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thisaintascenereviews · 2 months

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Art Of Anarchy - Let There Be Anarchy

Serious question, does anyone remember the hard-rock band Art Of Anarchy? This band’s name was really familiar to me when I saw their new album, Let There Be Anarchy, and after some research, turns out these guys have been around since the mid 2010s, and they’re a supergroup composed of former members of Guns ‘N Roses, Creed, Sons Of Apollo, and Stone Temple Pilots, but not at the same time. The band’s had a rotating and inconsistent lineup of vocalists, first having the late Scott Weiland on their debut, and then Scott Stapp on their second album, but finally landing on Sons Of Apollo singer Jeff Scott Soto (guitarist Ron “Bumblefoof” Thal was in that band with Soto as well). I’ve listened to their 2017 sophomore album with Stapp, entitled The Madness, since listening to their newest album, and it’s a good album. It’s been seven years since that record, but it looks like Soto has been part of the band since 2020. I can wonder what took them so long to drop a new album, but COVID-19 might have a lot to do with that.

Terrible and amateurish artwork aside, I was curious to listen to this, especially when I’ve been looking for some solid hard-rock / heavy metal. The length made me a bit scared, as this album clocks in at 52 minutes, but for all I knew, the length could be justified. After listening to this album a handful of times, I would say that it is, although it’s not quite a perfect album. I like this album, but I don’t quite love it, as it does have a few problems that prevent me from really loving it. It’s still worth hearing if you want a good hard-rock album, but it won’t quite blow your mind or change the way you think about the genre. There’s still a lot on here to appreciate (even though the artwork is really bad).

The band kind of changed their sound for this album a little bit, and the reason why this album’s length is justified is because it seems like adding Soto brought a progressive-metal influence to their sound (as Sons Of Apollo is a prog-metal supergroup). The first song on this album is almost 8 minutes long, but it’s this prog-rock / hard-rock track that never feels pretentious or self-indulgent, and it has some cool riffs and solos that keep the song engaging. What’s interesting is that this album switches between two modes — longer prog-influenced songs and shorter and more straight-forward hard-rock cuts. The album doesn’t feel disjointed because of it, because the riffs and solos sound pretty similar, but one of the big problems I have with this album is that some of the hooks just aren’t memorable. Soto is a good vocalist, but the hooks don’t really hit the way they should, at least on certain tracks, but that is because they lean into their progressive side a lot.

If you want a hard-rock album with some prog leaning sounds, and that sort of lean too far into it but without becoming pretentious, you’ll enjoy this. They take themselves out of it from time to time, and a handful of tracks are more are straightforward hard-rock cuts, such as “Vilified.” This song is a perplexing one, because the song itself is more or less a straightforward hard-rock cut, but this song brings up the other main problem I have with this album — its lyrics are very questionable at times. “Vilified” is a track that’s about people who are misunderstood in some way being vilified by society, and one can assume that would mean people of color, LBGTQ+ folks, disabled people, or many other kinds of people that the “mainstream” doesn’t really quite understand. Well, I suppose you can take that from track, but the song has fakes clips of a news reporter (weirdly done by former Queensryche vocalist Geoff Tate)talking about the Joker movie from 2019, and how it’s inspiring people to commit heinous acts. The song, according to actor Cuba Gooding Jr (who appears in the music video) is “not a song, but a statement, a message, and a warning. It is a reflection of the many issues that are being brought to the forefront within our society. Mental illness, mass shootings, institutions, people being demonized without proper information or due process.”

This makes me uncomfortable for a couple of reasons, mainly that the Joker is such a dated and cringy reference (especially with a “we live in a society” type of narration that appears in the song and it’s so funny because of how bad it is), but Gooding Jr has a history of sexual harassment. Him saying that last part makes me think he’s whining about being charged for that, and thinks that he didn’t do anything wrong, even if he doesn’t come out and say it. I can understand the mental illness part, but mass shooters should be vilified, so I don’t know what they’re trying to say there. This song reminds me a lot of “Bad Man” by Disturbed, because there’s a very purposely vague message in these songs that either side of the political spectrum can utilize for their own. I look at “Vilified,” and think of the song as being about minorities and people who are oppressed being vilified by the powers that be, but I can see conservatives look at this song and thinking that they’re being “vilified” for being bigoted. It just doesn’t sit well with me, even though I can ignore the implications of the vagueness of the lyrics.

Most of the lyrics are fine, but they do kind of follow the same formula of not saying anything interesting or pointed, so they’re not about anything at all. The lyrics fall to the wayside for me, and it’s kind of a shame, because Soto is a good vocalist, but the hooks and lyrics don’t stick. It’s really the riffs and solos that work quite well, so if you want a hard-rock / metal album with some cool instrumentation, you’ll dig this. The lyrics kind of stink, but they’re not as offensive as they are purposely vague, and like I said in my review of that forgettable Disturbed album from 2022 (that I remember being okay, I haven’t gone back to it since, and its lyrics were bad), the lyrics being vague is almost worse because they can say they’re not being “political” or express favor to one side in particular, but the main difference with this is that the music is actually pretty cool. I wish the lyrics and hooks were better, but it’s okay. I’ve heard a lot worse, and it’s worth a listen, least, but you’re not quite missing anything if you don’t listen to it.

#Art of anarchy #let there be anarchy #rock #metal #heavy metal #hard rock #Jeff Scott Soto #scott weiland #scott stapp #stone temple pilots #creed #guns n roses

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softlystarstruck · 3 years

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✩ softly reading, oct 4 - 10 ✩

hello!! here is the drarry i’ve been reading this week, including a couple of art highlights 🥰

✩ - a fave | 🔥 - hot | purple- reread | blue- self rec

spotlight rec

✩ as honey by @babooshkart [E, art] 🔥🏳️‍⚧️

Draco likes to have breakfast in bed. Harry likes to indulge her.

why i rec this: breaking out of the norm to highlight an artwork this week because OH. MY GOD. this art is so warm and tender and hot. i am a sucker for fem drarry, and boo does it so beautifully here 💕

longer reads

Debts and Desire by Craftybadger1234 [E, 29k]

Harry thinks they are dating. Draco thinks he's serving a life debt. Hilarity ensues.

✩ Weapon of Choice by @lou-isfake [T, 25k]

Sir Malfoy is in need of a sword. The blacksmith isn’t supposed to ask why. [H/D Fan Fair 2021]

✩ Phoenix Repair Services by @carpemermaidtales [E, 20k]

Draco hires a suspiciously private wizarding handyman to fix his kitchen when he returns home to find it destroyed. He expects a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and a pudgy gut to show up. Instead, he gets Harry Potter—with a utility belt and a charming smile—who is more attractive than he has any right to be.

A Perfect Fit by nothing_left_sacred [E, 17k] 🔥

Harry has had to live his life with the curse of being overly well-endowed. Draco has had to live his life with the curse of being hard to please. A Cinderella story, of sorts.

The Virtues of Hygiene and the Binary of Labor by @zoupia [E, 14k] 🏳️‍⚧️

Draco does what he always does every autumn; packs his bag and follows a path back home. This time, Potter just happens to travel the same roads. It never is about the destination. [H/D Fan Fair 2021]

short & sweet (< 10k)

Flower by athousandpagesyettoread [T, 9k]

All the tales say this: Whatever hurt you, be it sickness, heartache, or pain, will bloom on the skin of your soulmate. Draco has been covered head to toe in flowers since he was six years old.

✩ The Exhale by spqr [T, 7.5k]

Nothing is wrong, but Harry starts crying.

ever-giving heart by me [E, 6.1k]

Harry Potter doesn't ask for help, until he does– desperately, standing on Draco's doorstep. Draco doesn't intend to get invested. Really.

✩ Lay Your Weapons Down, Baby by @calypsotempete [E, 6k]

What started as a fight the third night back has turned into a ritual. You don’t talk. You don’t ask questions. You just meet in the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor when one of you gives the other that look. You fight. You call. You leave. And you finally get some sleep.

✩ Kettle by @magpiefngrl [E, 3.3k] 🔥

Draco likes to put up a fight.

✩ Here Comes The Sun by @drarrymybeloved [M, 2.7k]

How do the Potter-Malfoys celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary?

✩ The Silence & The Sound by @nv-md [E, 2k] 🔥

Harry just wants to see his favorite band but Draco is confused as hell and driving Harry to distraction. Our two favorite boys, featuring a concert, a Pansy cameo, and bathroom hand jobs.

✩ Observation by @shealwaysreads [E, 1.1k] 🔥

Surrounded by exquisite mirrors and the echoing reflections of themselves.

pocket-sized (< 1k)

✩ Love habituates by bluedreaming [G, 778 words]

In which the progression of a relationship is revealed via a quartet of text conversations. [H/D Summer Vibes 2021]

art gallery

✩ Bound to Meet Again by @pauleonotis [G]

Some of Harry's smaller kids fell in love with their new teacher. Harry can't wait to meet him, thanking him for making his kids feel safe and happy. [H/D Fan Fair 2021]

✩ sinopia (an underpainting) by @babooshkart [G]

In the sanctuary's high light he stood, with plaster-smudged fingers and brush in hand, and glazed the wall gold. And I watched him painting from between the pews, his lips parted in concentration, and his arms corded in muscle. And I wondered if he touched me, this young god before me, what would happen? [H/D Fan Fair 2021]

✩ Amor Caminus by @creeeee [T]

Local blacksmith, Harry Potter, has been tasked with forging a unique sword for the Prince's upcoming battle. Prince Draco expects to leave with a heavy heart, but his secret suitor has something else in mind. [H/D Fan Fair 2021]

#softly reading october 2021 #softly reading #drarry fic rec

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jigenshat · 2 years

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In your tags you mentioned you think Lupin mirrors Jigen with the smoking and I like the idea. Maybe write something about that, Jigen realizing Lupin’s mirroring or Lupin consciously doing it? Idk, just an idea!

i really loved this idea a lot and its definitely a hc of mine that despite their different personalities, they just can't stop themselves from behaving in the same way because they're hardly ever apart. hopefully this is fun, if a little long! thank you for the idea i enjoyed writing this!!

smoke and mirrors

characters: jigen & lupin

warnings: firearms mention, mild swearing, lots of jigen angst and self doubt, lupin being lupin

word count: 3,203

summary: lupin leaves jigen to fulfil part of a mission on his own, but doesn’t return to help when he’s supposed to. jigen is full of anger at the betrayal but just wants his partner back more than anything.

this is my first lupin iii fic! i really hope you enjoy and if not please leave some honest feedback! requests are open if you do happen to like my writing. i am open to writing anything with the lupin iii characters.

find this on ao3 here

It had been a considerable amount of time the gunman had been confined within the four walls apartment at the top storey of the complex. He questioned whether the passing of time was something he was completely oblivious to by this point. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? It certainly felt like more than any of those. Whichever hour it was, there was always time to light a cigarette and pour another drink. Jigen wandered over to the console which sat below the worn and cracked mirror hanging on the wall. He didn’t dare look up into his own reflection; a man of his conscience was never a pleasant sight. The carton of smokes sat underneath his hat, something he had comfortably taken off knowing he would be alone for a while. He pulled one from the box and placed it between his lips, mumbling as he tapped his pockets to find a lighter. As his hands made their way up to the pockets of his blazer he almost caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and so decided on putting his hat back on, covering his eyes as for that to not happen again. Unable to retrieve a lighter on his person, he hastily grabbed the whole box of cigarettes from the console and headed over to the window where he last indulged in a nicotine haze. Aha! There it was, barely balanced on the window ledge along with a pair of binoculars. It was a surveillance job. Details of who, what, when, where, and why the exchange of the prized artwork was to take place were fuzzy. Actually, neither he nor Lupin had any concrete details.

***

“I would suspect they may meet somewhere around…,” Lupin paused, waving his finger over top of the map laid across the table, “…here,” he continued, finally deciding on a street to point to.

Jigen’s faced dropped as he stared blankly at the side of his partner’s façade hoping for a little more information or explanation as to how he reached a seemingly arbitrary conclusion.

“And you think that based on what?” he poised, raising an eyebrow.

“Jigen,” the leader began, heightening the position of his brow as to echo his partner, “You’re really doubting my mind now? After how many years?”

“Too many.”

The gunman locked eyes with his partner and let out a soft laugh from his crooked half grin. Lupin smiled back, a much cheesier and fuller grin, as was typical.

“These people work like me, they move like me, they think like me,” Lupin began, “To know their plan I only need to think of my own,”

“So what’s the plan?” Jigen retorted, still unconvinced.

The gang’s leader began pacing about the room, explaining details of road blocks, hours of law enforcement presence, points with too many security cameras, crowded areas, streets where the sound of a person’s voice may reverberate in the distance for minutes. Lupin’s monologue ended with a dramatic turn towards his friend before freezing in a pose which appeared to bolster his size tenfold with how vain it was. The world was a stage to Lupin and his partner was begrudgingly the most frequent audience member.

“So you see, Jigen, when you know the streets like this, there becomes only one clear place for this million dollar deal to happen,” He pointed again, now with much more certainty to the same street on the map, “But even I can never be too confident”.

Jigen snorted. As if Lupin had ever been anything other than too confident.

“You will have to stakeout the area from a nearby location and notify me of any suspicious movements so I can get in at just the right time. I’ve used this apartment before. Top floor. Excellent views of the seediest exchanges in the city.”

“You want me to sit on my ass for days on end?”

“You can do whatever you want, as long as it’s within that apartment and you don’t take those pretty little eyes away from the road below” Lupin flicked up the brim of his partner’s hat using his Walther P38 and winked at him. Jigen forced his hat back down over his eyes and scooted his chair backwards in disgust of his partner’s teasing.

“Sure. Anything. As long as it’s far away from whatever this is.” He gestured at Lupin, still with gun in hand, and a shit eating grin plastered across his face.

***

He raised the binoculars to his eyes and peered out of the window to the streets below. An expensive looking car had just pulled up to the front of the hotel on the street he had been observing these last few days. This could be it. While trying to maintain at least one eye on the scene, Jigen grabbed the walkie-talkie perched on the arm of the chair he had spent most of the week sitting on.

“Lupin!” He called, “Lupin come in”. Nothing. “Come on, this could be it!”.

The gunman listened impatiently to any sign of life on the other end. Still nothing.

“I swear if he’s ran off from me, from this mission, for that woman again…”

A large man was escorted from the car by what appeared to be his chauffeur. He wore a monocle and balanced his large frame with the aid of a cane.

“Lupin, you bastard, pick up! It’s him, it’s got to be the guy! And it’s happening now!” He hollered into the receiver of the device, frustration boiling inside him as he began to realise his partner had left him hanging. Jigen eyed the scene one last time, and in seeing the suspect make his way into the hotel with his entourage, threw his jacket on and filled the cylinder of his revolver. Eyeing himself in the mirror, just this once, his saw panic on his face, his pupils constricted and adrenaline pumping through his veins. He grit his teeth and let out a grunt of vexation in the knowledge that this heist was now entirely in his hands since his partner had apparently found something more worthy of his time. He wanted to shoot the reflection staring back at him, punch it, find Goemon and have him slice it into a million tiny shards, anything to release his rage. But time was of the essence. The remaining dregs of scotch were hurriedly swigged down, burning his throat slightly as tension and anguish still prevailed within him. Finally the front door of the apartment was opened, then swiftly slammed shut; Jigen pulled the brim of his hat firmly over his brow and headed out of the complex with his watch ticking at seemingly five times its normal rate.

The streets were dim under the depleting light of dusk, allowing the gunman to run toward the hotel without arousing suspicion from anyone who caught a glimpse of him. Jigen did not believe his face to be trustworthy, and knew the indignation he continued to hold for his missing partner would prevent an encounter with a member of the public from ending well. In truth, he preferred being mobile and facing a heist head on, rather than lurking in the dark and depravity of a dingy apartment. He had full confidence in his marksmanship and physical abilities provided there had not been an injury needing to be recovered from. Despite this, diving head first into a somewhat unknown situation like this without his partner left a looming feeling of dread within the man. The gunman was good, but without Lupin’s sharp mind and arsenal of deception, it would be easy to find weakness in Jigen’s strategies. They were successful and infamous because of their bond, because they reinforced each other’s strengths, and protected their vulnerabilities. They were not opposites, but two sides of the same coin, and each knew the other better than he knew himself.

He attempted to find a back entrance to the hotel where the exchange was almost certainly minutes from getting underway. This would allow him to move more freely, favour timekeeping over arousing concern from the establishment’s innocent patrons. An emergency exit was spotted at the back of the building, surrounded by rats and pests eating away at rotting food disposed of by the business. A handle or other means of opening it could not be seen from the outside. Jigen considered shooting through the lock between the two doors but knew this would sound an alarm. He could not afford to make a scene, it would lose him the opportunity to prove his worth as a lone thief. Besides, he had no idea where the conman’s deal was taking place. He was going to have to go through the front, ask the receptionist as to his whereabouts, use a little deceptive charm normally reserved for his partner. This was not his forte, and the anxiety within the gunman began to skyrocket.

Patting and brushing his suit as he made his way to the grand entrance of the hotel, Jigen could not help but feel a sudden concern for his partner. Where had he got to? It was not like Lupin to miss an opportunity like this, it would be an easy taking for him. Was it that he’d been apprehended during the stakeout? It couldn’t be, and even if it was, he was more than capable of evading the hands of anyone. The heist had to be carried out, the gunman decided.

“I’ll rescue him right away,” he thought “and have the prized painting all ready for him. Perhaps I’ll even get a greater cut this time.”

Stepping into the entrance, Jigen once again found himself faced with his reflection in a grand mirror that decorated the lobby. His suit was sharp, expensive, his shoes shined and clean, but he did not have the façade to match the clientele of the establishment. With the brim of his hat drawn over his eyes, he radiated an air of uncertainty and suspicion. The gunman closed his eyes and sighed, as he begrudgingly removed his signature fedora. Still without meeting his own gaze, he combed through his hair with his fingers, neatly tucking any stray strands behind his ears. He opened his eyes, and respectfully raised his hat towards his chest. Attempting to deflect from his deepening dark circles and overall sullen expression, he opened his eyes wide and donned as innocent and approachable a smile as he could muster.

“Excuse me ma’am,” he began as he approached the check in desk, “I was due to meet an old friend here about 15 minutes back, however I just missed him and my mind has drawn a blank as to his room number, could you perhaps h–“.

“Ah, of course, Mr. Fleming- excuse me, Sir Fleming informed me you would be here,” the receptionist explained, fiddling in a nearby drawer before pulling out a key, “Suite number 7. Second to top floor. There aren’t many rooms there so you should find it easily.” She continued, handing Jigen the key, “Do you have any luggage? I can have someone escort it u–“.

“No, nothing,” the gunman responded abruptly, confused and bothered as to why the mission had suddenly become eerily simple, “But thank you for the offer”. He began to turn away and head toward the elevator.

“Sir, if you require anything please dial ‘1’ from the suite’s telephone!” She called out to him. Jigen turned, seeing her brandishing a beaming smile. He did not return the gesture, and full of haste hopped into the elevator.

All sides of the grandiose box he was confined to were ceiling to floor with sparkling clean mirrors. Not a speck of dust to hide a single pore or blemish. The gunman was looking at himself from all angles, 12 reflected clones waiting impatiently for him to decide on a plan. He only had until the doors opened.

“There must be someone actually coming,” he thought “,now I have even less time than I started with. If Lupin had simply did his fair share of the work I wouldn’t be here right now, we’d probably already have the canvas. That bastard!”. In his anguish, he was back to resenting his partner’s absence. Unable to deal with the glares of a dozen gunmen encircling him, Jigen thrust his hat back on, covering as much of his face as possible without completely losing vision.

The elevator ground to a halt and the doors slid open. Pacing as steadily as his nerves would allow him, he headed down the corridor.

“Suite 7. Suite 7. Suite 7,” he repeated, “I am the buyer. I always have been the buyer. I am going to buy the painting with money. Money that I do definitely have on me right now. I could always give him an IOU. Do underground criminals take IOUs? Would I take an IOU?”. He was finally at the door. He decided to knock to announce his presence before using the key to let himself in. Jigen’s play was about to begin.

“Sir! Sir Fleming!” He began as he strode into the opulent suite, forcing as much confidence and theatrics into his actions as he could, “What a pleasure it is to finally be of your acquaintance!”. The gunman held his arms open, and strained to allow his visage to seem as friendly and non-threatening as possible. It could all be for nothing. Maybe the man already knew who the real buyer was. Perhaps he’d be shot down in an instant. As he lowered his arms, he made sure his revolver was in prime positioning to be pulled from its holster at any moment. He was married to the weapon, regularly exploring both its exterior and insides, even a slight brush over its metallic surface was enough for Jigen to know everything was in order.

“No, no,” the man sat across the room on the lavish couch responded. The gunman’s heart froze. No was not a good word. Not now. “Not at all, the pleasure is all mine.” He continued, getting up from his seated position. Jigen’s sigh of relief must have felt like a gale force wind.

“Are you out of breath?” The man poised to the supposed buyer, “You needn’t have rushed. Plenty of time. Let’s have a drink and toast to this exchange!” Supported by his intricately decorated cane, the seller made his way over to the cellarette. “Is bourbon much to your taste?”. If he was going to meet his maker in this hotel, at least he’d have the sharp poison of an expensive, sweet whiskey flowing through him to numb the pain of failure.

“Perfect.” responded the thief, making his way closer to the dealer. He gently received the glass of liquor and toasted to prosperity with the old man. He still had no definitive idea of how he would work this out, and improvising a character he had not yet made up on the spot was to prove difficult.

“So, this is certainly a fancy suite, huh?” He forced himself to make small talk. Despite his shortcomings in communication, he had to bide time to think of a solution. Unease building inside him, the gunman let out a nervous laugh from his crooked smile. The dealer shot a wide grin and chuckled.

“These quarters will seem rather mundane once we fulfil this contract.” He replied, giving into Jigen’s attempt to make conversation, still smirking. The two men raised their glasses to take a drink in unison. The older man guided his buyer over to the seating area. Jigen sat down, attempting to feign a relaxed composure, crossed his legs, and lifted his arm to rest on the back of the couch. After wandering off into the next room for a brief moment, the dealer returned with the esteemed artwork and placed it on the coffee table. He sat on the chair opposite his client, paralleling his seated position with one leg flung over the other. Some details were exchanged about how the piece had been transported and secured before the dealer suggested the buyer examine it. The gunman reached down to peel back the paper covering the canvas but was met with Sir. Fleming’s hand.

“Allow me” insisted the older gentleman, as Jigen reluctantly returned his hand to his person. He did not know a great deal about art, but he had seen enough in his time. It was an obvious forgery. The piece was in the style to suggest it should be around 200 years old, but the paint was as fresh as the parchment it was encased in. Someone had haphazardly tried to age it, shaving certain details where the texture was more pronounced, but they must have been paid a pittance since it was a terrible attempt. Unsure of how to make clear his knowledge of the deception, the thief held back from any mention and instead complimented the man on the work.

Wanting to find time to gather his thoughts and devise his next move, Jigen got up and turned his back to the dealer. He reached into the pocket inside his jacket and pried a cigarette from the carton. As he patted around the rest of his pockets for a lighter, he could smell that the older man had also decided to light up.

“God!” Thought Jigen, “this man is copying my every move as if he knows me better than I know myself! Is this some pathetic attempt at empathy? Establishing a rapport? Maybe he hopes I won’t mention the more than dubious quality of the painting”. He turned 180º back to face the man. As he reached his point, his breath hitched as the brim of his hat was flicked up by the barrel of a gun.

“Need a light, partner?” giggled an all too familiar voice.

“Lupin! You bastard!” He shouted, now seeing his friend’s face on the body of the old man he had been conversing with. Lupin continued to snigger as his gun was knocked out of his hand.

“How I missed those pretty eyes!” The leader sneered, grin plastered across his chimp like face from ear to ear, “I was dancing with you, following your lead and you didn’t even notice. Thought that was a downfall you only had with women”.

“Do you have any idea of the pressure I was under? I thought you were gone! Off with Fujiko somewhere or God forbid had been captured!”

“Jigen,” Lupin began, taking a long drag from his cigarette, and handing the remainder to his partner, “have I ever let you down?”.

“Well toying with me for the past hour comes to mind when you mention let down!”

“Come on! This isn’t some 9 to 5, I’m allowed to have a little fun, and you too if you even understood what it was!”.

“Lupin, you are such a bastard!”, Jigen exclaimed ignoring his partner’s light hearted jabs, “but I am so glad to see you I didn’t kn–“

“Hey! Story time can wait until later, now we have to wait for the real deal to go down. With both of us here, the artwork and the cash will be in my collection by midnight!”

#this was super fun bc my thesis was on mirror neuron theory so this was in the back of my head the whole time #i hope none of this is too ooc maybe i see jigen as more of a depressive than he actually is or perhaps i am completely correct #yea i kinda veered off a lot but it was fun to do a whole thing #lupin iii #lupin the third #jigen daisuke #daisuke jigen #lupin iii headcanons #arsene lupin iii #jigen #lupin x jigen #lupin/jigen #lupin iii writing #fujiko #goemon #mytxt #///

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azurethevampire · 3 years

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Mando’s Lessons to Parenting Special: The Gift

A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

The Mandalorian won the vote for Christmas fic 2020 by one vote so here we are - I hope you enjoy! :)

As there isn't really Christmas in the Star Wars universe I have taken the liberty to play around with Life Day which I see as the closest equivalent to Christmas in the Star Wars universe.

Summary: Life Day is closing in and you are determined to get both The Child and Mando the perfect gifts. The little one's gift is easy enough but the closer the holiday comes the more frustrated you grow as you can't figure out a gift that would be good enough for Mando. But Din Djarin just might give you the best present yet.

Words: 2017

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

"A hundred!?"

"Yes."

"For, for this piece of scrap?!"

The salesperson glared at you at that. "Listen, you aren't happy with my prices-", they yanked the metallic item out of your hands with more force than necessary, "take yourself elsewhere. You're ruining my good day."

You narrowed your eyes and grit your teeth. You had to close your eyes, take a deep breath and force yourself to turn around from the booth - which declared itself as the perfect gift shop - to stop you from entering a shouting match with the salesperson.

How were you ever going to buy a gift for Din Djarin when it seemed every single salesperson in this town had such upscale prices for little pieces of junk?! You didn’t have that much money on you as it was and the last thing you wanted to do was borrow credits from Din. It would have been just plain wrong to use Din’s own money to buy him a gift for Life Day.

“Ugh”, you groaned and kicked a rock out of your path. Why was this so hard now? You had had no trouble finding a gift for the little green monster that you had claimed as your brother. Why was Din’s gift so difficult? It seemed that every single thing that you even considered was either too expensive for you or just wasn’t the right gift.

The sound of something shattering made you look up, eyes widening. Seeing that the stone you had kicked had hit a clay pot in front of a home, you halted and then groaned.

You thought about turning around. It didn't seem like anyone had noticed you had kicked the rock. You could just turn around, run from the scene and continue your gift searching.

But you couldn't do it; even if it weren’t for the hands that suddenly landed on your shoulders you most likely would have gone up to the house and apologized to its owner for breaking their property.

"I hope you didn't do that on purpose, kid."

You craned your neck backwards to look up at Cara Dune whose hands gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"I didn't", you answered honestly, although there was an underlying tone of bitterness that Cara caught on.

The former mercenary turned sheriff frowned. "Alright, kid, we are gonna go up there and pay for the damage in a moment, but first you are going to tell me what's going on with you."

The woman lifted a finger as you opened your mouth protest. "Ah-ah, before you tell me that 'nothing' is going on, I suggest you take into consideration that I know you kid and this is not you."

You huffed and crossed your arms. "Fine." You said. "I can't find a gift good enough for him."

"Who, Mando?"

"Yeah", you nodded. "Everything I even consider ends up being way too over-prized! I will never find a gift for him in time for Life Day by this rate!"

Cara patted your head. "You take this thing way too seriously kid; have you considered that perhaps the best gift to our friend from you would be something self-made?"

"...self-made?" you repeated, seemingly dumbstruck.

How come you hadn't thought about that? Making something to Din would indeed be a perfect gift! What else could be both affordable and show how much the man meant to you?

Suddenly you grinned and were quick to hug Cara around the waist. "Thank you! You gave me the perfect idea, Cara!"

The former stormtrooper grabbed you by the scruff of your neck when you tried to dash away from her. "Kid, as glad as I am to help you, we had a deal, remember?"

You looked up at her sheepishly. "Sorry. I will go and apologize for breaking the vase."

•-•-•-•-•-•

The Mandalorian had never really celebrated Life Day. Never had any reason to do so.

Now he found himself indulging his two charges and especially the older one. He barely admitted it to himself (he certainly was not going soft) but Din quite enjoyed seeing the way your face lit up when you got the permission to hang up some light strips around the Razor Crest's living area along with some other ornaments you and the kid had managed to dig up from somewhere.

Wanting to give the kids something better on this day that so clearly meant a lot to you, Din had made an effort to buy you all a more festive meal. It was no tip-yip but it was the best substitute he could afford. Of course, he would only watch you and the kid eat and would help himself for whatever his two little troublemakers left for him after you would fall asleep.

"Wow! This is so good!" You exclaimed once you were seated around the table on Life Day eating the meal Din had gotten for you. The child across from you made happy agreeing noises as he munched his own food.

"I'm glad you like it, kids."

"Are you kidding, Mando? This's gotta be the best meal I have had for a while", you said. "You gotta try this!" you insisted, pushing a plate towards the Mandalorian.

Behind the cover of his helmet, Din Djarin grimaced.

He knew that you had not meant anything malicious with those words but it struck him right to his heart for two reasons. One, because he was trying to do his best by both of the kids who had managed to sneak their way into his heart but initially he knew that the life he had to offer you was far from the best you and The Child could have with someone else. Two: you jested to him about his helmet most of the time but lately the jabs meant to be light had only managed to make Din feel bad.

He knew how much he meant to you. For crying out loud, you had accidentally called him dad a while ago - not that you seemed to remember and he wasn't about to remind you even if he sort of wanted to.

You two little rascals had come to mean the world to him, so why couldn't he take his helmet off in front of you?

"Okay!" Your voice interrupted the Mandalorian's train of thought. You sounded both excited and nervous as you pushed your now empty plate away from you. "It's time for the gifts!"

Gifts?!

Dank farrik, I forgot about the presents!

You proceeded to take out two messily wrapped boxes from under the table, one being significantly smaller in size than the other.

The Child tilted his head curiously as you passed him the smaller one. "Happy Life Day, brother", you wished and then helped him unwrap the gift.

It revealed a small metallic ball, much similar to the one from the cockpit that The Child loved to play with, Din noticed. And if the happy babbling noises The Child made indicated anything, he enjoyed his gift.

"And uh… this is for you, Din", you said next, obviously nervous and pushed the larger of the gifts towards the Mandalorian.

His hands automatically wrapped around the package but he didn't open it yet, looking at you instead. "Y/N…" he began, somewhat hesitating. What if you got mad at him for not having a gift in return? "I'm sorry but I forgot about the gifts - I don't have one for you."

"...oh", you said, and Din didn't like the fact that he couldn't make out if it was a disappointed 'oh' or a neutral one. But then a small smile appeared on your face. "It's okay, I- you agreeing to celebrate today with us is a gift enough for me."

No, it is not. It shouldn't be, Din thought but said nothing and only bobbed his head slowly.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" you asked with a frown.

The Child also looked at the Mandalorian with a questioning, almost demanding look. Din Djarin let out a chuckle, slightly altered by his voice modulator. "Alright, kids, I'll open it,” he relented.

What the wrapping revealed made Din Djarin’s eyes sting and his vision blurred a bit. It was not the best artwork he had seen in his life but at the same time, it definitely was the most beautiful one.

You had excelled yourself this time. He wondered how long it had taken you to make this.

From behind his visor, Din looked at three self-made figurines with blurry eyes. They were standing on a small round pedestal made of moss and small rocks. The tallest figure wore an armor resembling his beskar one and was holding a bundle of green with one arm as the other was wrapped around the shoulders of a figurine of a little girl.

On the bottom edge of the rock pedestal was carved one word, a word that Din didn't even know you knew; Aliit.

Family in Mando’a.

Was this the your way of telling him that this was how you saw Din? How you saw the three of you?

Suddenly Din realised that both of the children were looking at him. There had been a smile on your face but as the seconds dragged by and Din hadn’t said anything the smile faded.

“I- I can make you a new one if you don’t-”

“No!” Din said, maybe a bit louder than was necessary, startling both of the kids as you jumped slightly in your seats. “No, Y/N”, he said next, in a gentler tone. “... it’s…” he tried to search for a word that would convey how much this gift had managed to move something inside him but he didn’t know such word, and he cursed himself for it. Instead he reached out and took your hand in his, squeezing it. “Thank you, kid.”

The smile returned to your face and Din felt relief wash over him.

This was how it was supposed to be: his kids were supposed to be happy.

Din carefully lifted the group of figurines from the table. “I know the perfect place for it.”

“Yeah, what is that?” you asked, now curious.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, kid”, Din said, his voice having a playful edge to it.

•-•-•-•-•-•

“Thank you, Din.”

The Mandalorian pushed your hair behind your ear. It was nighttime, and the Child had already fallen asleep in the middle of playing with his new toy. After all these months, Din Djarin still marvelled at how it had become a mundane routine for him to tuck you kids in your beds before laying down himself.

“I should be thanking you, kiddo.”

You frowned. “For what?”

For giving me a family I didn’t know I needed, he thought, but couldn’t make himself to say it. “For showing me the meaning of Life Day.”

“Oh”, you said. You pat his armor-covered arm a few times. “You’re welcome.”

No, this didn’t cut it, Din thought. He should be able to give you something. Something that you would - could - hold valuable. But you would fall asleep soon and the moment would be gone.

Then it struck him.

He could give you the perfect Life Day gift after all. Something that you had wanted as long as you had known him.

“Hey kiddo?” You hummed in response as you had already closed your eyes. “Don’t go to sleep yet. I have something for you.”

“Wh-what?” you mumbled, drowsily opening your eyes again. You pushed yourself to sit and let your eyes fall on the Mandalorian.

For a few seconds, Din Djarin hesitated but then his hands moved to the sides of his helmet.

Your eyes widened as you understood what he was about to do.

And Din Djarin removed his helmet for the first time in front of you, letting you see the face that you had so long been begging to see.

“Happy Life Day, kid”, he said softly.

You teared up and all you could do was to stare at him in the eyes you had dreamed to see on so many occasions.

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4021 Warnings: fluff, mentions of the Holocaust

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Thank you also to Ary (formerly @johnnynunzio) for helping me with information and resources for the history of Romani people during the Holocaust

PART 14 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Walking up the steps to the hospital becomes a little difficult as you zig-zag through groups of people trying not to hit anyone with your umbrella. Under the overhang of the building you shake it out after closing it, hoping the umbrella doesn’t drip too much on the floors as you make your way to the elevator.

It’s been a really wet day but you don’t mind it so much considering all this rain is supposed to bring beautiful flowers next month and the hope of something beautiful is exactly what you needed now.

It hasn’t been the easiest going to work every day. Metro-General is where you first met Billy and now that you’ve broken up it’s all you can think about every time you have to head down to the ER.

Wanda came over that night you got back from work and broke the news that she and Sam spotted Billy with another woman. You insisted on seeing the proof, the pictures being the final push in your decision to end things with Billy.

You admitted how things weren’t the same anymore, his attitude plus lack of caring when you were sick really made you reconsider your relationship. It had been a few days since you spoke to Billy but you wanted to call him out in person, meeting at a coffee shop to discuss things.

Confronting him was easier than you thought but watching him lie to your face was not. You had proof and he still accused you and your friends of lying just to make him look bad. After a small outburst he finally fessed up to seeing the woman named Krista. Billy didn’t tell you how long he had been cheating which pissed you off but you walked away feeling good about ending things.

It didn’t mean that you felt good. You knew that it was Billy’s loss but still, it didn’t feel good to be cheated on. You questioned everything. Was he lying from the beginning? Was work the real reason he had to cancel a few times? All of these questions made you doubt your self-worth.

Your friends were great after your breakup, each one of them there for you, readily offering up a chance to kick Billy’s ass if you let them. You all went out to celebrate how you “took out the trash,” round after round dedicated to your new freedom. But being surrounded by everyone in relationships didn’t make you feel the best, everyone except Bucky.

You might have had a little too much to drink that night and in a tearful drunken cry you might have asked him what was so wrong with you to make Billy cheat.

Bucky might also have had too much as he slurred his answer, but still he was insistent.

“There ain’t nothing wrong about you Y/N. Nothin’. Assholes like Billy treat the world like it belongs to them, like everything is up for the taking, no consequences apply. But he’s wrong and he lost the best thing to ever happen to him. You hear me? You’re the best thing that could happen t’anybody.”

You replay Bucky’s words in your mind as you pass by the nurses’ desk where Billy gave you his card. It was his loss.

Since the breakup you’ve been throwing yourself into work again. Dating Billy wasn’t a mistake, he just wasn’t the right person for you and after careful consideration you decided to chalk up those feelings you might have had towards Bucky towards all the care he gave you when you were sick.

Bucky was your friend and a great one at that and so you made sure to fill your weekends by keeping a promise. You and Bucky began your pizza quest and it has been amazing. Your pants don’t quite agree with you but it’s definitely been worth it.

In between cases you responded to a text from Wanda. The exhibit she had been working on for The Jewish Museum is opening in a few weeks and she wanted to confirm you would be there. Like she really had to ask, of course you would.

Over the last few months she’s been working so hard on this and you couldn’t wait to be there to support her. Everyone was going and Sam made sure to take the day off.

Bucky: You up for a trek to Brooklyn?

The message caught you off guard but still brought a large smile to your face. You replied quickly asking what he was talking about and by the end of your shift it was decided; you and Bucky were going to Brooklyn for pizza.

“I haven’t been here in forever,” Bucky said, while opening the door to Spumoni Gardens for you.

“These better be worth the two transfers Bucky. I am starving!”

You may have exaggerated a little but you were pretty hungry. Bucky insisted that you must try this famous pizza, arguing that Brooklyn is technically within the boundaries as part of your pizza quest. Semantics aside, you trusted that the hour long trip to get here would be worth it.

Spumoni Gardens was famous for their Sicilian pie and Bucky ordered one the moment you were seated. Soon enough twelve thick slices were laid out in front of you in the most interesting looking square of pizza you had seen before, with the sauce on top.

With a skeptical eye you squint at Bucky who urges you to take a bite, eagerly awaiting your response. There was no denying it, as you sank your teeth into the deliciously thick crust, with sauce and cheese hitting your taste buds like a pinball setting off lights and sound as it hits the winning targets.

A proud grin settled on Bucky’s face as he held up his own slice, taking a bite as he watched you dab at the bit of sauce in the corner of your mouth with a napkin. His eyes light up, raising his brows in a silent request for your opinion.

“So good.” Every bit of enthusiasm is behind the few words you’ve said, combined with the smile that stayed plastered on your face as you quickly took another bite, needing to taste the symphony of flavors again.

Bucky paid for everything despite your protests. He insisted that since you indulged him in his craving after a long day of work it was only fair. Side by side you slowly strolled back to the train, making a promise to come back for the spumoni when you haven’t stuffed yourselves full of pizza.

Conversation was always easy with Bucky, making the ride back home a breeze. When you reached your block you saw familiar faces headed towards the building.

“Hey guys,” Bucky greeted Clint and Natasha, as they walked with their arms linked to the door.

“We just had the best pizza!” you blurted out, unable to control your enthusiasm for the amazing dinner you had.

“Oh yeah, well we just had some shitty pasta.” Natasha playfully smacked Clint in the stomach for his blunt remark. “What? It wasn’t good!” he snarked.

“We just came back from a wedding expo,” she added.

Her lips were tense as they pressed together. They had been wedding planning for a while, not getting very far. Natasha’s work had set her back, which she didn’t mind since she was excelling professionally but it did require her and Clint to push back their wedding date a few times since they couldn’t commit to the time frame required.

“It’ll come together in time,” you said, offering a hopeful smile.

“All I know is Sonny Burch is not going to cater our wedding. That food was awful. Now tell me more about this pizza.”

Clint was practically drooling throughout the elevator ride as you and Bucky described the incredible pizza you had. After saying goodnight to them you and Bucky held back your laughter hearing Clint begging Natasha to go to Spumoni Gardens tomorrow as the elevator doors were shutting.

“Thanks for dinner Bucky,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before unlocking your door. “Oh wait! Hang on one second!”

As you went inside your apartment you missed the way Bucky touched his cheek, still feeling the tingle of your lips against his skin. A moment later you came out, handing him a wrapped present.

“For taking care of me last month when I was sick.”

“You didn’t have to Y/N.” He meant it, whatever it was you got him really wasn’t necessary but you insisted it was.

Your lips pressed together with excited anticipation, staring at Bucky with widened eyes as he began to tear off the wrapping. He held up the stretched white canvas rectangle with vertical lines of varied height going across it. He smiled kindly, unsure exactly what he was looking at which was fine, his gift needed a little explanation.

“It’s Herrmann’s Psycho score in soundwave form.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped open as he stared at the vertical lines that conveyed every beat, seeing the taller lines represent the higher strings, the greater tension of the score. It was so unique, so perfectly suited for him and he knew you truly understood who he was.

“I love it. Thank you so much Y/N.”

One arm wrapped around you as he held the artwork out of the way. This gift reaffirmed the feelings he felt for you, making it harder to deal with the fact that he wasn’t going to do anything about them.

After your break up with Billy you made it very clear that you were not interested in dating. This was not the time for him to open up to you. He didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t comfortable with so once again Bucky needed a distraction from his feelings. This is how he found himself back on the dating apps.

He finally went on a date with Bobbi, a few actually, only to find that the real chemistry they had was in the bedroom. The longer Bucky stared at the artwork you gave him the more he felt like calling her to help push aside you and thoughts of the amazing non-date that you had, but he knew she was out of town for the weekend.

Bucky’s too tired to get involved with calling someone else so instead he settled down in front of his keyboard. His fingers glide across the keys as he’s filled with inspiration, pouring his heart into a melody with you on his mind.

Wanda paced back and forth in her apartment, stopping each time to check her reflection in the scalloped mirror above her dresser when she passed it. The way she swept back the few loose tendrils of her now more conservative light brown hair wasn’t out of vanity but nerves, needing to do anything to stop the shakiness of her hands.

“Hey, everything’s going to be perfect. I promise you have nothing to worry about,” you said, offering open arms to Wanda.

She was so fidgety she was barely able to stay in your embrace for more than a second. Wanda couldn’t help it. Tonight was the opening of The Jewish Museum’s exhibit on The Holocaust and Wanda was extremely nervous. Knowing this day was so important to her, you took off from your internship, promising Elena you would make up the hours.

The buzzer of her doorbell rang and Wanda jumped with excitement. “Mom!” Wanda called out, running towards the door.

It had only been a few months since they saw each other but on a stressful day like this nothing comforted Wanda more than her mom.

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you sweetheart.” Marya wrapped her arms around you and it felt like home, and seeing her brought back all the memories of your youth with Wanda and Pietro.

It was impossible not to think about him, especially considering he shared so many features with his mom. Piet would have been so proud of Wanda today and amidst the hug you choke back the tears you felt forming.

Wanda needed to be at the museum early so you and Marya went for a light dinner first as she headed there. Catching up was easy and Marya told you how proud she was for all the hard work you’ve been putting in to get your degree. The passion behind social work was unspoken because she already knew how deeply you felt about the circumstances of Wanda and Pietro’s upbringing.

“I think about it sometimes… what could have been.”

The twinkle in her eye suggested she knew the childhood crush you harbored for her son. It wasn’t something you ever admitted before. Even Wanda didn’t know.

“Years ago I finally had the strength to go through his things. I may have found your names in a heart, scratched on what should have been his notes on American history.”

You brushed aside a tear that trickled down along the curved cheek from your smile. Piet hated history so doodling became a common way to pass the time, and knowing he felt the same doesn’t make it any easier in losing him.

Marya brought a napkin to her face to soak up her own tears. She apologized though you told her there was no reason to. “So tell me, are you seeing anyone?”

As you retold the story of putting off relationships while you earned your degree you saw her mouth pull into a frown.

“Don’t put your life on hold, you know how quickly things can change.”

Her advice didn’t feel like a lecture, and you knew you might have jumped the gun on calling off dating again; not everyone would be like Billy.

An intricately detailed archway leads you through the main doors and into the crowded lobby of the museum. It’s past the normal operating hours, premiering the exhibit for the media and friends and family first.

You spot your friends gathered together in the corner and happily introduce them to Marya. Sam smiles a little wider as he introduces himself. “Yes, that Sam,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Bucky is wearing his long hair down, neatly tucked behind his ears and even in all black he stands out. The white printed pattern on his black button down shirt draws your eye to the velvet blazer that makes him look incredibly sophisticated.

“You look great,” Bucky said, as you both leaned in to press your cheeks against each other for a kiss.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and the shine of your beige satin shirt. The delicate gold chain you wore draped lower than the V-neck cut and he let his eyes linger down your body, from the black pants that hugged your figure to the pointed black heels.

“Thanks, you look pretty good yourself. Ooh fancy,” you said, running your hands along his velvet lapel.

The chatter in the lobby grew for another ten minutes until you were directed to follow the group towards the exhibit. Marya was accompanied by Sam and both their faces lit up as they spotted Wanda, standing proudly beside a curtain that was drawn across the entry of the main room. Her eyes twinkled as she spotted them, you and everyone amongst the crowd.

A man not much taller than her walked in front of the curtain with a microphone in hand. He introduced himself as the museum’s director Phillip Coulson. Wanda had always spoken highly of him and you can see why. He was soft spoken with a kind smile, welcoming everyone to the exhibit.

“On the eve of Yom HaShoah we invite you to do what is asked, remember. We remember through stories, from letters that made it out while their writers did not. We remember through pictures, of people and the faces we strive to never forget, of discarded belongings left behind deemed as irrelevant as the lives of their owners. As we remember the decimation and destruction we also remember the endurance, the survival. We remember and we will never forget.”

A round of applause breaks through the crowd with the increased flashing of camera lights as Director Coulson gestures to Wanda who proudly draws open the curtain, opening the exhibit.

The large room is painted in a somber blue, as if the life had been sucked out of a once vibrant sky. It’s fitting. This is a place of reverence, surrounded by artifacts that tell a painful history.

There were three smaller rooms connected to the main area, each showcasing smaller exhibits, one of which you knew was the one Wanda was most proud of. She stood in front of it, awaiting her friends so you could walk through it together.

“It’s called The Ghosts of Genocide and it focuses on the Romani aspect of the Holocaust.”

Unlike the main room there were few displays. One wall was dedicated to Philomena Franz, the first Romani woman to document her experiences in the concentration camps. You read the information beside her photograph, “Zwischen Liebe und Hass” (“Between Love and Hate”) was her autobiography, the dichotomy of a happy childhood against the brutality of Auschwitz.

The next photograph was of Elena Lacková, a Slovakian Romani poet and playwright. “Holocaust Romů v povídkách” (“Holocaust of Roma in short stories”). A copy of the out of print book was behind a glass enclosure.

The large wall featured the paintings of Ceija Stojka, an Austrian Romani Holocaust survivor. You chew on your bottom lip tensely as you stare at the images. Simple ink depictions of dead bodies stacked in a haphazard pile like they were nothing more than logs meant for a fire. One image burns itself into your brain, “Mama in Auschwitz” the wide-eyed look of fear immortalized by the memory of a child.

“Wanda.” You clear your voice of the thickness that built up inside, the heavy lump that weighed on your chest from reading everything. “Forgive me if this sounds disrespectful but I thought you were supposed to incorporate the history of those who were Jewish and Romani.”

She sighed heavily. “I was but there are so many factors that play into the reason why I couldn’t; loss of information being a big one but also most people didn’t specify that they were Jewish. Obviously we know that some were but it was an issue of safety. They were already dealing with being Romani and the prejudices that came with that so they couldn’t come out with it. It’s why we have this.”

She turned you around to the far wall, glossy black tile shines against striking spotlights.

“But it’s blank.”

She nodded, pointing to the dedication. “For the countless, nameless Jewish-Romani lives lost.”

You reached out to touch the wall, your palm against the cold tile; the emptiness that contrasts so starkly in a place filled with history on every wall. And you suppose the lack of information is a lesson learned in history itself.

“This is pretty powerful stuff,” Bucky’s voice called out from behind you.

“Yeah. It is.” You didn’t have any more words.

When the night was coming to a close everyone went home quietly. Wanda’s achievements would be celebrated another night. It was comfortably silent as you and Bucky left the elevator. The unexpected feeling of your arms wrapping around him for a hug was surprising but nice and he deepened the action, firmly pulling you closer to the soft fabric of his blazer.

“Sweet dreams Y/N,” he whispered before you went inside.

That night Marya’s words replayed in your mind and after the exhibit’s reminder on how precious life is you promise yourself to be open to whatever the future brings.

Golden hues begin to creep in on the blue sky ahead of you. As the day starts to wind down the city doesn’t stop. Construction is contained by go-away green walls, with orange and white barricades used to redirect traffic on the busy street. Brake lights flare as the cars begin honking incessantly at the driver going far too slow for the city’s standards.

You see it all from the observation deck of the High Line, accompanied by Bucky and a dozen other people enjoying the first weekend of warmth. You climb the stairs away from the crowd and find a bench beside a small tree.

Bucky opens the box he’s been carrying for a while, revealing two unique and delicious doughnuts that you couldn’t wait to try.

“What’s the square one again?” you asked, licking your lips in anticipation.

“Blackberry jam, and the other is rose I think?” his voice raises with uncertainty. “It looks like a rose at least.”

That it did. The dough was shaped to look like a rose in bloom, with a pink glaze over it. Both were tempting you and the decision was tough but you chose to try the jam filled doughnut first. Hands made sticky by the glaze, you tried your best to pull it apart evenly for Bucky to have an equal share.

Your head nodded in approval as you tasted the sweetness of the jam, mixed perfectly with the airy dough. “This is good,” you said, with your hand hovering over your mouth as you continued to chew through your words.

Bucky brushed his fingers down the corners of his mouth, wiping them on a napkin afterwards and you laughed to yourself. When you were ready Bucky presented the rose shaped doughnut to you as if he was handing over a bouquet.

“How sweet,” you feigned sweetness, bringing your hands together in your best impression of a Disney princess pose.

He let you rip off the first piece of the doughnut, finding it had come apart in a small crescent which was fine, you weren’t sure you could eat much more than that.

Bucky cleared his throat as the glaze melted against his fingers. “So, uh, I have something to ask you.” His nerves stilled momentarily as you hummed in response, sucking the glaze off your fingers.

“Will you be my date to my cousin’s wedding?”

You weren’t sure what he was going to ask but this was definitely not what you imagined. It surprised you especially considering the long list of available women he had to choose from and you couldn’t help but ask him that.

“Them? No. They’re not good enough to bring to a wedding,” he replied.

“Bucky that’s horrible!” you playfully scoffed.

His head dropped down, cringing at his words. “I didn’t mean it like that! I don’t really know any of ‘em that well, and it would be nice to have a friend with me and just have fun.”

Thoughts were running through your head faster than you could process them. Being asked to be Bucky’s date seemed like a dream come true. Yes, despite losing hope in dating after what you went through with Billy it didn’t stop the crush you had on Bucky from growing. But your mind stopped your heart from indulging in its fantasy, reminding you that Bucky legitimately had a long list of women to choose from and you were one of many.

His reasons for asking you made sense, you were very close and sometimes you questioned Bucky’s intentions. He’s never made you feel uncomfortable, it’s the opposite. You’re always comfortable with Bucky, no matter what you do. It feels like what a relationship should be except without the intimacy.

That was the scariest part of it all. Part of you wanted to take a risk and see if there could be something more to what you had but what if it makes you just another girl on his list. A convenient person to sleep with along with the others.

“Please, I already RSVP’d for two,” he begged, staring at you with big eyes as his plush bottom lip protruded out comically far.

The tug of war between your brain and heart wins in favor of the latter as you agreed to go with him, convincing yourself that it’s just a date to a wedding with a friend and nothing more.

PART 16

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 3 years

Text

Back at it again with my self-indulgent comic posts. This time! It’s Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow #3, perhaps the most tonally-distinct entry yet, with shades of The Twilight Zone.

Spoilers!

So, as mentioned, this issue is the most deliberate in terms of both its pacing and its tone, IMO.

What is that tone, you ask?

To quote Alex Danvers, from “Midvale”: Hello, darkness.

THE STORY:

Kara and Ruthye are still looking for Krem Clues in the alien town of Maypole.

(Which is actually just Small Town, USA, complete with vintage 50s aesthetics.)

But the locals are clearly hiding something! So Kara and Ruthye continue to investigate, and they eventually discover what it was that the residents of Maypole were so keen to keep hidden.

Genocide, basically.

As I said, this issue struck me as very Twilight Zone; a genre story involving the build-up to a dark twist, all set against the backdrop of an idyllic small town. (Think, like, “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” but instead of focusing on the Red Scare, it’s classism and racism.)

The wealthier blue aliens kicked all of the purple aliens out of town, and when space pirates showed up to pillage and plunder, the blue aliens made a deal with them: the lives of the purple aliens in exchange for their safety.

Which is where the episodic story connects to the larger mission; it was Krem who suggested the trade, and then joined up with the Brigands (space pirates) when he was freed by the blue aliens.

The issue ends with no tidy resolution to the terrible things Kara and Ruthye discovered, but they do have a lead on where to find Krem, now, as well as Barbond’s Brigands.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

Ironically, it’s here, in the darkest chapter yet, that we get the closest to what might be considered ‘classic’ Kara.

Which I think comes down to that aforementioned deliberate pace--this issue is a little slower, a little quieter. It gives the characters some room to breathe.

That’s not to say Crusty Kara is gone. Oh no. She is still very much Crusty. XD

But anyways. A list! Of Kara moments I loved!

I mentioned a few of these in a prior post when the preview pages came out: I like the moment where Kara blows down the guy’s house of cards, and I like that the action is echoed later in the issue when she grabs the mayor’s desk and tosses it aside. A nice visual representation of the escalation of Kara being, like. Done with these creeps. (Creeps is an understatement but you get the idea.)

Another one from the preview pages: Kara explains to Ruthye that her super hearing won’t necessarily help her detect a lie, especially if she’s dealing with an alien species she’s not familiar with.

It not only reveals her level of competence and understanding of her super powers, it also shows that, you know. She’s a thinker. She’s smart.

Amazing! Showing, rather than telling us, that Kara is smart! Without mentioning the science guild at all wow hey wow.

(Sorry, pointed criticism of the SG show fandom.)

Anyways.

I dig the PJs!

And Kara catching the bullet! Not only are the poses and character acting great, it’s also a neat bit of panel composition:

We start with Ruthye’s POV, and then move to the wide shot of the room. The panel where Kara actually catches the bullet is down and to the side of the wide shot panel--we move our eyes the way her body/arm would have to move to intercept the bullet. Physicality in static, 2D images!

Also, like. It’s a very tense moment, life-or-death, but. Ruthye’s wide-eyed surprise at the bullet in Kara’s hand? Kind of adorable.

I was pretty much prepared for the page of Kara shielding Ruthye from the gunfire to be the highlight--it was one of the first pages King shared and I was like, ‘yeah, YEAH.’ But, shockingly? The TRUE highlight of the issue?

Where do I BEGIN?!?!

EVERYTHING. About this moment. Is lovely.

From Kara holding Ruthye above the bench to explaining the concept of a piggyback ride, to telling her:

“I’m going to hold my hands here, and these hands can turn coal into diamonds, so they’re not going to let go. I’m going to keep you safe.”

HNNNNNNNNNNNG.

Ruthye’s narration--about how Kara had avoided flying as she was concerned it would freak Ruthye out--just adds a whole additional layer of YES, GOOD, YES, and her line on that splash page is great: “You see, all that time, she was worried about me.”

HNNNNNNNNNNNG. AGAIN.

To say nothing of the STELLAR ARTWORK.

And SPEAKING of that stellar artwork, Evely and Lopes continue to knock it out of the park. Each issue is distinct and beautifully crafted, a true joy to look at.

Before I jump into more of the art, a few final notes of character stuff in general.

Ruthye is the one most affected by the experience in Maypole, as she can’t comprehend how a society of people that look so nice and gentle and peaceful could have been party to such a horrible act.

One of the big criticisms of the book thus far is that Supergirl is not the main character, and I guess I can agree with that observation. Typically, in Western media, the main character is the one who goes through the most change in the story.

And, yeah. That’s Ruthye.

As I was reading the end, where Ruthye sits on the curb and Kara hugs her, I was imagining how the scene would’ve played, had King stuck with the original idea for the series: Kara as the one learning to be tough/experiencing all of this for the first time, and while I think that could certainly work...

I continue to appreciate that King literally flipped the script; that Kara, especially in this issue, is like, ‘I’ve seen this, I know this,’ as opposed to being the one going through a loss of innocence.

*Marge Simpson voice* I just think it’s neat!

Because Kara’s been a teen in DC comics for so long--ever since she was reintroduced to the main DCU continuity, actually--so this is all brand new territory, here. Having an older Kara who’s SEEN SOME STUFF.

(Alsoooooo, since Bendis made the destruction of Krypton not just inaction and climate disaster, but rather, genocide, and the subtext of a Kryptonian diaspora text, the waitress’ derogatory comment regarding the the destruction of Kryton, as well as Kara picking up the bad vibes the entire time, suggests not just a broad commentary on discrimination in all its forms, but specifically allegorical anti-Semitism. The purple aliens being forced out of their homes and into substandard living conditions, then the blue aliens--their neighbors and once-fellow residents--essentially allowing the space pirates to kill them, making them literal scapegoats, Kara discovering the remains of the purple aliens, and Ruthye’s horror at the ‘banality of evil’...yes. A case could be made, I think.)

(Which would probably require a post unto itself and a lot more in-depth discussion, nuance, and cited sources.)

(Should mention that King has brought up that both he and Orlando--the other Supergirl writer he talked to--are Jewish, and for him personally, that shaped his views on Kara’s origin story.)

I guess my point is that this issue is perhaps not as out-of-left-field as some might think, and just because there isn’t as obvious an arc for Kara, doesn’t mean there isn’t some sharp character work at play.

(I could be WAY OFF, of course, and I’m not suggesting it’s a clear 1:1 comparison. I’d actually really love to hear King talk about this issue in particular.)

Anyways.

Here’s the final page, which I think works, because as I mentioned before, there is no easy answer/quick wrap-up to the story of Maypole:

THE ART:

I mean. How many times can I just shout ‘ART! AAAARRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!’ before it gets old?

I dunno, but I guess we’re gonna FIND OUT.

There are some panels in this issue that I just. Like ‘em! From a purely artistic standpoint! Because they’re so good!

Like, I just really love the way Kara is drawn in that top panel. Her troubled, confused expression, the colors of the fading light, the HAIR.

Evely draws the best hair. I know I’ve said this before. I don’t care. I will continue to say it, because it continues to be true.

The issue I find myself running up against when I make these posts is that I really don’t want to post whole pages, as that’s generally frowned upon (re: pirating etc.) but with something like this, you just can’t appreciate it in panel-by-panel snippets.

(Guided View on digital reading platforms is a BANE and a POX I say!)

Anyways.

LOVE the implied movement of the cape settling as Kara speeds in and stops.

And, obviously, Kara flicking the bullet away is just. A+.

And the EYES, man. LOPES’ COLORS ON THE EYES???!?! BEAUTIFUL.

Also, should note the lettering! The more rounded letters for the ‘WOOSH’ of Kara’s speed (and, earlier, the super breath) work nicely, and contrast with the angular, violent BLAMS of the gunshots.

And, I gotta say, the editor is doing a really great job of not cluttering up the artwork with all the caption boxes. Which is no small task.

(I assume the editor is placing them, as editors usually handle word balloon/caption box placement, but I suppose it could be Evely? Sometimes the artist handles it. Either way, whoever’s taking care of all the text, EXCELLENT WORK! BRAVO!)

Okay I think that’s everything.

Ah, nope, wait.

MISC.

Just a funny observation, more than anything else: Superman: Red and Blue dropped this week, and King had a story in there, “The Special” (which was very good, btw.) Both Lois and the waitress swear a lot so I’m beginning to think that this is just how King writes dialogue for any adult character who isn’t Clark. XD

This is absolutely a personal preference but when Kara was like, “And my name IS Supergirl,” I was like nooooo. I know King is trying to simplify all of the conflicting origin stories and lore but I LIKE KARA DANVERS, SIR. XD

It’s almost assuredly a cash-grab/an attempt for DC to get all the money it can out of a book they don’t have much confidence in, but I like the cardstock covers! Very classy, much Strange Adventures.

(OH my gosh, can you imagine that issue 1 cover with spot gloss???? Basically the only way you could possibly improve on it.)

Okay NOW I’m done. For real. XD NEXT TIME: Kara and Ruthye go after Krem and the Brigands!

#supergirl: woman of tomorrow #long post #dc comics #supergirl: woman of tomorrow spoilers #kara zor el #comic thoughts #comic opinions #just occurred to me I should be crediting the creative team in these things #I think thus far I've included every title page?#still #will try to be better about that going forward

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herenortherenearnorfar · 3 years

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Thanks @aipilosse for the tag! My AO3 account (this one at least) is a bit less curated than most. I’ve been using it since the age of 16 and have gone through the requisite teenage interests and then some so some of these answer will be a blast from the past.

How many works do you have on AO3?

What’s your total AO3 word count?

Just over 500k

How many fandoms have you written for and what a they?

According to the drop down menu, 27! A lot of them are overlaps but I’ve still covered a lot of ground over the years. Niche YA, children’s movies, non-niche bestselling YA, Star Wars, anime. A few things I’m still interested in, a few I’m not. Sometimes I get a little embarrassed that there’s a paper trail of all my old fascinations but it is nice to have an archeological record of the last few years.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

For It Shines Bright and Never Changes, a 90k Kubo and the Two Strings AU from 2016-2018. My longest and most popular story. I’m actually proud of the planning that went into it.

Aftermath of an Announcement, a frankly kind of shoddily written Steven Universe fic that I remember writing at midnight on the couch outside my bedroom in England. Inexplicably recommended on TvTropes, which might explain the ridiculously disproportionate attention it got?

Regina, a decent little SvTFoE story that got some very good abandoned artwork. Thoroughly disproven bu the rest of the show, I think? I never finished watching it.

The Most Valuable Resource. Probably what my Silm friends know me from! Sauron and baby Celebrimbor in Angband at the very beginning of the first age. I fell in love with writing Sauron in this, he’s a rather delightful awful.

Obsidian Sister, more cartoons, more sibling relationship drama, lots of hopeful worldbuilding for something that I kind of lost interest in. A good read on review though.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes! I love comments and getting replies to them so I always try to respond. My only regret is that it can sometimes take me too long to get people their responses. @everyone I am sorry!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Probably my most recent one? I do tend to lean towards canon compliant vignettes when I’m bored and those can be bittersweet at best but not outright tragic. In most stories there’s a seed of hope, however deeply buried it is.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

No crossovers that I can recall. Keep in mind that I’ve forgotten a good portion of that 75 fic backlog.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

A few times but it was mostly confusing? I simply didn’t know what to do with it. It’s like being handed a dead lizard by a cat, yes, you’re very proud of this but I’m not sure where it’s supposed to go.

I did once spend several paragraphs defending Elwing in the comments of a story I’d written about Elwing.

Do you write smut? if so what kind?

Not attached to this fake internet identity I don’t.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, one of them showed up on Wattpad once? I only found out because I was googling a nice fic rec someone wrote for the same story. In the end I didn’t do anything about it. Maybe my entire oeuvre is on Wattpad but I doubt it because I stopped writing Avengers fanfic a very long time ago.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Several of my Silm fics have been translated into Russian. It’s a privilege every time and I love going and seeing the final result!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. Used to do a bit of silly RP when I was younger but it’s not quite the same.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Hmm, I like Silvergifting quite a lot but I have a weak spot for trios. They feel more harmonic. Eonwë/Elwing/Eärendil is probably my favorite Silm ship, for example, though I’ve only written the one story for them. If we’re talking favorite of all time then I suppose we’d have to go back to the basics. Nancy Drew/Bess/George.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Often by the time I exert the energy to put something down on paper I’m already pretty committed to finishing it? A lot of my drafting goes on in my head so I only have a few WIPs in type from the past year and only one that I think I can discard as abandoned. It’s a Micheal and Sasha Magnus Archives Spirally self delusion and dreams story.

What are your writing strengths?

Decent worldbuilding and turn of phrase? I know I can make a sentence hit, which is good. And I am quite proud of some of my backstory work and research, including some hard scrabble conlang despite my absolute lack of a linguistics background

What are your writing weaknesses?

Too bogged down by melodrama, too many runon sentences, poor grammatical skills. Also I struggle a lot with giving characters distinct speaking voices; they all end up sounding like me which is no good. I’d like to be better at descriptions as well.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I swap my standards around depending on the feeling of the story and the concepts I’m trying to convey to the reader. Fëa might work for a short specialist one-shot about Gondorian scholars discussing elven concepts but then in a story from Celebrimbor’s perspective I’d use the more generic “soul”. Formality, familiarity, ease of access to lay Tolkien readers, the perspective of the characters and what their “native tongue” is keeping in mind that most of the Silm+ is designed as a translation. There are lots of factors. Same goes for a story with terms in Chinese or another extant language.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

On this account? A book about teens and magic. Online? The 39 Clues, a co-written boook series for middle grade children. Ever as a human being? It depends on if you count when I was very small and would lead my sisters in games where I was Aragorn niece and we were fighting at the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I’m fond of The Thousand Stories, for all that it’s experimental and indulgent. It was a chance to really explore stories about stories and what else is fan fiction for?

It looks like just about everyone else has been hit so @ameliarating and @feanorianethicsdepartment do feel welcome to take a swing if you’re so inclined.

#tag meme #about

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yrpreciousmoon · 2 years

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Morioh Hi-Fi (11/25)

Title: Morioh Hi-Fi (11/25) All Chapters Here Ongoing Playlist Here Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Pairing: Josuke x Okuyasu; Rohan x Reimi; Koichi x Yukako; more. Rating: T for now Description: In an AU where Part 4 never happened, it seems Stand users are still drawn to each other. Rohan Kishibe runs Morioh’s coolest record store, along with the world’s okayest employees: Koichi, Yuya, and Okuyasu. They live happily in their bubble of obscure music references and hipster style points until the fateful day when Josuke Higashikata enters the picture. (aka: Started writing a self indulgent AU heavily inspired by the series and movie High Fidelity, and just decided to lean into it.) Primarily a Josuyasu story, with subplots and minor relationships. And occasionally artwork!

AN: Alright, so the drawing for this chapter... I realize there's only like 4 people in the world who will find it amusing. If you know the reference then we should probably be best friends. (!!!) This chapter was inspired so heavily by that one radio drama where Okuyasu tries to flirt with a waitress. BLESS.

Track 10 : A Litany / Heart Swells

Okuyasu glanced down at himself one more time. All day he'd been itchy and uncomfortable as he broke in the new clothes that Yukako had helped him pick out. He supposed the outfit looked fine, but it was weird to be wearing something that didn't come from a thrift store or as a hand-me-down.

The get-up had been something of a compromise, with Yukako reciting over and over “Clean lines! Clean lines!” and vetoing anything with manufactured rips in it. In the end he'd come away with a pair of shiny, black snakeskin ankle boots (far nicer than any of his other footwear), dark straight-legged pants that somehow made him look even taller (and which she insisted he wear with “a grown-up belt,” and only one at that), as well as a crisp black-and-white houndstooth top with short, cuffed sleeves. Yukako had explained that this shirt would really show off his arms, and then she'd looked at him with some weird expression until Koichi loudly cleared his throat.

She had also reluctantly agreed to a leather jacket, but one that was well-fitted and bereft of any patches, pins, studs and the like. Afterwards, however, Okuyasu had secretly adorned it with his two favorite pins, the ones given to him by his father years earlier. For luck.

And so, armed with a girl-approved outfit and a little bit of luck, Okuyasu knocked on the door of the Higashikata household, clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

When Josuke opened the door, Oku grinned and let out a sigh of relief. He'd been praying that he wouldn't have to fumble through niceties with Josuke's cute mom and get all flustered before even getting to the scary part of the visit. But no, luck had indeed been on his side and he had a chance to start off on the right foot. He just had to think of something cool to say, something suave and mature.

“Yo, Josuke!” he shouted.

Josuke blinked, then broke out into a smile. “Um, hi.” He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “What's up?”

Okuyasu was warmed as always by the sight of his friend. But today, in new light, he began to take notice of things he never had before. He was acutely aware of the way Josuke's deep purple button-up and dark pants hugged his figure perfectly, giving him a beautiful silhouette. That stray lock of hair that had fallen from his widow's peak and curled against his forehead. The slight flash of teeth peeking out between full lips.

Aw, shit.

In that instant, Okuyasu was no longer looking at a friend; He was looking at a crush. And he had never been good at talking to a crush.

“...Okuyasu?” came the gentle nudge.

“Eh?”

“Um...” A snicker. “You showed up at my door, dude. What's goin' on?”

“O-oh. Right!” Okuyasu sucked in a breath. He could do this. He had to. (Really, he must, or Yukako would definitely murder him.) “D'you got, uh... You got a minute?” He awkwardly shifted his gaze to trace the lines of the window-frames, the sidewalk cracks, anything but Josuke.

“Yeah, of course.” Josuke stepped back and gestured for Okuyasu to follow him inside. “I've got the place to myself for the day. Everything alright?”

“Mm... mhm,” Okuyasu nodded as he padded inside and removed his shoes, looking a bit like a nervous stray.

Josuke entered the living room and dropped onto the couch, his elbow coming to rest on the back of the it, chin propped up in his hand. He raised a curious brow. “So...? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Stiffly, Okuyasu planted himself on the opposite end of the sofa, his hands clasped tight in his lap. He could already feel himself sweating. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh. Uh, so... I was thinkin' about some stuff.”

Josuke nodded slowly. As the emptiness after the statement stretched on, he rolled his free wrist, gesturing for his friend to get on with it.

“Nnn... yeah. So, stuff. And... thinkin' 'bout it.”

“Uh huh?”

“Y'know, I just.” Every muscle in his body was straining. “That was a fun day we had. Y'know, the other day? Uh, with Mikitaka. The picnic. It was... good.”

“Mmmm.” Josuke leaned into his hand more, his eyes becoming half-lidded. Oh no – he was getting bored, and Okuyasu had done nothing but stammer and turn as red as a tomato...

“Well, I just mean that. I r-really liked hangin' out with ya. I do like hangin' out with ya. Any time. All the times. It's always... good.”

“Okuyasu, are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, man, I'm just saying, I...” Okuyasu's eyes finally darted up to Josuke's. They made eye contact and... shit. What's redder than a tomato? “L-look, Josuke...”

“I'm lookin'.”

Okuyasu abruptly leapt from the couch, clutched his fists at his sides, squeezed his eyes shut. “It was nice when you came over the other day! Not the part when you were sad! But the other parts!” He cracked one eye open to survey the reaction.

Josuke was sat more at attention now, but he still looked utterly confused. “...What?”

“Hnnn!” Okuyasu groaned. He stomped a foot in frustration and whirled on Josuke, clutching his friend's shoulders. “I'm just tryin' ta say... I thought about it and I... Nnngh...”

“Dude, seriously, you look like you're gonna throw up–” Josuke nervously put his own hands on Okuyasu's as if to push him away.

“Josuke!” Okuyasu howled, “I liked kissin' you, dammit, and I couldn't stop thinkin' about it! Couldn't stop thinkin' about you and how I wanted ta keep kissing your stupid face and hangin' out with you and stuff!” He buried his face in his hands, and when he didn't hear any sort of reaction he dared to peek between his fingers. Josuke's eyes looked quite small, and his mouth was hanging open slightly, dumbstruck.

Then all at once... he laughed.

“Oku, you dipshit. Is that all?”

“Is that...?” Okuyasu deflated. He was sure he was gonna die. “Josuke, didn't ya hear me?”

“Sure I did, and that's nothin' to get so worked up over!” Josuke's expression changed from amusement to something more devious. He reached out and put his hands firmly on Okuyasu's hips, pulling him back onto the couch. “It's just me you're talkin' to, man! You don't have to be so nervous.” Josuke shook his head, moving one hand onto the small of Okuyasu's back. “If you wanted to kiss me, you should've just said so.” He brought his other hand to Oku's neck and without hesitation pulled him in for a slow, sweet kiss.

Okuyasu relaxed into it with a sigh, his own hands reaching up to hold Josuke's face. It was still as terrifying as the last time, but just as thrilling too. Figuring this was just about the best response he could have hoped for, Oku swallowed his shyness and readjusted, positioning himself on Josuke's lap. The other followed his lead, laying back on the couch and taking Oku with him.

Josuke pulled away from the kiss gently, moving on to trace Okuyasu's jaw with his lips. “You know,” he said quietly, “That confession just now... If that's the game you bring to every romantic encounter, I can see why you haven't been so successful in the past.”

“Aw, shut up,” Okuyasu groaned, turning his head away as if to break their contact. But Josuke just kept going down his neck, lips trailing over his collarbone. Okuyasu shivered.

“Honestly, it works out in my favor. No one else has figured out how amazing you are. So I get to be the one show you.” He inhaled deeply and nipped at Oku's neck.

“You, ah...?” Okuyasu tried to form a response but his brain was reeling. He still couldn't really believe he was doing this, even less so that Josuke was into it... That he thought Okuyasu was... “...Amazing?” Oku echoed, his voice small.

“So amazing.” Josuke tipped Okuyasu's chin down and forced eye contact. Okuyasu hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt. But Josuke's eyes blazed straight through to his soul and he knew right then that there would never be a secret between them. “Oku, I don't know what people have told you in the past, but you're incredible. You're funny and cool and compassionate and real.” Josuke paused and worried his bottom lip for a moment before adding, “And... really hot.”

God. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Okuyasu barely knew how to accept a compliment under normal circumstances, let alone when he was lying on top of a gorgeous man.

For his part, Josuke seemed to pick up on this and he pulled Okuyasu back into yet another kiss, arms wrapping tight around the other. The feeling of big arms holding him close was alien, a comfort Okuyasu had never known he was missing.

“Josuke...” he mumbled against the other's lips, sounding desperate, though he didn't know for what. He just wanted to feel the name on his tongue, try it out now that it meant something new. “Jo-suke.” The other hummed softly in return, hands running up and down Okuyasu's back. Fingertips gripped at the bottom of his shirt and gave a questioning little tug.

Oku wanted to surrender, wanted to say to hell with it and show Josuke exactly what he'd been keeping pushed down these past few weeks... But something held him back.

“Wait. Wait...” he panted, breaking the kiss and earning a disappointed whine from Josuke. It made his heart ache, but he sat up regardless. “C'mon, Josuke... I'm not that kind of girl.”

Josuke groaned, threw his head back in frustration. “This is so not the time for jokes, dude.”

“I know, I know but... Maybe we should take it slow?”

Josuke squeezed his eyes shut. “You're going to kill me. You come over here lookin' all cute like that and sayin' you want to kiss me and now...”

“Just. Let me take you to dinner. Please? This is all new to me, Josuke. I wanna try an' do it right.”

“Hmph. There's no right way, Oku...” Josuke pursed his lips. “But... I was wonderin' what to do about dinner tonight, with mom out of the house and all...” Okuyasu brought out his most pathetic, pleading look. “Alright, alright.” Josuke shimmied up into a seated position. “Show me what you've got, Nijimura. Let's go on a date.”

“Huh.” Josuke put a hand on his hip as he examined the restaurant sign. “So. This is the Italian place you've been telling me about?”

“Mhm, mhm!” Okuyasu nodded enthusiastically and grabbed Josuke's hand to pull him inside; then he remembered that this was a date, like a real date, and he blushed, dropping the hand as if it were poisoned. But then he remembered that Yukako had said something about projecting confidence, and so he made a stuttering movement as if to take it again.

“Please don't give yourself a heart attack...” Josuke grasped his hand. “At least not until after you pay for dinner.” He raised Oku's hand to his lips and kissed it while gazing into the other's eyes.

...Damn. So smooth! How could Okuyasu compete with that?! But wait... they weren't competing... were they...?

“Ah, Signore Nijimura, buonasera! You've brought a friend today?”

Okuyasu was grateful to have his mental breakdown interrupted by the familiar voice of the restaurant's head chef. No sooner had they stepped through the door than they were joined by the kind-faced man, grinning from ear to ear.

“B-buonasera Tonio!” Okuyasu replied clumsily, “Um, yeah, j-just the two of us please.”

“Un tavolo per la coppia, of course.” He winked, turning on his heel and guiding them to a small corner table. He seated them both before lighting the candle in the centerpiece. “Shall I prepare my most romantic meal?”

“The romantic-est,” Okuyasu confirmed with a nod. “You ever see that cartoon movie with the dogs? And they eat the same noodle? Can we get that?”

A muscle twitched in Tonio's face. “Tell you what. I will make you something that's even more romantic than two dogs eating in an alleyway. Si?” He bowed and took his leave.

Josuke, meanwhile, was looking around the dining room with wide eyes and seemed to have missed this entire exchange. “You didn't tell me how nice this place was.” He blinked and looked back across the table. “Um... are you sure you can afford it? Should we split the bill?”

“Josuke!” Okuyasu frowned. “Don't say that. I have it on real good authority that not paying for dinner is a, uh...” He squinted, trying to recall the term that Yukako had used. “...a fff...”

“Faux pas,” Josuke said, “And it is, but... you know you don't have to do the whole song and dance, right? Like, I'm sufficiently wooed. We can skip to the fun part.”

“Eh? Whaddaya mean? This is the fun part!” Okuyasu picked up the glass of water in front of him and swirled it. Josuke's eyes widened in surprise at the words but before he could say anything, their waitress arrived with a small plate of bread and seasoned olive oil.

“Ooo, this stuff is great,” Oku exclaimed, taking a small piece of the fluffy bread and dipping it in the oil. He popped the whole thing in his mouth and stifled a squeal. “So good!” he hissed. “Try it! But... just try not to yell, okay? Tonio always tells me I'm buggin' the other customers.”

Josuke raised a brow. “Do... do you make it a habit to yell while you eat?”

“Only when it's good. And Tonio's food is the best.”

A smile swept across Josuke's face and he shook his head. “You're really one of a kind, Oku.”

Before long Tonio had brought out their main courses and a bottle of wine, taking great care as always to explain the dish and why he'd chosen it. But Oku barely listened; he was too busy staring across the table. And even as he shoveled the pasta into his mouth, he hardly registered the taste – an absolute first for him. How, though, could anything else in the world matter? How, when Josuke was sitting there looking so pretty and happy? Smiling, lighting up at each bite, his cheeks flushed; waving his fork in little circles as he spoke, watching intently with those sparkling eyes when Oku was cognizant enough to speak, and laughing whenever he wasn't.

Occasionally Josuke would brush a hand over Okuyasu's, let his mouth linger too long on the fork, run a foot flirtatiously up his date's leg beneath the table. And each time Okuyasu's brain was overloaded with sensation and a flood of thoughts that threatened to choke each other out: Is he flirting? He must be. Should I flirt back? How do I flirt, anyway? And what if he's not? Is he just being nice? Was this a bad idea? Was this a terrible idea? Was this the best idea I've ever had?

“Signore?”

“Mm..?” Okuyasu muttered, as if waking from a dream.

Josuke cleared his throat, slipped his foot back into his shoe. “He asked if you wanted espresso and, um...”

“Affogato,” Tonio finished.

“Oh!” Oku exclaimed, coming back to reality. He tore his eyes away from Josuke and offered Tonio an apologetic smile. “Yes please! For both of us!”

“Of course. And shall I put it on your tab?”

Okuyasu gave him a thumbs up and Tonio retreated once more. Josuke leaned in.

“You have a tab?”

“I'm here all the time. Sometimes before pay day.” He shrugged. “Tonio knows I'm good for it. And if I ever can't pay, he knows that I have this one really rare EP that he would kill for...” Okuyasu suddenly cast a wary glance towards the kitchen. “...Come t' think of it, if I happen to die from food poisoning tonight, make sure he doesn't get anything from my collection, okay? My big bro gets first dibs, then Koichi, then... eh... Rohan and Yuya can fight over the rest.” He flashed a big, stiff grin at Tonio as he returned to their table, setting down two small glasses of gelato on the table before them. Tonio then proceeded to meticulously pour a shot of espresso over each, and the two lovestruck boys watched in patient silence.

When their host had once more retired to the kitchen, Josuke prodded Okuyasu's shoulder. “Hey, I noticed you didn't include me in your will, Oku.” He smirked. “Don't I get to paw through your records after you're gone?”

Okuyasu chortled and began to dig in to his dessert. “Ya wouldn't know what t' look for!” he laughed, “You'd just look for a pretty album cover or a name you recognized.”

A playful roll of the eyes. “I suppose you're right, sensei. My training is not complete.” Josuke took a dainty bite of his treat and hummed happily, his eyes twinkling with ecstasy. Okuyasu wondered in the back of his mind if he could get Josuke to make that same noise later; he blushed and threw back the rest of his affogato like a shot.

Josuke was watching him now, and it made him feel nervous again. With a lack of any remaining wine or food to stuff into his face as a distraction, he settled for fiddling with his spoon. But Josuke quickly stopped him, his own hand covering Okuyasu's restless one.

“I've been meaning to ask you about that, by the way.”

“About what?”

“About the last record that's guaranteed to blow my mind,” Josuke went on, his voice growing quieter. “What kind of music is it, anyway? Love-making? Or fucking?” The last word dripped off his lips and Okuyasu gulped.

“Y-you'll see.” He'd tried to be smooth, really, but his voice still managed to crack. He pulled open his jacket, patting a square-shaped bulge in the inner pocket. “I couldn't fit the vinyl record in here... Hope a CD's okay.”

"Oh?" Josuke tilted his head to the side. “You're full of surprises today, aren't you?” Okuyasu sent him a smug smile. Then Josuke leaned in close, mere millimeters from Oku's ear and whispered: “Well, so am I. Now, are we moving this date to your place or mine?”

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #part 4 #diamond is unbreakable #fanfic #fan fiction #au #morioh hi-fi #mlm #slash #slash fic #josuke higashikata #okuyasu nijimura #tonio trussardi

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annonmaly · 3 years

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Ok, It's Not Red. So What?

"Oh, It's Not Red" continuation

Welcome to the third part of my posts regarding Mochijun-sensei's official VnC artworks. This is just a continuation of the 2nd part (there will be no artworks to be discussed). I will just share some absurd ideas that I came up with after my realization (some may already be out there). If there's any chance that you stumbled to the prior post and decided to continue. I salute you brave warriors that assume I would mention anything that makes any sense. To those who have no time to read a post that only talked about Murr's eye color. Here's a summary: I realized Murr's right eye is not red.

Curious as to how did I come to this conclusion? Check it out here: Oh, It's Not Red (You may not read the first part as it isn't related to this. But if you want to, it's here: Regarding some of VnC Artwork this title is so uncreative)

As usual, a friendly reminder that best in writing is an award I never received. I'm not the person who could analyze, explain, or theorize things clearly. Please bear that in mind while reading. Photos are not mine, of course. Also, spoiler alert to be safe

Now that it's all said and done. Let's go ahead and talk about Murr.

By this time, we already know who is Murr. And I think we all agree that the cat is not just a cute mascot of the series. I bet that he would be a game-changer (yes, I'm putting Murr on a high pedestal). The question is: What do you think of Murr's role in the story?

After spending hours and hours of reading here and there, the common theories I found are:

1. Murr is Sensei (The Shapeless One)

Sensei is an observer. And where is the best place to observe? It's beside your subject of interest. Also, as his title suggests, he is shapeless, so maybe he could shapeshift into anything he wants. This sounds probable but, I do not lean on this much for two reasons.

Personal preference. If this is true, Sensei is weird, not terrifying. I mean, instead of doing scary and shady affairs during his free time, he decided to be a cat just to watch Noé.

Look at the image below closely.

Did you found Murr? No? Take a closer look at Louis. At first, I thought he was just reading, but his book has a weird shape. Where did I see that again? Oh, right.

Not yet satisfied? See this panel from the manga. This is after the first image's scene.

(Grandpa obviously has his favorites)

I think the cat Louis' holding is Murr. Thus, there's a panel where Sensei and Murr are together. That's the second reason I'm skeptical about this theory, folks.

Well, we also don't know. Maybe grandpa killed the cat so he could disguise himself as one.

2. Murr is a spy camera of Grandpa De Sade

It's a simple one. The theory goes like this: Murr's right eye connects to Sensei in whatever way. This panel is what inspires this theory:

(This cat really is suspicious, I bet he is one of the puppet masters of this arc along with Sensei)

This theory is what I'm more inclined to believe. I suppose the cat is working under/with Grandpa for their grand schemes. So, of course, he would report to Sensei the events that took place. Whether he is using his right eye or whatever means it is.

Going to my personal thoughts...

I guess that Murr was a kin of the vampire of the blue moon. He used the power too much, and thus he was rewritten from the inside. Alas, Murr became a cat! Why is he heterochromatic, tho?

Ok, kidding aside, there are two ideas I want to share.

1. Possibly Twins

Mochijun-sensei dropped the bomb in chapter 46. She gave us the idea that the theme of twins would be relevant in the story. Here is the page where Veronica mentioned the thing about twins:

Then three chapters later when Misha forced Noé to drink his blood and reveal his memory. Mochijun-Sensei dropped another bomb.

After seeing this, we speculated that Faustina and Luna are twins. I love that thought. Just imagine how complex the relationship it would be between the two. But if we think about it. What if this is just a misdirection? First, Mochijun-sensei makes us aware that the subject of twins is somewhat important. And while that information is still fresh in our memory, she dropped another bomb and told us that the blue vampire and the queen looked alike. Mochijun-sensei set this up so that we could connect the two easily.

All we know is that: Vampire twins are a symbol of bad luck, and Luna looks like Faustina. This is just me overthinking things, but what's life without competition. So, let's add three more names to the list that could be a set of twins.

Murr and Luna: Because why not? His left eye is blue. Also, Luna's left eye was never shown in the series. It's always hidden by her hair, maybe it's a different color.

Noé and Luna: Let's just say he is older than the series claimed him to be. Noé's memory started on the day that it snowed. I believe that Mochijun-sensei is keeping the timeline vague since it would reveal too much information. I mean, we don't know how long time passed from the day Noé was found by the old couple to the day Sensei brought him to the castle in the forest. Keep in mind that the vampire's growth differs for each person, as well.

Also, is the story the Noé and Sensei told trustworthy?

(How kind are this kidnappers that the kid was not traumatized? Also what's with the injuries. I don't much about slave trading in VnC world. But, if you're going to sell something you don't want it to have visible damage right. Sorry if the comparison sounds offending)

As far as I could tell, Sensei is shady, like really. Noé's memory is also not reliable. After all, someone out there may have the ability to manipulate memories. What if Noé was was born ages ago and was induced to sleep for a long time for whatever reasons?

Going back to Noé and Luna. Mochijun-sensei is giving us subtle hints of his association with Luna. I only saw Luna from one chapter, but I could say they are somewhat similar aside from the hair and skin(?) color (I will make a list later if I still have of time on hand).

(Child Noé and Luna both have similar haistyle, they have the "lid" as Mochijun-sensei called it. Their eyes are different tho')

Go on, read chapter 49, you'll see what I mean. Also, take note that at some panels (especially the ones where Noé is feeling extreme emotions), Noé's left eye was hidden by his hair or something. Who else out there that we don't see her left eye? Yup, the vampire of the blue moon (I have a weird feeling about Noe's left eye that I will share later) To conclude this, I think that Noé was not from this era. He is actually from the past and preserved in whatever way from whatever reason. And maybe he is actually the twin brother of Luna, seeing that they have a resemblance.

For now, I won't say that he's a reincarnation of Luna (I may change my mind later) as the timeline doesn't coincide. Besides, human Vani's reaction when Misha told him that there's a way to revive Luna is intense. Meaning he wants Luna to stay dead. I also believe that human Vani is hiding "something" he knows about Noé. So if Noé's a reincarnated Luna, there's no way human Vani would stay with him.

Murr and Noé

If you saw my previous post. I convinced myself that Murr's right eye's color is violet (the same shade as Noé's). That's why I decided to include them here. I have no definitive reasoning aside from their eye color and how Murr treated Noé in the series.

In the meantime, I'll write the scenario in my head. What if Murr and Noé are twins. Something happened when they were young, and so they were separated. Noé was somewhere we don't know yet, while Murr encountered Vampire Vanitas and Grandpa DeSade. Then the rest is history.

I swear I didn't expect it to be this long, at any rate, this would be to be continued here: Ok, It's Not Red. So What? (continuation)

Note: This is just a random theory, thoughts, assumptions, and/or head-canons. I wrote this to indulge my over-thinking self. Thank you for taking the time to read and understanding if I made any mistakes or post whatever it is you don’t agree on.

#thoughts about vnc panels

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

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To Tell You The Truth Part Seven

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: *checks watch* Well well well, look at the time! Friday already?! I hope you're all doing well, and I hope you all like this installment. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut @walkerchick007 @peggers-n-beggers @robbinholland

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment deals briefly with perceived self-worth, and contains certain dialogue/terminology/viewpoints that may be detrimental to individuals who have suffered emotional, sexual, or physical abuse. Stay safe!]

Acquiring a first edition of anything in this day and age had never been a simple task, so it was awe-inspiring to have a book that was not only a first edition, but one that your artwork graced the pages of.

You stared at the cover for longer than you meant to, your fingers rubbing over the embossed name that sat small and unassuming beneath Ezra's lavishly showy pseudonym. With illustrations by…

You almost felt like your ordinary moniker was out of place, but after looking at it for a moment, you decided it was exactly where it belonged.

"I am about to be overcome with emotion." Ezra informed Thomas in a hushed tone.

The publisher heaved a heavy sigh at the other man's antics before getting to his feet, his hand outstretched. A small smile played over his mouth, probably one of relief to finally be free of your companion. "You've done it. Congratulations. It debuts on the digital platforms tomorrow, and physical copies ship next week."

Ezra shook his hand rapidly, then turned to you. "I...I am rendered speechless." He whispered.

"I don't know if anything could claim that lofty honor." You couldn't resist teasing him and he grinned broadly.

He rested his forehead against your own momentarily, ever cautious not to crowd you. "I am truly a better man for having known you, gentle soul." He murmured fervently. He took your hands, the book clasped tightly between the two of you. "These hands that have helped me in the mornings, that have drawn the man I could have been, that have delivered me from my deadly trials...now, see the fruits of your labor."

"Pretty sure you mean your labor." You corrected him. "I had the easy job."

Ezra shook his head. "Our labor." He was looking at you so warmly, his brown eyes crinkled at the edges from how hard he was smiling-

Kevva help you, did you want to...kiss him?

You had no time to ruminate on the sudden thought. Mr. Anglio cleared his throat and the spell was broken, Ezra exclaiming in juvenile delight that this was cause for celebration.

You nodded absently, feeling off-kilter. It was as though a switch of comprehension had been flipped in your mind. You did want to kiss him.

…

You wanted a lot of things, you were quickly realizing.

You wanted to sketch every sleepy smile Ezra graced you with over his mug in the morning. You wanted to be the only one to make his tea just right. You wanted to sit with him for hours in the kitchen or living room, letting him bounce ideas off of you.

The two helmets perched on the mantelpiece taunted you every time you glanced at them because you wanted to be part of a pair, more than a simple partner or roommate.

And it was terrifying.

You started searching for your own apartment even though the idea of living alone filled you with trepidation. He had said you were welcome for as long as you wanted, but now...the situation had changed. You couldn't handle living in such close proximity to him if your brain was hellbent on doing things like this.

It wasn't fair to him for you to want something like...that. For you to want anything at all from him.

You were ashamed of the way you had to tear your eyes off of him. You felt like an intruder, a thief, a scavenging floater hoping for opportune jetsam. You hid away in your room whenever he was around, claiming that inspiration had struck and fumbling to dissuade his childlike enthusiasm when he asked to see your 'new works'. Little did he know that you erased most of what you drew.

You were infatuated with an idea, in love with the picturesque plastic pornography that your mind had conjured, you told yourself sternly. Life wasn't perfect, and no one, let alone someone who had endured as much as Ezra, would be interested in the pitiful gift of your affection. In your own eyes you were dirty, your body forever stained with the invisible mark of abusive handling.

You didn't even know if you wanted to be intimate with someone again! Worse yet, you were uncertain if you would be able to, or if Damon's treatment had so utterly broken you that you would be reduced to nothingness if you ever deigned to attempt.

You should have been happy. The book (Aurelac And I: An Audacious Tale Of Greed In The Green) was performing remarkably well. Ezra had woven a lucrative story with just enough realism, fact and fiction carefully melded into a seamless narrative that appealed to everyone from grizzled floaters to cushy Central socialites. You should have been happy. You were set financially for the rest of your life even without the book.

You should have been happy.

Yet all it took was him giving you a tousled, sleepy smile over his morning cup of coffee or tea and discontent fairly devoured you, turning your insides to knots. Your longing was sharp to the point of agony, an ever-present ache in your chest that you weren't certain any amount of distance would quell.

But you could try.

So you prepared to leave, wavering between resolute and terrified while you tried to articulate yourself.

You had survived the Green. You knew you would survive this.

…

Despite his predisposition towards prattling, Ezra was remarkably perceptive. You sometimes wondered if he used his rambling nature as a screen to observe reactions, instead of to actually carry on a legitimate conversation.

He didn't miss a trick, coming to knock on your door one afternoon as you finished packing up your meager items. Even though you had lived in this room for several stands, you had yet to clutter the space, really make it your own. Maybe you had always suspected this would be temporary, maybe...maybe you knew better than to assume you would be anywhere for an extended period of time.

Fantasizing about having a real life with Ezra...wishful thinking, indulgence of the highest caliber. You blinked back your tears, shoved the backpack off the side of the bed, and went to open your door.

"Gentle soul, I have brought you sustenance! Now please, I beg, unlatch from the fickle teat of your creative muse to indulge with me." The former prospector implored from the doorway of your room, shaking a small paper bag at you.

The scent of the sopaipillas in the bag hit your nose and you heard your stomach roar in reply. Ezra quirked a brow as you flushed. "Well, I guess a...a snack wouldn't hurt." You mumbled.

"I have greatly missed your company these past days." Ezra admitted softly after the two of you had posted up on the couch (you clutching your small sketchbook like a shield), his words clawing at your heart. "I feared you must be growin' weary of the burden of my presence."

You nearly choked to death right there, coughing and sputtering. "What? No, of course not! If anything, I'm surprised you're not tired of me!" You replied once you managed to swallow, guiltily thinking of the small knapsack that you had thrown into the space between your bed and the wall. Your plan was to leave a little later this evening, slip out while he was occupied with Serv A/V correspondence. He dedicated a certain amount of time in the early evening to managing his business affairs, currently working to iron a few more things out with Anglio regarding proprietary Serv-reader programs that wanted to port his tale. Hopefully by the time he realized you had left, you would be checked into your temporary quarters.

Ezra opened his mouth to answer you, but a chime at the door cut him off. "Did you order somethin'?" He asked, his face lighting up when you shook your head. "Ah, it must be something of mine then! How tantalizing, I keep forgetting what I've purchased. I love the surprise every time somethin' appears on the stoop." He grinned like a child, bouncing to his feet.

Stay happy for a little while longer, you found yourself begging silently. His smiles warmed you from the inside out and you knew that you would miss them immensely.

You watched as Ezra popped the door open, the man signing for the thick envelope while the courier hovered patiently. "I don't recall…" he trailed off, hip-checking the door closed and ripping the envelope lip with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Who's it from?" You asked, trying to sound nonchalant. That's not supposed to get here until tomorrow, you reassured yourself. This must just be a coincidence. The envelope did bear a striking resemblance to the ones from your printer, but surely--

Oh no.

You felt your breath hitch as you spotted the return address. You had specifically requested that this delivery arrive tomorrow, you had planned to leave later tonight, oh no! You lunged to snatch the envelope from his hands. "Wait, wait, don't look!" You exclaimed sharply.

Ezra flinched in surprise at your abrupt change in volume, dropping the open envelope as his startled brown eyes flew to yours. Your hard copies spilled out onto the floor, pages flying here and there.

Shit.

"Gentle soul, what is...what is all this?" Ezra asked cautiously when you crouched to start picking the sheets up. "Are you workin' on a new project?"

Your hands trembled as you collected the sheets scattered on the floor at his feet. He knelt after a moment, but you knocked his arm away when he reached for a sheet. "I'm leaving." You whispered. "I made you this to...to try to explain."

You pressed the stack of pages, now reorganized, into his limp hands. Ezra didn't even look down, his fingers automatically gripping the paper. "What?" His voice was hoarse.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I said, I'm leaving. I made you this to explain." Please don't hate me.

"Gentle soul, I...surely we can engage in some civil discourse about this? Have I done something to vex you?"

"No, it's not you."

"You'll forgive me if I am not reassured by your statement." He muttered. "I can think of no other reason that you would attempt a covert exodus like a beleaguered Israelite. Should I investigate the kitchen for unleavened bread?"

"I...what?" You asked in confusion. "Bread?"

Ezra groaned, shaking his head. "Never mind." He then asked bluntly, "why are you leaving?"

You tapped the sheets in his hands, smiling tremulously. "Goodbye, Ezra." With that, you got to your feet and bolted to your bedroom, your face burning with embarrassment. You hated that you anticipated an explosion even after all this time; this was Ezra, not Damon. You picked up your pack and slid on your boots, then hesitantly crept back out.

Ezra was still on the floor. He hadn't moved an inch, just staring down at the pages in his hands. You skittered past him tentatively, but he didn't so much as glance in your direction. This was what you had decided, you reminded yourself while depositing your fob to the apartment on the table next to the door. You had chosen this route. All you could do now was stick to it. The door clicked closed behind you but instead of relief, you felt gut-wrenching sorrow.

Ezra,

It's time for me to leave. I've never been good with words. They always get tangled up inside me.

You popped open the door to the complex stairs in the hallway, sniffling quietly as you began making your way down.

I wish I could tell you in a way that I knew you would understand. I wish I could articulate like you, but all I can do is draw.

You checked the time on your battered watch. You hadn't invested in a new chronometer yet, the bulky square still serving its purpose even with a cracked screen. Perhaps you were too hesitant with your good fortune, you mused, but after having spent so many years carefully scraping and budgeting for every piece of gear, there was bound to be an adjustment period.

So here it is. Ramshackle and hackneyed; everything that you hate. It's got nothing to do with you, so please don't be upset. I just know that I shouldn't stay here any longer.

Your mind's eye ran through your sketches over and over. Weary, worn-out boots. A leaking mug, broken and poorly repaired, pieces that would never fit back together properly. Your helmet, the dome cracked, overgrown in creeping, mossy green. Alone.

You should be able to get on with your life. You don't need me hanging around.

You rubbed your temples. It was too early for check-in, but you were certain that the hotel wouldn't mind you sitting in the lobby for a few hours.

You reached the ground floor without incident, emerging onto the street and weaving your way through the crowded sidewalks of Puggart Bench. Maybe you would go off-planet, get away from the crush of Central's runoff. But that might mean a pod…

You could easily buy your own ship, though you would have to hire a pilot. Perhaps you could get your pilot's license? You would already need one if you wanted to have ground transport options, instead of being subjected to the mercy of the Pug's PTS. Of course. There it was, a plan. This wouldn't be so difficult. You had survived on your own for most of your life!

You squared your shoulders, scrubbing at your face in an effort to shore yourself up. Of course you could handle this. "I can do this." You said aloud, clenching your fists determinedly. "I have four hours until check-in. Tomorrow I have my appointment slated to look at living spaces, and I'll stop by the registry to sign up for the courses. Then, I can go to the grocery depot-" You continued ticking off your objectives, searching through your pockets for your analog sketchbook so you could write everything down. Where is-?

You thought you were imagining things for a moment when you heard Ezra's voice. "The gentry will think you've gone lunar if you keep rambling to yourself, gentle soul."

He sounded slightly out of breath. You froze when a familiar hand tapped your most recent sketchbook against your arm. You must have left it on the couch. For a split-second, you debated on trying to lose him again in the thick crowd.

But then, "Wait, please. Just...permit me a moment of your time." He begged. You sighed and obligingly struggled along crossways to the general flow of pedestrian motion, following him to the sheltered harbor of a nearby doorway.

Ezra shoved his hands into his pockets, looking incredibly rumpled. You folded your arms over your chest, barely resisting the urge to hug yourself nervously. "Look." You said quietly. "If you saw the thing I gave you, you know why I'm doing this."

"I understand the trajectory, but I am still in the dark when it comes to the catalyst." Ezra muttered. "What brought you to such a conclusion? What scurrilous thoughts have flourished, propagated, conspired to usher you onto the path of solitude that you are so determined to float without me?"

I love you. I love you. I love you and I'm scared-

"I think I love you, okay?!" You exploded, flinging the words heedlessly as you finally dared to actually look at him. "I love you and I...Ezra, I'm-" Your lower lip began to quiver while you came to terms with what you had just done, your sentence drying up and your face flushing with shame. "I'm…"

"You're what?" He encouraged you softly, his eyes impossibly, infuriatingly kind.

"Scared." You managed to get out, a raw hiccup catching in your chest.

"Why?" You gestured vaguely up and down at your body, giving him a helpless little shrug. Ezra shook his head. "Attempt again. I want to hear what you have to say, but you must speak."

"I'm not...I'm...Ezra, I'm just-" Your voice dropped to a defeated whisper, tears beginning to roll down your face. "I'm broken."

"By whose definition?" He asked sharply, his visible bristling causing a spike of gratitude to nourish the flame in your stomach. "Who has planted these thoughts in your head? Because they are a bold-faced liar."

"I don't expect you to understand-"

"Oh certainly!" He interrupted you in that ferociously cheery tone, "Why would I, a simple floater that has been crushed under the monstrous heft of the Great Chain time and again, understand what it's like to feel worthless or used? Better yet, abandoned."

"It's different for me!" You cried, hating how pitiful your voice sounded. "You deserve--you deserve everything and I'm so...I'm dirty, I'm wrong and-"

"How the hell can you say things like that about yourself?" Ezra's large hands framed your face gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "How can you spout such untruths about the woman I love?" He murmured tenderly.

The woman I love. The woman I love. The woman I love.

You stared up at him, certain that your mouth was agape. "You speak of deserving with no regard for how little I deserve you, gentle soul. It wounds me that you think so low of yourself." Ezra breathed, his eyes flicking back and forth between your own. "All I can think about when I look at you is how much I do not deserve...any of this. The stability, the contentment. I am akin to a somnolent cat on a warm windowsill, gentle soul." His expression grew pained, clouded with thought. "My life has not been an easy one, perennially by the fault of my own hand. I did not anticipate such...fortuitously serendipitous circumstances, wherein I would be confronted with the task of engaging in mutual lodgin' strictly for the sake of enjoyment of another's company, you must understand."

"I uh." You swallowed, "I probably will once I figure out what you said, give me a minu-"

"Let me translate into the layman's vernacular then. To spare you the...intellectual toil." Ezra sucked in a ragged breath. "I would appreciate you giving me the honor of er, being able to pursue a relationship with you. I would like to kiss you. I would like to kiss...as much of you as I can. I would like to touch you, wherever and whenever you'll permit. I would like to know you...i-intimately."

His awkward little stammer at the end set you off, helpless laughter bubbling up in your chest. "Ezra-!" You sputtered, clinging to his hand.

"What?" He protested. "I am a loquacious fool, gentle soul! Simplicity undoes me, as sure as your tenderness undoes me! I am at a loss." He pressed his forehead to your own. "I beg of you, don't leave. Not yet. At least allow me to attempt to...to offer you something. Anything. Permit me to prove you wrong."

"I don't know if you can." You murmured sadly.

"You have saved me time and again, gentle soul." Ezra reasoned. "With your permission, with your consent, I...martyr's malfeasance, let me help." His voice broke. "You nearly died, I nearly lost you in that Green Purgatory. I do not approach this task lightly, please understand. You are immensely precious to me, and I...I am afraid I am being too verbose once more."

You reached out to run your fingers through the blond patch on his temple, then checked your watch with a put-upon sigh. "Well, if we hurry home, I can cancel my reservations before they charge me."

"Home?" He echoed hopefully, his eyes brightening as he nudged his head against your palm.

"Yeah." You nodded, allowing a little smile to curve your lips. "Home."

…

"I haven't done anything for months, so I…" you trailed off nervously, your hands clasped in your lap. "I don't know whether I even can anymore, you know?" You admitted.

Ezra nodded from his spot by the mantle, circling around behind the couch as he spoke. "I will not rush you, gentle soul. We focus solely on encouraging your relaxation." Your hands dropped to unbutton your shirt and a hand lightly tapping your wrist halted your motion. "Be still." He murmured. "You are safe here. Disrobing is not even on the itinerary for this week."

"The itiner…tell me you have a weird little chart somewhere." You snickered, faltering when his large palms pressed down on your shoulders and eased you back against the couch.

"It is not little, I assure you." Ezra's thumbs slid over the back of your neck. "Rehabilitation is no laughing matter. I will speak throughout so you know that it is me here. If you wish to close your eyes, please do. If you wish for me to stop, simply raise your hand."

"Wh-What are you going to do?" You queried warily.

"Rub your shoulders."

You blinked, confused but immensely relieved. You had thought… "You don't want to...y'know?"

"Gentle soul, never doubt my want." Ezra muttered darkly. "The quest for knowledge is one of eternal restraint, prudent temperance and mute burden." You hummed, not entirely sure what he meant by that. His palms were calloused and warm even through the fabric of your shirt, large fingers spread on your shoulders. Strong thumbs carefully worked into the nape of your neck, alternating in circles back and forth, back and forth. "What shall I speak of, gentle soul?"

"Hmm?" You were so focused on his hands you hadn't really heard his question. Ezra chuckled and repeated himself. "Oh! Um, I...well, whatever you can think of. I like hearing you talk. You could probably read the ingredients on a ration bar and I'd be invested."

Ezra sputtered, trying to muffle his laugh with his shoulder. "There's only so many ways I can expound upon such gripping topics as monosodium glutamate before it lapses into tedium, gentle soul." He hummed low in his throat, then opened with, "On a most divinely appointed day, when our beloved Screamer had been taken by tempestuous winds and scorching rains, I found myself as William Bligh."

"Oh, I love this one." You grinned, settling against the couch. "Favorite story, hands down."

"The increase of your inclination towards bias when I am involved is duly noted and immensely appreciated, gentle soul." You could hear his smile, picturing it in your head with ease. The way his eyes crinkled at the sides, his brows pitching slightly. "By the grace of Kevva I was tossed upon the mercies of fickle men who would not hesitate to slit my throat to save their own…"

...

The shoulder rubbing became a bi-nightly engagement. Ezra would recite a chapter from Aurelac And I, occasionally adding little bits in for flair as he went. Tonight was one such night, "She swaggered into the tent, braggadocious and bold, her hair immaculately coiffed under the dome of her helmet and it was then I knew my demise was encroach-"

"You are ridiculous, I am so far from braggadocious!" You interrupted him to protest. "And no one's hair ever looks good in those helmets. Plus, I was one hundred percent not in your book, thank Kevva."

"I confess I toyed with the idea of writing you in, but you struck me as an individual so fiercely private...I did not wish to remove you from such delectable obscurity." The man teased. "Aside from your name on the cover, naturally."

"I can't believe you wrote it so that you lost an arm-"

"How many times must I remind you that the protagonist of this tale is not myself? He is a man of unwavering moral fiber." Ezra groused. "A man of dubious, shaded past and impeccable integrity. Ambidextrous as well. Nothing like myself in the least."

You make me wish I was a reputable individual.

"Hey, Ezra." You craned your neck to look at him, his palm sliding to cup your ear automatically. "Can I do this for you instead?"

"Do what?" He asked blankly.

"The whole relaxation thing. Like what you're doing for me, you know?" You extended your hands. "Can I do it for you tonight?"

"That's...it's not necessary, gentle soul, you don't-"

"I want to. Please?"

Ezra grimaced reluctantly, running a hand through his hair. "Well, if you are certain." You nodded enthusiastically and he sighed, slowly settling down on the couch as you climbed off of it. "I am unsure if I am quite so receptive to this particular tech-" His words hitched mid-sentence as your fingers slid up into the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. "-nique." Ezra squeaked. "Going in for the kill so quickly, gentle soul? I at least gave you the fair play of two nights before my digits even grazed your h-air-"

You laughed quietly, fingers raking through his short hair with something very close to greed. He tilted his head to follow the motion of your pulls, humming low in his throat. You contentedly basked in the feeling of his body under your hands, even for something as mundane as rubbing his shoulders or finger-combing his hair. "Ezra, you're so tense." you murmured.

"You cannot fault me." Ezra protested. "I have a lifetime of prospectin' that these shoulders have borne the burden of without complaint. It's a miracle I can still move, the foolhardy things I've done…" He flexed his right hand idly. "A miracle, facilitated in no small part by yourself."

Like always, you found yourself flushing at his praise. You bit your lip, a little hesitant to ask the question that had been plaguing you since that particular stormy night. You had your suspicions, of course, but you really wanted to hear it from his mouth. "So I don't know if you remember this, you were kind of half-asleep when you did it. You recited a poem to me and it started out something like…'you come to me in my dreams'."

"Ah, hmm." Ezra coughed awkwardly. "Dare I ask why you enquire?"

You drummed your fingertips on his shoulders, then slipped your hands down to cradle his throat. Your fingers laced together just over his Adam's apple, pinkies resting on his exposed collarbone. "I was just wondering, what's the full version of it?"

You felt him swallow convulsively. "I'm afraid I have not finished that one yet." He admitted softly.

"You wrote that?"

Ezra nodded, chuckling, "Is that so difficult to believe?"

"Well uh, no, not really. I just...I guess I never thought about you writing anything else aside from the floater's rendition of Blood And Swash." You hummed as he laughed again, then asked, "What's it about?"

"It is poetry, gentle soul. It doesn't necessarily have to be about anything." He retorted a little too quickly.

You gasped softly. "Is it about me?"

Ezra froze. "What? No! As if written word alone would be enough to extol your virtues!" He snapped indignantly.

"It is about me!" You crowed triumphantly, the fire in your stomach blazing bright.

"Hush yourself, you contemptuously smug thing." The brown-haired man grumbled.

"You're writing poetry about me!"

"I can do little else!" He exclaimed in exasperation, pinning your hands in place on his chest. "You demand it. You are poetry without a page, gentle soul. I have a responsibility to mankind itself, t-to document...such beauty must be preserved, lest it fade to the marches of featureless time." Ezra proclaimed staunchly, staring straight ahead. "And truly, what a disservice that would be."

You blinked down at the top of his head, tears gathering at the edges of your lashes. At your sniffling, Ezra half-turned to look up at you.

"Gentle soul?" He asked uncertainly. You shook your head, fumbling back over the couch to essentially tuck yourself into his lap. Ezra, to his credit, adjusted remarkably well to your sudden craving for closeness. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on the top of your head as you hid your face in his chest.

"I'm sorry." You apologized thickly after a while, certain that he couldn't be comfortable.

Ezra grunted, adjusting his posture beneath you into something that resembled a dignified slouch. "In my dreams you come to me, as timid and inexorable as the dawn." He muttered the words rapidly, rushing through the memorized lines. "In my sleepless hours you find me, tremulous and waning like the starlight. For I am a lost man who wanders bright and dark, all for the fleeting glimpse of youuuu-" He groaned the last word. "And there it stops. My brain, for all its magnanimous, expansive lexicon, falls utterly flat." His hands stroked over your head, fingers carding through your hair.

"Maybe it is done?" You suggested timidly.

He scoffed. "No, I just...I have to come across the right turn of phrase. The whole thing is trite enough as it is. Hopelessly lovestruck. Never thought I would be the type. Truly, a horrendous conundrum." He lamented, his voice soft. He didn't appear overly distraught about the aforementioned horrendous conundrum.

"Is it making you feel querulous?" You jibed.

Ezra laughed ruefully, his eyes warm as he smiled. "It very well might be, gentle soul!"

"All for the fleeting glimpse of you, all for the…" You paused, your gaze falling to his lips. "A-All for the touch of your mouth on mine?"

Ezra ran a hand through his hair, seeming a bit flustered as he tried to avoid your gaze. "We have not even-"

"But we could." You whispered.

"Could we?" He asked, his voice low. "Should we?" You cupped his jaw, your thumbs rubbing over the unruly stubble he permitted to grow there. "Do you wish to?"

You nodded, smiling. "I do."

"Strictly to further research, naturally. To...facilitate my Byronic breakthrough." Ezra reasoned, his voice drawling lazily. You shook your head and his brows furrowed, drawing tight at the peak of his nose. "No?"

"Because I want to." You confessed shyly.

Ezra cleared his throat, hoarsely rasping a single word. "Temperance."

"What?"

"Don't trouble yourself. I'm merely makin' a note of what to petition the saints for later tonight." A hand rested on the back of your neck, coaxing you in. His mouth was gentle on yours, tentative; lips moving with equal amounts of caution and curiosity. His mustache sent unfamiliar sensations racing across your skin, somehow coarse and soft all at once. You closed your eyes, whimpering quietly as you clung to his shoulders. "I must admit," he gasped into your mouth, "this is hardly conducive to my--"

"Shh," you hushed him, smiling when he chuckled. You bumped your forehead against his, nuzzling your temple over his Mallen streak. "Thank you."

"I believe that is my next line, gentle soul." He teased. "All for the touch of your mouth on mine. What a deliciously trite stanza." His brown eyes searched your own. "I am lost in impassioned rumination over it." He murmured, drawing you back for another kiss.

Part Eight

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skrltwtch · 3 years

Text

Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #mine #fun fact #I wrote this story in early october last year #and it's kind of truth in television for me now

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