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scarlettmoons · 4 months

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Change // Mikey x Fem reader // Chapter 2

Summary: Y/n was returning from London to see her older twin, Takemichi. What she didn't expect was that when she returned she would find her twin in the hospital with State criticizing him, making him remain in a coma almost on the verge of death and all because of Manjiro was healthy, so he found out, so without further ado, thanks to the fact that he looked enough like Takemichi, he pretended to be him in order to carry out his revenge.

Finish EDIT (february 2, 2024): This story is incomplete.

N/A: I finally publish the second chapter, it took me a lot to write it, between the time and how to do it, but I managed it, I hope you like it. History is just being written, but publications will most likely be periodic. If I see how long it takes I'll let you know. This prologue is corrected and translated, although if you see any errors I would appreciate it if you let me know (I must warn that at some point there will be obscene content, but I will let you know beforehand so you can skip it).

Words: 1189

Pairings: Manjiro sano x female!Reader

Warnings: none

☆⊶≕≍≖⋆≎≢≣⁂≋∺∻⋰⋰۰☆⊶≕≍≖⋆≎≢≣⁂≋∺∻⋰⋰۰

He looked at them intently as he listened to their words carefully. What they said was hard to believe, but he couldn't help but think about it clearly. The Takemichi they were describing was not the one he knew. He was more reserved, more surly and more isolated. His idea was to let it go but he assumed that they wanted him to help them with the matter.

Mikey frowned. "What should he do?" he asked himself. The last time he saw them, his dark impulsiveness got out of control and that was what caused Takemichi to end up in the hospital, he warned her on the videotape but Takemichi was very stubborn when it came to helping. to others. He knew perfectly well that he was at a crossroads. On the one hand, he wanted to help them. On the other hand, he feared that his dark impulsiveness might cause them harm again.

—Mikey... we owe him. "He's helped us so many times that I've lost count," said Draken, interrupting Mikey's thoughts. He was happy to see him... at that time I thought he died like everyone else did, but a few days after they entered Takemichi they told us that the information they had they gave us was wrong and the bullet did not pierce him enough to kill him. “After all he was right, they couldn't leave it like this” he thought.

—What's the plan? —He asked, to which in response he received a smile from ear to ear from Chifuyu and Draken feeling a bittersweet feeling, as if they were going back to the old days.

"You are the plan," Chifuyuu mentioned, making him completely surprised and confused. “Why don't they remember the last time we got together, they won't even want to see me in painting” he thought, believing that his former colleagues went completely crazy.

"Don't worry, everything has its reason, it's going to take time to explain it, let's sit down because this is going to require a detailed explanation," said Chifuyu as they headed towards some sofas and settled down. Then, he began to tell his plan.

"The first thing we have to do is find out what's happening to Takemitchi," said Chifuyu. — He's going to have to earn his trust again and get closer to him, we have to set traps to get him to lower his guard.

—Now we need people, not too many but just enough—said Draken.

"How many?" Mikey asked.

Chifuyu smiled. —The old Toman, we need the captains and vice-captains, Inui and kokonoi, Taiju and, whether you like it or not, Kakucho. Together with Takemichi's friends, together we can make him fall, Mikey nodded pleased, he had the feeling that something big was coming and he wanted to be part of it.

Draken and Chifuyu set to work to reunite the ancient Toman. They began by contacting the captains and vice-captains, who were willing to help. Then, they contacted Taiju, who also agreed to participate in order to pay his debt to Takemichi and without forgetting Kokonoi and Inui who did not hesitate to accept the proposal along with Senju and his brother.

The next step was to contact Kakucho, this part would be the most difficult due to the rivalry they had in the past but with a few calls and messages they managed to convince him.

Once everyone was together, they managed to form a group of more than 50 people. Now all that was left was to put together the pieces of the plan. Each one of them, although it didn't seem like it, had a great debt with that crying hero and they will not give up until they can help him.

in another place

later

She looked at the photos scattered on the wall “this won't lead anywhere if I can't get close to him…” she sighed tiredly and she felt herself on the edge of the bed when her phone started ringing —yes? —I ask without enthusiasm.

-Where are you? We have looked for you and called you during these weeks! —The voice on the other end spoke so loudly that Tn had to move it away from her ear.

—I left you a message on my nightstand, I'm in Tokyo.

—There was no message Tn— the voice on the other end huffed tiredly as if she were already used to him disappearing like that out of nowhere.

—Maybe I forgot, sorry Luke.

"It's because of that letter, right?" I ask, sure that that was the reason. "How is your brother?" —He added, receiving a long silence in response—so the Letter was right... You can't be alone there, Tn, today I'm packing my bags and leaving with you.—

—no need... I just have to make my plan work and finish healthy once I achieve it I will return to you

"You know I'm not going to listen to you," he responded just as I just spoke.

"But what about the others? Who will take care of them?" she asked worriedly.

—You know that Cynthia will take care of them perfectly for a reason, she is the captain of the first division—Tn nodded with a slight growl.

-when will you arrive? —I ask now a little worried, she didn't seem that way but she didn't like the feeling of being alone in Tokyo, she missed her best friend Luke and the boys.

—As soon as possible, I will take the first plane that leaves—Tn nodded again this time releasing a light sigh—Okay now go to sleep you need to have strength if you want us to finish off Manjiro—Luke had become the brother and father figure that he never had For her, she still remembers the first time she met him perfectly.

Flashback

Those blue eyes and raven hair were what hypnotized her and she knows that better than anyone.

It was her third day in London and she didn't know anyone. What she did know was the feeling of loneliness. She missed her twin brother deeply. They had never been so far apart, but she was 9,553 km away from him. She was supposed to be happy. because they chose her to enter a superstitious school in London, according to them a mind like hers should not be wasted

But she didn't think it was that big of a deal.

She sighed determinedly, right now she was in front of the door of that school, his hand trembled while a thousand not very positive questions came to his mind, he took a step forward to enter with courage and fear at the same time and that was when she asked him. saw; His skin was dark, his eyes were blue like the ocean and his hair was messy, black as coal. His heart began to beat rapidly, making him put his hand on his chest. “An attack,” he thought. “No, this is not an attack.” He said mentally, already knowing what they were like.

—Hey, are you okay? —he asked her, she didn't know when he had approached her, that left her in shock and made her jump slightly—Y-yes—she responded with a slight stutter—thank goodness, I thought I would have to call the ambulance, you stayed still with her hand on her chest for a long time — “that explains why I didn't realize it” she thought and gave him a slight smile. —No need, thanks for the help—She thanked him for going willingly to where she thought before everything happened.

—It's okay, are you new by the way? I'm Luke, you don't look like you're from around here.

And that's how it all started.

End of Flashback

• ◦✦──── • ◦❪❝˚✧｡˚🍓˚｡✧˚❞❫◦ • ────✦◦ •

Thank you for reading this far, I hope you like it I will upload the next chapter soon

Important: The story banners are officially mine, I do not allow any copying or re-uploading

#tokyo revengers #mikey x reader

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hellothere-generalangsty · 3 years

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The Bad Batch - Quart d’Heure Américain

Summary: In French, we use the expression “quart d’heure Américain” (lit. “American quarter”; I think it’s “Lady’s choice” in English) to talk about that moment during an evening out/ a party where they play slows and couples dance together (very sweet and romantic, yes)

So here is the Quart d’Heure Américain, Bad Batch Edition™

Pairing: Crosshair x reader; Echo x reader; Hunter x reader; Tech x reader; Wrecker x reader; the Bad Batch x reader

Reader description: f!reader [she/her], no real physical description

Word Count: 5463 words

CW/ TW: Nothing, just pure fluff and cute relationships (some established, one not quite yet) also there’s a LIL BIT of someone being sad/ a LIL BIT in pain BUT promise it doesn’t last and it gets all soft

Tags: @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @allamarisss

@imalovernotahater @murdertoothpick (if you want to be added to the tag list for future stories/ if you want to be removed and not tagged again, please let me know! )

Notes: This is for you all, because you deserve it and I hope it’ll sooth whatever you need soothed; and here is a quote that quite grasp the concept of this small fic

“Quand je danse, je danse” –Montaigne (“when I dance, I dance”; enjoy the moment and don’t think about anything else)

Crosshair: Something Stupid – Nancy Sinatra, Frank Sinatra (1177 words)

Had someone asked you beforehand, you never would have been able to tell that Crosshair was an amazing dancer. You didn’t expected him to invite you out that night, especially not when everyone in town was speaking about this Dancing Night. But he did, and now he was next to you, moving like he had done it all his life.

“You’re doing great, mesh’la,” he complimented as you tripped on your feet.

“I already told you,” you nodded a thank you when he helped you get back up, “I don’t understand Mando’a.”

Well, you did, but only a few words. You grew used to them, because Crosshair would use them all the time when speaking to you, but never once did he told you what they meant. So you did what every logical person would have done, and asked Tech.

“Well, mesh’la could be translated to ‘beautiful’, and cyare to something like ‘love’ or ‘my heart’. Why you asking?”

“I heard that on the radio, in a song once and I just wanted to know what it meant. Thanks Tech!”

And you had left him as soon as he was done explaining their meaning to you, because the more you stayed here, the more he could guess why you really asked. But you didn’t want Crosshair to stop calling you mesh’la or cyare. It sounded so peculiar when he would whisper it close to your ear as he would walk behind you; “out of my way mesh’la”, “you truly are a lost cause, cyare”. It wasn’t really a lie not to tell him you knew; more of a covered truth.

The song changed and went from a catchy tone to a slower, more sensual one. Crosshair waited for you to come to him before gently grasping your waist, a hand holding your own, fingers folded around yours. He pulled you closer, so close you could feel his chest moving according to his breath. You looked straight at him, trying to decipher his expression, to find any feeling uncovered behind those bewitching whisky eyes.

“Are you scanning me?” he softly asked.

“Maybe.” you confessed. “I want to know what’s going on behind this pretty face.”

It slipped out. You didn’t mean to say that; yes, he had a pretty face, yes you meant it, but-

“I think, about you mostly.”

Ho.

“You’re…pretty.” He sharply nodded, as a way to keep up his facade. You almost tripped over again, so taken aback by his little confession.

“Sorry,” you muttered, “sorry, I- that’s very… very kind of you to say.”

He didn’t say anything, but the grip on your waist tightened. You decided to try it, and slowly came to rest your head on his chest. You could hear his heart beating, muffled by the layers of skin and cloth. You felt a cold spot on your waist, and a hand brushing your hair off of your face, tucking them behind your ear before resting on your shoulder.

You couldn’t yet guess it, but he was craving for more, he wanted you closer to him, wanted to bury his face in your neck, hum your scent and kiss you all the way to your jawline, your cheek, the tip of your nose; and your lips.

But never once did he flinch, or let out any sign of his heart bleeding to feel you so close, yet so out of reach. Instead he held you there, slowly leading the dance, almost silently telling you to “move left, come back to me, and left again; great job mesh’la”.

He couldn’t yet guess it, but you were craving for more. More Mando’a’s nicknames, more gentle touch on your face and body, maybe a bit of appreciation in his eyes, a bit of love on his mouth.

And you thought you could hold on, spend the night glued to his body, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the delicacy of his moves; and still be able to pull out a straight face, to pretend mesh’la and cyare were unknown words to you, that your heart wasn’t racing at the sole thought of getting more.

But you didn’t.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”.

It slipped out tenderly, purposefully. And this time, he almost tripped on his feet.

“What did you say?”

You raised your head, taking a small step back to look at him in the eyes.

“I said I love you, but I guess my accent sucks a bit. I- I asked Tech about it last time.” You confessed in a small voice.

Crosshair couldn’t even speak anymore. He completely stopped moving, staring at you like you were the only one here, with him.

“Look, we can just…forget about it if yo-”

“Shut up.”

Your eyes widened at the command, and nothing could have prepared you to the devastatingly exquisite sensation of his lips brushing against yours before completely diving in. Nothing could compare to the fire in your belly, to the sweet bite on your lower lip, his teeth briefly pulling on it before letting go; and the overwhelming sensation filling your mouth as his tongue caressed yours in a heated, terribly slow kiss.

None of you could pull away; if he tried to release your lips, you would dive right back in, and if you gasped for air he would barely give you time to breathe before coming back to you. He couldn’t resist the urge to hold you tight in his arms, and you were too afraid of letting go so you firmly held his face against yours.

You felt his weight shifting to the left, then to the right, and once again you followed his lead. You felt it, the uncontrollable grin against your mouth, and the way he spin round with you, making sure no one else but you existed in that moment.

When you finally let go of each other, you were both heavily breathing, and a mutual stare was enough to get you both chuckling like kids.

Yes, you loved him, with all of your heart and soul, and you would gladly learn more Mando’a if it got you that type of enthusiastic reaction every time you did so.

“Your accent is actually quite cute,” he managed to tell you, and your smile only grew wider, and his eyes only got lovelier. “But maybe you should say it again, just in case it was luck.”

“I sure will, but I think I need you to tell me; how do you say it, again?”

He shook his head, both defeated and amused.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”, you repeated, and he nodded in approval. “I think I won this round.”

“You did.”

He grabbed your arms and pulled you closer, leaving small misses on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and your lips. The song was over; it had been for a few minutes now; but you didn’t care. Crosshair was still dancing with you, his hands on your back, a smile on his face; and maker he was even more handsome when he smiled. You had him, and he had you, and you were glad you said something as stupid and childish, and sincere and deep as this.

I love you.

Echo: Everybody Loves Somebody – Dean Martin (1168 words)

“Alright, open your eyes.”

Echo’s voice tickled your ear, making you smile. Your eyes had no trouble getting used to the light outside; it was dusk already, and a small campfire was gently crackling a few meters away from the Havoc Marauder. Earlier that day, you made a stop on an isolated planet to get some supplies and land foot for the night. It was a quiet place, mostly villages and beautiful landscapes, covered in grass, moss, and flowers like you’d never seen before.

Echo asked you to wait inside, and it had been almost an hour, but now that you were standing here…

“Is it…Did you do that for me?”

“I’d dare say for us,” Echo smiled, “today is a special day for us, remember?”

Ho.

“You forgot, right?”

“Echo, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t be! I kinda hoped you would, this way it could be a real surprise for you.”

You couldn’t quite tell what about him always got you flustered. Maybe the way he was fondly looking at you, or the softness in his voice when he whispered “Surprise!”, or how he left your side for a moment, bending over the blanket to grab a small package before giving it to you.

“I don’t have anything for you,” you quietly confessed.

“Take it.”

You accepted the gift, giving him another look of apology, but all you saw in his eyes was…something soft – soft and loving.

You carefully unwrapped the paper, exposing a Tooka plush, proudly wearing the colours of the Bad Batch.

“I thought it was more than time for you to have your own.” he said as he got closer to you, a smile glued to his face. “Do you like it?”

You barely nodded, too occupied trying to decipher your gift. The limbs were gracefully mixing a red and black pattern, and the symbol of the Republic’s paramedic had been carefully stitched in white, where the heart should be. You softly stroke it, the tip of your finger following the edges of the seam.

“I.. I love it,” you couldn’t help but smile at the attention. “I’ll call him Handsome Jr.”

“Whatever pleases you, love.”

You shifted you attention to Echo, the lovely grin on his face making your heart melt even more. You closed the gap between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist, just above his prosthetics. He held you against his chest, resting his chin on your head.

“I’ll get you something tomorrow, I’ll be up before the sun.”

“I already have everything I need, cyare.”

“Echo…,” you chuckled, “I don’t want you to get nothing. It’s an important date for us.”

“Well, if you insist…There is something you could do for me.”

“Anything, Handsome.”

He waited an instant, savouring your embrace.

“Would you dance with me? The way we did that night?”

You remembered that night. It was quite some time ago, before the Citadel. Echo invited you to the base you were both settled in for the night, on Corusant. His general gave his troopers a night off, and his first thought was to take you out on a date. You remembered the way Fives came up your office, panting, still fully armoured, and asked you to follow him. You didn’t know it at the time, but Echo and some of his brothers were taking care of decorating and preparing dinner.

You remembered the cantina being empty, except for a table with two plates and beautiful flowers in a glass way too small for them; and how every clone you had crossed path with in the hallway innocently smiled at you. They knew, obviously, but none of them made any comment, only wishing you a good night.

You remembered Echo, blacks on and slightly stylised for the occasion, offering his hand to you for a dance. And you repeated the answer you gave him that night.

“Of course, Handsome. I’d love that.”

He took a step back, looking at you intensely, falling in love all over again with the shape of your face, the light in your eyes, and the delicacy of your lips. He wanted to kiss them, so badly, but there was still something to do before that.

A static sound resonated behind you, and a voice emerged from it.

“Not that- The other one, Tech.” Echo threw a look at his brother, who was already changing the station, until he got the right one. He then barely let slip a “Pretend I don’t exist.” before disappearing inside the ship.

“Sounds familiar,” you joked, thinking about the way Fives did the same things all those years ago.

“Some things never change, right?”

You didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence; his eyes were speaking for him. He brought you closer, his prosthetic arm gently pressing your waist as his left hand held yours. The Citadel changed him, but deep down he was; and would always be, your Echo.

“You’re so beautiful, my pretty boy,” you said, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Some things indeed never change.”

He chuckled and started moving his legs, inviting you to follow his lead. He never really had a chance to dance since he joined the Bad Batch, but tonight; tonight was all he needed. Holding you close, smelling your hair, delicately balancing you on your left, a step back, on your left, a step back…

“Your love made it worth waiting.”

You slowly raised your head until you could look at him. His eyes were shining, wet from the emotion, filled with adoration and fond memories of you both. You smiled, trying to swallow the knot forming in your throat. His hold on you was so gentle, his smile so sincere. You knew he was falling in love with you all over again. You knew, because you were too.

You let your hand slide to his neck, pushed yourself on your tiptoes until you could feel his warm breath tickling your face. He tightened his grip, pressing his lips against yours, abandoning himself in your arms, making you feel like nothing but you mattered.

His kiss was gentle, he took the time to taste you, for the first time, the hundredth, the thousandth; it didn’t matter. Even after all these years, he couldn’t get used to the softness of your lips, the warmth of your tongue, the dizziness in his head and the knots in his stomach when you were confessing, wordlessly, your love for him.

Nothing broke you apart. The sun could go down, the song could stop, but none of it mattered, because all you truly needed was each other.

“Waiting for someone like you.” you finally replied.

“Waiting for you, and only you.”

You kissed him again, taking great delight in the sensation of your pounding heart, of his tongue against yours, of his hand letting go of yours to slim on your waist, down to you hip, finding his way to the back of your pant.

He was all you ever needed.

Hunter: Ain’t No Mountain High Enough – Marvin Gaye (989 words)

“Everyone, out, let’s go.”

Hunter waved his hand toward the door, a tired, maybe a bit painful expression glued to his face. Hi brothers obeyed, knowing what it meant, and left the room in silence. You tried to copy them, because you knew Hunter was getting overwhelmed by his senses; it happened sometimes, and you knew you couldn’t sooth his pain by remaining with him. But he firmly pressed his hand against your chest.

“Not you.”

Echo closed the door behind the two of you, giving you a sympathetic look before disappearing behind the grey metal sliding. Hunter tilted his head back until it touched the cold wall behind him, letting a long sigh slip from between his lips.

“Could you turn off the light, please?” he barely whispered to you, eyes closed.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t say, and switched the light off. All that remained was the small, dim blue light above your head. Tech had it installed after a bad power cut that lasted three days. Hunted asked for the blue shade, because it was the one which was the less aggressive to his eyes. You liked it, because it nicely highlighted his features, blending his tattoo a bit more with his skin, making the marking look almost natural.

You could hear him, deeply inhaling, slowly exhaling; probably trying to sooth the pain away. After a moment, he opened his hand to you, and you gently took it, slightly stroking the skin on his palm with the tip of your thumb.

“Love you.”

You softly kissed his knuckles.

“Missed you, too.”

His voice was barely breaking the silence of the room, but you still heard him relaxing a bit more.

“Can you hug me, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, even if he truly wanted to. He managed to cut off sound and light, because he wanted to focus on your touch, and your touch only. And it felt great when your arms delicately wrapped him, when your body pressed against his, holding still as you listened to his heartbeat.

“Is it okay like this?” you asked, and he nodded, a light smile on his face. “I love you too.”

He straightened up his head, blindly stroking your back, his hand getting lower and lower…

“I see what this was all about.” And the smile in your voice betrayed you, and the chuckle he let out showed you he felt a bit better.

“I just wanted some time with you, sweet thing” Hunter stated, innocent.

“Well, here I am now, pretty boy.”

He finally opened his eyes, taking a few seconds to get used to the lighting, but immediately shifting his attention to you, your face. You were another kind of beautiful; the kind he could hold against him at night when he had troubles sleeping; the kind that could sit on his lap, telling him all about your day while he stroked your hair; the kind of beautiful that he never knew he could have.

He gave you a soft kiss, humming your scent as his lips brushed yours, and you tried as hard as you could not to make it too much for him. But how could you, when he tightened his embrace, humming to you that song you liked so much, when you could feel his warm breath against the crook of your neck, and his low, slightly raspy whispering in your ear.

“From that day on, I made a vow…” a kiss on your skin, “I’ll be there when you want me…” another kiss, gentle, loving.

He pushed himself away from the wall, his head buried against you, singing to you the way you liked it, and it came naturally to you both. He balanced you one side, you came back and led him to the other side, and you kept going like this, following the low rhythm of his voice, barely giggling when he would – more or less in a dramatic and theatrical movement – bend you over like in those holomovies, pressing kisses against your neck, your jawline, crawling his way back to your mouth.

That mouth. Hunter missed it so much, the way you moved it, the softness of your lips, the warmth of your tongue, and the tight embrace as you tried to remember each curve, each spot; barely biting his lip to let you know you were here, you missed him too.

And you couldn’t help but fall in love again when he kept humming against you, when he led your hands to his lower back, a grin painting itself as they slid down the back of his pants.

“I love your heart,” he told you, lips on your skin, “the way it beats. I hear it pumping faster when I hold you, and- maker, I love it.”

He abandoned your neck for a moment, diving into your eyes like it was the first time ever, hypnotised by the blue reflection on your iris.

“I love you, the way you feel under my fingers,” he touched your face with the tip of his thumb, “the way your brush your hair over your shoulder, how you always come back to me when the lights are out and the night is still; I love you and your smile,” you granted him one, tender and oh so caring, “and your eyes, and your mouth. I love how you move your hips when you dance with me, how you crave for closeness, and how I can’t do anything but offer it to you every time, all the time.”

And you knew words couldn’t possibly offer a good answer, so you simply hummed back.

“Nothing could keep me from getting to you, baby.”

He let out a sweet laugh, kissing your nose and the top of your head, seeking for your embrace once again as you led him dancing.

“I know, sweetheart.”

And I love you for that, too.

Tech: My Guy (Single Version) Mary Wells (1078 words)

You didn’t expected Tech to ask you out tonight. He was usually quite content living around the Marauder, but when you walked next to that clothing shop, something ticked in him. He dragged you in, told you all about the different tissues, how the colours were applied, how the stitches on this dress were obviously done by Twi’leks because you see that little knot? This is a signature from the crafters, more precisely from the members of a tribe that moved around…

You loved hearing him talking. Sometimes you would ask him a question, fully aware of the answer, simply because you were eager to hear it coming from him. And every time, without any hesitation, he would answer with as much precision as possible. He probably didn’t know it, but it was one of the reason you fell for him.

“What about this one, cyar’ika?”

“This one would fit you perfectly.” he had held the dress against your body, bending his back to get a better look at it. “The colour matches your skin tone and the shape would really highlight the curves of your hips.”

“Then I’ll take this one.” You had nodded with a smile.

And now, a few hours later, you were wearing said dress while walking to the counter of the restaurant to order another drink. As the bartender was pouring a blue liquid in a fancy glass, a man smoothly accosted you.

“Were you sculpted out of Kyber crystal? Because you sure bring some light in here.”

“Thanks, but it’s mostly because my cyare chose that dress for me,” you confessed.

“Well, he sure have good tastes,” he took a step back and pursued, “may I ask which one of these…?”

He threw a look at the tables around, and you pointed to the one where Tech was visibly waiting for you, waving when he noticed you looking at him.

“Is it…Is it him?”

“It is indeed,” you fondly smiled.

“Well, at least he got some taste in dresses and women,” he conceded, visibly surprised by his “intellectual” look. But you couldn’t care less, because he didn’t had Wrecker’s body, or Hunter’s features; but he had soft shapes and sweet lips, he knew everything there was to know, and even more, because he loved learning almost as much as he loved you.

You grabbed your drinks and started walking away, only turning around to slide a little “Glad you recognise it” before returning to your table. When you pushed his glass in front of him, Tech gently grasped your hand.

“Thank you for the drink,” he glanced at your body, a little something lightening his eyes, “and for buying that dress. You really are the prettiest.”

“I couldn’t be that pretty if I didn’t have you to tell me all about cloths, you know.”

“Love, you could wear sheets and you’d still be the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

You slightly bent over, bringing his hand close to your lips, kissing his knuckles as a thank you. There was a brief silence, Tech analysing every inch of your face, so focused on the curves of your lips and the shape of your eyes that he stopped talking.

And you heard it. The soft music playing in a corner of the room. When you looked behind Tech, you noticed a jukebox, and a few people dancing. You got up, pulling on Tech’s arm to drag him with you to that part of the room. He tried to protest, but the way you moved in that dress, how it fell oh so delicately on your knees… He couldn’t resist.

He grabbed your waist, offering you a soft kiss on the cheek as you started swinging in rhythm, left, right, left, right, and a turn. In a second, you were barely touching his hand, and then you were pulled against him, spinning round until you crushed in his arms.

He chuckled, bewitched by your smile, your movements, and you could tell he only had eyes for you. Truth be told, he was all you could focus on too. Nothing could take your attention off your guy, because nothing could equal his lovely smile or the soft kisses he landed on your lips every time he pulled you against him before letting you spin away in rhythm.

“Cyar’ika, tell me all about dance.” You asked, panting a bit.

“Well, you have to be more precise, because there are a lot of dances out there,” he laughed, and you felt your heart melting at the warmth of his voice.

“Then tell me about all of them. Tell me about this one,” and you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing slowly to calm your racing heart.

“This one would be a form of slow dancing, quite far from the twists and swings you did earlier,” he confessed in your ear, making you shiver. “but initially it was a- well, it depends of the planet actually, but it was originally a ritual to make official a relationship between different people.”

“So if you danced with someone, it meant you had a certain relationship with them?”

He firmly grabbed your waist, lifting you for a few seconds as he turned round.

“Exactly, it meant you shared a profound bond with them, that you were able to get comfortable with them being very close to you…”, he let you spin away from him, “or very far.”

You proudly smiled at him, letting go of his hand and taking a step back. He understood what you intended to do and grounded himself, catching you up without any problem as you run into his arms.

“Well,” you muttered in the crook of his neck, “I don’t want to be far from you, smart boy.”

“And I don’t want you away from me, pretty girl.”

You lifted your head to look at his eyes, filled with love and appreciation. The music stopped as you filled the gap between the two of you, kissing him with the same energy you had dancing. You could feel him smiling against your lips, carrying you like you weighted nothing until you let go, sliding back onto your feet.

You kissed him once again, a gentler contact, taking your time to memorize the shape of his mouth, the soft touch of his hands on your hips, the smooth tone he used to tell you how fitting this dress was.

Yeah, nothing could compare to your guy, your Tech.

Wrecker: You Aksed Me To Be Yours – The Tymes (972 words)

You knew the mission was rough when Wrecker struggled to give you a full smile as you entered the cockpit. He was sitting there, all alone, and your heart got tight when you heard his low “hi, mesh’la”.

“You want to talk about it?”

He refused with a shake of his head, visibly upset.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No, I want you to stay. I- I need company.”

You quietly nodded, offering your hand to him, which he held close to his heart. You kissed the top of his head, softly rubbing his check with your free hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself rest on the embrace, taking a long, deep breath.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, “t’was a long day without you.”

“I’m here now.”

The remark made him smile a bit, as he realised that you were indeed here with him. He pulled you closer to him to hug you, straightening in his seat so you wouldn’t have to bend too much to snuggle in his arms.

“You smell good. You always smell good, it’s amazing.”

You slightly blushed, letting out an amused sigh. Even when things went wrong, he always found something positive to comment on. People usually looked at him as the “big dummy”, but you knew how sensitive and emotionally invested he really was, under all the muscles and loud exclamations.

“Do you think we could, like…get up for a bit?” he asked, hesitant.

“Sure, everything’s fine?” You let go of his grip and helped him get up. He wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Yeah, t’s’all fine,” he murmured, “I just wanted us to stand.”

You rubbed his back, slow movements tracing imaginary lines and shapes against his blacks. He let out a sigh, tired yet satisfied. You felt the upper part of his body move; slightly at first, rocking from one side to the other. When he felt you following his lead, and with the absence of any question or remarks, he marked a more regular pace in his balancing.

You started humming, lips barely touching the skin on his neck, your warm breath tickling him until a light shiver shook his back. You left kisses, here and there, still humming the song you heard on the radio earlier that day. It was a beautiful ballad, something sweet about love and closeness. You found parts of Wrecker in the lyrics, and knew you’d have to sing it to him.

It wasn’t the first time Wrecker did something like that. Usually he would do it before going to bed, or after a long time away from you. He would grip you tight, whispering soft words to your ear, telling you how much he missed you, how pretty you were, how lucky he felt to have you in his life. But this time, you wanted to make that first move.

“I see that love is there, so real and so true…”

You felt his fingers tighten, then relax. The rocking slowly turned into a dance, moving step by step, never following a precise direction. Your voice was a balm to him, healing the wounds no one could see, covering his heart with warmth and love.

He slightly let go of you, just enough to dive into your eyes, scrutinizing the details in your iris, the way light reflected on them, adding to the sparkle they usually carried. You could see how his attention shifted from your eyes to your lips, then your eyes again, and the delicacy in his silent ask. You gave him your most heartfelt smile, and he leaned toward you, kissing you in a tender, desperate way, as if something or someone would come in at any moment and rip you both away from each other.

You let his tongue meet yours, dancing the way your bodies were. His hands left your waist, raising to cup your face and pulls you even closer to him. You held his wrists, preventing him from pulling away, savouring the taste of love coming out of his mouth.

He only broke the kiss when he truly needed to breathe, deeply inhaling and exhaling. You couldn’t stop a chuckle, to which he grinned.

“I know, I know…”

“How do you expect to kiss me if you faint?”

“I don’t know!” he laughed, his nose wrinkling in such a lovely way. You could read through him like an open book, and now you just knew he was contemplating how beautiful, and soft, and delicate you were. “I don’t know, I just want you. I want to hold you, and kiss you, and dance with you all night.”

You pecked his scarred cheek, nodded in approval.

“Then let’s dance all night, and hold onto each other, and kiss you breathless.”

He relaxed the tension in his shoulders, visibly happier than when you arrived.

“Can you sing that song again? I really liked it.”

His eyes gleamed with happiness when you took back where you stopped. You couldn’t tell if you got all the lyrics right, but it didn’t matter to Wrecker. You were here, ready to spend the whole night on your feet just to make him feel better, and it was already working so well. But he never told you so, too content to hug you and kiss you and feel you.

And you, of course you knew. But you played along, because you loved him so dearly, so profoundly that you could spend every night in this cockpit, humming and swinging with him, as long as you could feel his breath on your neck, his hands stroking your hair and your back, his lips pressing against your skin, where he knew he could get a shiver from you.

“Thank you, cyar’ika.”

“Anything for you, ner Wrecker.”

Anything for you.

________________

I hope you guys enjoyed it; it's really not the angsty stuff I was supposed to work on (that I will do now) but I guess I just had a soft spot for the boys tonight and the songs I listened to didn't help getting over this idea!

#the bad batch fic #tbb fic #crosshair x reader #echo x reader #hunter x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #soft batch #soft tbb #sw writing #mesa writes #the bad batch writing #Soft Hour for the Boys

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midsummersky · 6 years

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OOR magazine interview: Arctic Monkeys To the moon and back

Major Turner to ground control! From his Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino on the moon Alex Turner observes the digital human. He does that like no one else, the space cowboy from Sheffield. The sublime sixth album of Arctic Monkeys creeps up on the listener just as gracious as a feline predator. The sound is miles away from unruly, bouncy indie jewell Whatever People Say I Am That’s What I’m Not, the band’s debut record. A better reference would be Everything You’ve Come To Expect (2016), the second album of The Last Shadow Puppets. Turner’s side project happily flows into the waters of Arctic Monkeys. And vice versa. The one thing we’re absolutely sure of: as always, whenever that nifty Turner turns up, something peculiar is bound to happen. In the 11-song tracklist of Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino, one by one wonderfully melodic pieces, this magisterial word artist presents himself as the best writer of lyrics of his generation.

By Tom Engelshoeven // Photography: Zackery Michael

We’re not allowed to know anything beforehand. Not even the album title. Listening to the songs is allowed though. In a room of the Town Hall Hotel in London, a lady from Domino record company informs me that the new album has been recorded, mostly, in Paris and that Alex Turner is extremely involved in the production process. Then the 32-year-old singer enters the room in expensive designer clothing, including a military jacket carrying his name TURNER on the chest pocket. His shoulder-length hair is tied back in a short ponytail. And the goatee which has gotten an earful from the internet. You may think he’s lost his cool, but there’s little to notice about that in our conversation. In the hour that follows Sheffield’s most famous son, currently residing in Los Angeles, tries to carefully and accurately explain his thinking methods. In that attempt, he shows a pleasant kind of openness. He often loses his words, resulting in long quiet pauses in which he searches for the right way of explaining, yet there isn’t one second where I get the idea that he actually tells me everything he knows.

– So, France. In La Frette? Yeah, La Frette is the name of the studio, but also of the town, La Frette-sur-Seine.

Surprisingly enough the internet is buzzing with rumours. It was often said that you would be working at some mysterious location. You’d been spotted in Sheffield, but Paris had never been mentioned. It was a secret! I almost recorded a Shadow Puppets record in that studio, but we didn’t get to it. The producer had already come over to Los Angeles for a recording session, prior to this one. Now it was our turn to fly over to Europe.

You mean James Ford? Yes. I started writing and recording this album in my own little homestudio in LA. We took those recordings to a real studio where we continued working on them wth James and the rest of the band. In September we made our way to the studio in La Frette to really tie it all together and finish it.

How long did that take you altogether? About five weeks. In the first two weeks it was just us, the band, to rehearse everything. After that James Ford and some other friends came in to play as well. We all stayed in La Frette and only sometimes got out to spend a weekend in London. The previous Monkeys record we made in a very different way. Back then, we all lived in LA, spent the day in the studio and then went home in the evening. Obviously this time it was not like that. Back then, we were all in a town in the midst of farmlands in Lincolnshire. Doing everything together: getting up, having breakfast, dining out.

Did spending all that time together in La Frette result in a different kind of record from the one you had in mind at the start of recording? No, to be honest it didn’t change that much. I already did a lot before we started, so it didn’t deviate that much.

– If I had to find an adjective for this new record, it would be ‘elegant’. It’s not music that bangs on your door, but songs which creep up on you like predatory animals. That was exactly how I wanted it to sound. I can’t disagree with you, I can see how you’ve managed to draw that conclusion. I guess your next question is going to be ‘why’?

Maybe in contrast to your previous album? AM was heavily based on hiphop beats. The guitar really took up the spotlight back then, but this new record sounds much more like a piano record. A piano in an old nightclub with those red, velvet curtains. It’s good to hear you describe it like this. Maybe you’re even better at that than I am. But perhaps I can give an explanation for how we’ve gotten to this red, velvet carpet? Did you say a tapestry on a wall? I like the idea that this album sounds like a wall of velvet tapestry. Yeah, that’s rad. For the first time, I wrote everything on the piano. When I was young, I played a bit of piano before I got to the guitar. But to be honest with you, I was never that good at it. I remember getting that guitar for my 15th birthday, I slept with it in my bed that night. I was constantly busy noodling around on it. Such a relationship I’ve never had with the piano, but I was able to play a couple of chords. For the past couple of years, I’ve visited a lot of studios and spaces where there was a piano available. More and more often I sat down at them and when I turned 30 I got one from my manager, a good friend of mine: a Steinway Vertegrand.

You’re singing about it twice on this album, if I’m correct: ‘Back there by the baby grand’ in One Point Perspective, and ‘It stays between us, Steinway and his sons’ in album closer The Ultracheese. That’s right, suddenly that piano became the epicentre of my small room. And there I was. The more I was sitting there, the more my fingers slipped to various places. A kind of character was born in my head. That way I convinced myself to start writing songs again.

You became a piano man? Exactly.

– From the first two songs, Star Treatment and One Point Perspective, a character starts to grow. I’m wondering, are those songs perhaps about your future as a singer: a scenario that’s looming in the future? Once upon a time you used to be that extremely promising young lad, but on here you sound like an artist singing about his bygone days. It starts with looking back.

Yes, that excellent first line: ‘I just wanted to be one of the strokes’. That was really how I looked at it back then. Star Treatment was the very first song I wrote for this album. In that song, as I hear it these days, there is a lot of uncertainty. It’s almost a song about an attempt to write a song. I’m lost somewhere, no idea whereabout. I’m reflecting and suddenly thinking: ‘here I am right now, and long ago, I used to be there’. That theme and that tone, it reaches past this one song and continues on the whole record.

You just wanted to be one of The Strokes? You could explain that as not so respectful towards The Strokes, though that was absolutely the last thing I meant to say with it. I just told myself. Just two minutes ago, or so it feels like it, I was standing in the crowd for one of their gigs and I thought I wanted to be in a band. And now I’m here and searching for something to write about. That feels very confusing: what do I want to express? And when I’ll know, how the fuck am I going to say it? Without it sounding washy. That’s the puzzle which sparked writing Star Treatment. The title is, of course, a play on words with a two-sided meaning. In that time and place, I had already thought about what the album was gonna be called: The Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino. It’s a place on the moon. I fantasised about writing a commercial text for a hotel and casino on the moon. In that case ‘The Star Treatment’ would have been the ultimate slogan! I can already visualise the commercial in my head. I love those commercial visuals for hi-fi devices from the 70s. Highlighted just like that, accompanied by neon lettering. Yeah, if I had to create and advertisement for a hotel, I would definitely put ‘Star Treatment’ in there. But it also comes from a different place.

My dad used to tell me, on evenings where the sky was really clear and we were outside together, how far away those stars were from us. I’ve hear him say that a hundred times. I thought it was so fascinating, again and again I asked him ‘tell me again!’. Then he would point out the brightest star and say: you’re not seeing the light of that star as it shines right now, but like it was many years ago. That light took all those years to reach your eyeball. And then he would explain how fast that light had travelled to blind me. It blew me mind.

Just like how one second you wanted to be one of The Strokes and then another you’re sitting here. To be honest, I still want to be one of the strokes.

That ‘golden boy’ who’s in bad shape you’re singing about on Star Treatment, that’s you then? That confused character who doesn’t know whether he’ll ever write again. Yeah, more or less. I believe I stole that ‘golden boy’ description from Leonard Cohen.

In One Point Perspective you’re also singing: ‘A singer must die’. Also from Cohen. That’s why I thought were singing about the future of a star or a singer. The unavoidable moment where he’s stuck in The Tower Of Song. I put that line by Cohen in the lyrics because he died in the week of the American elections. I don’t think we need to talk about the historic impact of those days. There was a real feeling of despair in the air, like: this is the beginning of the end. Everyone was so upset, scared of the future. And then to top it off, Leonard Cohen passed away! That’s the feeling I’m reporting on in the song, that the Apocalypse had become a priority. ‘A singer must die’ was the most beautiful way to work Cohen into the song without having to drop his name.

– If I had to view the album from a helicopter’s perspective… Drone! Haha, I really think drone recordings ruin everything. Every time I see an aerial shoot I just know it was a drone that did that. It’s just not cool. I’m sorry for interrupting, keep going.

… then I had to say this record is about the USA, about how computers and machines direct our lives, the language of the digital era and sir Trump. I have tried so hard to keep him out of this.

Well, there’s a song called Golden Trunks. Yes, he finds his ways to sneak in. He’s very skilled in that area. He’s getting enough air time as it is, and I didn’t want to grant him anymore. Now it’s just one verse that’s about him. But look, he’s even entered our conversation!

You’re singing: ‘Leader of the free world reminds you of a wrester wearing tight golden trunks’. And still, something kept me from confronting him. It’s become a sort of competition: who’s got the most witty way to say something extremely denigrating about him? That competition is absolutely going nowhere, except again it’s about him.

In that song Four Stars Out Of Five you’re observing how we’re constantly letting our lives be led by digital devices. Like, there’s a nice restaurant on the internet, oh Gosh four stars, we need to go there. You’re also singing about the digital age in The World’s First Ever Monster Truck Front Flip: ‘The exotic sound of data storage, nothing like it first thing in the morning / You push the button and we do the rest’. How the young and hip are being herded like sheep. And the words that help them: ‘start your free trial today’. Everything you just mentioned is so present in our daily lives, it’s impossible to ignore. I found it quite hard to dig up some poetry from that. It took me a while before I succeeded. The simple fact that I was writing about stars and science fiction has helped me. Science fiction is a recurring theme on this record.

One number is even called Science Fiction. You’re almost ridiculing that genre a little bit. Yeah. Namely because science fiction is really funny most of the time. I just can’t help it. It’s so fascinating to me how writers of sci-fi books keep making up new worlds to comment on their own worlds. Essentially, that’s wat happens most of the time. I realised I am partaking in this as well. You’re inventing this Moon Casino thing to be able to talk about Facebook. Not that I’m actually talking on Facebook.

Science fiction is easily outdated though. That’s something really amusing as well. On the news, everyone was raving on about 1948. Like, now it seems like it really is fucking 1948! It was so funny, I had to put it in Star Treatment. Everyone saying it’s fucking 1948. But a lot of the lyrics on this record are inspired by a book I read, Amusing Ourselves To Death by Neil Postman. I can’t remember when I first heard about it but when I read that title, I immediately thought: this is what you have to read in the modern age. Even though, it’s practically written when television was the most dominant factor in our lives. Postman argues how that time – but I think also ours – bears much more resemblance to Brave New World by Aldous Huxley than to 1948. Because in Brave New World people are letting themselves be molded by something they have called onto themselves and not by a power from outside, like in 1948. That was the point I wanted to make.

Something else I took form that book was the idea concept of the information-action ratio. Like, what actions are to be expected when people are being fed information. I read Amusing Ourselves To Death around the time of the presidential elections. Retroactively, I thill think of it as an interesting read. It really hit the bull’s-eye for me. In that time, I was fanatically keeping up with the news, I’m laying off that a bit for now.

According to our conversation, it appears as if you made a really politically-themed record but rather than that, you’re describing your life as of right now without really judging at all. Yes, I think it is really important to preserve a sense of discretion. Good writing stills are based on the ability to suggest. You don’t need to provide a roadmap, but you do need a sense of humour. That is important, yes.

I laughed out loud at the line ‘swamp monster with a hard-on for connectivity’ in Science Fiction. It reminded me of all those people working in IT who really do pay their bills with their ‘hard-ons for connectivity’. What’s also funny is that character from Batphone who introduces a perfume called Integrity. ‘I sell the fact that I can’t be bought’. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if one day I would drive past a billboard advertising a perfume called Integrity. It feels like it already exists in this world. The rest of the song just wrote itself.

One of the reasons it took you so long before this album was born, was because the other members of the band suddenly became fathers. You didn’t, obviously, but has that changed your view on the world? Has it changed you guys as a band? Yeah, because they need to take care of their kids now! The real scope of the impact is yet to be defined. Touring around when everyone has got families at home, it’s something we haven’t done yet. Well, no. Nick [O’Malley, bass] had a boy when we were still touring around with AM. All the other babies have been born after that. How it has influenced our life on the road, I wouldn’t know yet. I think they’re more capable of answering than I am. But parenthood has had absolutely no negative impacts on our spending time in the studio. We had a fantastic time. Because of all those family happenings we hadn’t seen each other as often as we would’ve liked. But there was a great lot of enthusiasm, energy and excitement when we were in France. It’s just that sometimes they were facetiming with their kids.

– Your previous album was very much about lust from the perspective of someone at the end of his twenties. ‘I want that woman in my hotel room tonight!’ It’s the complete opposite of the baby monitor life of a young dad. A friend once told me: I’d love it if you wrote something else than ‘I love you, you love me, why’d you only call me when you’re high, blahblahblah’ for once. That was when I thought: I’d like try because I had never done that before. On our last Puppets record I detached myself from that image, it was already lessening. Not that shit anymore about a girl in a hotel room and I want to meet you. That’s how I got to the songs The Dream Synopsis and Sweet Dreams, TN. I’d never walked the road of love that far along. Maybe I even exaggerated on purpose. It caused a definite fracture with the past, which pleases me.

Lovesongs become cheese really quickly, that’s just the way it is. The closing number which is also about love, is called The Ultracheese and appears to not contain a single hint of irony. Is it hard for you to ignore the irony factor? Well, one of the many things Cohen teaches you is that he’s prepared to take time to deliver his message. The more songs you hear from him, the more you discover who he really is. It’s a large scala of oeuvre which makes that clear. Listening to his songs, but also his commentaries, has encouraged me to take my time. Not just in terms of working pace. You can also take the time to spread out your message over one whole record, or maybe even several records. A few nice punchlines here and there, that’s all right. But I don’t really feel that urge anymore to wrap all the things I have to say up in one short moment. This insight is relatively new to me.

How much of The Last Shadow Puppets has actually flowed on in this Arctic Monkeys record? The fundamental difference between both projects us that The Puppets are based on a partnership between me and Miles Kane. That’s the distinction, but lyrical-wise I’m less and less thinking about what project I’m writing for. Back in the days, it was very much like: now I’m doing The Puppets, then The Monkeys, then The Puppets and when that’s done, the Monkeys again. In the meantime, we’ve come to a point where AM somewhat started resembling the last Puppets record. I had already been working on the piano loop for Star Treatment when I was writing Everything You’ve Come To Expect. That was when it all started to become more intertwined.

There has been a lot of speculation about this new album, maybe causing a lot of pressure on you. Was that difficult for you to handle? That’s mainly part of a world I try not to stick my hands in. If I had heard anything about it, I might’ve been more worried. But I don’t really have any social media, so I’m not entirely conscious of it. I do feel that people have been looking forward to this record a lot because, since I’ve left the UK, people keep asking me: when is that record gonna come out? That level. But it’s not as if I’m looking at my phone every other minute.

Your girlfriend Taylor Bagley was trying to pick a fight with some fans, saying ‘he doesn’t do it for any of you cunts, he does it for himself’. Does that even reach you or not at all? No it doesn’t, I try to stay out of it on purpose. In any case, it doesn’t bother me with making music.

Is that maybe why you’ve thought up a hotel and casino? To escape everything? The idea to name a record after a place comes from how I feel about albums I really love. An album like that really is like a destination to reconnect with yourself. I so urgently wish I could rent an apartment on Dion’s Born To Be With You, an all-time favourite of mine. I’d pack my bags this instant and just leave for a while. I told you about that room with the piano in LA, right? At my place we call that room The Lunar Surface. It’s from that rumour how Stanley Kubrick just staged the whole moon landing in his basement. Every time I sat down to work on songs in my basement, I thought: he’s gonna come down to fake the moon landing any time now. That’s how the moon entered the story. And the calm, thanks to an Apollo mission.

Is Taylor a muse for you? For years now, you’ve surrounded yourself with models and great women. What kind of influence did those women have on your music? Is she my muse, you’re asking? Living together with Taylor brought stability to my life, giving me courage to talk about certain things on this record. It’s a conclusion a friend of mine came to when I played a couple of new songs for a few friends on the piano. He told me: your life is so much more stable than some years ago when you had AM. An understandable conclusion, but whether it’s the absolute truth and whether everything really is that black and white, I’m not sure of. Because songs are not always an exact depiction of how your world is at that moment. •

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #am #tbhc #tranquility base hotel & casino #am interview #oor magazine #mine #GODDDDDDDD I'M DONE #again if you see any mistakes please let me know!!#it's extremely lengthy so i might've missed some and i'm happy to correct!

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