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danandphilupdates · 2 years

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Hi I know this might be a lot to ask since you do so much already but I was wondering if you could copy the interview into a separate post since my computer wont let me click on the link to read it.

for some reason it’s not letting me click it either from my post 😅 anyways here it is:

Known for his sarcastic and self-deprecating style of humor, internet personality Daniel Howell is embarking on his first-ever solo comedy stage show, We’re All Doomed! The tour will stop at the Ellie Caulkins Opera House in Denver on Saturday, November 19.

When there’s so many apocalyptic scenarios threatening to destroy us, it might be tempting to give into the gloom. Howell, on the other hand, is determined to find some hope for humanity—or at least laugh like it’s the end of the world. The show explores the everyday concerns of the average person from social media and celebrity culture to the climate crisis and political turmoil, but with a dark and idiosyncratic sense of humor.

As one of the world’s most successful entertainers, Howell began his career as a content creator and YouTuber in 2009. While making jokes at his own expense, he has shared serious struggles with his sexuality and mental health, which have culminated in his recent special Gay and Not Proud and a bestselling book, You Will Get Through This Night.

Howell took some time to talk about the tour and more with OFM.

Let me begin by asking, how excited are you to travel the world with your first solo comedy tour?

I am incredibly excited to touch some grass, both because it’s good for your mental health and because I don’t leave the house generally. So, it’s very exciting. This whole tour was really just an excuse to get me out of my comfort zone emotionally and physically. So, here I am getting some vitamin D and seeing the world that isn’t just my laptop screen, which is a big, bold move for me. I was living the lockdown life before the pandemic.

What can we expect from We’re All Doomed!?

A show about all the worst things in the world (laughs). We’re all living in this time, and it feels a bit strange now; it’s a bit apocalyptic and bad things just keep on happening, but it’s starting to feel normal. I think all of us are feeling this very strange mood of having to pretend like everything’s normal. Getting dressed and going to work as if the world isn’t completely falling apart, and we’re all kind of screaming on the inside.

What I’ve learned from doing my comedy about myself and my mental health is that when you put things on the table, it might be a bit awkward and scary, but if you can then make an inappropriate joke about it, you instantly feel a lot better. So, why not do a show about all the most horrible things in the entire world? Even if we don’t end up discovering anything useful to give us hope for the future, at least we’ll have had a good laugh about it.

Be honest. Do you think you could ever survive an apocalypse?

Hell, no. As soon as the mobile data cuts out, I will scream until I voluntarily die. I know this. I’m honest with myself. I’m not good in a fistfight, and I have a lack of orienteering skills, so I’ve just got to hope that I can bust out a good party trick that can save me when I’m in a stitch.

You initially began your entertainment career as a content creator and YouTuber in late 2009. Was it always your passion to pursue comedy?

My career is an accident. I never had a plan, and in many ways, I still don’t, but that is what I think makes it authentic. I feel like you can tell that the authenticity of my material comes from a true place of internal screaming, where I wake up every day, look at myself in the mirror, and just go, why? I think the day that I know who I am, what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it, it’s probably the day I retire. So, we’ve got to hope that I still just do things because I am basically bored and lonely.

Have you always been drawn to that self-deprecating, sarcastic style of humor?

Being a Brit, being miserable and sarcastic comes very natural to me (laughs). It’s just how we’re wired, and it’s not necessarily a good thing. I think as time has gone on, we’ve all started to be a bit like, alright, there has to be a certain point with the self-deprecation where you turn around and go, you OK? I’ve started to work that into the material a little bit. I still need to get past my own social barriers by cracking a lot of uncomfortable jokes at my expense until the audience starts being like, dude, stop. He’s already dead. But yeah, it’s my natural instinct, for sure.

Ultimately, what do you hope audiences take away from your shows?

I hope that they come and have a good time. A lot of people are not leaving the house as much as they used to. They’re trying to find reasons to look forward to something, and I want to give people something like a night they can really look forward to, where they can come together in a room. Especially my queer audience. I want them to know that when they come to one of my shows, it is absolutely a place where they are welcome.

They can relax and be whoever they can be, and that’s very beautiful because over the years, the followers that I’ve had, they’ve grown with me and evolved, and there’s quite a lot of young, queer people that feel like they finally have a place where they’re allowed to be. There’s something quite beautiful about that. If we can feel a bit better about the impending doom and maybe feel like we’ve got each other’s backs, then I’ll feel like I’ve ticked the box.

As a comedian, do you believe there are certain subjects that should never be joked about?

I think all subjects are on the table, but it depends on what your perspective is. It’s the whole concept about punching up or punching down. I can make jokes about my gay friend being depressed because I’ve been there, and I have something to say about it. If you haven’t, you can look quite ignorant and end up saying something quite hurtful, and I think anyone has the power to do this.

You can’t speak for someone else’s experience. You should try not to support any harmful stereotypes that affect people day to day because I’m sure all queer people know that growing up in the 90s, especially for me, all these homophobic jokes on TV had an impact on how I grew up. It was terrible, and it gave me some of that delicious, internalized homophobia that I’m still in therapy trying to talk about.

It’s that thing where you should stick to making the jokes at your own expense because there’s a difference between just trying to be edgy and then trying to actually do some good material about something that might seem quite raw or cutting edge. If it’s your experience, not only do I think that you’ll be able to have something to say about it, but I think it makes it so much more real and raw.

When I started, I was always trying to be quite relatable. I was like, oh, aren’t people annoying when they talk in the movies? Then seven years later, I was like, I’ve got crippling depression! There was something about that where not only was it more captivating because I was being honest about what I was saying, but I think it was funnier because people could tell that it came from a real place. That’s why I think people talking from their perspective with their experiences, that’s the best kind of stuff.

You pretty much went off the YouTube grid for three years and came back earlier this year with a bang. Can you talk a bit more about what that was about?

Definitely. I started making content on YouTube as a hobby when I was 18, and I just kept doing it for, like, a decade. At no point during that did I question it, and I grew up completely just online. What I was doing, my material, and my creative process evolved a lot, but I never took a moment to take a pause, look around, and go, what am I doing? Why am I doing this?

I think with the pandemic, a lot of us had this experience where life was put on pause and we found ourselves looking around going, what am I doing? Why? What’s the point? For me, I wanted to make sure that everything I was doing, I was doing it for the right reasons because I was passionate about it, it excited me, and because I was inspired to do it. That’s what I’m trying to do with this tour and the stuff that I’m currently making. Not worrying about where it’s going, but be like, do I enjoy this?

You also made a coming out video, correct?

Yes, I did. I came out in a 45-minute-long YouTube video.

How was the response to that?

It was incredible. We know that the internet and culture has changed a lot, and we should always be grateful for where we are. The world isn’t perfect, and it still has quite a lot of problems, but if you think about what it was like 5-10 years ago, it is a very different place today. I was still quite scared that if I did this, would I lose half of my audience? Are people going to feel angry? Are they going to feel betrayed?

Instead, the patience, kindness, and empathy that I was met with was so absolutely incredible, and it was all the people that were like, I’m watching this, and this is my story. I didn’t know how much I needed someone else to say it for me to realize that so many of us in this world have the exact same stories, which is why representation is so important. You need someone to go, that’s me, and that’s what I was missing my whole life while growing up.

And now you’re a role model to so many.

Yeah, I do say I’m a realistic role model, which means do not expect me to be a perfect person. I will continue to be a disaster. The realistic role model is, you can learn from my mistakes. It’s my job to fuck up constantly. I will have the worst personal life, professional life, I’ll just be a complete idiot, and you can look at me and go, “I’m going to not do everything that Dan did.”

Are you still working on your sitcom Dan Is Not OK?

I am. I spent a couple years telling everybody to go away because we knew who we were going to make it with, and now I’m going back over to them being like, hello (laughs). Do that. So, it’s definitely one of those things that, presuming I survive this tour, I’ll be really excited to get into that and a few other things. It is bold to assume that I will survive the tour because it’s going almost halfway into 2023. Do we think the world will still be around by then? I mean, it’s getting kind of crazy out there.

What are some other future goals you hope to accomplish with your career and platform?

I want to just continue doing stuff that exposes all my flaws so people feel better about their own lives. I think that’s definitely my niche. People are like, please Dan, bleed out on camera so that I can look at you and go ha ha, that’s funny. I won’t do that, so I’m glad I can do that for people. I am also always willing to try new things, like writing and acting.

I used to do a lot of acting as a child because I was one of those theatre gays. Not to stereotype myself, but there’s something about being on stage that I love, and it’s great to have an audience that supports me no matter where I go. Whether it’s a book, tour, or doing stuff online, I’m very grateful for that, and I’m sure there will always be plenty of things wrong with me and the world for me to talk about.

Before we wrap up, are there any other upcoming projects or anything else you would like to mention or plug?

I want to say thank you to the people that are watching the YouTube series, Dystopia Daily. I was like, how can I ironically do a show about someone who’s having a mental breakdown because they hate YouTube? Then I was like, let’s do a show about that. That sounds fun. Then there’s the tour, and as I said, if I manage to come back in one piece without walking into the show in Iceland and disappearing forever, I’ll see people on the other side.

#2022 #dan tour #november 2022 #november #dan interview #daniel howell

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damnhardwork · 3 years

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O + T + P for fandom ask meme

For the ASK MEME:

Okay, so OTP *cracks knuckles* O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of? Okay, so for this, I turned my Spotify on shuffle and went with the first song that came up, and it is BRILLIANT. Lady Luck is on form tonight. I could not have picked a better song myself https://youtu.be/qJYbFFFZwdE Part of the Union - Strawbs ROM! This song is Rom. Forever and always. 🎶'Ohhhhhhhh, you don't get me, I'm part of the union' 🎶 Too right! T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all (gender identity, sexual or romantic orientation, extended family, sexual preferences like top/bottom/switch, relationship with poetry, seriously anything) Hmmmmmmm. Okay, so my absolute unshakable headcanon is that Julian Bashir's accent isn't the one that he grew up with but the one that he cultivated specifically later on in life - probably when he was either at school or the Academy/Med School. I have two reasons for this: 1. His accent is absolutely nothing like his father's (or his mother’s). I’m going to kind of focus a little more on his dad’s accent here, as both their accents are English (which suggests to me that Julian probably grew up there somewhere). His dad has a strong Estuary, working class kind of accent. Julian's is much closer to RP. Accents tend to be really heavily associated with class in the UK, and whilst not everyone has the same accent as their parents (I don't), generally you have the same kind of class indicators even if it's a different dialect (I do). So it does seem strange to me that Julian's accent is so cut glass, whereas his father's is the absolute opposite. 2. His accent (certainly in the earlier series) isn't one that you find in the wild here, so to speak. It's the sort of accent that you *learn*. Yes, yes, I know it's probably a function of Trek being a US series, since this happens with a lot of Brits in US TV from that era (they have a stereotypical accent that actually kinda doesn't really exist here. See: Buffy. lol), but it does have interesting implications. Namely that he consciously modified his own accent to sound like that for whatever reason. And this headcanon kinda makes me sad, in a way, as I'd like to think that by the time we get to the Trek future, such strict class divisions aren't a thing anymore, and therefore there’s no pressure to lose your accent. But the fact that Julian's accent gives absolutely no hint about where he's from (beyond a general vague sort of 'Brit, probably' vibe) sort of suggests otherwise. And that he felt the need for it to be that way.

(I actually have loads of accent headcanons. I have a particularly wild one for Picard involving a translator ‘quirk’ and some good old Anglo-French relations) P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas) Okay, I'm going to cheat and do this for Good Omens, as I've got a really good one (that I'm probably never going to actually properly write, even though I've been thinking about this for over two years and have already got the first two chapters of it done. lol). Coffee Shop AU. Wait, wait, hear me out. Post not-apocalypse, Crowley decides to open a coffee shop in his semi-retirement, because a demon's got to do something to while away the decades before Hell decides that they'd like him back, actually. And really, he's got to make sure he stays in the Bad Books (because we all know they're not going to leave him alone for long). Got to keep a hand in when it comes to the old Evil Incarnate business, and what could be more evil than sweeping gentrification and overpriced coffee (served to the sound of a band you've never heard of - likely with good reason)? A deeply uncool demon operating a deeply uncool coffee shop. Hipster catnip. And, honestly, I think that would be pretty funny.

#ask meme #exanaplanetooch

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mapache-lector · 4 years

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Coffees & Cactus. (Part 5 of 5)

Rating: T Pairing: Ben Miller x chubby!fem!Reader. Summary: Reader and two friends are owners of a café, Benny comes in and finds more than the perfect gift for Maria, Frankie’s daughter. (I hate doing this, sorry) Words: 1480 (oops!)

Warning: I think I wrote Reader pretty much general, but the characteristics I mention are that she’s chubby, has a genderless wardrobe and she’s dealing with depression and anxiety (the way I do, which I know it’s not the common stuff… or maybe yes?). So, have that in mind.

Author’s notes: Introducing Maria and Franklin the plant! Author’s notes.2: I will be forever grateful (and not to be dramatic) to @de-profundis-ad-astra, to you Miranda, because this made me incredibly happy. I could connect with a part of me kinda forgot. I could write fanfiction again! ❤

Author’s notes.3: Hello, yes, it’s been a while since I wrote a fanfiction. It’s -not only the first one I write in a while- but the first in English! So, bearing in mind that, feel free to point mistakes and let me know!

•·················•·················•

He was so excited for her agreement of going out with him, that the grin went first forward that the rest of his body on his exit. Brit teased her about those minutes of heaven in the back, but she was happy for her friend. Both of them were.

She wasn’t the type of putting much effort in clothes, her wardrobe pretty much basic, casual and comfortable… and not for dates. She never went out on dates.

This is not a date.

Pants, jeans, shirts, sweaters, jackets. Black, dark blue, dark green, dark red, little details in gold, silver and white. Her clothes showed her genderless style and she knew she was being judgmental, but her style and type was not the one for Ben to like.

Watching her wardrobe open like it was the devil itself, let out a chain of curses and rushed to the bathroom to shower.

For a change, she was trembling with nervousness as she approached the bar Ben and she agreed to meet that afternoon.

•·················•·················•

Ben was at the door of the bar waiting for her. He came a little bit earlier to book a small booth, a bit far from the rest of the tables, and to make sure this place was comfortable to her, glad of the low music in the background and the quiet chatter flowing in the air; the dim light was a touch he wasn’t expecting but was welcome.

He was looking at both sides of the street like a hawk, swinging back and forth and sometimes pacing the street. Then he saw her, walking towards him, looking at the numbers of the buildings; his heart skipped beats when she spotted him and grinned brightly.

“You look amazing, sweetheart.”

“Same as you, fighter.” Her curious eyes were fixed in his shirt and he looked down to the two little pins Maria gave them for good luck.

“Oh, Maria let me borrow them, you know, charms. This is Alice,” pointed to a cactus, and then to a plant. More glitter around them. “And this is Franklin.”

They sat at the booth and chatted about nothing till the waiter came, both ordering beers and fries.

Ben listened to her with his full attention, teasing her about trivial things and being total serious when the situation required it. Her big eyes were on him with curiosity every time he spoke about the MMA world, and for once, someone was not horrified by the subject. She asked about rules, championships and all the stuff she didn’t know because that was a world she knew nothing about. She asked about his brother, his friends, the times in the Army. Whatever he could tell, she listened with attention.

One beer after another came and passed, the fries were eaten one by one, and the topics of conversation never ran dry.

“Shakira before Piqué was the best!” She stated. They forgot the initial space between them and were seated close, facing each other and sometimes forgetting they weren’t alone, shouting and bickering out loud.

“No way! She was suffering all the time.”

“Santiago or Frankie translated the songs to you? Those lyrics were the best and she had love songs too.”

“The video clips? Weird.” He was trying to win the argument and was so sure of himself, he pointed her with the bottle of beer before taking a sip. “Like the one she’s a cartoon?”

“Where the boob deflates like a balloon?” He almost spills over her trying to suffocate a laugh. “I give you that! I give you that one! That clip is weird. But, she-was-best-there- and that’s a hill I will die on.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll fight you on this.”

“I bet ya would! Let’s make it official. Ask your friends and I’ll ask mine. The winner decides the next date.” Her breath got caught on her throat.

They wrote the same text and sent them, and waited for the answers. Of course, she won.

“IN YOUR FACE, MILLER!”

“Please, bear with me, don’t you listen to the new songs and they lift your spirit?”

She tried not to respond to that, winning time sipping the last of her beer. “I… Yeah, yeah, yeah okay, but in lyrics–“

“OOOOH YOU’RE BETRAYING YOURSELF!” He yelled. “Betrayal! Betrayal!”

They both laughed out loud, and Ben fell in love a little bit more. He was so proud he could manage to get her relaxed and carefree, throwing her head back to laugh and squinting her eyes. Once, in a rapture of laugh, she put her hand on his thigh and he almost fainted of emotion.

•·················•·················•

They didn’t want the night to end, so went to buy one more beer and walked through the city, the long way round to her building, still chatting, telling stories about their childhood and teens. Every time they passed some group of guys or someone Ben thought was dangerous, he would throw an arm around her shoulders to protect her and then slide it off. Until one time he did and never retired it, and she walked more close to him. He was so warm, solid beside her; at this moment she wanted to plug herself in him and disappear, fully enjoying the wonderful warmth of him.

“You’re silent, everything all right?” He sounded worried, and she kept her head down.

“I’m fine, just walking beside you.”

“You’re as stiff as a plank, sweetheart. What’s happening?”

“The next block is my home, let’s talk there.” She couldn’t bring him upstairs because her friends were in the flat, but could sit in the stairs of the front. “Look, I want to be direct with you, because you’re a good guy and I really like you.”

She hated how her hands started to shake, her whole body was trembling and not because of the chill night. She tried to even her breathing; Ben’s leg started to bounce.

“We are balls of anxiety.” She joked and he chuckled, trying to calm him too. “I’m not the dating type, Ben. I never do this because I’m a mess of a person. I’m not even a good friend.”

“Yes you are.” He retorted firmly.

“Stop being the flirty himbo you are and listen to me.”

“The what!?” He faced her with a surprised smile.

“Flirty himbo.” She repeated and explained “I’m trying to make a serious argument here and you’re canting your hips with that playful smile.”

“But I’m sitting!” He laughed and it was really difficult not to join him. “And you are a good friend! I’m being serious. You are a good friend and have good friends too. You are easy to be with, you’re warm, radiate a kind energy; always so helpful with others, trying to bring happiness to everyone around you. Even if you are in pain, your friends didn’t want to tell me but I noticed.”

She tried to get a grip of the tears in her eyes, but was a lost cause.

“Thank you, Benny…” she whispered and sniffed. “But it’s hard to be with me: I have a lot of insecurities, with my mind, my spirit, don’t get me started on my body; I have anxiety and I’m depressed. I tend to disappear for weeks, it’s extremely rare for me to text first and I can’t get a conversation going for the life of me. Most of the time.” Explained herself because she saw his movements of protest. “And,” she put a hand in his chest to keep him quiet and dared to look at him in the eyes, “you’re the most handsome, incredibly hot and most kindhearted guy I have ever met. I–I couldn’t bear to know I have made you suffer or mad.”

They sat in silence, facing the street, barely touching one another. She wanted to throw herself in the middle of the street, wanted to run upstairs and hid in her bed till next week. Every person that complimented her for being “too mature for her age” should be burned in Hell. Emotionally she was a child, didn’t know how to react, what to do–

“Hey…” He called softly and saw, by the corner of her eye, how he approached slowly and hugged her shoulders. “Are you scared?”

She leaned in his embrace and confessed, “Scared as hell.”

“I will respect your decision, but lemme tell you I like you too, a lot. If you want me to go, I’ll go. If you want us to be friends, I’ll be your friend. If you want time, I’ll give you all my watches.” She giggled and relaxed between his arms. Ben kissed her forehead, winning a gasp and she lifted her face to look at him in the eyes again. “I understand you and your illness, I truly do. I will be honored to be by your side and going at your pace, to comfort you whenever you need it.”

Her heart grew a few inches of love, her breath faltered and she looked at her hands –that were resting in his thigh, reuniting the courage to ask “Would you like to kiss me?”

“I’d love to.”

#ben miller x reader #benny miller #ben miller x you #benny miller x you #ben miller #triple frontier #triple frontier imagine

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jackalopefreckles · 3 years

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I feel like Ive aged at least 6 years since covid started. Im angrier. Less adapted to being outside then I used to be- which is saying a lot. This time last year I was?? Actually healthier mentally then I had ever been and looking forward to having the house alone for a month which?? Was the most freedom I wouldve ever had.

A lots fucking changed. I drove halfway across the country- all 30 hours at once with my big brother AND two elderly dogs, plus my cat. All animals on too many drugs (the vet said they couldnt overdose, and then failed to give any further instruction) cami peed on herself twice, unable to move. I had to waterboard her in Phoenix, a truly terrifying hell city where all the roads are raised and overlapping and its a hot as shit cause its?? What june?? Time was so fake this year I mustve just been stoned the whole time till I ran out of weed, and since moving its been a relief to be able to turn off the spinning anxious thoughts for a few hours

my big brother joined us. He brought a new dog with him which?? Is always a lot, plus I have this pack of dogs now cause the puppy wouldnt leave the super cancer ridden dog alone, and Im able to get her cbd regularly here, so shes always comfortable now instead of just?? Sometimes which is a lot nicer. We didnt think shed make it to chrisrmas. I thought shed die with me home alone to take care of everything, like always. It was almost a relief, I wouldn't have to coach my brother through the grieving process at least, and I had already finished. Its hard now even, for me to realize she might even have another christmas (but I wont hold my breath)

I feel safer going outside here then I did in Austin. I only went out a handful of times in texas, for the last few months I was ordering almost all groceries, and only going to the store once mask mandates were mandatory (theyre not anymore. Im so worried for texas. I missed a huge freeze by mere months. I dont think my elderly dogs wouldnt survived it. If I was alone with them, Im not sure I woudlve.

My parents took my brother to mexico with them. I begged them not to go, told them how irresponsible it was to travel across boarders. To visit an island and take all the plane germs with. I told them that even if my mom and brother were staying at home all day with me, my dad was still going to work and he didnt know what his coworkers were doing. That they wouldn't know what the people on the plane were doing. That at any point they could become the stupid americans that killed half an islands population.

They left a week after today last year. The boarders were closed the next day. Their friend has been traveling back and forth ever since. I have no idea how, except for the fact shes white and rich and wont hesitate to destroy a child, so I can only imagine how shed treat costomer service.

I will no longer allow this angry aggressive woman to ever make me feel bad, and I will allow myself to finally fight back. Im an adult, maybe not all the time (cause lets be real I'll always be a bit too eccentric for most) but when I get angry and allow myself that anger, it's not a bad thing. Anger doesn't have to make me feel like Ive done something wrong. Im usually very just in my actions, and I wont allow my parents influence to tell me all anger is misdirected and hurtful for reasons I couldnt understand. Its okay for me to be angry.

I think being alone with animals for months is at least reassuring that my childhood was unreasonable if nothing else. Which of course is a silly polite society term for pretty fucked, if nothing else.

My aunt had to gall to say weve had a good 2020 cause our family wasnt hurt, and I had to walk away from the zoom call. I haven't attempted communication with any of them since, not that I normally do. Of course none of us died, all rich old white people, most of them retired and able to stay home all day (not that all of them did, I learned about my grandfathers routine and just.. Im honestly surprised no one got it yet. Of course I knew from the beginning if anyone was gonna get it and die, it probably wouldve been me. Hence the 8 months of solitude before the move.

Was the move in August?? Im so unsure about time. Even with 2020 vision.

I tried to date when I moved here. Strictly on tinder. What was the point? On and off testosterone due to the wonders of texas, hadnt changed my body nearly as much as they should've a year after being on them. I look much more handsome now. Im also allowing myself to toss gender aside completely. He/him doesn't mean man, and they/them dont mean nonbinary, so why not mix them since Im?? Not really either.

It wasnt even a thought process like that to start. Much more "this is nice" which I think more gender should be allowed to be. Dont gotta be deep just comfortable.

I wont ever allow my parents to forget what they did. I ended up with three dogs I didnt want (I was so looking forward to not having any dogs) and I ended up taking care of my brother. Again. Its easier without my parents at least. Everything always is. My dogs are even happier. Cami finally isnt anxious 24/7. Again, a sad reminder my childhood wasn't great. Daisy is healthier. Trauma can be stored emotionally or with health issues, often both. I think the cancer dog getting better and?? Surviving and thriving so much longer then the vet said (how good was my old vet?) Is another unfortunate nail in thay proverbial coffin.

Im not as soft and openly loving. Im even more touch starved somehow. Harsher. I still want to choose love and compassion, but Im not letting myself fall into the trap of being so nice people wont be nice to you. Fighting back is something I wont feel shameful about, because it never stopped me from doing it completely anyway.

I was already reaching this on my own though. This was just more coffins, more nails. This didnt need to happen. We know our government let this happen. Its still letting it happen. Im not sure when Im getting my vaccine. My big brothers sick of quarentine and keeps trying to get us to go out. Sometimes I yield, and we go to a park, or the top floor of the parking garage. I get a vegan hotdog from nearby. We talk and laugh and were genuinely just. Boys being boys.

I shouldn't have to deal with parent shit anymore. I do though, especially since two out of three are unemployed and we can really only afford to live here cause of them (they owe me if anything though. Especially with my brother and these animals) I hope I can get a job soon. Or maybe even go back to school. Im lucky I had so much saved up (for top surgery, which I guess wont happen before Im 25 like I really tried for. I wouldve done it before now, but texas waitlists and rules kept holding me up. I literally went to an appointment in dallas, a 4 hour drive, just to found out the surgeon canceled on me for the second time)

Its incredibly depressing, and I know Im lucky to have had that stash. So many people didnt have anything and lost so much. People lost people. Half a million at this point. I remember when it got to 300,000 and I just?? Felt so awful it was so close to how many people we lost to AIDS. Its over that by so many now. It doesn't really stop, does it??

Is that catholic guilt?? Or maybe just irish guilt in general. Is it something I inherited or earned through all the end of the worlds and once in a lifetime recessions Ive been through. Im not sure how many off the top of my head, theyve been coming since I was so small and its always more and more. Im not even catholic anymore. I cant stop being irish though, even though the brits tried (and succeeded. Weve lost a lot. The current royal cotastrophy is bullshit as well, the only person who deserves a royal title is from Meniappolos

My home is decorate all inside for st patrick's day. My big brother loves it so Im going all out, and its def making me feel much more irish then usual (which is a lot Im over half)

I think I just wanted to say Im not the same. I hope I can still be happy an obnoxious is public. I wonder if I remember how

#TIRED #happy covid anniversary #time to post this without reading it lmao #long post #rambles

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thebleuroseproject · 3 years

Conversation

On Helena: #1

Context: I am playing Helena in a Vampire, the Masquerade game. Setting is Boston, Necropolis, 2015. Helena is mortal, currently a ghoul to another player character (Klaxon). The player characters are Klaxon (Nosferatu), Elyas (Tremere), Keri (Gangrel), Garreth (Gangrel). Our DM is Gore. Some of this conversation will be edited out as I have done this to focus on Helena and her character.

Garreth OOC: -points to Helena- baby

Alex: Helena agreed, but is also aware Garreth is also baby, so it's like the same feeling you have for the baby sitter that's two years older than you are.

***

Gore: Garreth and Klaxon have to make it out alive as they went into it. But y'all split the party on me so I can't gaurantee that.

Alex: Helena will probably come rushing back. I don't think she will move in just due to how complex her plant/heat lamp set up is.

Gore: She could leave them with her plant dealer, Gus?

Alex: She could but it's like leaving your cat with your best friend. You trust them but that's your baby, and you will worry constantly.

***

Alex: She wouldn't cope well with Klaxon having monster sex- she heard something about him fucking a demon, and having also SEEN Necropolis...so she looks at her dorm and values the quiet.

Gore: He can't bring them topside, so Helena's safe.

Alex: I don't think she knows that.... but I do think she'd miss him then.Oh my god is she the mum friend? I think she is! "AT WHAT TIME DO YOU CALL THIS?? YOU DIDN'T TEXT ME I WAS WORRIED?". Either way, she's still on the fence about her dorm and I can't push her any which way.

***

Gore: Has she heard stories about how brutal U.S cops are?

Alex: No, she's pretty shut in. She came to America for study and books, so thats EXACTLY what she's doing.

Gore: She's not aware of the political climate of it?

Alex: No, she's one of those 'I don't read the news'

Gore: Aight

Alex: I never really thought about it but I guess she is autistic. The 'outside' world doesn't really interest her on a larger scale. She's more about tasks and interests. The only reason I'M not like that is because of my flavour of anxiety being worried that I'm not a good person. I think Helena's is more about just interacting with people and her routines. She DOES love the World and humanity, but she's much more of a fan of nature because she's always found it hard to connect with people. This doesn't mean she's NASTY, she's nice to everyone and wouldn't hurt a fly - she just simply doesn't understand things like racism/homophobia on an emotional level. Historically though, of course she does.

***

Gore: What happens if one of her friends gets hurt?

Alex: She's never had that problem before really. The best example so far is with Patrick (NPC)when she was like OH GOD OH NO. Her first thoughts were practical though "I have to find him and give him first aid or whatever I can do". She has her panic attacks but like when Klaxon had his she throws it out the window and focuses on what needs to be done. She wants to be useful, she wants to help if she's needed in a people situation. Those situations are rare though, she's always been in her own little world, her parents hoped she'd get better with this but she's managed so far.

***

Gore: What if (helping) gets her into more trouble?

Alex: Hm. I think she takes things as it comes. If she was an element, she would be Earth. She's not selfish, she weathers the storm as best she can. THAT attitude has got her into trouble though, as she's still learning to be like "I need sleep" and "I don't want this.

***

Gore: Sometimes the Earth gets shaken. Would she take a direct attack to defend one of her new friends or have one of them defend her?

Alex: Hm, she would take a hit. She is vaguely aware people usually need to defend her, and feels bad about it. She's still never really had friends though, so this is new...AND in her mind she can always patch them up - even if that isn't strictly true.

***

Gore: How far can she go w/o realising she needs to patch herself up?

Alex: I mean she rushed out the door to help someone else at MIDNIGHT. For comparison, I would call the authorities and get some sleep since I would be useless sleep deprived. Helena doesn't even really put that as her first thought because she hasn't had anyone to really rely on (aside from her parents) so she feels like she has to do everything herself. She is Very respectful of authority figures but doesn't expect them to solve her problems, even with her parents, she realises in their old age she can't rely on them anymore. As a result, I think she'd go pretty far because she KNOWS the body and how it works. She will always think she can take a little more, but in reality she can't predict the impact and just how hard the next hit will be.

***

Gore: So if her legs are gone, she would still crawl to others to heal them?

Alex: Oh yeah, if she can move and has bandages. If not, she would at least move to be with them. Helena would be happy to go and then come straight back if Klaxon told her to and if she was given a use. Go there and come straight back we need to you to X for this thing.

***

Gore: You are a Brit in Boston in 2015 I gotta say that as well...

Alex: She's been fine at Uni

Gore: Up until now

Alex: It's only been a day for her, she doesn't get that yet. At Uni she does largely what she's told if given a clear reason.

Gore: Yeah but here's the thing about med school. It is highly competitive and people are always looking for excuses to flunk people out.

Alex: True. But she is VERY GOOD at what she does. I imagine that does annoy others but also it's hard to be mad at her because she's quiet about it as well as sweet, lovely and helpful to most people she meets. She knows her place with people in general, and it is at the bottom.

Gore: Some Boston people would say that you belong in the harbour with the tea

Alex: and she would clam up and walk on by.

***

Alex: Teachers like her because she's polite, studies hard and is VERY earnest in what she does. Helena making a mistake is rare, so when it happens, some shit is going down.

Gore: It sure will be

Alex: She's going to have to rush in and lie to teachers, she won't like that at ALL. Helena is a good girl but she ain't saying shit about Necropolis. She doesn't fully understand why, but she feels it in her heart to shut up.

Gore: Why?

Alex: Klaxon said they've (kindred) been around forever and have functioned this way. The heart doesn't know the lungs exist but functions anyway, yet NEEDS those lungs. She isn't loyal to humanity like that, her interest lies in medicine and they (kindred) don't seem malicious, from what she's seen.

***

Gore: Wouldn't it be a great medical advancement to study those undead and cryptids?

Alex: Yeah, but not on a huge scale. She knows about medicinal cruelty. How many have been mutilated or hurt in the name of study? With the world as it is now, no. Sure, an ideal world in Helena's mind would be all species working and living together but she KNOWS that isn't going to happen.So she will study by herself, and she's fine with that.

***

Gore: If embraced, would she study herself

Alex: Yeah, absolutely.

Gore: To what degree?

Alex: Not to like 'remove arm' degree, she would do it as needed. Like when they test new skincare on humans "I put this swatch on to see how it works". Blood samples, skin samples, bone study - she would see if she could get books on anatomy for surgery and healing.

***

Alex: The idea of studying forever appeals to her, but the passage of time scares her. She's not ready to be a vampire but she might be if she lost all her connections on the outside. I don't think it would be healthy for her though.

The joy of a mortal life is that you (hopefully) realise eventually that you have to self actualise or you WILL DIE and things will be WRONG.

Gore: What value is your own health when there's injured people?

Alex: Exactly. But I don't think she'd be her own person, she'd dedicate her life to a cause.

***

Alex: She's still developing as a person

Gore: You can develop as a kindred, it happens.

Alex: I think she thinks she might get there (being a kindred) but not at the drop of a hat.

Gore: Funny thing about death, you aren't always ready for it.

Alex: I know that, and she knows that a little. But Klaxon said she could choose, and she would like to. When it comes to big decisions I think she's slow and deliberate, like a plant. She really doesn't like change all that much.

***

Gore: You can't trust those Tremere, they can and will sell you out or use you for a ritual.

Alex: She won't see it like that, she is individual by individual. Like with her plants. HER Aloe Vera is not like any other aloe vera if you look on a deeper level, which she does.

***

Gore: She wanted to be a war medic right, has she done any internships at that level?

Alex: Not yet. She wanted to do her degree first for the skills, learn as much as she could by the boos because it's not something you can or should wing.

***

Gore: Would she squee if she met a moss or grass person?

Alex: Probably. Absolutely. Maybe quietly. She would probably love to learn to help them if they get sick. In retirement I can see her as being the best GP ever. The nurse that gives you breathing room if you have needle anxiety. The doctor that believes you and gives you a refferal. She is GOOD and I love her.

#Helena #HelenaVTM #Gore

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love-and-socialism · 5 years

Text

There’s a new Iron Curtain falling. Here’s a tiny observation. America and Britain are on the verge of forming something very much like the old Soviet Union. A new bloc, a global axis, an entity that follows its own paradigm, trades among itself, treats its citizens like dirt, enriches its elites…and shuts out the rest of the world.

Let me explain, beginning with America.

What got America to this point? It wasn’t al-Qaeda or ISIS or the commies. As it turns out, the thing that wrecked America was good ole’ home grown capitalism. Now, I catch flak for saying that, Americans get instantly defensive, because capitalism is to them what socialism was to Soviets: neither really understand their ruling ideologies well, which is the point of an ideology, really.

So let’s quickly cover with what capitalism isn’t. Contrary to popular belief, capitalism isn’t your local drycleaner or bar or bartender or the guy that polishes shoes at the train station. It’s not really small or even medium-sized business at all. Those guys aren’t capitalists — they’re barely eking out a living, weary, humble, average. Capitalism is Goldman Sachs throwing bailout money at hedge funds to build bots to trade Facebook shares with by the nanosecond…so there’s every more profit. More, more, more. Is your local bartender obsessively, ritually, fetishistically, single-mindedly concerned with maximizing profit at the expense of the planet, democracy, and the future? Does he only care about increasing his quarterly earnings, to meet profit targets set by Wall Street analysts? Is his stock publicly traded? Does he have a fiduciary duty to those shareholders? I didn’t think so. He’s not a capitalist. The capitalists, my friends, are the robber barons of American collapse…the average person trying to start something new and cool and interesting, or just making a meagre living from their passion, isn’t a capitalist, a soulless impersonal profit-maximizing entity, and they never will be. Do you see the difference? Please tell me you do, because it drives me a little crazy that Americans don’t know what capitalism actually is.

(Now, this is more like the European definition of capitalism, it’s true. The American one is more like “corporatism.” Call it what you want — let’s not get hung up on semantics. I’ll stick to capitalism not “corporatism”, because Europe has corporations too, but they’re not as insane and abusive as American ones.)

Phew. OK, let’s get to work now. What collapsed American life? Capitalism did, obviously. It can’t have been anything else, because there isn’t anything else. There’s no public healthcare, retirement, childcare, etcetera. Not surprisingly, deficits of all these very things, which are the basics of life, caused life to crater. Meanwhile, capitalists, who by now had lobbied to privatize all these industries and many more began to charge Americans an arm and a leg (literally, maybe) for things that were…free…in every other rich country. Insulin, visits to the doctor, retirement, parental leave.

Fast forward to today. The average American is effectively the weird paradox of a poor person in a rich country. The majority of Americans can’t afford food, housing, healthcare, and bills — hence, they just go deeper and deeper into debt…debt which they never pay off, hence the majority of Americans literally die in debt, too. Yes, really. Think about that for a second. What happens to nations that plunge into fresh poverty — where the middle class implodes? Fascism does. Hence, American fascism ignited at precisely the moment when Americans plunged into poverty: not a coincidence — cause and effect. And what caused the weird situation of American poverty — a new kind of poverty, poor people in a rich country — was capitalism: it ate through everything Americans had, in its quest for eternally rising profits, which meant that they were left broke, perpetually on the edge, unable to afford the very things they were often involved in producing. Again — that’s capitalism: it doesn’t care about paying you decently, it just cares about maximizing its own profits, getting as rich as possible, everything else be damned. But the inevitable result was a fascist meltdown.

Now look across the pond. There’s Britain. It’s the world’s second most capitalist country. If you understand all the above about America, what might you expect to happen to Britain? More or less the same thing — only less so, no? And that’s what did. Did you know that the only two countries in the world with the combination of falling life expectancy, flat incomes, and spiking poverty are…America and Britain? Apart from maybe North Korea and the Congo…but those are places that never were democracies at all.

So here we have these two countries — the Romeo and Juliet of modern collapse. Europeans live pretty good lives. Sure, times are tough, they are everywhere. But only in America and Britain did times get so tough that the extremists literally rose to the heights of power and controlled the destiny of nations. Europe fought them off in its most recent election, in fact.

So the Romeo and Juliet of collapsing countries — what are they doing? Well, they’ve made their choice. Their choice is capitalism. They’ve both rejected social democracy. Britain’s rejected the “democracy” part — it doesn’t want to be part of the EU, and America’s rejected the “social” part — it’s still so backwards it thinks socialism is some kind of horrible curse, not how people get working healthcare and college and retirement in the rest of the world.

So Romeo and Juliet have made a kind of suicide pact. They’ve decided to go all in on capitalism.

And that brings us to now. Trumps’s in Britain, trumpeting (sorry) a “trade deal.” What does all that really mean? Well, it means the following. Britain is effectively a strategic beggar on the global stage now, and it has to take what it can get. What America will demand is that American capitalism has access to all Britain’s remaining public goods. Britain never built a full social democracy, but it got further than America did: it has public healthcare, education to a degree, retirement of a kind, housing, and so forth. All of those will be “opened up” to American companies, which is to say, they’ll be sold to them, privatized. That means American capitalism will now be running what’s left of Britain’s public goods.

Imagine the NHS for a second. Who “owns” it? Nobody and everybody does, in fact. Local towns and cities, if you want to nitpick. But really — everybody and nobody. Now consider the fact that when it’s privatized, there will be a dude — an American “hedge fund manager”, which means some clueless Ivy League nitwit — or two who literally “owns” the NHS. And the BBC. And the retirement system. And the education system. Are you getting my drift? How rich will that dude, the guy that “owns” the healthcare system of a country, be? Obscenely, I think is a fair term to use. It’s the kind of thing we once associated with failed states.

Now think of how perfect that is for American capitalism. Why? Because it’s sucked Americans dry, that’s why. They literally have nothing left to give. Less than nothing. The majority die in debt — that’s how poor Americans are now. They never break even their whole lives long. Capitalism can’t take more from them, because they don’t have it. Nor does America have any real publics goods to cannibalize. Ah, but Britain does. Britain’s expansive public goods — though they’ve been underfunded for decades — are just what American capitalism needs to prey on.

Why? Because the crux of American capitalism is ever increasing profits. It’s bled America dry in its quest for those. But that game is done now, as Americans have plunged into lives of dire and ruinous poverty. So where to look? Britain is the perfect target. If you can’t increase profits forever…you’re not going to stay a capitalist for very long.

Do you see how perfect this setup is? American capitalism needs fresh meat to tear apart and feast on. There’s Britain, who’s rejected European social democracy, and chosen…capitalism. It’s not just a marriage made in hell — it’s a suicide pact.

Here’s what will happen — what’s already happening, in fact. America’s declaring trade war after trade war — China, India, Europe. Britain is too — thats what Brexit is. But they’re seeking succor in each others’ arms. They are building a new entity, a new bloc, a new kind of Soviet Union in a sense. A part of the world where these two countries basically trade only with each other, do business with each other, care for each other. Where these two countries will have intertwined their fates, and linked hands in a shared destiny.

That much is already happening because it’s more or less inevitable. Americans can’t ever question capitalism — and Brits rejected social democracy. So where does that leave them, except together, in a new Soviet Union of capitalism, whose Iron Curtains are already falling, to shut their people off from the rest of the world, whether Europe, China, or Mexico? What else is Brexit? Trump’s wall? The coming trade deal between them?

Now, if you’re a Brit, that means that your life is going to get worse. A lot worse. Fast. You’re going to live like an American. You’re going to eat American food, watch American TV, and get American healthcare and retirement and childcare. Oh wait, there isn’t any decent version of most of those things. You see my point, then. British livings standards will plummet to American levels — which are the lowest in the rich world by a very, very long way.

If you’re American, on the other hand…this also means that life will get worse, too. That’s because instead of learning from the better parts of Britain — the NHS, the BBC, the Royal Societies, the education system, and so forth — America’s basically intending to take a wrecking ball to them. That means capitalists will go on getting rich — imagine how rich the dude that ends up “owning” the NHS is going to be — and Americans will go on getting poorer and poorer. But worse, because this new union, only really trading with itself, thinking about itself, listening to itself…it’ll just stay stuck in a loop of collapse.

I know. A lot of you will probably whine reading this article — “that sounds outlandish!” Does it? You’re missing the point, completely. Britain’s rejected the EU. America’s rejected the EU, China, and Mexico. Both have rejected everyone else, in a kind of mass delusion, a hysterical tantrum of macho man tears. Who do they have left? Birds of a feather flock together, my friends, when it comes to political economy. Europe is a union of social democracies. So what else can the last two capitalist countries do but flock together, too?

The last two capitalist countries on earth have no one to turn to but each other. Reinforcing that, of course, is a healthy dose of entitled white supremacy, to be sure. But it’s political economy that drives it. How can a capitalist country have a union with a social democracy? A socialist one with a capitalist one? They can’t — impossible. These political economies are too different — which is why, for example, America and Canada never really joined hands in any real way. Hence, Britain and America, in choosing capitalism, have also chosen each other.

So there they are, the last two capitalist countries on earth. I don’t mean: “the last two countries where any capitalism exists” — I mean: “the last two countries on earth where capitalism is the dominant, monopolistic organizing principle of all life, thought, action.” They’re star-crossed lovers, America and Britain, the Romeo and Juliet of capitalism.

Capitalism is what led them to collapse. Collapse is what made them to turn to each other. And turning to each other kept them firmly capitalist. Choosing to stay capitalist in each others’ arms took away the chance to join the more prosperous, modern, social democratic world around them — Canada, Europe. But capitalism was the very compound whose overdose poisoned their systems to begin with. How could anything but more ruin come from overdosing together, all over again?

And yet no one asked, no one saw, and no one cared very much. Their eyes were full of dollar signs, and their blood ran hot with the thrill of conquest.

Umair

May 2019

#socialism #us politics #American politics #UK politics #fuck capitalism #socialism or barbarism #late stage capitalism #Brexit #save the NHS #social democracy

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vagrantblvrd · 6 years

Text

Cat Scratch Fever (1/1)

Summary: It’s possible that Trevor’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor rolls his eyes at the goon’s delighted little chuckle. Such a clever joke, as though Trevor hasn’t heard it before.

Notes: Prompt fill for @rhinnie who asked for Alfreyco. (And also went and reblogged this and my brain was like "Oh, hey, Catwoman!Trevor" because those damn gloves.)

This is like. An alternate version of that AU we've been tossing back and forth, so yes.

AO3

It’s possible that Trevor’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor rolls his eyes at the goon’s delighted little chuckle. Such a clever joke, as though Trevor hasn’t heard it before.

There’s a burn in his thighs – he’s really let himself go, hasn't he? Gotten soft the last little while, and there was a reason he didn’t linger on his reflection in the mirror before setting out tonight. (The suit is skintight, after all, and offers no mercies.)

Soft or not, muscle memory is a beautiful thing and he’s not so out of practice that he doesn’t know what to do next. Flash drive of vital information tucked away safely in a compartment on his belt, sharp little claws that pop out when he flexes his hands just so, the right amount of pressure along the mechanism and he swings out of cover and starts his run.

Fast and light on his feet as he uses an overturned crate to launch him towards the goon. Big burly gentleman with questionable facial hair and atrocious fashion choices – those boots with that tactical vest? Appalling. (He knows it’s stereotyping, but he can’t imagine the brute has good dental hygiene when he looks like that.)

The goon starts to turn, and Trevor grins as he sees the flicker of surprise on his face before he strikes. Hand flashing out to the strap of the weapon, claws catching in the weave before he wrenches and they slice through.

Jerks, and the rifle goes clattering somewhere off to their left, and Trevor follows up wth a closed fist because the classics never go out of style. (That, and he doesn't want to maim the man. This isn't personal, after all.)

The goon grunts, staggering back a step and Trevor puts more of his weight behind the next blow, and the poor bastard finally drops.

Trevor pauses to check that the goon’s still breathing, not about to die on him and continues on his way out of the building quick as he can. The noise will draw other guards, and Trevor’s not stupid enough to stick around to see it.

Not when he’s gotten what he came here for.

Outside the city is loud and dirty and a jarring difference from the quiet confines of the office building. Disorienting, almost, but Trevor keeps moving. Passes by the little alcove where he left a folded up trench coat and trendy little fedora and strolls casually to a side street where the battered little car he’s...acquired waits patiently.

Beaten up thing, scratched and faded paint and a stubbornness to it he admires because it refuses to quit on him. Struggles up the slightest incline, gears grinding when he shifts gears, but by God does it keep trucking along.

========

Technically, Trevor’s retired.

Left the business a few years ago and settled down with a nice boy.

Trevor had his job working at an animal clinic (ha, ha, ha) and Alfredo worked for a security firm in the city. (Oh, the irony.)

They’d been happy, or so Trevor thought. Pair of idiots getting by best they could. Someone he played off perfectly, Fredo always willing to roll with whatever insanity Trevor got caught up and vice versa, but then -

Oh, but then.

Alfredo slowly pulling away, citing problems at work and Trevor hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. But then it got worse, to the point they rarely saw each other throughout the day. Phone calls went to voice mail, went ignored and he’d thought – thought -

Well.

He’d thought it was Alfredo losing interest, getting tired of Trevor and letting him piece it all together on his own.

This horrible feeling that that Trevor had been wrong about him all this time. His judgment flawed for not being able to see Alfredo as the kind of boy who’d just let things between them wither and die, and that had hurt far more than he expected it to.

Trevor muddling along like he wasn’t hurting, confused and stupid and naive for the first time in years.

And then he’d gotten a text from an old work buddy and an attached news article with a picture of Alfredo front and center with one of the biggest criminal names in the country.

One of many millionaires out west who lorded it over the city with his extravagant lifestyle and supposed stable of pretty, nubile things, and suddenly Alfredo in the mix.

Not exactly what he’d expected when Alfredo said he was headed to Los Santos.

And maybe there was some anger burning at the bottom of Trevor’s fragile little heart at everything that had happened.

So.

To Los Santos it was, that fire safe hidden under the floorboard in their bedroom closet cracked wide open and his old suit packed up along with a few essentials for the flight to the Golden State in search of answers he probably wouldn’t like.

========

Trevor’s not bad when it comes to computers, manages to get through the encryption on the files he’d stolen and sifts through them.

The motel room he’s staying in is small and dirty and cramped and he hates it. Hates this city full of people like him (worse than) and the fact that Alfredo is here.

He’s here and cuddled up to Ramsey of all people.

This respected figure in Los Santos with his millions sunk into a wide array of businesses and squeaky clean facade that falls apart the deeper you dig.

Goes by an old college nickname the journalists and bloggers of this city use fondly, something to do with his nautical-themed tattoos.

“’Corpirate,’” Trevor scoffs, fingers tapping out a restless rhythm on his thigh. “What a name.”

It’s the city’s worst kept secret that Ramsey is heavily involved in the criminal side of things in Los Santos. Operates out of the penthouse in one of the many buildings he owns in this city and shameless about it. All his wards in on things, helping him widen his hold on the city and so damn pleased with themselves.

Money and influence enough to keep him out of jail no matter how many times they go after him and his, and one of the reasons Trevor had made damn sure to avoid stepping foot in Los Santos before now.

But, Alfredo and Ramsey and answers Trevor needs if he wants any kind of closure at all.

He stares at the photos of Ramsey and his pretty little things.

The Brit he’d collected on his travels years and years ago, the first of many. The angry looking one from a business trip to the east coast that one time. The...well, there’s no readily available story for the one with the man bun, but rumors say he used to be a model in his youth, which could be more than enough explanation. The one with the beard is an old friend, confidant and supposed advisor and then Alfredo.

Newest addition to the fold, a quick blurb regarding his promising career in the military before a training injury landed him behind a desk counting down the days until his enlistment ended that fades into vague hand waving nonsense about his time in Liberty City.

“You always did look good in a tuxedo Fredo,” Trevor murmurs, and puts the laptop into sleep mode because he has work to do.

========

It’s a mystery as to how Trevor got the moniker he has when he’s working. There aren’t any adorable if impractical ears on his suit, no feline-themed gear he uses. (The claws are practical! They’re tiny little knives on the ends of his gloves that make climbing things a snap, and serve as useful weapons and tools in turn for his work.)

But such is man, he supposes, or something along those line because -

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor smothers a sigh in his hands, crouched low behind some hideous sculpture placed in an alcove in the hallway.

He’s rustier than he thought because so far he’s managed to trip several alarms and alert this annoying specimen of a guard.

Less brutish than the one at the office building, but only just.

To be expected, probably, because this is one of Ramsey’s little properties. Lovely little mansion up in the hills and a soiree taking place. Fundraiser for one of the charities he funds, the man himself glad-handing sponsors and critics alike and his pretty little things swanning about.

He’d meant to sneak in, get his hands on Ramsey’s personal files, but, again, rusty.

Too much time spent with his head in the clouds thinking he’d gotten his fairy-tale ending after all.

Trevor presses a button on the remote in his hand and a small explosive charge goes off down the hall. (Goodbye priceless vase, hello distraction.)

He waits a beat and creeps out, slow and careful. Quiet, quiet, quiet, and nearly has a heart attack when he hears a gun cock.

“Hands up where I can see them!”

Rusty.

Trevor complies, slipping one of his little gadgets off his belt as he raises his hands and slowly turns. Pasted a smile on his face and tries to remember that emotions get people like him killed, but it’s hard to keep in mind.

The goon with the gun blinks, genuine surprise on his face as he lowers it.

“Trevor?”

He really should think about reinvesting in a good pair of goggles, or a suit that covers his face one of these days if he’s going to come out of retirement.

“Hey, Fredo,” he says, all bright and cheery the way he used to before things turned Lifeinvader complicated.

Alfredo is staring at him in shock, and Trevor might feel a little bad about that if he wasn’t the reason Trevor’s here in the first place.

“I’d really love to stay and chat,” Trevor says, hooking the tip of a claw in the little pin and pulling just enough that the shink noise it makes when it disengages reaches Alfredo. “But I’ve got places to be.”

He sees Alfredo raise his gun and thinks, well, then, that answers that, doesn’t it? with this sharp little ache in his chest as he throws the tiny grenade as it starts hissing smoke.

========

This is a mistake.

The sort that’s guaranteed to get Trevor killed, but what’s a little risk now and then?

And besides, he doesn’t quite have his answers, does he.

Knows Alfredo is clearly working for Ramsey, running security or something else to investigate the disturbance Trevor caused at the party the other night. Seemed reluctant to pull the trigger on him, but perfectly able to aim a gun at him and -

The heat of the moment, most likely, or maybe Trevor’s just lying to himself. Making up excuses and clinging to them because he’s still in love with Alfredo even though it stands to get him killed, and yet here he is anyway.

“I’m an idiot,” Trevor mutters, flashes the poor woman sharing the elevator a reassuring smile when she inches away from the lunatic muttering to himself.

She doesn’t seem to buy it, but Trevor doesn’t push when he’s certain things are uncomfortable enough for her as it is.

Another night, another party for the filthy rich under the guise of raising money for charity. This time it’s being held at a swanky hotel and Trevor’s gotten his hands on an invitation.

Ramsey’s here with his “wards” and Trevor's an idiot.

Doesn’t know what the point of all this is, but it’s too late to back out now.

The elevator slows to a stop and Trevor lets the woman leave first, puts enough distance between them that it doesn’t feel like he’s following her and then he’s through the little security checkpoint outside the ballroom where the party's being helped.

He mingles, bright smiles and pleasant laughter at their terribly bland jokes. Delicious hors d'oeuvres and oh, dear, is that a gun in his back?

“You’re not on the list.”

Trevor turns, oh so slow and finds himself face to face with the former model. Perfectly polite smile on his face and gun digging into Trevor’s ribs, and maybe he’ll take a pass on that little bacon-wrapped bit of deliciousness on the refreshment table he’s been eyeing.

“This is true,” Trevor says, and smiles.

The guy, Haywood, raises an eyebrow and nudges Trevor away from the party and to a conference room down the hall.

Ramsey’s inside, along with his entourage, including Alfredo, who looks -

Not happy.

Ramsey’s watching him, hands in his pockets and this tired little smile on his lips.

“Never expected to see you in Los Santos,” he says, and of course he knows who Trevor is. (Was?)

Trevor shrugs.

“Times change,” he says, and looks at Alfredo in his sharp tuxedo. “People change.”

Behind him Haywood growls, and Trevor doesn’t roll his eyes at that bit of unnecessary drama, but it’s so very tempting.

“Yeah,” Ramsey says, glancing at Alfredo who’s got himself all locked down. “They do, don’t they.”

“Hmm,” Trevor agrees. “I don’t have a problem with your little operation out here,” Trevor says, because showing weakness here would be a major misstep, but he didn’t come this far to make enemies. “Just wanted to have a little chat with Alfredo.”

That sets off a ripple through Ramsey’s crew- that’s what they are, the truth the rumors don’t get close enough to. Not wards or bedmates (or at least not all of them, Trevor’s still not sure about Patillo), but his crew.

Operating in plain sight and the authorities helpless to do anything about it lest they show their own hand. All the dirty little secrets, the bribes and corruption and everything Ramsey and his have been slowly purging the city of so they can set up their own little empire.

Lets the rumor mill run wild as he goes around town with one (or more) of them on his arm and no one the wiser because they’re all old hands at this game by now. Give the public what it wants, expects to see and they don’t bother to look further.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Trevor says, unable to stop because there’s that little ember burning away in his chest. Anger and hurt and confusion. “Fredo, honeybun, how could you?”

Alfredo’s composure cracks, has him choking on the horrendous pet name Trevor’s only used to terrorize him in the past.

“Uh,” Ramsey says, not sure what to say. “What?”

“I’ve got this, boss,” Alfredo says, and bustles over to grab Trevor by the arm and drags him out of the room.

========

“Honeybun?”

Trevor shrugs, leaning on the balcony railing that overlooks the city streets below.

He doesn’t think Alfredo took him to this quiet spot to murder him, but if he did the view is spectacular.

“Would you prefer pumpkin truffle? Honey badger?”

Trevor has a list thanks to the dark corners of the internet where the tragically romantic reside with their heart-patterned backgrounds and flowery prose.

“Oh my God,” Alfredo mutters, helpless smile and odd little laugh like he’s trying not to laugh, indulge Trevor in this terrible thing. “What?”

Trevor shrugs, heartburn or something else acting up at the way Alfredo’s looking at him and looks back at the city.

“The internet is a strange and terrifying place,” he says, and leaves it at that, because it’s the horrible truth.

Alfredo mutters something Trevor doesn’t quite catch as he moves to stand next to him.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, sheepish note to his voice given the situation at hand. “Ryan and Jeremy tracked me down, asked if I wanted a job that would make a difference.”

That.

“And,” Alfredo says, because he knows Trevor. “I didn’t want to get you caught up in all this.”

From the corner of his eye Trevor sees Alfredo’s hand as he gestures at Los Santos.

Beautiful from up here, so far from the rot and corruption it’s built on. Easy to forget what the city is like when you’re so high above it that the details fall away.

Trevor snorts because that’s a convenient lie, isn’t it? Worry about little old Trevor, helpless damsel in distress and break his heart because that’s the right thing to do.

“The ‘right thing’”, Trevor says, and hates how bitter it sounds. Not sure if it’s directed at Alfredo or himself, because he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with his own little secrets, has he.

Figured it was for the best if Alfredo didn’t know about Trevor’s former line of work, and look where it’s gotten them.

“Ryan and Jeremy,” Trevor says, something about the names oddly familiar. Stories Alfredo used to tell him about his days in the military. “The ones - “

“The Battle Buddies,” Alfredo says, and when Trevor looks at him, he’s grinning. “Lost track of them after they, uh. You know.”

Faked their own deaths, seeing as how they’re both alive and committing crime here in Los Santos.

Trevor rubs his eyes, and wonders what kind of hole he’s fallen down looking into the mess his life turned into. Following Alfredo out there and picking up old habits he thought he’d shaken a long time ago.

“Ah,” Trevor says, and wonders where they go from here.

“I’m sorry,” Alfredo says, and he sounds it. Like the idiot he is, trying to be noble about things. Wanting to do the right thing by doing the wrong thing and Lifeinvader really does have it right, it’s a complicated thing, this. “I could have done it better.”

Trevor snorts.

“You could have not done it at all,” he points out, but there’s no heat to the words, just an observation. “And I could have told you about me.”

International thief, back in the day, and a damned good one. A little rusty nowadays, because he’d settled down, gotten soft. (That little ember in his chest fizzling out because he’s just as much to blame for this as Alfredo is, always suspected he’d muck things up like this.)

Alfredo’s acting shifty all of a sudden. Darting these little looks at Trevor, biting his lip to keep from blurting out whatever he’s thinking. This look like he has something he wants to say but might die of embarrassment if he does.

“What?”

Alfredo clears his throat, thumping his chest like that’s going to help.

“So,” he says, all casual and non-nonchalant, like he’s not a lech. “That suit.”

========

It’s not all roses and sunshine or however that particular little saying go because the ground between Trevor and Alfredo’s all broken up, footing uncertain.

Big lies that gave birth to little ones and sorting through all of it’s going to take some time, but they’re making steady progress.

No plans to settle down just yet because it takes a lot of work to build an empire and they’re busy, busy people these days.

Ramsey made the mistake of offering Trevor a job. Thought it would be a good investment on his part to have an in-house thief at hand, and Alfredo was good enough not to tell him the kind of trouble he was getting himself in for, which was a good thing, really.

Because this new life Trevor’s building for himself here?

A nice boy like Alfredo with the training he has, and a troublemaker like Trevor with all these tricks up his sleeve and this nice little crew of Ramsey’s backing them up?

Los Santos was made for people like them.

Belling the Cat

#alfreyco #ragehappy #prompt fills #rhinnie #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #<33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333!#Nine Lives

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obsoletelibrarian · 6 years

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Hello, friends, family, countrymen! I am off on a new adventure! I am trying to keep a better track of this year than the one I spent in Toronto. I did better in Oxford, so I will try to go back to that dedication. For those of you who don’t know, my husband Dan was recently offered a position working as an instructor and researcher for ETH Zurich, a position where he will earn a full salary, and also leave in 3-ish years with a PhD. Not a bad deal! I always knew he was a smart one. A real keeper.

Anywho, I am therefore now in Zurich, Switzerland. We just decided to pack up and leave in fairly short notice. We had to fly to San Francisco to get Visas, which was a terrible process which involved me at 3:00 am demanding that an airline give me a flight so that their delayed flight wouldn’t prevent us from reaching our consulate appointment, and several other such hiccups. Especially difficult was the fact that while we tried to prepare to move, I was working very hard to participate in a version of Comedy of Errors in Clement Park, Colorado. Brutal.

But we have made it! I have now been here a little less than a week. It has been about 94 degrees or hotter all week, which is insane, particularly with the humidity. I feel like I have been just damp forever. The Swiss spend their summer weekends in the lake and the river, but due to the airline accidentally leaving part of my luggage in Minnesota for the time being, I have no swimsuit. I just bought the cheapest swim top money can buy, so that I can wear it with Sofi shorts as a bathing suit next weekend, to cope with the heat.

Our new apartment is nice. 350 square feet is more than I thought it was. Our kitchen is actually quite nice, although the appliances are all half sized! Food is in smaller portions here anyways, so it actually all fits. This complex is actually for both students and retired individuals (it is government-run housing). So our bathroom has a shower seat for a more elderly person than either of us. There’s also a tiny cot/bed that smells strange. We only use it for storage. We sleep on an air mattress we brought with us. We have a small issue with cockroaches, but it is nothing our boot soles cannot handle (thus far). The two windows are open until we go to sleep, and we bought a rotating fan to deal with the heat.

Getting settled has been difficult. The immigration office didn’t want to accept us without our marriage license, which was hard. I was praying harder than I’d ever prayed that the guy would let us off easy on that one, and he did, so thanks to God for that one. We still have to have our biometrics taken to get residency, and we are really worried that we won’t get full residency until our current entry visas run out, so we’re just moving as fast as we can and praying for the best. We got Swiss health insurance, which also took some doing, but was necessary to get residency.

At the immigration office, we were also mandated nuclear medication, because Zurich is so close to many nuclear sites. It is a weird thing, and we still have to go to the “Apothece,” or Pharmacy, to get those pills. This goes with the missile barn (not nuclear missiles, I think it’s just anti-aircraft or something--the nuclear is from power plants) we saw just in the city. You can tell that it’s a missile barn because of the large “VERBOT” (forbidden) signs and the roof the comes off with a pulley system. We had read about these before arriving here.

We just got Swiss bank accounts, but it’s taken some doing. They are really worried about Americans doing illegal offshore stuff out here, so we really had to prove our poverty and good intentions. But we ended up with the nicest banker of all time, who had learned German and English in the past couple of years, after having to learn Italian first when his family moved from eastern Europe. His dream is to move to America and become a painter. He was so nice, and gave us espresso, mineral water, and chocolates on a fancy tray as if we were the rich clients he normally works with. He did a great job, and I hope he gets to paint someday.

We both bought year long bus passes for the greater Zurich area, which are great. I hope onto any transportation I want and get wherever I want to go in no time. Yesterday, Dan was at work, so I went over to the Altstadtt, the Old City, where you can see the Alps across Zurichsee, the big lake here. I walked around the lake, and also saw more of Bahnhofstrausse than I saw from our banking time.

I also went to the two old churches in the Altstadtt: Grossmunster and Fraumunster. GM was founded by Charlemagne himself, and FM was founded by his grandson, so you can imagine that I was absolutely elated to visit them. They both have been redone many times, so actually the coolest part to me about each is the crypts underneath. In GM, there is this ancient medieval statue of Charlemagne that used to be on the roof, but it weathered away too much, and there are these very old drawings/pictures on the wall from medieval times. In FM, they actually have taken cross sections out of the floors in the crypts, because you can see all the levels of church buildings that have been erected at the cite, from old nun housing to waterways, all intersecting each other with different-aged stones. They even have parts of columns from the era when Charlemagne’s grandson started the church. Truly breathtaking. FM also has a Chagall window, which is just gorgeous. It is actually 5 panes, each a different color and scene from the Bible, and I just sat in the church, staring up at them and crying, because there is something about that beautiful old church with those beautiful new windows that is holy.

Dan actually couldn’t buy those bus passes before I got here though, because he made the mistake of speaking English at the counter. They told him, “We speak German here” and turned him away. Whether it was my meager amount of German (we eventually spoke English at the counter anyways) or our newly stamped paperwork from the Swiss government, it was much easier to get passes the second time.

Overall, we hear, “You are in Switzerland, and we speak German here,” a lot. It’s like karma for every USA person who has mocked someone who speaks Spanish. The older man in the apartment next to us told us that right away, and then explained the rules of the apartment complex, eying us warily. He took us to the mailroom, and asked us where the name “Hammerland” was from, sighing that “you never could tell where people were from, nowadays.” At first, I was worried that he didn’t like us at all, because we were Americans. But he warmed right up to us, and now I believe he is the best friend we have out here thus far. He gave me a book of German “Weisheit,” or wise sayings, and a card to get into Fraumunster for free (it is normally 5 franc). He also has given us tips for everything from fashion to tourism to life. His English is excellent, because in the 60s and 70s he was part of the music scene in New York. After that, he studied Renaissance art and music in the Sorbonne!!! How cool is that?!

Dan hasn’t met many people at school thus far, but that’s because his group mates are on a trip, and he is going to get to hang out with them much more when they get back! And we did make some friends at church. We went to the IPC, the international protestant church, where they speak English and are very welcoming. They offered us friendship and help, and one of them attends Dan’s school in the chemistry department. Additionally, the assistant pastor’s wife is from Colorado, with family in Minnesota, she left her career to follow her husband here, and her name is Jenna. It was such a relief to have a person who understood me well so immediately. So we think we might make some friends here.

Dan and I have been having some good adventures, finding good places to buy groceries (the main stores are called Migros, Coop, and Denner, but boy, are they all expensive!), walking by the river and seeing all of the people in intertubes or swimming in the dammed sections, seeing art in the Wasserkirche (the Water Church), and trying to adjust to the very cheese-and-small-bits-of-bread diet we have out here (Dan has to adjust. I think I’ve been eating Swiss accidentally all along!). So things are starting well, despite some setbacks.

Some things you may not know about Switzerland, because I surely did not:

1) They don’t believe in air conditioning. Ever. They only have it in supermarkets and banks (and some busses, but rarely). So most stores, churches, and our apartment are approximately a billion degrees at the moment. And sticky. Swiss women (especially the elderly and pregnant) all carry these white collapsible fans with little flowers painted on them in the Swiss style, and the bus is filled with the sound of little fans going back and forth.

2) The Swiss are all SO TAN. Every single person has a golden summer glow. I am about eight shades whiter than anyone here, which definitely sets me apart. Dan looks much more like a Swiss person than me, but he dresses American so it is a dead give away. Luckily, in public, I keep being mistaken for a Brit (unlike poor Dan who has been really lashed out at for his USA heritage), which is overall less of a problem than being an American.

3) Pretty much all bottled water is sparkling, or “mit gass”

4) It doesn’t look like pictures. Most of Zurich is a bunch of concrete apartments, trying to fit as much as possible into the smallest space. It reminds me a lot of London in that way--there are beautiful old buildings, but a lot of the city is just overcrowded and overbusy. I kind of like it, though. The bustle reminds me of Toronto.

5) They don’t get married in Switzerland. People hardly date, but if they do fall in love, they just live together until they die. People literally cannot comprehend me and my situation when we explain it. Get married? And then move somewhere without a job prepared, simply because of a partner? As one person curtly informed me when I suggested it, “Well, the Junge do not do that here. Here, we are all supposed to function.” That has been a little disheartening. Only that other Jenna at church understood my predicament.

6) The healthcare isn’t free. Indeed, we will be paying quite a lot for it.

7) There are no taxes on food! What you see on a pricetag is what you get! Huzzah!

8) Swiss croissants are called “Gipfeli” and are delicious

9) Swiss German is a cross between half of the world languages, I feel like. There are signs in French talking about hair stylists, advertisements with English puns, Italian menu items, and weirdly almost-German greetings. When you meet someone, you say “Gruezi,” and when you bump into someone you say “Ӓxcusi,” and if someone bumps into you, you say “Scho guen” (it’s all good). None of these things is German, but they are all quite Swiss.

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the-desolated-quill · 7 years

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Captain Britain Joining The MCU. Give Me Fucking Strength - Quill’s Scribbles

You know there are some points in my life where a person or a movie studio does something so stupid and moronic that my only response is... what the fuck are you doing?

DC, what the fuck are you doing?

Marvel, what the fuck are you doing?

Kevin Feige... what the fuck are you doing?!

Yes, apparently Marvel Studios are considering putting Captain Britain into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Something I’m sure every comic book fan in the land has been crying out for. Now I’m sure you’re wondering what I, a British person, may think of this. Do I feel patriotic? Proud that such a ‘beloved’ British icon is going to be part of the MCU?

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Yeah, I can’t say I’m excited about the prospect and the reason is because... um... how do I put this?... Captain Britain is quite possibly the dumbest thing to ever come out of Marvel (and I’m including Howard The Duck).

Captain Britain was created by Chris Claremont and Herb Trimpe to be the British equivalent of Captain America. But whereas Captain America took off and became a relatively integral part of the American comics industry, Captain Britain never had quite the same impact with us Brits. In fact in contrast with Captain America, he’s actually a very obscure character. While he does have his fans (very few fans), most people have either never heard of him or, like me, can’t stand the fucking sight of him, finding the character to be more patronising than patriotic.

There’s a number of reasons why Captain Britain never took off, but first let’s quickly sum up his backstory. Brian Braddock (smirk) was born into an aristocratic family in Essex and educated at Fettes College In Edinburgh. Because his family were no longer rich enough to fraternise with their academic peers, Brian was a quiet and lonely child because he was too proud to fraternise with the lower classes (and I’m sure we in the lower classes were eternally grateful for that, you stuck up git). After his parents, Sir James and Lady Elizabeth (oh I do beg your pardon) die in a laboratory accident, Brian gets a job at a nuclear facility at Darkmoor. When this facility is attacked by a terrorist, Brian gets on his motorcycle (a motorcycle? Oh come now! Surely that’s far too lower class for him. Shouldn’t he be riding a horse and cart? Pip, pip! Tally ho chaps! We’ll give the ruffians what for!) and goes looking for help only to then crash and get seriously injured (you had one job! That’s you off the Queen’s Christmas card list). He is then saved by Merlyn (yes, that Merlin) and is offered the chance to become Captain Britain. He’s asked to choose between the Amulet of Right (pffft) and the Sword of Might (tee hee). Brian chooses the amulet and he transforms into the champion of Great Britain, fighting for Queen and country and all that is pre-shrunk and cottony... Oh no, wait. That’s from Captain Underpants. Have you ever read Captain Underpants? It’s a brilliant series of books. Very funny. Did you know that DreamWorks are doing a movie adaptation? I’m very excited! :D

Now you may have noticed that I wasn’t really taking this seriously. And really, how could I? It sounds more like a parody of Captain America. But no. Apparently we’re supposed to be taking this very seriously. So come on. Let’s be serious about this for a moment. No! Stop sniggering! Control yourselves, please! This could very well be the next big thing in the MCU.

As I said, there are many reasons why Captain Britain never really took off. The most glaring example being how stereotypical it is. He comes from an aristocratic family. He went to a boarding school. It’s incredibly painful. He’s one step away from spending Sunday afternoons playing croquet in the grounds and sipping tea in the gazebo before retiring to his four poster bedroom where his butler will give him a glass of port as a nightcap and remind him to get up early in the morning so he won’t be late for a spot of fox hunting with the chaps from Grantham House. I mean Jesus Christ!

Another big reason why Captain Britain doesn’t work is because we don’t really have the same relationship to our flag and our country as the Americans do. Oh sure we can be patriotic on occasion, such as on remembrance days or royal events, but America takes it to a whole other level. Americans love their country. They love their flag. They’re proud to be Americans. To the point where they even have laws dictating how you should take care of your flag. You can actually get punished for not cleaning your flag properly. In some states it’s illegal to wash your flag in a washing machine because it’s disrespectful. That’s insane! Like... it’s just a piece of cloth! Calm down! Brits, generally speaking, don’t have that kind of relationship. In fact kind of the opposite. We often mock our country and view it with a certain amount of disdain. The only people who feel truly patriotic about Britain are the royalists and other such nutters. People who passionately believe that Britain is the best country in the world, who love the Royal family and harken back to the UK’s glorious yesteryears (which never actually existed). While both Captain America and Captain Britain are both equally dumb ideas, I can see why Americans would be drawn to Captain America. An American patriot who stands for American ideals and wears the American flag across his chest with pride. Captain Britain on the other hand, with his Union Jack and his Amulet of Right, is more likely to produce snorts of laughter from us Brits.

But I’ll say one thing for Captain America. It may be a stupid idea and he may talk as though he has the Declaration of Independence shoved firmly up his arse, but at least he doesn’t act all high and mighty or try to lord it over everyone else. No. He fights for the common man and that’s largely because he was a common man himself. A wimpy kid off the streets of Brooklyn determined to become a soldier and fight the Nazis, wanting to protect his country from injustice. His inner strength, good will and patriotism is what made him a prime candidate for the Vita-Ray experiment and he represents an aspirational figure that kids can look up to. Captain Britain is precisely not that. In fact he represents what the majority of Brits actually hate. An overly privileged, upper class prick who has great power bestowed onto him despite the fact that he’s done very little to actually deserve it.

And that’s by far the biggest problem with Captain Britain. As a character, he just doesn’t appeal to us Brits. He’s above us and he sees himself as above us. We don’t want to see that. If we wanted to see that, we’d just watch BBC Parliament. Let me give you an idea of the kind of characters we in the UK love:

Derek Trotter, more commonly known as Del Boy, was the main protagonist of the hugely successful sitcom Only Fools & Horses and is arguably one of the most beloved characters in British culture today. A market trader and con man who sells hooky gear on the streets of Peckham and often gets into trouble due to his get rich quick schemes.

Dave Lister, a vending machine repair man from the sci-fi sitcom Red Dwarf. This lager drinking, curry loving slob ends up becoming the last surviving member of the human race and a Godlike figure to a new race of people that evolved from his pet cat. As the series progressed, he helped his robot Kryten break his programming and become fully independent, and it’s this that helps him to grow and mature to become the space hero he is now in the current series.

Victor Meldrew, from the sitcom One Foot In The Grave. A middle aged man forced into early retirement and having to find ways to pass the time, be it through peculiar hobbies or shouting at the weird events happening around him, much to the dismay of his wife Margaret.

Basil Fawlty, from the beloved sitcom Fawlty Towers, has become one of the most iconic characters in British culture. A traditionalist, right wing hotelier desperately seeking to raise his social status and to become successful, but is forced to work with people he absolutely despises, including his incompetent Spanish waiter Manuel.

Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced Bouquet) is the main character of the sitcom Keeping Up Appearances. Housewife to her eternally suffering husband Richard, she’s a pompous snob desperately seeking to maintain the illusion that she’s wealthier and more socially important than she actually is. However her attempts to climb the social ladder are often ruined by her working class sisters or her senile father.

And finally, just to bring this back into the realm of comic books there’s:

John Constantine. The chain smoking, working class magician from Liverpool who fights dark supernatural forces on a regular basis and frequently has to make morally dubious choices, often resulting in the deaths of his friends and loved ones.

Now what do all of these characters have in common? They’re all underdogs. Working class. Losers. Idiots. Failures. Those are the types of characters we’re drawn to as a culture. The reason why I included so many sitcom characters is because I feel they perfectly demonstrate the difference between British and American culture. America is brimming with idealism and aspiration. The idea that anyone can become greater than their humble origins, and this is reflected in their culture. In most American movies and TV shows and comic books, the main character is often smarter, wittier, tougher and/or funnier than the audience, representing someone they can aspire to be like. Here in Britain, where our rigid class system is permanently ingrained into us at an early age, we mostly accept the fact we’re likely going to stay where we’re at for the rest of our lives and so our media reflects that by giving us characters that are in similar situations to us. The reason we identify with the likes of Constantine and Lister and Del Boy is because they operate on our level and share our problems and worries. They’re one of us. When Basil Fawlty and Hyacinth Bucket arrogantly disregard their working class roots and try to raise their social status, it’s funny when they fail because serve them right for looking down on us. But when Del Boy eventually becomes a millionaire at the end, we’re legitimately happy for him because we like the character, we want to see him succeed and we’re glad he managed to succeed without compromising who he is. And that’s why Captain Britain will never be accepted by us. He is above us and has power over us and we don’t like that. People with power and authority are to be mocked and shamed, not to be celebrated or aspired to be like.

The idea that Kevin Feige is even considering putting Captain Britain into the MCU for me proves what I’ve been saying about Marvel all along. That they don’t care about creating a coherent or entertaining universe, that they’re adding characters and storylines just for the sake of adding characters and storylines, and that Kevin Feige clearly doesn’t have the slightest fucking idea of what he’s doing. If he did, he honestly wouldn’t think Captain Britain would be a profitable or worthwhile project to pursue. I also feel extremely annoyed by all of this. Remember when Feige said we were definitely going to see an LGBT+ superhero appear in the MCU at some point in the next ten years? Or just recently when he said we were totes going to see Miles Morales’ Spider-Man show up in the MCU at some point in the future? All of these vague half-promises constantly pushed back to make way for more ‘important’ projects like an Ant-Man sequel, an Inhumans TV series or Captain fucking Britain.

Regardless of what your thoughts are on the state of the MCU right now, I think we can all agree that when you get to the stage when you’re seriously considering Captain Britain as a legitimately good idea... maybe it’s time to take a break and reevaluate just what the fuck it is you’re actually doing.

#captain britain #marvel cinematic universe #quill's scribbles

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afutureinnoise · 7 years

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DAVID BOWIE, PART 1 BY DAN WRECK

Photo: David Bowie, by Masayoshi Sukita

BOWIE #1 - DEATH

Anything you write could be your epitaph, as an artist.

If you're fortunate enough to have an audience, then the last public proclamations you utter are both eulogy and epitaph: imbued with whatever poignancy the audience wants to put into them. Whatever we want to read into it we can and we will because greedy consumers all, the customer is always right. It's sad and inhumane but when you've made yourself a product what else can you expect?

It feels tawdry to even discuss this, but seems obligatory: he managed to keep his cancer from the media right up until the end. He'd "withdrawn from public life", as the saying goes albeit a very extraordinary withdrawal from public life where he still released albums, appeared in music videos and gave his blessing to the huge Sound and Vision exhibition which exhibited many of his personal effects and revelled in his past.

It's the kind of sleight of hand withdrawal from public life you'd expect from a man who, it is easy to forget now, came out as gay in 1972 on the front pages of the music press. This at a time when no one was really coming out: still a very brave thing to do. Not something you did just to get a slot on Ellen to plug your book. He later adjusted it to being bisexual (which would still be brave now given how many idiots don’t believe bisexuality exists), then told everyone he was straight when he was expedient for him to do so (in 1982 conveniently distancing himself from the gays when he wanted to be even bigger) then quietly years down the line came back out again when it was safe to do so.

This is also a man who once upon a time gave the gossip magazine HELLO! magazine an exclusive, having them cover his wedding to Iman. In September 2000, the birth of his daughter also merited a HELLO! exclusive. This is the kind of thing we bitch at footballer's wives for doing. So let's not pretend he was a shy and retiring man as we shake our heads and bemoan the circling ghouls and grief culture even as we lap it up. But just as it was his right to make his personal life a matter of public record, it was his right to make the end of it private and shared only with his close friends. Remember, he owed us nothing and gave us a lot.

POSSIBLE EPITAPHS #1 and #2 - I CAN'T GIVE EVERYTHING AWAY / LAZARUS

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I Can't Give Everything Away.

A title that both makes a mockery of my point before about how he was as much of a media tart as anyone else and agrees with it. Depending on where you lay the emphasis.There's a well known critical theory of the death of the author which basically says that we, as the readers of a given text decide what it is about and all interpretations are equally valid. It's not one I subscribe to but it's an interesting thought, especially after the literal death of an author.

I Can't Give Everything Away is a beautiful song with motifs from the rest of his back catalogue sprinkled through it: a touch of New Career In A New Town in the harmonica intro, something of Thursday's Child about the vocal melody, hints of Black Tie White Noise in the arrangement. The vocal delivery, though, is purely Blackstar. It's not just a homage, it's the Sound & Vision exhibit in the form of a song. What a performance it is, too. When I first listened to Blackstar five times in a row, before the author was dead, I welled up hearing it then too. There's so much joy and yearning he fits into the repetitions of the title. Then biography bleeds into it and the repetitions of the word "Away" are the ascension of a soul.

“Look up here, I’m in heaven”

The same way that Jhonn Balance's repetitions of "It just is" at the end of Going Up from his own accidental epitaph Ape Of Naples say a lot in very little, it's all in the delivery and the space between the words. I mention Balance partly because he's one of the few artists I love and respect as much as Bowie, and someone I feel a close connection to despite never having met (maybe on the next bardo) and partly because of the very Coil looking black sun appearing very prominently in the Blackstar cover art and the video for this song. He must have known: this isn't the SS variant of the black sun you see used by right-wing morons who underestimate and wilfully misunderstand the power of this imagery. It's not a sun wheel. It's a black sun. The brightest of all Blackstars.

Of course Bowie was no stranger to using, dwelling on and disseminating the kind of occult imagery which has been misappropriated by incompetent, bigoted idiots at different points in history. There's been a thread of it running through most of his career: from the first verse of Quicksand's references to Crowley's Golden Dawn and “Himmler's sacred realm” to the magickal undertones running through 1.Outside that he unfortunately dilutes by couching in references to piss artists like the then contemporary Brit School of artists. Most explicitly, though, he was pre-occupied with these themes around the time of Station to Station and in the Lazarus video we get a more explicit link to Bowie past in the same outfit from the Station to Station back cover.

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In the Bowie's Last Five Years documentary we hear that he found out it was, very likely, going to be terminal as he shot the video for Lazarus. Once again life and art merge and make something that was already moving into something heartbreaking. First I'm going to focus on the video before I get to the song itself.

If you're reading this I'm 95% sure you've seen the video a few times but there are two things which're particularly moving about it when art meets life so unfortunately this will at first seem like I’m just describing things for the sake of it.

The first is the joy and release with which he sings, bedbound but levitating.

The second is is the moment where, before, vanishing off into the cupboard, he looks up with pantomime worry before scribbling down some notes. He is shaking as he writes them as if battling to get these last thoughts, they're struggling to come and he laughs with relief before finally putting pen to paper and getting these last ideas out before the inevitable.

The thing about writing your own pitaph is that, well, presumably you're still alive after you've written it and you can't stop there. Having put that to rest, as an artist, you move onto something else. There's always something else ahead, something which could be bigger and better and brighter until one day well there just isn't. You need to finish it now you've started even if it looks impossible because you can't just stop mid-stream or mid-word. But about when the full stop arrives before you do? Unthinkable. Before you're interrupted, before it's time to put your pen down the heart screams "But wait there's more."

Now onto the song itself. Another one of his many beautiful vocal performances but with a vulnerability you never usually heard from the man. The grain of the voice, the way you can almost hear his throat muscles teeth and tongue as he sings "I was living like a king", the k sound in "like" rattling with phlegm and the dying rasp of "king". It's hard to know when to be frail when you've lived as a king. In fact, even more than a king. Bowie was almost a construct. At points in this song we're hearing the man David Jones.

POSSIBLE EPITAPH #3 - THE NEXT DAY

The Next Day as a whole really plays with the idea of the ageing artist talking about mortality and despite the fact that it isn't as good an album as Blackstar everyone would've reacted the same way if he'd died just before or just after releasing The Next Day. For one it’s the first Bowie album not to display his face (even as distorted as it appears on 1.Outside it's still him, it’s just him after he worked out how to play with filters in Photoshop). We get an iconic image from his past with his face obscured by the title as if to say "The Next Day won't include my face" (good at this ascribing pointless significance to things which don't mean anything of the sort aren't I? Pitchfork should give me a ring. Or The Sun.).

The Next Day is rife with references to death, ageing, disease and dementia. The title track built around the refrain "Here I am not quite dying" and a chant of "And the next day and the next day" redolent of Macbeth's final "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow". As on parts of Blackstar he spends a lot of time looking back, more explicitly than on Blackstar in fact, particularly on the first single Where Are We Now, a lovely sorrowful song full of space and ache in a way he tried to do on Hours but didn't really manage. It was accompanied by a video of our ageless hero starting to look, well, look his age. On You Feel So Lonely You Could Die, which isn't a great song in my opinion, after talking about seeing a former foe's hanging body, he leaves us with that iconic Five Years drumbeat echoing out into nowhere. The album closer Heat bears a remarkable similarity to The Motel from 1.Outside and thus also to Scott Walker's Climate of Hunter or one of his songs off Night Flights. A great track, and another example of the great man not insulting his audience's intelligence / giving us something to go seek out and read (the Mishima references) but as epitaphs go not one worthy of the great man. The Next Day is an enjoyable album but fairly underwhelming once you got over the excitement of Bowie doing an album for the first time in a decade which was obviously something.

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What really impressed me as a gesture was The Stars (Are Out Tonight) and particularly the accompanying video where Bowie and Tilda Swinton are a married couple and Andreja Pejic is in it being impossibly beautiful as Andreja Pejic is prone to being. After going back in in the 80's one of the things he did in this cycle was remind us queers he was one of us and he still cared. That he did so while at the same time skewering the same celebrity culture he fed into by uneasily straddling the boundary of Celeb and Celebrant is the sort of having your cake and eating it too genius we miss him for.

It’s also worth dwelling on how confrontationally gender-skewing the video (directed by Floria Sigismondi) is in a way you see from few artists as prominent as him even in this day and age: aside from the aforementioned inspired choice of Pejic, casting Iselin Steiro as a young Bowie is a master-stroke as is Tilda Swinton as Bowie’s wife: perfect. His video wife is the only person in the world who looks like him. It’s just a feast of androgyny.

POSSIBLE EPITAPH #4 - BRING ME THE DISCO KING

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The closing track on Reality, pre-hiatus and pre-heart attack. Again a very youthful looking and sounding Bowie but for a long time it looked like it was going to be the last thing we saw or heard from him (apart from Little Fat Man in Extras of course which I'm sure some earnest journalist would've managed to contort themselves into calling a "dying man's final joke" or something).

A rolling, roiling jazz song with Mike Garson's piano playing the perfect foil. Full of intimations of doom undercut with an almost Zen resignation. An album closer opening with the words "You promised me the ending would be clear" and containing the line "Soon there be'll nothing left of me, nothing left to release". For a while it looked like there wouldn't be and that he'd settled into being human at last. Just like Damiel in Wings of Desire, an angel who walked among us who gave it all up in favour of beauty you can only really appreciate if all things are finite. Wistful reminiscences of his past "killing time in the 70s" from a man who it was often said was resistant to looking back but you'd be forgiven for thinking (if you believed the critics that is) that he did nothing but.

Of course, as beautiful and sepulchral as the song is, it was written as far back (maybe further, this isn't Pushing Ahead of The Dame I'm not quite that good a writer or Bowie scholar) as Black Tie White Noise and an attempt was made at recording it in the Earthling sessions. It may be an epitaph but one there had been multiple drafts of. Still, it doesn't matter when you write it it just matters when you put it out and there's a certain grandeur given to something by it having been pored over for so long. To think of another great songwriter who died in 2016, Leonard Cohen, you don't think You Want It Darker or Treaty were just off the cuff from the man who spent years writing and honing Hallelujah, do you? No. Until it is written in stone an epitaph can undergo many revisions and be replaced by others, this to be replaced with The Next Day the way Heathen was replaced with this.

POSSIBLE EPITAPH #5 - HEATHEN (THE RAYS)

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Yes, I know it would've been shocking for him to go at this age, especially considering how healthy and youthful he looked at the time (he was in his mid 50s, obviously a young age but looking even younger) but for the purpose of this exercise imagine he did. It would’ve been sad but he never would have had to meet Ricky Gervais. Imagine that the title track from Heathen is the last new song you hear from him. Mournful skeins of effects drenched guitar, a distant tribal throb then the man himself enters the picture.

"Steel on the skyline, sky made of glass"

A voice frozen with existential horror, glazed eyes fixed forward, the horror of Colonel Kurtz or anyone who has seen death and truly looked at it without flinching or looking away. A vision of their own death, maybe. All of our deaths. A man singing to his God or to the concept of death itself. Maybe to the angel he sang of as a younger man in Look Back In Anger on Lodger. Maybe the angel who renounced immortality knowing what comes next. Rhetorical questions.

“Is there a reason?”

"Have I stared too long?".

Then maybe he's singing to life itself:

"You say you'll leave me

When the sun's full

And the rays high

I can see it now

I can feel it die"

The way he sings these last few words and the wordless phrases after it, full of anguish and loss, is chilling even knowing he lived for a while after it. If he hadn't, it would've been his epitaph and it would've been a beautiful one, the Berlin synth atmospherics twinkling away, rays of cold electronic light in the short instrumental outro which fades out and ends as suddenly as....well, life. It can end at any moment you know (you know, you know).

Speaking on the song itself in an interview he describes the writing process as some kind of traumatic epiphany:

"In the distance a car was driving slowly past the reservoir and these words were just streaming out and there were tears running down my face. But I couldn't stop, they just flew out. It's an odd feeling, like something else is guiding you, although forcing your hand is more like it."

Some people talked about the remarkable synchronicity between him writing these songs pre-9/11 and the tragic events of that day but really, is there? Any more than there's synchronicity between any songs mentioning death and a skyline and 9/11? We feel this because he's a voice we look up to, saying these words, and we have decided that's what they mean. In the same way that if he had died after making Heathen it would have been a vision of his premature death. Funny phrase that. Either all deaths are premature or none are. We make the pieces fit and create our own context. Just to make my point.....

POSSIBLE EPITAPH #6 - ROCK AND ROLL SUICIDE

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I'm not suggesting he committed suicide in this alternate past but what if Ziggy really had been it? What if he'd fallen silent after that. Knowing the man's love of being the centre of attention unlikely but what if?

Imagine you're a gay teenager in 1972. Something integral to your very being, the way you are has been illegal up until 5 years ago. Things are going to be shit for you in a very different way to the way they are now: although nowadays if you happen to have been born queer you're still four times more likely to kill yourself but that's okay because if you survive long enough to grow up you can get married now so get over it, faggot. Maybe Bowie / Ziggy would've been a ray of light when you saw him and realised that you couldn't be all bad because maybe the coolest and most beautiful man you'd ever seen was the same as you. He was obviously totemic for queer people of that generation. Dockers in Liverpool saying they'd give Bowie one oblivious or uncaring of the fact that was a bloke they were talking about because it's not a matter of gay or straight or bisexual: fancying early 70s Bowie is just a matter of common sense.

"Oh no love you're not alone"

If that's all he'd done, if he'd told us all he was gay, left us with Ziggy and then when he announced "This is the last show I will ever play" he'd kept to his word then he'd still have been more than a footnote in history. It's all context.

Everything that came later, his pathetic attempt at "going back in" the same way dear old Lou did when he sang Women on The Blue Mask, none of this matters now and it definitely didn't matter to the confused queer kid in a small town in 1972 who for once saw someone who moved the way they'd like to move. None of this shit had happened and even when it did it didn’t retroactively undo all the good he’d done for you. Sometimes that's all it takes. Sometimes that's better than a million It Gets Better PSAs from straight actors who think that the approval of someone a million miles away with millions of pounds means anything to someone who is getting it from all corners, inside and outside of the home. Than a million pro LGBT statements from politicians who work in education ignoring the fact that sometimes it's not just the pupils who're bullying you because they reckon you were born wrong. These words, so easy for them to say and so hard for them to believe.

“If I could only make you care” is the crucial line. There're no false promises, it's just "Gimme your hands 'cos you're wonderful" as Mick Ronson's guitar wails an echo of the words "Give me your hands". It's a romantic idea but maybe this saved someone. Maybe that’s the most fitting epitaph of all. If you can touch the lives of people you’ve never met and they feel something real when you die then you must have done something right. Being someone’s hero, that means the world.

#david bowie #by dan wreck

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aamwrites2 · 7 years

Text

Throughout the Ages

9/12

“I-I-I” Arthur backed up, looking caught.

Alfred clenched his fists. “You storm out, then break-in into my house? And you were following me, weren’t you?” Arthur looked down, feeling guilty. “And for what? Some kinda revenge? If you had just let me explain, we wouldn’t be in this mess! What is wrong with you?!?”

Alfred then teared up, sinking to his feet. “What is wrong with me?” Alfred sobbed, and Arthur was at a loss for what do to. “W-when you left, I was sure that we were over. A-and I c-couldn’t deal with losing you this early. I can’t deal with losing you again.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “This early? Again? Whatever do you mean?”

Alfred didn’t answer his question, instead continuing to lament. “I know I’ve been distant lately, and I’m sorry, I just-” Alfred took a deep breath, composing himself. “I just couldn’t deal with the thought of losing you again, and I panicked, and the thought was so suffocating I decided to see a therapist, Matthew. We were ending a session. Just hugging. Nothing more, I promise. He’s that kind of person you see? He’s very big on physical comfort. And then you walked in, and you looked so hurt, and you didn’t let me explain, and it broke my heart. I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you how I was feeling.”

Arthur chuckled very softly, sinking to Alfred’s level and putting a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “And I should have had a better judgement of your character. In the back of my mind I knew you would never cheat. My paranoia got a hold of me and I panicked. I’m sorry love.”

Both the Brit and the American smiled, relived that their fears weren’t true, and then leaned in for a kiss. It was full of apologies, forgiveness, happiness, and love.

“I’m kind of glad you broke into my house.” Alfred said after they parted.

Arthur laughed softly. “I suppose. If I never broke in, we might have never made up.

“I never would’ve remembered to fix my windows.”

“Honestly! It should be the first thing you do as soon as we’re done here. I mean, what kind of man doesn’t wire their windows to the system?

“Hey! They were at one point! It only broke recently and I was too preoccupied to fix it.”

The two men laughed heartedly, but soon Arthur’s expression grew serious. “Alfred, there is still something we haven’t settled.”

Alfred instantly grew nervous. He was hoping Arthur would forget about it in the midst of clearing up their misunderstandings. Unfortunately he was mistaken.

Alfred tried to keep an innocent face. “What? What haven’t we settled?”

“Alfred, stop playing dumb. Did you really forget what room we’re in? Now. Tell me. What’s the meaning of all this,” Arthur gestured around the room “and why do you have my ancestor’s clothes?”

Alfred was at a crossroad. He couldn’t tell Arthur the truth. But not telling him could seriously damage their relationship. But so could telling him, and it also could endanger Alfred’s life if Arthur told anyone else. Arthur could also fall under serious danger, and Alfred didn’t want to risk that.

In reponse to Alfres’s silence, Arthur sighed, and caressed Alfred’s cheek. “Love, why can’t you tell me? Please, just trust me.”

Just trust me. The words made Alfred have flashbacks, countless Arthurs repeating the same words. Each time, Alfred would always deny them, never telling them the truth. Just trust me. Alfred looked deep into his beloved eyes, seeing all the past Arthurs he had ever loved in those emerald orbs that he adored so much. With a deep breath, he decided to make a change.

“Arthur…what I’m about to tell you, you can’t tell anyone. You have to promise me.”

“I promise love.”

“No Arthur, you have to promise.”

Arthur exhaled. “I promise to keep your secret till the day I die.”

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m immortal” he breathed, opening his eyes.

“What?”

“I’m immortal, like I can’t die. At least, not of old age. I kinda just linger in this state, forever, I guess.

“You’re playing a trick on me.

The American sighed, got up and walked over to a cabinet, and pulled out an old case. He opened it, revealing a sword inside, and presented it to Arthur.

“A renaissance age longsword? But they don’t have those anymore! Not even at festivals!” Alfred also pulled out a piece of paper, showing it to the Brit. “To Alfred. Hope this one is to your liking. -Matthias” Arthur read the paper, shocked.

“Bought her with my own money. Took a while, but Matthias finally found one to suit my impossible standards.”

“So you’re telling me-”

“I didn’t lie”

Arthur was speechless. “T-that still doesn’t explain why you have so many pictures of me!”

Alfred sighed, sitting back down next to Arthur. “That’s what I was getting to. I’m immortal, but you’re a reincarnation. You reincarnate. Have been doing so since the first time I met you.”

“So my ancestors….”

“Previous versions of you.”

“Bloody hell, I was Captain Kirkland?”

“The most notorious pirate on the seven seas.”

“So on our first date you-”

“-already knew everything you were telling me After all, I was on the ship with the man.” Arthur blushed, and Alfred chuckled. “It’s fine! Like I said, it was cute!”

“So that’s why you knew I would like the Britannia Angel.”

“Yep. It is made out of your old ship of the same name after all.” Then at Arthur’s look of indignation, Alfred added, “trust me. That was the best use for it.”

Arthur shook his head, murmuring something along the lines of ‘my poor ship,’ got up and walked to the wall full of pictures, stroking it. “So this wall…”

Alfred’s smile dropped, and he joined Arthur, staring at the wall as well. “I take photos of all the Arthurs I meet. I do it to preserve the memories of us together. I miss you after you…pass, you know? This room is full of your essence, and it gives me solace.

Arthur looked at Alfred, eyes full of sorrow. Alfred smiled back. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. And you’re here now aren’t you? So everything is fine.”

Arthur reached over and squeezed Alfred’s hand, gently leading him away from the wall. “So the pirate attire, how did you aquire it?” Arthur asked, trying to change the subject to something less somber.

The American brightened a little, and carefully touched the Captain’s coat. “He gave it to me. He wanted to leave his pirate life behind after he retired, and he trusted that I would take the best care of it.”

The Brit marveled at the pirate’s collection, then picked up a musket that was nearby. “And this?”

“Your musket from the Revolutionary War.”

“Why in the world would you keep that?”

“Because” Alfred strolled over and wrapped his arms around Arthur, “at the end of it is where I met you again.”

Arthur leaned into the touch, examining the weapon. “So our whole relationship back then was centered around the Revolutionary War?”

“Yep. Long story short, we met on the battlefield. You got wounded, and I took care of you, hiding you as an Patriot. You decided to stay, and the rest is history.”

Arthur leaned back and kissed Alfred, and the two walked around the room, Alfred sharing stories about their past. Eventually, they left the room and settled on the couch, but Alfred still looked unsettled.

The Brit nudged Alfred. “What’s wrong, poppet?”

The American brushed it off. “Nothing.”

“You’re lying to me love. Come on, trust me.

Alfred shifted. "I’m just afraid of losing you. I’m tired of this cycle. I’m tired of watching you die.

Arthur flipped over, gazing into Alfred’s sapphire eyes. "You’re not gonna lose me.”

Eventually, I will. Alfred thought, hiding his melancholy with a grin directed at Arthur.

The two laid there, enjoying the other’s presence until Arthur tried to leave.

"Stay, please.” Alfred tugged on Arthur’s shirt, begging him.

Arthur silently nodded, sinking back into Alfred’s hold. Later that night, however, the Brit was consumed with thoughts.

Nevermind the whole immortality and reincarnation thing. What really bothered him was how tired Alfred seemed of the whole thing. The Brit loved Alfred. He didn’t want to see him suffer throughout their years together. There has to be something I can do. There has to be something…. The thought repeated itself in Arthur’s mind like a mantra. He turned over, gazing at the American’s sleeping face. Arthur smiled, He’s so at ease in his sleep. Arthur’s smile dropped for a moment as he caressed Alfred’s cheek. I promise love, I’ll find a way to fix this situation.

#tha #au #usuk #aph america #aph england #fanfic

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