I know next to no one will see this post, and the few people who do see it will already be aware of this fact, but that one gif of the guy picking a leaf out of the air and biting it
yeah that one. It’s from an anime series called Macross 7, the first direct television sequel to the original Super Dimension Fortress Macross if I recall correctly. And I want everyone to know that, because that up there isn’t even the weirdest thing to happen in that show.
Just, fuckin, look at that! That’s the kind of style today’s anime just doesn’t have!
So, besides just being a fucking weird series in general, it is about a rock band called Fire Bomber that live on an intergalactic space colony and pilot transformable mecha using their instruments. Specifically, the main character, Nekki Basara, pilots his mech with an electric guitar. I’m serious.
Over the course of the story their primary goals are to a.) get signed to a record label while also retaining their artistic integrity as musicians and b.) defend their colony from an invading species of mecha piloting alien space vampires using the power of ROCK! And I mean that literally btw. Basara is a pacifist, like an actual pacifist, he hates fighting and killing needlessly and will not do so unless there is literally no other options available and even then will do everything he can to avoid it. (So, like, Kira Yamato if he wasn’t a total bitch. And played guitar.) And their music is the only thing that hurts the space vampires without killing them(I think, kinda going by memory right now).
So, yeah. Macross 7 is a very good show and I highly recommend that everyone watches it.
@eleedoesart made a beautiful drawing of Kuro and I just,, had to write this as a thank you,,,
more of the 80’s luro au!!
Lance hates the smell of smoke. He’s always complaining about it when it gets stuck to his workout clothes or his carefully styled hair.
And because of that, Kuro finds himself opening the window even though it’s freezing outside and the cold wind is unforgiving. But he needs it–he needs to light another cigarette and he’s not willing to go to the parking lot so early in the morning to do so.
The window would have to do.
He rests his elbow on the windowsill and props his chin on his open palm, lazily exhaling the grey smoke from within his parted lips. The street three floors down is beginning to show signs of activity: people rushing from and to different buildings, the small bakery on the corner in full swing, the occasional dog barking at the passing cars.
A smile starts forming on his face when he catches sight of Lance finally stepping out of the bakery, in his hands a bag with bread hopefully still warm from the oven. Kuro doesn’t even doubt that Lance also bought their favorite pastries to accompany their coffee.
Time ago Kuro would’ve dreaded the domesticity of the entire situation. He would’ve scoffed and spat on the ground at the mere idea, as if it were a curse to fight against. His twin had always frowned at his antics –still did–, but now even to the untrained eye it was obvious that he had finally found his center. He was still dangerous, though calmer. Kuro made sure nobody would believe him to have grown weaker.
That was mainly why he had picked up such a fight with the enemy gang the other night. He had won single handedly, sure, and he had the bruises to show as proof. But in the process he had disappointed Lance once more.
“You’re an idiot,” Kuro says and lets the wind take away his words into the morning sky. He’s still looking at Lance, wondering how are they still making it work despite the differences and the mismatching edges. With mechanical movements, he lifts the lit cigarette to his lips once more, taking a long drag from it.
Lance looks twice before crossing the street –adorable, Kuro thinks–, and never once lifts his head. Never once trips or doubts a single step. He’s always moving so gracefully –Kuro’s convinced that dancing has always been a central part of Lance’s entire being. It was part of his charm. It was part of what made Kuro willing to fall for the man despite all the prejudice, all the sneering voices.
Somehow he manages to rock the oversized bomber jacket, sleeves almost three times bigger than his arms, bright colors making him something hard to miss. He had gone out wearing his dancing tights, not bothering to change after going through his morning routine. The jacket was big on him (probably got it from his older brother, or father), the waist of it falling a couple of centimeters past his hips. Still, Lance looks beautiful, even from the small window on a third floor.
Kuro clenches his teeth when other people in the street turn around to ogle his boyfriend’s retreating form. He knows it makes Lance feel uncomfortable–and he knows that Lance notices the eyes following him. It’s obvious in the swift change of his posture. He should’ve gone out with him, bruised appearance and still healing hand be damned.
When he loses sight of his beloved, he presses probably harder than needed the lit end of his smoke, exhaling his addiction one last time while doing so.
He steps away from the window, though leaves it open for a few more moments to make sure none of the smell stays in the room, and walks to the kitchen, taking out their usual mugs. Kuro’s eyes land on his bandaged hand and he can’t contain his smile.
Lance hates the smell of smoke, but not once has he asked him to change. It’s probably what made Kuro fall for the other so hard.
Before meeting Lance, nobody had accepted him just as he was.
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