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calumcest · 4 years

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i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter one

[ao3]

have i ever mentioned my britpop au? i don’t think i have :) this is quite literally the definition of self-indulgence like genuinely this is so self-indulgent that it probably counts as a deadly sin and i have literally no justifications for it

before anybody comes for me for starting another chaptered fic: i have 50k of this lined up and i’m still going at the speed of light (as sam can attest to) fear not we’re going to get there with this one i promise also for anyone still waiting for the soulmate au thats going to get finished too once this is out of my system

i have an inordinate number of people to thank for putting up with me/this fic so let us begin: @tirednotflirting deserves every single ounce of praise and love i have to offer for reading this whole thing, listening to me talk about it, bouncing ideas with me, being so patient and kind about it, coming up with such brilliant ideas and for just generally being an all-round sweetheart. @calumftduke also deserves excessive praise and thanks for reading a big old chunk of this and being so sweet about it. @killingangels genuinely breathed life into this fic and cheered it on to the place it is today thank u for diving into a britpop phase with me. @ashesonthefloor and @clumsyclifford listened to me whine about this fic even though neither of them care and i truly owe them for that. @kaleidoscopeminds lets me thirst over the gallaghers but keeps me in my place about it which is truly the vibe check i need and also listened to me talk about this fic over the past few weeks and is just generally such a joy to speak to. i’m certain i’ve forgotten someone my brain has not been switched on in weeks now but anyone who’s listened to me talk about this over the past few weeks deserves a ticket straight to heaven honestly

quick bit of vocab: our kid is a term used by siblings in manchester. not sure why i don’t understand mancunian culture myself but the gallaghers are always saying it in interviews and my mancunian friend concurred that it is correct so idk what goes on up there

warnings: heavy drug use (its oasis and blur in the ‘90s theres a lot of coke/weed/alcohol) and lots of swearing (including the c word because they’re british)

He’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now.

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford.

or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

Liam had once asked Calum if he believed in fate.

“D’you think it’s all real?” he’d said one day, out of the fucking blue. Calum, though, used to Liam beginning conversations in the middle after two long years of knowing him, had just looked at him.

“Do I think what’s all real?” he’d asked. Liam had indicated up at the sky with his eyes and cigarette.

“Fate, and all that,” he’d said, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. Calum had watched as his cheeks hollowed around it, turning potential answers over and over in his mind.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he’d said eventually, and Liam had raised his eyebrows and nodded as he’d exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that had blended in with the sky and the council houses.

Calum thinks he probably should have known then. Maybe Liam had been trying to make a point, in that strange way he sometimes does - what are the odds you’d end up here, with us? Calum hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, just rolled his eyes and nudged Liam’s foot with his own and said Noel’s going to do his fucking nut if we’re not there in ten, and that had been that. The conversation never even crossed his mind again until it was too late, until fate had already had her way with Calum.

In Calum’s defence, though, fate never showed her hand. She never threw him any hints, no flashing neon signs that said Calum, your destiny is this way. Fate came piecemeal, came in short snippets of conversations or flashes of familiar faces or, on occasion, Liam and Noel swearing loudly at each other as they stomp up the stairs in Calum’s house.

“I’m arsed,” Liam’s saying loudly, when he barges into Calum’s room. Noel’s hot on his heels, midway through a spiel he’s clearly prepared which Liam’s having none of, and he turns to Calum when they get through the door, an annoyed expression on his face.

“Tell him he’s a prick,” he says.

“Why?” Calum says, setting his magazine aside, because he needs to know what he’s supposed to be endorsing before he picks a side in an argument between the Gallagher brothers.

“Our kid wants us to miss the match tonight and go to some fucking gig,” Liam grumbles, throwing himself down on Calum’s bed and picking up his magazine.

“It’s not ‘some fucking gig’, Liam,” Noel says irritably. “It’s the fucking Boardwalk. We’ve got to hear what else is out there right now.”

“I told you, I’m fucking arsed what else is out there right now,” Liam says, flicking about five pages on from the article Calum had been in the middle of reading. “I don’t write the fucking songs, do I? Go on your fucking own. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Noel rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and Calum’s Gallagher Explosion Incoming senses start tingling, followed swiftly by his Peacekeeping Skill Set activating.

“Look,” he says hurriedly, before Noel can say something that’ll lead to a couple of black eyes, mostly because neither of the brothers have ever cared much about collateral damage and Calum values his bruiseless skin. “What if we start the match, and if City look like they’re going to lose, we go to the gig?” Noel closes his mouth, and then opens it again, and then closes it again.

“Fucking whatever,” Liam grumbles, which is the closest they’re going to get to acquiescence from him. Calum stares at Noel beseechingly, because this is the best idea he’s got and pretty much the only one he thinks Liam’ll agree to, and Noel rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically, but then nods reluctantly.

“City won’t fucking lose,” he mutters, as he sits down in the chair at Calum’s desk. “Not to a bunch of Scousers.”

“Lost to Liverpool not four weeks ago,” Calum reminds him, and Noel scowls.

“That second goal was fucking offside,” he says.

“Ref was a fucking wanker,” Liam chimes in, from where he’s lying on Calum’s bed, still thumbing through the magazine. “‘Ere, what’s this, then?” he adds, with a grin, and turns the magazine around, tapping on the page. It’s a picture of a (very pretty) boy spread across a motorbike, and Calum rolls his eyes, snatching the magazine out of Liam’s hands.

“Fuck off,” he says, but Liam’s just laughing, head tipped back on the bed, all full lips and bright blue eyes and long, dark lashes. If Calum hadn’t been doing lines with Liam for half of last night, he could almost believe the angelic innocence the boy gives off.

“Looks like our kid,” Noel says, sitting down on the chair at Calum’s desk. Liam raises his head far enough to give Noel a two-fingered salute, but he’s still grinning, and Noel’s grinning too when he flips Liam off in return.

Fucking hell, Calum thinks. It’ll take more than his three O Levels to fucking understand those two.

-------

City end up conceding three goals in the first twenty-five minutes, and Liam’s the one who stands up, voice already hoarse from screaming at the TV, and demands they go out. Noel, never one to resist pressing buttons that only he can find on Liam, makes a snide comment about it, and Calum, to keep the peace, makes a comment about United, giving both brothers something to spend the entire bus journey to the Boardwalk ranting about.

Noel gets them in for free, because he knows someone who knows someone who’d been a roadie with a band who had been on tour with the Inspiral Carpets for like, half a second, or something. Calum doesn’t really care how they get in for free, whether Noel gets them in by knowing someone who knows someone or by hiring a hitman on the bouncer, as long as they do get in for free, because he’d rather save his money for weed.

The band that’s playing are immediately declared to be boring little fuckers by Liam, who beelines for the bar and only has to flutter his lashes twice before the pretty girl behind the bar sidles up to him with a coy look on her face. To his credit, though, he doesn’t linger after getting the drinks, weaving through the crowd to Noel and Calum with a mixture of shouted insults and threats at anyone in his path, three overfull pints balanced precariously in his hands.

“You’re paying me back for these,” is how he greets them again, taking a sip from Noel’s before handing it to him. Noel just rolls his eyes, turning back to the stage and raising the pint to his lips.

“Am I fuck,” Calum says, taking the other beer out of Liam’s outstretched hand. Liam scowls, but lets him take it, taking a sip from his own glass.

“I’ll just smoke your weed, then,” he says, like he doesn’t do that anyway. Calum just shakes his head and turns back to the stage, where a new band are setting up, fiddling with their amps and mic stands.

“D’you even know who these pricks are?” Liam asks Noel.

“Don’t even know if they’re worth knowing yet,” Noel says. Liam shrugs, like that’s a fair point, and then a squeal of feedback makes all three of them (and the rest of the crowd) jump, causing loud swearing from at least eight people in the vicinity as their drinks slosh over them.

“Fucking hell,” Noel mutters, shaking his hands off.

“Evening,” the lead singer says, voice deep and rich. “We’re Blur, and this is Popscene.” They immediately launch into something that’s all guitars and overdrive and beat, and Noel’s soon tapping his foot along in interest, spilled beer forgotten, as the singer starts jumping around enthusiastically. They’re not standing anywhere near the stage, and the distance and bright lights combined with the movement are making the singer look more translucent than opaque, which is making Calum’s head hurt. He chooses to focus on the bassist instead, because Noel’s kind of got a point that they should be listening to what else is around, although he’s probably just looking for more people to nick ideas off.

By the third song, though, Calum realises he’s really stood far too far away to get any benefit from watching the bassist - he can’t even tell whether he’s using a plectrum or not, and his eyes are already starting to hurt from squinting - and lets his gaze wander across the stage. There’s a guitarist wearing glasses, which Calum’s pretty sure Liam’s going to have a comment about that’ll involve the words ‘fucking’ ‘not’ and ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, with maybe ‘cunt’ chucked in for good measure. The drummer’s so far back that all Calum can make out is a shadowy figure behind the kit, and when the singer stands still long enough for Calum to see more than just a hazy figure all he can vaguely make out is what looks like very pretty features and blonde hair.

It’s the other guitarist, though, that makes Calum stop, his heart stilling in his chest for the briefest of moments.

He looks so familiar, messy blonde hair sticking up at all sorts of angles that Calum’s only ever seen on one other person, that it makes Calum’s stomach lurch. He’s got his face down, focusing on whatever they’re playing, so Calum can’t really see - not that he’d be able to tell from this distance, anyway - but there’s something that’s so achingly known to Calum that it makes him swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Even the guitarist’s posture is familiar, a little tense, a lot focused, with an edge of something cool and relaxed.

Calum’s so mesmerised by the guitarist, heart hammering in his chest, that he barely even realises three more songs have come to an end until the band all stop, gather together at the front of the stage and do an awkward half-bow-half-wave to the crowd. There’s a smattering of applause as they straighten up, and the lights are too bright for Calum to see properly, but he sees a flash of a smile that looks so much like one he hasn’t seen in almost four years that it makes something electric shoot through him before he’s even processed it, and then they’re turning around and heading off the stage.

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed.

It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now.

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford.

-------

They stay to watch three more bands, and then Liam’s in a fucking mood and even Noel’s had enough of the music, so they head back to Noel’s flat to drink and get high. Liam and Noel bicker the whole way there, first about whether or not Liam should be paying for all the weed Noel buys that he smokes, then about whether or not Liam had actually slept over last night or whether he’d been at home, then about whether or not the shirt their mam had bought Noel for Christmas had been green or blue. Calum offers his input on all of them, siding with Noel twice and Liam once, but gets snapped at to shut the fuck up by the both of them each time, making him roll his eyes as he kicks stones along the pavement.

(“Noel’s a fucking cunt,” Liam had said to him once, fuming, after a particularly nasty argument that had ended in every bag of frozen peas being dug out of the freezer.

“Yeah,” Calum had said. “So are you, though, mate.”

“Don’t call my brother a cunt,” Liam had said, and Calum had rolled his eyes, picking up the now-defrosted bag of peas on the table and taking them back into the kitchen, where Noel was nursing his own black eye.

“What the fuck is his problem?” Noel had said furiously.

“You’re both twats,” Calum had said with a shrug, tossing the peas back in the freezer.

“Hey,” Noel had said sharply. “That’s my fucking brother.”

Calum’ll never pretend to understand them.)

They spend the night lying on Noel’s living room floor, pleasantly drunk and so stoned that Liam and Noel forget to argue for about three hours. Calum drifts in and out of sleep, listening to Liam and Noel mumbling to each other and remembering to speak once every twenty minutes or so, until Noel nudges him at what must be about five in the morning.

“What’d you reckon?” he says, looking thoughtful.

“About what?”

“That band, tonight.” They saw five bands, so Calum would be well within his rights to ask which one, but somehow, he knows.

“Good,” he says. “Interesting. Sounded new, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Noel says, rolling on his side to face Calum. He hums, like he’s thinking Calum’s words over. “Liam reckons they’re not rock ‘n’ roll enough.” Calum rolls his eyes.

“Liam reckons the fucking Stones aren’t rock ‘n’ roll enough,” he says, and Noel snorts, and it sounds so fucking ridiculous that Calum giggles, which makes Noel burst out laughing, and soon they’re cackling on the floor, tears streaming down their faces as they gasp for breath and clutch at their stitches. Liam, who’s been sleeping soundly, looking peaceful and tranquil and not at all like the guy who’d threatened to knock Calum’s teeth out for suggesting City should have played a different formation not six hours ago, stirs and opens his eyes, blinking blearily.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, and then rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Noel glances at Calum, flushed and panting from laughing, eyes bright and gleaming, and that one look is enough to make the both of them collapse in laughter again, cheeks and sides and throats hurting.

The next morning, when Liam wakes Calum up by nudging him in the ribs and saying get up, lazy bugger, we’re late for work, that’s what Calum remembers from the night before. He remembers laughter, Noel’s living room going blurry around the edges, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol, weed and two of his best mates thrumming through his veins. He doesn’t remember the boy on guitar in the Boardwalk.

-------

The next time fate has her way with Calum is a good year and a half later.

They’re recording their first album, which Noel seems to think means he’s recording his first album and everyone else is just there to complement his fucking genius. He’s not managed to stop being a cunt for about six months now, and, not one to let Noel beat him in anything, Liam’s getting equally insufferable. The studio is a fucking battleground, and Bonehead always takes Liam’s side and Tony’s just fucking useless, and Calum thinks to himself at least twice a day: is this really worth it? Maybe I should’ve just stuck with construction.

They’re getting there, though, and when it’s good, it’s fucking good. They can all sense that there’s something there, something new and bold and, as Noel in all his endless humility declares it one night, groundbreaking. They’ve recorded Supersonic, a song that Noel somehow wrote in about half an hour, recorded a video for it on the roof of some warehouse in London, and there’s something about it that none of them can quite put their finger on, something that feels almost overwhelming, feels like it’s bigger than them. They’ve even been on the radio a few times, been playing bigger and bigger venues, got a contract and management and all that nonsense, and for all the flaws that combine to make up the Gallagher brothers, Noel’s got a fucking knack for songwriting and Liam’s voice is unlike anything Calum’s heard before.

The problem is that lately, it’s been bad more than it’s been good. They’d done sessions at Monnow Valley which had sounded like absolute shit, too clean and thin, and with every day that passed and every track that couldn’t be used Noel got more and more frantic, snapping at everyone who dared speak to him. Liam, never one to resist a fight with his brother, had risen to the challenge, and the fallout had been messier and dirtier and involved more collateral damage than even Calum had expected. It had culminated in a trip to Amsterdam which had ended before it even began after a fight broke out on the ferry. Calum remembers seeing Liam zooming past, a happy grin on his face, heading right for the middle of the action, and then twenty minutes later zooming past again, bruised and bloody, still grinning, being chased by a policeman. It had ended in Liam being deported, handcuffs and all, and a screaming match between the brothers in which both of them quit and were fired by the other at least twenty-three times.

Since that, though, things have got a little better. They’ve started recording in Sawmills in Cornwall with Noel as a co-producer, and Noel and Liam have started talking again, and everyone had breathed out a collective sigh of relief when Noel had announced he was going to head to the shops and Liam had wordlessly got up to join him. Slowly but surely, things have started looking up.

It’s in the middle of one of those sessions that everything changes.

“Eeyar, Calum,” Noel calls, from the corridor outside. “Your mam’s on the phone.” Calum sighs - fucking hell, what does his mum not understand about we’re recording an album and I’m twenty-two years old, I’ll call you when I fucking call you - but puts his bass aside and gets up grudgingly, trotting outside to see Noel holding out the receiver for him.

“I want you back in in ten,” he says warningly, like he’s Calum’s dad and they’re eating dinner soon, and Calum rolls his eyes and flips him off, which is as good of a yes as Noel’s going to get. Noel sticks his tongue out at him and heads back into the studio, probably to yell at Bonehead from the soundboard for being too loud, or maybe too quiet, or maybe too middling. He’ll find something.

“What?” Calum says, a little irritably, lifting the receiver to his ear.

“Hello to you too, Calum,” his mum says smartly. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week.” Calum rests his arm against the wall, and his forehead against his arm, and stares at his shoes.

“I’m recording an album, mum,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too annoyed. “We’re busy.” She makes a small hmm, a you should have stayed in a real job kind of hmm, but doesn’t push it.

“Are you eating well?” she asks, a stern undertone to her voice, like she knows Calum’s diet right now is entirely liquid.

“Yes,” Calum lies. He gets another disapproving hmm for his trouble which sounds like it might be the prelude to a speech about how he should stop wasting his time and come home and do a proper job and eat some vegetables, so he decides to change tack. “How’s home?”

“Oh, home’s good,” his mum says. “Janet next door’s got a new man, invited us to the wedding next month - can you imagine? A wedding in March? I said to her, I said ‘you’ll be wanting to move it to May’, and she said ‘oh, we want an indoor wedding anyway’.” Calum hums noncommittally, because he has absolutely no idea what that’s supposed to mean. What the fuck’s wrong with an indoor wedding in March? “Anyway, your dad and I have decided to go. Janet extended the invitation to you, too, but I said I didn’t know if you’d be back from your recording session.”

“I don’t know either,” Calum says. “Noel’s being a right cunt about the whole thing.”

“Calum,” his mum says reprovingly, like she wasn’t the one he picked the word up from in the first place. “Well, regardless, you’ll be home by April, won’t you? I told your dad you’d help fix the wall in the garden.” Calum groans, because that’s pretty much the last thing on the list of things he wants to do, including having Noel claw his eyeballs out for fucking up the bass on Supersonic again, and his mum tuts. “You’ve got experience in construction, Calum. You should put those skills to good use.”

“I’ve never fixed a fucking wall, mum,” he says.

“Well, the wall needs fixing,” she says, like that’s that. The wall needs fixing, so Calum’s got to suddenly develop the skills to do it.

(For her, though, Calum’ll do it.)

“What’s wrong with it?” he says, already mentally ringing up the cost of the bricks and mortar he’s going to need. “Looked fine last time I was home.”

“I think the ivy must have loosened the cement,” his mum says. “I was watching TV the other night - I saw Michael on Top of the Pops, actually - and then-”

“Hang on,” Calum interrupts, because he only knows two Michaels, and one of them’s here in Cornwall with him. “Michael who?”

“Michael Clifford,” his mum says, like it’s obvious. “Anyway, then I heard a huge crash outside, and I told your dad to go and take a look, and he said the wall had caved in. Just a bit, you know, near the shed, but-” she’s still talking, something about foxes and de-weeding the garden, but Calum’s not listening.

Michael Clifford, she’d said, like it was simple and obvious. Like it stood to reason that she saw him on Top of the fucking Pops. Like it made sense that Calum’s childhood best friend, his fucking everything from the age of seven to seventeen, was on a British music show.

“Michael Clifford?” he repeats, in the middle of whatever his mum’s saying.

“Yes,” she says, sounding a little annoyed that Calum’s not listening to her impassioned speech about ivy. “Anyway, your dad said he’d need some help with it, and that it can wait until you’re back. But I want it done as soon as you are, because I don’t like the idea of Janet being able to see into our garden. Oh, that’s the chicken done. Call me in a few days, let me know how things are. Give the others my best. Love you.” She doesn’t even wait for a response, just hangs up, leaving Calum staring at the floor with a dial tone ringing in his ear and a name bouncing around in his mind.

It can’t be him. She must have been mistaken. What the fuck would Michael Clifford be doing on Top of the Pops? What the fuck would Michael Clifford even be doing in Britain? The last Calum had heard from him, about a year and a half after he’d left Sydney, Michael had been sure about becoming a policeman. He’d seemed so dead set on it, had signed himself up for the academy and everything. Calum might not have heard from him in almost half a decade, but he’s pretty sure nobody would stray so far from ‘policeman in Sydney’ to end up at ‘musician in Britain’. No, he thinks, shaking his head and pushing himself off the wall with his arm, his mum must have been wrong. She hasn’t seen Michael since they’d moved from Sydney five years ago either, so it’s understandable that she’d mixed him up with someone else.

But, a little voice says, as he heads back into the studio and is greeted with the sight of Liam sprawled across the sofa, laughing at something Noel’s just said, both of them looking far too high-spirited for Gallaghers, she watched Michael grow up. She knew his face better than you ever did.

“‘Ere,” Liam says, interrupting the voice in Calum’s mind as it’s about to start reeling off a list of times Calum’s mum had spotted Michael in a crowd or down the road or in a photo before Calum had. “Noel says he’ll sprint around the house naked if Tony doesn’t fuck up his drums on this take. What d’you reckon?”

“I reckon it’s a good thing Tony can’t fucking play drums then, isn’t it?” Calum says, as Liam drops his feet to the floor to make room for Calum on the sofa. Liam snorts, and Noel scowls, but his eyes are still lit up with amusement.

“Well, I reckon you’re both cunts,” Noel tells them, and Calum grins, hoping they don’t see the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and reaches over for Liam’s beer to try and calm his churning stomach.

-------

Calum can’t sleep that night.

He’s usually so drunk that Liam’s gentle snoring doesn’t even register to him as he throws himself down on his bed, often fully-dressed, and falls right asleep, only waking up to fumble around for paracetamol in the middle of the night when his throbbing headache overpowers his exhaustion. He’s not used to lying there, stomach still unsettled, mind racing, staring blankly up at the ceiling, growing more and more frustrated by the noise of Liam sleeping.

Liam rolls over in his sleep, mutters something under his breath, and then his breathing evens out again, and Calum times the minutes passing by the way he breathes in, out, in, out. The moonlight’s getting brighter - or maybe it’s the sun rising, he’s not sure - and eventually, when Liam rolls over again and smacks his lips in his sleep, Calum’s had enough. He gets up, pads out of the room and down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen for a drink.

He’s surprised, though, when he pushes the door open, to find Noel sat at the breakfast bar, a sheet of paper in front of him, still wearing the same clothes from the day before. He turns around at the noise of the door opening and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a greeting to Calum, who grunts back at him as he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water.

“Can’t sleep?” Noel asks, and Calum raises his eyebrows over the glass of water he’s gulping down.

“No,” he says, setting the glass down on the counter. “You?” Noel shakes his head.

“‘S Bonehead’s fucking snoring,” he says, by way of an explanation, but Calum’s known Noel for five years now, and knows him better than that.

“And that’s why you’re still dressed?” Calum says shrewdly.

“Fuck off,” Noel mutters, raising a can of beer to his lips so he won’t have to say anything else. Calum sighs and shakes his head, but chooses not to push him on it, hopping up on the counter and swinging his legs.

“You writing?” he asks, and Noel looks down at the sheet of paper under his hand, and shrugs.

“Trying,” he says. Calum hums, and the two of them lapse into a comfortable silence for a while.

It helps, Calum finds, to be with Noel. He’s never been a man of many words - neither him nor Liam have ever been particularly gifted in that area - but Calum knows he’s always safe with Noel, thrives in the quiet comfort of Noel’s presence. Noel never asks, never pushes, but he’s always there if Calum ever needs anything, and even though they never speak about it, they both know the same is true vice versa.

(Calum can count on one hand the number of times he’s needed Noel, and can count on one finger the number of times Noel’s needed him.)

That’s not to say Noel doesn’t have his moments, though. He’s obstinate, brash, loud, arrogant, thinks his opinion is worth at least twelve times as much as anyone else’s, and takes himself far too seriously half the time. Calum’s had some of his most memorable arguments with Noel, edged out only slightly by how spectacular his arguments with Liam have been. Both of those, however, are eclipsed by how fucking nuclear the arguments between Noel and Liam are. The two of them bring out both the worst and the best in each other, grating at each other’s virtues and soothing each other’s flaws. They don’t know how to be happy unless they’re dancing along the line between love and hate, and Calum’s not sure it’d work any other way. He’s seen them in their brief, private moments of peace - Liam’s head on Noel’s chest, Noel’s arm wrapped around him, Liam murmuring something about a song or a memory that makes Noel snort, which in turn makes Liam’s lips curve up in a proud smile - but neither of their ships could sail anywhere without a restless sea to guide them. They need the fighting, need the bickering, even need the punches, to keep the wheels turning. A conversation’s not really begun if Noel and Liam haven’t called each other cunts at least twice, Calum thinks, and if Calum’s not been called upon by both of them to call the other a cunt within ten seconds of the inevitable argument breaking out.

It had been an argument like that a year or so ago that had led to them traipsing to the Boardwalk to watch that band play. Calum remembers the energy they had, raw and a little off-kilter but something there all the same, remembers the lyrical shouting of the singer and the way he’d bounced all over the stage, but not as much as he remembers the guitarist.

He’d looked so familiar, blonde hair and posture combining to make Calum’s heart ache like no music had ever quite managed to. It couldn’t have been him, though, he’d told himself. There was absolutely no way that Michael Clifford could have been playing in the fucking Boardwalk. Michael was in Sydney, back home, probably sunning himself on Bondi Beach and laughing at something Ashton was saying as Luke grinned at Ashton with wide blue eyes. Michael wasn’t in Manchester.

Except, a little voice in his head says, maybe he was. Maybe Calum’s mum hadn’t mistaken some guy in a band on Top of the Pops for Michael. Maybe it was Michael.

“D’you know that band we saw, a few years ago?” Calum says, out of the blue, before the thought to say the words has even crossed his mind. Noel looks up at him, thick brows furrowed.

“Seen a lot of fucking bands,” he says, a little slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what Calum’s actually asking. Calum half-considers dropping the subject entirely, but Noel’s been in the business far longer than he has, and if anyone’s going to know, it’s him.

“The one in the bar. After the City match.” Noel purses his lips, brows creasing further, before nodding thoughtfully.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. They’re famous now, they are.”

“Oh,” Calum says, and swallows. That’s not what he expected - or, he finds, wanted - to hear.

“Yeah. Heard their first record. Or maybe it was their second, I don’t know. It wasn’t all that.”

“What’re they called, again?” Calum asks, hoping the question sounds innocent, but Noel’s eyes narrow a fraction.

“Blur,” he says.

“Blur,” Calum repeats, testing the word out, letting it sit on his tongue.

“Why?”

“No reason,” Calum says. Noel looks at him for a moment, like he’s weighing up whether or not to say something, but then seems to let it go, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking odd one, you are,” he says, which is the nicest thing he’s said to Calum in months.

“Cheers,” Calum says, with a grin. “Good-looking, too.”

“Don’t push it,” Noel warns, and Calum laughs, swinging his legs.

“What’re you writing, then?” he asks. Noel looks back down at the sheet of paper.

“Don’t know, really,” he says. “Just can’t seem to get it right.”

“Want me to take a look?” Calum offers.

“You?” Noel says sceptically. “You barely even play a fucking instrument.”

“Bass is a fucking instrument, you prick,” Calum says, only half-incensed.

“You’re up there with the fucking tambourine player,” Noel says, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Fuck off,” Calum says, and Noel leans back in the chair, grinning. “You’re the one who bought him that fucking tambourine, anyway.”

“Little twat might as well do something worthwhile,” Noel says, like Liam’s voice isn’t one of the two indispensable elements they’ve got.

“At least I can play guitar,” Calum counters. Noel raises an eyebrow.

“Playing?” he says. “Well. If that’s what you want to call it.” Calum scowls and flips him off, and Noel just laughs and gives him a two-fingered salute in return.

“Go on, then,” he says, shoving the piece of paper to the edge of the breakfast bar. “Let’s see how much damage can be done to my genius.” Calum rolls his eyes but reaches over to pull the piece of paper towards him. There’s barely anything on there, just two lines: I can’t tell you the way I feel/Because the way I feel is oh so new to me. Fucking hell.

“I’m off to bed,” Noel says, like he can sense the questions bubbling under the surface of Calum’s frown, and pushes himself back from the breakfast bar. Calum looks up, catches the brief look of don’t you dare fucking ask me what that’s about that flits across Noel’s face, just the most fractional chink in his armour, and nods, hopping off the counter and tucking the sheet of paper into his pocket. He should probably try and get some sleep too, if only because he’s going to have to be in the best frame of mind possible to deal with how insufferable Noel’s going to be tomorrow on three hours’ sleep.

“I’m going to smother your brother if he’s not stopped snoring,” he tells Noel, following him out of the room. Noel snorts as he starts up the stairs, that strange mixture of derisive and fond that the Gallaghers manage so well.

“You’ve got more of a fucking chance of him waking up a bird than you do getting him to stop snoring,” he says. Calum sighs, all long-suffering, like this is news to him, even though he’s been sleeping in rooms with Liam since they were seventeen and sixteen respectively.

“Good thing the tambourine player’s expendable, then,” he says, and Noel laughs, soft and quiet in the stillness of the night.

“You’d be doing the world a fucking favour,” he says, but there’s a strong edge of pride and fondness that Noel only ever gets when talking about Liam, and Liam only ever gets when talking about Noel, and they never get when talking to each other. Calum thinks they’d probably both rather switch to being United fans than ever admit any semblance of love exists between the two of them, but it hums lowly beneath the surface, visible for anyone who bothers to look beyond the black eyes and hurled insults and weeks of refusing to even look at each other. No one can deny that the two of them fucking hate each other half the time, but without the push and pull of their relationship, without the back and forth and the give and take, the band couldn’t work. If the two of them ever lost that, if one of them ever pulled or pushed too hard, that’d be it. It should probably concern Calum more than it does that his entire career is poised on the knife’s edge that is Liam and Noel’s endless tug-of-war, but he's yet to lose the strangely settled feeling in his stomach every time Noel quits or fires Liam that tells him they'll be alright. You'll be alright. There are still better things to come.

“You’re just saying that because you want to sing,” Calum retorts.

“Nah,” Noel says with a grin, hand hovering over the door handle of his and Bonehead’s room. “I’m saying it because I want more royalties.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too.

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” he promises.

-------

As Calum had predicted, Noel’s a fucking nightmare the next day.

He snaps at everyone who dares come within a ten metre radius of him, and, when everyone stops going into the same room Noel’s in, he specifically goes out of his way to find Liam to start an argument that ends in Liam complaining that one of his teeth is loose.

(“It’s not fucking loose,” Bonehead says, and then decides to leave the room, presumably because he doesn’t want to deal with Liam’s moaning and whining. Calum can’t really blame him, and starts to shift surreptitiously towards the door himself.

“Since when are you a fucking dentist, you cunt?” Liam shouts after him, and Bonehead flips him off as he walks away. “You’re coming with me to the dentist, you are.” He’s rounded on Calum now, blocking the path to the door, and Calum sighs.

“If we get more beer on the way back,” he bargains, and Liam nods.)

That’s how Calum’s ended up in some posh dental surgery, spread out across a leather sofa and looking very incongruous in his oversized shirt and baggy jeans amongst the glass and the fancy-looking plants, waiting for Liam to come out of his appointment. It’s taking far longer than he’d expected - he’d thought it’d be a quick your tooth’s not fucking loose, you knob, you’ve definitely had worse, like everyone else had told him, but Liam’s been in there for a good fifteen minutes now, and Calum’s getting bored.

The receptionist keeps making eyes at him, and Calum can’t tell whether they’re I want to fuck you eyes or whether they’re you look like you’re going to try and rob this dental surgery eyes, so eventually he picks up the nearest magazine off the coffee table and flicks it open to a random page just for something to look at that isn’t her.

There’s a very pretty guy staring back at him when he looks down, blonde and blue-eyed and grinning inanely at the camera, and the caption reads BLUR: the cocky rebels you’re allowed to love.

Blur. That’s what Noel had called the band from that bar in Manchester last night. They’re famous now, they are, he’d said.

Calum barely even notices the way his heart speeds up as his eyes fly across the page, scanning the article for any mention of Michael before he really realises what he’s looking for. The author and the singer - Damon, apparently - keep referring to a Mike, an Australian Mike, which puts Calum right on edge, but Michael had never gone by Mike. He fucking hated it, corrected anyone who called him anything other than Michael, refused to respond to any teachers who tried to call him Mike, threw glowers at any classmates who did the same. He’d barely even let Calum call him Mikey in his most vulnerable moments, rubbing small circles on his back soothingly as he coaxed him to throw up all the cheap booze they’d nicked from the corner shop.

Calum’s fingers are slick with sweat as he’s turning the page and his eyes are starting to water from how little he’s blinking, and he’s not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing, whether he wants Mike to be Michael or not. When he reaches the bottom of the second page, however, Calum’s heart stops.

There’s a picture of the whole band. Damon’s standing second from the left, right arm holding his left bicep, head tilted upwards, looking lazy and effortlessly beautiful, like he fucking knows he’s worth looking at. It reminds Calum of Liam a little bit, the way he plays into the camera, the way he knows that with a small tilt of his chin and a slight lowering of his lashes he’ll have half the fucking nation on their knees for him. Maybe that’s just the way singers need to be, Calum thinks, eyes flitting to the ginger guy to Damon’s left, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then to the guy directly on Damon’s right; tall, broody-looking, dark hair swept across his face. To his right is a shorter dark-haired man, looking tense and on edge, and to his right is-

Michael Clifford.

There’s no mistaking him. He’s got the same blonde hair still sticking up at all sorts of angles, the same sleepy, sea green eyes, the same pretty lips slightly parted in a pout. He’s holding himself confidently, miles away from the slightly scrawny teenager Calum had left behind, staring into the lens of the camera like it’s a challenge. Come on, Calum. Tell yourself I ever stopped mattering to you, go on.

Calum doesn’t need to read the caption to know it’s Michael, knows it from the way he’s clutching his right wrist with his left hand, but does it anyway, one final, desperate grasp at a straw - from left to right: David Rowntree, Damon Albarn, Alex James, Graham Coxon, Michael Clifford.

Michael Clifford.

The words seem to sort of swim in front of Calum’s eyes, like they’re not really there, like his mind’s superimposed them on the article somehow, but the picture’s still there, clear as day. Michael, a hint of stubble on his jaw, face more angled and figure fuller and shoulders broader and God, he looks so fucking good that Calum’s stomach flips and drops and flips again.

“-fucking hell, Earth to fucking Cal,” Liam says, sounding sort of muffled, and Calum nearly drops the magazine in shock, yanked back into reality so suddenly and jarringly by the sound of his voice.

“What?” he says, looking up to see Liam with an irritated expression on his face, cradling one cheek in his hand.

“Let’s fucking go,” Liam says, already halfway to the door. Calum stares after him for a moment, mind trying to process Liam wants to leave over the tangled jumble of Michael Michael Michael currently winding its way through every cell in his brain, before he jumps up, magazine still in his hand.

“Sir,” the receptionist calls immediately, like she’s had her eye on him the whole time. “You can’t take the magazine with you.” Calum looks down at the magazine, and Liam turns around from the door, a slight tension in his posture that Calum recognises as the one he gets when he’s spoiling for a fucking fight. Christ, he’s not about to deck the fucking receptionist, is he?

“Or what?” Liam says, a little menacingly. “You gonna fucking stop him?”

“I just-”

“What the fuck do you want with the fucking magazine, eh? Fucking paid enough for the appointment, buy yourself another."

“C’mon,” Calum mutters, rolling the magazine up and hurrying over to Liam, putting a hand on the small of his back. “Let’s go.” Liam hesitates for a moment, like he’s torn between going to get beer or shouting at a receptionist, but eventually the alcohol seems to win in his mind, because he settles for throwing her one final glare and letting Calum guide him out of the door.

“What’d they say?” Calum asks as they walk out, his hand still on Liam’s back, because he knows Liam better than to trust he won’t just change his mind on a whim and go storming back in to give the receptionist a piece of his mind for not wanting Calum to take a fucking magazine.

“Don’t fucking know,” Liam mutters, pushing open the door to outside. Calum shivers a little when the cool late-February air hits him, and decides that Liam’s probably safe now, letting go of him to wrap his arms around himself as they head back to the car that’s been waiting for them. “Sounded like he said something about my flaps.” Calum snorts.

“Bit forward of him,” he says, and Liam grins.

“Why’d you take that fucking magazine, then, eh?” he says, rounding the car without looking into the road and flipping off the car that has to screech to a halt to avoid running him over.

“What?” Calum says, a touch shiftily. “Oh. Saw a good article in it. Wanted to finish reading it.” Liam throws him a look over the top of the car, a look that’s unnervingly shrewd, but then shakes his head and ducks into the car. Calum does the same, taking a moment to tuck the magazine into his pocket and feeling it weigh down one side of him, unbalancing him just slightly. It’s kind of apt, he thinks as he gets into the car. Michael had always made him feel a little unbalanced, too.

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” Liam announces, and Calum grins, trying not to think about the way the magazine feels pressed between him and the seat.

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” he agrees.

-------

Calum doesn’t look at the magazine again until a good week later.

He’s drunk, and maybe still a little high, which is the driving force behind the whole evening. They all are, because Liam had scored some great coke off some guy called Neville, which Calum had declared to be the funniest dealer name in all of history, leading Bonehead to admit that his weed dealer used to be called Barnaby. Noel had sided with Calum, claiming Neville was far worse than Barnaby, and, predictably, Liam had jumped straight in on Bonehead’s side, and after about two minutes of shouting Tony had mumbled something about not being drunk enough for this and slipped out of the room.

“Fucking useless,” Liam says derisively, as Tony walks out. “I should fire him.”

“I fired you two days ago,” Noel says, pointing at Liam with the card he’s using to cut up the coke. “You can’t be firing anyone.”

“It’s my fucking band,” Liam says, incensed, like it’s not actually Bonehead’s band that Liam had wheedled his way into.

“Who writes the fucking songs?” Noel counters. “You just play the fucking tambourine and look mardy.”

“Fucking greatest frontman in the world, I am,” Liam says indignantly.

“You’re too fucking high to find the front of the stage half the time,” Noel says contemptuously.

“I know where the front of the fucking stage is,” Liam says, pointing at Noel with one hand and Calum with the other. “‘S between knobheads numbers one and two.” Noel rolls his eyes, too busy cutting lines to flip him off, so Calum does it on both of their behalfs, and Liam grins, swigging from his beer.

“Save us a fucking line,” Bonehead says to Noel, who’s just bent down to hoover up at least four of the thin white lines on the table.

“Get your fucking own,” Noel grumbles, like he’s the one who’d scored it, not Liam, but he lets Bonehead push him aside, slumping back against the sofa.

“Greedy cunt,” Bonehead mutters, and Noel swats him upside the head, handing him the card.

“We should have a fucking celebration,” Liam declares grandly, gesturing widely with his beer bottle.

“For what?” Noel says. “Album’s not even fucking finished yet.”

“Sounds fucking great, though,” Liam says.

“Well, you’ve clearly not heard it then, have you?” Calum says with a snort, accepting the card Bonehead holds out to him and leaning over towards the coke. There’s not much left, but Liam’ll fucking do one if he doesn’t leave any for him. “Fucking hell, Noel. You a fucking vacuum?” Noel just grins and shrugs at him, cocaine clearly starting to settle into his veins, and Calum rolls his eyes, cutting two thin lines for himself and leaving enough for the same for Liam.

“It’ll sound great once it’s mixed,” Liam insists, as Calum bends down.

“That’s what you said last time,” Bonehead points out.

“No I fucking didn’t,” Liam says, even though he’d literally spent about a week bouncing around saying it’ll sound fucking great when it’s mixed, just you fucking wait. It’ll be fucking biblical. Calum straightens, wincing slightly and pinching the end of his nose, and throws Liam a look.

“You fucking did,” he says. Liam scowls at him, and motions for the card. “Come over here. No way you’ll reach the coke from over there.” Liam rolls his eyes but complies, heaving himself up and then throwing himself down next to Calum, making a noise of outrage when he sees how little is left for him.

“What the fuck, Noel?” he demands, and Noel just cackles. Christ, he’s blitzed out of his fucking mind already.

“We should fucking celebrate,” Noel says, like he hadn’t shot down Liam saying it not two minutes ago.

“Celebrate what, you prick?” Calum says, wrinkling his nose as the bitter cocaine drips down his throat. Fucking grim. At least his mouth will be too numb to taste it soon.

“Fucking all of it,” Noel says. “Us. Recording an album. The fact that we’re going to be number fucking one.” Calum snorts, but he’s starting to feel a little giddy, a little warmer, and he leans back with a grin.

“Number fucking one,” he repeats, and Liam nods solemnly next to him.

“Fucking right,” he says, like it’s what they’re owed. Calum catches Bonehead’s eye and grins, knows he’s thinking exactly what Calum’s thinking - yeah, us two fucking deserve it for putting up with the both of you.

“Just wait ‘til we release Supersonic,” Calum says, shuffling up a little to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s arm comes around him, warm and comforting, and he squeezes Calum absent-mindedly as he hums contentedly. Calum lets his eyes flutter shut, euphoric and a little overheated, grinning to himself as he lets himself fantasise. Number fucking one, he thinks to himself. Fucking imagine.

“Knock those Blur cunts off the top,” Noel says, and Calum’s eyes fly open.

“What?” he says.

“Their new song,” Noel says scornfully. “Fucking, what’s it? Girls who like boys who like girls who like boys, something like. Fucking shite.”

“New song?” Calum echoes, mind trying to work around the cocaine to process what he’s being told.

“Am I the only one who fucking listens to the radio?” Noel demands. “That’s our fucking competition, that is. We’ve got to knock them off the top spot.”

“Competition,” Calum says slowly. Competition. Michael Clifford is his competition.

And, fucking hell. Does Michael even know Calum’s his competition? Does Michael even know Calum’s in Oasis - does Michael even remember Calum? It’s been what, four fucking years now since the letters had petered out, since Calum had got too caught up in his new life of Liam and Noel and drugs and music and Michael had been too busy with his family and friends and the fucking police academy. Michael might not even recognise Calum, might not even remember his name.

(Something tells him, though, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol, that they could never forget each other. After all, it says, who forgets their first kiss? Who forgets their first fuck? Who, it says, a little too knowingly for Calum’s liking, forgets their first love?)

Liam seems to have sensed something’s up because he’s frowning, waving a hand in Calum’s face, and Calum blinks, shakes his head abruptly and sits bolt upright. He stopped loving Michael. He fucking did, no matter what the churning in his stomach might be telling him. That’s just the fucking booze.

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Liam says, sounding annoyed.

“Don’t feel great,” Calum says, which isn’t entirely untrue. The high’s too high, and the alcohol’s making his stomach clench and contract, and he’s sweating a little too much, and his hands are clammy, and-

“Oh, fucking hell,” he says, a little faintly, and lurches to his feet, crashing into the bathroom next door and only just making it to the toilet bowl before he’s throwing up everything he’d ingested in the previous twenty-four hours. He’s glad he’s still high because it means he can’t quite taste the bile in his throat, can’t entirely feel the way his stomach’s heaving that he distantly registers is going to absolutely fucking kill tomorrow.

Halfway through his retching someone appears behind him, kneeling down beside him and rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. Calum feels fucking pathetic, slumped over the toilet bowl with tears leaking out of his eyes, someone making quiet, soothing sounds behind him, all because of fucking Michael Clifford.

(That thought makes him retch once again.)

“Waste of fucking coke, that is,” the person says mildly when he’s finished, leaning up and flushing for him, and it’s Liam. Of course it’s Liam. No one else would willingly spend their short high in a tiny, cramped bathroom watching Calum throw up. Noel would probably lock him in and turn off the water supply, maybe grab a camcorder for good measure.

Calum huffs out something that’s supposed to be a laugh but sounds like more of a sob as he sits back, wipes his upper lip and forehead and rests his head against the cool tile wall. Liam sits down opposite him, legs pressed against Calum’s because they’re both too fucking big for the bathroom on their own let alone together, and blinks at him.

“Fuck brought that on?” he says, more curious than anything. Calum’s stomach lurches again, images of Michael smiling at him sleepily on a Saturday morning, of Michael with his head tipped back in detention, laughing at something Calum had said, and the picture of him in the magazine, so much older and yet so fucking familiar, flashing through his mind in rapid succession.

“Probably just overdid it,” he says weakly. Liam gives him a hard stare.

“A fucking baby would’ve had a hard time getting high on what you snorted,” he says.

“Baby wouldn’t’ve drunk five fucking beers beforehand, though,” Calum says, coughing slightly and wincing as he tastes the echo of acid at the back of his throat.

“Depends whose baby it is,” Liam says. “Pretty sure mine would.” Calum snorts, and lets his eyes flutter shut as he starts to come back to himself a little, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself as he realises how cold he is. Fuck, he’s all clammy. Gross.

Almost as though he can read Calum’s thoughts, Liam nudges Calum’s knee with his own.

“You’re fucking rank,” he says.

“Cheers,” Calum says, not opening his eyes.

“Take a fucking shower.” Calum pulls a face. He’s not in the fucking mood to shower.

“Tomorrow,” he says. It’s not like Liam’s never done the same.

“You’re fucking rank, ” Liam tells him again, like he’d not thrown up in the sink two nights ago and left it there overnight, but he puts his hand on Calum’s shin and pats it, and Calum offers him a weak smile.

“You don’t have to stay,” he says.

“What, go back in there and listen to our kid break his neck sucking his own cock? Don’t fucking think so,” Liam scoffs. “I’ll be fucking sober in five minutes, anyway, given the amount of coke you pricks left me.” Calum smiles again, a little less wobbly this time.

“Sober?” he says. “You drank twice as much as me.”

“Not all of us are fucking Aussies, though, are we?” Liam says, and Calum can hear the grin in his voice. “Might as well be a fucking southerner, you.” That makes Calum open his eyes a fraction, enough to glare at Liam.

“Piss off,” he says. “You and your fucking Irish blood. I’d drink anyone else under the fucking table.”

“Fucking right,” Liam says proudly. “Never met anyone who could outdrink me, let alone an Aussie.”

“You’ve never met any except me, you prick,” Calum says, and Liam grins.

“Well, most of you fuckers are smart enough to stay where it’s warm and sunny and the birds are fit, aren’t you?” he says. “Only the stupid ones end up here.” Calum scowls, and kicks at Liam’s leg half-heartedly.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Didn’t choose to move here, did I? Got dragged kicking and screaming.”

“But you’re still here,” Liam points out, and Calum finds he doesn’t have an answer to that. At least, he thinks, not one he’s willing to give Liam.

“You must miss it,” Liam says when Calum doesn’t answer, a little surprised, like the thought’s only just crossed his mind after five fucking years of friendship. Which, knowing Liam, is probably the case.

“Australia?” Liam hums his assent. “Dunno. I guess. I miss Vegemite.” He hesitates, before adding: “Mostly miss my mates, though.”

“Oh?” Liam says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You still talk to them?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably. After all, it had been him that had ignored the last letter Michael had sent him. He’s the one who hadn’t written back.

“No,” he says. “Phone calls are too expensive, and none of us are fucked writing letters.”

“Ah, well,” Liam says, stretching out on the tiles and sighing contentedly. “Just you fucking wait ‘til we’re number one. You’ll see them then. We’ll be touring Australia three times a year, and that.” Calum can’t help but snort.

“Three times a year?” he says. “There’s only five fucking cities worth playing in.” Liam grins.

“And you’d better have friends in all of them, mate,” he says. “Not bloody paying for hotels if I can help it.”

“My mates are all in Sydney,” Calum says, and there’s a little tug in his chest as he realises that actually, that might not be true anymore. He doesn’t know what happened to Ashton and Luke, either. If Michael can go from police cadet in Sydney to fucking famous musician in the UK then Ashton and Luke are probably, like, astronauts, or something. Maybe he should check with the ASA.

“What?” Liam says curiously, clearly seeing the expression on Calum’s face, and Calum hesitates.

He’s not sure whether he should tell Liam. What the fuck would he even say? My ex, sort of, is in the band Noel’s lining up as our competition? You know Blur? Yeah, I fucked one of the guitarists. Liam wouldn’t get it. Great, he’d say, eyes gleaming. Eeyar, you must have some good stories about him. You can embarrass him in the press. Or maybe, get in, mate. Infiltrate them, eh? Fucking good thought. Oi, that Damon’s alright, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll have it on with him. He wouldn’t understand the weight behind it, what Michael meant to Calum. Means to Calum. Fuck, he doesn’t know anymore.

“I think a mate of mine might have moved over here,” Calum says eventually, when Liam raises an expectant eyebrow. It feels fucking weird calling Michael a mate. The word doesn’t feel quite complete in his mouth, like maybe there should be a soul prefixing it.

“Oh aye?” Liam says, raising his other eyebrow too, like he knows what Calum might mean by ‘mate’. “Where’s he living?”

“I don’t know,” Calum admits. Liam hums, like he’s thinking it over.

“D’you want to know?” he says, in that strangely perceptive way he sometimes does. Calum shrugs, and hopes Liam doesn’t catch the tension in his shoulders.

“Maybe,” he says. “Dunno. Depends.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Liam doesn’t ask him to. Instead, his emotional capacity probably filled for the night, he claps his hand on Calum’s thigh.

“Want to see if we can get Noel to piss himself?” he says, eyes bright, and Calum can’t help but snort.

“‘Course I fucking do,” he says, getting to his feet. Liam braces himself on the sink as he pulls himself up, a little unsteady, and grins.

“Ten quid says he does,” he says, and Calum snorts. Noel had pissed himself once, three years ago, and Liam can’t fucking let go of it.

“You don’t fucking have ten quid,” he says, following Liam out of the room, still feeling a little light-headed and woozy, but no longer nauseous.

“Neither do you,” Liam counters, pushing open the door to the living room, and Calum has to concede there.

“How about the loser sucks the other’s dick, then?” he says, grinning, and Liam throws his head back as he laughs.

“You’re on,” he says over his shoulder, eyes twinkling.

“Who’s getting who to suck their dick?” Noel demands.

“You’re helping me get Calum to suck my dick,” Liam tells him, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Noel and resting his head on Noel’s chest. Almost instinctively, Noel’s arm comes around him, holding him close. Calum could almost be fooled into thinking they’re in some sort of a truce, that the booze and cocaine have broken down the barrier of hatred between them and left only the underlying love, until Liam reaches forwards, picks up a bottle of beer and holds it to Noel’s lips with a wicked grin.

“Drink up.”

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chapter two

#malum #lashton #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos slash #mate i seriously cant believe im posting this #what goes on in my head. or more accurately what doesnt go on in my head why dont i have a brain #i cannot believe i have 50k of this. 50k. i'm seriously going to hell

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rockwell-light · 4 years

Photo

I've only been saying I'll make him a ref one day for SEVEN YEARS.

Anyway, it's finally here, the original edgy boy. There's a lot of stuff I still didn't manage to fit in here about him, but I think it's a pretty comprehensive visual guide at least! My biggest struggle with this is how much to reveal story-wise here, and how much I'd rather show everyone via story snippets and illustrations later. I think by now those of you have followed me for a bit have at least seen art of him with MZ-- so I didn't feel that was too much of a spoiler to include either way, same for interactions with Cale to some degree.

As mentioned in prior ref sheets, many characters of mine started out as alternate universe/what if versions of this very idiot. He's how I met my wife, and despite being a complete jerk, he's very sentimental to me.

--------

Abrasive, quick tempered, and generally volatile; Rock does not make himself easy company. His unwilling role as the dictator’s General and personal bodyguard pairs hostile programming with a dangerous public status in his home world. A purpose forced upon him for the majority of his existence.

Rockwell both wears his heart on his sleeve and holds his intentions close. Although he often carries himself with an air of indifference or irritation, his emotional instability can lead to cracks in the facade. Most often his true feelings are revealed with a heavy dose of anger– the easiest emotion for him to process. Even those he likes are not safe from his bite.

While Rock won’t admit it, he loves picking fights and lives for the thrill of combat. He’s also prone to self destructive behaviors, often forgoing repairs or intentionally doing things he knows will make him miserable in the end.

Somehow, in spite of hid temperament, he's managed to make a few close friends and allies. Ultimately he longs to leave his current life as someone's property, and live for his own sake. Even if he's not quite sure what a life without orders or purpose will really be like for someone like him. There are barriers to this, of course, mainly programming blocks, and a lack of rights and protections for sentient machines.

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A dystopian world with a murky history. The nameless “City” stands as a sprawling capital, a crown jewel amidst an empty wasteland. Artificially generated weather keeps the inhabited areas rainy or overcast most days, despite the sand that creeps on the outskirts. The sheer size this mega city has grown to, has it classified as its own political region, complete with trade to outside countries.

The City’s "beloved" ruler is seen as many things to the world at large, and his own people. A visionary, a tyrant, a savior, and a madman. His complicated reputation, combined with his ingenious inventions, has given his regime a unique place on the world stage. Automation and advanced AI create a powerhouse of trade and commerce. His weapons and technology are in high demand, regardless of the authoritarian hold he keeps on his citizens, but his military might cannot be understated.

Aesthetically, the City's appearance varies slightly by location, although the entire state has an overall cyberpunk vibe with neon lights at night, and drones running most critical functions. There are several districts of differing wealth and class to take note of: Those closer to the center are well polished and running smooth. Citizens living in these areas are living with cutting edge technology, but also deal with added security around every corner. The rich dictator's home and fortress, a fortified broadcast tower, sits at the center of it all. The opposite is true the further away one travels from the heart of the city, with both the common technology and general upkeep of infrastructure falling into worse and worse condition until the edge of the populated area. Here there are rotting buildings and metal structures left to be reclaimed by the harsh wastes that encircle the region.

#rock #Rockwell #reference sheet

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duhragonball · 4 years

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Potpourri

I’ve been thinking about various storytelling things, not really Dragon Ball related, but I figured I could write them all down here and make something out of it. Yeah, like an old school Livejournal post, except I can’t write a sassy message in the read-more cut.

Okay, first, I’ve been watching a lot of AEW Dark episodes on YouTube, because AEW puts out a new one every Tuesday and it’s easy to fall behind on them. So it’s like reliving wrestling angles that I watched on AEW Dynamite back in June and July. One of these angles was a world title match between champion Jon Moxley, and “The Machine” Brian Cage, who debuted by winning a ladder match in dramatic fashion, along with his new manager, Taz.

Taz does a lot of the color commentary for these episodes of Dark, and Cage debuted around the release of Episode 35, so after that, Taz started using his announcing job to promote the upcoming title match and gloat about how his guy Cage was going to destroy Jon Moxley and win the title. Taz’s main argument was that Cage is absolutely jacked, which made him a success before, but now he’s got Taz coaching him in all the cool stuff Taz used to do in ECW: suplexes, submission holds, etc. Taz sells you Brian Cage’s world title victory like a lawyer presenting a case to a jury. At the center of Taz’s argument was his claim that Cage was simply too big, too strong, and too prepared for Jon Moxley’s finishing move, the Paradigm Shift. Taz predicted that Mox wouldn’t be able to apply the Paradigm Shift properly, and even if he could hit it, it wouldn’t be enough to stop Cage.

The plot twist came from real life, when Moxley had to stay home because his wife contracted COVID-19. There was a lot of speculation that he might get sick, and even if he didn’t, that he wouldn’t be able to appear for the title match. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that, and the match was simply postponed an extra week. During that time, Taz accused Moxley of ducking Brian Cage, which I wasn’t crazy about, since I didn’t like coronavirus being used in a wrestling angle. On the other hand, it did give Taz a couple of weeks to run down the champion unopposed. At one point he reintroduced his old FTW title belt and gave it to Cage because the world title match had been postponed. Good stuff.

So finally, Moxley comes back, and he did one promo before the title match, and this was his chance to respond to all the shittalking Taz had been doing. It was brilliant, because for weeks, Taz had been declaring victory, and he shut it all down in one quick segment. He brought up Taz’s claim that the Paradigm Shift wouldn’t work on Cage, and Moxley just said “well maybe I won’t try to use my finisher on him. No, instead, I’m going to target his left bicep, which was surgically repaired last year, putting Cage out of action for several months.”

And just like that, the tone of the show changed, where suddenly it looked like Cage might be in trouble, because his camp only seemed to have a perfect game plan, and here was the champion announcing his own counter-strategy in advance. “You talked shit about my wife being sick, so I will reinjure your arm.”

And it was awesome. At one point Moxley went for a pin, and Cage kicked out, only for Moxley to reverse the pin into a submission move on the arm. There were points where it seemed like he couldn’t decide which arm to target, and eventually I realized he was going after both of them, switching from one to the other as needed. It’s smart, because if you go after the good arm, he’s gotta use the vulnerable one to fight you off, and by doing that Cage basically handed it to Mox for his next hold.

Finally, Moxley had Cage trapped in an arm hold, and the whole time he was looking Taz in the eye, basically waiting for a submission or a ref stoppage, and Taz had no choice but to throw in the towel to save Brian Cage’s career. It was a beautiful finish because it sewed up the whole story. Cage never tapped out, so he still looks like a relentless badass, but Taz had to let discretion be the better part of valor. He mocked Moxley for playing it safe when his wife got sick, so Moxley forced Taz to make the same choice. Great stuff.

Second. I’ve been reading Darth Vader comics since Marvel started publishing new Star Wars stuff again. Disney bought Marvel and Star Wars, so it was only a matter of time before the comics began to reflect this. The smart thing they did was to give Vader his own title, which I like because I’m not that into the adventures of Luke and Han.

The first Vader series was twenty-odd issues featuring his fall from grace after the Death Star’s destruction, and his rise to command of the Imperial Fleet. Basically it charts Vader’s career between Episodes IV and V, though there’s plenty of room for other side-stories.

The second series flashed back to the final scenes of Revenge of the Sith, and tracks Vader’s actions before A New Hope. It doesn’t cover the entire period, but it hits a lot of the important notes. How he got his red lightsaber, how he trained the Inquisitors and hunted down the surviving Jedi, and how he built the castle on Mustafar seen in Rogue One. So it handles everything important Vader was known to have done between Episodes III and IV.

The third series, currently ongoing, starts right after Vader’s final scene in Empire Strikes Back, and I would assume it’s going to lead him right up to his arrival at Death Star II in Return of the Jedi. I’m really into this, because I feel like this is an especially overlooked stage of Vader’s career. Starting out, it seems to be mostly about Vader investigating how his son survived Padme’s death, as he seeks revenge against anyone who hid the boy from him. Of course, nearly everyone involved in that cover-up is already dead, so I’m not sure where this is going to lead.

All three volumes of the Vader title focus on the utter futility of Vader’s quests for power and revenge. His hunts for Jedi survivors was just something for him to do in his spare time, since the Jedi were no longer a threat to him. His castle on Mustafar was designed to give him special knowledge of the Force, but it only revealed truths that he already knew, or had long since rejected. His plot to regain the Emperor’s favor after Yavin was very satisfying to watch, but also pointless: The Emperor needed him too badly to dispose of him, and Vader’s still a patsy whether he’s the #2 guy in the Empire or the #5 guy in the Empire. And now this new series sees him chasing ghosts, trying to make sense of Luke’s refusal to join him. He wants some sort of answer to his dilemma, but the only answer he’s ever going to find is the one in ROTJ, where he sacrifices himself to kill the Emperor, the one thing he cannot bring himself to contemplate until the time comes.

What saddens me, a little, is the realization that there doesn’t seem to be anywhere else for Marvel to go with the guy. We’ve got an arc of Vader between Episodes III and IV, an arc between IV and V, and now V and VI, and that’s it. The only way to do another Darth Vader series after this would be to go back and cover one of those three periods of his career. And I’d be up for that, but the three series Marvel has done seem a little too decisive for this. Like they purposely planned these comics because they weren’t going to revisit the character again for a while. At least, not as the star of his own feature.

I guess I could deal with that. Maybe Marvel could finally get around to exploring the Sith career of Count Dooku between Episodes I and II, or work out some loose ends with the Emperor between Episodes VI and IX. The main thing that’s been on my mind about Vader, though, is this idea that the character could just be done, and laid aside.

This is something I’ve often observed about Cell and Frieza in DBZ. I still think it’s dumb how they brought back Frieza after Trunks killed him, because there really wasn’t anything left to do with the character after he got turned into a cyborg and instakilled. There’s nowhere to go after that. His character arc was to start as the Final Boss of the entire Universe and then to get reduced to a pathetic, minor threat. You can bring him back, but your only choice, dramatically speaking, is to reset the character, which means putting him back on the same track he’s already covered. There’s no way to bring back Frieza and not have it be a retread of stuff he’s already done once before.

Cell might have some interesting applications beyond his original story, but he’s too much of a slave to his purpose. His job was to carry on Dr. Gero’s revenge scheme, and that all ended when the saga ended, so he just seems out of place whenever he appears after that. This is why I’m glad Toei and Toriyama haven’t brought Cell back, although at this rate it feels like it’s only a matter of time. The thing is, if they brought him back, what else could they do with him?

With Darth Vader, all of his most important moments have already been covered in the movies, so all that’s left is to produce some side-story content. The old Expanded Universe tended to steer clear of Darth Vader, probably out of respect for George Lucas’ prequel plans. Later, the Clone Wars projects gave us more Anakin Skywalker than anyone knew what to do with, which is basically Darth Vader content, but not quite. That’s why I dig these Marvel books so much, because there’s never been such a sustained effort to tell a Darth Vader story like this. But once it’s run its course, the only way to keep using the character would basically be to start over. I have a hard time seeing Marvel do that. They’d have to get a new writer to retell those years like the first set of comics didn’t happen. That could be very entertaining, but it doesn’t sound likely to happen.

I’m not terribly worried about getting my Darth Vader fix in the future. They’ll keep making stories about him long after I’m dead. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about the limits of what you can do with one character. I’ve long thought that you can always find gaps in the narrative that can be filled in with new stories, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe at some point, for some characters, there’s a finite amount of things to do with them. You look at all of the Anakin Skywalker Clone Wars stories, and I’m sure someone could write a few hundred more, but would it really accomplish anything that hasn’t already been covered? Is it possible to “use up” a character? I probably won’t know for sure anytime soon.

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jlf23tumble · 5 years

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Agree so much with your post about the teams and fan engagement ! And love the way you articulated all of that. Although now I definitely am interested in knowing what your notes about the specificity of each team/artist cause I feel like they'd be fascinating to read. Hope you'll post them some day, and thank you for sharing your thoughts with us ! 😊

Awwww, that’s very kind! It’s definitely head canon city, I litcherally have ZERO clue what goes on behind the scenes (and I can’t stress this enough, none of us do), so this’ll look hilariously dated when we find out that blah woof was true all along, lmao (me @ myself, thinking of some random Grimshaw interviews from last fall, oh, bless). Let’s dig in!!

For those of you who just stumbled upon this post, it’s related to the one I made last night about how I think the management teams of all these men (mid-20s means = you’re a man, not a boy) are not, in fact, sabotaging them. They negotiate a lot of tricky interconnected arrangements that none of us are privy, to, plus they’re at least trying to achieve the goals their clients are going for. And they’re doing it—the trick is these goals are highly individual and not 100% sensical (at least given our own view from the afternoon, Arctic Monkeys ref, holllllllah!!!).

In addition, these goals constantly shift, as does the music industry itself—I drive my own self loony when I lurk on blogs that are seemingly broadcasting from 2012, confused by why xx’s team is so “terrible” because they aren’t throwing good money after bad to get on a radio playlist, or why they haven’t announced yy “properly,” as if they’re being paid to worry about this level of shit (which fires me up on about five levels, deep breaths in, deep breaths out). I’m much nosier about the signals we’re getting when we hear them talk in their beautifully media-trained way about their musical interests, when we get some of that sweet, sweet fan service with a Gallagher or a Capaldi, when we get that heads up about who’s attending what concert, stuff like that. These signals don’t necessarily indicate future collaborations, but they DO indicate what kind of image these guys want to have, the kind of music they want the public to associate them with.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself…their personalities and goals at the moment are all so vastly different, and I truly do love seeing how their teams are workin’ it accordingly. Again, please @ god, don’t @ me…opinions, massively unpopular opinions, dead ahead!

* Zayn. My read on Zayn is that he enjoys the creative process, loves writing and singing, digs collabing with people, but he doesn’t seem to give two shits about the biz side (and why should he? that’s called living the dream at this particular point in his career). His website recently added “tour,” which EYEBALL EYEBALL, but he doesn’t seem to be all that interested in putting himself back out on stage or into radio/print/etc. anytime soon, and again, why should he? His numbers are HUGE without pushing himself through the anxiety-provoking churn he endured for four years, so there’s no real drive for him to do any promo if he doesn’t want to (see: the netflix-like binge dump of Icarus Falls, which could be “sabotage,” or it could just be, “fineeeeeeee, here’s some stuff for you, enjoy”). What other artist gifts his fans with gorgeous covers of such a wide variety of songs that indicate he’s more interested in sharing them than selling them. Accordingly, his fan interactions seem fairly pure and not all that promo-y: he has a keen interest in fanart, he’s done some fan pop-ups/listening parties that are pretty low-key and *seemingly* fan-focused, and recently (with zero anything to really promote), he’s been posing for cute pics and chatting with randos on the streets of NYC. I recently read that his mgmt team is no longer with him, but that sort of folds into my feeling that he’s not pursuing anything biz-wise, hence no need to jump through those particular hoops (I think he’s also struggled with a lot of demons, so yeah, why add one more). Could he be adrift? Maybe, but the next guy is the posterman for lack of focus….

* Liam. Honestly, I worry about Liam most of all. His post-1D career seems very much adrift, and I like to joke that he’s giving me that tell-all about the D one sentence at a time, but goddamn, are people listening? The struggles with alcohol, the lack of focus on every level, the reliance on his dad’s career advice (which more clearly reflects his dad’s financial class, background, and history than it does Liam’s), and the overall confusion about look, sound, and direction also flow back directly into his team. I get the feeling that they aren’t sure what to do because LIAM isn’t sure what to do or what he wants, so they follow in his wake. He’s agreeable to a fault, so seeing him at a meet-and-greet at an HMV in Birmingham last week felt like a step back into 2010 for no real reason, just like hearing that he was more or less coerced into full nude photoshoots for an underwear ad (the decisions to say yes to both of those—who’s steering this ship? If it’s Liam, he needs to tell the team his overall goal, so they can plot a course he and his fans can follow; if it’s the team, ditto). Like Niall, Liam’s actually pretty good at the SM game: lots of selfies, snapchat filters, outfits, gym service, twitter interactions. But generally speaking, his promo is confusing, and that’s probably because there isn’t much *to* promote at this point, other than a mix of collabs, clothing endorsements, spon con, horse farms, and an album that’s always on the horizon. This might be tied to the general post-1D jolt they all went through, like a plane coming off autopilot and into the hands of someone who’s just learning how to fly it. Zayn debuted at number one, so his bump wasn’t as harsh, but the others are slowly, steadily finding their footing after taking some time to find themselves and their sound, releasing songs/albums, performing (or in Louis’s case, going through unspeakable tragedy). Liam’s still adrift…and somewhat admittedly, which is kind of telling in its own way. Just know that my nervousness on his behalf ratchets up every time he feels the urge to assure us all that he’s happy.

* Niall. Truly the one following the original 1D template, right down to working with most of the same people but with more of the overall control in his hands instead of a faceless management squad. Of any of them, he seems the most ambitious, the most scientific about the sound he’s after and how he’s gonna get there. His promo is a mix of new and traditional—radio shows, talk shows, podcasts, special events, twitter interactions with fans, twitter interactions with entertaining celebrities—and it’s all hustle hustle hustle, build build build, as if he were a new ingenue instead of coming up hard on solo album number two. He’s explicit in his goals, which is refreshing, but it means he walks a weird line with fans: on one hand, he’s done with their bullshit, get ready to get rekt if you start commenting on his boring food seasoning or home décor. But on the other hand, he fully recognizes how much he needs them, which is why we get so many peeks into his “normal” life (yet zero percent of his actual personal life). It’s also probably why the blatant tweets of the last two days seem so jarring to me (I might be alone on this one, but I’m not a fan of directives in general, and asking me to call radio stations on behalf of a rich white man to become even richer just rubs me the wrong way, same with asking me to stream stuff to get you to number one…you’ve been there, buddy, how about you calm down and build some character at number 51). And speaking of calming down, it does fascinate me that both Niall and Louis namecheck Taylor Swift as someone who gets the whole fandom push/pull thing right, so watching them try to reverse-engineer her secrets is fun. Louis nails it (that hotspot treasure hunt: chef’s kiss), but Niall’s heavy-handed easter egg dump in NTMY, she would never!! I think Niall’s team needs to watch “Calm Down” about five more times before they try that again.

* Louis. I think Louis honestly has an AMAZING team in place, and they’re all clearly on his side, which makes for a refreshing change. Like Niall, he has publicly praised Taylor Swift for how she engages with her fans, but I think he’s missing a key point: she doesn’t let her fans dictate strategy, and I HOPE that’s the case for Louis, too. His old team *was* shit, so yeah, encouraging people to do fan projects to get the word out was a good idea, but turning that spigot off to let a good (paid) team step in and take over has been, uh, challenging. He’s dealt with more than his fair share of personal tragedy, but every time he gets some momentum going, it feels like something bts pushes him back off track, and he tends to keep it private, which only makes his hardest-core fans scream “sabotage.” Rightly so, he’s focusing on his personal life, and rightly so, his team is giving him the space to do that, even when it costs cash money and throws a lot of shit seriously for a loop. It makes my heart soar to see the potential of what his team can do/is doing, how much space he’s being allowed to process what he needs to process. Weirdly, that’s an unpopular opinion, and a lot of people want to indulge in an angst wank fest where Louis’s the victim of a terrible team that won’t DO anything (nevermind the fact that he’s probably ASKED them not to do anything), so they undertake a tremendous amount of performative unpaid labor that ends up being counterproductive on just about every front. Even worse, most of them can’t seem to process the fact that losing your mum is a blow, losing your SISTER is a blow, juggling other siblings or close friends handling some serious demons of their own in the aftermath of all of *that* is a blow, let alone handling your own personal coping mechanisms, nope, they want Louis to release release release, perform perform perform, c’mon, what’s holding him back, he *said* he wanted to release an album this year, there’s “no reason” for a delay, gotta be his shitty team, free him. It drives me ‘round the bend because it’s the same talk from late last year, you know, when we later found out that at least one family member was losing a fight with drug addiction. Louis’s fan engagement/promo is therefore hella fraught: he has to balance LouisTM on twitter (Mr. Donny, he’s hard, mate), his werk IG posts, and his constant edging because nobody can remember or trust that he’s got this, that multiple things are in play. But he also knows his fanbase, knows that it’s resistant to any kind of change, so I hope he pushes through and stays true to what he wants to do. I was really encouraged with his last promo round because he seems to have narrowed in on a something solid, he’s got a plan, and it’s not, “hey mr dj, put my record on,” it’s getting his fans to trust that he and his team know what the fuck they’re doing, and spoiler alert, it ain’t radio, but go ahead and keep pissing off djs by sending angry tweets their way. (Related: why is it so bad to avoid the radio when all of us admit that radio music is garbage? Is it because it’s more about you than him? Much to think about.)

* Harry. My very favorite head canon is that Harry is Jeff’s nightmare client: what was perfection at first because the Azoffs are old-school promo all the way (no SM, baby, gimme that sweet, sweet paper), and that dovetailed nicely with post-1D Harry, but it quickly veered into mulish teeth pulling. Low profile can quickly spin into no profile, and that really doesn’t work too well when you’re trying to sell sell sell, even if your brand is Harry StylesTM. HS1 and Dunkirk in their own separate ways worked VERY hard to push past the still-persistent way the general public views Harry as boybander Harry Styles, or more accurately, former boybander Harry Styles who dated Taylor Swift (if you venture out and ask someone who’s not a fan), but what I love about Harry is that much like Zayn, he doesn’t seem to be too bothered by all that. Sure, he’s ambitious, he wants to challenge himself and do things, but he’s no Niall Horan. He’s put in his time! If he gets a number one, then cool, but he’s not gonna chase it. And this is where Harry’s team really reflects his goals and energy: sure, they want him to do some promo (that “Do” tweet, the entire bit about the fan in Australia and Harry Lambert’s follow, goddddd, I loved it, petty Harry, resigned Jeff), but they clearly aren’t forcing him. He drops a song that makes a HUGE splash, and the follow-up is…liking some tweets and going to a John Mayer concert (not a John Mayer fan, so that wouldn’t be my first choice, but I respond to the zero fucks given about the whole thing). The music industry has changed a LOT in just two years, so it’s kind of cool to see team Harry pivoting a bit, seeing more SM interaction, the kindness generator, etc., but that said, the team takes their cues from him, and he clearly doesn’t want to do a whole promo circuit beyond persons a, b, and c, and magazine R, F, and A. Does it make sense to have Rob Sheffield write a profile about Stevie Nicks-blessed shroom-eater Harry Styles when his new song sounds like the Zarry combo of my dreams? NOPE, but that’s okay, Harry wanted to talk to Rob, so that’s what happened. The new song is more streaming friendly, and thank CHRIST, a lot less crusty white dude stuck in the ‘70s, so I can only hope that the rest of the album is thus, but we shall see! We’ll also see if Harry’s fan engagement shifts any further into the active zone…so far, it’s been “I’m gonna follow some larries, like these fun generator posts, check out a few dads” and staged photo ops with the same familiar faces, but I think he’s dealing with his own major bts issues as well (album delayed at least twice; that entire stalking situation). I still contend the album’s coming in the next few weeks, so it’ll be interesting to see if/how any additional promo rolls out in this new world order post-gryles landscape, how many interviews he’ll do, but I like that there’s a strategy that seems less stodgy…kudos to the new SM team, at least!!

Oh man, that got really long! Hope you enjoyed, and YES, opinions opinions opinions, and they’ll be stupid in about three weeks’ time, thanks for coming to my already dated buzzfeed article

#so many long-winded opinions #one direction #yeah #and shout out to kim for always checking my work!!!

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tikkisaram · 5 years

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Brodsky, Brodsky Everywhere

It may seem strange that Seamus Heaney addressed but one poem to his lover, Joseph Brodsky — and even then, he did so only after the latter's death. Some people might even leap to the conclusion that this is proof of the insignificance of their relationship. But the more observant reader will realise that Brodsky permeates the entirety of Heaney's poetic work from their first meeting in 1972 onwards, superficially hidden in a wealth of allegory, symbolism and thinly veiled figurative language. Let us explore, then, the tip of that iceberg.

We have already noted the prevalence of birds in Heaney's poems, as well as their significance as a representation of sexual freedom, constantly longed for and occasionally attained. Not infrequently, they are also imbued with a more direct allegorical meaning; an example of this would be The Blackbird of Glanmore, in which the titular blackbird stands in for Brodsky. Heaney's love of the blackbird is contrasted with his neighbour — representing society at large — stating: "I never liked yon bird." The bird is linked with death, especially with that of Heaney's younger brother, who was killed in an accident at the age of four — this is because the poem was written several years after Brodsky passed away, and in Heaney's mind the two deaths that affected him the most are merged as one. The unusual description of the blackbird's personality — "your ready talkback,/Your each stand-offish comeback" — is perfectly consistent with that of Brodsky, who was sent to a Soviet prison camp after a cheeky remark to a judge.1

With this allegorical insertion of Brodsky as a blackbird, it is difficult not to make the connection between this poem and the earlier St Kevin and the Blackbird, in which a blackbird nests in St. Kevin's palm, forcing him to remain still for weeks until the eggs hatch. If we reasonably assume that the blackbird represents Brodsky once again, then it is logical to observe that Heaney is St. Kevin. Brodsky's appearance into his life links Heaney "Into the network of eternal life," which also justifies the presence of "love's deep river". Until their love fledges, Heaney is filled with a mixture of self-forgetfulness and pain; while the beginnings of any love can be fraught with uncertainty and difficulty, it is clear that the queer nature of the relationship in question left Heaney agonising over its implications to an exceptional extent. As we will see again, Heaney's acceptance of his own sexual identity came slowly and hesitantly, and the first stages of his journey of self-discovery were full of fear and suffering.

The blackbird as a symbol for Brodsky crops up in several other poems. The "perfect eye of the nesting blackbird" in Field Work represents the ability to see the hidden truth about Heaney's sexuality. The "dart and dab" of blackbirds around the scribe in Alphabets symbolises Brodsky's role in Heaney's attainment of wisdom and self-understanding. The "young priest, glossy as a blackbird" of Station Island shows Heaney's reconciliation of his sexual identity and his religious beliefs. We also see the bird in the poem Drifting Off, in which many different species of the avian family are described and personified. I speculated before that each bird is meant to represent a different person, which I consider still plausible — it makes sense that Heaney "overrated the composure of blackbirds," since he managed to connect with Brodsky at a deeper lever than the latter's typical outward harshness — but I now suspect that each bird sybolises a different element of Brodsky's personality. Analysing the poem in the view of this idea would be productive, but this blessay is not the place for such an in-depth piece of work. A quick read of the poem, however, should make it apparent that each of the traits describes adds up to a cohesive whole, accounting for the various facets of character — both the good and the bad.

After interpreting all these birds as representing Brodsky, a wider interpretation of Heaney's figurative approach leads us to consider other animals as allegorical characters. The sexualisation of the badger in Badgers — "The unquestionable houseboy’s shoulders/that could have been my own" — and the similar treatment of The Otter — "I loved your wet head and smashing crawl,/Your fine swimmer’s back and shoulders" — are both clear expressions of queer love. The voyeuristic observation in The Skunk leaves no doubts to Heaney's true intentions. The communion-as-gay-sexual-union of the titillating Oysters is about as subtle as an elephant with an airhorn:

My tongue was a filling estuary, My palate hung with starlight: As I tasted the salty Pleiades Orion dipped his foot into the water. Alive and violated They lay on their beds of ice

If we decide to include one of the most common queer symbols — flowers, which may not be animals, but are nonetheless alive — we can add Heaney's "erotic mayflowers" in Bone Dreams; his soul weeping as he touches the violets in His Dawn Vision; the "pined-for" orchid in After a Killing; the "Lupin spires, erotics of the future" of Lupins; the plainly sexual "high stream-roof that moved in silence over/Rhododendrons in full bloom" in The Walk; the phallic "comet’s pulsing rose" of Exposure... I could keep going, but anyone who finds the mountain of evidence presented here insufficient is clearly blinded by prejudice and will categorically refuse to see reason, so it is futile to continue.

It is impossible to fail to notice that Brodsky became the focal point of Heaney's poetic output after their love-at-first-sight meeting, and that he is present — more or less conspicuously — in almost every one of his poems. I have presented here but a small selection of examples, and I have no doubt missed some important symbols in my research, yet what we have already is overwhelming — and I still have to apologise for the insufficient time and effort put into this exposé, because in truth, every poem mentioned here in passing warrants at the very least its own paragraph, and most should be accorded their own blessay. This relentless torrent of Brodskian allegory is a testament to the fact that Heaney's œuvre is, in essence, one massive — elaborate — intricate — mammoth monument of queer love.

For more information about the incident, see here. ↩︎

#blessay #poetry #poetry analysis #seamus heaney #joseph brodsky #pweek

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swishy-imagines · 5 years

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“yeah but what if there was a BAND” Doodle feat some of the aforementioned OCs! This is from An Ambiguous Number Of Years Ago because I didn’t feel like drawing all of Piers’ hair. All of them look mostly the same except maybe bottom right might have facial hair now I haven’t decided and Piers’ eyebags have worsened exponentially.

More info under the cut but tldr: punk rock band who manages a boys and girls club on the side, the names are Clarence (toothpick), Simon (roxie shirt), and Jim (bug-eyes). (And Piers is here too.)

The backstory got too long so I’m going to add it in a second post, probably coming tomorrow. For now here’s the characters.

Top-Right: Good ol’ Piers. Writes the words, does 99% of the vocals, and behind-the-scenes, he’s also the keyboardist but he doesn’t do that live because he thinks it’s awkward and lame. Used to be the token ‘I’m only in this deadbeat town because I have to be’ guy, but gained a new appreciation for his city through working with the band. Don’t ask him to talk about politics unless you want to be there for five hours. Somehow became the face of the band after several local kids started copying his hairdo. (Thomas Brown from down the street dying his hair half-white directly led to Piers’ gym leader career. Life is weird.)

Top-Left: Clarence. The guitarist. Smarmy showoff with resting cat-face. Refuses to add spikes to his outfit or to cover one of his eyes just because everyone else did. If you make fun of the toothpick he’ll stab you with it. Has haircare commercial hair. Various degrees of an asshole depending on what version of the universe we’re in. (Yes I make aus for my aus. There’s the door) Shockingly good listener given how much he talks. Blasts the Beach Boys to annoy the other band members. You can’t see most of the best parts of his face due to the chibi style but he’s. pretty

Bottom-Left: Simon. The drummer. Primary ‘music tech’ dude- in charge of the recording, mastering, et cetera. Why does he wear soda tab earrings? Because I was bored. Please be grateful I gave the widows peak to Clarence instead of him, he used to look like a shitty vampire. I don’t have much to say about him, I’d forgotten his name until five minutes ago. I should give him more thought. If anyone has input let me know. Was a straight-a student in grade school, so he’s got connections to lots of teachers, which is important for what they do.

Bottom-Right: Jim. The bassist. Real name James (no relation to the anime character), but he saw the opportunity for a punny stage name and seized it. The band’s social media manager, marketing dude, and PR person. Don’t talk about his eyes or he’ll cry. The shirt he has on right now is meant to evoke a zigzagoon-colored charlie brown, but I don’t remember why. Possibly to remind myself that their outfits now aren’t final or current. Opens every social media video with ‘Hey guys, it’s Spikemuth Jim from Spikemuth Gym’. Doesn’t let the other guys design album covers anymore.

Simon and Jim’s designs are definitely not final but their hairstyles pretty much are. Clarence has a ref but it’s got lots of empty space on it so I need to fill that before I post it. Piers is Piers.

They all have a couple of Pokemon, but Piers is the only one who’s anywhere near serious about it, so they’re all objectively pushovers, but in battle, each would have their own weird gimmick to make it at least a bit more interesting, like Piers (more on that later). No clue what they are, though. (Tempted to have Jim’s battle strategy be “have my pokemon grab and throw things” but that might be too comical and/or too fighting-type.) They also each have one pokemon along the Galarian Whismur-Loudred-Exploud line, even Piers because COME ON IT WAS SO OBVIOUS.

#pokemon #oc #ocs #pokemon oc #pokemon ocs #piers pokemon #pokemon piers #spikemuth #spikemuth gym #oc clarence #oc simon #oc jim #trishyverse #you haven't even seen their Final Forms yet #art #doodle #sketch #blue and white #goofy haircuts

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jq37 · 5 years

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thoughts on this week's ep?

**spoilers for broadway brawl**

***Before we start, I remembered as I was typing this one of the important notes I lost from last week’s recap: Interesting that Christmas seemingly went off without a hitch. I expected Santa to come back into play somehow (like, someone would check on him to make sure Christmas was still on or he’d call them in to help or something) but he hasn’t, at least not yet.***

My guys, my guys, my guys. Was that something or was that something?

I think I am on record as saying that combat is my least favorite part of ttrpgs generally speaking because I’m here for the RP but when a combat episode shines it really freaking shines (see eg: that first combat ep of Bloodkeep where everyone went full Galaxy Brain except for Matt who couldn’t hit a single thing) and this is such a good example. This is easily a top five ep of the season for me, maybe top three so let’s get into it and break down why it was so awesome.

We start right where we left off with Titania and members of her court having come into the theater to beat the tar out of Misty mid-show.

Quick note: At the end of last ep, it was set up so that Misty was thrust on stage right after hearing the mirror was on stage which would place this fight right at the top of Act 2 but at the start of this ep, Brennan seems to indicate that it’s taking place during what would be the closing number. Which would make more sense but imagine you go see a play, the first act is super dope, and then the second act is an insane, minute long fight that’s pretty unconnected to the plot and then a buff, naked, beautiful man tells you the show is over and you should leave. Wild. Anyway.

Pixies with tommy guns in inherently funny.

So one of the things that makes this fight really great is the way it directly ties into the story in a way besides “These bad guys are in our way.” Misty is using this show as a part of her reincarnation spell so if the show is messed up, it fails and she’s on her last life. Brennan has a cool mechanic of making her roll death saves every round at a difficulty lower than her modifier (which is s/t crazy like 11) but that gets harder with damage done to her and performance checks failed by other players who decide to jump on stage. It’s a great way to make the battle feel like it has more personal stakes and it’s my fave original Brennan mechanic since the Family in Flames Sophie’s Choice situation.

(I love that the death save counter is changed for theater comedy/tragedy masks for this. Nice touch.)

Em, Esther, and Wally are also at the fight which is clutch.

Also, Sondheim is specifically here which is an insane detail to add just because.

WILD that no one knows what’s going on with the ritual initially because, as Lou almost does, getting all the civilians out is the smart move and it would COMPLETELY ruin Misty’s plans instantly.

Lou having Kingston take the stairs bc’s he’s 50+ years old and has no time for that nonsense has equal but opposite energy to him doing extra rolls for Fabian to do unnecessary parkour before a simple attack because Fabian’s Like That.

Murph fireblasts the hell out of Titania’s foot soldiers right off the bat from outside of counterspell range which is very cool.

“Give me a performance check for the cockroach.”

“You’re upstaging me bitch?”

Another great thing about this fight is that because of it’s theatrical nature, everyone’s RPing it more than a usual battle ep (or more intensely maybe is what I mean).

Titania hypnotizes Don Confetti and his goons into fighting for her.

“She doesn’t know she’s in a play but she does sing most of her dialogue which is helpful for you.” Titania is just Like That.

Pete drops an erupting earth and drops a sick 37 damage on those same minions Kug got.

I didn’t notice before but yeah, Ally does roll die like a f-ing beyblade champion.

Emily hearing Murph’s low key, offhand comments and cracking up is great.

“Get Sondheim!” (Emily and then Ally: WHAT?!)

Actual living dude Stephen Sondheim being involved in this fight is just so ridiculous and fun and crazy.

We go around to Misty’s turn and she has to beat a 28 (upped from 10) and she fails which feels worse than a normal failed death save somehow.

Lou, in a very good RP move, tells Pete to tell Misty to end the show so she can tell them not to so the group has a valid reason to not evacuate which is a thing they (or at least him and Ricky) would obviously want to do.

Sophie, the madwoman, jumps out of the balcony, grabs a costume, then runs on stage. Emily’s glee at being told that her grabbing the costume will give her advantage is great. She’s always trying to figure out how to make the most of her moves. She is the living embodiment of the concept of method to madness (which is from Hamlet since we’re talking Shakespeare today).

Ox is constantly dying (Brennan!) but also it’s like, why was he even there before the fight started? I’ve never seen a non-service dog in a theater.

Ricky: Is this part of it?

Oh, forgot to mention that everything that happens on stage is kinda shielded by the Umbral Arcana so everyone watching thinks it’s part of the show, which is a cool plot detail.

Ricky gets fULLY NAKED (Emily, with perfect comic timing: Now do I roll with disadvantage?) and leaps into the fray. He casts Protection from Evil and Good on her which (1) He does by Magic Mike body-rolling on her while he’s naked and considering how much shorter she is that her raises some interesting questions about positioning and (2) is the most clutch use of this spell I’ve seen in a while. It’s a spell I always wanna take as a Paladin because it makes sense character-wise, but I’ve never been able to actually use it because we’re never fighting fiends, fae, or celestial.

Brennan’s dime change change reversal of the critic’s comments on Ricky’s body rolls when Zac re-rolls his 11 makes me glad I never had to face him in a debate team setting.

Ally: What’s Esther’s deal ;)/Brennan: *Esther’s Weapon Stats*

“Your only secret you’ve ever had in your life is that you have a crush on her.”

Wally has a beautiful singing voice and a working knowledge of Midsummer's which is wild.

Lou’s periodic, “My man”’s when Ally/Pete does something cool. He’s very dialed into being Kingston.

Ricky’s aura keeps everyone near him from being charmed and Misty saves everyone else w/ a nat 20 counterspell. Few things in D&D are more satisfying than a well executed counterspell.

Titania trying to get Pete to be her consort or something when he just over the super posh Priya is very funny.

“I mean between me and Sondheim, get Sondheim!”

“DO WE HAVE HOMEWORK TONIGHT?” (“We did have homework.”)

Anyway, Misty has one success now!

Misty tries to use puppet to get Titania to drop her crown and it doesn’t work. Brennan says the crown is Crown of Stars which I looked up and it’s actually a spell, not a physical crown, but I’m assuming he used the mechanical effects of the spell on a physical item.

Brennan doing all these musical/singing bits when he absolutely doesn’t have to. I love it.

I love Ricky and Sophie being the two martial fighting heavy hitters of the group. Like, the two fighters, having the spellcasters’ backs.

I hope the one kung fu fan in the back of the theater never sees another Broadway show again because he’s gonna be so disappointed.

“I’m just so inspired by that beautiful penis.”

Murph, out of character, verbally acknowledging how insane what they’re doing is. I love when someone pauses in a game of D&D to just recite what’s currently happening out of context so everyone can appreciate how crazy it is. D&D. Gotta love it..

Emily and Siobhan have a quick conversation in the background about whether Sondheim did Les Mis or not (not, that’s Claude-Michel Schönberg) while Brennan and Murph are Ring nonsense.

I also was mildly suspicious of Alyssa so I’m glad Kingston checked her out.

The entire roast of Brennan when he’s selecting D6s is an instantly iconic D20 moment. I can’t do it justice. You kinda just have to see it.

“Someone call Wizards of the Coast!”

Em, Wally, and Alyssa go out when Titania puts out a huge spell that blinds Kug.

“Yummy, yummy, tastes like ass.”

On Misty’s next turn, she rolls a fail which makes it 2 failures to 1 success. Brennan mentions that a nat 1 counts as 2 failures and a nat 20 counts as 2 successes. I’m sure that won’t be relevant later because you can’t foreshadow things when dice rolls are completely random.

Misty fails on puppet again again and Titania goes full Wicked Witch of the West on her and starts Jonesing for those shoessss.

Emily’s Emily(tm) move of the session is doing a flying leap at Titania, hitting her with a stunning strike and having Brennan retract the Box off Doom he was pulling out because she can’t save when she’s stunned. She just plummets out of the sky.

Don Confetti respecting the sacrament of marriage as he goes full Opera ghost and tries to garrote Sophie.

Ricky (still naked) grabs the crown from Titania, tosses it to Misty, and, with some improv and a good charisma roll, makes the show suddenly make sense to the very confused but entertained audience.

I’m so glad that Murph decided to turn into a bear and that they made the Winter’s tale ref. I should have had faith in Brennan and Siobhan, the theater nerds. Exit pursued by a bear y’all.

Lou and Emily bonding over being proud of their die for rolling well when they lend it out for a big roll.

Really wish Pete had wild magic surged in this fight. Just to add that extra bit of chaos.

With a very good turn (no damage taken, no performances failed) Misty only has to avoid snake eyes to get through this turn. She leapfrogs over that low bar and rolls a nat 20, instantly fulfilling her win condition. At this point, the play is superfluous and Titania is still down.

“Brennan lost and now he knows reddit is gonna eat his ass.”

OK, remember how I said earlier that Misty seems like the kind of character you nudge a little temptation at just to spice things up? Yeah, her killing Titania and getting the crown of the Seelie Fae makes me a liiiitle apprehensive, but we’ll see how that turns out.

“I killed my queen! This is America we don’t have royalty here.”

“Bear, I don’t know who you are, but take me on your back, let me ride on stage.” —creator of West Side Story, Stephen Sondheim

Misty charms the critic at the show to make sure they get a good review which is such a fae thing to do.

Kingston’s clearly not loving attacking Don and Co. post “real fight” what with his whole Do No Harm thing (well, that’s Dr’s but same principle applies I assume) is a good character detail. For that matter, so is Ricky just taking Titania’s crown and not beheading her which he super could have done while she was down but it would have been very incongruous with everything else about him.

Brian “This isn’t Loony Tunes” Murphy throws Sondheim as a projectile weapon at a pixie who snaps the pixie’s neck and then does a monologue at the audience.

I love it when someone rolls low on an insight check and Brennan gives them useless info and then they repeat it in their character’s voice.

4 mins from the end of the ep, Siobhan realizes there are two Perrys in this story for the first time and has a bigger reaction to that than almost everything else in this ep except her nat 20.

Ricky looks for costume faun legs to cover his fully out dick instead of costume pants or even his own pants.

Misty starts glowing with reincarnation energy and she runs into her dressing room for privacy. Also, she still super hasn’t told anyone what’s going on. (ALSO, assuming she’s gonna make the world think she died, it’s gonna be wild for the company of the show to have their leading lady put on the performance of her life and then die on opening night).

“Who am I to refuse a crown when it’s placed so deftly upon my head?”

You know that behind the scenes thing where Brennan is like, “Yeah, I knew Siobhan was gonna steal that book,”? I got some of those vibes during the crown scene.

The implications of what Misty did are gonna be left until next ep but Brennan says something about her creating her own court and it looks like she’s recruiting followers in the promo. IDK how I feel about that (these stories tend to have great power--especially tied to powerful magical items--as a corrupting force) but I am very excited to see how it goes down! See you then!

#the unsleeping city #dimension 20 #asks #galfast

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tyrustrash · 4 years

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Huge Updates

Hey, all! As you know, the world is in a certain state right now causing us to change our daily lives. One change for me is that I now have more time and motivation to write. Also, I published a book on Amazon!! It is a collection of short stories, some of which you have seen but with some changes (For obvious reasons) The link is this: Orientation https://www.amazon.com/dp/B085RRGQ2N/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_i_919HEbGVEBPPR Also, I am in the process of writing three more books!!!! Which is what I wanted to share with you. The chapters below will be the first two chapters of my young adult novel. The story is about two guys from seemingly different paths meet each other and bond over their shared pain. Theo is a member of a band that is trying to get signed to an agency, while Lucky is his college's best soccer player trying to get his team to nationals. They begin a secret relationship as they uncover more about themselves and their dark pasts. Some more info about the book: the couple is white-latino/asain, contains some sexual content, eating disorders, self-harm, and more. The other novels in development are as followed: 1. A story following a group of guys on a reality competition show competing to be members of a new boy band. 2. A group of teenagers gaining special powers and forming a team to save their town, and the world, from danger. (Has potential to be a series) 3. The other book I mentioned is another collection of never before seen short stories. I hope y'all enjoy the preview of my first novel! Chapter 1: Lo Mejor Comienza The crowd cheered their lungs out as they hyped up their favorite band, Going After You. The sold-out stadium held 40,000 of their fans holding every bit of merchandise the group had. There were a few fortunate fans that struggled their way onto the stage to get ahold of a member, but security managed to drag them away. However, one fan was able to grab the edge of Lucas' shirt and pull off a piece as she was being dragged off. Lucas didn't mind it though, he took it as a sign that he was their favorite, which he had that thought for all the fans. The members of the band looked out into the crowd and smiled as they continued their set. Lucas made sure to make his perfectly white teeth reflect the stage lights into the audience as he gave his perfect smile while he sang. His posture gave off high-end clothing store mannequin vibes: same old them as the rest, but somehow seen as better since where it came from. Gabe banged the drums while giving his rounds of pterodactyl screeching in between beats. The sweat coming from his head flew across the stage because of his hair flinging around caused by his head banging. Blake played his guitar with his swift fingers as he harmonized with Lucas. He had this chill aura around him that seemed to say that he was going with the flow. Lastly, Theo focused his attention on his keyboard. Unlike his bandmates, Theo chose to maintain his attention on his instrument. Not because he didn't appreciate his fans, all the hours spent writing letters and sending autographs said otherwise. He found it hard to multitask since he would get caught up in one thing and ignore the other. At one point in the concert he attempted to nod and smile to the fans, but he got off-key and played the wrong notes. Other than that one mishap, that night had gone well. The band stayed after for three hours to do the meet and greet with the fans. Although their entire bodies were hurting like hell, the pain was worth it if it meant making their fans happy. Everything was running smoothly. Fans stood in a straight line, which was harder than it seemed given they would let their excitement control them and try to form a tsunami, then they would get a picture with the group. So on and so on. This whole cycle repeated itself, concert and after show activities, for three weeks, with another six to go, they never wanted it to end. It was what they always dreamt about. All the hard work, all the nights without sleep, all the tears shed due to the stress-induced anxiety. All of it was finally worth it. However, sometimes it seemed liked hell on Earth. The pain and scars on their hands from their instruments. The times where they lost their voice from singing for up to eight hours a day. The visits to the hospital for when fans get too wild and would manage to make contact with a member. It was challenging in the beginning to form a balance, but it eventually happened. They wanted stardom to continue. They wanted to win a Grammy, star in their own movie, and go down as one of the greatest bands in musical history. Aside from those generic goals, each member had their own goal. Lucas wanted to be a model in New York Fashion Week. Gabe wanted to be the new owner of Playboy magazine. Blake wanted to start a non-profit organization. Theo wanted the loud banging would end. The loud banging. Theo rapidly blinked his eyes and looked around, suddenly snapping out of his daydream. He felt the cold water of the shower over his body. He wiped some of the water off of his face, also while taking a deep breath. He was at a loss of words, mainly because there was nothing for him to say at this point. "Two and a half hours." Lucas softly yelled, but in a nice way, from the other side of the door. "Hurry up. Some of us need our beauty shower." Although his time in the shower always took at least two hours, which all the others knew at that point, it felt like ten minutes. He always tried to shorten his time, but he never got around to fixing it. He never got around to fixing himself. "That's not a real thing." Theo heard Blake make the comment. "Oh shut up" Lucas said as his voice faded off, presumably going off to get his bathing kit from his room. Theo looked down and realized that there were still bits of thrown up food on the floor of the shower. It was rare that he would go off into his imagination after his habit. His shower routine typically consisted of beginning contemplating life, then spend most of his time dreaming, and end with him panic purging while rushing to get done. But lately he has been under a lot of stress. He finished up cleaning and turned the shower off. He placed an extra towel on the floor, per the request of Lucas, so that water didn't get all over the floor. As he dried himself off, he wiped off some steam that was on the mirror. The way he looked at his reflection, it was like seeing someone he didn't know. It was like there was something missing, something wrong. He looked around the room and his eyes fixated on random objects. Blake's razor that he always left out. A pair of Gabe's underwear, something that the boy always forgot to take to his room once he finished showering. Judging by the pair it seemed like it had been there for two days. His eyes locked on the can of air freshener sitting on top of the toilet. He felt short of breath seeing the tiny droplet of blood on the bottom of the can. He picked it up and turned it. Feeling the aluminum on his hands made his breathing stagger, it made his lip quiver. He inhaled sharply as his hands gripped the can tighter. Bringing the can closer to his body, a tear rolled down his cheek. Before he could do anything else, Lucas shouting stopped him, for now. "I need to get in now if I plan on getting enough sleep tonight." "I'm almost done." Theo said monotonal. He wished he meant it, but it's only the beginning. Gripping the can, causing his hands to fade into red, he turned his attention to the door. What was on the other side could have helped him, but it was no use. He was of no use. Not wanting to do anything else, he came back to his normal state of mind and brushed his hair with the brush that he has had since he was eight. He checked his phone for any notifications, but there was nothing. He frowned thinking he ruined everything. He put on his night hoodie and shorts then exited into the hall. Upon entering the hallway, he took note of Lucas and Blake arguing over some skincare routine. Lucas swore he needed to spend at least an hour on his routine for it to work, however, Blake counterattacked that he shouldn't be rushing Theo since he would spend as much time in the bathroom. Lucas grabbed his suitcase-sized bag of products and carried it into the bathroom. Theo grew worried that he was the one who had caused their argument, then wished he had used the can. Blake sighed as he plopped down on the couch. He turned on the TV and Pitch Perfect was playing. He turned up the volume but made sure it wasn't loud enough to wake up Gabe who was already asleep. They had their TV set to just music-themed programs, thanks to Gabe's technological skill. Last night they watched the first season of Glee. They wanted to watch every known music-related thing so they could take inspiration and help with their band. Their band. Although they had only been active for a year, they managed to gain a steady following and regular gigs at some small clubs that would allow a group of high schoolers to perform. Going After You was named after them chasing their dream to be the next big thing, which didn't make sense to some people but it was the group's style. However, they have yet to make any real progress in the real world. Maybe it had to do with them constantly changing their music style, but whatever it was, they needed to buckle down. Theo walked to the kitchen and poured himself a big glass of milk, with a bendy straw to go through the lid. He contemplated for a bit before he made the cup, but he needed something to ease his stomach. He made his way over to the couch and sat next to Blake. "Just like my showers, you should be used to Lucas' skin routine." Theo said as he brought his legs up to sit crisscrossed. Blake chuckled as he took a bite of the sandwich he had made earlier. "I know, but it still gets annoying. Mainly because he thinks it'll actually work. He's been doing that shit for a year now and it hasn't done a damn thing." Theo laughed a little, nearly causing him to snort out milk. "Come on, you're supposed to be the nice one of us." "Can't be the nice one when Lucas has been keeping me awake for the past two hours because he needed someone to complain to about not being able to get into the bathroom." "Sorry." Theo said with a soft voice. "Don't worry about it, I had some fun messing with him. It's so fun freaking him out." Theo gave out a soft laugh before Blake straightened himself a little. His face became a mixture of concern and stern, making Theo tense up and scoot away from him. "So, you know you're supposed to be last in the bathroom order." Theo looked down at his cup. He tried not frowning, but kept his feelings to himself, like always. "It was just that I had dinner before you guys." "What does that have to do with anything?" Before Theo could answer, Gabe walked in from his room, in only his underwear. He scratched his lower back as he made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and drank some milk straight from the jug. Blake let out a heavy groan, but Gabe didn't care. After that, Gabe grabbed a beer and went to sit in the recliner. Gabe was the one that didn't care about how he looked, he always had high confidence in himself that he didn't care what others thought about him. One time he went to school in a skintight spandex suit that outlined some of his more prominent features, resulting in him having to be sent home to change. Another time he went streaking across the neighborhood. He even managed to outrun the cops that were called. As he sipped his beer, Gabe adjusted his crotch which caused Blake to make a face of disgust. "Bro, I'm trying to eat." "Don't act like you've never adjusted yourself." Gabe replied while keeping his focus on the TV. He took another sip. "We're all guys, we've all done it." "But at least I have the decency to not do that while someone's eating." As the two discussed crotch touching and other typical guy things that Theo never understood or cared enough to learn more about, Theo stared blankly ahead, focusing on nothing. The world around him started fading and his surroundings transitioned into a new setting as he went back into his dreamworld for the eighth time that day. This time he imagined them all performing at his future wedding. He was marrying the person people expected him to marry, but he was sharing the moment with his closest friends, nothing could ruin it. Well, one thing. The person he imagined he was marrying. It was the wrong person. Wrong for him, but right for his parents. As he played his keyboard, he used his peripheral vision and he saw his parents sitting in the front while cheering his name. Their cheers grew louder and louder. Every time they said his name, he found it harder to concentrate. The loudness became unbearable to the point it snapped him back to reality, where he found where he heard his name being shouted. Theo sat between his two friends as they were both looking at him. Gabe patted Theo's shoulder as he leaned closer. "So, which is it?" "Which is what?" Theo asked as he became confused. He looked at the hand on his shoulder and started to build up panic. Blake let out a sigh as he tossed his paper plate in the trash can next to the couch. "The theme for our gig tomorrow night. I wanted to go for more modern and pop-ish since it would fit the crowd, but Gabe wants full out punk and rock and roll." "I thought y'all were talking about crotches." Theo remarked as he stirred the straw in his cup, seemingly easing himself. He scrunched his face thinking about his friends talk about touching themselves. "We were." Said Gabe. He finished his beer and tossed it towards the trash can, but missed. Blake picked it up and threw it away. "But it turned into trying to finalize what we're doing tomorrow." "I don't care. Just decide. It's just a soccer game that we're performing at. I mean, who even does that? And a college game too." Gabe chuckled as he patted Theo's back. "It's a paid gig, and it's exposure. "You say that every time." Blake told him. "Well, it is. And it would be one of the biggest crowds we've performed at. Anyone could be watching, like an agent, or scouts for a reality show." "You also say that every time." "Man, what's your deal? You don't seem like you care." "I care. It's just that if we keep changing our style for each performance, then it'll be harder to get signed to a label." "It's called having range. It shows we can do any genre." Gabe turned back to Theo. "So, what style? "Pop, I guess. We've done that the most and it seems to be a crowd pleaser every time." Theo said after thinking for a second. Like Gabe, he was just as eager to get signed. But like Blake, he had the mindset of sticking to one style until they get signed. Another moment in their band career that seemed to be one of the most challenging things. Before Theo could get up and go to his room, he noticed the marks on Gabe. There were kiss marks made from pink lipstick covering the area above Gabe's boxers. He pointed at them, resulting in the other two to look. "What's that?" Gabe laughed. "Come on, man. I know you haven't been with a girl, but I'm sure you know what this is and where it came from." "Is she here now?" Blake asked as he stood up. His face getting redder than a teacher's mark on a test when they give someone an "F". "I mean, obviously. I came out of my room when we finished. Fucking my girlfriend really makes me thirsty." "Bro, you know what the lease says. No overnight guests." "What they don't know won't hurt them." "Hold up, how long has she been here? When did you bring her?" "About four hours ago. We've been at it that long, a new record. Had to miss dinner, but don't worry, I ate alright." Theo shook his head. "Wait, she's been here for a while? Usually you two make as much noise as possible." "Wanted to try it out to see if we could, now we know we can do it even while y'all are asleep. But it was hard getting it one while having to hear y'all argue over some damn skincare routine, but perhaps the arguing helped cover it up a little." "No no no." Blake interjected, completely ignoring the second part. "She is not allowed overnight." "Come on. It's not that serious. She has stayed over countless times before and no one noticed." "What! Do you know how much trouble we'll be in if we're caught? We could be evicted!" "Calm thyself. We haven't been caught yet, and we won't. As long as you don't snitch. Besides, don't act like you've never broken that rule." Blake fell silent for a quick second. He blinked rapidly before speaking with a slightly higher-pitched voice. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Melissa. I know she has stayed over before after one of your escapades." "That was different." "How?" "It was accidental. We went to sleep immediately afterwards and forgot." "Yeah right." "Theo, you have anything to say right now?" Blake asked as a way of changing the subject, but no response. He and Gabe looked back and saw Theo standing at the side of the couch staring blankly at the wall. "THEO!" Theo blinked rapidly and gazed his attention to the two of them. "What now?" "Nothing." Blake sighed. "Just go to bed now. You really need the sleep." Before anyone could do anything else, the bathroom door opened and Lucas stepped out. His face was covered with one of his face masks. "Can y'all stop arguing, please. The yelling isn't good for my skin." "The hell." Gabe said. "How is us yelling upsetting your skin?" "I'll have you know that people yelling makes me stress, and stress can cause breakouts. I can't have any of that, especially at tomorrow's gig. In fact, I can't have that ever. I have to stay looking flawless." Before Lucas could continue with his routine, he turned to Blake. "Before you freak out again and we have a repeat of tonight, I've also broken that rule. Better get your rage out now and soon. Can't have too much more yelling." Blake couldn't say anything to him since he quickly slammed the door. With a final huff for the night he went to his room. Gabe smirked. "It's adorable when he loses." "Maybe." Theo said. He went to the kitchen and rinsed out his cup. While he was there, he began doing everyone's dishes, not because they had a rotation, but because he wanted to. "Sometimes it's hard dealing with an argument over the smallest things." "But sometimes it's fun. Right?" Theo smiled a little. "Yeah. Can be." "That's the spirit!" Gabe grabbed two more beers from the fridge and before he headed to his room, he went beside Theo. He placed a hand on his shoulder, causing Theo to become worried. "Hey, you'll find a girl someday, just keep looking. And I'll make sure to not tell Blake if you bring her over and you want her to stay over." "Thanks." The faintness of Theo's voice was barely audible. He didn't even look at Gabe, only keeping his head down. Gabe went into his room, leaving Theo alone. He looked around and took in his surroundings. Just a plain and small apartment the group found a few months ago. They saved up from all their gigs for nearly a year to be able to afford it. It wasn't anything to brag about, but it was better than what he had before. His family, his neighbors, everything about his old life, it was too much. He wanted to leave it all, and he did. Or so he thought. After pushing back any memories from his past he wanted to forget, and also finishing washing the dishes, he made his way to his room. Along the way he heard moaning coming from Gabe's room. Before he could enter his own room, Lucas stepped out of the bathroom, bare naked except for some scrub covering most of his body. Theo attempted not to look, but failed since Lucas always made a presence when he entered a room. "Ayo, Theo." He said, his hand on his hip, hip sticking out. "Don't worry about what Gabe said. You know how he is." Theo could barely form a sentence. "How do you know what he said?" "Dude, the apartment is smaller than Gabe's brain. You can hear everything." They laughed. Theo turned the handle of his door. "Nice to see you taking time out of your routine to console me." Lucas shrugged. "No biggie. Besides, I had to let my body scrub settle." "I can see." He thought for a second. "Well, I don't want to see. I've always questioned what you did in there for so long, maybe I didn't have to know." "Well, know you do. Now, what do you do in the shower that takes two hours?" Theo's eyes slightly widened. He felt short of breath but pulled together a response. "You'll never know." He said in a quick and sassy tone. Lucas nodded at Theo before he went back inside the bathroom. Theo opened his bedroom door and went in. He slammed the door and leaned back on it. He exhaled heavily. After standing for a minute, he made his way to his bed. It helped clear his mind by looking around his room and seeing all his favorites things. His room was decorated with posters of his favorite musicians, including various Kpop groups, mainly Got7, Kard, Twice, CLC, Day6, and Girls' Generation, and posters of American artists like Ariana Grande and boy band In Real Life. He had lots of stuffed animals scattered around the room. There was a box of snacks beside his bed that held snacks that he saved up for weeks. He sat on his bed the main dating app on his phone. He opened the chat he had started with someone he has been talking to for the past few weeks. Still no new response. He plugged his phone onto its charger and placed it on the windowsill next to him. He pulled out and opened his laptop and pulled up his search engine. He began researching the college they would be performing at. Although it was in their town, he somehow knew nothing about it other than that it valued sports over academics, like most American schools. He mainly focused on the soccer team. He found articles talking about how the team has had a mixed season so far and was unsure if they'll qualify for nationals. Searching further, he found profiles for each member. He spent the next hour reading about what each person was like personality wise and about their skill level. All of them seemed impressive on paper, but somehow weren't on the field at times. They had never qualified for Nationals, which made them the only team at their university not to do so. Statistics show that this season was their best, which wasn't saying much since it was like a toss of a coin if they won a game or not. During his time reading, one player in particular caught his attention. Lucky Moon. Not just because of his name, but his other attributes, he stood out. He made the most goals this season, given that he was the striker. Off the field, he helped volunteer by tutoring other students and being an assistant coach for a little league team. He seemed like the model student, the perfect person. Theo smiled reading more about him. Delving deeper, Theo learned that the college actually did halftime shows for all the sporting events. One time they had an aerial acrobatics group perform at a volleyball match. Although it seemed weird for a college to go all out for a sporting event, it could pay off for their band in the end. Hopefully. Shutting down for the night, he put up his computer and covered himself with his favorite blanket, the one he had since he was a child. He laid his head down on his green monkey pillow as he thought about tomorrow. How it could be the best day of the group's career. All the possibilities that could come from it. The best began tomorrow. Chapter 2: Stop the Rain The mixture of rain and sweat covered Lucky's face as he ran across the field. He didn't bother wiping it off, it made him stronger, it built up endurance. The grass was harder to run across because he hasn't been cleaning his shoes properly and almost had moments where he almost slipped. There was only one set of lights on, somewhat keeping him warm. He kept on running, while also kicking the ball, for what seemed like forever. He had just reached the halfway point. Every so often he would tighten his fists, which kept him awake. It was two in the morning. He had hardly gotten sleep the night before, and the night before that, and basically every night for the past week. Soccer cleared his mind, made all the stress go away. Not only was this time in the early mornings useful for extra practice, it was his time to think and relax. His schedule was filled with classes and practice that he doesn't get a break. Whenever he was in his dorm, his roommate made too much noise with his gaming stuff and the occasional party. Lucky started getting up early to get some alone time on the field before he went back to his dorm to get a little more rest before his seven o'clock class. It wasn't the healthiest schedule experts might say, but it worked, it helped him stay stable, physically and emotionally. Something that he always needed work on. He shook his head thinking about his wounds, he needed to focus. Focus on his future, his grades, his happiness, but most importantly the ball he was kicking. He finally reached near the goal to shoot. With a hard kick, the ball leaped off the ground and swerved to the back of the net, nearly tearing it. He slightly nodded and gathered the ball. He made his way to the nearest bench, which held a towel and his water bottle. He sat down and wiped his face with the towel, which was about useless since the rain had gotten it damp. What it did was absorb what it could, but his face had streaks of liquid. In the end, he didn't know why he did anything with the towel other than it was muscle memory, the rain would just get his face wetter. He took several chugs from his bottle, the water moisturizing his dry throat. Picking up his bag, he placed the bottle in the side pouch and the ball in the back. While he was standing to leave, he saw a figure walking towards him. Upon closer examination, it was Coach Jupiter. She carried an umbrella and was dressed in her coaching attire. Coach Jupiter held out the umbrella to Lucky, but he remained in his spot next to the bench. She slightly nodded and got as close to him without making him feel uncomfortable. "What're you doing out here at this time of day?" Lucky shrugged his shoulders. When he opened his mouth his words came out bold, yet calm. "Extra practice." "It's not good to practice out in the rain." She came closer to him to try getting him under the umbrella, but he stepped back. "It helps build stamina." He said with even more boldness, but with a kind inflection. He didn't know if it was true, he thought it sounded like she would believe him. "Also helps with feet work." "Need someone to practice with?" "I was just leaving." "Too bad. I thought since you were here at this hour you were committed to the team." "I am!" Lucky shouted. Upon realizing that he raised his voice, he lowered his head in shame. "Sorry." "No need to apologize. Besides, how did you even get on the field?" Lucky kept his head down, feeling ashamed at what he did. "I picked the lock on the gate. But I always make sure to lock it back up when I leave." "Always?" She said while raising an eyebrow. Lucky realized what he said and step back a little while scratching his leg with his foot. "You've done this before? When? How long?" "Every day for the past two weeks." His voice was weaker than before. He sat down on the bench, resting his head in his hands. He began sobbing, his words becoming semi-inaudible. "I'm so sorry. Please don't kick me off the team." Coach Jupiter sat down next to him and held the umbrella over both of them. "Hey, calm down, it's alright. You're not off the team." "Really? Isn't what I did against some kind of rules?" Coach shrugged. "Yeah, most definitely, but I'm not going to report you or do anything." "Thank you." He said with a sigh of relief. However, he raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I was here?" "I got a notice from a bystander saying the lights were on. I came to see what was up." Lucky nodded a little. "I didn't mean any harm." "I know, but," She started saying, causing Lucky to look up and gulp. "If you wanted more time to practice, why didn't you contact me and set up an extra schedule? I would've worked with you. That's what I'm here for." Lucky stayed silent for a minute. Coach looked at him with her wide eyes, trying to figure him out based on his body language. He was hunched over, feet shaking, his right hand was brushing through his hair, and he still had a few tears coming out. "It's okay." She said. "Take your time." Lucky took a deep breath. Thoughts ran through his head and he didn't know what to say. He could tell the truth, which was more than likely a bad idea. Or he could say what she more than likely wanted to hear. Whatever he said, he made sure to make it seem better what was the truth. "I just wanted to practice some more. I know nationals means a lot to the team, and to you since it'll be your first one as a coach, and I felt like since the others look up to me, I needed to be better so we can win some more and qualify. I didn't ask for your help because I wanted to improve on my own. To show that I have the discipline and dedication." All Coach could do was nod and pat Lucky's shoulder, which seemed to calm him down. "Lucky, you are an amazing player, perhaps the best one on the team." "And I want to be better." He interjected. "I want us to go to nationals. I want to see that trophy in our case." Coach Jupiter let out a soothing sigh. "And we will, one day. Maybe this year, or maybe next year, but we will win it. But we won't if we're not in our best condition. Next time you want extra practice, talk to me and we can work out a healthier and somewhat better schedule. How does that sound?" Lucky looked her in her eyes. He couldn't form any kind of facial expression. But Coach made a face though. She seemed like she cared. He was happy to have someone in his life that seemed like they cared about him, someone who wanted to spend time with him, but he shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll see about it." He told her as he stood and put on his bag. "Let's see how we do at this next game." Coach stood up. She gave him another pat on the shoulder before she walked off, leaving him standing in the rain. Lucky looked up at the sky. A few drops of rain hit his eyes, causing him to blink rapidly. As he started walking to his dorm, he wiped some rain away, kicked some grass, and sighed heavily. He managed to get to the door and lock it back up, making it seem no one was ever there. As he walked away, the single set of lights that was on started flickering, then went dark. Lucky entered his dorm building and pushed the button for the elevator. He rested his hand on his hip as he waited. The elevator always took forever, even though there were only five floors. He didn't mind waiting, especially after practicing. It gave him a little time to cool off. The elevator dinged. The doors opened and there was only one person getting out. "Sup, Lucky!" The guy said as he went into a bro hug. Lucky accepted the hug. Although he wasn't too close to him, they did have some sort of friendship through Lucky's tutoring sessions. The guy left and Lucky took his spot in the elevator. He pushed the button for the fifth floor and watched the door close. The elevator always felt like it was going slower than a snail. He thought since they were paying a ridiculous amount for housing, the service would be good quality. The long time, the interior falling about, and the constant smell of sewage, and all that was just for the elevator. The rooms were worse. Upon coming onto his floor, he looked around at all the decorations. Each floor had a different theme, and his theme was the ocean. Cut-outs of different ocean animals covered the wall, along with streamers of different shades of blue. A pinboard hanging on the wall next to the elevator held mini questionnaires filled out by the residents of the floor. One of the questions was if they were a sea creature, which would they be. Lucky answered dolphin, because they are sleek, fast, and that people often make assumptions about them and have no reason to worry. He reached his assigned room at the end of the hall. He looked at his name tag, which was a dolphin, which he thought was a coincidence. He tapped the head of the dolphin before entering, a ritual he had since he started college. Touching his name tag before he entered his room. The first thing he saw was one of his roommates, Matt, asleep on the couch. Lucky grabbed a blanket form the rack in the corner and covered him up. Matt let out a weird groaning noise and turned but stayed asleep. When Lucky went to open his bedroom door, it was locked. "I'm busy!" His main roommate, Spada, yelled from the room. "Come back in a few minutes!" Before walking off, Lucky could hear the noise of a bed squeaking. Grunting, he went to the little kitchen area. Every time he really needed to get some rest, Spada pulled some shit like that. Every time he was gone for longer than thirty minutes Spada had her over. But he never had the strength to say anything. Opening the fridge, his face remained emotionless at the sight of a basically empty fridge. At that point, he was just over his roommates not keeping up with the one simple task of grocery shopping. The only thing edible he could see was some milk, a few slices of leftover pizza, and a half empty ketchup bottle. He grabbed a slice of pizza and poured him a glass of milk. As he chewed, he pulled out his phone and opened a dating app and went to the message section. There was only one person who had a conversation. Lucky smiled for the first time that day. He thought he might've met someone but didn't know if it would work out. He didn't know what to respond with. He hadn't replied for at least five hours. The right words had yet to come, even though the other person's message was really simple. It asked what he was like when he was younger. They had been getting to know each other better, but he has been picky about what he shared, especially life before college. He didn't want to change the subject since it seemed rude, but he also didn't want to make them mad by lying. He began typing a sentence but stopped when he heard his bedroom door open. Spada's girlfriend lurked out of the dorm, waving to him as she exited. Spada came out next, only in his boxer briefs. He went to the fridge and sipped some of the milk straight from the jug. "Can you please use a glass?" Lucky said as he took another bite of the pizza. Spada placed the milk back in the fridge. He maneuvered his way around the tiny kitchen space and leaned up against the counter next to Lucky. "You already have some." "Besides the point. Others might want some later and they more than likely don't want your germs. Besides, I know where your mouth has been." Before Spada could respond, he finally got a sniff of Lucky and nearly gagged. "Dude, you stink." Lucky sniffed his own armpit and shrugged. He has grown accustomed to his stench that he built up an immunity to it. It took him really trying to sniff to catch it. "Yeah, I do. It's called sweating. It's what comes when one is physically active." "I'm physically active." "Sex and parties don't count." "Hey, don't diss those. I be sweating pretty hard while doing so." Spada crossed his arms. "You need to shower. I don't want to be smelling that the rest of the night." Lucky turned to him and scolded him. "I was going to when I got here, but you were busy." Spada stood straight up in a defensive manner. "You know the rule we set up at the beginning of the year. If one of us has company over, we shall give them privacy." "But I didn't think it would include the middle of the night." "There weren't any time restrictions when we made the deal." "Whatever." Lucky sighed as he made his way to the bedroom. Before he took off to the shower, he looked back at Spada, who was shaking his head. "You know," Spada started saying. "I wouldn't mind waiting out here for whatever amount of time you needed. That's if you ever bring a girl over." With that, Lucky slammed the door. There were times he despised Spada. Times where just his presence caused annoyance. He had the typically rich daddy's boy vibe, but lacked the rich daddy. Whined whenever he didn't get his way, bitch until he does, just plain punchable. On the other hand, there were times Spada was kind of tolerable. The times where they got drunk together were nice and good bonding moments, but those were rare sense Lucky didn't want to risk showing up to class or practice with a hangover. Spada once invited him to a threeway with his girlfriend on the terms that they wouldn't do anything with each other, but he declined out of respect. One time they to the arcade and made a mountain with all the tickets they had earned, then destroying it by jumping into it and rolling around. Putting all those thoughts behind him, Lucky went straight to the bathroom and locked the door. He stood in front of the mirror and stood straight into his eyes. He began that state of being where everything around him became too real and where he started contemplating life. What life was, what he was doing there, and what will happen if he dies. Or in his case what would've happened if he had died. Or what things would be like if he was never born. Shaking his head rapidly, he got out of those thoughts. He turned on the shower and waited for it to get hot. In the meantime, he took off his clothes and placed them neatly in the corner. Remaining in only his black briefs, he went back to staring at himself in the mirror. This time he stared at his body. At the wounds he had. The cuts across his six-pack. The bruises on his sides. The everlasting burn wound on the upper part of his arm. As he ran his fingers over it all, he tried staying strong. He kept reassuring himself that it'll all be over soon. He wanted to continue looking, but the mirror fogging up stopped him. He took off his underwear and stepped into the shower. The hot water hit him sharply, giving him the best feeling he has had for the day. He simply stood in the middle of the shower and let the water go all over him. It took him a good minute or two to begin. He poured some of his Axe body wash on his hands and started rubbing his body. He took it easy around his wounds since they were sensitive. He used the green apple shampoo his sister got him, only because he was out of his regular kind. He let his hand slip down his body until he reached his v-line. He tapped his fingers across it, enjoying the tingling sensation that slowed throughout his body. He let out a soft moan as he reached lower. He grasped his crotch and let out a louder moan. His head flung back and his eyes closed. Just the feeling could've made him finish since it had been forever since he had felt some sort of pleasure. He started moving his hand, the shampoo helped made a smooth rhythm. He used his other hand to rub his chest. His hands became synchronized in motion resulting in a higher amount of pleasure. All the feelings going through his body sped up his hands and he couldn't stop. It felt like electricity going through his veins, lighting was about to be next. Just as he was about to release, there was a loud bang on the door. It startled him so much that his hand sharply gripped over himself and he released over the front of the shower. His knees felt like jelly and he had to hold onto the rail so he wouldn't fall to the ground. "Hurry up, bro!" Spada said. Lucky took a moment to catch his breath. "I can't fall asleep with the shower running." Lucky groaned as he cleaned up, again, and turned the shower off. He stepped out, dried off, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He wiped off some of the steam on the mirror and brushed his hair. In the corner, he saw some of his residue on the corner of the tub. He took the edge of the towel and wiped it up so that Spada wouldn't complain. Finally finished, he grabbed his dirty clothes and walked into the bedroom and over to his dresser. He took off his towel and tossed it and the clothes into the basket. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of light blue briefs. After he put them on, Spada turned on his bed and faced the ceiling. "Sorry about earlier." Lucky went to his bed and got under the covers. He took note of Spada's weird change in attitude, which wasn't uncommon. He adjusted himself and his pillows before responding. "About what?" "About saying if you ever bring a girl over." Spada let out a sigh. "I didn't mean to come off snarky." "It's fine." No it wasn't, but it wasn't the time. "Don't worry about it." "My thing is," He started, resulting in a soft groan from Lucky. "You're so attractive, no homo, you can get any girl you want. You're the star soccer player, a people helper, and you're Asian, girls love ethnic guys now." "Don't say that!" Lucky slightly yelled. He hated it when people brought up his race, not because he was ashamed, but because he thought it was never needed to be brought up. "I thought you were tired? Why don't you get some sleep, maybe it'll help your brain." "Hey, don't get upset at me for stating facts." "Well I don't want to hear your so-called facts." "Well, what do you want to hear?" "You sleeping." Spada chuckled. "Man, I can help you." "I don't need your help." Lucky turned to face the wall. "What's your type? Blonde, brunette, redhead? Maybe another ethnic person." Lucky became furious. He grabbed a bottle of water from under his bed and threw it at Spada. "Stop saying that! As I said before, I don't want or need your help. Stay out of my personal life and leave me the fuck alone!" Without saying anything, Spada made a face of confusion with a mix of anger. He tried throwing the bottle back, but it failed to reach halfway across the room. He huffed and turned to face the wall. Lucky wept silent tears. He pulled out his phone and went back to the message conversation. He scrolled through the entire thread, wanting to relive one of the happy parts his life had. From where they talked about school, hobbies, and dreams for the future. Although he had a gist of what he wanted for his dream, all he could think about was making a new dream reality. After a long time of thinking, he finally decided what to say. Let's talk, in person, after my soccer game. I know a place we could go and be alone. With a simple click of a button, his life changed. Whether it was for good or bad, that was debatable. What wasn't was his feelings. Feelings for soccer, feelings for freedom, and feelings for the one person that could truly care about him. A ding. Lucky looked back at his phone and formed a small smile at the message notification. He smiled more when he read it. I'll be there.

#gay #lgbt #bisexual #debut novel #books #gay books #fanfiction

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raguna-blade · 5 years

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Revolutionary Girl Utena 4-7

Hm...Not quite as clean as last time, but hey. Less stewing, for better or worse. And God, shit just keeps happening.

Episode 4

Opening 10000@ chunked full of meaning. Similarly, lacking context for any of it right now, so that's s for later, .

Still trying to get over the bit where the two are in armor and look like they're about to come to blows before going in the same direction though.

Express the eternal beauty huh.

Also, Nanami you trfling what are you....

Woman can put her logic on a man huh...? Odd, but ok.

It's kinda amazing how much folks be putting on Anthy and not people who are actually, you know, who are actually to blame. Gotta get that Rose Bride who does....uh...Something. Girlfriend(?), Muse, Key to reVOLUTION???? Little talk o anthy. For literally everyone so far.

Though Miki at least seems to acknowledge her a bit.

When's Nanami's turn to fight.

Shadow Girls gonna make us feel mad dumb later. Feelin it.

Nanami jesus christ chill the fuck out. The most trifling bullshit I swear. Petty bullshit. Mind, Middle schooler so.

Ok, hey, that's a FUCK ton of snails. Like goddamn. Named them...? Uh... Uhhhhhhhh.

THAT IS A WHOLE ASS SNAKE WHOA HEY WAIT A MINUTE. Garter Snake but.

Makin the maxuse of those repeat frames and text.

Also, all night for the snake...?

An...Octopus....?

AN OCTOPUS? WHAT THE FUCK. YES NANAMI

A ballooon?

Miki, you literally know nothing about her.

Nanami soul crushed. Chuchu just..Trollin.

Seriously though, Anthy and animals that a thing?

Nananmi actually asking a relevant question. Why DOES everyone like Anthy so much out of nowhere? She's cute, but she's kinda reclusive so...?

Where'd Anthy learn that song? Didn't Miki write it...? Also, homeboy's sister? Found your shining thing huh?

Ending Also Clearly has some meaning that I'm not quite getting. Rose Bride Utena is...Kinda weird. Feels wrong? Gotta sit down with the lyrics for op and ending though. But yeah, both them rose brides feels...Odd. And it seems to be mirroring? So that's strange.

Do it for Miki's sake? Right and not for hers...?

Episode 5

Huh. Shadow Girls share VA with the teaming masses of school girls. Also, the budget for these fight scenes.

Why is it always the same three girls btw?

Does the Entire senior Student council just talk in riddles? Saionji was pretty straightforward but he's a dumbass apparently.

Awkward Confusing smiles abound. And this damn monkey again. I don't even dislike him he's just there. And those eyes.....

Wrote a famous song...? Uhhhhh. Sibs huh.

Destroyed the garden own hands? Miki did you do something to your sister? Oh hey caged bird little girl? Sure it's nothing.

And he left her (of no choice of his own cause fucking measles) sis got traumatized, and now idolizing that memory and his sister?

Is she dead or something? Have you talked with her? Also, where the hell...

WHAT ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH MIKI?

Utena: Please be a person Anthy I fucking beg you. This duel bullshit is dumb.

Anthy: Ok, but I'm your bride. I am down with this system my girl.

SHELL BREAKING. Wait a second, does this elevator thing happen right before every duel or revelation?

Are there only- hold up, dissolve the student council. Hey good on you Miki.

Miki: Aint this gonna fuck something up for people.

Touga: Aight, but hey if you feel it fuck the system kid.

Miki, just ignoring his sis and...what's with the dishevelment. Was she...? Piano room's not for HOLY SHIT WAS SHE FUCKING TOUGA

Sis looks just like you, But you're cuter. Uhhhhhhhhhhh

Touga, Only the winner get's to do what they want. And I banged your sister who you seem to hate, y u mad.

Miki: My sis used to look cute as an angel. You look like an angel btw

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Anthy: *BLANK EMPTY LOOK” OF COURSE I'LL STOP IF SHE TELLS ME I AM THE ROSE BRIDE

Touga: INCREASINGLY NUDE: Hey, REMEMBER THE ROSE BRIDE SHIT I JUST TOLD YOU. YOU GOTTA BE BUFF TO HAVE THE BRIDE BRUH

Two Steps: Miki I will Trash the System Touga Interrupt Fuck, I guess I gotta fight Utena in this barbaric bullshit. Due Time.

SHADOW GALS APPROVE PIRACY. Also, What do you want.

Dat Absolute Destiny Yeahhhhhhhh Settin the Mood. Someone's about to get Some kind of REVELATION. From DIOS. Or some such. Actually, Dios is pretty close to god (I may be super wrong here) but the possibly flipping nature of it all is I guess, some kind of truth thing since if it were pure skill, as suggested with Juri losing to Miki somehow, utena deffo wouldn't have beaten Saionji. So, Whoever has the better understanding of things get's the power of Dios? Thus the power to change the world? Seems straightforward enough. Though why Anthy has that power.

NEW DUEL THEME. DOPE SONGS What's the meaning cause man, they're apparently different per duel, as per (?????) which seems so so far.

Miki: I want the Bride!

Utena: YOU SURE THIS IS HOW YOU WANT IT?

Miki, SHE WANTS THE FREE

Anthy: SOULLESS EYES. For real, she needs to emote.more regular like. Seemingly likes Utena so....

Utena Wins, Defloration Complete. Beat, like that, one stroke.

Miki's Sis: I freaked out on stage and was never good. People thought I was though

Miki: I'M GONNA GO ALL OUT ON THIS DUEL SHIT YOU WATCH.

Utena: DO YOU NOT GET IT BRUH?

Episode 6

Ah, the good ole days when you could repeat frames like that.

Nanami almost dies, weird faceless stalker and car driver, mk

Nanami: SOMEONE IS TRYING TO KILL ME, LEMME JUST HOP ON THIS TABLE TO PROVE THE POINT.

Touga: I have Important s THOT s student council work.

Oh shit that hit her square in the face..

Utena: Trying to Kill Nanami Clearly.

That ball is lodged in her dome damn.

Utena: TOGAS A THOT, FACT

Touga: KILL THEM. KILL THE VERMIN

Anthy: Life is life. Leave it be.

Nanami: MY BROTHER WANTS ME DEAD. ANTHY IS BEHIND THIS. THAT WITCH SEDUCING HIM

Why does everyone think he'd kill his sister. Damn Nanami. What's your relationship that people buy it immediately.

A whole ass horse and...chickens?

Prince Appeared. Mitsuru Tsuwabuki....?????????? Watch for the name I guess.

Why...Why do they assume all these dudes are her type off hand? Like...

Oh hey he has a face and is a small boy ok. Uh...Hey, Are you prpositioning a child. Um.

Shadow Gals what he fuck does curry have to do with it. Are y'all trollin.

Also, hey Nanami. Uh. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

ACTUALLY DATING A KID? TO JEALOUS YOUR BROTHER? WAT

A Brocon. And a drama queen. Everyone is baffled.

What the fuck is he doing in the locker. Just...snapped her fingers. Under her desk. Man slave boy. Uh

uhhhhhh.

WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU COME FROM SAIONJI. Hidden Love

Hard Ignore.

Nanami: Who are you three idiots. WHERE DID THE BOY COME FROM.

Y'all about to throw down with a kid. And he's...He won, damn. PUT HIS BODY IN THE LAKE JESUS.

Nanami: Mitsuru is my boyfriend. I can treat him how I like.

Mitsuru: ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A BOYFRIEND

Is this...Is this a rosebride thing? Like a kinda fucky mirror jam?

Also, did Touga 1v1 a Bull and win? What the fuck? I agree Mitsuru, he's pretty cool yeah.

Be a Big Bro, not a boyfriend. No choice but to put her in danger again in order to get her to be what I want.

Where did that equipment come from.

WHAT IS WITH THIS SCHOOL. A KANGAROO? WERE THEY GONNA BOX THIS ASSHOLE?

So, Mitsuru as rosebride, Gotta Protec, get’s wrecked. So...Uh..Anthy....?

Boy fucked up that kangaroo. 1V1 me YOU PUSSY DO IT COWARD.

Nanami: Don't be an idiot jesus fucking christ. I CAN'T JUST LET SOMEONE USEFUL DIE FOR ME GOD.

Was...Was Touga the one fighting the Kangaroo...For Real? Why...Why was he...One PUNCH.

Mitsuru: Lemme be your bro please.

Episode 7

Ohp, Serious time out the gate ok. Guess 6 was a palette cleanser.

Juri: Dominant. Sure I'm buff but what for? God.

Juri Arisugawa? Alice Refs...? Seen that name used that way before. I'll watch for it.

Huh, the immediate mirroring with Utena is...odd?

Juri: Fuck Off Vice Principal.

Wait, was he hitting on...her...? Oh that's not.

Chuchu always with Utena? Huh.

Also Juri, Dominant as fuck, offing students left and right.

Oh, she's explaining things. Rosebride gives power to revolution.

Utena: Oh cool, super powers. Dope. Seems MAD FUCKING STUPID.

Juri: Yeah. Seems dumb right.

Ok, juri uh...Has EVERYONE Slapped Anthy thus far? Like...Ok? Does Everyone Get a Turn? Is...Is this a thing? It's kinda.

SHELL TIME. DUEL? DUELL?

End of the World: DUEL TIME

Is touga trying to kill Miki. What's with knives man? Miki. HOW MANY KNIVES. BLINDFOLDS

Juri: I don't believe any of this shit. I'll prove it's bs.

Old love. It's 1000000% not this dude. Don't you. Play me.

ORANGE ROSE AT CROTCH LEVEL WHAT? And she got denied I guess...?

SHES IN LOVE WITH SOMOENE AND ITS NOT YOU.

There was some love triangle shit, and girl is perpetrating.

MUSIC GONE. SHITS REAL

Jesus this show is just full of bullshit.

Ok, we had a moment with why utena is the way is she is, Juri Does not approve. Miracles are Bullshit, I will dunk you in the the fucking OCEAN.

Rabbits Dance all around huh. OK.

SHADOW GALS. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.

ABSOLUTE DESTINY TIME. TIME FOR SOMEONES IDEALS TO GET BUSTED I GUESS.

Also, like how the various wings on the garden go from vaguely angelic to kinda ominous. I mean the whole deal is sketchy as fuck, you don't just start singing about the apocalypse and ignore it. DARKNESS OF LIGHT DAWG. DARKNESS DARKNESS EVERYWHERE. KINGDOM HEARTS WISHES!

Also is that castle CG? It feels it but...

Juri: MIRACLES ARE BS BUT IF THEY'RE REAL SHOW ME THE TRUFACTS

Utena: NOT SURE ABOUT MIRACLES BUT WHATEVER I DON'T NEED THAT SHIT.

FIGHT. Oh boy new song.

Lucifers light...? Uh...All of this is ominous as fuck. Then a bunch of night and darkness gods.

Certainty of Death, Namely Light.

Sword Falls Just so to cut the Rose. Uh. Miracle....?

Uh...Juri Was Robbed.

Consistently though, the stronger convictions won. Juri was legit robbed, but she hesitated, so she lost.

Juri: MIRACLES ARE BULLSHIT AND MY GAY LOVE WAS NOT RESPECTED GOD

Also, Juri=Lucifer? For...The Student Council...? She does seem to be the one who least believes in this shit. She didn’t even duel utena for the rose bride like literally everyone else. She just wanted to prove Utena’s ideals wrong.

#Revolutionary Girl Utena #Liveblog #This Show is all up in the symbols like goddamn #Can't even have a doofy filler episode without QUESTIONABLE SEMIOTICS #Anthy Slides Further Into the Uncanny Valley.

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erenaeoth · 5 years

Text

MK11 Thoughts

absolutely rammed with spoilers, under the cut.

Cool stuff:

subs and scorp being not assholes to each other

Bi-Han calling Kuai little brother

shao kahn's response when d'vorah says she killed mileena. (”I will kill u”)

the shaolin monks game refs

how pissed off Johnny is with his younger obnoxious self

Kano getting a full crotch punch

Also the fact that Johnny has no jokes for Kano, only full on anger

Scorpion coming out of his house with little bells ringing to see what all the fuss is about

spelling the Kolliseum with a K even in the subtitles

how sexy sheeva looks

the number of times people stop Shao Kahn from executing Kotal Kahn

the sheer number of clothed women with powerful roles in this story. especially Kotal handing the throne to Kitana, I was hoping thats where this was going.

People having heart to hearts that end with an unexpected monstrosity entering stage left.

Raiden exitting every scene in the most dramatic way possible.

People hiding important shit in underground castles underneath their overground castles.

the beautiful face graphics but terrible water animations

Bi-Han's new multiple shadow clone jutsu

Bi-Han claiming he doesn't lose, even though I'm pretty sure he's lost every canonical fight he's fought as Noob Saibot.

Bi-Han implying that he wants his death re-written and erased from history (implying he wants to be Subs again?)

D'vorah's creepy backwards bug walk.

Hanzo being generally adorable.

The cool Armageddon refs and pyramid.

I like merged Raiden-Liu Kang. and his awesome white tattoos.

t-rex running across the scene

NRS promised us this wouldn't be another MK rewrite, but uh. They've kinda got another blank slate and we're left with no sense of any consequences to anyone’s actions.

Also - the only Lin Kuei story we got was a rewrite of what happened in the MKX comics. What was the point of bringing back Frost and Bi-Han if they served no importance in the story and had no real confrontation with Kuai Liang. Real disappointed by that, even if they did some nice (non-canonical) endings for them (Bi-Han really? u so dramatic. Kuai's was beautiful though. uh sonya’s was so cringy. Kitana’s was neat).

So yeah, game seems cool. I mean, I’ve been getting by with 2 lines of Subs bros dialogue and now I’ve got a few more lines to play with. But ugh tbh I’m mostly disappointed. Lots of cool development for some characters (although how much of it remains given that we have no idea what the next timeline will be), but I’m a big fan of the Lin Kuei and all their stories suffered in this game - given that they handed us so many cool Lin Kuei characters back, it would have been nice to see some real story with them.

We do get some neat lore from the dialogues at least:

Kuai and Bi-Han’s grandfather was called Sub-Zero

Kuai recognising his reflection as his Grandfather, implying he new him in life

Smoke is still in Netherrealm

Frost wanting Bi-Han as Grandmaster then deciding against it pretty quick

first name basis Bi-Han and Hanzo oof

also some classic Bi-Han wit creeping back in there

(drama goth queen saying he’s not lonely because the darkness is his friend)

confirmed distinction between wraith and revenant

also how come everyone in the world knows Bi-Han’s true name now? Did anyone notice him being called Noob Saibot in game? I think the emphasis on his real name might be an effort to send the pun name into the background.

Sektor is A-OK with women joining the Lin Kuei as long as they renounce all humanity and become a killer robot like him

Frost has good puns and I should update my text blog to reflect her great humour.

I’m glad what I could glean of Bi-Han’s character from the other games is consistent with all his MK11 dialogues. Lots of this is about him sorry I havn’t seen him in 8 years and I’ve written too much about him in the mean time.

Anyway, I still have the rest of the dialogues and some of the endings to watch, but there’s my initial thoughts.

#mortal kombat spoilers #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #mk11 #mk thoughts

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henrik-von-schneeplestein · 5 years

Note

Hewwo. You mentioned liking certain albums and songs for the jse egos and ships, what about for the Sander's sides? 👀 Are there any songs you like for certain ships you like? ❣️

HFJDHGJG YEPPP! Not quite as many, just bc I’m new to the fandom but I definitely have thoughts!

Before y’all who are annoyed with me ranting about Taylor jump ship:

-”Pioneer” by The Band Perry is SUCH a good Roman song omg just the softest song about the creative spirit & bravery

-”Lovefool” by the Cardigans is... Deceit’s karaoke song. I have no rationale or defense for this statement whatsoever it just came up on shuffle the other day and I for some reason could picture him singing it perfectly and now I can’t let it go. Roman’s karaoke song is probably like “Any Man of Mine” by Shania Twain. Idk what the other sides’ go-to karaoke songs are but PLEASE lmk what y’all think bc I wanna know

Anyway Taylor time. People w/ bad taste in music you’re free to go now. Have a nice night and please don’t unfollow me

Roman is both the side I think would most be a fan on Taylor and also who has the most Taylor songs that remind me of him.

“White Horse” is definitely a Roman song. Like just change the gender (from ‘princess’ to ‘prince’) and it fits perfectly - a “dreamer” who has the beautiful, romantic fantasies they believe in challenged and emerges stronger but still believing in all those wonderful things... catch me crying

“Starlight” is the other song that has strong Roman vibes to me again bc of the ‘dream impossible dreams’ thing & another ref to a prince (and a ‘duchess’ ((duke)) but it def feels more roman than remus to me). Could definitely be a prinxiety song given the second verse: He said, “look at you, worrying too much about things you can’t change. You’ll spend your whole life singing the blues if you keep thinking that way.” He was trying to skip rocks on the ocean, saying to me, “don’t you see the starlight? Don’t you dream impossible things?”

Honestly the whole Red album has Roman vibes to me which makes sense assuming his color is red for the same reason she chose that title: bc it symbolizes passion. It really specifically reminds me of him in the ‘Moving On’ videos - him having a hard time letting go of a relationship but ultimately realizing it must be done strongly reminded me of “Red” (the song), “I Almost Do,” and “All Too Well”

LOVES “Wonderland” bc it’s gay uhhh Disney references no but he’d be all over that ‘too in love to think straight’ pun.... and the sheer DRAMA of writing your ex’s fucking TUMBLR URL into a song

“Love Story” and “Today Was a Fairytale” need I say more

Virgil is definitely AT LEAST a Speak Now stan - some of you are too young to remember it and some of you are still too salty to acknowledge it but from like 2008-2011 especially there was the Emo Swiftie phenomenon where a bunch of us very edgy emo kids who liked Panic! & MCR were also Taylor fans. Like she wasn’t considered emo at all but she had the same lyricism & theatricality, and the rampant slutshaming didn’t really start until 2012 so it wasn’t nearly as uncool to like her. So yeah Virgil’s been a secret passenger on the Taylor train for a while

He’s SUPER unwilling to admit it at first but as soon as Roman figures it out they bond & talk about their fav songs

emo boy is most definitely a “Haunted” stan

All I WANT is Virgil in the famous purple Speak Now tour dress and if I had a shred of artistic talent him in that dress under the glowing tree would be the first thing I drew

“Out of the Woods” is a Virgil song - Taylor literally said that the main feeling she was trying to capture is anxiety (x). I would also like to see Virgil in the OOTW music video. Give my baby some WOLVES.

“The Archer” is very literally about anxiety & imposter syndrome I don’t think I need to defend that being a Virgil song

“Afterglow” and “Delicate” belong on any ship playlist involving Virgil

Someone sing “Innocent” to this boy immediately

My favorite Virgil song actually isn’t “The Archer” even though that’s the most obvious - I think “Daylight” is the best one. He’s wounded the good & he’s trusted the wicked y’all!!! But it’s brighter now!!!! I love him!!!!!

With Deceit I see the obvious comparison to “Look What You Made Me Do” and it works pretty well but I think the best Deceit song is def “I Did Something Bad” - ‘for every lie I tell them they tell me three’ ‘this is how the world works; you gotta leave before you get left.’ Also my position just in general is that IDSB is the Distinguished Gay Villain Song & LWYMMD is the Disaster Gay Villain Song.

That said, the only reason Deceit’s never done the traditional Rise Into Frame is to keep me specifically from making a joke about Karyn rising out of the stage during LWYMMD (x) - it’s true my cousin’s best friend’s uncle was an extra in the Sanders Sides he played Roman’s sword

Deceit’s real name is Karyn I cracked it y’all

Also it makes me really excited that the LWYMMD tour outfit is kinda similar to Deceit’s. Something about having the initials TS just makes you go ‘snake time’ and put on a black cape/shirt/jacket thing with yellow/gold accents I guess

“End Game” is a Remus/Deceit song - ‘you like the bad ones, too’ = they’re both dark sides, “you’ve been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks so here’s the truth from my red lips” = Deceit

“New Romantics” is just like ‘let’s lie our way through society’ so

Remus really reminds me of the swift fandom itself and idk what else to say about that bc if you’ve never been in that fandom I don’t know how to explain it to you and if you’ve been in that fandom for even 5 minutes you don’t need me to explain it to you

ME! is such a Remus song!! ‘I know that I’m a handful, baby, UH! I know I never think before I jump’ & ‘I would never bore you baby;’ also ‘like a rainbow with all of the colors’ reminds me of Remus saying ‘if you want the spectrum A-Z then you’ll need a little help from ME!” AND the song tends to get stuck in your head (or it does for me anyway) - kind of Remus’s M.O.

We already know he likes “Shake It Off” lol

Those of y’all who are horny for Remus and I know you’re out there.... “False God” is the song for you

could also be Remus/Deceit - Remus does use Deceit as the serpent in the Garden of Eden after all

Patton is just all the soft love songs lbr. “Stay Stay Stay,” “Paper Rings,” “Our Song,”etc. Also “Never Grow Up” and “Fifteen” and bc he’s nostalgic but also a father w/ good advice.

OK before I do Logan songs I just gotta tell you I was listening to “Tim McGraw” recently and my mind went “he said the way my blue eyes shined put those Georgia stars to shame that night; I said ‘FALSEHOOD’” but anyway

“New Year’s Day” - the references to books/pages fits and also the sort of comforting vibe that Logan can have; it’s a more realistic view of love about how there’s no way to know for sure what’s going to happen but knowing that you’re in it even for the worst

“I Think He Knows” belongs on the playlist for any ship involving Logan

He’d love “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince” but when she’s like ‘where are the wise men?’ he’d be like ‘I’m right here beech’

And with that, I think I need to be done for now lol. Thank you so much for asking & letting me dump all this here. I love you!!!!

#asks #anon #long post

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feel199x · 6 years

Text

boyfriend!chan

❣ summary: chan is working super hard for his next comeback, and he’s very clingy once he comes back. he’s also very adamant on being the best boyfriend you’ll ever have

❣ warnings: none, i think!

❣ request: yes!

❣ a/n: i kinda,,, went overboard anon im sorry :( i hope u like it ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ masterlist

Your boyfriend was super hard-working, and although you admired him for it, it was both his greatest personality aspect and his worst. Chan was an angel, he really was, but this comeback was absolutely tiring him out. He did his best to keep up with you and give you attention, but as the comeback approached, the messages got scarcer and scarcer. You weren’t upset with him because you knew that he was in an incredibly demanding field of work, and thus, couldn’t always give you his undivided attention. Chan still felt bad though and always spoiled you when he had free time. You scolded him every time, but he could never take you seriously with how flustered you always ended up. Chan was the kind of guy who went all out in everything he did, and this included gifts. For your year and half anniversary (was that even a thing people celebrated?) he had written you a song and given you a matching set of necklaces. Chris was just everything you could’ve asked for and more, he always listened and did his best to make the relationship run smoothly. Even when you had gotten insecure about dating him, thinking that he would fall for another idol or suddenly come to a realization that you weren’t good enough, he always reassured you. It had been nearly two years now, and coincidentally your anniversary was only a couple days after their first comeback stage.

You weren’t too worried about it, Chan always took this sort of thing very seriously. Even if he didn’t do anything too special, you wouldn’t get upset with him. He was a busy guy, and you were aware of this when you started to date him. It was actually Chris who was nervous about dating you, not because of the fans or media but because he feared not giving you the love, care, and attention that you deserved. Even with how understanding you were, you still missed him. It was a good thing exams were coming up because otherwise you would be getting nostalgic rereading the text messages between you and him. And you tried not to do that, you really did but studying was so boring and stressful, all you wanted to do was fall asleep with Chan. You were almost successful with your studying session, but you swore that you had heard your phone buzz. You nearly lept onto your bed, and no there weren’t any messages but, a break couldn’t hurt right?

that rapper from hot sauce i love or smthn: hey babe im sorry for not giving you attention

that rapper from hot sauce i love or smthn: ive just been swamped with work

that rapper from hot sauce i love or smthn: i miss u and im three secs away from abandoning my kids. i am so tired. i love you baby

that rapper from hot sauce i love or smthn: by the way did you change my contact name?

you: its okay chris! dont worry about it, work is a priority. I love you too :(

you: and yes!

you: sent an image

the nice guy whojust has a lot of money: im divorcing u and leaving you with the kids

you: no please im not ready to be a single parent

you: channie please i love u

the nice guy who just has a lot of money: okay for love i guess

the nice guy who has just has a lot of money: i guess...i really am a nice guy who just has a lot of money

the nice guy who just has a lot of money: i have to go, i’ll try calling later but no promises. i miss and love you lots baby

you: oh mYGOD

you: please remember to rest babe, i love and miss u too

You sighed, shutting off your phone and holding it against your chest. He hadn’t called that day, nor since. You understood that he had responsibilities, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, you guess. Their comeback stage was tomorrow, and they were driving over to a city who’s name you forgot. You would’ve gone, if you hadn’t had finals all day and it was hours away. You felt terrible for not being able to go out and support him but Chan insisted that you stayed and rested instead of taking a bus up to their stage. You loved that man, you really did. You glared at the textbook on your desk, hoping that it would suddenly set combust into flames. But alas, you were but a mortal. Before resuming your studying, you pulled at your desk drawer to reread the motivational sticky notes that Chan would always leave around your place. You sighed, looking over the sticky notes that have since lost their sticks but made your face warm just staring at it.

Like mate, stop procrastinating!

If you get better than a passing grade i’ll let you yell at me about sleeping

Do you know how smart you are? You’re like Einstein, if he was hot

I love you but i’ll love you a little less if you fail

You smiled to yourself, your cheeks hurting and flustered from the notes. You must’ve been a patron saint in your past life because he was just, amazing. You really hoped there was a future in store for the two of you, because he made you feel like it was your first time falling in love all over again. He made you weak in the knees, and always made you feel like you were the only one for him. Maybe it was a little silly how those sticky notes motivated you, but whatever worked, right? You continued to review the notes, Chan’s voice nagging you about the formulas you hadn’t quite memorized yet in your head. But eventually, your eyes grew weary and you shut off your desk lamp, collapsing onto your bed.

Exams were, in short, not fun. You were fairly sure you had passed, but only by the hair on your head. Maybe it was the anxiety speaking- you had yet to completely flunk an exam, but it could always happen. You’d worry about that in a couple weeks, it was future you’s problem. Right now, all you wanted was to eat take-out and watch Stray Kid’s comeback. It was fairly late when you got back home, the light outside already dimming and fading to a night gradient. You watched the clock anxiously, waiting for their stage to air on TV.

You were never one to overreact, but something about seeing your boyfriend doing what he loved on stage, seeing all his hard work pay off- it made you yell at the screen. It made you yell in the same way a sports fan yells at the players and refs, and only Chris could do this to you. As soon as his stage ended, you texted him, hyping him up. You knew he’d be doing a live shortly after, but at least he’d see it soon enough. Unfortunately, you collapsed in the middle of his live, exhaustion finally catching up with you. You thought your phone buzzed again but being half-asleep you brushed it off.

“___! ___, get up!”

“Love of mine, light of my life, shh…”

You groaned but laughed as he pulled at your arms. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he pulled you closer. “I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, pressing a kiss on them, “I’m sorry about being gone so much.” You tilted your head, smiling at him. “Hey,” you said softly, cupping your face, “Don’t worry about it, let’s get some sleep. Actually, what time is it?”

“Three am.”

“Chris!”

“Look,” he whined, “You can’t yell at me I drove six hours to be with you.” He threw you over his shoulder, “Plus, we’re going to sleep, like right now. I’ll even sleep in.” He flopped you on your bed and you crossed your arms as he took off his shirt, wiggling your eyebrows. “Wow,” you teased, “He’s hot.”

“You’re so gross,” he murmured, laying his head on your chest but not before leaving butterfly kisses up your collarbone, “How did the test go?” You sighed, playing wth his head of curly hair. “It went okay, I think. But this isn’t about me. Your stage was amazing, you did great. Phenomenal, spectacular, fantastic, ground-breaking-”

“Alright!” he sighed, “I don’t deserve you.” He tightened his arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder again. “Oh, Chris don’t start,” you scolded softly, “You’re the greatest boyfriend ever, and you work really hard. Now, shut up and go to sleep.”

“You have such a way with words, I’m swooning.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“Impossible-”

“Hm? What? I can’t hear you over the enormous amount of sleep I’m getting.”

You groaned, moving to rub your eyes but finding Chan’s arms tightly wound around you. “Don’t even think about it,” his voice was raspy and low, “I got it.”

“Chan,” you whined, “You have to eat, just stay in-”

“Later.”

You sighed again, and Chris pulled you closer pressing lazy kisses up your neck and jaw. His eyes were still closed, and you looked at him dreamily. His hair was messy, and he looked so much more relaxed, muscles less tight and tense. He was under so much stress, and it was good to see him finally take a break, even if it was only for a couple of hours. You fell asleep against his chest, feeling each heartbeat against the side of your face. And maybe you should’ve felt a little bad for waiting until he fell into a deep sleep to wriggle out of his arms (which was weirdly difficult, the guy had a strong grip) to make him breakfast. You weren’t sure what diet he was on, but you were sure that no one would mind if he cheated just a little bit.

“____! Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

You exhaled, biting the inside of your cheek as you heard him step into the kitchen, trying your best to ignore. He hugged you from the back, letting his head rest on your shoulder, kissing the nape of your neck. “I told you we could do it later.”

“Well, it is later, Chan.”

“But we could’ve just ordered something,” he whined, “Come back to bed, please.”

“After I make you breakfast.”

“I really hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this.”

“Come to wh-?”

He picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. “Chris put me down or I swear-”

“No,” he sat on top of you, “We’re ordering in, and we’re going to eat in bed and stay here until we become one with the bed.”

“You’re crushing me,” you groaned, “Get off you bum.”

“It’s the diet they’ve got me on, I’ve got hella gains, man.”

“Yeah I saw your thrist trap on insta, you hoe.”

“It’s not a thirst trap!”

“Well, I don’t know about that. Have you read the comments?”

“Now, listen-”

“Shut up,” you propped yourself up and kissed him, and as he leaned into it, you pushed him off.

“You play so, so dirty,” he whined, “Come here and make it up to me.” You snorted but rolled into his arms anyway. “I love you,” you said and stared at him, “A lot. Even with your hella gains, man.” He cupped your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “But I love you most.” You opened your mouth so protest, but he shushed you with a kiss. “Don’t start,” he said in between gasps of deep kisses, “Just let me spoil you.”

It had been a couple days since their first stage, and later that day Chris needed to go back to the dorms to tend to his children. He insisted on staying longer, but Woojin was blowing up his phone. You guessed that the group got themselves in another mess. Your anniversary was coming up, and this was the first time you were scared that he forgot. He was usually much better about this than you, and always went a bit too far with his gifts. You had already got his present, an expensive chain necklace you took extra shifts to pay for, but it was worth it when the jeweler handed you the chain. You loved the idea of people getting their boyfriends flowers, so you got an arrangement made. You even had a photo album made of your favorite moments together, and songs that were attached to those moments. Okay, maybe it was a little corny, but you worked hard on it. Chan hadn’t messaged you since then, and you assumed it was because he was busy, but you were getting antsy.

And just like you had before, you nearly jumped to your phone when you heard your phone buzz.

iron man in the streets but better than tony: check under your bed

you: ?? okay

You crouched on the floor, pulling out a simple box, and inside of it was silk clothing with a card with an address and time stamp on it.

you: chris

you: what have you done

you: CHRISTOPHER

you: IM GOING TO END YOU

you: YOU SAID YOU WEREN’T GOING OVERBOARD

you: YOU IDIOT YOU HAVE READ RECEIPTS ON

You’d be lying if there wasn’t a stupid grin on your face as you put on your attire. It took you a while to get ready, work and school hadn’t exactly given you room for self-care but you tried your best to look nice. You looked up the address, and much to your dismay, it was an overpriced fine dining restaurant. The cab driver gushed over your date, complimenting you and wishing you the best of luck on your future endeavours, even blessing your marriage. It was a little weird, but endearing. You hadn’t even called a cab, but instead you got a message saying your ride was there.

You expected Chan to be outside waiting for you outside, but instead, you were greeted by a very nice waiter who’s name you didn’t catch. He beckoned you to follow him. The restaurant was pantheon themed, very airy and light colors decorating the entire place. It was definetly the nicest restaurant you’ve ever been to, but you thought the same thing for your year and half anniversary too. You clutched onto your gifts awkwardly, and the waiter helped you carry the bouquet of flowers.

“Any chance you can tell me what else he has planned?” “Afraid not, he warned me about this.”

“Smart man.”

You were sat at a table in the center, the stained glass letting a pool of warm colors illuminate the room and everyone’s faces. The flowers sat delicately on your lap, and the jewelry box laid on tope of the table, your fingers dancing across it’s edges. That’s when you heard the violins start playing, crowding around your table and playing a dainty tune. You felt a blush creep on your cheeks as you rubbed them, trying to smile less. And there he was, on top of the small stage meant for the classical instrument players to sit on. You wanted to glare at him, but all you could do was smile at his gestures. He winked at you, beginning to sing a song. You were about to cry, rubbing your eyes as the song ended.

“Was I that bad?”

“No, god, no,” you pulled out the flowers and handed it to him, “I know that can’t be the end of it, so let me give these to you.” He looked through the photo album, pursing his lips as tears brimmed at the brink of his eyes. He opened the jewelry box, pulling out the fancy chain necklace you had gotten him. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, “Did you pick up extra shifts for these? You shouldn’t have…”

“Chan, literally look at everything you planned, and say that to my face again.” He smiled, pulling the chain over his head so he could wear it with his suit. You decided that he looks best while wearing fancy suits like this. Perfectly tailored to him, even if bits of chest was visible through his half-buttoned shirt. “You’re right though,” he said, “I’m not done.” He pulled out a little box out of a pocket from inside his jacket. “It’s a promise ring,” he said as he slid it across the table, “You are the love of my life, ____, and I think it’s a bit too early to full-on propose to you, but I want to make the promise that I will one day.”

You opened the box, the expensive ring nearly blinding you as the warm light hit it. “God, I hate you so much, Chris,” tears were streaming at your face, a smile glued to your face.

“Do you like it?”

“No.”

“No? We could change it- or replace it? Or-”

“I love it, and you so much.”

“I love you most.”

“No-”

“Shh,” he kissed you, “Don’t start.”

#bang chan #stray kids #chan fic #skz chan

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saywhatjessie · 6 years

Photo

DCBB 2018: “Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner” by JessJesstheBest, art by purzelndeesbaeumchen

“I’m Baby Del Mar and I think y'all are mighty fine. It’s time for ass-whooping. Who’s next in line?”

Baby Del Mar is one of the top faces in the WWE universe. But in real life, Dean Winchester is just a guy who wants to keep his personal and professional lives separate. This turns out to be a problem for several reasons.

Dean was pretty proud of his entrance.

Since he was a kid, he’d thought about what it would be like to be a professional wrestler. Not the wrestling itself – the training, the matches, the moves – but everything that came with it. The costume and drama. The character.

He hadn’t always known it was a character. He hadn’t known the wrestlers didn’t always use their real names, that the fights were scripted and the wrestlers went into a match knowing if they were going to win or lose. But that didn’t matter to him. Even if he was wrestling as Dean Winchester, he’d always known he’d come out in a cowboy hat with “The Immigrant Song” playing him out.

Well, he couldn’t use copyrighted music. But he was definitely wearing a cowboy hat over his sandy brown hair as he made his way to the ring.

And he wasn’t wrestling as Dean Winchester either.

The stage was lit up underneath and above Dean, a rush of blue and pink and purple rushing past him before everything went black except for his name in the Winchester guns font on the back screen. It was a little inside joke between him and himself.

“Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby!”

Dean grinned and threw a wink at the crowd. They chanted his name louder.

Dean was proud of his entrance. He was proud of his name. He was proud of his image.

He could probably be more proud of his wrestling, but fuck it, he was living the dream.

Dean rolled under the ropes, casual as you please, and hopped to his feet, bouncing a little on his toes before turning and shooting finger guns at the crowd. They screamed.

He grabbed a mic from the ref standing ring-side and brought it up to his face. He pressed his lips to the mesh and hummed the four notes that preceded his theme music.

Sammy said it sounded like that salute thing from The Hunger Games but Sammy was a nerd. None of Dean’s fans thought that. They fucking loved it. Because they knew what came next, and they shouted Dean’s lines along with him.

“I’m Baby Del Mar and I think y’all are mighty fine.” Dean played up his southern accent. It was part of the schtick but it also would have sounded ridiculous saying these lines in anything but a southern accent. “It’s time for ass-whooping. Who’s next in line?”

Everyone screamed. Dean leaned back on his heels, smirking. He was the picture of ease.

He’d absolutely refused to wear fringe when they’d asked him about his costume. He wasn’t Macho Man. He wasn’t Ultimate Warrior. No, his outfit was simple. Classic. He wore jeans and a white t-shirt with his cowboy hat. The t-shirt usually came off, and he threw the hat somewhere into the crowd every match (it was a hard sell when he first started, but he was a big enough face now that the network didn’t mind getting him new ones). But that was Baby Del Mar. He was a classic American cowboy. There to kick your ass.

Dean fucking loved his job.

This wasn’t a televised event. Nothing would go down at this match that would be in any way new or exciting. No belts would change hands, no fresh faces would come up or old faces make surprise re-appearances. No, Dean was just there to wrestle. There to flirt with fans and fight with friends. It was one of the easier things he got to do.

Especially when Cas was in the ring.

Cas stood in the ring in the uppity dress pants and waistcoat the network thought would make their GM look professional. The waistcoat came with pocket watch and pocket watch chain. It was a good look, if Dean was honest, but the professional vibe was utterly ruined by the thick mass of dark hair creating anarchy on top of Cas’s head. It turned the look from ‘hard-working professional’ to ‘freshly fucked librarian.’ Which, needless to say, was a look Dean was firmly in favor of.

He turned to Cas, grinning smugly. Cas’s face was neutral, but Dean definitely caught a flash in his eye.

“If I’d’ve known you’d be here, Castiel, I would’ve worn something nice.”

The put-upon accent sanded the g off of something and rounded the ‘haves’ in ‘I’d’ve’ and ‘would’ve’ into open ‘a’s. I’dda. Woulda. Cas rolled his eyes.

“Baby, you knew I’d be here.” His voice was unnaturally smooth. “You got the schedule same as me.”

Dean winked. “Guess that means I already knew I looked good.”

Groans and jeers from the audience before the familiar chant started up behind him.

“Baby’s gonna kiss you. Baby’s gonna kiss you.”

Dean had thought it was hilarious at first. Now he thought it was fucking amazing.

Cas shook his head, theatrically. “You’re kind of interrupting something, Baby.”

“Oh am I?” Dean asked, exposing his teeth but only on the left side. “Something important, I trust? Not just a cash grab at the expense of all of these kind people who came out to see us tonight?”

It was a cheap pop. A way for the audience to feel like Dean was on their side, even though they knew he was fully a part of this system that demanded their money. Wanted them to pay for their network, wanted them to buy merch in the lobby. It was pretty standard for the general manager to come out and promo the network – let the audience know about upcoming pay-per-views and where to go online to buy commemorative t-shirts. It wasn’t really fair for Dean to call Cas out like this, but Dean was glad to have this excuse to banter with Cas in the ring, even if he wasn’t wrestling anymore.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Right, Baby, like you don’t like money.”

Dean struck a pose. It didn’t look like striking a pose, which is how he knew he was good at it. “I just like wrestling. That’s why I’m here.”

The crowd screamed.

Cas shook his head again. “Why don’t we just get on with the match. Can we do that?”

Dean shrugged, moving his shoulders more than he would if he weren’t in front of hundreds of people. He made sure to lift them high enough to expose that sliver of skin above his waistband. “That depends.”

Cas knew his line. “On what?”

Dean waited, letting the audience build a little before he said, “On who’s next in line for an ass-whooping.”

The crowd went nuts, soon doubling its volume when a seagull call sounded through the arena. The crash of waves followed and the entrance stage lit up blue white and green, violins and whistling playing in another wrestler. “The Captain” shone brightly in white on the overhead as he strolled out in a long coat, a captain’s hat, and the title belt.

Anyone who knew anything about wrestling would know as soon as Benny ‘The Captain’ Lafitte walked out into the arena that Dean was about to lose this match. Change titles at a live event? The fan network would riot.

So Dean was about to lose. He knew it. The crowd knew it. But he had a part to play.

Dean waited until Benny ducked into the ring – no rolls, no swagger, full dignity – before he said his line. He stuck his left thumb through a belt loop of his jeans and leaned back on his heels. He still wished he could wear cowboy boots. “Captain! To what do I owe the pleasure.”

Benny just smirked. He brought the microphone up to his face almost lazily, being sure not to let the bristles of his beard interfere. “Oh, Baby, you know what you did.”

Dean bit back a grimace. Being the cowboy was his bit, yes, but there was no faking Benny’s authentic Louisiana drawl.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

The fans all started yelling at once. Dean caught snatches of ‘You said he got lucky!’ and ‘You said you could take the belt easy!’

To be fair: Dean had said those things. Or at least Baby had, in one of the backstage interviews with Renee Young.

Listen, if he and Benny were both Faces, they needed to make conflict somehow.

Benny laughed, a low chuckle directly into the microphone. Dean repressed a shiver. That would never not be hot.

“Brother… I know you’re not lying to me.”

A cluster of fans toward the back start singing the Pirates of the Caribbean theme. This kind of thing happened now and then, what with Benny being called “The Captain.” It got them in trouble sometimes when you could hear it on tv. But tonight’s match wasn’t being broadcast so…

He shrugged. “A dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest.” Shouts went up in the crowd from people who recognized the quote. “Honestly. It’s the honest ones you want to watch out for.”

Dean watched as Benny bit back a grin and saw Cas do a full facepalm behind him. Dean was always getting in trouble for changing lines but he was a performer! He saw his chance and he took it.

They got the gist of what his line was supposed to be anyway. Probably. He’d see what Benny said.

“I won this belt honest.” Benny gestured at it, billowing his coat out so you could see the belt over his otherwise bare torso. “And you don’t think I did. Luck? Nah, brother. Honest work. I’m an honest man.” He paused, letting the cheers ramp up before bringing the microphone right to his lips. “And you should watch out for me.”

Damn. But Benny was good. Adding Dean’s quote into his own line? Masterful. And Benny would probably get him back for this. Make Dean work just as hard next match. Double damn.

Dean leaned his head forward, unhooking his thumb from his jeans so he could slowly take off his hat. The screams from the first dozen rows amped up immediately, knowing one of them was about to get Dean’s hat.

Dean only said, “Let’s go then.” before tossing it, no look, to a young-ish kid a couple rows off center. She was holding a sign that said, ‘Hit him, Baby, one more time.’ Dean was only human.

He circled around Benny, casually handing Cas his mic as he did. Benny had also subtly relieved himself of his mic and circled Dean back, sliding the coat from his shoulders.

Dean wasn’t saying it was watching professional wrestling that made him gay. But looking at Benny, in his tight pants, no shirt, muscly and oiled to the gods, Dean couldn’t say it wasn’t watching that made him gay.

The bell rang to mark the start of the match and Dean barrelled in, no holds barred. This was a cocky move, and not totally uncharacteristic for Baby, but it earned him a swift kick in the face and he landed on his back with a hard whap!

Yeah, Dean was losing this match. But he was going to make everyone in that stadium love watching him lose.

He let loose a wail of pain, curling in on himself in an expression of pure agony. Benny took no time in dropping down on Dean in a body slam.

The groaned “Oh!” from the audience was hugely satisfying.

Dean didn’t go down easily, determined to put on a good show. He did a few of his favorite moves – taking Benny down by putting a shoulder right in his solar plexus in a spear, putting him in his signature armbar, “The Deal-Breaker” – and Benny put on a good show of being worn down.

But everyone knew they were just one Cajun Cage-In away from a Captain victory.

Dean hated losing by submission. He wanted to be pinned, dammit! He wanted to show that he’d given everything he could to the match – for the audience to see he was sweating and exhausted and had given his all to this performance. To this fight.

Tapping out was giving up. Dean was raised to never give up.

But there he was, in the middle of the ring, splayed like a figurehead on the prow of a ship – back arched with Benny’s weight pushing his hips down, his arms locked in front of Dean’s face, pulling his head back. It hurt, for sure. He was suspended: his chest hanging from where Benny had him gripped and his face to the lights, blinding him. Dean could feel his pelvis pressing into the stage, his shoulders straining where they were locked in flight behind Benny’s bent knees. His jaw cracked from the tight grip of Benny’s forearms. This was a finisher. Dean had nowhere to go.

He did not want to tap out.

But he was here to lose. So he’d lose.

He tapped at Benny’s calf – the closest solid surface he could reach with his arms suspended as they were – and the bell rang again to signify the end of the match.

The crowd went nuts. Benny released him and he slumped to the floor, defeated. He rolled and sat up to pout, as was tradition. He was Baby – he had to act like a baby when he lost.

Plus he was cute when he pouted.

Cas ducked back into the ring and clapped Benny on the shoulder. “Your winner and remaining your Smackdown champion: The Captain!”

Benny lifted the belt and the crowd went nuts.

Dean crossed his legs pretzel style and rested his elbows on his knees, sinking his pouting face into his right hand. He watched Benny smirk and Castiel roll his eyes again.

Read the rest on Ao3

#dcbb #deancas big bang #dcbb 2018 #nobody puts baby in a corner #oops i wrote a thing #Jessie writes Destiel fic

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