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“I am post-presidency Barack Obama. So I’m just chillin’ in Hawaii, drinking Mai Tais, writing memoirs and hoping Trump doesn’t destroy my legacy.”

“Okay, I’m so just putting this out there, but if you get to chill in Hawaii, I so call dibs on being the badass counter-revolutionary who does all the cool shit and takes out the Nazi fucklords, you feel me? That or Bernie Sanders raising hell on Capital Hill and totally sticking it to their pasty asses.”

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manicvoice‌: 

His hair was down, phone in hand, and hips clad in tight leather. He was chatting up some local musicians that night, as he often did when he was out on the town and not out in the underground, running his business. After all, he did have other prospects when he wasn’t attempting to overthrow the government. 

Coming up behind the girl in front, he shifted to sneak his arm into her own as he leaned in. “Hey, just play it cool, I can get you in.” He said, giving her a playful wink beneath his yellow tinted glasses and flashing her a toothy smile. He turned back to the bouncer and made a finger gun towards the man. 

“Oh! Yamada-san! I was not aware you were coming tonight.”

“Business is business, Hiero!” He said. “Always in the mood for a celebrity, eh?”

There were worse ways of getting into clubs than friendly locals, she figured. Truth be told, Danny was the type to get swept into situations she might not have anticipated otherwise, but with a beat this dope and a party really starting to rev to life, how the hell could she say no? The others still waiting for their turn through were slightly offended, but definitely not confrontational. That she could appreciate. 

“Sounds like a good deal, dude. --Er, Yamada-san?” Danny ventured with a bit of a smile as they were led through. God, for someone whose anxiety could trigger at the drop of a hat, the pulse of the club was doing practically the opposite. Besides, this guy seemed pretty damn nice, things considering. A drink wouldn’t hurt. 

“You from the neighborhood?” she asked above the throbbing pulse of the bass. It was loud, but she loved it. “I’m...kinda not, but that’s probably obvious.”

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SCP-203 was proving to be a bigger challenge to find than she’d thought. As a field agent when not in her atypically assembled task force, they relied on working almost by themselves in situations such as these. A phantom embed in an object moving cross-country was not a fun target to pursue, much less one she’d tracked all the way to some damn antique store. Worming her way inside, Danny proved amid the baubles with an EMP reader, watching the dancing lights as she grew close to her quarry.

@whofavorsfire 

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Cremesicle

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“Man, this place is huge.” It was something easily marveled upon, the clubs that lined the streets of Shinjuku. Considered one of Tokyo’s seedier districts, it almost felt like a part of Los Angeles, or maybe Rio. Just--different. Alive, somehow. Like all the propriety and polity Japanese were known for was peeled back to the plumes of smoke and bonfires. Finding way to a club, it was times like these that she was grateful for her anonymity on the music scene, her friend in a motorcycle helmet being her for her. 

Waiting to get past the bouncer, Danny peered over the throngs of people and made way into the throbbing pulse of the club. 

“Looks gnarly as fuck, though.”

@manicvoice

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Will Smith - Men In Black (1997)

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Jungle by Tash Sultana 

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