#“nine years of back to back albums” is incorrect | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

randombush3 · 1 year ago

Text

labor omnia vincit

alexia putellas x reader

words: 7538

summary: well, it’s how you meet your wife (posh + becks style)

content warnings: a little bit of drugs and alcohol

notes: HEY HEY HEYY. this is a TRILOGY and here’s the first part. enjoy the build up x

2015. London.

You groan at the thought of singing another word. The mug set haphazardly on the ledge reserved more for instruments than crockery, half in the air after the last time you returned it to its place, is now empty. There is no hot water left to soothe your burning throat, and there is no patience remaining in your finite store.

The girls, on the other hand, seem to soldier on. A harmony is incorrect? They sing it again. The producer, a fat old man called Dave whose taste in music might rely on his taste in women, isn’t a fan of a certain beat? They are thinking of ways to change it.

Ever since your single was released two years ago, this has been your life. Or, at least, the less glamorous side of it. The other side, consisting of sold-out arenas, exclusive clubs, and a world tour that only increased your total domination over the music industry, has been paused while you and the girls slave away on the second album. Apparently, you’re being uncooperative. You would call it boredom.

“It’s four in the morning, Dave,” Anya states, jabbing out her index finger towards his Rolex, paid for with the revenue from the last single you released. It topped the charts for days. Dave glances down at the clock face with a grunt. “Look, Y/n’s already left us and gone to bed.”

“Still here,” you murmur, rather unconvincingly, from your spot on the far-too-comfortable sofa behind the mixing desk. Sprawling out even further, you wrap your legs around the third member of your group, Gio. She squeals as you pull her on top of you. “I want to go home, though.”

“Don’t we all know it,” Gio giggles. She’s had at least six cups of coffee since you arrived at the studio for the second recording session of the day – a solid nine hours ago. That was only after a break for a late lunch or early dinner (whichever your dietician preferred to call it).

“We need to finish.”

“I need to sleep,” you reply. Gio scrambles off you in time to avoid the glare you are sent by your producer. “And I’m not sleeping here again. Last time it gave me a crick in my neck and I’m fairly sure the cleaner felt me up.”

“The sexy cleaner is mine,” Anya declares, jerking you upright. Your stomach lurches with emptiness. “Otherwise, I agree. Let us fuck off home. Please, Dave.”

He looks at the three of you, bags under your eyes, making long rubbed off (or cried away, in Gio’s earlier over-emotional state). You have changed out of the outfit the paparazzi pictured you in earlier, opting for the stained, grey joggers you folded away in your Birkin. Anya and Gio snuck in so that they weren’t caught in their pyjamas.

Dave sighs.

“Tomorrow, don’t go for lunch with any of your silly boyfriends. Come here for noon, and we’ll finish when we finish. We’re getting this album done, and you can’t fire me until it’s out.”

His sense of humour is appreciated, even if his work ethic is not, and you practically bolt out of the studio, friends in tow.

Anya grabs your hand as you rush down the corridor, making your way to the exit. “No lunch with your boyfriend,” she repeats Dave’s words, mocking his gristly voice. You roll your eyes, snatching your hand away from your friend before pushing open the back door of the studio, heading towards your new BMW i8.

You have been friends with Anya Kazi and Giovanna Bartoli since the age of two, meeting them on the first day of nursery, specifically after cutting one of Gio’s ringlets off with safety scissors. Though Anya happily clapped along, she did not defend you, and so you went for her hair as well. Your teacher, hoping to quell the budding animosity, placed all three of you in time-out, where a united front was formed. It hasn’t been broken since that moment, though a few years ago, you were terrified it would be. You, with a well-concealed preference for women, however, have managed to keep your friends. They assured you that they 1) already knew and 2) could not care less.

“You don’t even like cars,” Gio scoffs at the sight of your latest purchase, your last name printed proudly on the number plate. “Was this an ‘I’m famous’ buy or did your daddy get it for you?”

“He emailed me a few recommendations,” you answer off-handedly, sliding into the driver’s seat, switching on the ignition. It growls with a mean, menacing precision, the engine’s quality known and heard. “And don’t pretend that your family doesn’t have a Roll-Royce parked in the driveway of their million-pound townhouse.”

“You are just as much from Hampstead as I am, girl.”

You roll your eyes, stifling a yawn. Anya pulls out in front of you, no doubt speeding off to avoid the boy-racers you and Gio become at this time of night.

Your flat has progressed from that of the one you shared with the girls in Princess Park two years ago. It’s nicely decorated, you like to think, with most of the work being done to it while you were touring.

The walls are hung with artwork; some your own, some not. The canvases and frames adorn every room, dictating the vibe, declaring your individuality to any visitors who choose to admire the paintings and sketches. Then, if they were to look at the shelves dotted around the space, they’d see books with matching themes to the art. Your living room has a print of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’, blown up in a gilded frame, hanging above your green leather sofa, adding colour to the white walls, and then a bookshelf filled with navy-bound novels about whatever you fancy. You’re quite chuffed with the design, though it was really the interior designer you hired who came up with the idea.

Without a second glance to any of the intricate details of your home, you stumble your way to the bathroom, going through the motions until it is time to get into bed. It’s a big bed – one that often feels too big for just one person – but the mattress is inviting and you dive into a deep sleep head-first, knowing you will not be getting up until someone calls you tomorrow morning.

…

Barcelona, seven hours earlier.

The bar is busy, as most are in Barcelona at this time of night, and the girls are out for dinner and a post-training drink. The wine glasses have deceived them all, though, because they have been emptied and refilled a few more times than Xavi would be impressed with.

A young, budding star does not drink during the season, the alcohol drought both self-inflicted and encouraged by every coach who promises to take her far. Her eyeliner must be smudged by now, but Alexia can’t leave yet because Jenni has promised that she can stay over at her place and she needs her to take her back.

The reason for her temporary relocation is that Alexia is fed-up with her mother’s pestering, seeing as it is only one week into the season and she is already being called a workaholic. She can’t stay in that house tonight, especially when her little sister is the complete opposite: sleeping with anyone who gives her a chance and never doing anything that will help her future. Eli Segura is baffled by the lack of balance in her life – two daughters, two extremes – but she is the most concerned with her eldest, angering Alexia to no end.

Alexia is also fed-up with this conversation. It’s all the girls seem to be talking about these days, utterly consumed with this new English girl group just like the rest of the world. 2sday has completely taken over all interesting topics of discussion, and Alexia doesn’t think she can handle being asked which one of their songs she likes the most one more time.

She likes them, she guesses, but so does everyone. Todo el mundo is in love with all three members.

The girls are discussing who their favourite is.

“She’s Italian though, and that’s cool of her,” Jenni argues, putting forward her case for Bartoli as if she chose to have parents from a certain country. Alexia hums in thought, thinking of the pictures she saw from the world tour – how long her legs are, tanned and sculpted and shown off nicely by the mini-skirt she wore. “Did you know that her little sister is a model? She’s called Cristina or something. The beauty is practically in her DNA.”

“Aren’t all three of them models?” asks Marta pointedly, finger tapping the photoshoot on the magazine cover.

“Well, all three of them are sexy,” Jenni replies, remembering just how enamoured the world is with the three break-out stars. “Ale, which one is your favourite?” The magazine that had sparked this conversation is slid towards the twenty-one-year-old, and she looks at the picture on the front page: you, Gio, and Anya, all dressed in oversized suits with nothing underneath, hair slicked back and eyes piercing, ‘girl power’ brandished over the bottom of the photograph.

“Y/n L/n,” Alexia answers easily, fascinated by the sculpture of your face. She thinks you are beautiful, in a less crass way than her teammates. “And you lot sound like men with the way you talk about them.”

“Ooh, Alexia is getting all high-and-mighty,” Jenni teases. “Looks like it’s time to take the baby home.”

“She’s cranky because she’s tired and it’s past her bedtime,” adds another teammate, though Alexia is too wound up to really care who.

They all make little pouty faces at her as she finishes the last of her glass of water, the clear liquid standing out against the deep red of most of the table. Jenni rolls up the magazine and swats her shoulder with it, before handing it over to its owner and finally allowing Alexia her rest.

In silence, they sit in her car – an old Ford in need of replacing but not on the footballer’s list of things she will buy with the money they are now getting. FC Barcelona Femení has become, at last, a fully professional team, and Alexia looks ahead to the future with a hopeful dream and the knowledge that she will need to work hard if she ever wishes to become the best. Jenni has become a good friend ever since she joined the club last year, and she brings a global ambition to the friendship that she knows Alexia does not have. Jenni is from Madrid, and plays for Barcelona because she can, not because it is her club. Her team is the same as her grandfather’s, and she often expresses to Alexia her wish to play for them someday, as well as scoring in every league she possibly can. Young Alexia Putellas has never once considered stepping foot outside of Spain.

Not only that, but her father died three years ago and here, in Barcelona, is where she feels closest to him. She cannot fathom a life past the plazas and the cobbled streets of her home. And she’s glad. She’s safe here, and she needs nothing more than her team, her family, and a football at her feet. What more could she possibly want?

As she settles on Jenni’s sofa, blanket pulled over her body, head resting on a plump cushion that smells faintly of Jenni’s dog, Alexia decides to watch whatever is on TV right now. Jenni, in an attempt to learn English, has found an English news channel that seemingly reports on ‘exclusive’ celebrity news. There you are, plastered on the screen, your picture zoomed in to the point of the pixels blurring.

The woman speaking has a high-pitched and critical voice, saying words that Alexia does not hear. She stares at your picture, considering the life you have, imagining that, one day, footballers like her have the stardom of Beckham and Messi and Ibrahimovic. Though she herself does not crave that exposure, well aware of her shyness, she thinks about the future with a wistful sigh, lost in her dream as the English woman narrates what she can see, judging how you have opened your mouth to take a bite of the food, listing the brands you are wearing.

And, in her weird, exhausted haze, she sees your face. It’s probably only because you’re on the screen and she’s staring at it, but you are there as she pictures the growth of women’s football. You’re there in the stands as she plays in front of a sold-out Camp Nou, cheering and singing along to Catalan chants she knows you’d never actually know in real life. Slowly, she falls asleep, and, just before she closes her eyes, you are there: back to her, dressed in a familiar shirt. Alexia. 11. Somewhere in a far-off fantasy land, Alexia Putellas marries you that night.

…

It’s Sunday.

You drive to your parents’ house in Hampstead, only twenty minutes away from the flat you now live in, to reluctantly attend their weekly Sunday Roast. Before, it was a condition of remaining on the booking list for the annual family holiday, seeing as you had declared university was going to wait until after your gap year and then had become a popstar instead. Now that both you and your brother can afford to come anyway, the tradition is there for sentimental value. A world tour made you realise how much you love them all, even your annoying older brother.

Your parents are lawyers who met at university and found love in a city that they never moved out of, both of them doing extremely well for themselves. They raised you and your brother to ski, horse-ride, and attend prep schools and public schools, although boarding school was not quite desirable. Your dad speaks in a booming voice, received pronunciation an act used for court, slight Mancunian accent lilting his words whenever he relaxes.

“Darling!” your mum exclaims, surprised at your attendance just like she is every week. “Come on in, come on in. Daddy has the footie on, and your brother is on his way. Don’t you have songs to sing? How come you’re here?”

Ushered inside your own home, you smell the brief scent of your family before adjusting to it all and fitting right back into the chaos. There’s beef in the oven, and the roar of the crowd playing faintly from the kitchen where your dad must be preparing the potatoes. He’s proud of his potatoes.

You slip off your shoes – a new pair of Uggs – and follow your mother to the kitchen. Dad is there, doing exactly what you’d expected, hands working instinctively as his eyes focus on the TV, mouthing along with the commentary as Manchester United take on their opponent. “Sit down,” Dad says as soon as you walk in, pointing at the stools tucked into the island. “We’re not doing too badly, and today should be an easy win.”

“I know. I do watch the football without you, Daddy.”

He tuts. “Yeah, but you don’t get the same level of commentary on your own. Plus, United isn’t even what I wanted to talk to you about. I have thought of a publicity move that you should definitely make – it would really help you guys out.” You entertain his suggestion, knowing that’s what dads do, sitting back on the stool with a smirk on your face, already thinking of an interesting way to tell him he is being stupid. “So, what I was thinking was that you guys do a half-time show! You love football, and the girls love footballers – what isn’t to like? Plus, I bet any club would jump at the chance to make some money from extra tickets sold just to see you.”

“And you haven’t already contacted our manager?” you check, finding your father to be quite unpredictable and rash. His ego is also far too inflated by clients who don’t see him for the kind but bumbling fool he truly is, and so he often takes it upon himself to put forward any ideas he has to your management team, much to everyone’s inconvenience (the last thing they need, amongst sorting out photos of you snogging girls and your friends in various compromising positions, is an old man telling them what he thinks will boost your image). “It’s a good idea, I must admit. I’ll bring it up.”

“Good stuff.” There’s a clang of metal as the potatoes go in the oven too, and the fridge opens with a pop as your dad begins to fish out the carrots and parsnips to complete your meal, Your mother is responsible for everything else. “Try to get it at Barcelona or Real Madrid,” he says off-handedly. “Imagine singing in the Nou Camp. That’d be crazy.”

“Not the appearance I dreamt of when I was little, but I’d still get to touch the grass,” you agree.

“Y/n, we knew you’d never be a footballer. You haven’t got the coordination for that.” They tried to support you, they really did, but then music lessons took over and the sport became a form of entertainment, not exercise. “Women’s football is really something, though. In twenty years, it’ll be good. Maybe you should invest.”

“I know zero women’s footballers, apart from – what’s her name? Kelly Smith. The English one?”

“The Arsenal player, yeah. It’s a shame we don’t have a proper women’s team.”

“Should I fund one?” you joke, but his face lights up and he has taken you seriously. “Okay, I know we’ve been successful thus far, but we haven’t raked in that much. Who knows! It could all go to shit and I could end up right where I started, in my childhood bedroom with no degree and no choice but to mooch off my parents.”

“I get the sense that you’re slightly stressed about this album,” Dad says slowly, smiling wide, proud to have worked you out. He has always been good at that; knowing what you are feeling. It is a wonderful trait for him to have, seeing as your mother struggles with emotional connection of any kind. She is too much of a corporate big-shot for that, anyway.

“It’s killing me.” You sigh, slumping on the stool. “It’ll be released and then we’ll hop on tour and I’m so tired. Anya has a crush and Gio’s dating someone and now all of our songs are about love and I just… I don’t know about that. I don’t know if I will ever know about that.”

And, though he hesitates, Dad walks around the island and places a hand on your shoulder, telling you that you will find the right man someday.

Deep down, he knows that the daughter who loved to watch football and never once commented on their hairstyles or pretty faces – the girl whose crushes on members of boy bands always seemed half-hearted and forced – is not a daughter who is going to bring home a man one day, with a smile on her face and a ring on her finger. He knows. It is quite possible that he has always known. Whether he is going to bring it up before you feel comfortable to talk about it is a different matter, especially since your mother has dreams of her daughter’s husband that she has whispered to him ever since they found out their second child was a girl.

Sunday is pretty routine, which you are grateful for. Your brother, also a lawyer, discusses his latest case, resembling the stories your father used to tell at the dining table: stories you’d both yawn at when you were younger. You dish out a few industry secrets, recounting your most recent trip to Cirque Le Soir. With disdain, your mother berates you for any possible drug-usage, scolding you for something you have not admitted to but somehow knowing that you are guilty of it anyway. It feels much like the family dinners of your teenage years, but you suppose that pop stars never really have to grow up and decide that it isn’t all bad. After all, you drive home in a very stylish car.

Then, the week starts with another gruelling, waste-of-time day at the studio, where you go inside before the sun comes up and emerge long after it has set. Dave is decently pleased with the vocals so far. There are another seven tracks to go, but most of those are being written by other people. Mark Ronson, you’ve heard, is open to working with your group. It’s all very exciting, even if you feel like you have run a marathon by the end of the day.

On Tuesday, you remember to tell your manager and publicist (she’s a woman of many talents) about your father’s idea. At first, her reluctance is extremely evident, but it later dissipates once she thinks about it, having promised you and the now-excited girls to see what she can do.

You are on a private plane to Barcelona before you can realise what is happening.

Bags packed with more make-up and spangled underwear than proper clothes, and sunglasses shielding your hungover eyes courtesy of last night’s consoling of a newly-single Giovanna Bartoli, you try your best not to vomit while in the air and even squeeze in a spot of light reading. The girls laugh (wincing at the sound) when they see you revisiting the Aeneid. You like Virgil, though, so you don’t mind.

“How many days are we here again?” Anya asks, equally hungover.

“Three,” replies your manager, not bothering to look up from her laptop. “Today, tomorrow, and the day after. Please check if the players are married before you do anything with them.”

“I’ve sworn off men,” mumbles Gio miserably. She stretches her legs out with a sniffle, and then draws them back in to protect her broken heart. “If I’d get off with any woman, I’d like her to be Spanish.” She clears her throat, the lump of tears disappearing as she retrieves her GCSE-level Español, giving it a shot. If not to be serious than to at least piss you off. “Hola. ¿Cómo estás? ¿Quieres dormir conmigo?”

“What? And then you’re going to shove your tongue down her throat?” Gio looks at you with a smirk. “That is not how you kiss a woman.”

“Hey, you can’t keep them all to yourself!”

You laugh, though your manager’s attention has been caught and she is already showing her disapproval. “It would be better that I did if that’s how you think it works.”

“None of you are kissing women.”

“That’s not fair,” Anya protests, upset that she didn’t even get to join in the conversation before it got shut down as swiftly as a rowdy houseparty in an American teen-movie.

“I agree. That’s not fair on Y/n, who actually needs to kiss a woman so her knickers aren’t in a twist all the time.”

“I’ll twist your knickers in a minute,” you threaten, fist raised to Gio in good humour.

“See what I mean? She needs to let off some steam.”

“Well, do it discreetly if you must. Do your shows, go out with the players, and bring whoever into your bed as long as they have tight lips and no vendetta against you. Gio, we’re going to have to say something about him ch–”

You gulp, not wanting your friend to cry again. “Wow, the view is really nice,” you interrupt, catching Anya’s appreciative nod in the corner of your eye as you splay your palm on the glass of the aircraft’s window, marvelling at Barcelona’s plazas and cobbled streets. Imagine this being your home, you think to yourself.

…

Jenni is squawking when Alexia makes her way into the circle of players during their drinks break. Alexia knows her friend is excited to go to the men’s game later on today, but she hadn’t realised it is to this extent until she gets grabbed by the forward and shaken as though she is a snowglobe.

“I got the golden ticket,” Jenni shouts in her ear, making their teammates around them laugh. “Me, you, and Mario are going to the match tonight!”

“I already knew that?” They don’t really get free tickets, but they can be heavily discounted. Tonight isn’t a super big deal, though Alexia may stand corrected. “Was I not supposed to know that?”

“Of course she doesn’t know,” Mariona says, squirting some of her water at the midfielder. She recoils from the droplets, but they land on her training top anyway, and Alexia is already pissed off with the entire world. “Alexia, do you seriously live under a football-shaped rock?”

Alexia takes a moment to brush off the teasing, picturing the bursting trophy cabinet that is almost within her grasp. “Yes, and it is very homely.”

“Madre mía, you are one of a kind,” Jenni says with a sigh, movements less aggressive as she drapes an arm around Alexia’s shoulders. “Guess who’s singing at half-time tonight. You’re going to drool so much that the people below us will think it’s raining.”

At this, Alexia knows exactly who Jenni is talking about, and she blushes though it could easily be mistaken for redness from exercising.

“I just think she’s pretty,” comes Alexia’s slightly defensive reply. They walk to the middle of the training pitch, rejoining the team as Xavi explains a confusing drill. Neither really listen.

“Is this your first celebrity crush?” Mariona jibes, overhearing the conversation and finding it necessary to join in. Any excuse to poke fun at the baby of the team.

Jenni ruffles Alexia’s hair, ruining her neat ponytail. “Alexia’s in love with a straight girl,” she sings.

It’s then that the whole team chooses to get involved, ears perking up at the mention of Alexia’s lovelife – a more or less forbidden topic. Their captain, Marta Unzué, even chimes in with a ‘we’ve all been there’. Like a stroppy teenager, Alexia folds her arms over her chest and turns to focus entirely on football, something that she knows she loves and loves her back. They leave her alone for the rest of the training session.

She even manages to forget about what comes after the first forty-five minutes of the match, sitting comfortably in a stadium that is her version of heaven.

You, on the other hand, cannot distance yourself from the nerves of performing in no less than ten minutes.

The players were nice when you accompanied Anya to speak to them, and they spent a good while fumbling their way through English to invite you all to join them tonight at Pacha. You took photos with Messi and Neymar to show your father.

The outfit, if you can call it that, is tight and could possibly show your entire bum to eight-five thousand Culers tonight if you’re not careful. Silver eyeshadow glistens in the mirror when you peer at your reflection, inspecting the bejewelled bralette and tiny shorts you are wearing.

Anya and Gio, who both look dazzling in their own silver combinations, tell you that it is time to get your microphones sorted. When you stand in the tunnel, ready to go out, you see that they have laid out a sheet on top of the grass so your heels don’t ruin it. Part of you wishes that you were in a football strip and boots. The music starts before you can get too reminiscent.

You sing with the same adrenaline you always get, and the crowd becomes a blur in your mind as you lose yourself to the melody. The bass hits your heart just like the lyrics do – especially since this song was written by Anya about her last boyfriend – and you hold back tears as the choreography leads your limbs in an energetic dance that must be entertaining to watch.

When it finishes, and your chest is rising and falling quickly as you try to catch your breath, Alexia thinks you almost catch her gaping at you. Your eyes seem to be scanning the stands. Maybe you see her.

Maybe that is why you, in your big, black hoodie and paparazzi-proof baseball cap are sitting in the stands of Estadi Johan Cruyff the very next day.

Alexia does not point you out to her teammates. You make it clear to all who recognise you that you are trying to be incognito, and either the fans at the stadium have no knowledge of popular culture, or they are granting you your privacy.

She is now the entertainer, shining under the spotlight of the bright sun, a ball at her feet like that is where all balls were made to be. And you watch carefully – she can feel it – but you do not stay long enough for her to even think about approaching you.

…

2016. Somewhere in the sky between LA and New York.

This time round, the tour has confirmed your hatred for all plane journeys, hotels, and sold-out concerts.

You’re dead on the inside, numb to the glitter and sparkles of your life, and your eyes are always halfway to being sealed shut in the deepest slumber humanly possible.

There are a few things that ease the disdain you have for your career, but none of those compare to the channel you have found that streams Barcelona Femení’s football matches. Your excuse, made to no one other than yourself, is that Manchester United has no women’s team. Of course you’d watch them instead, if you could.

“This is peak lesbianism,” Gio comments, her fifth time saying the exact same thing, prodding a napping Anya to alert her to your boredom-killer on the flight. You’re glad these planes have wi-fi. “We’re in America, which has all the women’s football in the world, and you still choose to watch your crappy little stream on your cracked iPad.”

“If you hadn’t decided to jump out at me, the screen would be just fine,” you grumble, transfixed on the way Alexia Putellas dribbles with the ball, turning and passing to Jennifer Hermoso who slots the ball right into the bottom-right corner of the net. The pitch looks damaged, and you really have researched how you can help out the sport, but it is hard to dispute anything the girls say about your crush on an unknown squad member when everyone knows you could get your football fix from the Premier League.

You’re yet to tell anyone that you have just bought this season’s Barcelona shirt. You’re not sure if you’d be invited on the family ski trip if your father were to find out.

“Sorry, sorry,” replies Gio, hands raised in the air, a gesture of surrender. In hindsight, your response was clipped. “Didn’t mean to distract you from such an important task. When will you tell us who it is that you fancy? We’ve been waiting for you to come to us, but, fuck me, you’ve got tight lips.”

“And, before you say it – we’re not nosy. We just care. And we find it cute.”

“And…”

“What?” you practically grunt, biting your tongue as a hefty challenge sends Alexia Putellas face-first onto the patchy grass. It makes your heart jump.

“Well, it’s not like she won’t want you, so make your move.”

“Just like you made your move on Justin Bieber?” She winces. “We did warn you, babe.”

“It’s alright,” Anya comforts with a small smile, though you are well aware of how funny she also found the situation. Being in LA, as a celebrity, is always an interesting experience. In Gio’s defence, she did not know about a certain model standing right behind her, and you are fairly sure she had run off to do lines with someone or other earlier. “But, yeah, seriously. Y/n, do you want us to guess?”

“Go on. Guess.” You smirk, because they’ll never–

Anya’s hand flaps as she puts her privately-educated memory to good use. “What’s-her-face?” she squeals, hand slapping down on her thigh as the name eludes her, the flapping resuming once she remembers. “Alexia Putellas!”

You rip your eyes from your cracked screen, widened in horror. “How did you know?” you ask, voice a whisper as you swallow your shock.

“You talk about her all the time. ‘Ooh, she’s the future’ this, ‘watch her grow’ that. Just talk to her. She’ll fancy you back.”

“She’s not a celebrity. Normal people don’t slide into people’s DMs like we do, and I have no clue whether or not she can speak English,” you reason, having said the same thing to yourself every time your finger hovers on that feature of Instagram. “And I don’t like her? You saw me kissing–”

“God, drop it. You know she kisses anyone with a mouth, and you also know that you’re lying your arse off. Whoever this footballer is, just talk to her. If anything, it’ll be good for you to spend time with someone who isn’t going to drag you right into their own closet.”

“Closets in LA can be very big,” you say with a sigh, having already received a lecture about the damage-control your publicist always seems to be doing. You don’t really think it’s ‘damage’ if a photo of you enjoying yourself with someone, but your publicity team deems any picture of you with a woman one to be locked away in some encrypted file and never released in the papers.

…

You: Hola! Congratulations on the win. :)

You cringe so hard, but you send it anyway, your friends leaning over either shoulder as they egg you on, wishing your closet gobbled you whole and spat you out somewhere further away than Narnia.

Alexia, in Barcelona, groans at the sound of her phone buzzing, wondering who on Earth is texting her this late.

And she drops the device on her face when she sees what the notification is.

Because it really does not make sense, and she is not used to the idea that women’s footballers could one day fraternise with celebrities like you without feeling out of place. (And she’s had a crush on you for about two years and you’re texting her at midnight to congratulate her.)

You, on the other hand, are gripping onto your phone with trembling hands, holding on for dear life. Anya, who claims her C in A-level Spanish was unjust and incorrect, is brainstorming your next message, adamant that you’ll seem cooler if you display some knowledge of her mother tongue. You don’t tell her that, of course, Alexia’s first language would have been Catalan, because you don’t want it to be obvious that you have done a little bit (a lot) of research.

Gio tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear for you – a comforting gesture. “Hey,” she says kindly, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

She tries.

She fails.

You have compiled a list within a millisecond. “I don’t know,” you start, but, oh, you do. “She could screenshot the conversation and leak it to Twitter? Or she’s not a lesbian and she is disgusted that I am? She could have a girlfriend? She could think my account’s been hacked and report me and everything’ll be deleted? Or all of the above?!”

The chat is still open on your phone, but you can’t see past your tidal wave of anxiety.

“I think you’re just nervous.” Understatement of the century.

Before you can make a snide remark saying exactly that but to Anya’s face, your message is no longer the only one present.

“She replied!” you shout, volume a concoction of fear and excitement and a thousand emotions in between.

Alexia: Gracias por ver :)

“Thanks for watching,” Anya translates.

You exhale. “Okay. Done. No more.” You ignore both of their facepalms with the sort of blissful ignorance you’re sure only delusional people possess, but it is better to have a healthy heart rate than to understand the lyrics to whatever ballad the two of them have in the works.

…

“Kiss her.”

“What?”

“Just kidding,” Jenni giggles, winking at Alexia and stealing her glass of something-not-too-strong.

The team has been invited to a party with the men’s team, all because their favourite girl group is back in town and are treating the club like a pit-stop on their way to Madrid for the European-leg of their tour. The album has been in the top ten worldwide ever since it was released.

Alexia looks good tonight, as said by Jenni who thought her wardrobe consisted solely of football strips and Barcelona merchandise, and she revels in her little secret. Your little secret. She hasn’t told anyone that you messaged her two months ago, even if the conversation ended with her response.

Which is why Jenni is set on teasing Alexia about her non-existent chance with you, especially when you have spent your entire night on the other side of the reception room, deep in conversation with Neymar Jr., who is not shameful about his appreciation for the plunging neckline of your tight dress. He has a girlfriend, but Alexia has seen enough tabloid headlines to know that most famous people don’t care.

Your glass is always full, though that is your own doing. Something about the way a pair of hazel eyes have been watching you from the minute you walked in makes the air around you feel heavier than it should, and alcohol helps to dull your fluster.

Anya and Gio have circled back a few times, adding to their persuasion each lap. When you see Gio heading your way, a small smile playing on her lips as someone or other trails behind, you excuse yourself from your conversation with your personal hero (who, sadly, would be able to describe your boobs but not your face if he were asked) and clasp your fingers around her forearm, pulling the two of you even further from a certain women’s footballer on the other side of the room.

“She’s staring,” says Gio in a low voice, leaning in to speak into your ear. “She’s staring at you like she wants to eat you.”

“I’d let her,” you reply, lips loosened from the champagne you’ve been drinking. “She is beautiful.”

“She is still staring.”

You decide to be bold. You stare back, and Alexia is trapped, frozen to the spot. “She is so beautiful.”

“Now you’re both staring.”

“I’m going to talk to her.”

“You should,” she encourages, slurring. The blur might come from your distraction, your drunkenness, or her own intoxication. You don’t care.

Absently, you nod. “Yeah.”

She presses her fingertips between your shoulder blades, cold hands making you shiver. “Go. You got this.”

“Yeah.”

She pushes you away from her, in Alexia’s direction. Your feet carry you on what feels like an inevitable path.

And you… walk right past her, out of the door, and into the warm air of the evening to have a smoke instead.

Behind you, Gio lets out a silent scream, turning right around and giving up on your happiness because what more can she do? And Alexia, who is confused about what just happened and bored of this event anyway, is glad to be given an excuse to leave.

Except, you are blocking her exit, cigarette pressed to your lips as you inhale the smoke like it is a lifeline. She frowns, lips a tight line of disappointment, really. “¿Tú fumas?” she asks, though she knows both the answer and of your incompetence when it comes to her language.

You let your eyes meet hers, and Alexia shivers, though she tells herself it is only because it’s November. “Hola,” you reply.

For some reason, Alexia is drawn in. She steps closer to you, and you don’t have anywhere to go, backed against the wall you are leaning on. You’re drunk, and the cigarette has burned down to a stub of orange and black. She’s also drunk – less so than you – and she has nothing to lose right now. She is no one, in her mind, and you are far from prudish.

She decides, once she is barely ten centimetres away from you, that your dress is provocative, but it only adds to your existing beauty. You push your chest out, standing up straighter.

The dance is very still, and very silent, but you can imagine what it feels like to kiss her and you know that she is thinking the same thing.

“You can, if you want to,” you whisper, hoping she understands.

Luckily, she does.

Alexia fumbles her way through the first tentative second, shocked that this is what she is doing, but she finds her footing and relaxes into the taste of champagne and cigarette smoke, the heat of your body sparking a fire within her. You pull her closer, pressing her body into yours, and you are now consumed by desperation. The kiss grows messier, and Alexia’s hands begin to roam, mind lost in a haze of desire. She is explorative but she is gentle, and you gasp into her mouth as her tongue pushes past your lips and a hand settles on the curve of your bum, the other cupping your jaw.

Briefly, she wonders how many girls you have done this with. You seem experienced. The thought, while a little disturbing, sort of spurs her on, feeding into her competitive nature. This will be unforgettable for her regardless of the outcome because it’s an interesting story to tell, but what about you? Are you even aware of what you’re doing? Are you straight? No, you can’t be. You messaged her, so you started this. She is only… finishing it?

You sense her distraction, pulling back with a blink and a deep intake of fresh air. She tries to move back, afraid of what comes next, but you don’t let her go, clutching onto the hardened muscles of her arms to hold her in place, ready to kiss her again.

The moment is spoilt by a voice – an English voice – and the theft of your attention. Your eyes, previously hooded and dark, widen as they flit towards the door behind her, terribly upset that your friends have developed the worst timing known to man. Gio shouts again, telling you that it’s time to go. You have to get to Madrid, and the pilot would be incredibly annoyed to hear that the flight was delayed because you were too caught up in snogging a girl you may or may not fancy.

“We really need to go!” Anya repeats, growing impatient with you as you debate giving up your entire music career. “Like, it is insane how badly you need to get your arse over here to say your goodbyes and then jump in the taxi to the airport with us.”

“Can it just–”

“No!” they both shout in unison.

You sigh, looking at Alexia, the proximity prodding at a feeling low in your stomach. She doesn’t squirm under the intensity of your gaze, instead sporting a lazy, blissfully ignorant grin. And you’re about to break her little heart.

“I have to go,” you say softly, forehead resting on her shoulder as you mumble your words out. You have a duty to your job, or, as Virgil puts it: labor omnia vincit. Work conquers all.

“You have to…?” she tries.

“Go.”

“Tiene que irse,” Anya translates, reminding you of her presence (and her much better comprehension of Spanish). “Ahora.”

“Ah.” Alexia’s hand cups the back of your neck as you raise your head, and she kisses you, though the kiss is short.

You pat your body down with a sudden haste, wandering past your alcohol-clouded thoughts to remember the location of your ticket, reaching down to grab your clutch from where you’d dropped it on the floor while having a smoke. It pops open as Alexia watches your movements, and you retrieve a pen and a scrunched up ticket (you have no idea why that’s in there, but you are grateful that it is).

“Here.” You hand her the ticket, pressing it into the palm of her hand and then sealing your goodbye with a quick peck to her lips.

Then, you are gone, running off at an impressive speed in those heels, chasing your friends into the building.

She pauses herself in time for a moment, drawing back her grasp on reality as her thoughts still and she breathes in your lingering perfume. And then she blinks – blinks her way back into midnight in Barcelona.

She opens her palm to see what your gift was, unfolding the piece of paper with an overwhelming curiosity that almost rips it at the edges.

A boarding pass from London Stansted to Barcelona-El Prat Airport, decorated in fresh, black ink.

Scrawled on top of the flight details is something much more valuable than the entrance into First Class the paper allows.

Eleven digits.

Twenty-two-year-old Alexia Putellas, the catalyst for change in women’s football as the world knows it, suddenly sees her future set right out in front of her. Because there you are.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fc barcelona

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prdxinvadcr-a · 1 year ago

Text

⸝⸝ 　 WHAT PARADOX INVASION IS NOW !

PRDX’s first proper comeback with a new member was during the WAKE UP WORLD era. the fans were expecting more from the group now that they’d added a new member; however, they were a bit disappointed to learn that they had changed their concept into something different. going with a double theme, the group forever changed the views of ENDGAME and how they thought of PRDX as a group. they would release mini albums with two sides; SIDE A focused more on their "noisy" tracks and bright visuals, while SIDE B was all about their freshness and y2k vibes. THE GUERRILLAZ & BUMP IT UP! was unfortunately disliked by the fandom for the album's change of concepts, and the songs managed to get only two wins during the promotion era.

SCENE STEALERS was a turning point for the group because the album’s SIDE A title track, MAKE IT BOUNCY, was something no one expected to see them do. the song is accompanied by immense beat drops that differentiate it from PRDX’s old songs, yet fans liked it even more. MAKE IT BOUNCY started trending on tiktok of all social media due to the rap lines of LIGHT, ADRIEN & MIKEY, although the group’s MVP for this era was ADRIEN for his powerful rap. the song charted for most of the group’s promotion, and it didn’t take long for them to rack up six awards during this era. BEATBOX didn’t receive as much attention as the SIDE A track did, yet it still received two wins.

PRDX’s next comeback was with a mini album, BACK TO OUR DAYS, which made the fans think they were finally coming back to their cyberpunk concept, yet it seemed to be proven slightly incorrect as the group continued with their SIDE A & B tracks but the songs featured in the album were somewhat different from the previous ones. the dual promotions for BACK DOWN & PAY ATTENTION were promoted together for seven weeks, ending up high in the ranks for the upbeat vibes and receiving nine music show wins. BACK DOWN received 13 million views on youtube in the first 24 hours, and the boys got a lot of compliments for the complex choreography, yet people were intimidated to make dance covers of it for that very reason.

INTO THE 90s was slightly different from the other comebacks the group previously had. its title tracks, GAME OVER and KICK IT 4 NOW, received much more attention than their previous albums. GAME OVER is an explosive song, which quickly became an ear-worm to the fandom, who couldn’t help but trend it on every social media they could get their hands on. same thing with KICK IT 4 NOW, their SIDE B track, which didn’t take long to trend of tiktok. it got to the point where ENDGAME received much hate from other fandoms for trying too much to shove the songs in their faces. this comeback racked up almost 30 million views for both title tracks in the first 24 hours, breaking their previous record for BACK DOWN.

the group’s most recent mini-album, PLAYER SELECT, was released in mid-june of this year, with DOING BIG THINGS and I’M THE ONE as the dual-title tracks. PARADOX seemed overworked during this era, as they didn’t stop promoting until the end of july. midway through the promotions, the company updated fans about KOI going on a hiatus due to his health condition. until the end of PLAYER SELECT promotions, the group promoted with six members, winning up to ten music show awards and placing themselves high on the charts. PRDX released three different versions of dance practices; FIX, EYE-CONTACT and ENDGAME. the last version featured the members in costumes that fans voted for in a poll posted a couple of weeks before the release of the dance practice.

throughout their career, PARADOX INVASION seemed to be breaking all kinds of records and is known as a self-producing group. along with their music, three out of seven members produce songs for other artists as side projects. the group really placed itself up high with other self-producing artists and are called THE BREAKERS OF 4TH GENERATION.

#ficnetfairy #❐ : ❛❛ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀call me prdx invader! 〳 sound #kpop oc #fictional oc community #fake kpop group #fake boy group #kpop au #fake kpop idol #idol au #idolverse

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underforeversgrace · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter Three (AO3)

Words: 3140

Maddie nearly kissed the picture frame in her excitement as she sat it down. It wouldn’t answer everything, but it was more data. She would be able to approximate a date, narrowing down a timeframe for whatever had caused Danny’s change. It was something.

Maddie ran up to her bedroom, fishing a FentonHandheld out from her bedside table. It was like a mobile computer with a screen that worked by tapping on it with her finger - one of their more bland inventions, in her opinion, but still helpful.

She booted it up, the FentonWorks insignia spinning as it loaded. For safety, the computers in the lab that held all of their research and work on ghosts weren’t hooked or accessible to or from any external server. This, however, was. Including access to the virtual photo album Jazz shared photos on. Maddie could just hope Jazz was still using the camera they’d designed - it was designed for exploration, so it took incredibly detailed photos. It was something she and Jack had built when the portal was still theory, when they’d let Jazz use it and she never returned it. Even when the portal opened, neither parent had the heart to ask for it back. They could build another.

Absolutely jittery with excitement, she loaded up the virtual album and hundreds of photos appeared, photos of anything and everything. At the top was a file icon, labeled Team. Maddie clicked on it and an alert box popped up, asking for an administrator password. Maddie typed in her own, only for INCORRECT to flash on screen. Odd, what would Jazz have password protected? Maybe something to do with whatever they were keeping from her and Jack?

Irritated, Maddie closed out of the alert box. Brute forcing it wouldn’t work, Jazz’s passwords were always wildly varied and hard to crack. Surely, that folder held answers. What was so special about these photos that they couldn’t be with the others?

Well, she still had her original idea. Maddie scrolled through the photos until she found the photos starting six months ago, passing various nature and urban shots. She tapped the first one she saw with Danny in it. It made her grin. In it was Danny and his two friends. Sam was shoving Danny while he smiled, Tucker bent over with laughter. Maddie was glad Danny had them, he had so few people in his life. She zoomed into Danny’s left arm - seems Jazz was still using the Fenton camera, as the photo zoomed without compromising the image. Even knowing what she was looking for, it was difficult to find, but she did eventually locate the scar. Exiting out of that image, she began to look for the next.

She was nine months back when she finally found a scarless Danny. She scanned the picture as thoroughly as possible. There were some places she’d realized were good ‘landmarks’ to follow. A branch that terminated on the outside of his elbow, one on his neck next to a mole he had. No scar in sight, none at all. She zoomed out to view the photo in full, grinning as she noted down the date on the photo. It was a week before his sophomore year began. The family had been on a week long camping trip and this had been the last day. She went back to the one taken after that had the scar. It was only two days later.

That couldn’t be right. This was a scar, there should be a bigger gap in order for him to have healed that much, even if this was one of the pictures easiest to find the scar on. But she was positive there was no scar in the previous picture. She flicked back over to the no-scar picture, double checking it. Yeah, she’d have been willing to bet their ghost portal that there was no scar in this photo. She continued going back further. There was one several days before the one with no scar, yet she could find the injury in this one. It was so faint it was a struggle, but she did find it.

Wait. Back to the one where it was easy to find. Maddie flicked back and forth between the two photos surrounding the one without the scar and determined it made no sense. The scar was most vivid in the newest photo and nearly invisible in the oldest, completely gone in the middle one. Which is absolutely not how scars work.

Maddie flipped through more pictures, taking down the date of every single one of Danny and rating how visible the scar was. It kept going further and further back, to the beginning of the previous school year. She finally noticed several in a row with good amounts of time between them where his arm remained unblemished. Maddie circled two dates - the one where the scar first appeared and the one right before it. There were only ten days between them. Why did the date it first appeared look so familiar?

Maddie quickly jumped back to the photo where it first appeared - a simple image of the four of them in front of the portal. She stared at the date. Taken two days after Danny got a small shock from said portal. Was he somehow connected to the portal? There were frequently energy flares from the portal, invisible to everything but their equipment. Did the scar flare when the portal did?

She began to go back through every single photo since the one at the portal, double checking her dates and ratings of the scar’s visibility. The portal picture was the one where the injury was most prominent. She should’ve noticed it then. It was definitely visible enough, it didn't appear fresh but it was clearly a healed scar. But she’d been too obsessed with the portal finally working, they both had, and it wasn’t as obvious on a normal sized photograph.

She went through dozens of pictures, making rating adjustments where needed, before another one gave her pause. She’d noted down that this one had been weird, the only one she labeled as such.

Danny stood in front of a large tree, sunlight pouring down on him in slivers, eyes fixed at the dirt beneath it. Under a lot of trees, then? The leaves blocking out some sun? There were a lot of trees surrounding him. It was a side profile so she couldn’t see his full face, but the half she could see seemed…solemn? Determined? Sad? It was hard to tell for sure. He held his left arm against his chest, long sleeved shirt covering most of the Lichtenberg figure. She’d found this one on his neck. Normally the neck had been the area where it was hardest to find, but this time it was nearly as bright as the first picture had been. Something in her was deeply unsettled as she checked this one’s date.

Exactly a year since the portal opened.

What had the portal done to him? Why had he never told them the extent of the injury? Maybe he was afraid they’d blame themselves? Even just last night, Jazz was the one getting angry at Danny being shot. Danny had tried to calm her and Jack.

Once more, she paged through all of the photos, though she came all the way to current, adding the more recent photos’ data as well.

She scratched at her head, this just didn’t make sense. She’d found five instances of times he had no scar, including the first one she’d found. None were as bright as the two she’d already noted. For the most part, the scar tended to stay around what she’d rated a 2, on a scale to 5. These were hard to see, almost no branches visible in his neck, lines thin.

She needed to talk to Jack.

Maddie went back through all the photos, downloading the most notable. All of the ones without the scar, the ones preceding and following those, the portal one, and the portal’s anniversary.

Gathering up all of her research, she trekked down to the lab.

“Jack?” She called, poking her head around the corner.

“It’s safe!” He called. Maddie still treaded carefully. She loved him, but she also had some semblance of common sense.

He had the device from last night in front of him, almost completely disassembled. “Trying to see why it targeted Danny?” She asked.

He nodded, signing forlornly. “I can’t figure it out.”

“I think I might have,” she said, holding up the papers and tablet in her hands.

The two of them went to her desk, Jack’s thoroughly covered in the bits and bobs of the invention.

“What’d you find?” He asked.

“More data.” She answered, pulling the piece of paper with the summarized breakdown towards her and connecting the Handheld to a printer so they had physical copies of the notable photos. “So, we had no idea when or how he got this scar, right?”

“Yeah?”

“So I found out.”

“Did you create a time machine without telling me?” He joked.

“Not quite. But I did find a way to retrieve frozen time.” She said, grabbing the photos from the printer and setting them down in front of him.

“I feel like we should have thought of that earlier.”

“You and me both.”

“Sounds like you found the answer.”

“I did. But it barely makes sense.”

Maddie went over her findings - the way the scar changed, disappeared, reappeared, how it appeared to be most commonly.

Jack followed along, not interrupting, though he did become sad towards the end. Once she finished, Jack pulled two photos towards him - the ones she’d labeled Portal and Anniversary. “Did we do this?” He asked softly, staring at the sad look on Danny’s face in Anniversary.

“I think so.” She admitted. As much as she loved the new data, the answers, the possible main answer, it was soured by guilt. The portal they’d made hurt their son, though they didn’t know the extent. “I think he’s linked to the portal. It flares, his scar reacts, and he… I don’t know? Tries to hide it from everyone? Is afraid we’ll think he’s ghostly? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“We should talk to him, tonight. Present everything to him and tell him we know.”

Looking down to the time, Maddie frowned. “He’ll be home any minute and I haven’t correlated this data to the flares.”

“I don’t want to scare him. He’s already afraid we won’t accept him. We’ll let him know our theory about the portal’s flares, but we have to reassure him we won’t try to study or examine him. We won’t do that by leading in with studying him even more, we already studied his scar. Take his lead on seeing what he wants to know and what he doesn’t. Tell him this may help us get our inventions to stop seeing him as a true ghost when it’s just a little residue.”

He was right and she knew it. Danny’s secret was ghostly in nature, minor as it was, and he feared what they would do to him. It’s just a scar with a little ghostly attribute.

They sat in silence, listening to the seconds tick by.

“Mads?” Jack asked.

“Yeah?”

“Those scars. Those figures. They still were an injury. How badly was he hurt?”

“He was fine the day the portal came on and it looked like a very old injury two days later. Ectoplasm reacts weirdly here in the real world, you know that. I think he got the small shock he told us about, and the ectoplasm mimicked the electricity.”

"Wasn't that theory disproven? That ectoplasm mimicked the human world?" Jack asked.

"Not necessarily disproven so much as unproven. But I think this justifies the theory. An electrical shock big enough to do something as severe as what Danny has would've hospitalized him, if not killed him. The theory seems to fit here."

“And Danny is both clearly not dead and never needed to see a doctor for it. So you think the ectoplasm took on the electricity's properties and Lichtenberg formation without actually harming him?”

“Right.”

Jack let out a shaky breath. “I think we’re still missing something. But I think we have the root of it and I want Danny to trust us enough to tell us more.”

Upstairs, the front door opened and closed, though she still heard no footsteps. She really needed to call an audiologist tomorrow.

“Mom? Dad?” Danny called from the top of the stairs.

Jack and Maddie nodded to each other.

“Down here, sweetie!” Maddie called.

Danny’s smiling face turned the corner a moment later.

“What’s up, Danno?” Jack asked. Maddie was watching Danny. Something felt off in the way he walked but she couldn't place it.

“Jazz wanted me to let you guys know she won’t be home tonight, study session at a friend’s house or something. She said she couldn’t get either of you on the phone.” Danny shrugged. “We figured you were working down here, but she wanted to be sure you didn’t think she had like run away or something I guess?”

“Thanks for letting us know, Danny-Boy!” His father said, giving him a harsh slap to the back that was probably supposed to be a fatherly pat. Maddie started to get onto him - that was the side Danny had been shot on! - but she couldn’t stop staring at Danny. His scar, if she looked hard enough, was visible even with her a foot away.

And he hadn’t flinched, just grinning up at Jack. That was what felt off. He wasn’t favoring his right side like he should be. He wasn’t in pain, judging by the way he put his hands on his side to theatrically stick out his tongue, reacting to something Jack had said that Maddie hadn’t heard.

Danny was, without a doubt, actively touching where he’d been burned last night.

He noticed her staring. “Mom, you good?”

She looked up at Jack, motioning for him to lead. Her brain was still trying to connect loose strands that hadn’t tied in to the portal theory.

Jack moved away from Danny, coming to stand beside Maddie. “Son, we need to talk.”

Danny smiled, but it looked forced. “About me being gay again?”

“Yes… and no.”

Danny waved his hand, indicating for Jack to continue.

“We know what happened to your arm.”

Maddie watched as he went rigid. Even his chest didn’t appear to move.

“My arm is fine.”

“Complete with a scar from a ghost portal?” Jack pushed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Danny insisted

Jack reached forward, gently holding Danny’s left wrist. Danny reacted, jerking his arm away forcefully.

“Don’t do that.”

“Danny, we know, come here so we can talk-“ Maddie said, faltering when Danny fixed his blue eyes on her. They were stony and cold, unfamiliar to her. She pressed forward. “We don’t care about the scar.” She said, also going for Danny’s wrist, trying to prove she wasn’t afraid of him and he didn’t need to be afraid of her.

Just like with Jack, he ripped away from her, holding his left arm to his chest and cradling it with his right, now taking a few steps back.

“Do not do that.” He insisted, though it nearly sounded like a warning.

“It’s just cosmetic, Danny, we don’t care about the scar.” Jack insisted.

“We just care about you.” Maddie added, both parents stepping closer, both relieved when he didn’t continue to fall back, though he still clenched his arm.

“I’m fine, just stop.”

“Danny, you can’t hide a scar that’s right there.”

“Your father’s right. We know it’s there and what it is from. I saw in some photos how it faded and reappeared and it’s okay.”

“Leave. It. Alone.” He insisted, moving his feet further apart and relaxing his shoulders. That was a fighting stance, one she had taught him. He didn’t even seem to realize he’d moved, his body moving on instinct.

“Why are you trying so hard to avoid the topic, we-“ Jack started, Danny cutting him off.

“Because it's about my death!” Danny screamed, blue eyes flashing into a violent green before settling back. His eyes went wide and he slapped his hand over his mouth.

As soon as his eyes went green, Jack and Maddie’s ghost hunting senses kicked in. Maddie hit a button on her utility belt, dropping a small disc - a portable ghost shield. They were immediately all encased within the green glow of the shield, only the humans able to leave. Jack had simply pulled out a blaster, leveling it at Danny.

Was it Danny?

It sure felt like Danny when his blue eyes flicked over to the dissection table in the corner, scalpels in a glass case on the wall.

A whirlwind of emotions on his face - hurt, betrayal, anger, among others - before it finally settled on resigned defeat.

He chuckled dryly. “And here I almost believed you. That you could still care.” Danny said, his body undeniably dropping into a fighting stance, eyes constantly moving between the two of them. Green began to gather in his palms, returned to his eyes. The scar began to emit its own soft glow. Both parents stared at his hands. Was Danny overshadowed? Had he actually been overshadowed this entire time?

He noticed their stares. “I hope you didn’t expect me to roll over and be dissected like a good little ghost.” He seethed, anger lacing every word, the temperature around them seeming to plummet.

Maddie’s head was swimming. He had to be overshadowed. But there was so much pain and hurt in his voice. Ghosts couldn’t do that.

Neither made a move as Danny began to walk backwards, ectoplasmic blast still swimming around his hands. “At least you didn’t figure everything out.” He said bitterly. The green around his hands disappeared, he turned and leapt with acrobatic ability neither knew him to possess.

Maddie expected him to crumple against the shield or whatever ghost was in her son to be left inside the shield while her son got his body back.

What she absolutely did not expect, however, was for Danny to sail through the shield like a human, catch himself on his hands, and tuck into a roll that led him right to his feet, running up the stairs and out of sight in an instant.

The two of them were frozen in stunned silence. Maddie’s first thought was a sense of pride that Danny had pulled off that maneuver so seamlessly, moving and making himself small, a harder target to hit. The second was wondering when and why he had learned to evade so well. The third she spoke aloud.

“What the fuck just happened?”

by your grave (the monster we made)

title: by your grave (the monster we made)

Words: 4453

Chapter 1 of 5

Warnings: None!

Summary: Maddie knew Danny kept secrets, it was a topic they didn’t discuss. But when she sees scars she knows he couldn’t have, she knows she can’t keep pretending. She just needs to figure out those scars.

AO3

It’s strange, how small things, minor choices, a single brush can collapse your entire world. One action taken that changes your entire life. If another option had been chosen or something small missed, the outcome entirely different. Singular actions that fracture time into various streams, each with wildly varying results.

A normal day. It had been a completely normal day for Maddie Fenton. But isn’t that how most great tragedies start, too? A normal day before hell crashes directly into it?

“Danny, honey?” Maddie asked, knocking on her son’s door. She wasn’t entirely sure if he was there - he sometimes managed to completely disappear when his parents could’ve sworn he’d come home and never left.

“Yeah?” He called from his room, voice muffled by the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Maddie pushed open the door, grinning at her son as she did so, the room dim. He had grown so much in the last year, far more than Maddie had ever thought possible. Sure, teenagers tended to hit growth spurts, but whatever had changed with Danny hadn’t been entirely physical. She couldn’t quite place it but some instinct told her he had changed, had grown into himself.

“Do you still have any spare light bulbs up here? Apparently your father forgot to get them the last three times he went to the grocery store.” Maddie said, rolling her eyes playfully.

Danny laughed. “Maybe stop sending him to the store by himself?” He mused. “Anyway, I do think I have some up here.” He clicked on his desk lamp, so sudden and bright against the dimness that Maddie’s eyes narrowed. Impressively, Danny’s didn’t. He stood, reaching up over his head and opening one of the upper cabinets of his desk. A moment passed before he withdrew, half-full box of light bulbs in his left hand. He sat back down, propping his elbow up on the desk, under the desk lamp.

“Ta-da!” He said.

“Thanks, Sweetie!” Maddie said, standing beside him to ruffle his hair with one hand, leaning over to grab just one of the bulbs from the box. She nearly shivered at the nearness to her son, he always seemed so cold. There, leaned forward, with his arm directly beneath the bright light, a discoloration on his skin became clear. She jerked back away from him, though now that she had seen the discoloration - the scar - wrapping around his wrists and going all the way up his arm, dipping under the sleeve of his shirt, she didn’t know how she had never seen it before. It was absolutely massive in how far it branched, even if the lines were thin. It was like one of those optical illusions - extremely difficult to find at first but once you finally find it, you can never unsee it.

“Mom?” Danny asked beside her, looking at her in confusion. “You good?”

“Oops, sorry, dear, you’re not the only one who stays up too late at night sometimes!” In that moment, Maddie didn’t know why she lied, why she didn’t ask about the scar.

Apparently, he bought it, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, mom, I’m sure Amity can survive if you build your next weapon a day later than planned.”

That drew a laugh from her. “Better done early than late! We’ve gotten close to catching several ghosts - especially Phantom - so we’ve got to make sure the lab is ready for adequate containment!”

A look of fear shot across his face for just a moment, his face almost immediately smoothing into a mask of indifference. If Maddie hadn’t been so studiously studying him all of the sudden, she wouldn’t have even noticed it. Since when did talking about catching ghosts cause that look? “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair, arms across his chest as he yawned. “Evil ghosts, destruction, blah, blah.”

This reaction to ghosts was familiar - disinterested and indifferent - at least. Maybe she’d just been seeing things when she saw fear, so focused on seeing if there was anything else she’d missed that she’d made things up to miss.

“I know, I know, our research bores you,” Maddie said, falling back to the familiar, friendly bicker. “Try not to stay up too late, alright?” She asked, placing her hand on his shoulder, more aware of the slight chill than she’d ever been before.

“What can I say? Not sleeping is apparently a familial trait. I get it from you.” He joked.

“Good night, Danny,” she said, leaving the room and closing the door behind her, her son giving an amused snort at the dismissal.

Her feet took her down to the kitchen, where Jack awaited, but her mind buzzed. Why did this interaction - normal and benign as it was - have her in such twists? Why had her instinct been to avoid mentioning her concerns to Danny? Why hadn’t she just asked about the scar? And why - when was used to his lower temperature - did it make her shiver to think about?

“Did he have one, Mads?” Jack asked, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked at the bulb in her hand, she had entirely forgotten about it, why she’d even gone to his room in the first place.

“Oh, uh, yeah, he had a few,” Maddie answered, holding the bulb out.

“That’s my boy, always prepared!” Jack said, grabbing the bulb from her and inserting it into the light fixture above them, the previous one already removed. She smiled as he did so, tall enough to not need a step stool like she would’ve. Sometimes the little domestic moments like this were the best - her and Jack doing something absolutely normal, her kids safe and sound on the floor above them.

That last thought made the smile slip from her face, dropping into a frown. “Jack, are we good parents?” She asked suddenly.

Jack, done with the bulb, looked at her in confusion. “Sure we are, Mads!”

She was looking at the floor as she said “Are you sure?”

“I mean,” Jack started, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. “I guess they get embarrassed by us sometimes? And Jazz says we can be oblivious. She’d call us out in a heartbeat if she thought we were being neglectful - she’s done it before when we would get too deep in our work and forget to make dinner.”

There was no ignoring the shame in her heart at that last comment. Their child shouldn’t have to remind her adult parents to feed them. “Jack, does Danny have a scar on his left hand?”

“Not that I know of. Except maybe the little knick from when fell on gravel when he was really young? Why? Maddie, is everything okay?”

Again, she held back her true thoughts. Maybe it really was just something else, a trick of the light while she’s tired? She really hadn’t slept much last night - they’d been putting the finishing touches on the new dissection table until pretty late. Still, there was an itch at the back of her brain.

“Everything’s fine, dear,” Maddie lied. “I guess I just realized how much Danny and Jazz have grown and felt like I had missed it.” Especially Danny. The whole family had skirted around his issues, never willing to bring it up, after the first few times they asked and he continued to refuse. His grades, his attendance, his curfew. It was an elephant they all refused to further acknowledge, choosing to chase the ghostly ferret instead.

Jack pulled her into a crushing hug - thankfully, her ribs had long since gotten used to being squeezed too hard - and kissed the top of her head, auburn hair loose. “We’ve made some fine kids, Mads. This is the reward, painful as it is - we raise them well so they can thrive even once they leave here.”

Maddie rested her head against Jack’s chest, inhaling the comfortable scent of him - the rubbery scent of the hazmat suit mixed with his earthy cologne. “I suppose you’re right. I guess if I wasn’t worried if I was doing it right, then I wouldn’t be doing it right.”

He ran a hand through her hair, though the crush of his hug did not decrease as he held her with one arm instead. “This is the best we can hope for. Strong, smart kids, kind to a fault. We succeeded in raising them ready to face the world beyond us - and at least we didn’t make monsters of them.”

“Monsters?” Maddie asked, her breath temporarily hitching.

“Y��know - selfish, rude people. People who harm others for fun. That kind of monster.”

“Oh,” she said. “I guess you’re right. There are no monsters we made.”

~~~~~~~

Maddie tossed and turned in her bed for hours when she finally went to lie down, sleep refusing her. Jack slept easily beside her, snoring in a nearly comical way. Her head felt both empty and too full - thoughts she didn’t fully understand evaporating to mist as soon as she tried to concentrate on them. It was already nearly dawn when she managed to fall into that facsimile of sleep - where time slowed and the body relaxed but true rest lingered at the edge of consciousness.

When her alarm sounded, she slammed her hands on it to turn it off, pushing herself into a sitting position. Sunlight flooded through the open curtains, bathing the entire room in a pleasant golden glow. This was her favorite time of day - the world silently awaking as the sun rose. It was a peaceful time to her, it always had been. But the peace she always knew at dawn slipped from her.

Something was going on with her son. Something had been for a long time. Maddie was determined to find out, no longer willing to chase distractions that hurt less. He wouldn’t tell them himself, they’d already hit that roadblock so many times, so there was no point in asking him. It had something to do with that scar, a scar she couldn’t place but seemed familiar.

Ideas spun in her head as she made her way downstairs, plans and theories formulating and dissolving as she thought. Automatically, she began to make breakfast - a much larger one than usual. Ever since Danny had left middle school, Maddie had fallen out of the habit of cooking in the mornings, leaving the kids to fend for themselves, typically with cereal.

Soon, the house began to move, her family drawn by the smell of sizzling bacon. Maddie studied her family, smiling at all of them, their personalities evident even just here. Jazz was fully dressed, hair brushed, proper and ready to go. Jack had a new hazmat suit on, but stubble prickled on his chin, hair still mused sleepily. And then there was Danny. He was still in wrinkled pajamas, hair pointing every which way, much more erratic than his usual controlled chaos of a hairdo.

Again, the joy of simple domesticity surrounded by those who love you and you love in return. Idle chatter was exchanged over breakfast, meaningless nothings that would fade from memory as soon as the topic changed.

Jazz was the first to finish, placing her plate in the sink and leaving, wanting to get to school as early as possible to use the library. Jack followed soon after, heading up the stairs to finish preparing for the day. Throughout it all, Maddie glanced at Danny’s left arm, looking for the scar again, trying to see how far up it went, if it went into the short sleeve of his shirt or stopped below. She couldn’t see it, though. She was confused. Had it really been a trick of the light? Had she seen something that wasn’t there?

Danny pushed his empty plate forward, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. Maddie stood, taking both her and his empty plates, setting them in the sink.

“Thanks, mom! That was really good!” Danny said, giving her a lopsided grin.

“No problem, dear.” She said, returning the smile in a way she hoped seemed genuine.

“Oh, shoot, is that really the time?” He asked, frowning at the clock on the wall. “I gotta get ready!” He said, jumping from the seat.

“Wait!” Maddie called, stepping forward and grabbing at his left wrist. He tensed at the sudden contact, only relaxing partially after a few moments, turning to look at her.

“Is everything okay?” He questioned, studying her face, frowning in confusion.

“Uh…” Maddie faltered, trying to come up with an answer that wasn’t I thought you had a scar and now I think I’m losing my mind. “I just wanted to give you a hug.” She decided on, pulling his wrist gently to bring him closer.

He complied, letting her wrap her arms around him, hugging her back. “Is everything okay?” He repeated as she partially released him.

Doing her best to make it look like a casual move, Maddie smiled and pulled back from him, holding both of his upper arms, squeezing softly in what she hoped felt like a normal, parental squeeze of reassurance.

“You’re just growing up on me, that’s all. My little baby isn’t a baby.”

Danny rolled his eyes at her, but a smirk did settle on his face and the rest of the tension left his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, lifting his left hand and waving her off absently.

That’s when she saw it again, saw it a little more fully. It seemed to originate on his palm, lightning-like patterns branching up his arm, very thin lines, very barely visible. Some branches did go under his sleeve. No wonder he had been able to hide it for so long, if she had to be this close to see it, had to know the discoloration to look for. She had just gotten lucky last night when the too bright, too white light of Danny’s desk had thrown it into stark relief for that short moment.

“I love you, Danny.” She said, unwilling to risk studying the scar too obviously. This was the key to whatever was wrong, she could feel it in her bones, and she didn’t want him to know she was looking into it. Not yet. Not until she knew.

“I love you too, mom.” She had to strain to hear it, but there was something in his voice that she couldn’t place.

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “I will always love you.”

He smiled, pushing her hands off of him, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I know, mom. You’ll always love me or whatever.”

Bitterness. It was bitterness she heard in laced undertones. She suddenly felt like cracked glass in too much heat.

She allowed him to push her off, though she did ruffle his hair some. When had he gotten as tall as her?

“And don’t ever forget it, young man. Go on, have a good day at school!”

He waved at her and disappeared up the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, the smile slipped off her face and she went down to the lab, needing to hide so he couldn’t see her when he came back down.

Maddie settled carefully into the seat at her desk, trying not to shatter. Bitterness. Why would he be bitter when she said she loved him? Did he think she was lying? Loved him but not enough? She remembered how he’d tensed so hard when she grabbed him. Did he fear her? She knew he was hiding something, that much was obvious, an open secret no one mentioned.

Was he afraid she wouldn’t accept him if she knew his secret? She’d heard of that with LGBTQ youth, but surely he didn’t think she’d reject him? She didn’t care about that, she just wanted happy children. And if one of them liked the same gender or both or none at all, she’d support them in whatever made them feel right. Did he not feel like a boy? She’d be fine to have two daughters or a child outside of the binary, she’d help them in whatever they wanted if a transition was needed to help their exterior match their interior.

She just wanted her children alive and happy. Jack wanted the same, both of her children knew that. Right?

She tried to remember conversations they’d had about acceptance and love, about living fully so long as you didn’t hurt someone else. There were a few from several years ago, all when Danny was probably less than ten. Danny was awfully close with both Sam and Tucker. Maybe he was bi and they were all dating and were embarrassed?

No, no, it had to be something else. Being LGBTQ didn’t fit everything, though it could still possibly be a facet in a secret he was more afraid of. But the grades, the cutting class, the broken curfews. If it were Sam and Tucker, they would’ve been told by now that those two ditched with Danny. There were a few times they’d both even tried to cover for Danny, Lancer had said.

Frustrated, she ran a hand through her hair, tugging at some tangles. She’d really thought she’d had something there, but it didn’t fit. Didn’t fit his behavior.

Didn’t account for the scar.

When did he get that scar? What kind of injury caused a scar like that? She had a vague recollection of seeing something like that, once, but she couldn’t remember where or why it had come up. She stared at her hands, though they didn’t whisper the answer to her. Her thoughts ran in circles - she needed to figure out the scar, she needed to remember where she’d seen it before so she could get its name, she needed its name to figure out the scar. The cycle continued uselessly, a dull headache building behind her eyes.

Distraction. She needed a distraction. It was a common thing - remembering something you’d forgotten by forgetting you needed to remember it.

Maddie’s eyes scanned the lab, everything cast in the green glow from the portal. Eventually, she settled on a half-finished invention on Jack’s desk. They were hoping that if they programmed their weapons to ignore Danny before they finished building it and powering it up with ectoplasm, the devices would stop pinging him as a ghost. They were running through every half-assed, unproven theory to try to stop Danny from being targeted. Current theory said that ectoplasm had ‘memory,’ so preventative measures had to be loaded in before the ecto-based power source. This invention didn’t even do anything except emit smoke when it detected a ghost within five feet, it was solely for testing this method to exclude Danny from their detection. So, for now, it was powered with a strong battery.

They knew it was probably the ecto-contamination he’d gotten when the portal shocked him when it had suddenly turned on that caused the weapons to target him and there was nothing to be done for that. Ecto-contamination was much like radioactivity - it had a half life and had to fade on its own, and its half life was hundreds of years, as best they could calculate.

Maddie looked at some free wires under the external casing. She popped the casing off, rewiring them to change their connections. A short prick of pressure flashed in one of her right fingers and she swore. Thank heavens for her suit, that kind of feeling was caused by a shock of electricity arcing towards her, which the suit was designed to prevent.

Hours passed as she worked with the Stop Targeting Danny Fentonetron (Jack named it), but the name of that scar continued to elude her. Jack circled in and out of the lab periodically throughout the day, but didn’t interrupt her, just as she wouldn’t have him.

He was down there when she finished the device.

“Okay, Jack,” she said, turning to where he was playing a game on his computer, “I think I’ve got this ready to go, just needs the ecto-battery inserted.”

“That’s great, Mads! It’s almost time for dinner, want to test it there?”

Looking at a clock, Maddie realized Jack was right. She’d been down here nearly twelve hours. Oh well. Wasn’t like it was the first time either of them had done it.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’m going to head upstairs and get dinner started, then.”

“Sounds like a plan to me! Just make sure to keep the ecto-battery far away from the Stop Targeting Danny Fentonetron until it’s time.”

“I know, dear,” she agreed, halfway to the door before she paused and added, “we really need to give this thing an easier name.”

He chuckled, returning to his game, and Maddie started back towards the kitchen. Once there, she sat the device on the table and began whipping up some food. Jack had gone shopping yesterday (thus the forgotten bulb and small avalanche of fudge) so all the food was still ecto free.

When the casserole in the oven had less than five minutes left, Jazz and Danny came through the front door, arguing about something in low voices. As soon as they saw Maddie in the kitchen, however, they both silenced, Danny throwing an irritated glare at Jazz, who pretended not to notice. Ah, at least this will always be normal. Jack, probably hearing the movement, joined them as well.

“Hi, kids!” She called, grabbing plates from the cupboard.

“Hiya!” Jazz said, overly cheerful.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Hey, mom.”

“C’mon, dinner’s almost done.”

The kids moved in their familiar ways - Jazz going for the cups in the cupboard, Danny going to pull the drinks from the fridge. Maddie smiled, though that was quickly wiped away when the anti-ecto blaster defense in the fridge triggered, Danny jumping to the side with a yelp.

“I thought you guys dismantled that!” Jazz yelled.

“We did?” Maddie said, coming out as a question more than a statement.

“Heh. Oops.” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Like father, like son. “I thought it was broken and fixed it today.”

Jazz looked at her father furiously, then kneeling next to her brother. “You okay?”

“’m fine.” Danny said through gritted teeth, hunched over and holding his stomach. “Didn’t dodge fast enough.”

Shame blossomed in her chest painfully. What kind of child should ever have to say that? Would need to dodge weapons within their own homes? How often did Danny need to jump out of the way from surprise weapons? Did he have to live his life in constant anxiety, waiting for the next malfunctioning attack?

“Lemme see, Danno,” Jack said softly, kneeling on the side opposite Jazz.

Danny glanced at Jazz, who gave a barely perceptible nod. At the angle they were at Jack couldn’t see the fear that painted Danny’s face briefly. But Maddie could. Her shame felt like a physical thing in her chest, on her chest, trying to crush her. Another small thing that she should have seen the first time it happened. Was she really that oblivious? Were her and Jack really that horrible of parents?

Danny let go of his stomach, red staining his hand. His shirt was burned through, as was the patch of skin beneath it. Jack looked at it in guilt. Maddie was cursing Danny’s ecto contamination internally - he had a high enough level to make him susceptible to their weapons, thus their desperation to get the inventions to just stop firing at him in the first place.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Jazz said, leaving the kitchen, her footsteps could be heard hurrying up the stairs.

“I am so sorry, Danno, I forgot that we dismantled it,” Jack said, a tear dropping down his face.

“Hey, dad, it’s alright,” Danny said in a soothing voice. “Accidents happen.” He reached out to pat his dad on the shoulder with his not-bloody hand, though he was looking down at his stomach, applying pressure back to the wound. Jack’s eyes widened and Maddie realized it was Danny’s left hand he’d reached out with. He’d noticed the scar she’d mentioned to him the previous night, too. He locked eyes with her and Maddie shook her head.

He nodded. “Thanks, Danny. I really am sorry. I won’t forget again.” Jack said, grinning down at his son.

“Why does it take him getting shot for you to remember, though?” Jazz asked as she stepped back into the kitchen, white first aid kit in hand.

Maddie opened her mouth to answer but just let out a strangled breath. Jack was opening and closing his mouth repeatedly.

“Jazz, it’s fine, drop it,” Danny said. “Can you move, dad?”

Jack looked at his son then his daughter then back to his son, but he did move further away.

Jazz knelt down at her brother’s injured side, popping open the kit. “Just because this isn’t the first time doesn’t make it okay, Danny!” Jazz hissed, so low Maddie barely heard her.

“Drop. It.” Danny shot back just as lowly, a hard edge to his tone.

Maddie watched as Jazz pulled out what she needed - burn cream, gauze, adhesive. There was no hesitation in her hands, no moving stuff around to find what she needed. Jazz knew what she was doing, had clearly gone through this before, more than once as Maddie noted that Jazz’s hands didn’t shiver with anxiety.

Danny sat there patiently, occasionally hissing in pain as Jazz patched him up.

That wasn’t a normal reaction. It just wasn’t. There was no way that he’d been struck that many times by the house! And it had to be various wounds fairly often, based on how little he reacted, how quickly Jazz jumped to action. Had the bullying gotten bad again? Danny had said it’d eased up.

It was then the oven beeped, making everyone except Danny jump. Maddie hurriedly pulled on oven gloves and pulled the food out before it had the chance to burn.

“Alright, I’m done,” Jazz said, dumping the unneeded parts into the trash can, a bloody piece of gauze included.

“I’m changing.” Danny said, getting to his feet and quickly retreating to his room.

Jazz went to the sink, cleaning her hands of her brother’s blood. Maddie and Jack seemed frozen, looking at each other. It was then Maddie realized her nor Jack had tried to take over the situation. Jazz had done it and they had allowed her to be in charge.

Jack pointed with his eyes to the lab. Maddie nodded and pointed hers towards the clock. Twenty years of marriage helped you get a pretty good sense of each other’s thought processes. They’d meet in the lab, he’d said. After dinner, she’d said.

#Grace writes #danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2023

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 years ago

Text

Incorrect Quotes - Peaky Blinders ( Part Four)

(Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten )

(Divider by this person here )

Alfie, Thomas & Red: *screaming* Aberama: *runs into the room* What's wrong, Red?! Alfie: Wait, why are you asking Red that when Thomas and I are also here? Aberama: Because Red wouldn't scream unless it's an emergency. You two scream whenever you have the chance.

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Alfie: What’s it like being tall? Thomas: Is it nice? Red: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards? Aberama: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb four chairs, two boxes, a small coffee table, and six oddly placed stools to get what they want.

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Red: Made you all playlists! Red: Alfie, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul. Red: Thomas, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression. Red: And Aberama has the ABBA Gold album.

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Aberama: Words ending in 'ie' just sound so adorable. Like cutie, sweetie, cookie- Alfie: Eyy, homie! Thomas: But then there's cootie... Red: Die.

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Aberama: I'm cold. Alfie: Here, take my hoodie. *meanwhile* Thomas: I'm cold. Red: I can't control the weather, Thomas.

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Red: Why is Alfie crying on the floor? Aberama: They took one of those 'what person are you?' quizzes. Red: And? Aberama: They got Thomas.

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Alfie: Blue M&Ms are the best. Aberama: whAT IS THIS SLANDER? Alfie: What about it? They are. Aberama: I WILL NOT ALLOW SUCH LIES ON MY CHRISTIAN MINECRAFT SERVER! Aberama: THE RED ONES ARE THE BEST! Alfie: YEAH? WELL YOUR MOM'S A HO! Thomas: They're all chocolate inside, the colors don't mean anything. Red: I like the yellow ones. Alfie and Aberama: SHUT THE FUCK YOUR MOUTH!

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*The gang responding to being stabbed by a sword* Thomas: Rude. Aberama: That's fair. Alfie: Not again. Red: Are you gonna want this back or can I keep it?

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Alfie, pointing to the wall: What color is this? Red: Gray. Thomas: Grey. Alfie, turning to Aberama: Now tell them what color you think it is. Aberama: Dark white.

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Alfie: So, are they your friend or... Thomas: They’re like Aberama, but if Aberama was ordered to be around you. Alfie: Oh, so Red. Thomas: Precisely!

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Red: I still don’t have a New Year’s resolution. Alfie: You could lose a few. Aberama: You could be less lazy. Thomas: Don’t be such a bitch. Red: Okay, DAMN, SHIT.

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Alfie: They... well, I wouldn't call it inheritance per se. What do you call it when you kill someone and get their stuff? Aberama: Um, murder??? Thomas: Adventuring! Red: A Tuesday.

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Alfie: On the count of three, what’s your favorite cake? Alfie & Aberama: One, two, three- Alfie & Aberama: Chocolate cake, peanutbutter frosting, and chocolate chunks! Thomas: Our turn, Red! One, two, three- Thomas: Vanilla! Red: I’ve never had cake before. What is cake?

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Red & Thomas in the back of Alfie's car: MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! Aberama: We have food at home. Alfie: *pulls into the McDonald's drivethrough* Red & Thomas: YAYYYYYY! Alfie: *orders one black coffee and leaves*

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Aberama: I’m so happy two of my favorite people are getting along now. Alfie: Uh, Thomas and Red are not getting along. Aberama: They’re not trying to kill each other. Alfie: You may have a point.

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Alfie: Your lover doesn't have the mental strength to caramelize onions. Aberama: Your lover thinks it takes 5-10 minutes to caramelize onions. Red: Who's fucking caramelizing onions? Have you sociopaths forgotten that apples exist? Thomas: Do you think caramelizing onions is putting caramel on onions.

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Alfie: Where the devil is Aberama? Thomas: Well, it is raining outside... Maybe they melted? Red: Shall I look outside for a pointy hat?

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Alfie: Which country has the most birds? Alfie: Portu-geese! Aberama: That's a language. Alfie: Portu-gull? Aberama: Good recovery. Red: I think you mean good re-dovery. Thomas: TURKEY. HOW DID WE MISS TURKEY?

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Alfie: You have friends and I envy that. Red: You're welcome to share my friends. Alfie: *looks at Aberama and Thomas* Alfie: I don't want those.

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Red: I am darkness. I am an power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am- Aberama: A doll. Thomas: A cinnamon roll. Alfie: A sweetheart. Red:Red: …stop it.

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Aberama, setting down a card: Ace of spades. Thomas, pulling out an Uno card: +4. Alfie, pulling out a Pokémon card: Jolteon, I choose you! Red, trembling: What are we playing?!

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Aberama: Alright, which one of us is gonna check outside? Thomas: Not it! Red: Not it! Aberama: ...Neither one of you are as dumb as you lead on to be.

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Thomas: I have the sharpest memory here - name one time I forgot something! Aberama: You left me, Red, and Alfie in a Walmart parking lot at 2am a day ago. Thomas: I did that on purpose, try again.

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Red: Hey guys I just found a new song I really like- Thomas: Is it about death? Red: No. Aberama: Is it about drugs? Alfie: Is it about sex? Red: NO- it's about happiness and peace and- Thomas, Aberama, and Alfie:

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Aberama: LOWERCASE LETTERS ARE FOR THE LOWER CLASS! Thomas: And here we have a capitalist. Red: Did you just- Alfie: Let us all take a moment to appreciate that all of human history, human language, and the universe itself aligned to make this joke possible.

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*Comments under an image of a really hot knife cutting bread* Red: Imagine stabbing someone with this knife. Thomas: It would instantly cauterize the wound, so the person wouldn't bleed, so it's not very useful. Aberama: if you want information it is Alfie: why would you STAB a person when you can have TOAST?

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Aberama: *points at Alfie* A human turtleneck, *points at Red* a narcissistic monster, *points at Thomas* and literally the dumbest person I’ve ever met. Thomas: And who am I? Describe me now.

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Alfie, watching Red & Thomas panic : What's going on? Aberama: Red is having a midlife crisis and Thomas is just having a crisis.

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Red: We need to distract these guys. Thomas: Leave it to me. Thomas: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss. Alfie & Aberama: *immediately begin arguing*

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Aberama: Ducks are better than rabbits. Red: What? Rabbits are adorable. Have you ever been in a fight with a duck? Ducks are jerks. Alfie: Duck is delicious! Rabbit is all gamey. Red: We’re not talking about flavour, Alfie! Alfie: Flavour counts! Red: Who carries around a duck’s foot for good luck? Anyone? Thomas: You wrap yourself in a comforter stuffed with rabbit hair. I’ll wrap myself in a comforter stuffed with duck feathers! Who’s cozier? Red: Okay, but- Thomas: NO, NO, NO, NO. WHO’S COZIER? Alfie: Then why don’t we take a rabbit, a duck, stick ‘em in a cardboard box and let them fight it out! Red: BECAUSE IT’S ILLEGAL, ALFIE! Alfie: ONLY IF WE BET ON IT, RED! Aberama: I- Jesus-

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: I haven't slept in seventy-three hours. Alfie: Eighty. Democratically elected leader of insomnia. Thomas: Bitch, it's been ninety for me. I'm going for an even one hundred. Red: You guys are fucking terrifying.

———————————————————————————–

Alfie, teaching Red to drive: Okay, you're driving and Thomas and Aberama walk into the road. Quick, what do you hit? Red: Oh, definitely Aberama. I could never hurt Thomas. Alfie, massaging his temples: The brakes. You hit the brakes.

———————————————————————————–

Alfie: You're smiling. What happened? Red: What? Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Thomas: Michael tripped and fell down the stairs today.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder #modern peaky blinders #peaky blinders modern #peaky blinders modern au #peaky blinders incorrect quotes #Thomas Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Michael Gray #Michael Shelby #peaky fookin blinders #peaky fucking blinders #Alfie Solomons #Aberama Gold #Red (Female Reader)

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princessofgayskull · 4 years ago

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Hi sunflower, what's your thoughts on T Swift's Betty being a catradora song???

Me, taking a break from spop to focus on my mental health and setting better boundaries:

Me, reading this ask:

This ask woke me up from like a deep, sleeping beauty type slumber, not joking. I don’t get asked to talk about Taylor Swift often, despite being a fan of hers since I was nine years old (I’m 22 now *wink*) and we are about to find out why. But I pride myself on taking any fiction piece of media I interact with and connecting it somehow to Taylor Swift. I can do so to varying degrees of success (usually depends on the ships and romance of the world) but there are so many songs of Taylor’s that have just fit Catradora so well for me, both in and out of canon.

Some of my favorite examples: out of the woods (AND IT KEPT ME UP AT NIGHT WHEN NOELLE SAID THIS WAS HER TAYLOR SWIFT SONG FOR CATRADORA LIKE GAH CASUAL TS LISTENERS WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND) bad blood, lwymd, don’t blame, dancing with our hands tied, the archer, breathe, you’re not sorry, the way I loved you, forever & always, should’ve said no, safe & sound- I could go on.

But I won’t because I wanna stay on topic and talk about betty. Now I have a number of songs from the folklore/evermore series that are for me catradora songs (we’ll get to that in a minute) but this one is… challenging. Because I could be like “yes, because [insert casual reason here]” or “no, because [insert casual reason here]” but I can’t because Taylor feeds her children well and there’s several aspects of this song I feel like should be considered.

This biggest one to be considered, for me, is the love triangle aspect. Folklore features at length the betty/james/Augustine love triangle, each of them having one main song on the album from their POV. Betty's is cardigan, augustine’s is august, and james’ is betty. (also I’m going to throw out the gender component for a second; I know taylor says that Betty is about a guy’s apology and I totally vibe with her reasons why she wanted to write a song about a boy apologizing BECAUSE HOW GREAT WOULD THAT BE?) The love triangle makes the application of Catradora iffy at best. Because it’s like, who would be who? I am going to go out on a limb and assume that you’re seeing Catra as James? I think that personality wise, Adora as Betty and Catra as James is not a stone’s throw away from fitting actually really well. Adora’s canon journey is one of coming to realize “I know what I want and I know that it’s okay to want it” and a big part of Catra’s arc is her being like “Well shit… there goes my plans. Kind of feeling like a dumbass rn” especially in s4/s5.

(That s4/s5 distinction is important; I’ll show why in a second)

But for me, there’s no augustine. Or one that’s obvious anyway. I never imagined that either Catra or Adora dated or even had any inclinations with anyone else during the five season run- that’s just my personal opinion, people are completely welcome to feel free to disagree. I don’t think Catra acted even out of distraction with Scorpia or DT, and I think Adora was so focused on being She Ra that when she wasn’t thinking about failing/abandoning Catra when she alloted time to do so, she was thinking about the crushing weight of her responsibilities. So you know, not that much time to get back out there. So I rule out what causes James to apologize in the first place- cheating.

Side note about James cheating- I’m pretty sure Taylor confirmed this, in the long pond studio sessions doc, when she’s telling Jack Antonoff (MY BOY JACK) and Aaron Dessner ( GRAMMY AWARD WINNING KING) that James “was a fool!” And James did sleep with Augustine as confirmed in august, but cardigan makes it seem like he was definitely dating Betty before the summer. Maybe Taylor took inspiration from friends and they “were on break.” I also believe that the kiss in the Heart is the first kiss, that Catra and Adora were never ‘together’ together before Adora found the sword and defected (again, that’s just an opinion, but Adora just looks so wonderfully gobsmacked), so…

We can rule out cheating, and I think we can accomplish this and still reserve the essential meaning of the song of “I did something wrong, I see that now, I apologize for doing it, and I still love you” by widening the lens of what the “did something wrong” was (or “did something bad” you know *wink*). In that wider lens really you could fit either Catra or Adora into the song, but I’m still going to assume Catra is the James in this scenario based on how much of her redemption arc is formed around her refusal to say sorry and then eventually doing so. Of course there is no standing your porchlight but rather standing while wrestling a bunch of murderous clones…. Hmm….

But there are some stupid friends! I wholeheartedly believe Catra is James because of the dissing of Betty’s friends. That’s what Catra does to Bow, Glimmer and the rebellion et al., for most of the show and by the end of s4 she has no friends for Adora to even mock (terrible and cruel of me, I know, but it’s true). Also I know people are like “he called her friends stupid and then expected betty to take him back?” but I scream sing the line “WILL YOU KISS ME ON THE PORCH IN FRONT OF ALL YOUR STUPID FRIENDS?” every time. It brings me serotonin.

Along those lines we can ask “Who’s Inez?” in this situation. When I think gossip no one from the show really comes to mind, well, expect for Double Trouble. But Double Trouble doesn’t ever speak to Adora about Catra. This happens vice-versa, and in Betty, James reveals that Inez told Betty he cheated on her.

I want to say something controversial… Glimmer comes to mind when I think “who’s the Inez?” And this is based off of two things: 1) Inez’s closeness to Betty, and 2) Inez drags James out to dry, rightfully so. And when I think of that I think of Glimmer screaming “Do one good thing in your life!” directly in Catra’s face. James gives Inez a bad wrap in Betty. Not cool James.

Of course there’s the pivotal, “would you tell me to go fuck myself?/ or lead me to the garden?” To me this a fun way of showing there’s vulnerability to what James is doing, so automatically I’m led to is the scene where Catra asks Adora to stay, or each time in s5 when Catra risks, basically an identity crisis to let Adora in how she really feels, but there’s always the potential that Adora could spurn her by not returning her feelings or rejecting her outright.

I think the best argument that can be made for “is betty a catradora song” can really be encapsulated by the lyric(s): “the worst thing that I ever did is what I did to you” and “the only thing I wanna do is make it up to you.” That is what about the song SCREAMS Catra to me. And yeah, it could be argued that Adora hurt Catra pretty brutally (Shadow Weaver makes that point EVEN THOUGH SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO) that she messed up by abandoning Catra- but Adora feels guilt for... literally breathing. Adora is the quintessential embodiment of “pick your battles, no that’s too many battles, put some back,” but Catra picked one battle first and foremost (yes, she had a few others but this was the one) and that was Adora. Everything that motivated her was surrounded around a narrative of surpassing Adora for a multitude of reasons, and because of that she pretty much hurts Adora every chance she gets after Promise. Adora is really Catra’s first casualty, it makes sense that she has to be her first apology. And I think that after being vibed checked back to back by DT and Glimmer and realizing “oh hey fuck, I’m still in love with her” and then almost dying just to not die because Adora saves her, I think much of Catra’s motivation shifts to “how to do I get Adora to want to stay?”

That’s my logic for how Betty could be a catradora song in canon. Now not all of my Taylor associations are with canon catradora, many of them do belong to uws catradora, because it’s a lot easier to apply the more modern details of Taylor’s songs to a modern au. The song Breathe is big that way. (it’s in Upper West Side, it’s the song Adora listens to and cries to after that first ride, I just never mentioned that it was taylor because my conditioned reaction to bringing up taylor is to have my head bit off with someone’s semi incorrect and slightly sexist opinion that I never, ever ask for) And this ask got me thinking about what it would look like if I applied not Catradora to Betty, but Betty to Catradora. What would it look like if Catra skateboarded and wore black lipstick, Adora wore a cardigan and they had homeroom together until Catra really messed up? What would it look like if they were seventeen when they admitted their feelings for each other instead of 21? What would it look like if they spent a summer fighting but dreaming of each other? What would their love story look like if Catra and Adora were in that town where Taylor envisioned this “same event that affected three people in different ways?”

I think it’d look something like this.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31141973/chapters/76952048

what do you guys think?

quick but INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT thank you to @gimme-tea-bitch for helping me with this, being my beta, and listening to me talk about folklore/evermore.

#I am literally SHAKING as I post this you guys have no idea #like vibrating through a wall shaking #i've been working on this for like the past two months #and I know everyone wants cruel summer but my goblin brain is like #AHHHHHHHH WRITE A FOLKLORIAN AU FOR CATRA AND ADORA YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO #IT'S 23K WORDS NO ONE WILL NOTICE #this was supposed to go up with two parts but tbh with you guys i have high key been feeling when jenny slate said #'i don't get the love until something beautiful goes out'#please be gentle with me

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scoutception · 4 years ago

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AI: The Somnium Files review

While it wasn’t the first visual novel series I played, the Zero Escape trilogy- Nine Hours, Nine Persons, Nine Doors, Virtue’s Last Reward, and Zero Time Dilemma- is what made me interested in exploring more visual novels in general. Featuring a creative mix of normal visual novel sections and puzzle room sections, with stories involving fascinating pseudo science theories, colorful and interesting characters, fast, tense pacing, and great music, the series is an insane adventure that’s absolutely worth a try. The series also got me interested in the other works of Kotaro Uchikoshi, the director and writer of the series, which led me to the subject of today’s review, and his most recent work: AI: The Somnium Files, which proves to be quite the change of pace, to say the least.

Story: Kaname Date is a member of the Advanced Brain Investigation Squad (ABIS), a special, secret division of the Metropolitan Police Department. Using a device known as the Psync Machine, Date can explore the subconscious of another person by entering their Somnium, a dream world which often holds secrets they would not reveal otherwise. 6 years ago, Date lost his left eye and all of his memories, left with no link to his past, not even his real name, except for Boss, his superior in ABIS and longtime friend. His left eye was replaced by an advanced AI called Aiba, capable of functions such as night vision and x-ray, as well as serving as Date’s avatar within Somnium.

One gloomy November night, Date is called in to investigate a murder victim found in an abandoned amusement park, having suffered multiple stab wounds, tied to a merry-go-horse and missing her left eyeball. The victim is Shoko Nadami, an acquaintance of Date’s, and the ex-wife of Renju Okiura, Date’s best friend and president of the entertainment company Lemniscate. Date’s initial investigation proves unfruitful, and comes to a halt completely when he discovers someone within the merry-go-round’s central column, traumatized to the point of being unable to speak and cradling a bloody ice pick: Mizuki Okiura, the 12 year old daughter of Shoko and Renju, whom Date took into his care 4 years ago.

Date continues the investigation the days afterwards, meeting Mizuki’s friends, the internet idol Iris Sagan, aka A-Set, and the otaku and aspiring light novel author Ota Matshushita, Iris’ mother Hitomi, and Moma Kumakura, leader of the Kumakura yakuza gang. Though Date finds a number of odd connections and occurrences, such as Renju falling out of contact, a call from a mysterious prisoner only known as #89, who claims to know the identity of the killer, and a large number of incidents among the Sagans, the Kumakuras, and others, all of which seem to date back to 6 years ago, he finds little in the way of actual evidence. Left with no other recourse, Date begins to Psync with both suspects and witnesses in the hopes of preventing the killer from striking again.

While it’s a fairly standard plot on the surface, it’s very well done nonetheless. The various mysteries and plotlines are all compelling, and are all given a good amount of focus. Adding to this is the use of a route system, similar to Zero Escape, complete with a flowchart allowing you to easily go to any point in the story. Completing certain Somniums in different ways alters the course of Date’s investigation, causing certain plotlines and characters to gain or lose relevance depending on the route. While every route needs to be completed, each one containing their own reveals and clues, there’s only 5 in total, making keeping track of the distinctive events in each fairly simple. The pacing is also well done, taking its time and allowing you to get used to the characters, while throwing just enough new hints throughout to keep it interesting.

Speaking of the characters, the cast is easily my favorite part of the game. The characters are very, odd and colorful, pretty much to be expected from Uchikoshi. Date himself is a pretty entertaining protagonist, with a tendency for perversion, making bad puns, and coming up with very odd and often ineffectual ideas for progressing in Somnium, going against his serious demeanor and appearance. The supporting cast doesn’t slack either. From the rational, yet sassy Aiba, who turns much sillier within Somnium as well, to the peppy and friendly Iris, to the playful Boss, whose office is an absolute mess decorated with just about any nonsense you could imagine, to my favorite of the cast, Mizuki, the mature, sarcastic, and inexplicably strong kid who spends a good deal of her time arguing with the rather distant Date. It’s hard to dislike most of the characters, with even the most minor of them being good for a laugh or two.

That’s not to say they’re just goofy, though. Almost everyone carries some sort of baggage or secret with that adds a good deal of depth to them, and the various routes give them a lot of development. The game can be pretty damn emotional at points, and the routes focusing more on the characters than the story are the biggest source of them, especially Mizuki’s route. The lighter tone the game takes most of the time actually helps this. Most of the time, interacting with random objects trigger dumb jokes and commentary from Date and the others, and the relaxed pacing and atmosphere, at least earlier on, make it easier to get gradually attached to the cast. Once things do become more serious, the game starts cutting down the jokes, and stops them outright for the most serious of scenarios, meaning it rarely actually becomes jarring. It’s not often a game can juggle a tone as well as this one.

Overall, the writing of the game is superb, and while it’s quite different in tone and setting, it still has enough of the feel of Zero Escape to feel familiar to those who played it.

Gameplay: While I call AI: The Somnium Files a visual novel just for the sake of simplicity, it definitely more has the feel of an adventure game. There’s two types of gameplay segments, investigations and Somniums. During investigations, Date travels to various locations, talking with various characters or investigating important object. Your only control here is controlling Date’s view, and selecting different dialogue options or objects to investigate. Date often has to investigate several locations during a segment, and while you often have to visit them all, you’re given the freedom of picking where to go in whatever order you choose most of the time, giving just enough nonlinearity to not feel like a chore.

The real meat of the gameplay takes place during the Somnium sections, which are comparable to the escape rooms in Zero Escape. Within Somnium, Date and Aiba must break the various mental locks the information they are seeking are hidden behind, which involves interacting with various objects according to the logic of each Somnium. Basically, they’re purely logic puzzles, and it’s actually quite fun figuring out how everything is supposed to work.

Of course, not everything can be that easy. Every Somnium has a hard time limit of 6 minutes. Going over it causes Date’s consciousness to be absorbed into the subject’s, causing a game over. All interactions also cost time, and many incorrect decisions can drain your time pretty significantly. Thankfully, the game has many mitigating factors that keep this from just being stressful. Firstly, time only drains when you’re making choices, or actually moving around. Standing still causes only milliseconds to pass, allowing you to get a clear look around without wasting time. Additionally, all objects you can interact with have a purple outline surrounding them, and are given name tags as well, meaning you don’t have to just wander around, running up to every object in the hopes this one is usable. Not every interactable object actually has a purpose, however, with some only existing to waste your time, so you’re not completely in the clear. The progress meter on the left also gives hints, if sometimes vague ones, as to what you have to do to progress, so you’re not just fumbling in the dark in that regard, either.

Another important feature at the TIMIEs, objects you gain when you interact with objects. These cut the time actions take to perform by varying amounts, or make it take a fixed amount of time. Good use of TIMIEs can save you a lot of time, and a lot of later Sominums enforce it, making it rather strategic. Sometimes, just rushing to the correct solution burns way too much time on its own. You may have to do something you know is wrong, but takes little time and grants a good TIMIE, to be able to save more time on a much costlier action. This aspect isn’t entirely simple either, however. Not all actions display what kind of TIMIE you’ll get, making it a gamble at times, and some, including mandatory actions, give negative TIMIEs, that actually increase the amount of time an action will take, and force you to use them the action after you get them, often forcing you to do something incorrect, but with low time cost, just so you won’t game over.

Each Somnium also has two conditions that unlock album entries, which provide pictures and concept art. The first is for clearing a Somnium with more than 1 second left, as you’re actually allowed to go over the time limit if the final correct action is what pushes you over. The second is for finding special eye shaped items within the Somniums, which are often hidden out of the way. Finally, even if you’re struggling with certain sections, you’re granted 3 retries per Somnium, which allow you to return to a previous part of the section, with all the time you had left at that time, allowing you to optimize and save even more time, though it costs more retries the further back you go. Finally, even if you can’t win, you can simply restart the Somnium section with no penalty, and are even allowed to do so at any time in the menu. Overall, the Somnium sections are actually a lot of fun. Between the interesting logic and strategicness of it, not to mention some of the funniest dialogue in the game between Date and Aiba, they’re some of the most enjoyable parts of the game.

Finally, the game features a few “action segments” during the investigation segments, where Date will be faced with an actual physical threat. Aiba formulates plans to deal with the situation, and you just need to handle each step by pressing a button prompt, like a QTE, or hovering the cursor over a certain area for a long enough time. It’s not exactly difficult, but they serve their purpose. There’s also a few interrogations segments, where you must present relevant evidence to someone in order to prove a point. You can just randomly pick until you get the right one with no in game penalty, but there are achievements for clearing these sections and the action sections with no mistakes.

Graphics: AI: The Sominum Files is a surprisingly pretty game. It has a similar art style to Zero Time Dilemma, which, to put it bluntly, was downright awful in the visuals department, with unemotive character models and terrible animations that killed almost all of its attempts at being unsettling. While a few of the animations in this game can still look janky, it is on a whole much. much improved. The characters are much more expressive, helped by the designs by Yusuke Kozaki, best known for games like No More Heroes and Fire Emblem Awakening, fitting the style much better, while still being distinctive in their own right. The locations have a lot of detail to them, and the lighting is very well done. The highlight of the visuals, though, are the Somniums, which manage to give existing locations very distinctive, well, dream like qualities to them, such as shifting colors or heavy lighting, and are always a joy to explore.

Sound: AI features a downright fantastic soundtrack by Keisuke Ito. It manages to capture a similar feel to Zero Escape’s music at points, despite being a different composer, but still manages to stand out. Every song manages to fit the situation perfectly, while also being very catchy on their own, especially the Somnium themes. The music, combined with the visuals, give the game a very strong atmosphere. Whatever mood the game is attempting to set, nostalgic, tense, peaceful, or unsettling, it nails it very, very well, and had me immersed very easily.

The game also features some fantastic English voice acting. Greg Chun as Date and Erika Harlacher as Aiba are the main stars of the show, with their performances capturing their characters perfectly, but the rest of the cast is just as good. Jackie Lastra as Iris, Zach Aguilar as Ota, Corina Boettger as Mizuki, Allegra Clark as Boss, Kaiji Tang as Moma, pretty much everyone does a great job.

Conclusion: Overall, AI: The Somnium Files is something I highly recommend to most people, even those who haven’t touched another Uchikoshi game. It’s a fascinating, emotional, and satisfying experience that successfully manages to devote attention to just about everything it brings up, and doesn’t overstay its welcome. Honestly, I enjoyed it even more than any Zero Escape game, and considered I still look on those very fondly, that’s an achievement. With that, this review finally comes to a close. I shall likely be checking out the games Uchikoshi worked on before even Zero Escape: Never 7, Ever 17, and Remember 11. Till next time. -Scout

#ai the somnium files #kotaro uchikoshi #visual novel #game review #long post

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incorrectheartbreakers · 5 years ago

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20 things I learned before I turned 69.

By IHB Tom Petty

Tom: According to my birth certificate I'm turning 69 today, which is odd because part of me still feels like 30 while the other part of me feels 149 but my current age (until the clock strikes 12) is actually 68 and it's 2019, people have said that sharing is caring so here's 20 lessons that I've learned.

One: I learned to read contracts carefully.

It was one of life's hardest lessons about being a musician that I have come to learn is reading a contract carefully and understand what everything means. Understand what publishing is, know how much you should be paid to make your record and when in doubt, file for bankruptcy, write a song about it, go on tour to pay for legal fees, don't give into the big business guys, if you're recording a record during this whole ordeal and the court they start to imply that they have the right to come and seize anything you're working on, get someone to switch the names on the master tapes and have them hide it where no one can find them after you get done recording. So if you're asked in court where the tapes are..you don't know. And be sure to have drills to see how fast you can get them out of the studio.

Two: Being a snakecharmer to dogs comes in handy. From carrying treats on you to learn how to read the body language of a dog. Being a dog charmer is quite the catch.

Three: Playing pranks on your kids is the best form of entertainment. When one of your daughter's ex boyfriend's accidentally leaves a pair of his underwear at your house, It's a free for all. Put them on her car, put them in a box, wrap it up and leave it under the Christmas tree for them to open on Christmas morning. It'll be talked about for years and years to come. Trust me.

Four: Payback from your kids is the worst. Sometimes the result of pranking your kids is the worst you could experience. Okay that's a little far fetched but it definitely isn't pleasant. I couldn't tell you how many times AnnaKim bugged me about buttless chaps...all chaps are buttless AnnaKim.

Five: Know the difference between fin and not fun. Being on a tour bus and mooning people while they drive by with your drummer as the rest of the band looks on in shock? Fun. Getting chased by your bassist's cat while your trying to eat because they want your dinner and everyone else is laughing? Not fun. Buying a bunch of hash in a country where it's legal? Fun. Getting pulled out of line while you're trying to get to your flight on time because they found some residue on the pipe your drummer has in his suitcase and then missing rehearsals for a TV show you're supposed to be on? Not fun. Seeing your bassist eating a whole chunk of hash while customs is questioning said drummer? To be honest I'm not even sure where to put that one. For me? Not fun. For him? Fun. Lighting fireworks on the fourth? Fun. Putting a bunch of bottle rockets next to each other in a straight line and then lighting them all off? Not fun. We almost burned down our old house.

Six: If you're moving, get a U-haul. We would have had way less trips to make between our current house and our old house if we just rented a U-haul.

Seven: Recently, I discovered command tape and Blu-tack, and I would definitely have less holes in my walls if Howie mentioned it sooner. Thank you Howie, thank you command tape. And no this isn't paid advertisement, they're just great products.

Eight: There are times where tough love doesn't work, and you lose the people you care most about because of it and there are times where it does work but that's not always the case.

Nine: Don't get too close to the front of the stage. After getting ripped down the first time I've learned the hard way not to get too close.

Ten: Climbing on top of the roof isn't a good idea either, after we got done doing that episode of incorrect heartbreakers it took almost four hours just to get me down from the roof. We had to call the local fire department.

Eleven: Some modeling clay can be put in the oven while others are not made to be baked all together. Earlier this month Howie wanted to test some random modeling clay he ordered off of Amazon, so he handed me a piece and had me put it in the oven to see if it would bake. Needless to say when I checked on it not even five minutes later it turned into a puddle.

Twelve: Take your driving lessons seriously, back when I took my first driving lesson I didn't take some things the instructor was saying into account. I didn't pass the first five tests. I'm still not good at driving after all of these years either.

Thirteen: Just because you don't think it's a good idea to put a new song on a greatest hits album doesn't mean it won't do well. When the greatest hits album was due I really didn't like the idea of doing it let alone putting new songs on it. But the album sold 12,000,000, was certified 12x platinum in the US and the only single released from it went number 1 on the US Billboard album rock tracks, so what do I know?

Fourteen: Breaking your hand is not a way to resolve things you're struggling with. During the recording process of Southern Accents, I broke my hand out of frustration due to my own fault. I wasn't in the right mind and if I was I probably could have avoided the whole thing.

Fifteen: Fashion is all about playful experimentation. If you don’t look back at pictures of some of your old looks and cringe, you’re doing it wrong. See: Marcus Amphitheater, 2001 and Bridge school benefit, 2002.

Sixteen: Everyone deserves to be treated equally. From a very young age I was always enraged with injustice. As the years went on and I learned more and more I took every chance I got to stand up, voice my opinion and I think every person should.

Seventeen: A very more recent one, always have band-aids on you, in every room possible, in every suitcase and in your pockets in general.

Eighteen: Never judge someone until you talk to them one on one. I took this one from a friend after having a two hour conversation over the phone. You never judge someone until you talk to them one on one.

Nineteen: Love isn't forever, I've had my fair share of breakups and heartaches. But the one thing that I have learned from it all is that love doesn't last forever. People grow apart, feelings change and so do people. And sometimes it's for the better.

Twenty: if you see it bubbling after you get done heating something up, don't touch it. Another recent one as I just made myself my own birthday cake, I decided to put caramel on it and I touched it, thus burning my fingers. At least it tastes good.

Bonus: if the instructions say 3 tablespoons add more, if it looks well still like nothing but powder keep adding what the recipe calls for until it looks right. And if you add too much. Pour some out, it'll be fine. Or add in more flour or mix.

#tom petty and the heartbreakers #tpath #tom petty & the heartbreakers #tom petty #source: taylor swift #source: elle magazine #(i got the idea from Taylor doing it back in February when she did her 30 things i learned before i turned 30. so i did it with tom.)#(it was a last minute idea but hey i did it. happy birthday tom. -admin)

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burliforti · 5 years ago

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Rose of England

My entry for the Good Omens fanwork exchange arranged by @transarmageddon. I created this based off a prompt from @vecieminde. The prompt that I was most heavily inspired by was “Aziraphale and Crowley exploring an abandoned place which glory days they might have witnessed”. Full disclosure: I am a bit of a history nerd and so one abandoned place turned into many which turned into a road trip across rural England with a pit stop in Wales. At certain times I veered a bit further from the main prompt than I was hoping but I hope you still enjoy! (About 9.5K and no warnings apply. I’m having a beta review it and then I’ll probably post to AO3) Heavily inspired by the Vera Lynn album “Rose of England” (I am bad at titles and simply borrowed that.) Definitely recommend a listen, it’s a wonderful album. Fic under the cut.

Prologue: London

It had been three weeks since the very last day of the rest of their lives. Not surprisingly, in the aftermath of perhaps the most chaotic week in all of creation Aziraphale and Crowley had been having some difficulty slipping back into their old routines. The sudden lack of oversight was a relief but left them both with a degree of freedom that they weren’t quite sure what to do with. Crowley no longer had to plan elaborate schemes to generate widespread low-grade evil and Aziraphale found himself without his usual laundry list of miscellaneous miracles and holy interventions, leaving both with a sudden and dramatic increase of spare time. Heaven and Hell had, apparently, taken their warnings to heart and had left them alone.

They managed to slip into parts of their old routines. Aziraphale would go out to lunch in small french bistros and read Virginia Woolf in the plush reading chair in his study. Crowley had continued to scheme for a time out of habit but eventually tapered off to random pranks and messing with people who drive below the speed limit on highways and members of parliament. His house plant hobby had flourished into a full horticulture obsession. The apartment whose predominant palette had been black and grey for several decades now found itself green, green, and green. He wasn’t really one for flowers, preferring varieties such as ferns, ivy, and more recently, mosses. Crowley had acquired an impressive and wide array of mosses, spanning continents and centuries, quite literally finding himself with the only remaining iteration of certain ancient mosses (Crowley’s imagination did not know that these had gone extinct. He simply remembered soft, curling greenery on teak trees and there they had appeared).

Aziraphale had also picked up a few hobbies. He had a tendency to do so. Dancing, magic, prophecies. They weren’t exactly phases (for he did still truly enjoy all of these things), but Aziraphale had a meandering mind that was always eager for new knowledge. Recently, he had come across an antique store looking for any interesting books. Instead, he had left the premises with a vintage camera that stood on a wooden tripod, that by all accounts should not have been able to work anymore, but miraculously, did indeed take photos. This began a new collection of vintage cameras and various other photographic contraptions. He particularly enjoyed taking pictures of nature (trees were much better at sitting still than wily serpents who would fidget and blur the images). Eventually, Crowley bought him a polaroid camera. He was annoyed of being forced to sit still for the negatives and dealing with Aziraphale hauling his many apparatuses on their walks. The polaroid was a bit newfangled for Aziraphale’s taste, but he enjoyed not having to develop negatives and being able to immediately see the images. Crowley did not mind this hobby as much as he had others (nothing could be worse than the magic. As long as taking photos of birds and elms prevented Aziraphale getting into card tricks or whatever nonsense than he would limit his complaints.) Yet even as they settled into old routines and found new ones, both beings found themselves on edge despite the apparent resolution to most of their problems. You see, Aziraphale and Crowley were bored. And Aziraphale had just the idea.

“A vacation?” Crowley replied as they sat in St James Park, sitting on a bench watching the ducks bob in and out of the water.

“It’s been so long since we left the city. Not since all that nonsense, and even that was barely two hours outside London. Before you mostly got around for work, and since our, well, retirement, I don’t believe either of us has really traveled much. Thought it might be a nice change of pace.”

“And where exactly were you thinking?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular. Although there are a few sites that I’d like to revisit. It’s been so long since I properly traveled. Human beings have created some truly marvelous places.”

“Destroyed just as many too.”

“And then rebuilt. I’m sure even you have an old spot or two you wouldn’t mind revisiting.”

Crowley paused, considering this with a great amount of reluctance. “I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve been ‘round the countryside.” He replied, begrudgingly.

Aziraphale’s face lit up in a bright smile. “Splendid! I suppose there is no point in waiting around. I’m already packed, I will see you at the shop tomorrow, bright and early!”

Crowley looked at him in disbelief. “Tomorrow?!”

Rochester Castle

Crowley did arrive early, although it wasn’t a particularly bright October morning. He pulled up in his Bently and had hardly gotten out of the car when Aziraphale burst through the shop door, hauling a large two-piece antique luggage set and two vintage cameras.

Aziraphale flashed a brilliant smile “Good morning, dear boy!” Crowley walked over to Aziraphale and grabbed the luggage out of his hands. “Let me take that.” Aziraphale let him take the bags and took the cameras in both arms. “Why, thank you.” Crowley dragged the luggage toward the Bentley. “What on earth do you have in here? You’ve been wearing the same outfit for over a century.”

“Books, mostly. Some light reading I’ve been meaning to do.”

“Hardly light,” Crowley complained, lifting the luggage into the trunk with great difficulty. Aziraphale carefully laid out the camera equipment in the backseat, with the exception of the polaroid which he kept in a small camera bag over his shoulder. Crowley slammed the\trunk and sauntered over to the drivers side.

“So where are we off to, angel?”

“Well I didn’t want anything too adventurous, and I know you’re hard-pressed to leave your vehicle. Perhaps a week or two, just in the countryside. Breath of fresh air, maybe even revisit some old favorites?”

“Fine by me.”

“And I thought it best to start south and work our way up. What do you think?”

“Any destination in mind?”

“Oh, not really. It’s been so long since I’ve been that farther south than London.”

“Ever been to Rochester Castle? Less than half an hour from here.”

“Rochester? Off the Medway? Shouldn’t that be at least an hour– Crowley slow down!”

They arrived 40 minutes later. Aziraphale was not incorrect in that it should have taken an hour and Crowley had also not been mistaken in that it could have been merely half an hour, but at Aziraphale’s continued pleas of “Slow down Crowley!” they had met somewhat in the middle. Luckily tourist season tended to slow down this time of year. The employees of the estate had kindly left them to their own affairs. Aziraphale had picked up a brochure and was reading it as the two of them explored the keep.

“They say it had originally been given to Bishop Odo, probably by William the Conqueror.”

“Never met him.”

“Oh you weren’t missing much, I didn’t find him to be particularly charming. Although it is possible that I insulted him upon our first meeting. Never could wrap my mind around french. All that gender and tense. Feminine chairs and male houses, utter nonsense.”

“I believe houses are also feminine.”

“My point! Completely arbitrary. And the tenses, what language needs nine different types of past tense? They live such short lives I don’t see the point.”

Crowley let Aziraphale rant as they continued to stroll along corridors and in and out of almost accurate historical reimaginings of bedrooms and parlors. Crowley hadn’t been to Rochester Castle since the Peasants’ Revolt in 1381. He really had absolutely hated the 14th century. He had gotten so fed up, in fact, that he had whispered in a handful of ears of ‘injustice’ and ‘revolution’. He hadn’t had much of an end goal in mind, just anything to shake up that dreadful century. It hadn’t really gone anywhere, unfortunately. He didn’t see much of Aziraphale that century, not with the war and the plague. Such a bore and with awful fashion. It had been such a relief when the Renaissance properly took off.

“You’ve been awfully silent, Crowley.”

He quirked an eyebrow over his glasses. “Let’s go to the gardens.”

They made their way into the Castle’s exterior and into the gardens that encircled the estate. English roses, bright Dahlias, twisting ivys, and sweetly scented Begonias dominated the courtyard. Aziraphale was enjoying the vibrant colors and heavenly floral perfumes while Crowley glared critically at pests and withering leaves.

“I think this is going to be a marvelous holiday.”

Crowley wandered over to one of the bushes and picked one of halfway decent begonias, sauntering back over to Aziraphale. He walked directly in front of him and stopped just shy of the other man.

“If you say so.” He replied, pinning the flower to a blushing Aziraphale’s lapel.

“Oh, no need for all of that.” He said waving his hand toward the plucked stem. An even more vibrant flower bloomed in its place.

“So,” Crowley asked, returning to his place by Aziraphale’s side, “where to next?”

Bodiam Castle

Aziraphale had asked one of the local historical guides, who suggested Bodiam Castle, which was an hour south of Rochester Castle near Robertsbridge in East Sussex. She had also suggested a local family run pub for lunch. Aziraphale had given Crowley a wide-eyed look to which Crowley could only roll his eyes and say “Yes, yes alright. It’s your holiday, angel.” Aziraphale had taken note at some point of the increase of Crowley’s use of ‘angel’ to describe him. He had subsequently filed away the observation to ‘thoughts that need no further introspection or deliberation’. They ate (or Aziraphale ate) a slow and peaceful lunch. He seemed to enjoy his fish and chips and was particularly impressed by the tartar sauce (homemade apparently, an old family recipe). The batter was also very pleasant but he didn’t much care for the chips. Crowley picked a few off of his plate absentmindedly. They ate mostly in silence, Aziraphale enjoying the fish and Crowley enjoying Aziraphale.

They continued on their journey, arriving in Robertsbridge in significantly less than an hour (much to Aziraphale’s terror). Aziraphale had in fact once visited Bodiam Castle, many years ago during the war of the roses. It had been abandoned in picturesque ruins for decades but had been restored in the early 20th century. Crowley and Aziraphale explored the property. While the exterior had been well preserved, the interior was now in ruins.

“It had been quite nice when I had visited. I was presenting as a clergyman on the road back in those days, you know. Made seeking shelter much easier and people would listen to me, which was quite helpful on certain occasions.”

“I imagine it explained all those Bibles you carried with you.”

“Well yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“There is still a beauty to it now, albeit a different sort of beauty.”

“Seems like regular old ruins to me.”

“You don’t feel any sort of, oh I don’t know, whimsy or appreciation?”

“I don’t really go in for whimsy, angel.”

They continued to explore for quite some time, Aziraphale taking full advantage of their solitude and the picturesque ruins by taking many photographs, both with the antique camera on a tripod and the polaroid. Aziraphale had started off carrying the larger camera but Crowley had soon taken over after a passing mention of discomfort by Aziraphale. They made their way outside, strolling along the edge of the moat as the sunset.

“Oh, what a beautiful sky it is tonight. Crowley, do you mind putting down the camera? I’d like to get some photos, lighting is simply marvelous.”

“Not like we’ve seen the sunset a million times already. The same sky and the same sun for 6,000 years.”

Aziraphale ignored him, setting up the camera into the correct position. The tripod was close to the water's edge, overlooking the horizon. Aziraphale watched the sky change from red, orange, and yellow to deep purple and pitch black from behind a camera lens. Crowley watched Aziraphale burn brilliant in a fiery sky to softly glowing in the moonlit night.

Tintagel Castle

Crowley suggested the next location: Tintagel Castle. It was quite a ways away on the southwestern coast but he insisted that the view was worth it, and besides it had been ages since either of them had been to the Celtic sea. It was by far the longest drive they had undertaken so far. A direct route would have taken five hours (perhaps three with Crowley behind the wheel), but Aziraphale had asked if they could drive past the channel on the way there and Crowley wasn’t exactly in the habit of denying any request or desire the angel had. With the scenic detour, the drive should have been close to 7 hours but ended up closer to five anyways, accounting for a lunch break.

Aziraphale was able to manage (tolerate, more accurately) Crowley’s breakneck speeds on the lonely country roads. Rolling hills with the occasional grazing livestock and farmhouses turned into rocky cliffs and blue-grey waters. Aziraphale enjoyed the picturesque landscapes and lack of the usual urban chaos, while Crowley enjoyed the lack of other vehicles and an open road where the speed limit was hardly a thought. They hadn’t talked much, Aziraphale occasionally putting on a CD (he didn’t quite grasp the concept at first but he was getting the hang of it.) Most of the disks had been left in the car and forgotten for more than a fortnight, and Crowley could only tolerate ‘We Will Rock You’ by Benjamin Britten or ��We Are The Champions’ by Handle so many times. Thankfully, he had remembered to bring in some CDs from the apartment that had yet to become a compilation of Queen’s Greatest Hits. Aziraphale preferred classical, so they listened to Bach, Vaughn Williams, Holst, and various other (although predominantly British) composers. They were listening to Simple Symphony (actually by Benjamin Britten) when Crowley finally slowed and pulled into a half-full parking lot. Luckily the castle and surrounding expanse were quite large and the two could easily keep away from any crowds.

They explored the ruins of a castle for a time, Crowley relaying stories of his time in Richard of Cornwall (both from his time in the castle and during the Barons’ Crusade. Aziraphale had been preoccupied at the time by some work further west in Southampton.) Eventually, the crowds started to bother both of them and they naturally wandered away from the ruins and over the large bridge.

“You know I rarely made it out to this part of the country, but it’s quite lovely. The view is spectacular.”

Crowley squinted and peered upwards towards the gathering clouds. “Looks like it might rain.”

“Oh, I’m sure it would only take a slight miracle to ensure clear skies until the end of our visit. I was thinking for after– oh!” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as the unfortunate combination of a strong gust of wind off the sea and a damp patch on the footbridge made him stumble and lose his footing. Before he could find purchase on the guard rails he felt two hands reach out and grab his arms, helping him upright. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley who in turn looked down at him in concern.

“You alright?”

Aziraphale laughed nervously, brushing himself off. “Oh yes, I’m quite alright, just taken a little off guard I suppose…” He trailed off. There hadn’t been any danger really, the footbridge had quite a high railing and Aziraphale had wings for heaven’s sake but peering down at the cold water crashing up against the stony cliffs made his head spin for a moment. “Thank you.” He finally said.

Crowley made a noise of displeasure in return, “Can’t have you being discorporated middle of your vacation abandoning me in Cornwall of all places.”

“Our vacation. Besides, you suggested Tintagel.”

“Ngk.”

Neither of them made the first move, remaining stationary on the footbridge for another beat.

“You can let go of me now, Crowley.”

He looked down at his hands which were indeed still wrapped around the other's arms. His cheeks turned slightly pink as he let go, refusing to look at the other as they continued on.

Glastonbury Abbey

Aziraphale insisted they stop by Glastonbury Abbey the next day, tentatively starting northward.

“I’m shocked you never made it out there yourself back in the day, dear boy. Frightfully important, I can recall quite the drama and importance for quite a long stretch of time. Second only to Westminster.”

“I avoided abbeys as a general rule. Parishes, monasteries, cathedrals, whole lot of them. Not exactly my scene.”

“Shame really, some truly exquisite architecture. The food wasn’t exactly top-notch, but some of the better dining from that era at any rate. I’d imagine you’d be quite fine now, been in ruins for centuries.”

The sky was clear and blue, the grass a vibrant green. There were a few tourists who were wandering about the grounds but left the two beings be. They wandered through the decrepit cathedral, ceiling completely gone and missing good portions of the walls. While Aziraphale doubted that any previous blessings were still in place, Crowley was wary and remained outside of the ruined Holy buildings.

“It really was quite a marvel. I had the occasion to visit on a number of occasions throughout the centuries, sent here quite often for holy interventions, miracles, enlightenment, heavenly visions, the whole nine yards as they say. You’re sure you never made it over here during, well, the Arrangement?”

Aziraphale quieted at the last two words. He had always been much more prudish, more embarrassed regarding their previous understanding. Perhaps it was because Crowley had much more experience rebelling and bending rules, but if they were being honest with themselves (although they rarely were), Aziraphale also had a fair bit of experience bending rules, he was just more adept at making excuses for it and felt much more guilty about it afterward.

“Nope. Besides, I believe the heyday of the great Abbeys predated our agreement.”

“I suppose that’s true. Those old Catholics enjoyed their drama. I tried to stay out of it mostly, politics was never really my forte. I recall having to give a vision to one of the old Abbotts back in the 12th century. Something about inspiring a new sermon, I can’t quite recall.”

Crowley made some noise to indicate that he was still listening (which he was in fact doing. He liked to put up an air of indifference but he always listened, and Aziraphale knew this.)

“You know I was able to get a first edition of “On the Antiquity of the Glastonese Church”? Signed by William of Malmesbury. Wonderful historian, and splendid company. He had a terrific collection at the Malmesbury Abbey and was kind enough to give me a number of his books, all with signed inscriptions. Later in his life, he was kind enough to gift me some of the notable works in his personal collection. His second edition of Gesta Regum Anglorum is a classic.”

Aziraphale continued to ramble on as they explored the Abbey grounds. Crowley listened quietly but intently. Their conversations usually involved both of their active participation but Crowley had never minded whenever Aziraphale would stumble into his ramblings. They occasionally reminisced, exchanging amusing stories and recounting shared adventures, but on that rare but treasured occasions a topic would arise and Aziraphale could literally talk for days on end, one story spilling into the next. Crowley’s original thought to describe it had been cute, but that couldn’t possibly be it.

“It’s impressive how long these have stayed standing, even if they have fallen into a bit of disrepair.” Aziraphale finally quieted, inviting a response from Crowley.

“‘Spose. They always did like to show off. Always obsessed with posterity.”

“And these are hardly the oldest, even just in England. And we’ve been there for all of it.” Aziraphale spoke softly, his eyes unfocused as he gazed far beyond the old Abbey. Crowley glanced at him. He had a tendency to be sentimental after these long trips down memory lane. Crowley himself had never quite at the proclivity for the sentimental.

“And they’ll keep building places of worship and keep writing history books. Come on, I saw a sign for a nearby for an italian restaurant, we’ll grab you some lunch.”

Bath

After lunch, they drove a bit farther north to the city of Bath. This had been the largest city they had visited so far. They stopped by bed and breakfast on the outskirts of the town, preferring the larger space, quiet countryside, and easy parking it provided. They took the day to explore the city, visiting various historical sites. They walked by the Abbey (although they did not venture inside as a courtesy to Crowley), Pulteney Bridge, strolled down Royal Crescent, popped briefly into Holburne museum but quickly left when Aziraphale got fed up with the minor inconsistencies and incorrect speculation. They continued their walk and eventually came across a beautifully restored Georgian home with a bronze plaque that reads:

Here lived William Herschel

A.D. 1781

and a sign above that that read ‘Herschel Museum of Astronomy’. It looked to be mostly vacant, which made sense seeing as it was about 2 o’clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday during the school year, with the peak of the tourist season being a few months behind them.

“Oh, I remember that fellow. Quite the eclectic man; astronomer, biologist, musician, and composer, though if memory serves his scientific career fared better than his artistic one. I saw the premiere of his eighth symphony and you know, I really did enjoy it. I’m not sure why he’s been relegated to the background of classical composers. I suppose now it’s so strongly dominated by Mozart, Haydn, Shubert, and a few other fellows that it didn’t leave much room for others. Truth be told I think Haydn might be slightly overrated. You write 107 symphonies but only a handful are noteworthy in any way. You knew him, didn’t you? I recall you hanging around with the Royal Astronomical Society for a time before sleeping through most of the next century.”

Crowley hummed in acknowledgment. “Yeah, hung around with that lot periodically end of the 18th century. He and his sister, Caroline, pushed the field miles forward. Shall we head inside?”

Crowley held open the door for Aziraphale and they headed inside the quiet Georgian household. They handed over a few pounds to the receptionist who put a little stamp of a planet with stars on each of their right hands. They quickly passed through exhibits pertaining to more recent events, preferring to linger in the sections that focused on Herschel and his discoveries.

“I liked him. Quite sharp. Corrected a few older discoveries, which I appreciated. It was annoying having to sit through some of those Royal Society lectures calling some of the star clusters nebulae. He and Caroline discovered and cataloged a boatload of nebulae, clusters, comets, the like. Nice to finally have your work properly appreciated after nearly 6000 years. We used to gossip about the bores over at the Royal Society and I helped get Caroline get a paid position at the government. I mean why would they be paying him but not her?”

“That was very kind of you, Crowley.”

He made a face of displeasure in return, “Hardly. If she hadn’t been employed who else would have discovered my comets and cataloged my nebulae? Quite proud of those, you know, and no one there to appreciate all my hard work. ‘Oh look at the beautiful waterfalls, the beautiful forests’, please. Hardly any craftsmanship in a waterfall. Some rocks and a river. But a planetary nebula? A red dwarf? Combustion, gravity, electromagnetism, a delicate balance of helium, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and however many other elements. When old Will finally got that telescope of his up and running, the look on his face when he saw them all, it was like finally, someone can appreciate some true artistry. I will say the nerve of those two constantly referring to it as ‘the heavens’. Heaven wished it looked like that.”

Aziraphale looked wistfully at a newer photo of the butterfly nebula. “You know, during all that time it took humans to properly observe the cosmos, I appreciated it. All the stars and nebulae, pulsars and supernovae. I wasn’t able to get out much personally, but I was lucky enough on a few occasions. It was breathtaking. And on earth, we can see much farther than they can, even with some of their telescopes. I’ll spare a glance here and there when I get the chance, and it really is unparalleled.” Aziraphale stopped, still looking firmly at the nebula in front of him. He spoke softer this time. “Dare I say it, maybe even more beautiful than anything here on earth.” A pause. His head turned slightly towards Crowley and met his eyes beneath the shades. “Or rather, almost anything.”

Crowley’s head snapped violently back towards the image, not daring to look back at Aziraphale. Earth had been almost entirely God’s pet project, the vast majority anyways. Some details had been relegated to other angels. But the earth had always truly been Hers. Aziraphale’s proclamation of the superior beauty of the cosmos was… a lot to process. Not to mention the meaning of the angel’s pointed glance at him. It was a bit too much for Crowley. He coughed, still not meeting the other’s eyes.

“Off to the Baths then?”

Kenilworth Castle

“Kenilworth, now this is a real castle,” Crowley said, picking away at the grapes on the fruit platter. They had driven north from Bath that morning, exiting the South West and entering into the West Midlands. Crowley accompanied Aziraphale to a hearty breakfast before their departure. They continued to avoid the main roads, Crowley speeding through old dirt roads in the countryside. Aziraphale would point out every herd of sheep, every single baby calf, every mangy looking old goat while a look of utter delight and whimsy. He had become completely enamored with the countryside and Crowley was beginning to worry about how he would ever get him back to the city.

“Oh look at those horses! There’s a small black foal, isn’t it just darling? Shall we stop by to say hello?”

Crowley glowered at the animals that were grazing the field they were driving past and pushed down even harder on the gas in response.

“You’re no fun, my dear.”

“Awful creatures. They smell, they buck, they attract flies, painful as all hell to ride, and generally terrible. Not even properly evil, just badly designed and poorly executed. The automobile is definitely among the greatest human inventions along with alcohol and sunglasses. Shame when they stopped making glue out of the bastards.”

Aziraphale smacked him (not so lightly) on his arm, “Crowley! What an awful thing to say!”

“What? They deserve it.”

“My goodness, what on earth did horses ever do to you.”

“What didn’t they do? Centuries of sore buttocks, horse flies, and manure. The smell, Aziraphale, do you remember it? The streets were absolutely disgusting, it’s no wonder I stayed inside for most of the 18th century.”

“I think you’re being too harsh on them. I find them quite majestic.”

“Nothing majestic about your teeth taking up more room in your skull than your brain.”

“Well, I quite like them.”

He rolled his eyes, “Suit yourself, angel.”

They continued north for another hour or so, eventually stopping in Stratford-Upon-Avon to pick up some food for a picnic (actually Crowley’s suggestion) and to pay respects to an old friend. They continued on, taking many detours, arriving at the castle just in time for lunch. Crowley pulled out a picnic blanket from the trunk (whether it had been there the whole time or if he had just miracled it then, Aziraphale didn’t know. Regardless, he was touched by the gesture.) He laid it out under the shade of a nearby Ash tree that grew just a bit outside the central keep.

“Yes, it had its fair share of excitement back in the day.” Aziraphale agreed.

“Came to see King John here once. What a prick. That whole family was a mess. Richard and Henry weren’t that awful in the grand scheme of British royalty, although that’s quite a low bar. Oh, but John, totally insufferable. I was supposed to tempt him into rebelling but the bastard was already scheming before I got there, and not very well mind you. Didn’t bother helping out when it failed, I didn’t really feel like getting involved.”

“I accompanied Elizabeth here a few times. Very intelligent woman, difficult life though. Popped in every-so-often to lend her a helping hand. I remember tutoring her briefly when she was a child. Incredibly bright and kind for a child of her age. The crown hardened her considerably, but who could blame her.”

“Oh yes, she was a feisty one. One of the few British royals I had any respect for at all, although she still had her fair share of flaws, but who am I to judge?”

They continued to eat, somehow always remaining in the shade despite the passing of hours. Aziraphale was usually quite silent when he ate, his mouth constantly full with the next delight Crowley had packed away into the wicker basket, so Crowley took it upon himself to fill the silence by recounting his many tales of Kenilworth and the events surrounding it, sprawled out on his side, one arm supporting his head.

“You know the tennis balls had been my idea. I had meant it as an insult but I think Henry overreacted a little bit.”

Aziraphale paused his enjoyment of some shortcake, “At least we got a good play out of it.”

“Fair enough. The old Bard never really bothered with historical accuracy but I didn’t mind with him. Made it better usually.”

“I’d be inclined to agree.”

Eventually Aziraphale had had his full and pulled out a book, leaning up against the Ash. Crowley moved closer, laying down beside him.

“What are you reading?”

“The Anabasis of Alexander.”

“He was a drama queen.”

“This is a classic.”

“I’m sure.”

Aziraphale ignored him and pulled out his reading glasses. Crowley had never said this out loud, but he loved Aziraphale’s reading glasses. The glasses were practically ancient, picked up sometime during Crowley’s respite in the 19th century. He didn’t need them, and Crowley didn’t know why he wore them. A fashion he had picked up? Perhaps he simply enjoyed the completion of his ‘old bookkeeper’ look? At any rate, Crowley never complained when Aziraphale opened a large tome and took out the spectacles. He looked up at Aziraphale; ‘Cute’ he thought. There that word was again. The glasses made Aziraphale look intelligent, sophisticated, extremely out of date, and certainly not cute. Or at least, that’s what Crowley thought (or did he?)

“Read a bit for me. I’m sure it’ll put me right to sleep.”

The angel huffed at the minor insult but settled in closer to Crowley anyways. The demons head was up against his thigh, arms at his side and legs bent upwards. There was a gentle warm breeze and songbirds that flew in and out of the ash. The sun was bright and hot but they were cool and comfortable in the shade, both subconsciously leaning into the warmth of the other.

“In Ecbatana, Alexander offered sacrifice according to his custom, for good fortune; and he celebrated a gymnastic and musical contest…”

Plas Newydd

They stayed the night in Kenilworth after allowing themselves the luxury of a lazy afternoon followed by a warm meal at a local pub (in this part of the country, most options for dining out were pubs). The next morning they took the Bentley further northwest, crossing the border into Wales. The signs changed into a jumble of consonants and seemingly misplaced vowels.

“I haven’t been to Wales in so long. I adore the people here, very charming folks. I do hope my Welsh hasn’t fallen out of shape, it has been quite a while.”

They drove down the old country roads, Crowley for once not doing nearly double the speed limit, perhaps as a courtesy to Aziraphale or maybe because even he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the sleepy atmosphere of the small villages they passed through (although the most likely cause was simply extending their time on the road. He enjoyed the peace and solitude he shared with Aziraphale while they rode in the Bentley.)

Aziraphale looked quizzically down at the map they had picked up in Shrewsbury. “I believe you take a right up here, dear boy.”

“Hope you aren’t getting us lost in the Welsh countryside, angel. All these villages look the same to me.”

He looked up from the map and up to the signs with arrows on the side of the road, “No, we’re still in the correct direction. My navigation skills were unparalleled back in the day, I’ll have you know. Served on a privateer ship for a number of months and guarded over an exhibition or two back in the age of explorers.”

Crowley looked up at the signs, recognizing one of the names, “Off to Llangollen then, are we?”

Aziraphale looked over to him surprised, “You’ve heard of it?”

“Visited it to, a couple of centuries ago.”

Aziraphale looked delighted, “So you must have met the ladies then! Can’t imagine what else would bring you to the north-eastern Welsh countryside. I never realized you made it out to see them.”

“Yeah, I visited them a handful of times while traveling between London and Dublin. Eleanor and Sarah. Haven’t thought about them in quite a while. Kept hearing about them and got curious.”

“They were a delightful pair, wonderful hosts too. Elenor and I would sit in the parlor and discuss the recent literature. Poets, in particular, seemed to be drawn to Plas Newydd and most had left behind a copy or two of their work. I recall walking around the estate with Sarah and exchanging thoughts on current events. They were both surprisingly insightful despite their isolation.”

“Bit too fond of horses for my taste, but I could respect how they rebelled against the system. Caused quite a stir for a while, and I enjoy good gossip. The scandal, the outrage, pretty funny if you ask me. Had a few interesting chats with them over tea.”

What Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t realize is that on multiple occasions, they had both shared details of each other to the ladies of Llangollen. Crowley and Aziraphale were both singular personalities in their own way and it had not taken much for the two ladies to connect the dots between both ‘men’ (or what both had assumed to be men) stories. Aziraphale had visited them first, introducing himself as a friend of William Wordsworth. He had indeed discussed literature and current events, but sometimes over dinner one evening he had begun disclosing certain details about a dark fellow (certainly not a friend) that Aziraphale was doing business with whom he had some conflicting emotions. Within a year, a dark fellow with bright red hair had strolled up to Plas Newydd and introduced himself as a friend of the Shelley's. They had welcomed him in, but he was much more reserved than some of their previous visitors. However, after a bottle of gin, the stranger was much more open and willing to share some strange stories of his travels. He was well journeyed and quite connected, having stories from famous scientists, authors, criminals, and even royals. After a bottle of brandy had been opened, he started talking about a friend of his, or perhaps more of a coworker. They had known each other for quite some time but in recent years it seemed as if their relationship had developed a few more layers. As he continued to describe the acquaintance, Eleanor and Sarah had both glanced sidelong at each other with the same realization.

As the two beings came and went, bringing new stories and sharing new details of their other half, the glances between the two women while the otherworldly being relayed their most recent thoughts on the other become more frustrated and knowing. It had been difficult not to intervene but they had both known it was for the best. One day, Aziraphale (or simply “Mr. Fell”) had come to visit. He discussed literature and current events like usual but never seemed to bring up his mysterious coworker. When they asked him about it, his face contorted like he had eaten something sour. They had had a falling out and were not talking to each other at the moment. The two women looked at each other in concern but didn’t attempt to press the issue.

They had never seen Crowley again.

Crowley and Aziraphale pulled up to Plas Newydd a short time later. Both Aziraphale’s navigation skills and Welsh had thankfully remained intact despite the disuse. The house had been well maintained throughout the centuries. Crowley purchased admission for them both. It had been turned into a museum a number of years ago, but both of them weren’t focused on the exhibits, sparing only a pacing glance at the displaces and descriptive plaques. Instead, they took in the house itself and the memories that returned to them with each room that they passed through. As they strolled within the many rooms: bedrooms, parlour, kitchen, library, and outside of the estate in the vast gardens and green rolling fields, the two cast sidelong glances at each other, not unlike two Irish ladies from centuries ago.

Hadrian’s Wall

They continued north on the same day, stopping for lunch in the village before they resumed their journey. After lunch, before they set off onto country roads, Crowley thought they should pick up some more CD’s. They had burned through most of the ones he had brought in from the apartment, and he was starting to get sick of not only “Killer Queen” but also “Fantasia on Greensleeves”. There was a little music shop in the quaint downtown that sold a handful of instruments, some sheet music, a bin of records, and yes, an assortment of CDs. It was a shame Aziraphale never slept since he had been mostly unable to listen to some of his personal favorites as the other being would be awake for the duration of their car rides. Aziraphale had fallen behind the times recently. Back before the advent of recorded audio, Aziraphale had needed to go out into the world to enjoy music, which kept him fairly up to date with the trends. However, after the advent of recording, Aziraphale had been able to enjoy the pleasures of the symphony from his own home, able to read or eat while he enjoyed the sweet melodies. And so he stopped attending the opera, symphony, or any sort of concert almost entirely. He still got out occasionally, when they were playing Beethoven series or one of his favorite Italian operas, but after the 19th century he was pleased to simply keep returning to old favorites (certain notable examples exist. Aziraphale was a fan of Kafka, Vaughn Williams, Rachmaninoff, Ravel, Bartók, and a handful of others.) He had listened to some ragtime and bebop, but he hadn’t been a fan and had simply abandoned all popular music afterward. Crowley drifted through the aisles but was mostly with content to let Aziraphale pick out the music. He was mostly hovering through the classical section, already with half a dozen new CDs. He wandered through a few other sections before walking back over to Crowley.

“Nothing for yourself?”

“You seem to have enough already.”

They walked over to the cashier, Aziraphale setting about all of the CDs and Crowley pulled out his wallet. The old woman behind the cash rung up their purchase and Crowley pulled out the exact change out of his wallet. She accepted it graciously.

“And where are you two from? Don’t get many visitors this time of year.” She spoke with a thick Welsh accent but must have overheard them speaking in english.

Aziraphale smiled warmly, “London. Just taking a bit of a holiday, driving around the countryside.”

“Oh that’s lovely. I prefer the weather this time of year anyway. I like the heat, but in the summer, a bit too hot in recent years. My husband and I drove up to Edinburgh back in July to visit our Lizzie for her wedding. We used to travel all over Europe in the summer months. A bit more difficult after the kids but we were able to bring them along when they were a bit older.”

“Oh yes, Edinburgh has become quite lovely in recent years. It’s been quite a while since I’ve visited myself.”

“Well if you and your husband are continuing north, I would definitely suggest you stop by.”

Aziraphale went red at her assumption. He sputtered in response. “Oh, um, well yes, thank you for the suggestion.”

She gave him a wide smile, “No need to be embarrassed, dear. Our Lizzie was marrying her girlfriend, Mackenzie, up in Edinburgh. Most people in these parts are quite accepting.”

Aziraphale could only redden and nod his head. She handed Crowley a receipt.

“Diolch.” He replied coolly, face unreadable behind the tinted glasses.

“Cael diwrnod braf!” She replied as they walked out of the shop.

They were finally back off onto the road. Aziraphale pulled out one of the new CDs.

“Look what I found, Crowley. I thought you might like it.”

It was a collection of William Herschel recorded by the London Mozart Players. Crowley returned with a neutral grunt of acknowledgment that didn’t convey any particularly positive or negative sentiments regarding the recording. Aziraphale ejected the previous CD and put in the new one.

“So where are we off to next, angel?”

“You know, I’m not quite sure. I thought we could just… drive for a bit, and see where we end up?”

Crowley grinned, “Not your usual style, ‘going with the flow’, ‘seeing where the road takes you.’”

He shrugged in response, “I’ve been trying many new things these last few months.”

And so North they went, out of Wales, up through the West Midlands and into the North West. They continued to bypass the highways in favor of country roads. They drove along the Irish sea, passing by Liverpool, Southport, and Blackpool. At Lancaster, they continued due North towards Kendal instead of continuing along the shoreline. Crowley made most navigational decisions, simply following his intuition. Every so often he would ask Aziraphale for input, but mostly they drove in silence. The angel mostly watched out the window, every so often cracking open the book he had with him.

After another hour or so, Aziraphale finally perked up.

“Ah.”

Crowley looked over to him, “What?”

He pointed to one of the signs. It read “Hadrian’s Wall” and had an arrow pointing right.

“We should go there.”

And so Crowley make a sharp turn to the right, and off they went.

After only another 10 minutes (Crowley’s maniacal driving had returned in full force), the two found themselves at the base of about a 5ft 2000-year-old wall.

“Sort of a dumb plan if you ask me.”

“Hm?”

“Not sure what Hadrian was thinking with this one. Bloody long wall on the fringe of the empire, middle of nowhere? Always seemed like nonsense to me.”

“Perhaps.”

“Next guy pretty much completely abandoned it. Did it ever serve any useful role at any point? Not like it was ever that high in the first place, not sure what he thought he could stop with it. Humanity has found its way across rivers, mountains, and deserts, but oho, not a five-foot wall, that’ll stop ‘em.”

Aziraphale was setting up his camera. The wall was surrounded by kilometers of green fields speckled with trees that were changing color in the autumn season. There was a small lake about a kilometer down from the stretch of the wall that the two had found themselves at.

“Sit still, won’t you? You’ll blur the image.”

Crowley pulled his crossed arms slightly closer in. “Don’t see why you wanted a picture in the first place. Can’t you just get a couple of snaps of the herons over there and be done with it?”

“I have so few photos of you, dear. I’d like a few from this vacation. I’ve had such a lovely time so far. Maybe I’ll make a scrapbook when we’re back in London. Have you heard of those? Came across the idea a few weeks ago and I’ve been meaning to try my hand at it.”

“Don’t see why I need to be in them. Why do you need a photo when I’ll be around anyway? I’ll just ruin your landscapes.”

Aziraphale looked up from the camera and directly at Crowley with a twinkle in his eyes. “You know I think you look positively lovely, dear boy. Now shut up, I want at least one good one.”

And shut up he did.

Tynemouth Priory and Castle (Edward II and Piers Gaveston + Duel?)

They found a little country inn in one of the nearby villages. Crowley slept soundly in his single bed while Aziraphale stayed up reading. They ate the continental breakfast that was provided, Aziraphale putting a fair portion of homemade strawberry jam that the owner’s son had apparently made onto his rolls while Crowley enjoyed his cup of Lady Grey.

“I feel like going to the coast today,” Aziraphale said in between mouthfuls of toast.

“Which one?” Crowley replied, leaning back in his chair on the outdoor patio.

“How about the North Sea? We did the Irish Sea, the Celtic Sea seems like the next logical step.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Have you ever been to Tynemouth? There’s an old Priory and Castle. I was there all the way back in the 7th century. Nice little spot on the coast.”

“Yeah, I’ve been, later though. Briefly in the 14th century, with Edward II.”

“Well?”

“Fine with me.”

They left a bit later that morning, going towards the morning sun due East. It was starting to get a bit chillier as they stretched further into autumn and the closer they got to the sea. It wasn’t a long drive by, even without Crowley behind the wheel. Soft piano music that Crowley didn't recognize was coming out of the stereo. It was pleasant, music that sounded like it came right out of a 19th-century parlor. Aziraphale was humming along while he read (a new book, yet again. He seemed to burn through a new one each day.)

They drove up a hill right beside the coast to the ruins. They were the only ones there when Crowley pulled the Bentley off to the side of the dirt road. They got out in tandem and walked toward the abandoned castle.

“Long time since I've been around here. I wouldn't mind making a habit of these little excursions.”

“I guess it's not half bad when you avoid tourist season.”

“You said you'd been here before?”

“Yup, I was briefly a part of Edward II entourage trying to rile up some tensions within the court. You ever meet him?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Eh, weren't missing much. He and Piers Gaveston had been inseparable. Bit annoying but mostly harmless. Tragic end, but that was pretty common for that lot back in the day.”

“Nobles?”

Crowley laughed, “Not quite, angel.”

They walked through the main archway. It had obviously changed significantly throughout the centuries, the brick and mortar now exposed to the elements, large chunks were missing and covered in moss, and yet in some ways, it hadn't changed at all. All of the roofs had crumbled away centuries ago, leaving the bright blue sky above them, with clouds blowing in from over the sea and the sun creeping higher into the sky. Birds nested throughout the ruins in little nooks and crannies, perched atop old towers and in between the remnants of windows.

“I had my fair share of adventures here as well,” Aziraphale remarked.

“Oh really?” Crowley said playfully, grin on his face. Aziraphale enjoyed the frequency with which Crowley had smiled during the trip.

“I did return once after the 7th century, mid 16ty century after it was taken over by Henry VIII. Got into a bit of a tiff with a few visiting Italians.”

“‘Bit of a tiff’? What'd you do, get into a heated argument about the marinara sauce?”

“Don't mock me, old boy. No, we handled the affair like men.” He replied primly.

Crowley turned to look at him, “You didn't duel them, did you?”

Aziraphale blushed a little, “It's not my usual style but the situation quickly escalated.”

Crowley laughed, and it echoed around them. “Did you win?”

Aziraphale looked insulted, “Of course I won! I wasn't given a flaming sword for no reason.”

“What was the argument?”

“I can't quite recall where it started but I believe it ended when he called me a son of a bitch and I replied with something along the lines of 'You dare refer to the Lord that way!?' and drew my sword.”

Crowley gave him a wicked grin, “Would have liked to see that.”

“We should spar sometime. I may be a bit out of shape but I'm sure I could show you a thing or two.”

“Definitely not. I was always rubbish with weaponry. Never really bothered with it. Prefer using my wits, and when a sword was necessary I just got someone else to do it.”

“Maybe I could teach you?”

The offer was left unanswered, the two naturally returning to a comfortable silence as they continued their exploration of the old castle and priory. It was an old place, humans had been occupying the land for 2000 years, and yet they were still much older. This castle had been in ruins for centuries, and they had been there before, during, and after. They did not feel old within the new metropolises that had popped up in the last century but in the ruins of the civilizations that they outlived by millennia. They were old, but they were old together, and now nothing was there to stop them from being so.

“Shall we go home?”

Home. Crowley liked the sound of that when Aziraphale said it.

“Yeah, let's go.”

Epilogue: Dover Castle

They drove south along the coast. Aziraphale had gone through nearly all of the CDs he had acquired in Wales, except one.

“Vera Lynn? Didn’t realize you were a fan.”

“She had such a lovely voice. They broadcast one her performances on BBC during the war and I bought a record the next day."

“How modern of you.”

“This one apparently came out this year. I like the cover art. Technology is unbelievable nowadays, over 30 tracks on a single side of this tiny disc.”

It was later in the afternoon now, Vera Lynn serenading the duo as rolling hills passed them on one side and choppy grey waves on the other. It had been a well-needed disruption in their daily routines, a literal and figurative breath of fresh air. If Crowley was being honest (which he rarely was with himself) he enjoyed spending all this time with Aziraphale. The angel had allowed himself to enjoy their vacation much more openly, but Crowley had enjoyed it too, in his own way. He was old, which he did not care to admit. Humanity had aged him. 6000 years in the pits of hell was nothing, but 6000 years amongst billions of the busiest and most diverse animals on the planet had a way of reminding your how ancient you truly are. Most humans believed that the earth was billions of years old, and that was a length of time that Crowley did not care to imagine. Revisiting all of these old castles and villages reminded him just how much he had experienced already, so much more than any person could imagine, longer than any given human civilization. Up until now, the future had been finite, but now, thinking about all that he could still experience here on earth with seemingly no expiration date was equal parts exciting and terrifying. He looked over at the angel. He kept doing that throughout the trip. Glancing over at Aziraphale in the passenger seat, either reading a book or looking out at the scenery and on one extremely treasured stretch of the drive when he closed his eyes and ‘slept’ (Crowley doubted he had been completely successful in his attempt but it was a marvel to behold regardless.) How many more vacations would they have? How far would they go? The anxiety that had hovered over their previous encounters still loomed slightly, but it was quickly fading with each passing month. Where would they be in a year? He was nervous, terrified even. But looking over at the angel, the knot in his stomach seemed to disentangle itself slowly but surely.

Aziraphale’s thoughts were significantly less deep. He was extremely happy with how the vacation had shaped up and was excited to plan out the next. He was still ready to be back home in his bookshop, he could only handle so much excitement and travel, but it had been energizing and thrilling in its own way. This trip had reminded him why he had settled in England. For all its flaws (notably the weather. Crowley would have also said the politics but Aziraphale didn’t make a habit of keeping up with current affairs), it was a beautiful country filled with kind and well-intentioned people. And had produced its fair share of good music. He had not listened to Vera Lynn in a while but somehow all those old tunes were still in his head as he hummed along watching the sun descend closer to the horizon. He saw a sign that said ‘London’ and when Crowley did not turn onto it, he looked over at the demon curiously.

“Thought we’d make one more stop before heading back home. Just a bit further south.”

Aziraphale was in no rush, so he made no objection. He slid back into his spot up against the window, head perched on his hand. They view slowly grew more and more populated, quaint villages into small towns and then again into cities. Aziraphale closed his eyes, just enjoying the music, enjoying the peace, enjoying Crowley. Even though he was not saying anything the demon's presence was so easily felt. He let himself soak up that feeling and they carried on. They crossed over the Thames and slowly returned to those quaint villages and green fields. The drive wasn’t very long (almost certainly to do with the incredibly dangerous speeds the Bentley had been driving at). They got out of the car and Aziraphale gazed upwards towards the imposing structure in front of them. It was well preserved, in a much better condition than the other castles they had visited. The main keep was surrounded by enormous walls on all sides. The castle itself stood upon a hill overlooking the English Channel. The sun was setting over the water far in the distance. Crowley hadn’t driven them up to the main castle, instead of off to the side closer to the rocky cliffs.

“Dover Castle, the Key of England.”

Crowley got out off the car without turning it off so the music continued to pour out of the Bentley. Aziraphale followed, meeting Crowley who had walked around the car to his side. “Red Sails in the Sunset” faded out and familiar flute and string orchestra began to play.

“They’ll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover.”

Aziraphale began to blush, “Oh my dear, you didn't.” Except, when Aziraphale said ‘my dear’ the accent was not on the my and full of disbelief or frustration, but on the dear, and was not so much of an exclamation than a term of endearment, gentle and full of care. Crowley would never say it aloud, but he adored the way it sounded out of Aziraphale’s mouth, and especially since it was directed at him. He didn’t respond, instead, leaning against the angel watching the sunset over the castle, which he hoped was in of itself enough of an answer.

Now it should be noted that ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ was that in fact included in the recording Aziraphale had purchased, but Crowley did not know that and imagined that it must be, and so there it was, just in time. The song (miraculously) matched up perfectly with the setting sun. Crowley (or maybe it had been Aziraphale. Both had slowly drifted into each other as night fell, hands brushing up against the others) slowly slipped his hand into that of his best friend. A quiet display of affection that meant so much as the stars began to emerge from the darkening the sky.

“Tomorrow, just you wait and see.”

#fanfiction #good omens #original work #gofanexchange #apologies for my tangents on classical music and historic queer people #and I am 100% sure I missed a few typos here and there #Hope you enjoy!

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roseskiesandbutterflies · 5 years ago

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Killer Queen: Chapter 8 - Scandal

Summary: Life is easy when things go your way. I know this from experience. I also know that that can disappear in an instant and that you have to be able to rely on your friends. Luckily my name is Arabella Ruth White and I’m the fifth marauder. But I want to show you the girl behind the mask. It takes a lot of work to be this fabulous, darling.

A/N: If I got any information about Diwali incorrect, please let me know so I can change it. I'm not Hindu and all of my research was done online and I dread to think how reliable that actually is. Also, happy late Diwali since it wasn't that long ago. That's a lie but let me have this, please.

Drunk Ruth is the funniest thing I've written in a while also more writers need to try writing drunk narrators for their stories because some wack shit comes out of that. Bonus points if alcohol is not featured in the scene at all. Double bonus points if you're writing in the third person. Extra double bonus points if the narrator almost reveals important events that haven't happened yet (could be used as a plot device). The drunkenness was definitely not inspired by the amount of Echo Falls I had last night.

Me?? Including my feminist shit in my stories?? More likely than you think. Please don't start arguing over abortion in the comments though, please. Thank you kindly. I just felt the need to yeet in my opinions about it after all the shit that happened in the USA.

Sorry for not updating for about six months. It is a bit ridiculous, I know, but oh well. Half-term ended up being a lot busier than anticipated and I had a lot of writer's block and procrastination when I finally got around to writing this. And I did my research and Diwali actually fell on Sirius's birthday in 1975. You would not believe how happy I was about that. If you caught the Brooklyn Nine-Nine reference I love you. The title for this chapter came from Queen's 1989 album, The Miracle.

Word Count: 3.2k+ (hopefully that makes up for the delay)

Inspiration: You Can’t Make Me Love You by -FromEden- on Wattpad, All The Young Dudes by MsKingBean89 on AO3, The Boy Who Killed God by @sirius-black-killed-god

Warning(s): talk of pregnancy and abortion, underage drinking (although it’s in the UK so it’s fine lmao), swearing

Tag List: @bhmay @briarrose26 @bijoukitty

Ask to be on my tag list! Let me know if it’s for a specific fandom(s). The full list is in my bio. Also let me know if you’re on my tag list already but you only want to be on it for a specific fandom(s) I won’t be offended if you ask as long as you’re polite about it tehe.

Never before had Diwali fell on and around Sirius's birthday. James had joked about it many a time in the past but the look on his face when he discovered the date of the next new moon in Astronomy was one of surprise and amusement. This meant Sirius's usual birthday celebrations - a.k.a. a ridiculous party - would have to be slightly altered. Not that the birthday boy minded an awful lot. He was rather fond of the traditions involved and his face lit up like the diyas themselves. The day before had been spent creating Rangoli patterns on the floor of their room, Kingsley thankfully not minding as it was part of James's culture. Also, as it had been a Hogsmede weekend, we spent the majority of the day following James around so he could buy new things for the Hindu new year. And also to get Sirius's birthday presents when he was too distracted by the games in Zonko's.

James's parents had sent a huge box fall of diyas, all varying in colour and size, that had required four owls to carry. Along with it was a lovely heartfelt letter to all of us, reminding to stay safe and revise and all that, but to also have fun with whatever we were getting up to. James definitely teared up at one point but he remained in denial. Silly billy.

Now, after knowing James for a good four years, my knowledge of Hinduism was rather extensive, if I do say so myself. So according to James, Diwali lasts for five days with different festivities on each day. This year, it had started on Halloween so as soon as we returned from our epic prank, we quickly set up with the help of a spell or two and then let James do his thing. The same pattern repeated until now, which was the fourth day of the celebrations and James's favourite day, in his not-so-humble opinion.

Last night had been spent by setting off as many fireworks as we could possibly do, using the fact that it was Diwali to our advantage. They couldn't exactly tell us off for celebrating a festival, right?

Today was the first day of the Hindu New Year so, of course, we had stayed up last night to welcome it properly. This meant we were all a little tired, especially since we woke up a little earlier too.

The night to come appeared to be rather busy so, while Peter went to get some breakfast for us all, we set up the new diyas, cleared the ones that had burned out last night and fixed the slightly smudged rangoli patterns. Once James had declared everything good enough for tonight - which, as you can imagine, took quite some time - we headed down for our first lesson of the day.

Fucking Herbology.

Sirius did, on many occasions throughout that lesson claim that since it was his birthday, he legally didn't have to be there because he was "Sirius McFucking Black and no man can tell me what to do from this day forward".

Unfortunately for him, Professor Sprout was no man and in fact a very angry woman who "will still give you detention Mr Black if you continue with that language in my classroom".

Suddenly, a petite, barn owl flew in the classroom with a letter in its beak. This could only mean one thing: an escape route. I rapidly tapped on the arms of the boys, not once taking my eyes off of the owl, "Teacher owl, teacher owl, teacher owl, teacher owl."

They all snapped their heads up to look at said owl, who was now perched on Sprout's desk. The teacher took the note - the owl took its leave - and she read it carefully, squinting. A look of both gratitude and distaste made its way onto her face. Definitely for one of us, then. The boys seemed to think the same as I was met with excitement and intrigued looks when I turned to them.

"White!" Sprout's voice boomed throughout the greenhouse, holding up the letter. Groans of disappointment rippled throughout the class and people started going back to their work. She handed me the letter and I opened it without haste.

Dear Miss White,

Please go to my office right away. This is a matter of urgency. You are not in trouble but this does, however, concern your family.

Sincerely,

Professor Dumbledore.

P.S. I have been rather fond of chocolate frogs lately.

Now, unsurprisingly, I had received enough of these notes in the past to know that the whole chocolate frog thing was just a hint for the password. Not very subtle but oh well. The matter at hand was obviously what the fuck this was about. I wasn't in trouble for starters which was, quite frankly, weird. A million possibilities ran through my mind as to what this could be about. It involved my family and was serious. Did someone die? Merlin forbid it but at the current state of the wizarding world, I couldn't help but consider it. It was certainly a possibility, as much as I wished it wasn't.

"What does it say then?" James asked in an extremely disheartened tone.

"I need to go and see ye olde Dumbledore. Doesn't say why," I started packing up my stuff to leave.

"Someone's in trouble!" Sirius said in a sing-song voice that made me want to punch him in the face.

"No, it clearly says I'm not in trouble, you dickhead!" I yelled as I smugly strolled out of the greenhouse.

"Bitch!"

"Twat!"

"Prick!"

"Wanker!" I ran out as quickly as I could after that, leaving Sirius to get into trouble with Sprout. That was my birthday present for him. I practically sprinted to Dumbledore's office, every cell in my body bursting with curiosity. Once I arrived, I pretty much fell into his office from pure exhaustion. Exercise and I were not on good terms. I picked myself up from my mostly ungraceful entrance to see two people already sitting opposite the headteacher.

"Ah, Arabella, glad to see you received my note. Take a seat," Dumbledore greeted me and gestured to the chair closest to me. I cautiously took it and only then did I get to finally see who I had the pleasure of having this meeting with. None other than the Head Girl and Boy. Or otherwise known as my cousin and her boyfriend. Melanie and Filip. The golden students of Hogwarts. Everybody idolised them and for good reason. Seemingly perfect, they were the Athena and Apollo of our school. Smart but not bookworms. Kind but not pushovers. Beautiful but not vain. So it was no surprise to anyone when the titles they held were bestowed upon them. I, for one, did not believe in soulmates but Melanie and Filip came pretty damn close. Melanie was the daughter of my mother's twin sister. Two years older than me although I think I had corrupted her more than she had me. The type of cousin that you only saw once in a blue moon but when you did, all hell broke loose and you had the time of your lives. I knew very little of Filip but his reputation of being an all-around nice guy preceded him for miles. Their presence was some form of comfort to me because I couldn't possibly be in trouble if they were here too.

"May I ask what this is about?" I looked around the room for it had fallen silent. Melanie uncharacteristically refused to look at anything other than her lap. Filip was gazing off into the distance as if he was a model. Dumbledore was just being Dumbledore so no changes there, not that I expected any.

"Melanie, would you like to explain?" the headmaster asked to which the girl in question frantically shook her head.

"I can't," her voice, no louder than a whisper, broke halfway through. My heart instantly dropped, this couldn't possibly be good. She was usually so strong, so independent. I didn't recall ever seeing her cry so this must be a big deal. Filip grasped her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Filip?" Dumbledore tried a different strategy.

Clearly struggling with his words, he ended up just murmuring, "Melanie's pregnant."

And so it seemed that even the finest china you had ever seen could be chipped. Misfortune would always be lurking somewhere in the shadows, ready to strike at any given moment. Nobody was ever safe from it, not even the few angels who walked among us. Out of all of my friends, Melanie would be one of the last I would suspect of being pregnant. This list of friends included my male friends so that was saying something.

But at the same time, who was I to judge her? It wasn't as if I was a virgin either. That ship sailed a long time ago. She was allowed to do whatever (and whoever, if you know what I mean) she wanted. Providing she wanted this to happen. Not the baby but the cause of it. Some people can be absolute twats sometimes but if the father was indeed Filip, surely that wasn't the case.

Regardless of how it occurred, they now had to work out what they were going to do about it. Would they be expelled? Arrested? They were both 17 and therefore adults in the wizarding world. They would be fine, right?

"Ari?" Melanie spoke up, audibly calmer than before and much more like the Melanie I knew and loved, "Say something please."

Only then did I realise that my rather extensive thought track meant that I had not yet said anything. "Sorry, I just- what are you planning to do about it?" That was my top priority for I needed to know how to support her. I couldn't care less about her decision but I did care about her.

"Wait, you're not mad?" relief visibly flooded every cell in her body like a waterfall. I hated that she had been expecting anger and disgust when I would never be like that towards her, even if I wanted to.

"Darling, of course, I'm not mad! These things happen, OK? I just need to know what you want to do about it."

She bit her lip and exchanged a quick glance with Filip, who had been gradually relaxing since I had first spoken, "We're not sure just yet if I'm honest. I was wondering what you had to say on the matter?"

"I will support you no matter what," I answered truthfully, "You want to have the baby? You have the baby! I will be that aunt who corrupts it as much as possible and you know it. But if you're not ready then just abort it! No one will hate you if you do, it's just a fetus the size of a grain of rice for crying out loud! It's entirely up to you, my dear."

"Well said," Melanie smiled slightly. Dumbledore cleared his throat and we all turned to him.

"Just as Arabella kindly put it, you do indeed have the choice. The baby won't be due until August and, seeing as you will no longer be at Hogwarts by then and will both be 18, you hold the right to keep it."

A long, rather awkward silence ensued, which was understandable given the situation. Melanie's glazed eyes told me she was deep in thought but a small, impatient part of me just wanted to break her from her trance, shake her up and down and yell at her to make a decision. I told myself to shut the fuck up because this was a huge decision to make and could potentially affect the rest of her life. Regardless of her choice, this would become something that would certainly loom over everything for a while at least. Besides, it was easy for me to tell her to hurry up because I wasn't going to be the one to raise the damn child. Or children. Twins were common in our family. Luke and Rhea for example. And my mum and Melanie's mum too.

"I'm going to keep it," Melanie whispered. I almost missed it due to the voices inside my head. I still didn't believe it.

"Really?" I asked, sounding a lot more incredulous than I intended.

"Yeah, I, sorry, we," she squeezed Filip's hand back, "We always knew we would have kids after Hogwarts, so why not get a head start?"

I had to admit she made a valid point and, if the look on Filip's face was anything to go by, this baby would grow up having two loving parents. Though, I couldn't ignore my instincts screaming at me to stop her, to tell her that this was a bad idea, to tell her that this wasn't going to go according to plan because nothing ever does. Even while I watched Dumbledore promise to hide the pregnancy. Even while I watched their faces of glee at the realisation that they were going to be parents. Even while I said my goodbyes and left the office. Even then I stayed silent. Because who was I to try and control my cousin's body?

*********

The second lessons ended for the day, Minnie collected James so she could take him to the Mandir in Edinburgh, as worship and seeing family was an important part of Diwali. He wouldn't be back until after dinner so we spent the time 'studying' to get Remus off of our backs and then set up for the party later on. Without Sirius looking of course. Although I must say getting him to bugger off for a while was easier than expected and may or may not have involved an extreme game of fetch. Let's just say that Snivellus wasn't all that pleased to find me lobbing his beloved textbook down the stairs.

All of the stairs.

Personally, I found it hilarious but Lily had a slight difference of opinion. Even when I tried to defend myself and call it my other birthday present to Sirius.

Regardless, it got one of my crackhead friends out of my hair for a while. We managed to hang banners from the ceiling, enchant a disco ball to whizz around like a not-as-dangerous bludger and cast a spell that meant glitter would just hover in the air to give the common room a glitzy feel to it.

Perfect for Sirius's sixteenth birthday. Although that concept alone was a little hard to comprehend. The fact that he had the mental age of a six-year-old was seriously convincing me that his birth certificate was wrong. That would explain a lot except he was still a fucking tall bastard. Although seen as I was only five feet one, everyone was tall compared to me. Apart from Alice, the fucking midget. She may or may not be only half an inch shorter than me but that half an inch made all the difference ('That half an inch made all the difference': title of Marlene's sex tape).

Moving on, the party itself started at around 9 so as to give everyone enough time to get ready. In that time, I managed to throw on a silver glittery jumpsuit with flowy legs and matching heels, do my hair and makeup and put on my accessories; all of which take longer than you first expect. An animated look was painted onto Sirius's face when we gave him permission to open his eyes and see what we had definitely put effort into creating for him. 'Permission' seems like a strong word until you learn that we had to hex his eyes shut to prevent premature peeking. We know him too well.

We had David Bowie records blasting from my poor record player all night, and while I tried to sneak in a couple of Queen ones every now and then, James just reprimanded me, saying that "it should be up to the birthday boy" and that "I would get my turn in a few weeks anyway". To which I did what I do best and sulked next to the drinks table by myself, thinking of ways to piss James off that I would almost certainly forget by the time I was sober. I was coming up with ways to fuck up the wanker's beloved broom while having a few gulps of what I believed was firewhiskey, when Remus approached me, tension oozing from every part of him. He grabbed the rest of my drink, downed it all in one go without a trace of a grimace, before turning to me and huffing deeply.

"What's up, buttercup?" Okay, so I might not have been entirely sober enough to deal with can-and-will-kill-you-if-you-do-so-much-as-breathe Remus but I'd be damned if I didn't give it a good go. Besides he wouldn't dare murder me. He loves me but he's bloody terrified at the same time, the same goes for pretty much everyone now I think about it.

Okay back to the issue at hand. Remus just gave me one of those looks that pierces your soul so sharply that you have to look down to make sure you haven't just been stabbed. Once I got past that armour of I-know-your-entire-life-story-and-I-would-sell-it-for-half-a-pizza-and-a-milkshake, I found a look of such hopelessness that I found myself unwillingly sobering up slightly, "Darling, what's going on?" I leaned in, knowing full well that he was going to be as quiet as possible with his reply. God, I know too much about these crackheads.

Of course, I was right with this assumption as he mumbled, "I got into a fight with Idania," he looked at me with a sorrow that I wasn't used to seeing in any of my friends, let alone at a party.

But I could only see red because I don't care you the fuck you are if you hurt any of my friends then you better fucking pray for your life. Jaw visibly clenched, voice dangerously quiet, "Where is she?" My temper was inches away from bubbling over when he didn't respond, "Where the fuck is she, Remus?"

I made to move, tunnel vision without even knowing what happened, but he grabbed my arm first, an iron grip from years of stopping me from launching punches at certain people, "No, Ruth. I wouldn't let you even if I knew where she was." He stared at me in a way that was scarily reminiscent of McGonagall and I knew I couldn't just leave him like that.

"What happened then?" I was trying my hardest to calm down and decided that my best shot was to drink some more.

"She saw some of my scars and asked where I got them from and I wouldn't say and it just escalated from there. What was I supposed to say? There's nothing you can say in that situation that won't worry her," he sighed and gulped another drink down.

I furrowed my brows, concentrating on thinking of a solution, though nothing came to mind. He had a point after all, what do you say when that happens? It all comes down to violence in one way or another and you can never not stress someone out with a cause of pain. "She'll come round if she's worth keeping."

A tiny flicker of hope danced in his eyes, minuscule but still there, "I hope to Merlin you're right."

"Honey, same," I pushed a cup of something into his hand and grabbed one for myself," But for now, we can get pissed off our asses and worry about this tomorrow. Sound good?"

"Oh fuck yes."

#marauders #james potter #Sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #marauders headcanon #marauders imagine #marauders fic

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cycwrites · 6 years ago

Text

A Taste of Home

A post-Nowish, Mitchsen-centric, drabble prompt from the Master Beta, @tiny-maus-boots. Sorry this took so long, Nerd.

Takes place in some nebulous future after Beca signs with DJ Khaled, puts out an album and goes on tour.

Rating: Teen

Words: 4236

Also on AO3 and FFN

All my other stories in this series: Tumblr AO3

~B~

“Vienna sucks.”

“Beca.” Chloe half chided, half soothed. “You’re just tired, love.”

Beca slumped in the chair at the desk in her hotel suite. “I am not. It’s still fucking freezing here.” She resolutely ignored the fact that she’d just been rubbing her eyes like a toddler. She could clearly see the concern in Chloe’s face over their sometimes fuzzy Skype video chat and she wanted to stop whining but it was just too much effort.

At first being on tour had been fun and amazing, except all her girls had jobs and couldn’t take a nine month sabbatical to travel the globe with her. Still, the excitement of the crowds and the energy had been enough to keep her going, along with the frequent video chats whenever they had time, individually or together. She was home for a week or two every couple of months for R&R, but after the first six months the novelty was wearing a little thin once the concert was over for the night.

Then Theo had starting pushing on her to maybe extend the tour since she was doing so well, add a few more months to the end which would extend it to almost a full year of travel. At first he was subtle about it, but then it became almost daily; if it wasn’t directly after her concerts than it was the following morning when they were getting ready to fly to the next stop.

“How can I help?” Chloe asked gently.

“You can’t.” It came out petulant and she knew it. “You’re more miles away than I care to think about.” Just the memory of Chloe’s arms around her, something she hadn’t felt in a month, was almost enough to bring her to tears. “Theo is being an annoying turtle, no one can make a decision without my input and I just want them to leave me alone so I can rest.” The whine was in full force but she couldn’t stop it; she knew her voice was cracking and the absolute last thing she wanted to do was have a tantrum about being on fucking tour when she knew it was the at least the fourth best thing to happen to her. (The first was Chloe, the second was Staubrey and third was the rest of the Bellas if anyone had cared to ask her.)

“Oh, Becs,” Chloe whispered and reached out to touch her laptop.

Beca flinched and realized that she’d been incorrect before; the absolute last thing she wanted was for Chloe to be sad and not have any way to comfort her. Of course, the fact that she was directly responsible for making Chloe sad made her feel even worse.

‘Jesus Christ, get your shit together,’ she told herself harshly. ‘Boohoo, you’ve got a top ten selling album and people are paying to see you sing every two to three days. Cry me a fucking river.’

She shook her head and forced herself to sit upright. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m fine, really.” Chloe’s expression didn’t change and she knew she hadn’t fooled Chloe in the slightest.

“Tell that to the dark circles under your eyes.” Chloe put her elbow on the desk and propped her chin on her hand.

Beca sighed and felt pathetic as she muttered, “Bed’s too bigsmall.” It was the curse of being used to a nine foot bed filled with three other bodies; it was also definitely one of the worst things about being on the road. She’d tried sleeping aids but all they did was make her groggy for a good fifteen hours, no matter how much sleep she’d gotten the night before. She was making do with melatonin but she still tossed and turned. It was getting just that little bit harder to work up the level of energy she needed to maintain for her concert and it wasn’t like she had a full ninety minutes of twirling around a stage like some artists.

‘Seriously, how the hell does P!nk do this shit for over a year?’ Beca wondered for the nth time since she’d left home.

“I know the feeling.” Chloe said softly. “We miss you.”

“I mis-” Beca stopped when there was a soft knock at her door. “God fucking damnit!” She slammed her hand on the desk. “I told them I didn’t want to be disturbed!”

“Beca,” Chloe sat up and leaned forward. “Don’t-”

“No.” Beca said as she glared at the door across the room. “I specifically told Theo I didn’t want to see him tonight. That I needed to get some sleep. He fucking chucked me under the chin and told me ‘You do look a bit knackered. Get some rest.’”

“I know but…” Chloe started with a sigh; Beca had bitched at his audacity at least twice in the hour they’d been talking.

“And… Okay,” Beca kept going, already launched past her tired frustration into actual anger. “Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled ‘what the fuck do you want’ when room service came by –”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Chloe murmured. She’d been witness to it and forced Beca to call down to the desk to both apologize and ask that she be undisturbed for the rest of the night.

“So…” The knock came again. “Sonofabitch.” She stood up so hard the chair almost tipped over.

“Beca!” Chloe said but Beca was already stalking to the door.

“I said,” Beca snarled as she ripped open the door, “I do not want to be dis-…” She blinked three times, sure she was hallucinating. Maybe even having a stroke or something. Maybe she had brain damage. Because Aubrey could not be standing in front of her. In her hotel. In Vienna. Aubrey was at home. Being an amazing lawyer. With Chloe and Stacie.

Except Aubrey was there. Standing in front of her. Wearing faded and ripped blue jeans, a rumpled t-shirt that looked suspiciously like one stolen from Beca’s closet, a leather jacket, her hair in a ponytail and a gym bag slung over her shoulder. And, Beca’s eyes dropped from where she’d been staring into the tired face smiling gently at her, Beca’s Stitch onesie in her hand.

When Beca stood frozen in the doorway, Aubrey gently nudged her backward until she could step into the room and close the door behind her. The second Aubrey dropped the gym bag Beca’s paralysis broke and she threw herself at the blonde, wrapping her arms around Aubrey’s waist. With a soft oof when Beca collided into her, Aubrey cradled her close and tucked Beca’s head under her chin as she stroked her back. Immediately Beca felt warmer than she had since they had landed in Austria a week ago. Aubrey’s warm body relaxed her but it was nothing compared to the warmth of ‘home’ that Aubrey’s scent brought her.

“Baby.” Aubrey whispered.

Beca lifted her head and found Aubrey’s lips already waiting. The soft kiss soothed the last of Beca’s frayed nerves and she felt almost lightheaded as the tension left her. She parted her lips and Aubrey slipped inside, deepening the connection; reassuring more than building the fire that was always banked between them.

When they broke apart, Beca sighed and rested her ear against Aubrey’s heart, listening to the strong comforting beat. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, love.” Aubrey squeezed her again. “Chloe sent me.” Aubrey pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Stacie sent this.” She jiggled the hand holding the onesie.

“Oh shit!” Beca jerked upright. “Chloe’s on Skype!” She stepped back, taking Aubrey’s free hand and tugged her over to the desk where she found Chloe waiting patiently with a happy smile and a single tear running down her face. Sometime in the last few minutes Stacie had appeared behind her, her chin propped on Chloe’s shoulder. “You guys… I…” She went to sit but Aubrey beat her to it then pulled Beca into her lap. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me.”

“Can’t ruin the surprise, B.” Stacie blew a kiss at her. “Plus Chloe tells me that you might need a lawyer anyway because you’re going to kill some innocent hotel staff person for doing their job.”

Beca winced. “Not one of my finer moments.”

“No.” Chloe agreed but smiled to take the sting from it. “But this is still new and strange and while you’ve come a long way from the ‘I don’t even sing’ girl we met years ago, sometimes…”

“Change and I don’t get along.” Beca sighed as Aubrey rubbed her back. “I still can’t believe you stealth sent Aubrey like a cuddle ninja.”

“And now that she’s there,” Chloe looked past Beca. “You’re gonna put our girl to bed so she can stop being a cranky pants about sleeping alone.”

“To be fair,” Aubrey laughed. “I remember you being disgruntled the last time none of us could stay overnight at one of your competitions.”

“I have no memory of this. You must be super jet-lagged.” Chloe said innocently. She stuck out her tongue when Stacie poked her in the side.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow,” Stacie said. “We’re going to hang up on you now. I’ve gotta get back to work, but I came home to see the big reveal when Aubrey texted us she landed.”

Beca checked the clock. It was almost 9pm in Vienna so it was only 1pm back home. “I love you guys.” She reached out and pressed her fingertips to her screen. “Thank you.”

“Have a good rest of your day, loves.” Aubrey said, her hand resting over Beca’s on the monitor.

“We love you both.” Chloe smiled gently.

“Maybe now that you’re in good hands, you can sleep.” Stacie paused and Beca knew what was coming. “Or not sleep becauseyou’re in good hands.”

“How long did you take to think that up?” Aubrey asked affectionately.

“Just now.” Stacie shrugged. “I’m good with my mouth.”

“You mean with words.” Chloe half turned to look at her.

“That too.” Stacie shrugged and looked back at the monitor. “It’s killing me to do it, but I really am going to disconnect now.” She smiled gently. “You really do need to get some sleep, Beca. Let Aubrey take care of you. I love both of you.”

“I will.” Beca promised, feeling sleep eagerly tugging at her for the first time in what felt like months. ‘Probably since the last time I was home,’ Beca mused.

“Love you too.” Aubrey said just before Stacie hung up.

They sat there a moment more, Beca having turned sideways to cuddle, before Aubrey’s yawn startled them with its suddenness and volume.

“Oh Bree,” Beca reluctantly stood up and offered a hand. “You must be exhausted. It’s like, what, thirteen hours if you’re lucky to get a direct flight?”

“I may have had dad help me with the arrangements.” Aubrey took her hand and rose to her feet and picked up the onesie she’d draped over the chair. “Plus I got a few hours’ sleep on the plane, but… yeah. Sleeping sounds really good about now.” She held out the outfit. “Stacie says you have to sleep in it since you’ve been cold. She doesn’t want to lose any of your important bits to frostbite. She says, and I quote, ‘I’m too fond of her goodies to risk it.’” She pursed her lips. “Personally I think it’s because of that day you told her it made you feel like she was hugging you.”

Touched at her girls’ thoughtfulness, Beca laughed and took it. “Alright. C’mon, bathroom is over here.”

Aubrey followed her, detouring to grab her bag from beside the door. “This is a pretty nice suite they’ve got you in.”

Beca shrugged one shoulder, still not used to having a multi room suite just for herself. “It’s too much for me. I generally just stick to the bedroom or curl up on the couch when they get me these.” The room was nothing compared to the opulent setup that Khaled had had back on the USO tour, but they generally had a separate bedroom and master bath, a sitting room and sometimes a secondary room that was usually set up like an office. “I feel stupid complaining about it… ungrateful maybe.” She rolled her eyes at herself and voiced her earlier thoughts. “‘Oh boohoo and woe is me. I’m quasi famous and people pay to watch me sing.’”

“But you don’t even sing.” Aubrey flashed a smile at her that Beca couldn’t help but return. “But I can see how it could be lonely,” Aubrey offered as they walked into the bedroom where she set her bag down and began unpacking it. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be with you sooner.”

“Sometimes the band comes up.” Beca shrugged as she watched Aubrey pull out clothes that were still somehow neatly folded even though they had come out of a duffle bag. “Theo and a few of the other brass types make an appearance.” She smiled fondly as Aubrey put her clothes in with Beca’s in various drawers. “We haven’t lit the place on fire yet though, so I don’t know if that counts as a rager by your standards.”

“Pfft.” Aubrey said as she folded the bag and set it on top of the dresser before grabbing her toiletry case.

“You want to shower before bed?” Beca asked as they walked into the bathroom where Aubrey whistled at the size of the walk in shower and the whirlpool bath.

“As heavenly as that tub looks,” Aubrey said wistfully, “I think just want to wash my face, brush my teeth and curl up in that small bed with you.” She opened up her case and began to unpack it just as efficiently as she had the duffle, lining her things next to Beca’s.

Beca chuckled. “Aubrey, that’s a queen sized bed.”

“Right. Small.” Aubrey looked at Beca through the mirror and smiled. “Someone’s gotten me used to something bigger.”

Beca shrugged. “Guilty.” She moved over to the counter, setting her designated pj’s on it. “I must be tired because I know I should be turning that into a super dirty innuendo but I don’t have the energy.”

“I’ll say it tomorrow.” Aubrey offered as she began to wash her face. “Stacie would be disappointed in us both if we let it go.”

“You do love me!” Beca joked as she did the same.

“You’re my moon,” Aubrey said simply after she’d rinsed and Beca felt the threat of tears swelling at the back of her eyes.

“You’re our Earth.” Beca stroked Aubrey’s arm, still partially unable to believe she was actually there.

“Sap.” Aubrey sniffed slightly but Beca could clearly see her own emotions reflected back at her.

They finished cleaning up after the long day, brushing their teeth and hair, before changing into their pj’s: Beca in her Stitch onesie, though she left the hood off, and Aubrey in a pair of sleep pants that looked like ones Chloe had worn in college and… Beca laughed when she realized what Aubrey had pulled on. “Is that my Boob Man hoodie?”

“Maybe.” Aubrey turned off the bathroom light and Beca turned on the lamp beside the bed. For Beca’s 24th birthday, post Fourth of July drunken party videos, Stacie had gotten Beca a hoodie that said “I’m A Boob Man.” Aubrey had put her foot down on including a picture of Beca’s hands on her chest even though Stacie had promised to leave out their faces.

“I wondered where that went.” Beca turned off the main overhead light, watching as Aubrey pulled back the covers and crawled into bed with a grateful sigh. “Should’ve known.”

“Probably.” Aubrey settled into the middle of the bed and looked up expectantly. “Well?”

Beca slid into bed and half curled, half sprawled on Aubrey’s left side. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” She wiggled until she found the right spot and Aubrey’s arms closed around her.

“You needed me.” Aubrey shifted and pulled Beca closer.

“As if it were that simple,” Beca said, thinking of all the planning that had to have happened. Even with General Posen’s help it would’ve cost a pretty penny… though, Beca reminded herself, with the tour sales as well as the album still getting decent numbers, money wasn’t something they had to worry about when things like last minute flights came up.

“It was.” Aubrey’s hand gently stroked her back through the fabric. “You needed us. I was able to come.”

“How long did work let you go for?” Beca asked, not wanting to admit how much she wished Aubrey could stay with her the rest of the tour. She lifted her head when Aubrey hesitated and the smallest bit of tension went through the body under her.

“I…” Aubrey took a deep breath. “I quit.”

“What?” Beca pushed herself up. “You what?”

“Quit.” Aubrey reached up and brushed aside the hair that had fallen into Beca’s eyes. “You know I haven’t been happy there since we got back.”

“Yeah but…” Beca trailed off. “Aubrey, please tell me you did not quit because I’m being a big baby over the fact that I am alone on my tour?” Her brows drew together. ‘Jesus I sound like a spoiled brat.’

“I did not quit because you actually are alone on your first tour since none of us have been able to come with you.” Aubrey met her eyes. “Beca, I haven’t…. Oh I don’t know.” She sighed. “It’s… too routine.”

Beca snorted. “I never expected to hear you say something like that. You’re the Posen with the plan.” Aubrey’s brow arched and Beca said quickly, “Which is important because I never have one and sometimes I need to be kept in line.”

Aubrey’s mouth quirked. “Nice save.”

“Thank you.” Beca watched her, worried. “But to quit?”

“You know when I’ve had the most fun doing deals lately?” Aubrey waited and Beca shook her head. “Negotiating your contract with Khaled’s label. Finalizing the details of your tour.”

“You were kind of amazing at it.” Beca mused.

“It was something new, something other than just getting the most out of an artist for your old label.” Aubrey’s eyes had gone distant but now they focused back on Beca. “And I was wondering if you’d… maybe allow me to be your manager full time.”

“Yes.” Beca said without hesitation. She was currently on her fourth – or was it fifth – manager through the agency recommended by Khaled and she already knew the two of them didn’t mesh and it wasn’t going to last. “I would love you to be my manager, Bree. No one else can boss me around like you can.”

Aubrey laughed. “I don’t think that’s exactly the way it’s supposed to work…”

“Fine, you can boss Theo around for me and keep me from calling him Turtle Man when I get pissed at him.” Beca leaned down and kissed her. “But only if you’re sure.”

“There’s obviously going to be some things we’re going to have to figure out, like… do I need some sort of license or to form a company or…” Aubrey trailed off as she yawned so wide her jaw popped. “But we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“I think you just want to be your own boss.” Beca said as she rolled over to turn off the light before snuggling down again. “But I don’t envy you coming up with a company name.”

“BCS Talent.” The reply was so quick it was like she’d known Beca was going to say it.

“Of course you already have a name. You don’t do anything until you’ve covered all the angles.” Beca laughed and lifted her head again to smile down at her.

“Since you’d be my only client, I pondered ‘Mitchsen Talent.’” Aubrey’s eyes twinkled at her. “But I didn’t want to keep answering questions about why I mashed our names together.”

“Because we mash ourselves together as often as possible.” Beca said, kissing her.

“Yes, but I don’t want to tell strangers that. But this way…” Aubrey stroked her fingers through Beca’s hair. “It’s named after what matters most in my life.”

Beca inhaled deeply through her nose. “I hadn’t… I should’ve… put that together.” She inexplicably felt like crying again, touched beyond all measure at how much thought Aubrey had put into it already.

“Stacie took some convincing. Something about the last time she let me go out of her sight and into another country… But she came around. Chloe took less, once I explained why I wanted to do it.” Aubrey tugged a lock of Beca’s hair. “She has never trusted that your managers had your best interests at heart and not just their own.”

“Probably.” Beca said lightly. “I’ll fire Kas tomorrow.”

“Beca!” Aubrey laughed. “We need to talk first.”

“No, we don’t. You’re my manager and that’s final.” Beca put her head back down on Aubrey’s chest, happier than she could’ve dreamed possible.

“Then as your manager, I’m telling you that we’re going to sit down and talk logistics.” She put her hand over Beca’s mouth as she drew in breath to answer. “Tomorrow. After a giant breakfast that’s going to fill the massive table in the other room.”

Beca nodded and Aubrey slowly removed her hand. “Alright. Whatever you say… manager.” She grinned as Aubrey let out an overly exaggerated sigh. “Bree?”

“Yes, Beca?”

“Thank you for coming to Vienna.” Beca felt Aubrey’s hand on her chin and let her head be tilted up until Aubrey’s lips met hers. When they parted again, she said softly, “You’re not a dream, right?”

“I’ve got you, love.” Aubrey said and kissed her again. “I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I love you, Aubrey.” Beca kissed her one last time, a lazy comforting stroking of tongues and lips.

“I love you too.” Aubrey’s fingers slipped from her jaw to wrap lightly around the arm across her waist.

Far quicker than she’d gone to sleep since the last time she’d been in their arms in The Expanse, Beca felt herself drawn into slumber, the steady beat of Aubrey’s heart matching her own.

~A~

Aubrey woke to gentle kisses. They were placed delicately at the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, her eyebrow and even her closed eyelid once Beca knew she was awake. She sighed in contentment at the weight resting against her side and the hand drawing designs on her stomach.

“You kept your promise.” Beca said before kissing the tip of Aubrey’s nose.

Aubrey smiled but kept her eyes closed. “A Posen-Conrad always keeps their promises.”

“You guys are good at that.”

Aubrey opened her mouth to answer but Beca’s lips covered hers in a kiss far less chaste than the ones they had exchanged the prior evening. She gave out a happy purr as Beca licked down into her mouth, languid but passionate; unhurried but definitely an indication of how the rest of the morning would go and Aubrey felt desire coiling as the rest of her body woke up.

At least until she opened her eyes, intending to wish Beca what was apparently going to be very good morning and found Beca leaning over her, all sleep tousled and warm…

With the Stitch hoodie pulled up over her head.

Aubrey began to laugh.

Beca propped her head on her right hand, watching as Aubrey fell apart every time she took in the blue ears on top of Beca’s head. Aubrey laughed so loud and so long that she snorted, which caused her to giggle even while she was mortified, but then she’d catch sight of Beca’s patiently waiting face, surrounded by blue fuzzy alien, and she’d lose it all over again. When she’d almost exhausted herself, Beca merely pursed her lips when Aubrey took a peek at her and snickered.

“Aubrey.”

“Yes?” Aubrey let out a giggle, keeping her eyes closed.

“Stacie has made love to me in this onesie.” Beca hadn’t stopped tracing designs on Aubrey’s stomach since the first giggle and now she curved her fingers around Aubrey’s hip. “I don’t see what the problem is.” Her tone was nothing but pure amused affection and despite the fact that she just can’t, Aubrey felt herself melt.

“That’s because you guys are aca-pervs.” Aubrey giggled again, high pitched and borderline hysterical at the image that formed and she knew at some point she and Chloe would have to watch them re-enact that. ‘Would you like to be pot, or kettle?’ she mentally asked herself and snorted again.

“Guess you’ll just have to take it off me.” Beca said silkily in her ear and Aubrey’s laughter tapered off into a moan as Beca’s hand moved up to cover her breast.

“Yes please,” Aubrey breathed as her back arched into her lovers touch.

Beca kissed her. “Let me properly thank you for saving the rest of the team from a very cranky artist.”

“I think, and I mean this from the very bottom of my heart, that the pleasure is about to be mine.” Aubrey’s hands slid over Beca until she found the row of buttons on the onesie. “After I get you out of this and naked.”

Beca smiled at her as Aubrey slowly undid them one by one, humming in anticipation with each inch of skin exposed.

“I love Vienna.”

#mitchsen #mitchsen fluff #beca mitchell #aubrey posen #wlw #chloe beale #stacie conrad #Poly Bellas Squared #A Shared Lifetime #cyc writes

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nellpire · 7 years ago

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[171222] Nell Official 2017 Photobook Fan Q&A (translation)

1. You are about to reach your 20th anniversary.. What do you think when you see fans maturing(!) together with you? Do you have any questions for the fans? Jongwan: Standing tickets or seated tickets, what’s better? Jaekyung: Though it’s intimate, since we only meet in concert halls, sometimes it feels a bit surreal^^ We can’t meet often but I’m always happy and grateful to see you… - A question for the fans / Why do you like Nell…? Junghoon: I’m always thankful. And I feel a sense of kinship with you since we’re maturing together. And of course happy that we’ve been able to be together for this long through music.

2. What part of the chicken do you guys like the best? Jongwan: Wings Jaekyung: Hahahaha / Wings vs tenderloin Junghoon: For chicken, wings are the way to go.

3. Please introduce your individual instruments! I want to organize Nell’s room. Please check any incorrect entries. Jongwan: I think they’re too many to introduce; when we record we use about 13 different guitars and 12 different synthesizers. Jaekyung: If I were to introduce the ones we use for concerts only.. Fender stratocaster (lemon) - Jeff beck signature Fender stratocaster (red) - Greg tessler masterbuilt PRS-custom24 Suhr - Scott Henderson signature Gibson 355 - Standard Gibson 355 - Historic Gibson Lespaul 59 - Historic Schecter Telecaster - Lee Jaekyung Custom model (a gift from Schecter Japan~^^) James Tyler Telecaster - Mongoose Retro Gene Baker B3 - Humburker Gene Baker B3 - P90 Morgan Acoustic Guitar - Jumbo orchestra Taylor Guitar - 414CE Nylon Bogner Shiva amp 20th anniversary Nord stage2 88

4. What is ripped jeans to Jongwan wanja-nim? Jongwan: Clothes that would be okay even if they ripped even more.

5. Which instrument does Jongwan feel the coolest while playing? Wan is cute when playing the drums! Jongwan: Guitar

6. How do each of you deal with stress? Jongwan: Alcohol, sleep Jaekyung: Deep sleep or heavy exercise Junghoon: Movies, games, music, travel Jaewon: Alcohol, friends, parties

7. I’ve just come back to Korea after studying in Russia for 6 years. I learned that Russian people all enjoy rock music (I often saw grandmothers with Nickelback songs for their ringtone and grandfathers with AC/DC for their ringtones. Seriously…!). Do you have any plans to advance into Russia? Jongwan: Spasiba Jaekyung: We went with Seo Taiji to perform in Vladivostok in 2004, and I could feel how the country loves rock music. How much they like alcohol and how cold it is also suits Nell well k I’d like to try it if we get a chance. Junghoon: Any place where people listen to our music and we can perform would be good, of course. Russia go go.

8. Is there a Korean musician who you want to be like or respect? Also, is there a person who you look at and think ‘let’s not become like them’? For the last question I’m more curious about whether you have someone like that or not, not who it is. Jongwan: I respect Lee Seunghwan-nim / Way too many Junghoon: I respect all musicians who go forward playing their own music, whether they are seniors or juniors. As for the last question, we definitely do.

9. Do you have any plans on doing this (Q&A) regularly? Aren’t you curious about the fans’ thoughts? Jongwan: We have ‘plans’. Jaekyung: I think it’d be fun to do this in some shape or form every once in a while!

10. What electronics or instruments are you interested in recently? Jongwan: UNFAIRCHILD 670 M II Junghoon: Playstation VR / Rolan Gaia

11. What song would you like to play a cover of at least once? Jaekyung: Purple Rain - Prince (even though not doing it would be better) Jongwan: Hallelujah, Jeff Buckley version

12. Any songs you want to play as Jung Jaewon band? kk Jaekyung: Beat it - Michael Jackson (even though not doing it would be better) Junghoon: Celine Dion’s Power of Love Jongwan: Nessun Dorma

13. Can you recommend us a movie, exhibition, concert, book etc that you’ve enjoyed this year? Jongwan: I, Daniel Blake Jaewon: The movie Maudie Junghoon: Manchester by the Sea, and for concerts Depeche Mode

14. If you could transcend time and space and meet one person in the whole world, who would it be? Jongwan: It’s not a person, but I’d like to see a huge dinosaur in real life. Junghoon: Rather than a meeting, I’d like to go to a Nirvana concert.

15. If you could give the fans anything (with no regards to cost, and it doesn’t need to be an object) what would it be? Jaekyung: Our unreleased songs (minus the bad ones k)

16. Jaekyung oppa, when you record entire concerts the file size must be insane, so how many external hard drives do you have? Do you have more Kumamon plushies or more external hard drives? Jaekyung: I have 5 hard drives. And I have 2 Kumamons that the fans gave to me k (the picture I uploaded on instagram was taken in a store hahaha)

17. Which out of your own songs are you the most pleased with? Jongwan: ‘What do you think’ Jaekyung: ‘Farewell’ Junghoon: ‘12 Seconds’ Jaewon: ‘12 Seconds’

18. If someone other than Jongwan hyung-nim were to take the role of vocalist in Nell, who would suit it the best? Jongwan: There’s no way.

19. Can you please show us the Selfish Love music video just one more time? Jongwan: No. Jaekyung: We can’t. Junghoon: How could we ever?

20. Jaekyung-nim, you know you’re good-looking, right? Jaekyung: Of course^^

21. I’m curious about your individual ways of overcoming painful experiences (alcohol and cigarettes, that’s no no, minus those two!) Jongwan: The thought that I would still have a hard time even if this didn’t happen. Jaekyung: If I can solve it then I do, and if I can’t then I do as much as I can, accept it and let time heal. Junghoon: I just keep thinking about it. Immerse myself in it. Then it will slowly start to get better.

22. If you only had one day left to live, how would you spend it? Jongwan: First I’d say goodbye to my family, then spend 8 hours in the studio before putting on a concert and finishing off with an afterparty with people I love. Jaekyung: I don’t know if there’s anything specific I’d want to do -- I think I’d listen to the songs we were unable to finish and then say my goodbyes. Junghoon: I’d be with my family. Jaewon: I’d watch the sunset by the ocean.

23. How come Junghoon has never once shown us a bass solo? And as you always use a pick instead of fingering (of course using a pick will sound better on some songs but), is there a reason for that? Junghoon: I will work hard.

24. How do you release everyday stress? Jongwan: Travel

25. What pictures do you use as your kakaotalk profile pictures and cover photos.. k (Jaekyung uses a cover photo of a street full of fallen leaves and no profile photo, Jaewon uses a picture from the movie Maudie)

26. I’m curious about the members’ favorite movies. Also, is there a movie that has influenced your music, like how you got your name from the movie Nell? Jongwan: Stay, Never let me go Junghoon: I like too many movies so it’s hard to choose, but Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind comes to mind. Jaewon: Lords of Dogtown, Stand By Me, Gilbert Grape

27. If you were a color, what would it be? And please tell us the reason as well. Jongwan: Grey Jaekyung: (picture of… the moon..?)

I love you. Junghoon: Me too.

28. Who cries the most out of the members? Jongwan: Me and Jaewon. Junghoon: Could be me. Jaewon: I don’t know who does the most, but Jaekyung cries the least.

29. Who do you think will get married next? Jongwan: Don’t

30. I’m sad because I can’t go to this year’s christmas concert, and I’m a 13-year fan who wishes to receive a signed CD at some point. I like you so much that I want to ask a question this badly. I love how pretty the album art is; do you decide on the design yourselves? Jongwan: We decide on the concept, the designer makes the art.

31. To. Jung Jaewon / Do you have other hobbies aside from surfing and skateboarding? Jaewon: Drawing, hiking.

32. To. NELL & SPACE BOHEMIAN / Who first coined the phrase ‘seubo-in’?? Do you like it? Jongwan: I like it. Junghoon: Was it Jongwan who used it first? I don’t know too well, but I like it.

33. Is there a singer you’d like to work with? Jaewon: The late Shin Haecheol-nim.

34. Chicken vs Pizza Jaekyung: Pizza Junghoon: Chicken Jongwan: Complete victory by the pizza

35. Jongwan oppa, I remember hearing you say on Nell’s Cruel Radio that you like to read. Please recommend me a good book. Jongwan: Blindness (José Saramago)

36. What’s the most memorable performance you’ve seen? Jaekyung: I’ve seen too many, but the ones that come to mind now are Black Sabbath in Korea, 1995 / Steve Vai in Korea, 1997 / Metallica in Korea, 1998 / Roger Waters in Korea, 2002 / Marilyn Manson in Korea, 2003 / Nine Inch Nails in Korea, 2007 / Björk in New York, 2012 / Paul McCartney in Korea, 2015 / Among those, Roger Waters’ (Pink Floyd) concert was the most memorable to me. / As for Nell, it’ll be this year’s December concert. ^^ Junghoon: That’s a difficult question. Off the top of my head, The Verve live in Japan. Their charisma was astounding.

37. Do you have any thoughts of letting us know the lyrics in the backmasked parts of your songs? Jongwan: No. Junghoon: I don’t think so.

38. Can you reveal the playlists you’ve been listening to recently? Jongwan: Currently listening to this year’s Christmas concert setlist. Jaewon: Elbow, Death Cab for Cutie.

39. What are each of your favorite foods?! Jaekyung: Galbi, lobster, soy marinated crab, (bigmac) Junghoon: Braised spicy chicken Jongwan: There’s too many. Beijing-style duck, steak, pasta, Pyongyang style cold noodles etc.

40. When will Jongwan oppa do a V app live in your house like you said you would? Junghoon: Did he say that? Jongwan: Soon.

41. Junghoon oppa, at some point you started recording the fans with your camcorder -- do you…watch those back..?? Also, you’re taking a lot of pictures with your film camera recently. Have you been influenced by Simz oppa to do that, or is there another reason? Please reveal a few cuts that you’re pleased with! Junghoon: I’ve seen all of them at least once. I edited some (of the videos) and posted them on social media. I was taking pictures with a digital camera using a filter to make the pictures look like they were taken with a film camera, and so I thought ‘if this is how it’ll turn out, I should buy an actual film camera’, so I did. I don’t know anything about photography so I’m just taking pictures with my P&S.

42. Please tell us a song you’re disappointed with from each album, or a song you don’t like, and the reason for your choices, please. Or an album you’re displeased with. Jongwan: Walk Through Me. I think we could give each song a more fitting sound if we were to record that album now. Junghoon: ‘Reflection of’, ‘Speechless’. At the end of the day, it’s a pity how they turned out. If we had been a bit more skilled at recording and writing, I think they could have turned into a little bit, or a lot better albums.

43. If you were to be reincarnated, what would you like to be born as? Jongwan: A dolphin living in a place no human has ever touched. Junghoon: Wonbin.

44. What do you think when you see your increasing amount of male fans? I’m a fanboy too, haha! Jongwan: It feels good. Jaekyung: It’s good to see. The sceaming (of the crowd) became thicker! I understand now!! Junghoon: It’s great.

45. When do you recruit workers for Space Bohemian? (My ultimate goal is to become an employee there… just wait…) Jongwan: 11AM~8PM

46. Do you use Logic (music editing software) or Pro Tools more? If you use both, which is better? Jongwan: We don’t use Logic, we use Cubase and Pro Tools. We use Cubase up until the recording, then change to Pro Tools for the final phase.

47. Junghoon-nim, please let us know what brand of sunglasses you wear! Junghoon: I wear several different ones, but my favorite is Karl Lagerfeldt.

48. I’m curious as to what you’re thinking about! Jongwan: It changes a lot. Jaekyung: I think most of what’s in my head goes into our albums! Junghoon: All kinds of tremendous desires.

49. What is Bori’s gender?! Junghoon: She’s a girl

50. Is Junghoon-nim’s Bori doing well? Do you have any plans to open a separate instagram account with just pictures of her? Junghoon: Yes, she’s doing well. I don’t think I’ll make another instagram account.

51. I’ll give you a multiple choice question. How long will you continue making music? A. Until I die / B. Until all I have left is the strength to hold a spoon / C. For 50 more years / D. Until our 70th debut anniversary Jaekyung: A Junghoon: A Jongwan: If possible, A.

52. Is it okay to ask for a signature if I see you on the street? It is okay to let you know I know who you are? I love you. Jaekyung: Yes. Junghoon: Please be our friend. Jongwan: We don’t go out a lot, so.

53. What are your favorite Coldplay / Muse songs? Any songs you intend to play live sometime? Jaekyung: Coldplay: Gravity / Muse: Exogenesis: Symphony part 3 Junghoon: Coldplay: True Love / Muse: Stockholm Syndrome

54. What’s your most used apps? Jongwan: Lotte cinema Jaekyung: Hi-Q recorder / Soundhound / Producer tools / Metronome / Boss tuner Junghoon: Naver cloud. Coupang. Jaewon: Navigation.

55. Tell us about a movie you’ve seen within the last 3 months that left a deep impression, whether it was good or bad. Junghoon: The Outlaws. “Do you know who I am?”

56. What’s your favorite time of day? Jongwan: 9PM~5AM. Jaekyung: One hour before the sun sets. Junghoon: The space between midnight and 4am. Jaewon: Just because the sun rises.

57. To Junghoon and Jaekyung: Who’s your Twice bias? Jaewon: Tzuyu.

58. To all: What’s your favorite cover of one of your songs? Jaekyung: Taeyeon’s Time Spent Walking Through Memories Jongwan: Kim Feel’s Time Spent Walking Through Memories. Jaewon: Time Spent Walking Through Memories.

#nell #official 2017 photobook #interview #translation #jongwan #jaekyung #junghoon #jaewon

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deadcactuswalking · 5 years ago

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 07/02/2020

I’ll be transparent: my left ear’s blocked and I’ve been struggling to hear really, I feel I can’t properly critique music with that issue for many reasons, so I’m just going to BS my way through that one. I think that’s fair. Let’s “review” those charts.

Top 10

At the top spot, finally, it’s the amazing “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd, up one space to #1 after 10 weeks on the chart! I’m glad it’s here, and I think it can last though it does face some competition.

At number-two is the runner-up, “The Box” by Roddy Ricch, up a single space from last week.

Last week’s #1 “Before You Go” by Lewis Capaldi is down two spaces to number-three this week.

“Don’t Start Now” is also down two spots to number-four this week.

Unfortunately still holding onto number-five after a one-spot drop is “Godzilla” by Eminem featuring the late Juice WRLD.

“Someone You Loved” has dragged itself up three spots from the depths of hell, rebounding to number-six. I have no idea how this is happening and I want to put a halt to it as soon as possible.

At number-seven, “everything i wanted” by Billie Eilish gets a slight one-spot boost possibly due to the Grammy’s performance.

“Life is Good” by Drake, then Future is down a position to number-eight.

“ROXANNE” by Arizona Zervas is still hanging on up a spot to number-nine.

Finally, to round off the top 10, we have “Adore You” by Harry Styles back at #10 after raving up four positions this week for whatever reason. I’m not exactly complaining; it’s a pretty decent song, but I have no idea why it’s back.

Climbers

We have only two climbers that are notable enough to earn a spot here, but they are very interesting and seem to be surprising hits. “You should be sad”, a country rock-infused hot mess (Or song, depending on how polite you want to be) by Halsey, is up seven spaces to #17 this week, with some true organic momentum, and “Roses” by Saint Jhn, a trap song that was made into an unauthorised house remix by Kazakh producer Imanbek, zoomed up 19 spaces to #21. These two songs seem like they could make the top 10 pretty soon, so I’d keep watch.

Fallers

There are a few more fallers, however, as there always naturally tends to be. First of all, J Hus had all three of his songs that debuted last week from the album bomb (for Big Conspiracy) fall dramatically in pretty expected fashion, but I’m surprised they’re all on the chart still, considering most of the time at least one of the songs tends to drop out. Leading the pack is “Play Play” featuring Burna Boy down eight to #19, swiftly followed by “Repeat” featuring Koffee down 12 spots to #33 and finally, “Big Conspiracy” featuring iceé tgm barely scraping the Top 40 at #40, down a whopping 21 positions from last week, which is a drop intensity I don’t think we’ve seen in a long while. There are also a few hits falling off due to the arbitrary streaming cuts rule, like “Pump it Up” by Endor down five to #23, right next to the absolute collapse of “Own It” by Stormzy featuring Ed Sheeran and Burna Boy, a former #1, down 19 spaces to #24. As I’ve always said, this rule mostly and usually solely affects hip-hop artists. It does have a notable effect on some pop and EDM though; “Lose Control” by MEDUZA, Goodboys and Becky Hill is down five to #25, and not all hip-hop has the streaming cut to blame. The mediocre “Ei8ht Mile” by Digdat featuring Aitch has only been in the chart for three weeks and is already at #28 after its 11-space decrease this week. Regardless, those are our only fallers this week... well, except “Those Kinda Nights” by Eminem featuring Ed Sheeran down 11 spots to #38 but do we really want to acknowledge that song exists? I’m not sure if we do.

Dropouts & Returning Entries

Novelty songs don’t last long, and neither do protest songs, so the anthem of the European Union, “Ode to Joy”, as performed by Andre Rieu and the Johann Strauss Orchestra is out off of the debut at #30, as should be expected. The other dropouts are just songs that have been slogging in the lower reach of the top 40 for at least three weeks, like “Circles” by Post Malone out from #31, “Darkness” by Eminem out from #37 and “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles out from #39, but there is also the dropout for “Pee Pee” by M Huncho. The song’s growing on me too. Don’t think about that too much. There aren’t any returning entries as usual, so let’s run through some possible future hits in the top 75. Not all of them are good, not all of them are bad. We have “What if I Told You that I Loved You” by Ali Gatie at #71, “Charades” by Headie One and Fred Again at #67, “July” by Noah Cyrus at #66, “Momentary Bliss” by Gorillaz featuring slowthai and Slaves at #58, which is a fantastic comeback for Damon and gang, “Only the Young” by Taylor Swift from her documentary at #57, “High Fashion” by Roddy Ricch and Mustard at #56, as well as “Ballin’” by the same duo at #46, the returning entry of “when the party’s over” by Billie Eilish after the Grammy’s at #45, “Power Over Me” by Dermot Kennedy at #42 and finally, “Suicidal” by YNW Melly at #41. Let’s get to the new arrivals.

NEW ARRIVALS

Like I said, I’m going to BS my way through most of these; I can listen to these songs in their entirety completely fine but I won’t be able to have that pleasant of an experience through headphones so I’ll just be blasting it out loud from the crap speakers of my laptop, meaning I could be losing some notable production elements that I would usually further analyse. I’m sorry about that, guys, but I’m still reviewing the charts even with a hearing impairment.

#36 – “Better Off Without You” – Becky Hill and Shift K3y

Produced by Shift K3y, Jarly and Svidden

Is impairment a word? I am so tired right now, I apologise if I start droning on or meandering about garbage, but here we are. I actually got three predictions right last week, with our first three new arrivals all being songs I predicted would end up here this week! So that’s pretty cool. Uh, this is Becky Hill’s new single with Shift K3y? Who’s Shift K3y? I don’t know. Looking him up, he’s another one of those future garage and house DJs from London, and he had a pretty massive hit with “Touch” in 2014. This is his third UK Top 40 single and first in five years since “I Know” peaked at #26 in 2014. It’s Becky Hill’s ninth (eighth excluding the uncredited feature on Wilkinson’s “Afterglow”) and I think I know exactly what to expect. It’s going to be “Wish You Well” with Sigala again. I wasn’t exactly incorrect; there is the same fake handclap, the same breathy and dull vocal from the admittedly talented vocalist Becky Hill, who does have a certain sound to her voice that is recognisable albeit not particularly impressive. The chorus is especially awkward and leads to a lot of empty space vocally within the duration of the drop, it sounds really odd. Otherwise, this is barely anything more than just pop-house fluff and a bit of a waste of time. Oh, and Shift K3y actually provides backing vocals here, or at least that’s who I’m assuming they are. They might just be a heavily edited Becky Hill. Regardless, this is a slightly cuter rendition of what we get every other week on this show.

#35 – “Say So” – Doja Cat

Produced by Tyson Trax

Yay! So, okay, I’ve been a fan of Doja Cat for a while even though her discography is wildly inconsistent in quality, back when “MOOO!” happened, and I’m pretty excited to finally see her here and be able to talk about her first UK Top 40 hit, which I’ve actually already listened to so I can confidently say it is a pretty decent, fun song. It is actually the biggest hit from her album Hot Pink, which saw more success than her debut and contained her second break-out single, the “Juicy” remix with Tyga, which of course had the viral video, but this one doesn’t have a video and instead got big on both TikTok and its pure groove and musical merit. Surely, this is Doja Cat’s best possible “first” impression, yet it’s kind of generic and definitely lacks some of her usual charm. On another note, I don’t care at all; this is a bop. The groove is immediately recognisable as it’s a direct sample from “Good Times” by Chic, or at least damn well sounds like it, and it provides a pretty good foundation for the synth-heavy funk-pop production that, while it does feel flavourless, especially by the end of the song, is a perfect beat for Doja Cat’s light falsetto, especially in the infectious chorus and gorgeous first verse, with some very interesting melodies and harmonies, although her voice does falter at times and it does sound somewhat awkward and abrupt, especially when a shift in her cadence does not reflect a shift in the music at all right at the end. Her second verse is a more typical Doja Cat rap verse, and it has as much charisma and energy as she usually does, with some really sweet, fast and surprisingly aggressive flows. By this time, however, that chorus does really start to drone on, doesn’t it? There are barely any developments in the instrumental to keep it interesting. Like, maybe try a key change? Just don’t loop the same vocal line for the chorus six times, especially since the chorus’ melody is incredibly simple. The meandering outro doesn’t really do much for me either, it just feels like they couldn’t figure out an end to the song. Speaking of not figuring out stuff, the second verse is borderline nonsensical but, hey, despite all those flaws, the song works well as a little dance-pop venture for Doja, and I’d like to hear it more... or perhaps in this case LESS, refined in the future.

#30 – “Lonely” – Joel Corry

Produced by Joel Corry, Lewis Thompson and Neave Applebaum

You remember “Sorry”. Now he’s back with another house-pop song with a one-word, two-syllable title that nearly rhymes with his name and features an uncredited female singer. I have no idea how this one’s going to sound!!! Maybe I shouldn’t be too cynical, I mean “Sorry” was okay. This one seems to have Harlee Jayne Sudworth on it as the vocalist in place of Hayley May, but it could be a sample as I’m just going by the writing credits. It’s Corry’s second UK Top 40 hit, by the way, after “Sorry” was his breakout hit. Yeah, I’m sorry, I find it hard to care. The vocalist sounds exactly like Hayley May, the instrumental is just vaguely deep house-influenced preset loops, and the drop is one I’ve heard at least seven times this past month. The stuttering in the post-chorus and bridge is possibly the most obnoxious shit I’ve heard in EDM since “Like a G6”. AIt’s also way too long for how uninteresting it is. Pass.

#12 – “Physical” – Dua Lipa

Produced by Jason Evigan and Koz

Ah, there are two new songs just outside of the top 10, the first by Dua Lipa, serving as her second single from Future Nostalgia, which is shaping up to be a pretty interesting dance-pop/90s house and nu-disco throwback record seemingly from these singles and the vibrant, colourful aesthetic. This is “Physical”, and despite a pretty cool music video, this seems to have debuted pretty low, which is disappointing but she could easily gain more traction as “Don’t Start Now” starts to falter. I’m excited to listen to this with both ears, but regardless this is Dua Lipa’s 14th UK Top 40 hit, and let’s listen, I guess. First off, this sounds a lot less 90s than it does 80s, in fact I’d probably call this instrumental typical of let’s say, early Madonna, but with an extra injection of steroids inserted right into the tempo, with that first beeping synth melody sounding a lot more menacing and intense than intimate as I expected, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. In fact, Dua Lipa herself is probably the worst part of this song, as her presence is questionably mundane here, sometimes having her Auto-Tune trail off awkward, in the verses especially. Otherwise, the additional bombast of the synths in that chorus are a pretty nice addition but without Dua Lipa putting that much effort this does feel a tad empty until of course that bridge which is the final release and climax, and that sounds beautiful, especially with the strings and all, but is it really worth it at that point? Not only that, but the chorus that follows feels neutered in comparison. The song feels like it’s a high-speed car chase that happens to constantly be in traffic. It’s not bad, but it’s hard not to feel at least a little disappointed.

#11 – “Wake Up Call” – KSI featuring Trippie Redd

Produced by S-X and Mally Mall

Well, this’ll be an ant-climactic one I think. This is KSI, British vlogger, rapper and semi-professional boxer, with her new song “Wake Up Call” featuring Trippie Redd’s first ever appearance in the UK Top 40, which is unexpected. He’s only ever been in the #80s before, but KSI is a different story, as it’s his third appearance in the UK Top 40 and his umpteenth in the singles chart overall. I’m not exactly excited to hear this since even though I am a fan of Trippie, he really would phone it in on a KSI feature, within reason, but we’ll see how it is. Just as I expected, it is kind of garbage, even though I actually love that quirky synth loop that acts as the main melody. Sadly, it gets pretty old two minutes in, and Trippie’s hook, drowned in reverb, is just unpleasant, as is the pathetic trap beat and KSI’s surprisingly anti-charismatic delivery. Like, I thought he was a YouTuber people liked for being happy and upbeat, right? Why is he just murmuring to kill time here? Yeah, this isn’t worth anyone’s time. KYLE and Lil Yachty could probably do this beat the little amount of justice it deserves, though.

Conclusion

Well, there’s nothing particularly amazing here but it’s clear that Doja Cat’s “Say So” is what is most worth listening to here, so it’ll get Best of the Week, I suppose. I guess I’ll give the Honourable Mention to “Physical” by Dua Lipa, and the Dishonourable Mention to... “Lonely” by Joel Corry, actually, as while it’s less interesting and probably has a larger absence of good than our Worst of the Week, “Wake Up Call” by KSI featuring Trippie Redd, at least there wasn’t any potential being wasted. Follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank for more pop music rambles and I’ll see you next week – or sooner!

REVIEWING THE CHARTS 2020

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redsoapbox · 5 years ago

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MY ALBUMS OF 2019

Redsoapbox is five years old this weekend, during which time I have blogged over 150 reviews/interviews/opinion pieces. Many of these, together with my work for Wales Arts Review, New Sound Wales, Buzz magazine and From the Margins, make up the bulk of my debut collection Pop Hack. A revised and updated version, for the first time in print form, will be available by Christmas ( Watch out for updates on the blog). One of the annual features that I’ve most enjoyed compiling is my choice of Album of the Year and it’s that time of year once again folks. Before revealing this year’s shortlist (as has become the custom, the winner will be announced as the clock strikes twelve on New Year’s Eve!) here are the previous recipients of the award.

2015 - Trouble In Mind: Jodie Marie

2016 - You Can’t Go Back if There’s Nothing To Go Back To - Richmond Fontaine

2017 - Zero Moon - David Corley

2018 - Asking For Trouble - Dan Bettridge

So, it’s delicately poised at Wales 2 the Rest of the World 2. Here’s my 2019 shortlist -

Fontaines DC: Dogrel

‘Dublin in the rain is mine / a pregnant city with a catholic mind’. And so begins Dogrel, the irresistible debut from young tyros Fontaines DC. Frontman Grian Chatten, his rebel yell influenced by the cities rich literary tradition and the dramatic song staging of Shane MacGowan, throw’s a flurry of big punches early on in a successful attempt at shock and awe. “Big”, “Sha Sha Sha” and “Too Real” are all thundering tunes that rattle your cage. The first time you play this record, it’s possible to believe that you’re listening to an all-time great album unfold in real-time. Ultimately, though, Dogrel burns itself out before the close, but there’s no doubting it remains a powerful debut and a certain contender for album of the year.

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The Delines: The Imperial

Hot on the heels of their critically acclaimed debut Colfax (2014), Willy Valutin and his country-soul combo issued a limited-edition bonus album Scenic Sessions (2015), the unexpected result of a summer recording session initially booked with the sole intention of cutting the group’s next single. The band had already set aside a dozen or so songs for their second album proper, which was scheduled for release in 2016, when fate took a hand. The band was halfway through recording their new album when singer Amy Boone was knocked down outside a convenience store in Austin and seriously injured. It suddenly looked as if Scenic Sessions, once intended as little more than a superior stop-gap, would become the final chapter in the Delines story.

One thing was sure, there was never any possibility of Vlautin drafting in a new singer. The Richmond Fontaine frontman had only formed The Delines in the first place as a vehicle for working with Boone, delighting in the qualities she brought to her interpretations of his downhearted ballads. With his alt-country outfit Richmond Fontaine officially disbanded, Vlautin concentrated on re-working his latest novel, counting down the days until his friend was ready to return to the studio. Thankfully, after nine surgeries, Boone was able to re-join the band and work re-started on The Imperial. It was, of course, well worth the wait - The Imperial is an impeccable collection of heart-breaking character studies, Boone’s well-worn, country-soul whisper vividly bringing to life the despondent tales of Vlautin’s three-time losers. “Cheer up, Charley”, “Holly the Hustle” and “Eddie & Polly” are stand-out vignettes, but there is no filler here. The Imperial is a solid gold comeback.

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Armstrong - Under Blue Skies

I reviewed this sublime re-issue on TBM/Country Mile (with no less than 8 extra tracks!) for New Sound Wales. You can read it here - www.newsoundwales.com/cd-reviews/armstrong-under-blue-skies/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ochnWdLJN3Q

Night Flight: Night Flight*

Night Flight’s debut album, notwithstanding a terrific review in PopMatters, seems to have gone somewhat under the radar, which is a deep disappointment given that it’s an outstanding piece of work. The band wisely used their two excellent pop/rock EPs Wanderlust (2017) and Carousel (2018) as a departure point for an elegant and emotional debut that is best heard with the lights turned down low and a whiskey chaser near to hand. Although sometimes compared to Elbow, Night Flight are more akin to a seventies soft-rock band. Their beautiful new single “Mexico” makes you believe that AOR can be king again in the 2020s.

* the loophole I’m using to include the album is that although it was available to stream in December 2018 it wasn’t released on CD until this January.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuOk2Wgr_KM

Swimming Tapes: Morningside

I’m sorely tempted to just write see Night Flight above and save on the man-hours! In fact, London’s Swimming Tapes’ beautifully manicured dream-pop, particularly on tracks like “Passing Ships” and current single “Mirador”, positions the band somewhere between The Beach Boys and Real Estate in the great scheme of things. There are, however, comparisons to be made with Night Flight – the classic songwriting, rooted in pop’s pre-punk past, for one, the fine-grained musicianship, another. I saw them play a wonderful set at Swn in October (as I did Night Flight the year before) before a smallish crowd. The times will change, though, and the race is on to see which of these bands plays a stadium tour first.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OFSTJdkZMtw

Purple Mountains: Purple Mountains

Back in 2009, David Berman singer/songwriter with cult Americana outfit Silver Jews pulled the plug on his critically acclaimed band after twenty long years and six assured albums. Nothing very strange in that, you may think: Bands run their course, musical differences set in and people fall out. Except in Berman’s case, there was an altogether more unusual motivation for his walking away from the music business. Posting on the group’s message board, Berman “confessed” to the fact that he was the son of the union-busting lobbyist Rick Berman, a man dubbed by CBS’ 60 Minutes programme as “Dr. Evil”, due to a career spent representing the likes of big tobacco. The singer described his father as a ‘despicable man, a human molester and a scoundrel’, declaring that he’d previously thought that the band could provide ‘a refuge away from his world’. He jokingly promised to turn his hand to ‘screenwriting or muckraking’.

Except it was anything but a laughing matter though, as the opening track “That’s Just The Way That I Feel”, from Purple Mountains memoiristic debut makes painfully clear – ‘Course I’ve been humbled by the void / Much of my faith has been destroyed / I’ve been forced to watch my foes enjoy / Ceaseless feasts of schadenfreude’. Berman had long been battling depression and the album’s lead single “All My Happiness Is Gone” painted an even bleaker picture of Berman’s state of mind – ‘Lately, I make strangers wherever I go / Some of them were people I was once happy to know… I confess I’m barely hanging on’.

Tragically, David Berman was unable to hang on to life. He was found dead in his Brooklyn apartment this summer, three days before Purple Mountains were due to embark on a scheduled tour of North America. The medical examiner’s verdict: suicide.

Does it matter in the end that Berman’s last work and testimony represents a career-high, or that his music as a whole will survive until the time comes when our species is swept back into the sea? It’s worth calling attention, however, to Berman’s thoughts on his last communication with us - ‘Mine is not a cry for help, but an offer to provide a kind of it’.

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Silent Forum - Everything Solved At Once

The long-awaited debut album from blog favourites Silent Forum is an absolute stormer. A full review can be read at https://www.walesartsreview.org/

You can also read my brand new interview with the band at

www.newsoundwales.com/interviews/silent-forum/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1U92eAaNr04

Peter Bruntnell: King of Madrid

Peter Bruntnell has been around a long time with, depending on how you figure it, somewhere between 10 and 14 albums to his name. I can’t claim, though, to have ever heard a Bruntnell record (although there is a possibility of having chanced upon a track on an Uncut freebie down the years) until this year’s sublime “King of Madrid”. And even that was a fluke! As a Juror for the Welsh Music Prize (WMP), I get to listen to any albums released through the qualifying period by Welsh artists, and Bruntnell’s album appeared, along with eighty or so others, on the 2019 longlist. It didn’t take me more than a track or two to realise that I was listening to an album that might be the AOTY, never mind Welsh AOTY. The opening track, the soaring, six and a half-minute sweetener, “Broken Wing”, is a master class in songwriting and the album as a whole reveals a true craftsman working at his absolute peak.

You might be wondering, given the glowing recommendation above, why there was no sign of King of Madrid on the recently announced WMP shortlist. It turned out that Uncut magazine’s claim that Bruntnell was born in Wales, made when nominating his Nos Da Comrade (2016) as their Americana AOTM, was, sadly, incorrect. Bruntnell, as you might have guessed from that album’s title, had spent much of his life in Wales, but having been born in New Zealand and residing now in Devon, he was not eligible for the honour this time around. The silver lining for me, of course, was that an artist that I’d missed out on for many years was finally on my radar. Make sure he’s on yours!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUi1oxhlr6U&list=RD_AXJlX0zPZs&index=2

The Murder Capital: When I Have Fears

The Guardian may describe Dublin’s finest as purveyors of art-punk (and there is certainly no denying the force of nature that is “More is Less” or Feeling Fades”) but for me, The Murder Capital’s atmospheric debut is a cast-iron case of Indie-Noir. When I Have Fears is hugely impacted by the suicide of a close friend (an official band statement confirms that every lyric on the album relates in one way or another to that terrible event) and singer/songwriter James McGovern should be saluted for somehow navigating his way through unbearable pain to deliver a singularly devastating record. What also impresses about When I Have Fears, is that it’s in no hurry to get from A to B – some tracks weigh in at nearly seven, slow-paced minutes. This doesn’t always work, but I applaud the grand ambition at play here. The album finishes big, too, with both “How The Streets Adore Me Now” and, particularly, “Love, Love, Love”, which wouldn’t be out of place on Joy Division’s Closer, being colossal tracks which signpost the band’s extraordinary potential.

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Oblong: Hollalluog

Llanelli’s bilingual post-punk trio Oblong may well be the most underrated band in the U.K. Their debut album Brilliant…Gwd (2016) was fast and furious from start to finish, with one melodic masterpiece following another. Incredibly, they repeated the trick on Hollalluog (which translates as almighty) with storming tunes like “Giro Day” and “Light Sleeper”, both contenders for track of the year. And yet they still failed to secure themselves a slot on the shortlist for the 2019 Welsh Music Prize. If you do nothing else after reading this AOTY list, give this band a fair hearing, you won’t be disappointed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsLW0ZAgVVQ&t=114s

Amy Speace - Me And The Ghost Of Charlemagne

When you’re described by Folk Radio as ‘one of the great contemporary Americana singer-songwriters’ and when the much-admired Mary Gaulthier claims that your work has reached ‘a level of absolute mastery’ then you can’t just put out an album once a year for the sake of it - you have a certain reputation, a standard of excellence to maintain. Just as well then that Speace’s latest album more than lives up to the hype. Produced by Neilson Hubbard, featuring regular collaborators Kris Donegan and Will Kimbrough on guitars and Eamon McLoughlin on violin, Me And The Ghost Of Charlemagne is a beautifully crafted, tenderly sung record that, thanks to Speaces’ lyrical dexterity, always hits home. Stylistically, Speace has much in common with the legendary Mary Chapin Carpenter, especially in terms of song texture/structure and vocal tone, as can be heard on the wistful title track below. It’s an album rich with new material, but the cover of Ben Glover’s “Kindness”, rightly held back to the close, will not soon be forgotten.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NTECsSBawGM

Liz Brasher - Painted Image

North Carolina’s Liz Brasher is a marketing department's dream - a star in the making from the moment you see her. More important than how many units you can shift (someone fetch the smelling salts for the a&r reps) is, of course, the quality of the music itself. Brasher’s 2018 Outcast EP left no-one in doubt as to her potential, but the guitar-toting chanteuse has really delivered the goods on her debut album. Gospel, soul, country, pop and blues are all combined to memorable effect on Painted Image. A stellar career awaits.

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