him, attaches a cute photo of Thor sniffing at a neighbour's flower box. After a moment's thought, he sends the photo to Phil as well. He'd watched Phil put his phone on silent before they got into bed, so he isn't worried about waking him up. Dan has to slip his phone back into his pocket to quietly scold Thor for eating someone else's petunias and scurry away from the scene of the crime.

Everything feels just a little hazy with the rising sun, the mist of barely-there rain, and Dan's own lack of sleep. He lets Thor guide him into a lazy walk around the block and breathes in the polluted air like it's going to make everything better.

Maybe it should be scary how right this feels. In fact, it is scary, and Dan would like to blame it entirely on his insomnia and idiocy, but he knows it's more than that. He wants this to be his routine, as stupid as that is. He doesn't want that right away, doesn't want to leave Atlanta and come right to Phil's flat, but he wants... that. Eventually. First, he wants a drawer in one of Phil's dressers, wants to text whenever he's outside, wants to meet Phil at the dog park with two coffees and a grin on his face.

Dan never really took himself for a hopeless romantic, but then again, he also never thought that he'd be able to date someone he wanted to be with for the long haul. Even a medium haul had been off the table with the girls he's dated since his last actual relationship. It was always going to be missing something.

When Thor starts whining and tugging at the lead a bit harder, Dan smiles. "You wanna go home, cutie?" he murmurs, spotting the distinctive blue of Phil's front door. "Let's take you home."

The questions are the same every time. Not the exact same, no, but still the same. Every publication and media site wants to know the same shit about the show, and they don't even have all the answers.

"No, we haven't heard about a new season yet," Jaime is saying for the third time in one morning, with some kind of unending patience that Dan will never understand. "Trust me, the internet will know as soon as we know. Of course it would be nice to keep working - I don't think my character's storyline is anywhere near done!"

She laughs, but Dan can tell that it's forced. It's starting to take a strain on her, too, and he knows that they're all just waiting for something original to come up. Patrick has zoned out, pulling a Full Dan and staring off into space.

There aren't any pins for Dan to comment on this time, even if he'd wanted to. The morning has been slogging, not least since he'd left Phil still asleep in bed with a kiss to his sweet-smelling hair. Dan is so tired, but he knows they're all so tired. There's nothing for them to do but paste smiles on their faces and deflect spoilery questions while they count down the minutes to their free afternoon. Well, Jaime and Patrick have a free afternoon. Dan is going to have his hands full.

His mum had agreed to bring Colin happily and mooned over Thor's photo, but Dan has been perplexed by the fact that she didn't even ask whose dog it was. He wants to tell her, wants to be clear that he hasn't gone and got himself a big responsibility just yet, but there's a larger, pettier part of Dan that wants to keep Phil to himself until his mum is face to face with him. Dan wants to see if she has to school her expression, wants to know if this is an arms-length continuation of their relationship or the start of something rocky and healing.

Since Patrick is off in his own world, Dan tries his best to be present for this interview. He makes the interviewer laugh and tells stupid anecdotes to keep the attention off of everything Jaime won't say about her character arc.

It's a good thing he is paying attention, because Dan isn't sure how he'd have reacted if he'd been caught off guard by, "And as I'm sure you're aware, a lot of fans have been speculating about on-set romances. Is there any truth to those rumours or is that just some fun for the fans?"

Jaime snorts loudly. It's very unladylike. Dan is so, so fond of her.

"Uh, no," says Jaime. "I mean, if you're talking about between the three of us - which I have seen, the shipping isn't as quiet as y'all think it is - then, I'm sorry, but there's no way. I won't even act like there is to keep people guessing. I'm not going to date Daniel or Patrick for, like, twenty thousand reasons. If you want to talk about Tanner, though..."

She winks and trills her real laugh, which makes Dan laugh in turn. Jaime's crush on the man who plays Patrick's father is such an open secret that he's surprised more people don't ask her about it. Maybe they think it's a sensitive or uncomfortable subject, but Jaime's got no compunctions about loudly fancying someone who is both a decade older than her and married. The interviewer's laugh is a bit less genuine.

"Really?" he asks, sounding skeptical enough that Dan wonders if he ought to be offended. "And the two of you think the same? No chance?"

What? If they did want to be with Jaime, why the fuck would they say that in an interview right after she'd denounced them as romantic interests? Dan wonders if this guy understands that's an insane thing to expect, or if he's just trying to get a reaction out of them.

"Er, yeah," Dan says. He looks at his costars for backup. Jaime shrugs, and Patrick seems to have only just realised he's being spoken to and has the panic of 'what was just asked of me?' in his eyes that Dan is all too familiar with. He decides to word his answer clearly enough that he can help get Patrick up to speed as well. "I mean, like, we're all just good friends. I don't think any of us have any interest in more than that. And honestly, if we did disagree with Jaime, we wouldn't force our feelings on her anyway. That'd be fuc- I mean, that would be messed up."

He sees the glint of triumph in the interviewer's face and groans internally. Fuck, he should have stayed in bed.

"Interesting," he says, "that you've already thought about a situation where you have unrequited feelings for your on-screen girlfriend?"

Yeah, Dan thinks. Super interesting. He's kissed Jaime a thousand fucking times for the camera and it doesn't do anything for him, thanks ever so. He sighs and runs a hand through his straightened fringe so he doesn't slap himself in the face for opening this can of worms.

"Look, I get that a lot of fans want to know," Dan says, keeping his tone as light as possible. "The thing is that I'd like to keep my personal life private. I'm happy to tell you that it doesn't involve Jaime in any way, though."

"I'm fine with my personal life being public," Patrick deadpans. "There's nothing going on in it and that's how I like it. We're all equally pathetic that way, right?"

"Oi," Dan says, unable to hide his offense. The lack of sleep is really making his filter drop, and that's dangerous.

Jaime throws him a life vest before the interviewer can jump on his reaction, patting Dan's knee and saying, "You know, Patrick, some of us are pathetic in many more ways. Like, do you remember the time..."

And off she goes, weaving a story about Dan making an ass of himself. He interjects at all the right moments, laughs and groans in equal measure, covers his face when he starts to legitimately blush at the memory of an entire Starbucks thinking he'd gone insane.

He's comfortable with sharing that amount with his fans, he thinks. He's not dating Jaime, he never will be dating Jaime, and he's a private person. That's really all they need to know for now.

#can't breathe when you touch my sleeve #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words

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hearthhhh · 4 years

Note

✧Hello! I'd love a matchup! INFJ,Panromantic Asexual,Female, Virgo. I'm incredibly awkward, because of that I tend to mess myself up a lot. I have a stutter which I myself find annoying. I tend to be shy when meeting people but when I open up I'm frankly a whole other person. I don't have much of a filter with my friends. I enjoy Artsy things, and I tend to be highly critical of mostly everything involving art and generally anything I'm interested it. I'm quite picky, not to mention obsessive.

I pair you with...

🥢 Spoilers for V3 ahead! If this is a problem feel free to leave another ask!

🥢 This ask was a bit more difficult because of the whole V3 plot and the ending and all that. I thought about it and just decided I'd write this ask as if you were a member of the trials as well.

🥢 Kaito is really uplifting and loves getting along with introverts, and originally gets closer to you due to your shy nature! He likes trying to bring up your mood, and is really supportive of your insecurities. Kaito would even try to pay attention to things you're insecure about so he could come off as encouraging as possible.

🥢 Once you start opening up to him, he’s pleasantly surprised, and really excited that you’re feeling more comfortable around him.

🥢 Both you and Kaito rarely have filters around each other. You speak your minds, and enjoy the honesty you two share. It helps that Kaito basically runs on his moral compass, which is pretty sound and easy to understand and agree with.

🥢 You and Maki would get along well! Instead of her becoming Kaito's love interest, you and Kaito would become one of her very good friends! You're less violent and also an introvert, so there're aspects of you two that are pretty similar and could lead to a pretty solid platonic relationship.

🥢 You two stick together pretty close. Kaito is very attuned to making plans, and tries to understand people and their emotional capabilities as well, trying to take off as much emotional loads as possible. So he'd come up with several ways to hang out with each other, seeming as innocent, but really just a way to keep an eye out for you. He's really scared something will happen to you, but he doesn't want to come off as possessive or stress-inducing.

🥢 He really likes your obsessive nature, because Kaito is the same way! When Kaito likes something he's got it set in stone, even if it's just a small whim, he pursues all his goals and wishes really passionately. So Kaito likes seeing people who are just as passionate as him, and is really supportive of your art and will listen to you rant for hours if you'd like, maybe even debate if you need to.

🥢Kaito wouldn't ask you out. He knows he's dying, he can't put you through the emotional turmoil, it'll crush you. As much as Kaito wants to distance himself, he can't, and he thinks it's selfish of him.

🥢 You have to ask him out. It's scary, but so are the killing games. You never know if one of you will die and you need him to know about your feelings.

🥢 When you tell him I'd imagine your stutter taking over. Your shyness takes over but Kaito understands exactly what you're trying to say. He's torn but on cloud nine at the exact same time.

🥢 The days before Kaito's death you spend cuddling and spending time alone, distancing yourself from the others as much as possible. But he disappears into the bathroom for extended periods of time, sometimes Kaito would even leave you alone in one of your rooms claiming to be getting food but coming back empty-handed and forgetting entirely why he'd left in the first place.

🥢 There's a high level of trust in your relationship, there has to be when you're dating in the middle of a killing trials. So you wouldn't expect him to be a killer, only worrying about his safety.

🥢 Then there’s the whole trial business, and the only person you have left is Maki.

I pair you with...

🥢 The Victorian Era was very well known for its artistry, so you'd be able to get by easily as an artist. Especially because you're so critical, I'd imagine it'd make you pickier about what you'd paint, and you'd be able to grow renown pretty easily. Artists that are introverted also create a sense of mystery, so people would become more intrigued.

🥢 Also, I researched career paths for INFJ. I actually found that there are many people with that personality type who run non-profit organizations.

🥢 I got this idea that you'd have an auction for some of your paintings, then give a portion of your earnings to people in need.

🥢 This auction would make you even more well known. So I'd imagine you're a spectacle in the artistry world.

🥢 Because you're so important, it wouldn't be surprising for you to have some pretty high up contacts. That would include Earl Ciel Phantomhive.

🥢 You'd meet Prince Soma at one of Ciel's parties. It's a small get together between others of higher positions, and it's pretty great.

🥢 Except the music's loud, the people there aren't that entertaining, and you don't really want to take to them. You only came to keep up appearances, and you kind of felt like you had to.

🥢You meet Prince Soma and Agni in one of the hallways trying to make it outside for some fresh air. He's really nice, and you two get along very well. After he shows you the doors, the two men stay with you for a bit to talk.

🥢 Prince Soma enjoys being of use to others, and is excited he's able to help you even if it's something as small as showing you the exit. But he's also easily intimidated. So he'd seek comfort in your timid nature, and would try to see past your introverted shell and try to make you more open.

🥢 Once he gets to know you more he's thrilled! Prince Soma loves people with a sense of humour and seems to like yours a lot.

🥢 You two meet more along the streets and stop to talk whenever you see each other. Until you give Soma your address, and tell him he's able to stop by anytime. He takes the invitation up eagerly, and is over almost daily.

🥢 You're surprised he didn't know you were an artist. When he sees several paintings around your larger than average house he's immediately intrigued. And when you tell him of your fundraisers, that's when Soma starts to grow feelings for you.

🥢 Soma really admires you at this point. He'd always seen himself as the mediator of your friendship, a guide. But now he respects you as someone equal.

🥢 As you two start going out more, Soma asks for Agni to accompany him less and less. Then it gets to the point where Soma and you would always spend time with each other alone, usually in the comfort of your home.

🥢 Eventually, Agni has to tell Soma to tell you about his feelings. They're pretty obvious at this point. Soma actually hadn't even realized he'd liked you until it was pointed out. He just really liked being around you.

🥢 I feel like there would be like… a whole system to get into a relationship. Prince Soma was probably the type to be expecting an arranged marriage, maybe even to meet his bride on their wedding day. So I'm not quite sure what traditions would be in place, if this makes sense.

🥢 But anyway! I feel like Soma would be the type who's really excited to get into relationships, so he'd tell you very soon after his realization, if not immediately. He's like a fucking puppy in the best way possible.

🥢 You know exactly what he's trying to say before he even opens his mouth. He asks you in your kitchen as you're making breakfast.

🥢 Being in a relationship with Prince Soma is great. He'd spoil you silly, and Agni would be like a big brother to you. While Prince Soma loves alone time with you, it's important to him that you and Agni get along well. While he wouldn't say it aloud, Soma is always really happy when he sees you two interacting.

🥢 Soma is one for cuddles! He loves to have an excess of pillows and blankets, and builds the best pillow forts.

🥢 You find a lot of your time would be taken up by Soma. He really likes being around you and gets lonely really quickly. While you paint he likes to talk to you, but sometimes gets restless sitting down for too often. He admires you for having the patience to paint for so long.

🥢 He'd be really goofy! Your senses of humour would minimize uncomfy things like getting sick or being sad, and would create the baseline for trust and vulnerability! Basically you two would just be so comfortable around each other and you wouldn't feel like there are any barriers between you two. You'd feel like extensions of yourselves.

🥢 Okay the fluff here made up for the angsty Kaito matchup woo!

I pair you with...

🥢 So aside from Zen's obvious immediate flirtatious nature, I feel like he'd become interested in things that you're insecure about! Zen's all for being uplifting and encouraging self-betterment, but feels bad when people are downright self-deprecating. He just wants people to be the best versions of themselves they can be, but things you can't change about yourself are fine just the way they are. They make you unique in Zen's eyes.

🥢 Zen loves your art! Send! Lots! Of! Pics! He's the cheerleader everyone needs honestly. Zen also loves when you talk about art, and admires how passionate you are. He'd even compare your passion for art to his passion for acting. In short, Zen really respects your talent and passion.

🥢 When you start to open up to the chat a bit more Zen is super excited and really supportive!

🥢 I feel like after you start opening up to the chat more is when Zen starts to develop real feelings for you. He'd show this by flirting a little more, but other than that there isn't any indication at first. It's just the same old flirty Zen.

🥢 Zen's always saying how he'd like to meet you in person, so eventually you do! You two send lots of pictures to the messenger, going shopping and to dinner or lunch afterwards. You two have a lot of fun, and later go on more outings together.

🥢 You and Zen go on outings as friends, though. Even Yoosung tags along sometimes, and you three are constantly trying to get Jaehee to come out and have some fun. Seven and Jumin usually decline your requests if acknowledging them at all.

🥢 Zen's feelings grow the more time you two spend together. It's almost unbearable to be so close to you, not being able to hold your hand yet be able to say such sweet things without your suspicion.

🥢 Eventually Zen invites you out for lunch over call, very different from the public planning you two would do on the group chats. But you don't think too much of it because it's Zen, and you've always been closest to him.

🥢 He really wants to make you feel special! But he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable with too much attention. So he takes you to a secluded café that gives off a really homey yet romantic vibe. He asks you out over hot chocolate and cookies, and spoils you rotten that entire day.

🥢 Zen's very clingy but certainly not as clingy as Prince Soma. He loves being around you and cherishes your outings, probably having a huge folder full of aesthetic pictures of you. He'd also definitely screenshot every picture of your art you send and keep it in a folder. He mentions it to you casually one day on a date, showing that your art style has improved pretty well from the first piece you sent to the group chat to the most recent.

🥢 Zen is all for really cheesy and mushy romantic stuff. He texts you a lot throughout the day to tell you that he misses you, is thinking about you, loves you, etc. He's just so sweet and really cares about you and needs you to know.

🥢 Zen loves how shy you are. He finds it cute and endearing, and fondly mentions it many times. You also notice he speaks very softly to you, and his tone is so much different. It's almost as if he's trying to pour every once of love that he can into every syllable.

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megastarstrike · 5 years

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hi it’s me, the motherfucker who has too many ideas about hifumi and yusuke being friends so i wrote another one. but this time, featuring guest artist yutaba.

it’s basically both of them being disasters while hifumi helps him get ready for a date. heres the trash.

word count: 2360

[17:46] Yusuke: Hifumi, I urgently require your assistance.

Well, that was never a good start to a conversation.

Hifumi stopped in the middle of her walk back home from her daily shogi practice at church. She stepped next to a lamppost and squinted at her phone.

Would this be important? Last time he sent a text this ambiguous, it was a poem about him being torn between eating a mushroom he found growing next to the school building and not wanting to risk being poisoned. It ended with her dragging him away from the mushroom and into a grocery store so he could buy real food for once. And while it was fun navigating the stores by riding inside the cart while Yusuke drove it forward, it wasn’t fun ramming into a crowd of people and almost being banned from the store.

Her thumbs danced over the screen of her phone before she finally decided to reply.

[17:48] Hifumi: Please don’t tell me you’re about to eat another questionable plant… [17:48] Yusuke: No, not this time. [17:48] Yusuke: Please come to my dorm as soon as possible. I have a time limit.

And now she was more alarmed because it sounded like he was trying to disarm a bomb. Knowing all the shenanigans he had been pulled into this year, it was impossible to not be worried.

So she texted her mother she would be coming home late and redirected her route to Kosei High School.

Yusuke flung the door wide open before Hifumi could even knock on it (she was left sadly, slowly putting her fist down by her side). “Thank goodness you’ve arrived. I have a predicament I couldn’t solve alone.”

Hifumi stepped into the dorm, carefully stepping over an empty bottle of paint. She shut the door behind her and finally allowed herself to take in the disaster that was her best friend.

Firstly, his room was usually immaculate, a feat he had managed to accomplish even with the messy nature of his passion. The sight in front of her, however, looked like a war zone. None of his paintings had been disturbed, but the amount of clutter everywhere was enough to make her worry the school would make him pay for a deep cleaning. On top of that, his closet door was wide open, revealing the utter mess that was inside. Had he really been disabling a bomb and failed to do so before she arrived? It sure seemed like it.

“Yusuke,” Hifumi called, her voice flat as she scanned her surroundings. “Were you robbed?”

“It was nothing of the sort,” Yusuke said hurriedly. “Though you could say I was robbed of my sanity.”

“What happened?”

He averted his eyes, his shoulders tensing. “It… It seems my talent for art does not extend to the fashion world as much as I thought it did.”

Hifumi frowned. Was he embarrassed or sad? Whichever it was, she hated to see him like this. “Nonsense. I’m certain you’ve just overextended your creativity for the day. Allow me to help.” She walked towards the closet, browsing through his clothes and completely unsurprised at his sense of fashion. “What event is this for?”

At that, Yusuke’s entire body tensed. He turned away.

“Yusuke…?”

He spoke after taking a deep breath. “I believe… I’m due for an outing with someone I have a romantic interest in.”

“So a date?”

“... Yes.”

Hifumi blinked. She had pieced together who he had been particularly interested in after she was invited to one of his afterschool activities (which was really just hangout time for the former Phantom Thieves because come on. Being subtle was not their strong point). But for either the other person or Yusuke to finally say something about their feelings…

Well, it seemed her best friend had a date.

Wait. Her best friend had a date!

Hifumi grinned and poked his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Yusuke. Did you ask Futaba or did she ask you?”

Yusuke tilted his head away from her finger, an annoyed expression crossing his face. “I believe she asked me.” He paused. “How did you know it was Futaba?”

“Neither of you were very subtle about your feelings.”

“... Ah. So I’ve been told.” His gaze moved down to his hand, which was still stained with paint. “I was engaged in a conversation with Ann a few hours earlier and explained my predicament. She asked me what I was going to wear for this date, and I asked if that mattered. She said it did and that she would help me after she finished her shift, but her shift ends after my date begins. The timing wouldn’t work out.”

Hifumi nodded along. “So now I’m here?”

“Apparently so.”

Being the second choice didn’t hurt; Ann was a model experienced with fashion, after all, while Hifumi was just as much of a social recluse as Yusuke was. In all honesty, being invited to make suggestions for something this personal made her heart warm. Was this what normal teenagers did for their friends? Even if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Allow me a moment to rummage through your closet,” Hifumi said. “For now, you can wash the paint off your hands.”

Yusuke nodded and headed into the bathroom.

Her movements as she shifted through the clothing paused.

Her suggestions were actually being taken seriously? She was being listened to? That was a feeling unlike any other.

Hifumi smiled and hummed to herself, continuing to take inventory of the clothes in the closet.

“Yusuke, you have four shirts and two pairs of pants that are the exact same shade of black. How have you survived up until this point?”

“You ask that as if I have a satisfactory answer.”

Hifumi supposed she shouldn’t have expected the person who regularly skipped lunch to buy new paints to have a plethora of clothing, but she certainly didn’t expect his closet to be this sparse. It was almost sad. How often did he have to do laundry?

“Please do not be concerned,” Yusuke said. “Ann promised we would buy a new outfit together later during the week. However, this is what is at my disposal now.”

She sighed and shook her head. There was nothing she could do about his concerning priorities now. Instead, she settled for picking out a light pink shirt with a white outline at the top circling the neck and a brown jacket with an odd, asymmetrical design. “I believe this would suit you nicely. Could you try them on? I’ll even allow you to choose which of your two pairs of pants you want to wear with it.”

“... You’re teasing me.”

“Only a little bit. Now hurry, we don’t have much time left.”

Yusuke took the clothes (and predictably took the shinier pair of pants because of course), thanked her, and stepped into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he called, “I’m fully clothed. You may come in if you’d like.”

Hifumi stepped into the bathroom and stood beside Yusuke, who frowned as he smoothed out some stray wrinkles in his clothes. She stared at their reflections in the mirror. Their small height difference would never cease to amuse her, especially with how tall Yusuke was compared to the other members of his group. But now wasn’t the time for that. “Is this to your liking?”

Yusuke redirected his gaze at the mirror. He looked his figure up and down with a blank expression. “The combination of colors is not off-putting, and it seems to be in line with current fashion standards as I understand them. Thank you for your assistance.”

Oh, thank god. Her lack of any artistic talent whatsoever hadn’t failed her yet.

“I’m glad. However, there are still some things I would like to improve.” Hifumi picked up a comb and began untangling his hair, standing on her toes to reach the top of his head.

His shoulders tensed under her touch, then relaxed. A few seconds later, he leaned into the touch just the slightest bit like a cat who wanted affection but was too prideful to admit it. (Hifumi should know; she had met that cat before.)

It was at times like these Hifumi remembered Yusuke hadn’t been exposed to much physical affection while under Madarame’s supervision. Even teenagers with normal childhoods missed having their hair touched by someone else, and Hifumi still had her hair done by her mother sometimes. How many times had he been deprived of something as basic as this? Anger simmered in her gut, but anger wasn’t the emotion needed here. She stowed it away and was careful to ensure her contact was gentle.

Finally, Hifumi set the comb on the counter and took a step away, smiling at the new shine in Yusuke’s eyes. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Has disaster been averted?”

“Yes, I’d say so,” Yusuke said quietly. His lips curved into a satisfied smile that radiated more light than a star. “You have my gratitude. I’m in your debt.”

Hifumi’s heart warmed. She flicked his cheek and grinned at the resulting side-eye directed at her. “Don’t say that. These are typical actions friends take for each other.”

“Truly?”

“Um… I believe so?”

It wasn’t like either of them could confirm or deny. Both had only entered the realm of friendship just recently, stumbling on various obstacles as they observed others and tried to comprehend what friendship truly entailed. It wasn’t a simple endeavor by any means. Friendship wasn’t anything like shogi; it was illogical, emotional. It was like trying to understand a storm’s motivations. Hifumi had almost given up multiple times trying to piece it together, but in the end…

Well, what could she say other than she was glad to have a friend?

“I suppose you should head out to your date now,” Hifumi said. She took a few steps out of the bathroom before realizing Yusuke wasn’t following. She turned back with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you alright?”

Yusuke’s demeanor was as calm as ever, but throughout her attempts to understand him as a person, she had learned most of his turmoil took place inside. His shoulders and arms were stiff, and he looked frozen in place. A clear indication he was hesitating, if all those body language guides she had read were correct.

“Yusuke?”

“We planned on meeting at Leblanc. Please accompany me there.”

Ah. He was nervous. That much was clear. She saw no reason to decline.

The two departed from the Kosei dorms, and Hifumi continued nitpicking every detail of his appearance. Yusuke eventually recognized most of her comments weren’t serious and gave her an exasperated stare.

Hifumi laughed. It was her god-given right as a friend, after all.

“You do have enough money to take her somewhere nice, yes? And for that matter, you most certainly have a plan. Oh, and brush that hair out of your eyes. Shy eyes haven’t been in style since decades ago.”

“You’re enjoying this far more than you should.”

“I’m enjoying this the appropriate amount.”

Yusuke stopped to give her another cold instance of side-eye, his favorite maneuver to pull when he suspected Hifumi was teasing him. The annoyance on his face dissipated upon realizing they had made it to the corner just by Leblanc. They could see the entrance from where they stood.

“I haven’t the slightest idea why I’m feeling this way,” Yusuke said, his eyes trained on the doorway.

Hifumi gave him a sympathetic smile. “Nervous? Anticipatory? I understand. I get the same way before a tournament.”

“This is frustrating. These feelings are a curse.”

“I know you don’t truly feel that way.” She patted him on the shoulder, and some of the tension present faded. “You were focusing on what a human heart contained during your latest study, correct? Now that you have an opportunity to experiment with it, will you allow it to fly past you?”

He glanced down at the floor, digging his shoe into the sidewalk. “No, I suppose not.”

Their conversation was cut short when the bells above Leblanc’s door rang and the door slammed open. Futaba came stumbling out, panic written all over her face. She whirled around back to whoever was still inside the shop.

“Akira!” she shouted. “No friendly fire allowed! I’m banning you from this server!”

“You’ve grinded enough for this mission. You’re locked out of the tutorial area,” Akira replied. That was the only reply he gave before waving and shutting the door.

Ouch. Cold, Akira.

Yusuke’s expression softened into a fond smile. “Those two… They truly do resemble siblings.”

Hm. That reminded her…

She wasn’t done with her job.

“Sorry, Yusuke,” Hifumi said before taking a few steps back.

Yusuke’s eyes widened. “Wait… don’t tell me—”

Hifumi pushed him forward, sending him stumbling into view. It was possibly the rudest thing she had ever done and she wouldn’t have done it to anyone else, but she was certain he would thank her for it later.

“Hifumi! You traitor!” Yusuke yowled. He whirled to round on her, only to freeze upon seeing Futaba giggling. “Oh. Good evening, Futaba. Please stop deriving joy out of my pain.”

Futaba’s laughter only grew louder. “Yeah, but you were so dramatic about it! You were like, ‘You traitor!’ and you looked so pissed. Who wouldn’t laugh at that?”

“A mature person, something you are not.”

Hifumi sighed. Blunt as ever, Yusuke. Never change.

“Please, I’m pretty sure I barely count as a person,” Futaba scoffed. Following that statement, the confidence was drained from her body. She averted her eyes and picked at her fingernails. It seemed she was gathering the courage for—

Oh. She leapt forward and tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Let’s just… Let’s just get going.”

Yusuke smiled down at her fondly as they walked away together.

Back at the corner nearby Leblanc, Hifumi checked her wallet to ensure she had enough funds before walking towards the cafe. Might as well buy something while she was here.

But her best friend was happy. And seeing that, she was happy as well

#hifumi togo #yusuke kitagawa #yutaba #fanfiction #persona 5 #is this in character?#fuck if i know #is this good?#fuck if i know either #i just have a lot of feelings

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dustedmagazine · 5 years

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Dust Volume Five, Number 10

The Hammered Hulls

Time again for a load of short, mostly positive reviews of records that caught our attention at least for a little while. This edition is typically wide ranging with free jazz, teen garage pop, piano experiments, acoustic guitar picking and goth-y post punk all jockeying for your ear. It’s not just obscurities this time around either, as Ian Mathers looks for the solid core of the National’s over-long latest, while Jen Kelly makes peace with the Futureheads. Participants besides these two include Bill Meyer, Andrew Forell, Nate Knaebel and Justin Cober-Lake.

CP Unit—Riding Photon Time (Eleatic Records)

Riding Photon Time by CP Unit

CP Unit, an evolving ensemble formed around saxophonist Chris Pitsiokis, exhilarates live, the sound anchored by antic, twitching, faster-than-advisable-but-nailed-anyway bass, complicated patterns of percussion and abstract slashes of guitar. Live, the music is colored rather than dominated, by the urgent, chaotic energy of the proprietor on horn. A late summer set at the Root Cellar in Greenfield, MA left me gasping. Riding Photon Time captures the same band I saw—Pitsiokis, Sam Lisabeth on guitar, Henry Fraser on bass and Jason Nazary on drums (which is different from the line-up Derek Taylor reviewed here )— in two fiery 2018 live settings. The first half of the disc was recorded at the Moers Festival in Germany in May, the second at the Unlimited Music Festival in November. “Once Upon a Time Called Now,” from the earlier set, captures the spare, rippling tension between Pitsiokis’ free-ranging inquiries and Nazary’s intricate but grounded rhythms; they duel for a couple of minutes before the rest of the band enters. The cut also foregrounds Fraser’s restless, rampaging bass work, carving a headlong through line in the squall and storm. “Seasick,” from the November show, gives space to Lisabeth’s guitar, lyrical in a tilted, offkilter way, the tones bouncing off Pitsiokis’ sax melody in loose conjunction and counterpoint. My only complaint is that the mix favors melody, zooming in on the sax and obscuring, somewhat, the fascinating interplay between drum and bass. In most bands, that’d be fine, but in this case, the rhythm is just too good to hide.

Jennifer Kelly

Eluvium — Pianoworks (Temporary Residence Ltd)

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Matthew Cooper has done enough things under his Eluvium moniker that even those only mildly acquainted with his work might not be surprised that he’s put out an album of solo piano compositions; they might, however, be surprised to find out that Pianoworks is the second such Eluvium album, after 2004’s An Accidental Memory in Case of Death. That record, coming after the striking (and often noisy) debut effort Lambent Material served to establish that Cooper wasn’t going to be restrained by genre, form or instrument. Here, having accomplished an awful lot over the past 15+ years it’s fitting that Cooper appears to be in a more contemplative, even melancholy mood. Whether it’s the gently rippling “Underwater Dream” or the brightly rounded runs of “Carrier 32”, Pianoworks serves as a reminder that Cooper can stop you in your tracks with the simplest of setups, if he chooses. (And for those really a fan of his piano work, the deluxe version features an extra disc of new versions of practically all the previous Eluvium piano pieces as well.)

Ian Mathers

Frieda’s Roses — Jessica Triangle (Mika)

The three women of Frieda’s Roses—that’s Greta Fannin, Ava Miller and Poppy Lang—aren’t even in high school yet; their ages range from 13 to 15. And yet, this debut album, Jessica Triangle, is a marvel of minor key garage pop, raucous and wistful at the same time. Its bristly onslaught of guitars guards a tender center. You also realize, about halfway through the album, that teen girl pop has changed since the last time you looked, and the subject matter here is rather empowered. In a very strong middle section, “Isadora Giving” chides a girl for being too accommodative (“She’s kind in the way of giving things away”), while the stand-out “Lucy Poe” celebrates the complexity and intelligence of a young woman (“She’s happy and not/at the same time.”) “Forever Defend Her Story” recounts the ordinariness of sexual assault and the way women are blamed for it. The songs are bright and dark simultaneously laying in the pretty vocals of, say, Grass Widow, atop a raucous, acerbic foundation. There’s no way you’d know, without reading the coverage, how young this band is. They sound like they’ve been doing it forever.

Jennifer Kelly

The Futureheads — Powers (Nul)

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Back at the old Dusted, I wrote perhaps my most vicious review ever about the Futureheads’ second album, News and Tributes. It was disappointment speaking — I’d genuinely liked their taut, fizzy debut — when I said, “Now, with News and Tributes, the sad truth emerges. The Futureheads were lean from hunger, not discipline. With opportunity, they tend toward the flabbiest sort of excess.” Well, 13 years have passed, and I no longer expect anything from the Futureheads. I’d forgotten they existed, to be honest, but their latest album, Powers, is kind of fun. Much of what made the debut such a pleasure—the tightly wound guitars, the unexpectedly complicated vocal counterparts, the exuberant avowal of depressing ideas—is here, too. “Electric Shock” trips all the wires (ahem) by itself, with its zingy guitar and drum cadence, its densely harmonized vocals and its celebration of an extreme form of mental health therapy (“When I got my electric shock/it knocked me off my feet”). “Jekyll” punches, stings and tantalizes, its hoarse, wracked northern lead pillowed by giddy oohs and ohs. “Can you control your transformations?” asks the singer Barry Hyde, and then the song itself transforms itself, turning into a popcorning cacophony of closely aligned vocals. Even the willfully positive, good time anthem, “Good Night Out” ripples with existential angst; it’s only a feel good song if you don’t listen too closely. And yet, there’s a great deal of joy in these tight, complicated songs. They burst into flames as you listen, leaving spots in your eyes from the brightness and the bitter taste of ash.

Jennifer Kelly

Hammered Hulls — S/T (Dischord)

S/T by Hammered Hulls

Perhaps it's a bit lazy to toss out the old "super group" appellation; but, come on, if you're even a moderate follower of that thing we call indie rock, you have to recognize the extraordinary line-up of Hammered Hulls for what it is. With DC hardcore royalty Alec MacKaye on vocals, newly minted arena rocker Mary Timony on bass, Chris Wilson of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists fame (among other outfits) on drums, and Des Demona/Pink Monkey Bird Chris Cisneros on guitar, Hammered Hulls represents an undeniably impressive assemblage of rockers. If any individual band member's musical history comes to the fore here, though, it's probably MacKaye's, as the band trades in a brawny yet cunningly complex punk that recalls the musical revelations delivered by Dischord's first blasts of post-hardcore creativity. And while this is clearly a team effort, each sonic component is worthy of the listeners attention as much as the superlative whole. Though two of the three tracks clock in at just over a minute, indicating that at least in spirit the band isn't denying its past, the practically byzantine by comparison (coming in at almost four minutes) "Written Words" hints at the potential Hammered Hulls has to be more than just a spirited one-off by some friends with impressive resumes. This single should leave everyone desperate for more.

Nate Knaebel

HTRK — Venus In Leo (Ghostly International)

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Australian duo HTRK’s latest Venus In Leo is a collection of electro-acoustic minimalism characterized by a woozy shimmer reminiscent of Mark Nelson’s work as Pan American. Jonnine Standish and Nigel Yang have stripped their music to the bare bones. A heartbeat throb, sparse percussion, occasional washes of synth and Yang’s simple guitar strums underpin Standish’s voice mixed to the fore on nine songs redolent with damaged longing. There is a rawness of emotion and acute observation of small domestic moments recorded with an intimacy that draws the listener close. Influenced by dub’s use of space, echo and silence Yang and Standish achieve a feeling of momentum to evoke quiet turmoil. Their miniaturization of Missy Elliott’s “Hit ‘Em Wit Da Hee” takes repeated lyrical snippets from the original and turns the song into a ghostly waltz. “What's up star? /We know who you are/Shit, no shit I thought you hadn't noticed.” Venus In Leo’s unadorned modesty is at times devastating.

Andrew Forell

Justin Peter Kinkel-Schuster — Take Heart, Take Care (Big Legal Mess)

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Songwriter Justin Peter Kinkel-Schuster frames his new album Take Heart, Take Care as the result of an artistic problem. He'd become used to writing dark songs, until he found he was content and had mostly good things to say. It's a false dilemma, of course. Any number of artists have built not only albums but careers on encouragement (see the War and Treaty as an example of a current act doing it really, really well). The real trap for Kinkel-Schuster was to avoid get treacly in his new mood, and he successfully avoids that snare.

His performances rely on his patience — he's content, remember, but not exuberant. He builds his songs comfortably within his context, but he doesn't jump on them. When he sings, “There's plenty of wonder in this world still to be found,” on the opener, his ease prevents it from sounding like a naïve epiphany. Kinkel-Schuster's Americana-influenced indie-rock comes carefully constructed, but only to make space for that heart to come through. It's a songwriter's record, easy melodies supported by well-balanced guitars. It's the singer not the guitars who have done their processing. The record and its bright sound create a warm space and sit down in it. Kinkel-Schuster may have found his ease, but his desire to share it quickly becomes apparent.

Justin Cober-Lake

Longriver—Of Seasons (Hullaballou)

Of Seasons by Longriver

David Longoria of Longriver picks nimbly at his guitar, plucking out porch blues-y tunes that are steeped in tradition but freshly imagined. Not quite spare, his tunes are abetted by a crew of Texas regulars, songwriters Sarah LaPuerta of Strange Paradise and Lindsey Verrill of Little Mazarn, Evan Joyce and Colin Gilmore, as well as composer/percussionist Thor Harris. Though mostly acoustic guitar and voice, his sound is filled out with harmonica, soft percussion and twining communal harmonies. His songs run at a mid-temperature folky pace, so soft spoken and unassuming enough to elide one into the other, and honestly, don’t quite catch fire until late in the album when ghostly, lovely “Texas Doesn’t Care” comes along. This one uses all the tools, an aching pedal steel guitar, some silvery electric keyboards, punchy drums and fiddle. It also contains the prettiest melody of the disc, fluttered out in a high, not quite falsetto quaver. A few more like this and Texas might sit up and take notice.

Jennifer Kelly

Lunaires — If All the Ice Melted (Shades of Sound/Wave Records)

IF ALL THE ICE MELTED by Lunaires

If All the Ice Melted is a highly polished blend of cold wave, goth and stadium synthpop. This first outing from Milan post-punk Jeunesse d’Ivoire veterans Patrizia Tranchina (vocals) and Danilo Carnevale (guitars, programming, synths) evokes the heyday of 4AD bands such as The Cocteau Twins, Xmal Deutschland and Dead Can Dance. Here, Tranchina ruminates on loss, mortality and nature’s power as Carnevale constructs dreamy electronic soundscapes with sparklingly clean guitar lines twinkling above. The results are lovely but polite. The edges have been sandpapered to nothing and the dust swept away. “Mirror Trancefix” stands out precisely because it has that grit — the drum programming a little ragged, the bass dirty, the guitars cutting. Otherwise the gloss creates an emotional distance, which may be the point but discourages complete engagement with Tranchina’s often affecting vocals. If All the Ice Melts sounds good, and if it never quite breaks out there’s enough here to enjoy and look forward to what Lunaires could do with a little less restraint.

Andrew Forell

Bill Nace & Chik White—Eel (all parts) / Wild Wire (Open Mouth)

The news that Bill Nace (Body / Head, Vampire Belt) has picked up an acoustic guitar and sat down to jam with a jaw harpist might give some cause for pause. Is he going American Primitive, or maybe going skiffle? Spoiler alert — the ghosts of John Fahey and Lonnie Donegan will not hear their names called when you play this record. But play it you will, and for only the best of reasons. First of all, it’s a seven-inch, black vinyl single, and no one buys such things anymore unless they really, really love them. But this one does more to earn your affection than merely exist. On the a-side, White’s orally organized vibrations and Nace’s persistent smacks on prepared strings stir up a constellation of buzzing sounds that’ll reliably destabilize your equilibrium without getting you fired when the Feds drop by to drop everyone on the work floor. The flip combines broad feedback ribbons with intermittent glottal eruptions to create a sonic sweat lodge experience so deep that you’ll be unloading all your Scientology machines on e-bay, all issues resolved.

Bill Meyer

The National — I Am Easy to Find (4AD)

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The National have been getting expansive recently (with the instrumentation and their runtimes, among other things), and who can blame them? Having attained the kind of big-venue prominence that means either you start lapsing into the version of yourself the hecklers always claimed you were (an especially slippery potential slope for a band like this one, so precisely emotionally calibrated and so close to being the bad kind of dad rock) or you start just going for it. The latter approach served them mostly well on Sleep Well Beast a few years ago, but this time finally feels like the kind of record that the National needed to make for their own progress more than one that’s necessarily fully successful. One absolutely successful move is the series of accompanying singers (“backing” seems almost disrespectful for what Gail Ann Dorsey and Lisa Hannigan, among others, bring to these songs), and the expanded studio palette first highlighted on Beast is still mostly working for them. There’s even a quick comparison in the form of old fan favorite “Rylan,” which still sounds great here. Ultimately what doesn’t quite settle right is just the sheer length, bulk, and discursiveness of the album, complete with accompanying film, brief interludes by the Brooklyn Youth Chorus, interpolating a Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 song into a track that was already too long and feeling that somewhere within these 63 minutes is a really killer 40 minute or so album just waiting to be carved out. Eight albums in, things could be a lot worse.

Ian Mathers

Reduction Plan — (Ae)Maeth (Redscroll Records / Dune Altar)

(Ae) Maeth by Reduction Plan

Reduction Plan swells to epic size in this sixth full-length, turning the darkwave, synth-heavy aesthetic laid out in the five previous albums into an enveloping, shimmering, near-post-metal overload. Daniel Manning, the band’s single member, worked with Swans/Walkman producer Kevin McMahon this time, a move which transformed his Cure-circa-Disintegration gloom into a weighted, gleaming edifice. “An Act of Self Immolation” sets the tone with giant masses of guitar sound that tower and lumber. Unencumbered by vocals, it’s more like Pelican than gothy-post-punk. “The River” hews closer to new wave, with its clean, chiming synth tones, gate-reverbed drums and echoey vocals — there’s a nice smouldery sax solo in this one, too — but still looms and glowers with a palpable heaviness. “Ae Maeth,” at the end, brings on Jae Matthews from Boy Harsher for added vocals, a kindred spirit in reviving music at the intersection of dance, goth and industrial; the album’s longest cut slows the thump of dance floor into a desolate cadence that can’t and won’t stave off destruction.

Jennifer Kelly

Rosenau & Sanborn — Bluebird (Psychic Hotline)

Bluebird by Rosenau & Sanborn

The house on the cover of this LP is surrounded by fallen leaves. But even though it depicts the location of this recording, and that recording took place in October, and they recorded with the windows open, the sounds inside are not particularly autumnal. Chris Rosenau’s (Collections of Colonies of Bees, Volcano Choir) is too quick and eager, Nick Sanborn’s (Sylvan Esso, Megafaun) electronics too effervescent. This music feels like the sun hitting your brow, refracted by heavy air. It feels like the first awareness of escape when you turn off the work phone and start a vacation. Or maybe it just feels like Indian summer. Put it on, put the speakers out the window, and go kick some leaves.

Bill Meyer

We Melt Chocolate — We Melt Chocolate (Annibale Records)

we melt chocolate by we melt chocolate

The reanimation of shoegaze pioneers My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive and Ride has brought renewed attention to the genre’s flourishing across Europe, the US, and Japan during their absence. Italian band We Melt Chocolate — that’s Vanessa Billi (voice and synth), Lorenzo Sbisa (guitar), Enrico Baroncelli (guitar), Marco Crowley Corvitto (bass) and Francesco Lopes (drums) — hit all the classic marks on their latest, excellently produced self-titled album. Ethereal vocals, banks of effects laden neo-psychedelic guitar, washes of synth, and a thick bottom end are all present and correct. Taking Loveless as their template, We Melt Chocolate strive for the epic and on tracks like “wishful” and “orange sky” reach it with elegance rather than sheer volume, although turning it up never hurts. We Melt Chocolate probably won’t convert non-believers, but fans of shoegaze and dream pop will find a lot to like here.

Andrew Forell

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