#(.verse) I’ve heard a couple of different versions

[asimplearchivist]

𝑪𝑯. 𝑰 — 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑶𝑵 𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑻𝒀.

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🕷️ ⤏ spider-woman of earth 928c is introduced to some unexpected visitors. pairing 🕷️ miguel o’hara/spider!reader word count 🕷️ 3.1k a/n 🕷️ ⤏ don't mind me, I'm just chasing a plot bunny. ⤏ this version of the rhino is from the spectacular spider-man universe because I’m self-indulgent and that’s still one of my favorite iterations of the character. I am also adlibbing this version of the 2099-verse because I only know what the wiki told me…and it wasn’t a whole lot. 🕷️ MASTERPOST 🕷️ 🕷️ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🕷️

Let’s review all this one last time, shall we?

“Hey, Rhino! You’ll have to try a bit harder than that to catch me!”

My name is—well, you already know that, don’t you?

A furious bellow set every hair on your body on edge. You hooked your feet on the lamppost and curled around it just in time to avoid the crushed taxi launched at your direction. The loan office it embedded itself into had been vacated when the scuffle started, thank God, as had the rest of the street’s occupants. You could hear police sirens several blocks over, trying to navigate the destruction the brute beast had left in his wake. You’d been trying to tire him out in the harsh summer sunlight—just as you had a couple of years prior.

I got bitten by an enhanced radioactive spider, and for the last five years, I’ve been the one—and only—Spider-Woman.

“You’ve really got to work on your aim, O’Hirn, I don’t know what to tell you,” you chided lightly, webbing the taxi and jumping down to swing it back at him. The metal husk caught him right in the chest, managing to knock him flat on his armored ass. “You’ve gotten a bit rusty since I last saw you.”

I’m sure you know the rest—I’ve saved countless people in Nueva York and have kept it intact. (Mostly.)

“I—don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” he snarled, peeling himself out of the vehicle. “I never seen you before—d’you replace Spider-Man or somethin’?”

I lost my husband in a freak accident, I barely manage to keep my small business open, and sometimes I want for nothing more than to burn this suit and walk away from it all.

You raised a brow under your mask. “I’m afraid I’m the only resident web-slinger in this neck of the woods. Did you get your head bashed a little too hard while in the slammer?”

But I’ve learned that no matter how many times I get knocked down, shot at, blown up, stabbed, punched, kicked—you name it—I have to get up. Always.

The Rhino roared instead of opting to give a comprehensive answer to further the conversation, and you narrowly avoided getting impaled on his horn when he lunged. Latching onto the awning of the hotel across the street, you swung wide and squinted down at the mercenary as his momentum carried him directly into the rubble of the obliterated loan office.

I genuinely thought that I had seen it all: science experiments gone horribly wrong, villains of the week that would give horror writers a run for their money...weird-ass situations all around, and I’m weird.

Something…wasn’t right. Your spider sense had been ringing off the chart since he’d first galloped through the wall of your pharmacy demanding a fight—it was persistent and loud enough that it had given you a splitting headache by now. It hadn’t reacted this badly in several years, and you’d care not to think about the circumstances surrounding the last occasion.

But this…certainly took the cake.

This guy…wasn’t the Rhino you’d fought. You hadn’t even heard anything about the prison he’d been sent to being destroyed, or any of the inmates having made a miraculous escape, for that matter. He sounded different, acted different, looked different…not to mention the fact that this…imposter, or whoever he was, had a far more rudimentary armor than that of the first. It looked like a solid compound of some sort bound to his skin, rather than faulty nano-particles that had malfunctioned and locked themselves out of control at the time of its first reckless experimentation.

You’d know that better than anyone. Alchemax had been nothing but a source of perpetual pains in your ass ever since your husband died, the higher-ups far too hungry for imitation superhumans from a century prior to exercise caution or reason. They’d stop at nothing to get what they wanted, the common people they inevitably harmed be damned.

As the crumbling cinderblocks settled, you slipped down and landed lightly on the cracked sidewalk. You lamented the property damage of the entire block just as much as the fact that you were going to have to use your preferred pharmacy’s sister branch, all the way on the other side of the Hudson, and they always took days to refill your prescriptions even after you received the automated alert.

Computers. Damned with them, damned without them.

“Hey, O’Hirn?” you called into the cloud of dust slowly clearing in the mild breeze. “I don’t suppose you did my job for me and knocked yourself out, huh?”

This time, he charged without a sound. You tried to jump away with a yelp, your instincts screeching like a banshee, but his massive fist caught your ankle and slammed you down into the asphalt hard enough to crater around your frame. Winded, you only just caught his heel with both hands before he drove it directly into your chest cavity—you groaned with the strain of keeping his weight at bay, arms trembling with effort. You gasped for breath, eyes searching out his face despite the tears welling in your eyes (because damn that hurt), and twisted your wrist just enough to utilize the spinneret on the top of your wrist instead of in the bottom. The sickly sweet-smelling web nailed him right in the eye.

He stumbled back with a muffled shout, the silk having netted his entire head from the impact. You rolled out of the asphalt angel memorializing your clumsiness and away from his stomping feet, coughing and doing your best to ignore the pain lingering in your back and ribs.

“Got me there,” you wheezed, struggling to your feet. “Now I’m not going to play nice.”

“The hell is this stuff?” he shouted, finally tearing the object of offense free. “It reeks!”

“Something to help put you down for a nap,” you sighed, already threading the nearest dislodged fire hydrant. You waited in a tense crouch until he whirled on you and lowered his head to clock him in the knee.

He shook the ground when he dropped, howling while clutching the dislocated joint. Letting the hydrant loop over your head, you brought it harshly down on the opposite shoulder to incapacitate him further.

The ground swayed abruptly, and you staggered sidewise to keep from stumbling. The Rhino, despite his obvious agony, flashed you a shit-eating grin.

“Didn’t think about that, did’ya?” he goaded, before rearing his good fist back and driving it into the gaping crack in the concrete.

That entire section of the street caved into the sewer system below, and O’Hirn grabbed your ankle once more to drag you with him.

Rubble and unstable brickwork separated the pair of you, and you struggled to get your bearings even as it pinned you in place under running water (rather than actual sewage, thank God—it had taken months for the smell to leave your suit, even if the UMF had decontamination processes preprogrammed) like the odd little bug you really were.

Heart pounding, you clenched your jaw and shoved at the boulders blocking you in, fruitlessly at first—finally, finally they gave, and you surfaced with a ragged inhale.

Your entire body ached. You were going to have to deal with Alchemax soon, you really were, because your health insurance was definitely not going to cover a visit to the ER—your improved healing would still take a while to fix it, even if you were to gorge yourself like usual.

“Just be glad for no broken bones,” you muttered, peering up into the hazy sunlight streaming into the chasm Rhino had created. “Those hurt like a bitch.”

“I think I can help with that.”

You whipped around. “Oh, for the love of—”

Rhino’s fist nearly took your jaw clean off your skull with a dizzying roundhouse that sent you flying into what remained of the sewer’s wall. You collapsed on the service walk, biting your lip fiercely to keep the bubbling whimper firmly lodged in your chest. “Fuck, man, you couldn’t stand to be a gentleman, could you? That’s my good si—”

He cut off your tirade by clamping his fist around the back of your neck, dragging you into open air and glaring down his crooked nose at you.

Were you imagining things or was he…shaped differently than a normal person? Not even being a supervillain, he just…looked weird. Like, really weird.

Or…maybe it had to do with the fact that his fingers easily reached around to the front of your throat and were now squeezing hard enough to block your airway.

“I’ve about had enough of you,” he growled, grimacing as you grappled his arm in an attempt to release his grip. “You superheroes and your smart mouths. If the Big Man ever caught wind of another Spider hangin’ around, he’d blow a gasket.”

You had enough wherewithal to utilize your specialized webs once again, but even though you managed to cover his face again, he snatched your wrists and twisted them to the side to cut off the flow. He snarled and squeezed harder, though a small trickle of relief bypassed the growing panic of suffocating when he stumbled a little. His eyes were going crossed, it was working…

…but not quickly enough. You were fading fast, losing feeling in your fingers and toes, your hands and feet, your arms and legs…your heartbeat thrummed in your ears like a torn war drum, the only sound that followed the dizziness creeping into your consciousness.

Well…you supposed this was it. Definitely not the way you’d imagined going, but…your aunt would feed your cat. There were worse ways to go, certainly—you’d witnessed them firsthand. You just wish that you didn’t feel like such a failure, despite all your countless accomplishments and victories. None of it felt substantial. Not when you had failed to protect those most important to you.

Not when you’d lost your husband. Not when it should have been you.

Your body fell limp. You made one last effort to turn your head and bite the heel of the Rhino’s palm, but he only knocked the back of your head against the wall. You hardly felt it, really, only hearing your tapering pulse and the wailing ring of your spider sense.

“Fuck you,” you tried to rasp, but with no air to speak you only mouthed the words.

The Rhino had the audacity to laugh at that, glittering dark eyes eagerly watching yours steadily glaze over. He reached towards your chin, where he would find the seam of your mask.

Through darkening, blurry vision, you watched a maelstrom of crimson and gold bloom like an aurora over the Rhino’s massive shoulder, illuminating the damp maze of broken rock like neon on a rainy night. Your eyes drifted shut of their own accord as a shape sprinted forth from the vortex at breakneck speed. You hadn’t figured the afterlife would herald a six-foot bodybuilder in blue spandex, but, hey—who were you to complain about witnessing the epitome of masculinity at the time of death?

Listless, you barely recognized being dropped. You didn’t even realize the pressure had been released from your windpipe until your instincts kicked into overdrive. You inhaled so suddenly and so harshly, the burn was what startled you back into lucidity.

Sucking in precious oxygen, you propped your arms beneath your chest and lifted your impossibly heavy, throbbing head to stare in utter rapture as you witnessed what you’d accepted as a hallucination of the peak male figure proceed to kick Alexander O’Hirn’s ass into next week.

“What the hell?” you croaked, sagging into the floor.

The stranger was…lethal, really. Every punch and kick was delivered with frightening force and deadly accuracy. It wasn’t until he backflipped to avoid impalement into the sunlight that you saw the cross between a spider and skull motif caressing his rippling physique. Him then twisting his hands down and launching luminescent red threads to trip the beast mid-lunge only confused you further.

“You ready for the containment field?” called a second stranger—a woman this time—standing propped against an honest-to-God motorcycle in the mouth of the vortex.

The Rhino grabbed the webs and yanked hard. The man, to his credit, didn’t yelp as he was pulled off his feet and towards O’Hirn’s brandished horn.

You reacted before you could think.

Your web coiled around his midsection, and your braking pull slowed his momentum just enough to give him time to lift his foot and dig his heel into the Rhino’s left eye. They both careened into the heap of rubble and under the water.

You scrambled onto your feet, limping to the edge of the walk to peer into the murky depths. You were about to speak to the woman on the opposite side because you wanted to know exactly what in the actual hell that thing was, who they were, and why the hell were they both copying your design when the surface broke into a shower of droplets that speckled your suit. The man tumbled into a heap at your feet, dripping and coughing.

“I’d thank you for your help,” you panted in spite of your sore throat, “but I don’t think he’s down for the count quite yet.”

His head snapped towards you, and you saw the crimson frames surrounding the lenses of his own mask widen. He lurched upright, taking a full step away from you as though you’d tried to bite him. He towered over you easily, well over six foot (even past half?), and his musculature more than emphasized it.

“Hey, no hard feelings or anything, I appreciate the hand,” you said, raising placating palms to him. “I almost kicked the bucket back there, so I owe you—”

He whirled just as the Rhino surfaced from the deep, roaring in fury. His nose was bleeding profusely, but not from his nostrils—was that a bite mark across the bridge?

“Get back and let us handle it!” the man in the midnight suit snarled suddenly, and your heart stuttered.

Your mouth fell open as he launched himself forward, leaving gauges in the concrete where his feet had been planted. You watched, frozen and speechless, as he latched onto O’Hirn’s shoulders and spun him into a glowing red shibari presentation in less than ten seconds. The Rhino lost his footing and collapsed back into the water, though into the shallows. The woman tossed the man a device, and it bloomed into a forcefield that swallowed their fallen prey in a humming yellow cocoon.

“Oh.” You blinked, shut your mouth, and swallowed. “Wow. I need one of those.”

The stranger ignored you, stooping down and hefting the Rhino over his shoulder like he weighed a sack of potatoes.

You blinked rapidly before following his sloshing lumber across the canal. “Wait, wait a second, aren’t you going to—”

“We’ll take it from here, baby,” said the woman lightly, gesturing to the beast who had, oddly enough, fallen into a stiff stasis. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried about it,” you responded tersely, “because that is definitely not the Rhino of my world, you two are just as out of place as he is, and that looks an awful lot like a wormhole that is somehow not causing the known universe to collapse in on itself. Can I please get an explanation, since you both seem perfectly calm?”

The man growled under his breath, shaking his head, while the woman arched an appraising brow at him.

“That’s classified,” he ground out through gritted teeth, and your heart squeezed once more.

“Do either of you work for Alchemax?” you demanded hotly, skin pricking with agitation. “Because if this is another one of their freakshow experiments gone wrong, I am going to blow that place sky high, I swear—”

“We don’t work for Alchemax,” she soothed. She cast another glance at her cohort, eyes narrowing, before she refocused on you with a much kinder expression. “And we definitely have no other intention than getting this big guy back to where he belongs. We’re not your enemies.”

“Just leave it alone, Jess,” hissed the man in blue, resuming his steady pace towards the glowing, shifting maw of raw power. “We need to get back before the toxin wheres off.”

You couldn’t take that nagging feeling anymore.

“Tell me what the hell is going on!” you snapped, hoping the indignation in your voice disguised the fact that your throat was unbearably tight and a persistent sting blurred your sight. “You can’t just—”

He didn’t stop moving, didn’t even turn to face you—not really—just tilted his head to the side enough to regard you with disdain from the edge of his peripheral. You couldn’t see it, of course, nor his expression, but the disapproving drawl of his single-worded reply was enough—more than enough, and you realized that it sounded familiar. “No.”

“Wait, please!” you tried, (begged, more like, much to your chagrin—you hated it when your voice cracked), taking a step forward and trying to decide whether it was worth the risk to web him immobile after his rather impressive (and aggressive) display. “Miguel?”

The imposing figure went stock-still mid-step.

Your breath caught, your suddenly buoyant heart lodging itself firmly in the pit of your throat. He sagged in on himself for a moment, a deep, shaky inhale emphasizing the sheer mass of him—easily thrice your mass—and his ragged exhale was the only indication of weariness you’d observed thus far.

“It would be best,” he enunciated thickly, almost garbled, as though he spoke around a mouthful of gravel, “if you forgot about this encounter altogether, in the long run.”

All you were able to absorb in that split second before he stepped through the contorting portal and disappeared were the splashes of golden light accenting the sharp angle of his cheek and jawline, as well as the subtlest suggestion of a deeply furrowed brow beneath the glimmering material comprising his mask and suit alike—just like yours.

The other woman regarded you for a long moment, something like sympathy clear on her unguarded, unconcealed face. You opened your mouth to entreat her, likewise, desperate for answers when the former stranger had so blatantly refused explanation, but she merely shook her head slowly, reminding you of a gentle, maternal refusal. She, too, wheeled her bike into the portal and flickered out of view.

Then, inevitably, the portal itself dissipated into nothingness within the blink of an eye, as though you’d been hallucinating the entire thing. The tunnel was plunged into total darkness, save the wall of sunlight behind you.

You dropped to your knees, your chin sank into your sternum, and the particles of your mask receded so you could cradle your face in your hands. Hot, embittered tears dripped from your nose and splattered against the concrete, only the faintest suggestions of discoloration in your distorted vision.

Just like that, he was gone.

Again.

[llzrabin]

A recent interview of Alison Mosshart from The Kills for music magazine Dans Ta Face B. Full interview under the cut and French version on their website.

La Face B : You’ve just released your sixth album, God Games, twenty years after your first record. Which means you’ve been making music together for two decades now. You’ve mentioned a few times in recent interviews being ‘terrified’ of the process of recording this album. Obviously, danger is inherent to creativity and passion. What were you scared of in particular, regarding your own history as a band? Can one as a musician actually ever get rid of this fear? Alison Mosshart : I think as an artist, fear is good. Fear keeps one alert and desirous to discover something new in oneself, in one’s work, and about the world. Fear is a simple word to describe “facing the unknown.” At the start of every album, you are facing the unknown. There is nothing, a blank page... and you have to muster up the courage to turn this nothingness in somethingness. And not just any old thing. But something truly great. Even though we’ve been writing music together for 20 years, nothing is a given. Nothing is taken for granted. We constantly must prove to ourselves and to one another that we’ve got the goods. Every record is as important as the first, at least to the artist.

La Face B : When I first heard the album, I was under the impression that I was listening to a movie sequence or a journey, with some kind of movements. You kept the traditional verse-chorus structure in most songs, but they also sound like something else. What do you think evolved the most in your music over the years? And on the other hand, is there something that definitely stayed true to your first sound?

Alison Mosshart : A couple of things. We both think the traditional verse chorus structure is a little at odds with the mind. Whereas novels and poetry and film... can veer around elegantly, it’s a little hard with rock n’ roll structure sometimes. It’s nice not following the traditional rules and allow some abstraction.

Thoughts by nature...zig zag, skip, don’t really work in liner or predictable order. Thoughts lead to thoughts lead to other thoughts say “california can’t be trusted” to “I love rollercoasters” to “Thursday’s good for me,” to “I wonder what happened to Bob?” “Green car,” “dog bit my face,” “phone’s dead again” “papercut!” And on and on and on.

Having said all that, I do think our music is very visual. It seems to contain its own colours and shapes and tactility. I know when a song is done by listening to it and seeing it from start to end. When it feels like I’m watching a play or a short film and I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen, I’m happy with the song. If I’m listening and the scene freezes, there is still work to do.

La Face B : Did having another person involved in the studio give you a different perspective on your music?

Alison Mosshart : Having another person in the room always gives you a different perspective. You know right away if a song is working by feeling the energy of that person hearing it for the first time. They don’t have to say a word. The truth is just there.

La Face B : Your lyrics almost always address another person, like a dialogue between two people. Love and hate, hope and failure, tenderness and violence blend into each other in the stories you tell. They also almost always convey a sense of urgency. Alison, do you still record and write your lyrics in your car while driving at fast speed, CARMA-style?

Alison Mosshart : Sure. We’re all contending with one another and ourselves. There is surely a lot of back and forth and push and pull going on in the lyrics. The war is never won, right? About cars, I love to drive. It’s very meditative for me. A lot of ideas come when I’m behind the wheel. I do still have a little Dictaphone in the car that I keep handy. It’s a safer option then a pen and pad.

La Face B : When I first saw you in 2011 at Rock en Seine during the Blood Pressures tour, there were two other musicians with you onstage. Lately, it looks like you’ve gone back as a two piece again. Is it important to you not to depend on anyone? Is it a way of not having to compromise?

Alison Mosshart : Different times call for different measures. We love playing with other musicians and we love playing as a two piece. During certain records, it made a lot of sense to have the back up. But it was a different time in the music industry too. We’re in a different world now 6 years later. Streaming has made it unaffordable to hire extra musicians. Which I think is ultimately a very bad thing. I hope one day things change.

La Face B : The Kills have always been a very visual band. Alison, you’re also a painter, and Jamie, I’ve heard in a recent interview that you would have loved to collaborate with Lucian Freud… Do you feel the need to explore other art forms to maintain this global approach to music?

Alison Mosshart : We’ve always painted, drawn, taken photos, filmed things. I love every art form. I don’t think it’s important to do all these things to maintain a global approach to music. I’m not sure what a global approach to music even is. I just love making art. It all comes from the same place I think.

La Face B : A friend of mine who doesn’t like rock music was telling me the other day how he thought he witnessed the best rock concert he’s ever been to after seeing you live in Paris, precisely because your music didn’t sound like rock to him. I found that very interesting because you do have that kind of bluesy-guitar signature style, while also playing with noisy textures that could come from a cut-up approach, like hip hop music does. Do this kind of approach inspire you? Do you pay any attention at all to genre while writing?

Alison Mosshart : We see ourselves as an electric guitar band before a rock n’ roll band. With an electric guitar and a vocal, you can do anything, any genre, any style, fuck around with any rhythm you want. Being a two piece is the only limit we have, everything else, every idea that we can conceive of starting from that point, is fair game.

La Face B : Lastly- I recently came across these images and immediately thought of The Kills. A series of photographs by John Divola titled ‘Dogs Chasing My Car in the Desert’, which he took in 96-98 while driving in the Southern California desert, conjuring existential themes like isolation and desire, man versus wild, joy versus fear. It made me think of God Games’ cover, with the bull and the matador, but it also reminded me of Don Van Vliet’s painting retreat in California after Captain Beefheart’s ending, and of Vanishing Point’s iconic car chase. Basically a lot of the things you’ve often mentioned as an inspiration. I wanted to point it out to you, see if you knew this photographer. What does it evoke for you?

Alison Mosshart : I love this photo series. Meditative again, like driving a car. It’s cool to see stills of animals running, their shape, their sleekness, the body transformed into a bullet. I don’t know why but it makes me think of Benton Harbor, Michigan in the snow and the dogs at Key Club (a recording studio we worked at a lot)  running down the desolate main street in a town that time forgot. These photos look like love and loyalty to me. 

[joeonmusic]

Beast Mode is out today!

Yesterday I held a listening party on Bandcamp to celebrate the release of my new EP, Beast Mode, and give people some insights into the songs. I thought I'd share my notes for those who couldn't make it, so you can read as you listen along. The EP is produced by Chris Marney (referred to as Chris throughout here).

Pass the puffer is the first track and I wrote the lyrics after reading about an episode of Spy in the Wild on BBC. It was narrated by David Tennant. In it, the dolphins pass round a puffer fish and get blissed out from small doses of the lethal toxins. I did a bit more research on dolphins and put something together that’s not supposed to be political or animal rights based, just observations of strange behaviour.

The music was written a while ago, and I added the guitar and dolphin samples a bit later. I think my producer did a good job in bringing out the bass notes a bit better than I had it in the original mix - that’s never my strongest point. 

Fed to the tigers is probably the saddest song on the EP. Again, in terms of the music, the guitar was the last thing I added and I think it gives it an extra dimension with the tremolo weaving in and out. The lyrics explore how a zoo came to decide to kill a 2-year-old giraffe. Marius the giraffe was born at Copenhagen zoo, but he was from the same gene pool as too many other giraffes in European zoos so was no use for breeding the next generation and it costs money and requires space to keep such animals. They didn’t want to sell him to some private collector or a circus so decided the most humane thing was to kill him and feed him to the tigers. I don’t make a judgement, just think it’s a dilemma that’s worth thinking about…

Cyborg (broken animal) is up third and it’s less of a story than an exploration of these around adding technology to humans and animals. There’s a philosophical element to it in terms of how we should feel about experimenting with impulses going straight to the brain to control movements and things, plus a bit of a fear of what if it goes wrong and robot-insect armies start attacking us!

Musically it is the probably the closest to dance music through parts of it, although there’s a really brutal guitar solo in it to throw you off. You can hear what Chris did with the remix a bit later for a different take on the song.

Sweet Kiss of Death (or the story) was suggested to me by my Twitter friend Stephen Haggart. There was a horse (Sweet Kiss) that won a race, but the jockey died on his back some time before the end. I decided to write the song from the point of view of the horse who was henceforth nicknamed Sweet Kiss of Death.

I wrote the music for this a couple of years ago, but played around with it and added the weird talking bass sound to get away from it being too traditional a reggae sound. I’ve always loved reggae and those who’ve listened to my earlier albums will have heard elements in those from the genre. Also from my band at uni, we had a dub reggae stage, influenced by Boo Radleys and other 90s bands who added it into rock/indie.

The cyborg remix is not the first time my voice has been put through a decoder. The Invisible squirrel also did it with the remix of Trace in 2022: Listen here for that. I love what Chris did with this. It has a very different feel from my version, while still being recognisable. The guitar solo's gone, but there are some really gnarly synths to give that menace still.

Radioactive hybrid terror pigs was originally released in October 2022. It was the first song Chris mixed for me, so I thought I’d bring it back, as it was just a single, so has never been on Bandcamp. It was fast and punky all the way through before, so I slowed down the verses and chopped up the guitar line, adding a few synth elements, too. 

I read a story about how the wild boars moved into the contaminated land without feeling any ill effects and made themselves at home, inter-breeding with the domesticated pigs that had been left behind in the desperate aftermath of the disaster. The title’s a little bit sensationalist, but when I read it, I just thought that has to be a song! Thematically it fits perfectly with this EP.

I hope you enjoy listening to the EP. Please buy a copy on Bandcamp if you can, or just share it with people who you think will like listening to it. Word of mouth and recommendations from friends are the best promo in the world.

[forever-rogue]

Divide

AN | Your resident clown is back with more Javi and Dulzura! They might be perfect but even these two have rough times. Can be read as a stand alone or part of the ‘verse!❤️

Summary | Javier’s been acting…odd. 

Pairing | Javier x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 4.5k

Masterlist | Main, Javier, A Good Man ‘Verse

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The last couple of weeks had been…rough. And that was putting it lightly. Something had shifted recently and you had no idea what it could have been; you thought it might have been you. But there was nothing you’d done or said that was any different than how you normally were. And yet…there had been a growing divide between yourself and Javier. 

Javier had barely spoken to you or seen you. Every time you called or tracked him down on campus or even stopped by his house, he would offer you a half-baked excuse as to being busy. Busy. You almost wanted to laugh at the pitiful excuses he provided. You had been busy and he had been busy plenty of times in the year you’d been dating. But it had never felt like this before. You wanted to be mad, you wanted to be angry, and while a part of you was, more than anything you were worried about Javier. 

Something was wrong and you just wanted to make it better. But you weren’t sure if he would let you or even if he wanted you to. While you remained hopeful that this was just a bump in the road, a small part of you was worried and anxious that things were never going to be the same.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you reached the point where you couldn’t take it anymore, you jumped in your car and went straight over to his house. You’d barely left work, but you couldn’t wait any longer. It had been over a week since you’d last seen and almost three days since you’d spoken to him. This wasn’t like him…this wasn’t your Javier. 

You didn’t even bother knocking, instead pulling out the key to his house that he’d given you months ago. His car was in the driveway and had heard Stevie barking at something in the backyard so you knew he was home. He wasn’t going to be able to run from you this time. He was going to give you the answers you had been looking for.

“Javi?” when you let yourself in, you were met with almost complete silence. Sighing lightly, you walked down the hall to check the kitchen but only to be met with the gentle humming of the fridge and ticking of the clock, “Javier?”

It was then that you heard some noises coming from his bedroom at the other end of the house. You leaned against the counter as you waited for him to come to you, crossing your arms over your chest. On the fridge a polaroid of you and Javier caught your eye; it had been a good day - he'd surprised you with a weekend trip to the beach out of the blue. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was cold and calculated, lacking all the warmth that it normally held for you, “I told you I was busy.”

“I’m here to talk to my Javi,” you raised an eyebrow, trying not to completely lose your temper, “you know, the one that’s been avoiding me for weeks. Are you really busy or just lying to me?”

“I haven’t been lying-”

“Really?” you asked and a tangible silence fell between the two of you. You listened to the clock tick for a few moments before swallowing thickly, “you’ve never been like this before. You’ve never shut me out like this, Javi. Did…did I do something? Are you seeing someone else?”

“You’re too in your head,” he waved you off with so much as a flash of emotion in his eyes, “I’ve been busy and you need to accept that. No - I wouldn’t do that to you, ever. Not everything is always about you.”

“I never said it was,” you did not like this Javier. This odd, hollow version was nothing like him, “I just…I feel like I haven’t seen you much and we don’t talk as much. I feel like there’s…a disconnect or something between us. If I did something, I want to know what it is so I won’t do it. If it’s something you’re going through, you know I’m always here for you. I’m your partner, Javier, I’m always here for you.”

“Stop,” he held up his hand and refused to meet your eyes, “just stop. I need you to go.” 

“Javi,” you took a step closer, and he visibly flinched away, “what is-”

“Go!” he shouted, pointing at the door. He’d never, ever yelled at you before. It sent a shiver of fear down your spine, “get. Out.”

"Why are you yelling at me?" your voice trembled with effort to keep from crying. You weren't going to let him do that to you - not now or ever, "what is going on with you, Javier? I can't help if you don't tell me what the problem is!"

"I don't need your help," he sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair in exasperation, "I don't need you to fix me. I don't need your pity."

"I never…I don't think there's anything to fix, Javier. I’m not trying to fix you" you sighed heavily, "I have never once pitied you and I'm not doing that now. Just tell me what's going on! When you’re acting normal one day and then completely different the next, I’m inclined to think there’s something wrong!"

"Just go," he gripped the edge of the counter tightly and refused to meet your eyes, "this is over."

"Javier," you refused to let him just send you away like this. If anything, he was going to look you right in the eyes as he ended things, "I am not walking away without you telling me what's going on. You don't get to just break up with me and not tell me why. I'm sure a lot of women would just accept what you're saying but I'm not one of them. You should know that by now. So you better explain yourself, Javier Peña."

"I'm leaving," he said with no emotion, no expression on his face, "for Mexico. I'm going back to the only thing I'm good at."

"I hope you realize at this point that I would follow you anymore. I'm in love with you, stupid pendejo," you huffed, "but go ahead, I'll humor you - what is the only thing you're good at?"

"Being the bad guy," he finally looked up and met your eyes. You'd never seen that expression in his eyes before and it sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine, "I’m going back to the DEA. And you sure as hell are not coming with me."

"The DEA?" You were almost yelling at this point, "what the fuck, Javier? You said…you said you were never going back. What happened?”

“I realized, too late, that I can’t do this.” he threw his arms in exasperation, “I’m not…I’m not meant for this life. I don’t deserve it…I don’t deserve you. But you don’t get it, you just don’t understand and I’m tired of pretending to be this person.”

“What?” tears had pearled up and run down your cheeks, “are you telling me that everything we’ve had is a lie?”

“No,” he sighed heavily, “it’s not that. I love you, fuck I do, but I will never be enough for you. So I’m doing you the favor here. You can go and find someone easily. So go - and don’t come back.”

“Are you serious right now?” your voice cracked as your vision grew blurry from how hard and fast the tears were coming, “Javier…do you really want me to just leave?”

The way you were looking at him made his heart constrict before it shattered into a million pieces. He knew he was hurting you - he was hurting himself too - but he couldn’t do this to you. He wanted you to have everything; and he felt like he could never give you anything close to that. Did he want you to leave? Absolutely fucking not. Did he think it would be best for you if he did? Absolutely.

“Just go,” he didn’t even have courage or heart to look you in the eyes before turning his back to you, “please. Leave.”

“Fuck you, Javier,” it was a choked up sob, but you were determined that he would not get the last word, “fuck you for just deciding all of this on your own. Fuck you for breaking my heart. Fuck you for not seeing that you are worth giving a damn about. I don’t know how else to tell you or what to do, but I love you more than anything in this world. You deserve everything, you stupid, silly man. I wish I could be mad and hate you for doing this. But I can't and that’s the hard part. But if you want me to leave, I’ll go. But I’m not coming back.”

“Dulzura-”

“Don't you dare. You don’t get to call me that anymore. You know my name,” you wiped away the tears with the sleeve of your cardigan, “goodbye, Professor.”

You were storming away and out the door before he even got the chance to turn around. He flinched when he heard the door slam shut. It sounded hard enough to practically fall off the hinges; he wouldn’t have blamed you if it did. You were the best thing in his life, but he would never be worthy enough of you or your love. Realistically, he’d let it get too far already. But now you would have a chance at a happy life with someone your own age that didn’t bring a million pounds of baggage with them. And he would go to Mexico where he could try to keep you off his mind while doing something that might make a difference. 

“Fuck,” he sighed as sat down at the kitchen counter, trying to keep himself from crying and falling apart. If he believed he was making the right decision, why did this hurt so much? Probably because he was madly and irrevocably in love with you, “fuck.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror; your hair was a mess, your outfit consisted of whatever you had that was still clean in your closet, and even makeup couldn’t cover up the dark circles under your eyes. You hadn’t slept much in the last few weeks. You hadn’t really done much of anything in the last few weeks. You’d done the bare minimum; you got up and went to work and then came home to mop around. There were baskets of laundry that needed to be done, cleaning that you’d put off, and you’d been surviving off packets of ramen and crackers. You looked as bad as you felt; even one of your young students had noticed and asked if you were okay. 

Were you okay? Absolutely not. Were you going to have to learn to live with it? Unfortunately. 

You were going to have to accept and live with the fact that Javier Peña was no longer going to be a part of your life. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Okay,” you huffed as you looked around your disheveled bedroom. You couldn’t continue to just mope around and hope that something was going to change. You needed to take control back of your life and move on, no matter how long it would take or how difficult it would be. The first thing you would do is put clean sheets and blankets on the bed. It had been sometime since you’d changed them; you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to do it once you realized they smelled like him. 

With one last dismissal look, you ripped the pillowcases off, and gathered up all the blankets and sheets in one big bundle and tossed them into the hamper. The next thing you did was reach into the top drawer of your dresser. A stack of his clothes was still there, smelling like his laundry soap and his natural scent that always lingered. It was like they were still waiting for him, waiting for the moment when he was in your home again. But that day wasn’t going to come again. 

You picked up one of his t-shirts, the old worn, navy one that stretched across his broad chest deliciously. A wave of emotion washed over you as you held it to your face, breathing in the faint smell of him that never seemed to go away. It was tempting to slip it on and curl up on the couch while crying and watching a sappy romance movie. Instead, you folded it and put it back on the pile of clothing, grabbing it out of the dresser and putting it to the side to donate. The temptation to burn them or throw them away was there but you figured donating was better so at least someone got use out of them. It felt like a piece of your heart was going along with them. 

Forcing yourself to keep going, you grabbed one of the basketfuls of laundry and trekked to the washer to start the first load. Everything was going to be clean and put back together to your normal standards. It was one step towards normalcy that you desperately needed right now. If nothing else, you knew that it would help your mental state to at least a certain extent. 

It was nearing midnight and you were sprawled on the couch, waiting for the last of the laundry to finish. Then you could take a long, hot shower before crawling into your fresh, clean sheets. But before you could move, the phone rang loudly in the kitchen, causing you to almost fall off of the couch in surprise.

“Who the hell…” you almost ran to the kitchen and yanked the receiver off the base as you pressed it to your ear, “hello?”

“H-hi,” the voice on the other end sounded tentative before he said your name, “I hope I have the correct number.”

“I, umm, yes, you do,” should you have admitted this to the stranger on the other end? Maybe not, but then again, as terrible as it was to say, you didn’t really care about what came of it, “who is this?”

“Steve,” he said after a moment, “Steve Murphy.”

“Steve,” you repeated, trying to figure out where you knew that name from. You were sure you knew it…and then it hit you, “wait. The Steve? Javi’s partner Steve Murphy?”

“The one and only,” he laughed as you breathed out a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t some weird stalker, “listen, I know this is going to sound weird but Javi’s at the airport. His flight leaves in an hour. He called me and I know things didn’t exactly end well with the two of you from what he’s said, but I just…wanted to let you know.”

“He was an ass,” you admitted with a huff of teary laughter, “he’s such a dumb fool sometimes, but I still…”

“I know,” Steve replied to your unsaid words, “I think he’s making a huge mistake. I wasn’t sure if I should call you, but I figured you should know.”

“Thank you,” you whispered softly, “I appreciate it and I’ll question how you got my number and would love to speak to you properly sometime but right now, I gotta go.”

“I figured,” you could practically feel his smile, “kick his ass for me, will you?”

“With pleasure,” you promised, “I’ll kick his ass for you and me.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The drive to the airport was half an hour; luckily at this time of night there wouldn’t be much traffic. You didn’t even bother to look at yourself in the mirror and only grabbed your purse and slides as you ran out the door to your car. Your appearance was the least of your concerns. You made it to the airport within twenty-five minutes, breaking more than a few traffic laws, but you didn’t have time to worry about that. You parked the car and  ran into the airport, cursing its confusing layout and how far away the parking garage was from the entrance. 

Now all you could hope for was easily finding the right gate and not raising too much suspicion by running through the airport. You read over the inbound and outbound flights and found the one that Steve must have been talking about. You glanced at your watch and groaned when you saw that you were down to only twenty minutes. You could either forget it and turn around, go home and to bed, and count your losses. 

Or you could take this last chance. 

You had to take this chance. 

You weaved and dodged your way through the throngs of people that were lingering about. Once you arrived at the right gate, you were out of breath and felt a stitch in your side. Your eyes scanned the small crowd, trying to pick him out from the others. 

“Javi!” his name came out in a pathetic little shout, and you were sure that he wouldn’t have heard. You had no time to lose and just mustered up the courage you had, and shouted his name so he definitely couldn’t miss it, “Javier Peña!”

His head whipped in your direction, almost giving himself whiplash as he looked around for you. When he finally found you, he stood up, his mouth hanging open in a mixture of happy surprise and shock. He was standing in front of you in an instant, his expression going through a mess of emotions.

"What are you doing here? How? I didn't…"

"Steve," you stated simply, "Steve called me, you pendejo."

"I should have known," he sighed lightly as he hung his head, "but why…why did you come?"

"I…" you paused for a moment, blinking away the tears that were threatening to well up, "because I'm in love with you, you dumb, stupid, silly man. I can't…the past weeks have been an absolute hell. I don't want to live without you - I can't. Nothing felt right…everything was falling apart. You hurt me deeply, Javi, but fuck I'm still so in love with you and I couldn't just let you go without doing something."

"When did he…call you?"

"Like less than an hour ago."

"You made it all the way here in that time? Just to…to talk? Why?"

"He called and then I ran out the door, probably broke several traffic laws and ran through the airport looking like this," you gestured at your disheveled appearance, "I couldn't let you go. Not without at least one last try. Don't you realize how much I love you, Javier? You are everything to me."

"Dulzura…"

"If you want to get on that plane and go, that's fine but I'm coming with you," you insisted firmly, and for the first time in a long time you saw the corners of his mouth twitch up slightly, "I don't care, Javi. I'll live with you in Antarctica if you want to. I…I'll follow you wherever you go. You are my home, Javier. You have my heart, and I can't let you go with you thinking you are not worthy of it. There is no one else that could ever be worthy of it. Only you. It's been you from the moment I first saw you. Please, just…don't go."

“You came to stop me…even though I treated you like an-”

“Asshole? Yeah, you did, Javier,” you couldn’t help but laugh lightly, “and god, I’m so angry with you and I really want to slap your stupid, handsome face but I’m still in love with you. Nothing’s going to change that. There are always going to be times when things are harder, but that doesn’t mean we can just quit. We’re supposed to be a team, and whatever happens we’re supposed to work through it together. I will never give up on you, Javi. You’ve never given up on me, so why would I do that to you?”

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighed as he hung his head. You could hear how choked up he was; despite wanting to be angry with him, it still broke your heart. Before you could fully process what you were doing, your hand was on his face, gently touching his cheek, “especially after what I did and said.”

“That’s just the thing, Javi,” you whispered, “you think you don’t deserve anything, but that’s not true. I know it’s hard, but you have to let the past go, let it die. It’s not who you are. I know you think that things are too good to be true, but you have to realize I’m not going anywhere. You’ve worked hard for everything you have now, no one can just take that away from you. Nothing’s going to take me away from you.”

“I don’t know why,” he chided himself, “you could have run far away by now. I was giving you the chance.”

“I’m well aware of that,” you reminded him, “and I didn’t like that. You are stuck with me for life, buddy. One day you’ll realize that…I don’t know how else to tell you that I want to be with you, I want all your baggage, just as you accept all of mine. There are so many people that love you, and need you, Javier. Don’t turn your back on them and run just because you’re scared. The future…all of it scares me too. Sometimes….it scares me how in love with you I am. I wonder if there will be a day when you’re tired of me, when you decide I’m not the one. But what I do know is that I love you, and I want to be with you, so I’m going to do that. If you’ll let me.”

“Why?” he was stunned at your words - and the fact that you worried about the same things as him, “why me?”

“Why not you?” you gently carded your hand through his dark locks, “Javier Peña, I am so in love with you. Love makes me people do stupid, crazy, wonderful things. I don’t know why it was you, or why it’s me for you, but I do know that you and I were meant to be.” 

Before he could say anything else, the last call announcement rang out through the speakers. You swallowed thickly before realizing you were out of time. He was either going or staying. 

“I should…” your heart broke when it appeared that he was going to leave to board. But in a surprise turn of events, he dropped his bags on the floor. You watched him with nervous eyes, but he just reached over and brushed away the tears that had rolled down that you weren’t even aware of, “I love you.”

“I know,” you nodded lightly, “but I guess you’ve made up your mind.”

You took a step so you were out of his reach before quickly walking away. If he was going to leave, you weren’t going to watch him go. You heard him call your name, but didn’t stop. Not until you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist and he easily stopped you. You turned around to find him looking at you with the most intense expression you’d ever seen.

“Javi?”

He grabbed your face, gently, tenderly, as if he was afraid he was going to break you before crashing his lips onto yours. You were so surprised that for a moment you didn’t even react. But once you realized what was happening, you leaned into him and wrapped your arms around his waist. And he kissed you until you were both left breathless, only pulling back when he absolutely had to.

“Javier?”

“Dulzura,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours, “mi Dulzura.”

“You’re going to be late,” you sighed lightly, “you have to get going.”

“I’m not…I’m not going anywhere,” he promised as your eyes widened in surprise, “I can’t. I can’t be without you. You were right, I was running because I was scared, because it all feels so…foreign. But I don’t want to run anymore. I want to stay, and I want to stay and build a future with you.”

“Yeah?’ you looked at him with big, soft eyes that made him want to melt, “you promise? Whatever comes our way, we’ll be able to get through, I promise.”

“I promise too,” he kissed you again, slowly and gently, “I’m sorry for how I acted. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. You deserve better than that.”

“You’ll make it up to me,” you grinned, “don’t worry, you’ll have your work cut out, Peña. I’m just…I’m glad you’re here. With me. Can you promise one more thing?”

“Anything,” the familiar smell of him, the one you had been seeking out for so long now, almost overwhelmed you. You couldn’t help but throw your arms around him, hugging him as tightly as possible, “please tell me that we’ll be okay. That we’ll always be okay.”

“I swear it,” he kissed the crown of your head, “we’ll always be okay, Dulzura.”

“I love you, even though you can be such a stubborn pendejo,” you laughed lightly, “let’s go home, Javier. It’s late and I feel and look terrible, and I really, really just want to lay in bed with you.”

“You’re beautiful,” his smile was almost sheepish as you playfully rolled your eyes at him, “even in pajamas and messy hair, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. I just can’t believe you came for me.”

“Do you see that I love you, dummy? I broke the law and ran through an airport looking like this for you,” the familiar feel of his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together was enough to almost make you cry. Nothing felt more right than this - the two of you together. 

“Are you tired?” he asked as he ducked back to grab his bags before rejoining you. You raised an eyebrow at him but shook your head gently, “good, because I intend on starting to make it up to you when we get home.”

“Insatiable,” your giggle made his heart feel whole again, the way you teased him still gave him butterflies, “te amo, Javi.”

“It’s been a long time,” he was feeling very cheeky right now, “and I have a lot of making up to do. Can’t let you down. Can I?”

“Javier!”

“Te amo, Dulzura,” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to him, “thank you for keeping me from making the biggest mistake of my life.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you kissed his cheek, “we’re a team, now and forever.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you walked out of the airport together. In the distance the flight that he intended to be on took off, leaving for Mexico without him. You owed Steve one, that was for sure. But for now, you were glad you were able to get through to Javier and get him to see reason. Everything else could wait. 

All that mattered right now was the two of you. 

[thegoldenavenger]

okay, since my friend said he was cheering me on, here’s part one of the taylor swiftening.

context: i have a couple friends who are swifties. i heard a lot of her earlier music on country radio, but i never listened to her albums, etc, before. I know very little about her personal or professional life since i dont follow celebrity gossip

anyways, the swifties i know are wildly into, like interpreting her lyrics and red stringing things together and i think it’d be fun if someone who was vaguely outside the loop got in on the fun? IDK i’m bored and was sick for like 7 days.

there’s definitely some songs I already know: teardrops on my guitar, my song, that cheerleader song, shake it off, etc. mostly her singles? but i havent heard a lot of her recent stuff at all. 

Today we are listening to Taylor Swift’s first album Taylor Swift from 2006. I couldn’t really find a great place to listen to her music, but I found a track list and compared it to spotify’s album and decided to go with spotify’s version. first off, the tracklist I found showed 12 songs (with Tim McGraw opening and closing the album???) The spotify album has 15 songs one of which is Tears On My Guitar - Pop Version? So that’s what I’m listening to. 

Looking at the tracklist, which I didn’t really want to get too into, I noticed a handful of songs I recognized: Teardrops on my Guitar, Our Song, Tim McGraw. I wasn’t sure about the rest, but I decided to dive on in.

The first song is Tim McGraw which I don’t really remember hearing when I was younger but I’ve heard my swiftie friends talk about it.  And listening to the opening cords I realized I did remember it from bus rides to school. fun.  Anyways, Tim McGraw is a country artist, already knew that, but the song isn’t about him it’s about his song being like, a backdrop to a breakup??? I think it’s a very bold move for the first song of your first album to be like “when you think of this established musician please think of me instead”. very bold, love it.

it does have the unfortunate effect of immediately making me recall like, every Tim McGraw song I’ve ever heard trying to place what song she’s talking about is instead of, like, listening to her music. 

I really like the classic country style this song is in.  Not just the way the song is constructed and like, the music and instruments but the imagery. Very classic, “country boy, country girl, country romance” vibes.

These lyrics remind me of Dierks Bentleys “What was I thinking” from 2003, just like the very classic “we’re driving in the back woods in a truck maybe getting up to trouble” vibes haha. 

The story telling is kind of hard to follow for me here, and I’m not sure why.  I assumed this was like her breakup, but then she says it was three summers back that she never send a letter... so is this september tears unrelated? she directly relates the summer from three years ago to be a bittersweet. i’m not sure if i’m just hearing or interpreting it wrong or if the way this is structure is actually confusing but yeah, i guess i at least got that she is establishing a break up happened.

it’s nice that after this verse you get the second chorus where she puts a little bite into the “think of me” part.  like, it’s not all emphasis sweet nostalgia there’s a touch of that bitter in her voice. it’s fun.

i didn’t realize that the song (or at least chorus) was the letter, so that’s nice. although, it’s a weird letter out of context, haha.  i’d hate that.  i know that it’s a a pretty common phenomenon for people to relate specific events and even people to specific songs so that if something bad happens or a breakup happens they can’t enjoy that song or music anymore and i think that’s terrible. sucks for them but i’m built different and manage to ignore any shitty connotations to my favorite songs haha

so if i got a letter that was basically trying to pavlov associate my ex with like, a big music star i’m definitely going to hear all the time i would die. 

anyways, that’s probably the point right? it’s at this point that i realised it was like an actual break up song and not a sad like “we used to be together” song?? IDK i definitely did not get that when i was listening to it on the radio as a kid. i mostly just heard “Tim McGraw” and was like “why is she singing about Tim McGraw”

I do like that the song opens and closes on bookends! I love cycles! It’s one of my favorite tropes, so it was cute here.

The second track is Picture to Burn, which I didn’t recognize at first, but upon listening to it I definitely recognize. Now this is a break up song.

ajflkda okay hold on i

ajfdklaf NOW I remember hearing this on the bus and being like gay? did she say gay?

why is the syllable scheme different? oh it’s the shifted and...

i’m not sure i’m for that rewrite, haha. it’s like disney editing out their racist cartoons but still showing them without the context??? HRMM.

anyways. I’m not sure I should interpret the songs as a narrative together but i’m going to because it’s funny to hear her go from like, nostalgia

to

it’s very funny. i love it.

The chorus here is very fun to sing a long to, I think, if you’re the kind of person who likes singing along to things.  I really like the “watch me strike a match [...] you’re just another picture to burn” it’s really nice set up and pay off.  i guess songs don’t have to do this but it’s nice to have the actions set up cleverly. “you’re just another picture to burn” is a good phrase, drawing on solid imagery already ingrained in society, but supporting it with other lines is a nice touch. 

I don’t think there were any lines that stood out to me like that in Tim McGraw.

This is exceedingly country ;v; it made me laugh.

I really like the backing instrumentals for this song a lot. The twang is just Good.

Unfortunately this is one of those songs that is just the chorus like 12 times.  Which is fine because the chorus is really good and breakups songs usually do that because that’s the point of catharsis or whatever but there’s not much else for me to say. 

The next song is Teardrops on My Guitar. looking at the “radio single remix” i am apprehensive that the lyrics arent going to match again....

I remember this song from school bus rides as well. i really like the melody and the concept of this song (teardrops on a guitar is just nice imagery) but it’s kind of ruined because there was a boy in school named drew and i could NOT divorce the song from him every time i heard it.

funnily enough, i lowkey wanted to be friends with drew but he was so nice it kind of scared me off.  anyways back to the song.

I really like the way these lines are written and sung, it’s one of those parts of the songs you want to sing a long with. 

This chorus is also really good, i love the imagery it conjures.  like, yes he’s why i cry in my room alone practicing my guitar, but he’s also why i look up at night and hope tomorrow will be a better day and he’s also like an annoying song stuck in my head (affectionately).

actually out of all of this “He’s the song in the car I keep singing” was something I didn’t remember from hearing it as a kid and it’s also the line i was really drawn to here. what does it mean! i know what it means, but what a wild metaphor to pull out in the middle of a fairly straight-forward song. 

At first I wondered why these songs were ordered this way but there’s enough cohesive imagery that I picked it up around here. Tim McGraw and Picture to burn are both break up songs, but the connections from Picture to Burn “watch me strike a match / on all my wasted time” to this “he’s the time taken up, but there’s never enough” is really interesting!!!

love the theme that time is wasted / time doesnt last long enough.

time is such a wonky construct like, you just perceive time differently depending on not only your own emotions and mood but also like... how fast you’re going. wild. 

This song also ends on book ends!

It’s kind of sad, I kind of wish she just maybe talked to him instead of pretending everything was fine. Yoooo that’s why he doesn’t know you like him.... you didn’t tell him. you’re over here going “yeah it’s fine” but! he’s not a mind reader hahah.

The next song is A Place in this World, which I do not.... recall... so I’ll cut this post here and start there later.

[edit: part two is here] [chronological here]

[miniherodesktales]

Your life is not your own

tw: for suicide and depression

I’ve seen people attribute this line to the writers of Sherlock, but actually it came from Arthur Conan Doyle, who was inspired by a famous Bible verse, which makes sense given that he was a staunch Catholic for much of his life.

The Veiled Lodger sees Holmes investigating a local landlady’s mysterious lodger. The lodger in question is a  very depressed woman who wants to tell Holmes her tragic story.

When she comes to the end she hints that the case and her life is now over. Holmes picks up on the hint of suicide and tells her, “Your life is not your own, keep your hands off it!”

The Bible verse it was lifted from is often used as a gentle reminder to Christians in despair that their lives and body belong to God. I included the whole two verses, but highlighted the relevant bit.

1 Corinthians ch7 vs 19 and 20: Do you not know that your body is a temple for the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were brought at a price. Therefore honour God with your body.

The “you were brought at a price” part is a reference to Jesus’ sacrifice, so it’s basically saying, “this nice guy loved you enough to die so you could have salvation; don’t waste his sacrifice, live a good life that’ll please God.”

So we go from, “you are not your own” to “your life is not your own, keep your hands off it.”

There’s a clear difference in attitude between the canon and BBC Sherlock. As well as telling the Veiled Lodger not to take her own life, Holmes suggests that her life has value as an example of patient suffering in a world full of impatient suffering, that it’s her reason for being alive.

However, in BBC Sherlock, the dialogue is written in a way to suggest that Sherlock is saying that it’s Faith’s friends and family would miss her and so her life and death belongs to them.”Taking your own life. Interesting expression. Taking it from who? Once it’s over it’s not you who’ll miss it.” In other words, Faith has value because others care about her.

As a Christian I find both versions very touching because they remind me of this important Bible verse. But, I also like the canon version because it says that we can use our suffering to help or give hope to others; I also like Sherlock’s take that we all have value simply because people might miss us when we’re gone.

However, I think it’s probably best to remember both versions have their flaws.

Not everyone can turn their suffering into something that can benefit others, nor should they feel pressured to. Sometimes there is no silver lining and sometimes it’s just overwhelming. Sometimes you just have to rest and heal and only focus on yourself. Sometimes suffering is just suffering.

Likewise with Sherlock’s take, not everyone has friends or relationships. No one should feel worthless just because they are alone. And, tbh, I think it’s not always good to use other people feelings as a reason for encouraging someone to stay alive. If you’re not careful then it can sound like you’re telling someone to stay in pain because their death would hurt others. A little unfair, perhaps.

[Edit: What I mean about the above is that a little care needs to be taken about how you make someone who is suicidal feel. If for example, Sherlock told Faith, “Don’t kill yourself because I’ve enjoyed your company!” it makes it about him and invalidates Faith’s pain, it needs to be framed in terms of that Faith is loved and valued and there are people who care enough about her who want to help her. Be explicit and tell the person that you don’t want them to die, but be sure to let them know that they are loved, show some compassion, and acknowledge their pain.]

But, what’s really important, is that both Holmes and Sherlock were paying close enough attention to realise that the lodger and Faith were contemplating suicide. Neither lady explicitly said so, but Holmes and Sherlock still heard and saw the warning signs, and from there they offered comfort and encouragement.

The Veiled Lodger concludes with Holmes receiving a vial of Prussic acid from the lodger, which she would have taken had he not persuaded her against suicide. 

A couple of articles about how to support/talk to someone who is feeling suicidal:

https://www.verywellmind.com/what-to-do-when-a-friend-is-suicidal-1065472

https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/how-to-help-a-suicidal-friend#takeaway

[lochsides]

Yellow Metal - cathartic Review

Here’s something I did not expect to be reviewing this week but when Zayn drops a 24 minute rap track, you fall in line. I had to listen to it a couple times through before I could even begin to make sense of my thoughts because my brain sort of malfunctioned. I have never been prouder to be a Zayn fan. He’s such a nuanced songwriter and there is so much to unpack here.

I think this is the most unfiltered version of Zayn that we have ever been exposed to (and possibly will ever be). I am grateful that he said his piece in this because it needed to be said. As a brown woman, I felt so seen by this and I cannot explain what that means to me. Thank you Z, for your unvarnished truth in addressing racism and various forms of discrimination.

I’m doing a short lyrical analysis below the cut, but the TLDR is that this is a fantastic piece of art that deserves to be heard.

I wish he had released this as an EP because that would be easier to review than a single 24 minute song, structurally speaking. So instead, I have picked out some key lyrics, going from top to bottom, that really spoke to me and decided to study the song that way. His lyricism is hard-hitting in this track. It is beyond anything he has ever released before.

“The planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving until we ascend so fuck the fence.” — I have not seen this lyric being talked about in the fandom, because the lyrics that follow this steal the show, rightly so, but I wanted to give this line a moment because it’s important too. To me, this lyric speaks to where Zayn is at with his relationship with the physical world. He’s out on the farm (about which he even goes to say “tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor”) and I believe he’s happy in his space and he feels connected to nature (also see River Road). So it is a poignant and slightly jaded, but valid perspective that he shares on climate change. It’s never leaving until we ascend. The damage human beings have done to the planet won’t be undone until there are no humans left to do damage. It’s a single sentence that says so much about the depth of the climate crisis. I’m doing my PhD on urban air quality so this is something I care really deeply about and I resonated with.

“And until they stop killing colour, it’s fuck the feds.” — Yeah, agreed Zayn. The systemic racism that he calls out here is echoed throughout the song, in equal parts anger and boldness. I love that he isn’t glossing over it with metaphors, which he could easily do and it would be beautiful in a totally different way, but this makes it harder for racists to overlook. There is so much power in calling it like it is.

“Never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a Benadryl, keeping it green in general.” — It frustrates me to no end to see Zayn painted as this drug-addicted lazy musician that doesn’t care about his work, because we know how untrue that is. This narrative is tired and simply boring too, and I won’t get into the racist connotations of it when you consider it against his white colleagues who smoke as much as him but that isn’t one of their defining traits in the media.

“I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work … it was hard work that got me heard” — I love the juxtaposition in this verse. The public/media perception on his career is that Zayn doesn’t put in effort or that he doesn’t want it. This obviously stems from his leaving the band. It goes back to what I was saying before about narrative, when in reality, as Zayn has said on various occasions, he fights to make his own choices. And that doesn’t have to look the way everyone else expects it to (“I beg you, don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt”), he has his own struggles that have helped forge his path, but it is his path that he paved, himself. He works hard to be heard. He has to. It reminds me of something my parents used to tell me when I was younger about being immigrants: you have to work 10 times harder for the same opportunities just because of the colour of your skin or your name on the cv. It’s a harsh truth to grow up with but it was my reality, as it is for most POC.

“This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm you. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here ‘til they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80…” — There is something about the simplicity of these lyrics are the messaging that I love. He isn’t trying too hard to sound poetic but he still manages it perfectly.

“All I've been achieving, clocking miles in this region, moving like a legion. Promise that I made to myself, an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving? Staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving. // I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy. It’s time I grew up, a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on the mike.” — This is the only 1D-related lyric I’ll make reference to because this song is about so much more than that. That said though, we cannot overlook Zayn’s experiences in the band because that is part of his story. The tongue-in-cheek of “I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving” is hilarious to me. The line about not wanting to be his own enemy anymore and growing up from 17 reminds me of that quote Taylor (Swift) mentioned in Miss Americana about celebrities getting stuck at the age they got famous. I think this verse is similar to that. None of them ever wanted to be in the band and I don’t care what anyone says, Zayn leaving and proving success outside the band gave the rest of them the courage to follow their own solo careers. Sure there was drama surrounding the split but he did it for himself, to tell his stories the way he is now. Whatever else you have to say about him, you cannot deny his authenticity.

“I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane.” — I think this line tells us 2 things, the first being that this song was not leaked. Z knew what he was doing and his twitter likes tell us as much. He didn’t release it for any sort of attention, otherwise it would be widely available on streaming platforms and for purchase. Which leads to my second point, he released this song to get everything he talks about on the track off his chest. Its referenced in other lyrics too, like “now you see where I come from, the world don’t.” This was for whoever cared to listen, not the world. It’s inaccessible for a reason. I love that he threw those lyrics in. It makes the song feel more like a private conversation or listening to a friend rant. It creates a different form of intimacy between himself and his fans.

“Lessons that I’ve learned, I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself. So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt.” — This one is for anyone that buys into conspiracy theories surrounding Zayn’s personal life. He surrounds himself with real people, real friendships, real connections. I have never bought into the bullshit that he has zero autonomy over his personal life. I love the use of plastic melting as a metaphor for ridding his life of fakeness.

“Feeling trapped. This industry is a cage.” — Zayn is obviously not the first person to say it. Many artists talk about how suffocating the industry is ( which he further comments on in the sung portion: “I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, I don’t wanna be, I don’t wanna be, a part of this”). Fame is such a wild and unnatural concept and the exploitation and politics of the music industry only feed further into it. The industry being a cage makes me think of zoos and how celebrities are animals on display, when they should be free in the wild. I also really like the musical interlude following this part.

“Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views.” — Zayn toes the line between keeping to himself and speaking out on important issues, sometimes not very well. I am his biggest cheerleader, but I’m not up his ass. There have been many occasions where he could’ve done better. But I cannot fault him for being offended by the State because same, Z, same. I love that he took this song as an opportunity to real speak out, no punches pulled.

“See I’ve been facing the racists from back when I were a kiddie. Born up in 93’. Living in Bradford City, they kicked me out of the school. Said they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p***, still sit in the classroom, chilling. I’m angry now that I’m older cause I see they treat us different. Got me thinking I’m the problem ‘cause they never dealt with these issues.” — See what I meant about no punches pulled. He said that! He said it like that too. There is so much in this verse that I relate to, it hits a little too deep. I grew up as a brown in predominantly white communities where the colour of my skin was the reason I was outcasted. We know when that’s happening, clear as day. The lyric “got me thinking that I’m the problem cause they never dealt with these issues” says it all. I have many racial traumas that I’m dealing with as an adult because the adults around me when I was a child didn’t deal with racism in the classroom. They do treat us different!

“20 years later, I’m still in the same boat. Tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for. Man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? // Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them. ‘Boy your skin is so light.’ Ok motherfucker, take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.” — Zayn talking his shit is my new favourite art form. How can I be civil when they got me by the throat? Something that I will always be enraged by is that POC are expected to de-escalate situations of racism. We have to push our feelings down, as Zayn says in the verse, because the institution is against us. All of the institutions are against us. The fact that he takes it a step farther to say that his name makes him a target for racism, even though he is half-white just nails his point home. Also, can we please quit the whole ‘Zayn is white-passing’ bullshit. He alludes to it again later in the song (“asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define”). Its not a compliment to erase someone identity in favour of white-washing them.

“My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.” — Oh, the amount of times we have heard that age old (v. racist) saying ‘{celebrity of colour} is the new [insert white celebrity here]’ as if POC aren’t allowed to succeed in their own right. It is wild to me that Zayn has to deal with this given his level of success.

“Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening. I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine.” — There is a subtle nod to racism (and Islamaphobia) in this line, because of course the brown man is a threat, but I like the way Z turns it around. I also like the rhyme scheme.

“Raised on the benefit for whose benefit? They’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.” — Okay I might be reaching here, but this is just my interpretation. We all know the benefit system in the UK sucks. Being raised on benefit implies a lack of money growing up, but the benefits aren’t really all that beneficial to the families that rely upon them.

“Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause I hit the nerve.” — Well, okay then, just call me out. It’s fine. I seriously feel like he’s talking to me directly with this line. I imagine a lot of us do. Its one of those lyrics that are a bit too honest but that why we love them.

“Cathartic, I’m an artist. Trying to put my heart in” // “Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name.” — So do we have an alternate persona for Zayn now? Alright, I’m down. I think these two lines are tied together, because both are mentioned in the song title. (I think of the song as cathartic, by Yellow Metal, aka Zayn, or Yellow Metal as the name of the EP if this was officially released). The lyrics that accompany both title lyrics, along with the subject matter of the song as a whole, suggest that his heart is in standing up against injustices. I said it earlier, this is the most unvarnished version of Z that we have ever been exposed to. Almost like the complete picture to the puzzle pieces we’ve been putting together over the years.

“They’re tryna kill us with disease.” — Why did this line scream out ‘COVID-19 outbreaks in developing countries’ to me? Again, I might be reaching, but there is a disparity between how COVID is treated amongst minorities, along with many other diseases, and not to mention rich, primarily white countries hoarding vaccine supplies while places like India (and my beautiful Bangladesh and I’m sure Pakistan too) suffer needlessly.

“Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next. Just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around ’til I’m the best.” — I think this lyric shows off Zayn’s sentimental side more than it does his ambitious side, because we know he’s in this for the long haul. Others may doubt that but his fans never have. But hearing him talk openly about being a father on a song is something else. It’s like Khai added this whole other layer of meaning and purpose to his life and it’s beautiful to watch. I’ve been here since the X-Factor auditions guys!! It makes me so emotional to witness him like this.

“Aint many of me around, p***, I’m just different. Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil, fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto.” — God, we’ve been waiting for a fuck the label moment in this house, haven’t we? I won’t get into my theories on his label or his team, but none of us deny the fact that they should be doing more for him than they are. He has the potential to be the biggest thing with the right team and promo because he has a built-in fan base that would go the mile for him. Obviously, there’s also his aversion to promo to contend with and that’s his decision. Even without it, he could shatter every ceiling. Another thing I want to mention about this verse is the nod to the complete lack of South Asian representation in contemporary Western media.

“Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse.” — I’m just putting this in here because it made giggle. Also going to take this space to say how much I love his energy in this song. He knows he’s the shit, as he should!

“Can’t be louder … so free Gaza on my banner.” // “They’re hating on Palestine ways.” — I love that Zayn has always supported this movement, years ago, before being ‘woke’ was a thing. But now, he has a daughter that has Palestinian heritage and I’m sure that makes this hit that much deeper for him, personally. The apartheid in Palestine is heart-wrenching. It’s so strange to me to watch it happen, because I never thought I would witness something like this happening in 2021, yet here we are.

“Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing. We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route. Say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown. I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.” — This verse is straight up savage and I am living for it! I find it hilarious that he called Biden a snake. This verse addresses the truth about politics, that even electing a left-wing leader doesn’t fix the system.

“I’m Tony Stark, still embarking on a dream” // “Gone green like Bruce Banner” // “He taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten.” — And to tie it all off, I wanted to take a goofy moment to mention all the superhero lyrics Z added in this song, really showing his personality because I’m such a nerd when it comes to this stuff and it makes me wish that we were friends so I could annoy him to death about it.

[gunterfan1992]

Interview with Half Shy (the songwriter of “Monster”)

For the last few months, I’ve been collecting information for a second edition of Exploring the Land of Ooo that will also cover the production of Distant Lands. This means that I’ve started to look into the new songs that we have been graced with this year, and this of course includes “Monster,” the beautiful track from the masterpiece that is “Obsidian”. And so I reached out to the song’s writer, Half Shy, who was kind enough to chat with me via email about the songwriting process!

(Photo courtesy of Half Shy)

In many ways, Half Shy is living the creative Adventure Time fan’s dream: She got asked by Adam Muto himself to write a song for “Obsidian” after he heard her music through Bandcamp! (I’ve dabbled in fan music before, and the fact that someone from the show might listen to it just blows my mind.) What an opportunity; I am so excited for her!

Since a second edition of my book won’t be coming out until after all the Distant Lands episodes air, I thought it would be best to share my Half Shy interview now. Read on for the fascinating behind the scenes story of how Half Shy and “Monster” came to be..

GunterFan: What is your origin story? How did you get involved in music, and how did the Half Shy project come to be?

Half Shy: I’ve been making music pretty quietly since I was in high school with a keyboard and guitar. I played one or two shows a year after college when I could find a friend or my brother to get up on stage with me, but I don’t really have that performer gene in me naturally. I get too much in my head and forget what the lyrics are to the song I wrote, or what the next chord is. Total brain freeze. So that whole experience is a bit of a mental drain. It’s something I think I’d like to dig into and figure out, but right now I’m really enjoying the time writing.

Even playing a song for my friends I still get pretty nervous. That’s where the name Half Shy comes from. I’ve always been interested in making things that by their nature draw a bit of a spotlight, but at the same time, I am just really quite nervous about the attention.

I recorded my first songs under my old name Hey V Kay in my bedroom and started putting them up online one at a time. When I got enough I thought about packaging it up into an album, but then got really distracted by learning how to fix up motorcycles and going to automotive tech school. When I eventually got back around to it I named the album Gut Wrenching.

After a few years I realized that I didn’t want the day-in-day-out life of a mechanic, I just wanted to know how to fix cars for myself and to have that knowledge in my back pocket. I got back into making music but grew frustrated at the process of writing and recording songs. I felt like I wasn’t able to capture the ideas I had in my head. Like trying to draw on your computer with a mouse. Doable, but it’s not going to come out like you’d hoped.

So these last couple of years I’ve focused more on learning the technical aspect of it, from the initial ideas and lyrics, to the recording and mixing. During that process I put out Bedroom Visionaries, and while writing I happened upon the name Half Shy in an old Thesaurus which felt instantly right. Learning all of that has been fun, I even went as far as to create my own book to solidify a daily writing routine (lyricworkbook.com). All that has been a bit of a tangent from actually making much music though. I should be getting my books in December from the press so I’m really looking forward to getting back into making more music instead of dealing with printing presses, setting up websites, and sourcing ribbon suppliers.

GF: What is the story behind "Monster"? How did the show get in contact with you?

HS: I keep a log of “Song Starters” with neat things I’ve heard in the world, and I would look through it every now and then and notice just how many came from Adventure Time. Eventually I thought well, I have to make a song about this show that just keeps breaking my heart. It was around the time I was nearly done with the first [Adventure Time-inspired] song “In My Element” that I got an email from Bandcamp saying “someone bought your album (Bedroom Visionaries).”

I get maybe one or two of these a month at most so I love to go in and say hi to the person and say thanks, be curious about who they are, [and] what they’re all about. Turns out it was Adam Muto, the executive producer of the show. (I asked and he has no idea how he happened upon my stuff. He guessed that I must have tagged something #adventuretime and he just happened to see it.) So I sent him an email saying, “Hey wow thanks for checking out my tunes. Also... holy crap you’ve made the best show I have ever seen in my life.” [I] played it real cool like. After finishing up writing my second [Adventure Time-inspired] song “Betty” I couldn’t help but fangirl real hard [and I sent him another message saying], “I’m sorry this is probably awkward, but I really love your show and I wrote these songs about it.” He was incredibly kind and shared them with his Twitter Universe, and a while after that I got a random email from him saying basically, “Hey, I’m working on this thing I can’t talk about, would you be interested?” I was like… well you know I’m pretty busy working at a sign shop so I’m gonna have to pass on this once in a lifetime opportunity (J/K. Obviously I fan-girl squealed and said yes immediately).

We chatted a bit about what the project was going to be and the direction. He mentioned there [would be] two Marceline songs in the special, [and he asked if I] would I be interested in giving the love song a try? Trying real hard to suppress my instant imposter syndrome I was like, “Yea, totally I’d be into giving that a shot!” So I read through the story and loved the idea of the dragon mirrored in Marceline, thinking through how they’ve both built up a protective shell, how she grew tough for a reason, but now she can open up and be vulnerable with PB.

From there I wrote the initial demo with the first two verses mostly intact and we went back and forth a few times editing it down into the final version. I recorded the final parts for the show in my little home studio in Seattle.

GS: When you were writing the song, what emotions, thoughts, or ideas were you channeling? Was there any sort of memory of event that you were trying to artistically "catch" or "recreate" with the lyrics or music?

HS: As far as channeling an emotion, generally I’d say just the experience of existing as a human. It can be so hard to open up and be vulnerable. I can remember that feeling even as a young kid—getting really excited about something and having someone completely trash it or look at you like, “Why are you so interested in that? It’s dumb.” [It causes us to grow] a little more weary to share ourselves because we know that hurt and embarrassment. The pain of being misunderstood is something I think a lot of us can relate to. Then having to decide whether to keep sharing those vulnerable parts of yourself or think, “They’re just not going to get it, I’m going to get hurt, so why bother?” and then stop putting yourself out there. You lose a lot with that thick armor though. You might feel protected, but you’re not feeling a whole lot of anything else other than the weight and chafing of it (I had a whole lot of armor-related metaphors that I didn't end up using.).

I struggle with this in songwriting too. I’m not the bolt-of-lightning type. There are pages and pages of cliches, total garbage, bad jokes, and cheesy lines that I have to get through in order to get to something that I am excited to put out there into the world: “Here I did this thing, I know it’s a little (this or that), but I made it... What do you think?” It’s hard to open yourself up to hearing the other end of that question.

I filled about 5 little pocket notebooks just thinking through the story, ideas, and trying to get this song right. I wanted it to feel familiar and honor the past songs of the show ([e.g.,] using the ukulele and referencing a few of the familiar chords from “I’m Just Your Problem”) but also be pretty open and vulnerable and different for [Marceline]. [I wanted to] show that she’s going through some tough emotions but also figuring herself out and growing.

GF: I feel like “Monster” is, at its core, an ode to the “Bubbline” ship. How do you feel about your song being intimately connected to one of the most famous LGBTQ+ relationships in animation? Do you have any general thoughts on Marcy and PB, Bubbline, etc.?

HS: Oh, I’m a total fan girl of Bubbline. The whole story of how Rebecca Sugar and Muto slowly morphed it into this deeper relationship is just great. As a part of the LGBTQ community myself it really means so much to see the representation of characters like yourself portrayed in an intelligent way. Growing up I was too young to fully understand what was going on but I saw Ellen getting cancelled, and [I] heard people around me saying they’d never watch her show again after she came out. That stuff sinks in as a kid and so to have these characters who are not only intelligent, but funny, complex, and unapologetically strong who also happen to be queer is really great. I love that the story here isn’t about their orientation, but that they’re people struggling with how to be open and vulnerable in a relationship.

It feels like something sci-fi and animated shows do so well—to show that ridiculousness of limiting who a person should and shouldn’t love. Marceline is a 1000+ year old half-demon/vampire and PB was born from the Mothergum of an apocalyptic radioactive world, but you’re going to get hung up on them loving each other? It sort of brings it into perspective in a really interesting way.

GF: Do you have any other thoughts about the experience that you'd like to share?

HS: Just how lucky, thankful, and honored I feel to be a part of my favorite show, writing a song for one of my favorite characters. It’s also incredibly cool how the people on the show are so willing to connect and collaborate with their fandom. Everyone [on the production crew] was very open and a real joy to work with.

I’d like to give a huge “Thank you!” to Half Shy for agreeing to participate in this interview; she really was quite amiable! If you’d like to hear more of her music, check out her website and her Bandcamp. You can also follow her on Instragram here and on Twitter here. And of course, here is Half Shy’s awesome video of “Monster”.

[fablesrose]

Drunk on the Memories

Summary: Eliot gets drunk with an old friend, before he even joined the military, they insist on singing to each other

Word count: 1805

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Fem!Reader

Square filled: Drunken Confession

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

Warnings: Talk of war, drinking (obv)

Songs: I Wanna be in the Cavalry by Corb Lund, I Wanna be in the Cavalry Reprise by Corb Lund, Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd

A/n: this is for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo, I did cut out a verse or two on the first too songs to keep it shorter and less graphic but I really enjoyed writing this, so enjoy! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you drunk enough yet?”

I shook my head and knocked back another drink, “Now I am, you?”

Eliot took a large swig of whiskey right from the bottle, “Hand me the guitar.”

I passed it to him with a smile. He grunted and strummed it a couple of times, grumbling that it was out of tune. He started turning the knobs to change the pitch of the strings and my mind drifted to the last time I had heard him sing.

It was years ago, we were both young, broke, and stupid as hell. His one brain cell was telling him to join the military, so that’s what he did. He was being deployed the next morning, so all of our friends and family gathered round a fire, passed the booze around, and insisted on having a swell time. It got to the point where we were drunk enough to do anything, so someone shoved a guitar into Eliot’s hands and told him to put on one last show.

He laughed but started to sing all the same.

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before

I wanna good mount when the bugle sounds and I hear the cannons' roar

I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.”

Everybody quieted down to listen to him. It was an upbeat song, but it settled in that he was going to war. And with a voice like his, how could you not listen?

“I wanna horse in the volunteer force that's riding forth at dawn

Please save for me some gallantry that will echo when I'm gone

I beg of you sarge let me lead the charge when the battle lines are drawn

Lemme at least leave a good hoof beat they'll remember loud and long”

Wolf whistles rose from our group as the energy picked back up again. His face was smiling, young, and full of joy.

“I'd not a good foot soldier make, I'd be sour and slow at march

And I'd be sick on a navy ship, and the sea would leave me parched

But I'll be first in line if they'll let me ride, by god, you'll see my starch

Lope back o'er the heath with the laurel wreath underneath that vict'ry arch”

We laughed. He stood and we cheered him on as he danced around the fire and wove through us. I became mesmerized by him as his voice seemed to light up the area as much as the fire, and warmed me the same amount. Before I knew it he was singing the last verse.

“Let 'em play their flutes and stirrup my boots and place them back to front

For I won't be back on the rider-less black (jack) and I'm finished in my hunt

I wanna be in the cavalry if I must go off to war

I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won't ride home no more”

I was pulled out of my trance as the Eliot before me started to sing, similarly drunk, but different in every other way.

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna good steed under me like my forefathers before

“Courageous at first we took their worst, our positions we held stout

We clung to belief and we hung on the speech from our trusted leaders' mouths

Overwhelming odds and a hopeless cause and our cities overrun

There were them that said we was badly led and God were we outgunned”

When we met earlier he seemed okay, happy even, but with the alcohol came a weariness that only someone who had seen too much could hold. His hands were precise and aged, far from the man I knew that was young and quick, but they still held the same grace with the music.

“I lost count of the worthy mounts that from under me were cut

My favourite mare with her head in the air took the cannons in her gut

In the first two weeks on that bloody creek my brother lost his arm

Was only sixty days till all we prayed was get us home unharmed”

My heart ached as I remembered similar prayers that left my lips, prayers for peace, for safety, for an end of the pain, anyway necessary at points. I could tell that more feeling was in this version of the song then the one I remembered so long ago. That every word that flowed from his mouth was a more of a memory.

“O for the day that we signed our names and the well that we were wished

The men's congrats and the pats on the backs and the ladies that we kissed

The band that played and the grande parade and the patriotic shouts

All faded fast, didn't even last till the uniforms wore out

“We were finally forced to feed on horse and carcass we could scrounge

When the wagons stopped and we'd burnt their crops to charred and barren ground

With morale in doubt and our pride run out no honour did I see

All I seen were a thousand dreams piled dead in front of me

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war

I wanna be in the cavalry, but I won’t ride home no more.”

The apartment echoed the reverberations of the strings. I felt myself sway a little before I grabbed onto the counter with a clap. The alcohol was stirring up some unwelcome feelings in the silence.

“Come on little filly, I believe it’s your turn.”

I chuckled, shaking away the previous emotions, “Fine.”

I grabbed the ukulele that was laid on the floor by the counter.

He laughed, “You still play that thing? What are you gonna sing? Somewhere Over the Rainbow?”

I shook my head, “Yes, as a matter of fact I do still play this thing, and no I won’t be singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

I did think about it. I will admit that, though only to myself. Instead, I chose something that I remembered. Something familiar. Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it.

I strummed the strings, making sure it sounded right before plucking out a tune.

“So, so you think you can tell

Heaven from hell?

Blue skies from pain?

Can you tell a green field

From a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?”

I felt my eyes water. I kept telling myself I drank too much. It was the alcohol making me emotional, but I knew that was only part of it. It’s been years since I last saw Eliot. We had led different lives, but somehow we still ended up here, more similar than we would have thought.

“Did they get you to trade

Your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

Did you exchange

A walk-on part in the war

For a leading role in a cage?”

Eliot’s face was blank, cold. Maybe he was lost in some memories of his own this time. I blinked away the wet eyes and focused back on the strings under my fingertips.

“How I wish, how I wish you were here

We're just two lost souls

Swimming in a fish bowl

Year after year

Running over the same old ground

What have we found?

The same old fears

Wish you were here.”

I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut.

“That was real pretty.”

I smiled bitterly, “Why thank you, you aren’t so bad yourself.”

“What made you pick that song?”

I poured myself another drink, “What made you pick yours?”

He paused, not expecting the question.

“Memories.”

I smiled and nodded, “Me too.” I moved to take a sip, when I hesitated and placed it back down, anymore and I would be sick. “You know, I sang that song to myself every time I missed you.”

“So once every couple of years?”

“Everyday sometimes.”

There was a pause between us.

“It almost hurt worse when I saw you afterwards, because I would still sing it. Because you still weren’t here with us, not really. Now here we are, both drunk as hell, both got dirt, probably more on our hands, and I’m singing it to you.”

I touched my face to find the tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Now what does that say about me?” I wiped my face and sniffed, trying to compose myself again.

Eliot slid off his stool and stood between my knees,  “It means that you’re still that same girl I left in that small and dusty town.”

I scoffed, “We both know that’s not entirely true.”

His hands came up to my face, “Sure it is, you’re still strong, beautiful, caring, and the best friend I could barely hope for.”

His hands were warm on my jaw, rough, but soothing. I couldn’t help but whisper, “What if I told you I wanted to be more than friends?”

He took a step closer to the point where I could feel his breath on my face. I looked up at him, still a little taller than me even on the stool.

“What if I told you I wanted to kiss you?”

“I’d tell you I feel the same.”

“Me too.”

He dipped his head to my lips. He tasted of the whiskey we’d been drinking, but maybe the taste of my last shot was just lingering on my tongue. His hands drifted to the back of my neck, his fingertips caressing my scalp. I found myself gripping his shoulder and forearm, trying to keep myself anchored. Eliot took another step that pushed my stool backwards. Now my back was against the counter and Eliot’s chest was pressed against mine.

We paused for a moment with our eyes closed and foreheads pressed together.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke, and I let out a sigh.

“Yeah.”

Eliot’s hands softly untangled from my hair and drifted over my shoulders, down my back and traced my waist. He slipped them under my thighs and lifted me up onto the counter, pushing the stool underneath and out of the way. He didn’t make a sound as he wrapped is arms around me, burying his face in my neck.

I ran my hands through his long hair, holding him close. Eventually he left soft kisses on my neck, leading up to my jaw, before leaving one more on my lips.

“You don’t have to sing that song alone anymore, I’m here.”

“Yeah, you are. You rode home. You rode home to me.”

Best Buds: @snarky--starky  @kitkatd7 @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

[roselightfairy]

If you're still doing fic recs, do you have any favorite AUs?

Oh, do I!! This is an EXCELLENT prompt, and I’ve had a lot of fun compiling this list tonight. I’ve ended up grouping it into two different sections: modern AU (because there are a lot of those!) and “other,” which are…non-modern AU, haha. For the most part I’ve left out UA (universe alteration, in which the universe is the same but something about the story changes), because I can’t think of any of those right now – but I know there are some really good ones of that as well!

So:

Modern:

like, comment, subscribe by DeHeerKonijn

Summary: A collection of fics that take place in my modern ‘verse, wherein Minas Tirith is a bustling city, Gimli is a professor at the university, and Legolas is a model-slash-influencer-slash-layabout.

…

Come on, you all knew this was going to be first on the list. The amount of worldbuilding @deheerkonijn has put into this series is absolutely breathtaking, and what you see on Tumblr is probably only the half of it. (Go stalk her Twitter, even if you don’t have a profile – I do it all the time!) This series is all she’s written for it so far, plus the fic that we cowrote about the OC roommates. But aside from that, the series has a whole assortment of always sexy, always funny, always sweet stories about Legolas and Gimli; go read them all!

No Place Like HoME by Flamebyrd

Summary: In which our heroes play a MMORPG called Heroes of Middle-Earth.

…

THIS IS SO GOOD. I love this premise so much, haha – Legolas and Gimli are just regular humans (with regular names, even!) and a rivalry they don’t even know about – but it turns out they’ve been playing each other in a game for quite awhile! It’s cute, fun, and creative, and I wish there were more.

life’s just a game (and it’s just your turn) by plinys

Summary: Legolas and Gimli try to have phone sex (or well, headset sex) with some unforeseen consequences.

…

I ADORE that these two as gamers is a fic idea that exists more than once, and this one is so fluffy with just a hint of spice (and a hefty dose of embarrassment, haha, but they deserved it!). Read it and grin!

Hold My Number by katajainen

Summary: It's a Saturday night at the A&E, and Gimli only wants to get to the triage nurse and be done with this whole stupid business.

That is, until he meets a tall, dark stranger (a ridiculously pretty one).

…

I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH. The crowning glory of meet-cutes (though it’s more of a meet-ugly, really), in which Legolas and Gimli meet at the emergency room for very embarrassing reasons . . . and hit it off right away, in a way that is adorable, delightful, and funny to watch. Read for their embarrassing stories, their adorable dorkiness (they’re gamers again!), and their undeniable chemistry.

Perfect Fit by mssileas

Summary: "Both of them were painfully aware that their physical differences were shockingly obvious – much more so than their also very different personalities. And that they usually led people to assumptions they weren't shy of declaring."

Or, Legolas single-handedly disproves all prejudice, and Gimli loves it.

…

This is a lovely (and smutty, so be warned) modern AU oneshot that challenges the stereotypes of these two based on how they look – and how they would probably be treated, if they were a couple in our world. If you’re interested in the modern AU premise but not the smut, there’s another oneshot set in this ‘verse, Christmas Body, that is mostly just fluff!

Other (non-modern):

The Earth Moves Under Our Feet (It’s A Loco Motion) by notanightlight

Summary: The West is still Wild. Gimli is working on the railway, Legolas is a gunslinger, and someone needs to turn this train around.

…

WILD WEST AU WILD WEST AU!! This story is one of my favorite things ever because it’s a WILD WEST AU and Gimli is an Irish immigrant and Legolas is an outlaw and they meet in a near-death situation and bond! It has wonderful worldbuilding, excellent banter, and little moments of flirting that almost hide below the surface of the aforementioned near-death situation, but not quite. ;) Please go read it, or listen to the amazing accompanying podfic by Morvidra, which is an astounding performance.

Nothing Doth Fade (But Suffers a Sea-Change) by notanightlight

Summary: Gimli has always heard stories about the seals that lived near the cliffs of Castle Durin. “They aren’t what they seem,” they’d tell him. Gimli never knew what to think of those stories, until the night he met a stranger on the shore, with the sea in his eyes and moonlight on his skin.

…

@notanightlight has too many amazing AUs to list them all here, but I have to give a shout-out to this one because SELKIES but also ANGST and SORROW and BETRAYAL but FORGIVENESS and HOPE and – I don’t know. It plays with a common and really sad trope, but gives our characters a way through that is hard and painful, but worth it, in the end – a story in which everything is not all okay, but in which that doesn’t have to be the end, if everyone is willing to work. Plus, Thranduil makes an appearance and he is magnificent.

Wild Hunt by consumptive_sphinx

Summary: There’s a knock on the door.

It isn’t quite dusk; it isn’t too dangerous yet. But still, it’s late to be out on Midwinter’s Night. What if he was held up somewhere?

Legolas takes a nail with him when he opens the door. “Gimli. It’s late.”

…

Fae AU!! consumptive_sphinx has many wonderful AUs and you should check out their whole profile, but I had to give this one a shout-out. It’s mysterious and tender and packs a whole lot of story between the lines of its 917 words and made me yearn for more!

The Monstrous Fellowship by IchijouKenichiro

Summary: Astrin's cousins Fíli and Kíli left to fight the forces of Mordor over two years ago, but there's been no word from them for the last six months. Being a woman of action and the one who always is there to get them out of trouble, Astrin disguises herself as the male warrior Gimli and joins the army to fight for them. But the regiment she joins is anything but typical. With troublesome hobbits, a religious fanatic, the undead, a golem, and even an elf, are the greatest dangers to come from her fellow man? And what secrets are they all holding onto?

A parody of Terry Prachett's "A Monstrous Regiment"

…

THIS IS NOT A DRILL. This is ACTUALLY a Monstrous Regiment rewrite of LOTR, with the Fellowship in the place of the Regiment, and the characters are – actually matched up really, really well. Full disclosure: I read this before I read Monstrous Regiment and went in fully prepared to ship Polly and Maladict… but it turns out they were extremely shippable anyway, so that turned out all right. ;) Seriously – this is an excellent fic, such a fun story, and such a good homage!

Aulë’s Gift by daisynorbury

Summary: "Our friendship endures these strange periods of inequality. You can't remember, and I can't forget."

A new chapter in Adina's classic Back to the Beginning cycle, wherein Aulë granted Gimli perpetual reincarnation. Two thousand years into the Fourth Age, Legolas meets the ninth version of his dearest friend. Told mostly from Gimli's amnesiac POV.

…

I don’t know if this story fully counts as an AU, but I’ve been longing to rec it for several lists and just – couldn’t ever quite find a category it fit into. AU is close enough, since even though the world is meant to be Middle-earth far in the future, it’s different enough to feel like another world. This is a reincarnation story of Legolas and Gimli set in the series referenced above (and recommended in a different list), and it deals with the extreme complication of the situation with so much sensitivity and grace that it rivets me. Even if I didn’t know @daisyfornost, it would be so obvious to me that an absolutely unbelievable amount of thought and care went into the worldbuilding, the writing, the creation of this story. It is such a labor of love, and that love is evident throughout the whole thing. Please go read it, but I warn you that you will have lots of feelings.

…

Thank you again for this amazing prompt, anon! Reminder to all that this is in no way a comprehensive list – I’m sure I’ve left out so many other wonderful stories. Please feel free to add your own, if you reblog this! And my usual reminder to please leave the author a comment if you read any of these and enjoy it. <3

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the Irish-ness of Dracula, if you wanna ramble about it!

(Okay I just want to apologise for how long this took to answer because I know it’s been sitting in my inbox for over a month but..depression and work happened and I just didn’t have the time or energy to complete it. I seriously do apologise for this but I hope you enjoy the post anyway!)

So the first thing I need to clear up is this: the concept of a monster or a demon that feeds upon the life force of humans is not limited to one singular culture or folklore. In fact, this core concept is a wider cultural phenomenon and variations of it exist across both countries and continents. And no one country can take sole credit for the this core concept of vampires. Anyone who tries to claim otherwise either doesn’t know much about vampires or is intentionally being disingenuous. There can be cultural variations that are specific to certain folklores (and to just blatantly steal these would be cultural appropriation), but the main idea of vampires exists across a wide range of folklores and no singular person, group of people or culture can take credit for the creation of vampires.

However, arguably it was the work of Bram Stoker that aided in the solidification of the concept of Vampires that we know today. While there were other authors from a wide range of nationalities who wrote about Vampires before Stoker (including John William Polidori who wrote the Vampyre in 1819)...Dracula is the best known. (Now I personally believe that’s because Dracula is an absolutely banging novel, although I do concede that the prevalence of adaptations of Dracula from the 1920’s to today helps keep Dracula in the forefront of audiences minds.) In addition, it’s important to remember that Stoker was inspired by another Irish author Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, who wrote the novel Carmilla. As far as I know, Le Fanu and Stoker actually worked together on a magazine!

Another thing I think that needs clarification is the common belief that Stoker heavily/religiously based Dracula on the historical figure Vlad the Impailer. This is heavily debated by scholars. While there’s an obvious, undeniable similarity between the names of these two...the similarities start to wain after this, with only small similarities between the two and there’s even literal contradictions between the history of Vlad the Impailer and Dracula’s history in the novel. In fact, there’s not much indication that Stoker based the character Dracula off Vlad the Impailer, or even that he had a working knowledge of Vlad the Impailer beyond the name. In all 124 pages of his notes, there’s nothing to indicate that Stoker’s inspiration for Dracula came from Vlad the Impailer.

(Plus Dracula in the novel wasn’t even originally called Dracula...he was called Count Wampyr in the original drafts of the novel and this was only changed, from what I can gather, in the last couple of drafts.)

In fact, I’d personally argue that that connection between Vlad the Impailer and Dracula is actually something that’s been retroactively added by other artists, for example the 1992 film “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” heavily leaned into this idea that Dracula and Vald the Impailer were one in the same, and as time has progressed people assume that these elements were in the original novel when that’s simply untrue! Stoker didn’t write that! It’s a retroactive addition by other artists that’s just assumed by the masses to be canon. This phenomenon is actually super interesting and it’s absolutely not limited to Stoker’s novel Dracula/the modern day perception of Dracula (another example would be Mary Shelley’s version of Frankenstein versus the modern day perception Frankenstein). I’m not sure if there’s a word for what this is, but I like the term “cultural canon”, where something that’s been added in by other artists has become as good as canon within the minds of the masses and as such is ingrained within the cultural perception of something, despite it having no basis within the original piece or even directly contradicting what is in canon.

(Now I’ll absolutely concede that Stoker taking the name of a historical figure and possibly their likeness from another country and making them into a literal monster is something that should be discussed. I don’t know how Vlad the Impailer is viewed within Romania - whether he’s viewed positively or negatively or a mixture - but regardless he was a historical figure and Stoker did eventually use that name for his own creative purposes. Again, Stoker didn’t say that Dracula and Vlad the Impailer were the same person, that’s other artists doing, but there’s still issues with Stoker that needs to be discussed)

Now, I’ve seen people talk about how Stoker took a lot of inspiration from the Baltic folklore surrounding vampires for his novel, but I don’t really know this folklore very well and therefore I don’t feel like I’m qualified to discuss it. If anyone is more well versed in this topic wants to add to this post then they’re more than welcome to! I don’t deny that Stoker too inspiration from places other than Ireland (like the novel is set in Whitby) but I just feel like people over hype the relation between stokers Dracula and Vlad the Impailer.

Now, onto the Irish mythology side!

So the most obvious inspiration for Dracula comes from the story of Abhartach. here is a link to an actual, respectable retelling of the story of Abhartach which I’d highly recommend people read (it’s really not that long) but the key points go as follows:

There was this Irish chieftain called Abhartach, who was really cruel and the townsfolk didn’t really like him. So, the townsfolk and another cheiftain (known as Cathain) banded together to kill Abhartach. They did succeed in killing him (yay), however, Abhartach just sort of...rose from the dead and began another reign of terror (not yay). However, Abhartach needed to be sustained by blood and required a bowlful every day to sustain his energy. Cathain comes back and kills Abhartach once again, but Abhartach rises from the dead once more and now needs more blood. Abhartach is only banished when Cathain uses a word made from yew wood and wounds Abhartach with it. Abhartach is buried upside down with a grant stone over the grave to stop Abhartach rising once again.

Sound familiar? The similarities between Abhartach and Dracula are undeniable! Yes, there’s some differences between the two but the core story here is almost identical. I could totally reword that paragraph, omitting the names, and it would be indistinguishable from a short summary of Dracula! Even the way that the main characters find out about the wooden weapon that can kill the monster is similar, as both Jonathan and Cathain go to wiser and older members of their community to learn more.

(Also please mythology blogs don’t come for me I know my retelling was an incredible oversimplification but I’m writing on my iPad and my thumbs are starting to hurt. People have wrote full papers on the similarities between Dracula and Abhartach and there’s so many more people more qualified than me, I’m just an 18 year old trying to make a fun and interesting tumblr post. Again, if anyone wants add anything like extra sources or more information or even to point out my mistakes then I more than welcome the additions)

Another piece of folklore that’s also said to have inspired Dracula is the Dearg Due. Now there’s multiple different versions of the tale, but the version I have heard goes like this:

There’s a noble woman who wants to marry a penniless peasant boy, but her dad disapproves and wants her to marry another man who is much richer. The rich man and the noble woman were eventually married but the woman didn’t love the rich man. In retaliation, the rich man locked the woman in a windowless castle where she starved to death. The woman was buried by the locals who took pity on her, but because she was buried hungry she came back to life and drank the blood of her father and her husband as revenge. The version I heard says that the dearg due now basically wanders ireland drinking the blood of men who have hurt or wronged women (as one should) but there’s other endings to the story.

(Again is anyone has a reliable source they want to share then please feel free to add!)

So this is another Irish piece of folklore that clearly includes some elements that we now associate with vampires. Now people (including Wikipedia) claim that this story was specifically what Stoker based Dracula on, and while I definitely think that Stoker was aware of this story and took inspiration from it, I personally think that the Dearg Due inspired the concept of Dracula’s wives more than Dracula himself.

However the key point still stands: Stoker was likely aware of these legends and even the most staunchly anti-Irish person would have to concede that there’s similarities between all three stories. And very rarely are these similarities discussed in classes about Dracula...which I feel is a real disservice. I don’t think students should have to have an intense knowledge of Irish mythology (my knowledge is spotty at best) nor do I think it should be an exam question...but even a brief acknowledgment of “hey, Stoker was inspired by these stories and you can clearly see similarities between them” would be nice. Moreover, it further solidifies my original argument that Stoker was, at least to some extent, Irish and that his Irishness inherently influenced his work.

Also...the social context of what was going on in Ireland in this period can’t be ignored! Again, while Stoker did spend time in both England and Romania, he spent a lot of his life in Ireland and therefore would have known what was going on in his own country.

Dracula was published in 1897, which is exactly 50 years after the worst year of the Irish Famine/ The Great Hunger/An Gorta Mór. Now I don’t have time to do a whole history of the Great Hunger but the effects of the famine were greatly exacerbated by the horrific mismanagement of Ireland by the British government and the British system of ruling in Ireland. How many people died during the famine isn’t clear, but we do know that the population of Ireland at the time was 8 million and the population today is 6 million...200 years later and we still haven’t recovered. So while we all like to joke about the fact that Stoker wrote about an unfeeling member of the aristocracy literally feeding off others with no remorse and basically ruining their lives...are we really going to pretend that there isn’t social commentary there? Scholars specifically think that Stoker was commenting on the absentee landlords (basically British aristocrats who owned land in Ireland but didn’t live there and as such didn’t care about the well being of their tenants) who would often have tenants forced off the land when they couldn’t pay rent...despite the fact that their tenenants were already starving and had no money because their only source of food and income failed.

(I’m not being shady by the way, I also love to joke about the social implications of Dracula, but I feel like people forget that the jokes have actual points behind them)

There was also a cholera epidemic in Ireland in 1832 which is generally accepted to be one of Stoker’s biggest inspirations. You can read more about the epidemic here if you wish, but I’ll summarise what I feel are the key points. Not only was Stoker’s mother from county Sligo and lived through this cholera epidemic, but Stoker also asked her to write down her memories of the epidemic and used her accounts to aid in his research of the cholera epidemic. Now the fact that he was actively researching this should indicate that it would influence his work, especially considering the situation in county Sligo was incredibly morbid. There’s accounts of the 20 carpenters in Sligo town being unable to make enough coffins to keep up with the amount of people dying, resulting in hundreds of dead bodies just lying on the street. However, the most horrific account from this epidemic was the stories of terrified nurses placing cholera patients into mass graves while they were still alive. Stoker himself literally stated that Dracula was “inspired by the idea of someone being buried before they were fully dead”. So while at first there seems to be very little relation between the novel and a medical epidemic, it quickly becomes clear that Stoker’s fascination with this historical event influenced his writing.

My overall point is that Stoker’s irishness inherently influenced his writing. Writers don’t write in their own little bubble, divorced from the world around them, their views and work are shaped by their position in society and their upbringing (it’s why I dislike death of the author as a literary theory). So when people try to claim that Dracula is a piece of British literature...it indicates either a lack of understanding of the context in which Stoker was writing in or a wilful ignorance founded on colonialist ideas. His influences are so obvious to me as an Irish woman but they rarely get discussed, and even if they are it’s seen as overreaching! To call Dracula British literature and to ignore the inherent Irishness of the novel does a great disservice to Stoker!

Anyways I really hope you enjoyed this discussion my love! Once again I apologise for how long this took to write. Also I’m sorry if this comes off as argumentative or anything, that absolutely wasn’t my intention, I just have a particular style of writing long posts haha.

[ckret2]

How far into modern music do you think Alastor would go? I can't imagine him listening to mondern pop, but maybe he would at least give a shot to things in the 50/60?? I just can't imagine him not having so many music opinions, all of them a bit out of date. Do you think that he thinks "queen" were promising upstarts? He loves music and, though not his type, wouldn't he at least listen to a bit¿?

I do think Alastor actually kept up with music for a while after his death—and with tech too, at least the tech that interested him. In life, he was on the cutting edge—he didn't just use the newest, hottest technology, he worked with it, he was a pioneer in a completely new field of media and so deeply enmeshed in the industry that it formed the basis of his soul's identity in death. Going from "I'm so cutting edge you'll bleed if you touch me" to "if it wasn't invented before the 26th of December in 1933 at 3:12 p.m. I will hiss like a vampire exposed to sunlight if you try to make me use it" is a harsh change, and I don’t buy it. It makes more sense if we assume there must have been a transition period during which he lost his enthusiasm for keeping up with the latest and greatest and slowly withdrew into the past.

Same goes for music. When he first arrived, he probably soaked up new music like a sponge. What about beloved musicians who had died too young—how many of them had ended up in Hell, and had they produced new music since they died? What strange mutations of jazz were cropping up down here where people who were familiar with the earliest iterations of the genre were trickling in and it had evolved and progressed in near isolation from the latest developments in the living world? Are there medieval bards playing covers of "Royal Garden Blues" on the hurdy-gurdy? Who else has played new versions of songs he knows? Who does he get in contact with in the next few years to ensure he gets a steady supply of new songs by his favorite artists still in the living world, either in the form of smuggled-in phonograph records or new arrivals who learned the songs and can now share them in Hell? What songs that have been forgotten for centuries can he learn? What musical genres are unique to Hellish culture? Where are all the artists and styles and genres he's interested in going next?! He's got to find out!

I've got two different headcanons for when that changed.

In the fic verse I'm writing, due to Circumstances, Alastor spent roughly all of the 70s being a depressed lump and the 80s in the Cannibal Colony. Those years where he withdrew from the world are when he stops keeping up with both technology and music. By the time he starts trying to engage with broader Hellish culture again, it’s been a couple of decades, everything on the radio sounds different and weird, and rather than trying to catch up he just kinda defaults back to what he’s used to, which peters out in the mid-60s.

In less-fic-verse more-canon headcanons, I think it was a gradual tapering off over the same time period. I’m restraining myself from going all The Psychology Of How Humans Develop Their Tastes In Music, but the short version is that, VERY BROADLY, people’s tastes tend to develop & solidify in adolescence/young adulthood—anything that came before then is old-fashioned and boring and anything that comes after that is weird and sounds like noise. Alastor, who’s All About Music, can keep up with new trends longer, but slowly the newest hottest sound will evolve out of what he’s able to hear as Good Music. Just, over the years, there will be fewer and fewer new musicians that are playing in a way that he likes. I figure it’ll be about the 70s before all the popular music makes him go “eh, they don’t make it like they used to,” and from there he sticks with what sounds good to him.

Now, in either one of these scenarios, I think there’s still some modern music that he’ll enjoy, but for the most part it’s going to be music that sounds closer to what he’s familiar with. So like, swing revival as a genre. Generic lounge jazz would bore him, and so would jazz of the “pushing so hard on the boundaries of music that you have to be neck-deep in the last 60 years of jazz history just to understand what they’re doing” variety, but modern big band-style jazz would appeal. He might listen to some modern ska when it swings more toward the “big brass sections” side of things rather than the “punk rock” side of things. He’d dislike electro swing that’s like “chops up songs he heard in the 30s and sets them over a drum machine” but he’d like electro swing that’s like “composes original modern swing that’s good enough to make up for the fact that there’s a synthesizer in the background.” Vintage style covers of modern songs would appeal to him, and no I’m not talking about “Postmodern Jukebox” as if they’re the only folks on the planet who’ve ever done that, I’m talking about “Alastor goes to a jazz club twice a month to join jam sessions and sometimes the musicians there go ‘hey we heard this great new song on the radio, listen to this’ *two demons play Uptown Funk on a sax and a piano.*”

And I think he’d put in an effort for musical theater no matter WHAT genre it’s in. We see him hear Charlie’s song once and immediately perform a cover of it, and Charlie’s song is definitely way outside of the kinds of genres he’d be inclined to listen to, except that it’s musical theater style. So—would Alastor listen to industrial rock? No. Would he watch and enjoy Repo! The Genetic Opera? Hell yeah. Would Alastor listen to hip hop? No. Would he watch and enjoy Hamilton? Hell yeah.

Musical theater might be the best way to ease him into modern music tbh. Get him into a few musicals he likes in spite of the modern sound and use them as a stepping stone to branch out to similar-sounding modern music.

As for Queen—honestly I don’t think he’d think about Queen. Almost half a dozen folks now have asked me specifically about that—but what about Queen tho, do you think he’d at least think Queen is good?—and like I just don’t think he’d care lmfao. Why is Queen always the first and only band people wanna know his opinion of? He’d like that the music video for “Radio Gaga” uses clips from a movie he saw while he was alive, and the lyrics would secretly make him a little emotional, but he’d dislike the song itself because they couldn’t even be assed to have a real human play the drums; and for their other songs he’d be like “yeah, that’s music.”

[thatsamericano]

Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too

Pairings/Characters: America/Romano. Background Gerita, and Seborga and Prussia are there too. Very brief appearances from Denmark and Lithuania in the video, as well as a ton of other characters who don’t get lines.

Rating: Teen, but only for cursing. Very fluffy, and no warnings to speak of.

Word Count: 2518

Summary: America sends Romano a special video for his birthday. He isn’t Elvis Presley, but it’s the best rendition of the song Romano’s ever heard.

A/N: I wanted to post something fluffy for Romano’s birthday. This will be up on AO3 soon.

It had been a nice, quiet birthday for Romano so far. Feli’s macho potato had dropped by to spend the day with him, and Prussia had tagged along too. Savino was glad Gilbert and Marcello were here, because otherwise he would’ve been stuck third-wheeling the sappiest couple in the world on his own birthday. Spain and Belgium had said they would arrive in a couple hours, which Romano was looking forward to as well. Most of the people who had sent his little brother a happy birthday message had remembered to send one to him too. America had sent them both silly e-cards, and the gifts he’d sent had arrived a week early and would be unwrapped along with all the others after they frosted the cake.

Romano was not lonely, especially not for someone who would’ve had to fly across a whole ocean to see him. He only threw a spatula at Germany’s head when he leaned in to kiss Feli right after he put the cake in the oven because the sight of the potato bastard kissing his little brother grossed him out to no end.

Feliciano pouted at him. “Fratello, that wasn’t very nice of you.”

“I had to stop you two before I lost my appetite. I want to actually be able to eat a slice of cake later!”

Germany muttered something under his breath, and Seborga giggled while Prussia ruffled his hair. “Relax, Savi. It’s your birthday.”

Romano shoved Gilbert’s hand away. “I’m relaxing just fine, damn it.” He walked over to the counter to check his phone, which had received a few new messages since he and Feli had started making their joint birthday cake.

As he was reading a message from New Zealand (who seemed to be confused by the time difference and hoped their message had arrived on time), a new text popped up on his phone. From America.

“Huh, that’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Marcello asked.

“America sent me a link to a Youtube video.” Alfred liked to upload a lot of strange things on Youtube, including cooking videos with his twin, recordings of him prank calling England, and the occasional stunt that would’ve turned Savino’s hair gray if he’d aged like a human. Seriously, what the fuck had possessed him to surf down a staircase on a fucking ironing board?

The message before the link was cryptic as hell. Happy bday. Here’s an extra present for you. 😉 Hope you enjoy.🎶 Knowing America, Romano wouldn’t have been too surprised if he’d opened up the link and seen that one Rick Astley song the idiota still thought was funny to send to people. But Feli immediately got excited about it.

“Oh, he finally sent you the video! I thought he’d do that a month ago!”

Prussia smirked as Feli rushed over to them. “Nah, Al had always planned to upload it today.”

Germany came over with a subtle hint of a smile on his face, like he knew what all this was about too. At least Marcello still looked baffled as he leaned over to get a look at Savino’s phone.

“What the fuck are you assholes up to?” Savino didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like that everyone except his baby brother had been plotting something behind his back.

“It isn’t bad, Romano,” Germany promised. “Just open the link and you’ll see.”

Romano didn’t trust Germany further than he could throw him, and the guy was way too heavy for him to even lift. But if Germany thought it was okay, it probably wasn’t a video involving the kinds of ridiculous shenanigans America liked to film, and it certainly was nowhere near as heart-attack inducing as some of the videos he’d seen Fredo post (especially if Prussia or Denmark were egging him on). Savino squinted at Ludwig suspiciously before he clicked on the link.

It wasn’t Rick Astley. The video started with a black screen. “No, Gil, you’re supposed to press the red button!” The voice sounded like Denmark.

“Magnus, I pressed the red button!” That was Prussia.

“Guys, maybe we could use my iPhone instead?” America asked. His voice sounded uncharacteristically strained and nervous. “The quality won’t be as good, but at this point Vinny’s probably given up anyway.”

Suddenly, the image of a white dress shirt with a navy tie (and an inexplicable ukulele) appeared on the screen. The camera zoomed out a little, and he could see Alfred smiling at him in a crowded bar with many nations Romano knew well, and many who were only acquaintances. Denmark rushed past him, but Romano could scarcely take his eyes off America. He was wearing the same outfit he’d seen him in on the day of the last world meeting he’d attended a couple months ago in Berlin, and he was cradling a ukulele in his arms. His warm smile, as always, made Romano’s heart skip a beat. But there was a hint of anxiety in his crystal blue eyes, and that made Romano wish he was there to talk to America and help him with whatever seemed to be bothering him.

“Hey, Vinny! Right now it’s still January, but by the time I upload this video, it will be your birthday, so happy birthday, dude! I hope you’re having a good day with your brothers.” He chuckled. “You guys will probably need a huge cake if you’re gonna blow out all your birthday candles.”

Romano rolled his eyes. “That’s what numbered candles are for, idiota,” he murmured.

“Anyway, I know I’m not the best singer in the world—” Prussia snickered from behind the camera and America glared at him sharply before relaxing back into the smile he’d had on his face before. “But I’ve been practicing this song a lot, so hopefully you’ll like it.”

Romano wondered which song it was. If it was the Italian version of “Happy Birthday,” America wouldn’t need a ukulele, and this video would not be three and a half minutes in length.

America started strumming the ukulele, and it wasn’t the “Happy Birthday” song. Savino vaguely recognized the melody, and apparently Feliciano knew what the song was, because he was bouncing next to him and muffling squeals behind his hand. Savino was tempted to smack him, but that would involve looking away from his phone.

Then, America started to sing in a shaky but surprisingly clear voice, staring straight at the camera. “Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

Marcello gasped. “He didn’t!”

“Oh, he totally did,” Prussia replied smugly.

Savino was too emotional to talk. He teared up as Alfred continued with the next line. “But I can’t help falling in love with you.” Fredo’s voice was full of sincerity, like he actually meant it, like he actually loved him. For so long, Romano had assumed his feelings for America were completely one-sided, that he would have to ignore them as much as possible, vainly hope they might disappear, and move on with his life as best he could. But clearly, he had been wrong, and the proof was that America was serenading him with a love song. On his birthday.

America started walking backwards with his ukulele, and Prussia’s camera followed him. At the end of the first verse, he’d reached a booth with Spain, Portugal, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg. They all held up signs wishing him a happy birthday in various languages as they sang the last line together. Spain waved and Belgium winked at the camera, and America grinned as he kept walking through the bar.

He briefly stopped by other groups of people to allow them to hold up signs wishing Romano a happy birthday as he sang. Russia, his sisters, and Canada. Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia and Poland. Hungary, Austria, Germany, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. China, Japan, Taiwan, Vietnam, and South Korea. France, Monaco, all the UK countries, and Ireland. Australia, New Zealand, Seychelles, and Kenya. Greece, Turkey, and Egypt. All the Nordics too. It was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone had ever done for Romano. America must have gone to so much effort to orchestrate something like this, to gather so many countries together in one bar in Berlin and convince them to go along with his plan. Savino smiled as he kept watching the video. Maybe Alfred wasn’t as good a singer as Elvis Presley or any of the many people who had covered this song, but his performance was heartfelt, and Savino loved every second of it.

Near the end, all of the countries sang the line “For I can’t help falling in love with you” together and held up their happy birthday signs. The bartender and some confused humans sang along with them. Savino laughed as Alfred chuckled sheepishly in the video, cheeks turning pink because this was an unusually public spectacle, even for him.

Alfred repeated the final chorus and sang with just him and the ukulele, as he had begun the song. “Take my hand, take my whole life too.” His eyes were shining with tears, and not the happy kind Savino had been shedding since the second line of the song. “For I can’t help falling in love with you.” He repeated the final line then took a deep breath.

“So, yeah. That uhh… wasn’t just a song.” America glanced off to the side. “I’ve kinda been hopelessly in love with you for a while.”

“About 90 years, give or take!” a tipsy voice shouted from off camera. It sounded just like Lithuania, the few times he’d had a little too much to drink at a speakeasy back when he, America, and Romano all lived together. Romano remembered those days fondly.

America hunched his shoulders with a pained look on his face. “Yeah. What Tolys said. You mean a lot to me, Vinny, both as a friend and possibly more, if you want that. If you just wanna stay friends, that’s cool. I hope you liked the song. Happy birthday.”

The screen abruptly cut to black, and the video ended. Savino wiped his eyes and looked up at Feliciano. “This is… this is why we had to fly back right away, isn’t it? Our boss didn’t call you.”

Feli shook his head. “I lied. America asked me to lie so he could surprise you with that video.”

“I can’t believe he did that for me.” Part of Savino felt like he didn’t deserve it, but a much bigger part of him was too selfish to care about what he did or didn’t deserve. He just wanted to be happy. “I wish he was here,” Romano confessed quietly. “I wish I could tell him I feel the same way.” And he wanted to kiss away every tear that idiota had ever cried over him, which was long overdue.

Savino ignored his little brothers cooing over what he had just said and tried not to bristle at the fact that even Germany seemed to think it was adorable. Prussia, weirdly enough, was too busy texting on his phone to join in on the overbearing fawning.

Gilbert chuckled at something on his phone. “Alfred’s a lot closer than you think. He decided to skip the Saint Paddy’s Day parade this year.” He grinned up at Romano, who instantly got the message. Alfred wasn’t celebrating with his Irish-American citizens. He was here in Italy, and it wouldn’t take much effort for Romano to find him.

He sprinted to his front door and flung it open. Alfred, who had been standing with his back to the front door, turned around to face him. “Vinny, I…”

Savino was too impatient to let him get another word out. He tugged on the collar of his emerald green t-shirt and sealed their mouths together. Alfred made a muffled sound of surprise and started kissing him a couple seconds later. He wrapped an arm around his waist, and Savino could feel that he was holding something wrapped in cellophane in his hand. He didn’t give a fuck what it was. He didn’t give a fuck about anything except the fact that Alfred was grinning against his mouth as he reluctantly pulled away for air.

Alfred’s face was flushed, and he had to reach up to fix his glasses. “Wow. This t-shirt never worked before.”

Savino glanced down at the shirt, which read “Kiss Me, I’m Irish!” (of course it did) and snorted. “I didn’t kiss you because of a fucking t-shirt logo. I kissed you because I watched that birthday video you sent me, which was the most adorable goddamn thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“So you liked the song, huh?”

“I loved the song. And I love you too, Fredo.”

He heard sniffling, and it couldn’t have been Alfred, who was beaming at him like every prayer he’d ever uttered had been answered just by Savino saying those words to him. And the sniffling noise was coming from behind him. At least one person had followed Romano to the front door, but Romano had been too focused on America to notice.

Romano tensed up as America laughed and put an arm around his shoulder. “Germany, are you crying, dude?”

“I… I’m verklempt. That was a beautiful moment.” Savino glanced over and saw that Germany wasn’t the only one. Veneziano, Seborga, and Prussia were all standing in the entryway, and they all looked misty-eyed.

Romano groaned and turned to bury his face in America’s ridiculous t-shirt. “Seriously, did you come out here to fucking spy on us?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” America squeezed his arm around him in a silent gesture of support. He could probably tell how embarrassed Romano was.

“Well, you were the one who decided to run out the front door suddenly,” Marcello said teasingly. “You can’t blame us for wanting to see what was going on.”

Veneziano piled on. “It’s nice of you to visit us on our birthday, America. You can come inside if you want, or you can stay out here and kiss Savi some more.”

Romano growled and turned to shoot vicious glares at both of his brothers, but America didn’t seem bothered at all. “As tempting as it sounds to stand here and kiss Vinny all day, I think I’ll come inside.” He dropped his arm from around Savino’s shoulders and presented him with the floral bouquet he somehow hadn’t noticed earlier in his mad dash to the door. “These are for you.”

“Grazie.” Savino smiled as he bent his head to sniff the bouquet of red roses mixed with white lilies. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him.

“Anything for you,” America whispered, too quietly for the others to hear. He pressed a kiss to Savino’s cheek, grabbed his wheeled suitcase, and dangled out his free hand as they headed into the house behind the others.

Romano grabbed America’s hand and laced their fingers together. This was the best birthday he’d ever had, and it was due in no small part to the fact America was holding his hand right now and smiling like he was the one who had received everything he ever wanted.

[kenzieam]

Get The Chance - Oneshot

Rating: T

Warnings: Fluff, some mild language

Word Count: 1508

Tags: @jewels2876​  @moonbeambucky​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​  @iammarylastar​ @captstefanbrandt​  @badassbaker​  @pinknerdpanda​  @oliviastan17​ @mizzzpink​​

***************************************************************

Bucky goes looking for The Hobbit.

Just a brain-fart, be gentle.

***************************************************************

Bucky looked up from the scrawled directions on the ratty piece of paper in his gloved hand. Apparently, there was this new thing out there the kids used called Google Maps, but an actual paper copy felt better, more… present in his hand than a blinking phone screen.

This was the last used bookstore in Brooklyn, if he didn’t find it here, he’d have to expand his search into the other boroughs, and he’d rather not.

‘It’ was a copy of The Hobbit and not just any copy. He could go online and order a new one, download the Kindle version or pick up any dog-eared copy he’d come across in any of the other used bookstores he’d already visited, but he didn’t want that.

He wanted the original, one just like the one he’d first read, when the damn thing first came out, in 1937. He wanted the smell of old paper, the heft of it, the hard cover to help transport him back to when things were simpler, plainer; when a new book and an upcoming date with a dame were the good things in life, small things to look forward to.

Now it was a lifeline.

And an eye-opener. What had cost mere pennies back then was now a apparently worth big bucks, but Bucky hadn’t quite lost hope yet.

Maybe there would be a miracle hiding in this shop.

A bell tinkled quietly when he entered and Bucky quickly surveyed the scene, once a necessary action, now just habit. The smell of old books welcomed him, made him relax infinitesimally. Like most shops he’d visited this week in his quest, the newer books were all at the front and he moved instinctively closer to the back of the narrow space, scanning the shelves as he did.

Then he stopped.

It was only a few vertical shelves but printed at the top was what he was looking for. ‘Middle Earth’. If the Hobbit was in this store, it would be in this section.

He skimmed across the titles, finding many of the same that he’d dismissed in other stores, battered copies of The Fellowship and its sequels, a few of the Hobbit itself, but not the old version he was holding out for.

“Can I help you?”

Bucky startled slightly, fighting the automatic response of striking first and asking questions later and took a step backwards in caution.

The person who’d spoken took an answering step back also, as if realizing how close they’d come to receiving a knock-out blow and Bucky immediately felt awkward shame rising, heating his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lowering his eyes but not before glancing around for the exit so he could run away.

“It’s alright, I startled you.” Her response was matter of fact, no further signs of alarm in her voice and Bucky chanced a glance upwards at her face, wishing two things immediately and simultaneously; he wished he’d looked up sooner and that he’d never come into this shop at all.

Her auburn hair was piled high on her head in a messy bun, glowing in the soft lighting of this hidden corner. A pair of thick-framed glasses, which reminded Bucky of what was popular right around the time he signed up for the war, were pushed up on top of her head and he wished they were down on her face because maybe then they would have saved him from being hit by perhaps the most strikingly beautiful amethyst eyes he’d ever seen.

Tolkien could have filled a whole page describing the colour on one of his Elvish princesses.

She shifted her weight, tilted her head to the side as she waited patiently for him and he cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“Uh... I was looking for a book.” Well, duh. Barnes.

Her smile was enchanting, with no sign of teasing or scorn. “You’re in the right place, any one in particular?”

“When I was…. younger, I had a copy of The Hobbit, one of the original editions. I’ve lost it, but I’d like to find one like it again.”

The girl’s brow furrowed regretfully. “Damn,” she muttered, sounding genuinely upset on his behalf. “Those always move fast, whenever we get a copy in, they always get snapped up right away.”

“I figured.” Bucky mumbled; he’d been told different verses of this same song in every shop he’d visited.

She studied him for a moment and Bucky felt himself shifted nervously under the scrutiny. Did she recognize him? He’d cut his hair and all, but some people still saw it, the shadow of the Winter Soldier looming over his shoulder.

“I can take your name down,” she offered, sounding relieved to have at least this for him. “If another one comes in, I can hold it for you.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding and the girl turned suddenly, walking away, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure he followed.

God, he wished she hadn’t. She looked even more delicious walking away from him. Curves for days, softly covered by form-fitted jeans, his fingers itched to reach out and cup her ass, let the heaven that certainly existed there wash over his raw nerves and fraught soul.

To distract himself, he blurted. “Have you worked here long?”

She’d reached the counter by then, flashed him another smile, as if seeing right through him but finding him adorable nonetheless. “Not long. A couple of months. A friend of mine moved out here awhile ago, needed a roommate and I needed a change. I tend bar at nights and on weekends too.” Her cheeks went an adorable shade of pink, as if she too were afflicted by the same case of babblitis as Bucky.

Did she feel something too?

For a beat, their eyes locked and Bucky found himself unable to look away. She was triggering something in him, waking something up he’d thought long dead or maybe just sleeping. The prospect of seeing her again, in a different setting, didn’t terrify him like with others, the thought of asking her out, while nerve-wracking, was the good kind of fluttery feeling, the best kind of butterflies, the ones of anticipation.

She pulled out a notebook, names printed and scratched out randomly on its pages.

“Your name?” She asked quietly, lowering her eyes demurely.

He cleared his throat. “James Barnes.”

She froze as she finished printing his first name. “James Barnes?” She echoed.

“Yeah,” he tensed as she lifted her head, a look of surprise widening her eyes. “Just a minute.” She whirled, disappearing through an open doorway marked ‘employees only’.

Bucky’s heart sank. She did know who he was, or she’d figured it out just now and was probably running as far away as she could, as fast as she could.

Dammit.

The girl returned, holding a battered canvas backpack, a tentative smile pulling at her lips. Setting the bag down, she lifted the flap and pulled out something.

It was a copy of The Hobbit, one just like what Bucky remembered himself having.

“This was the first book I bought when I started working here.” She began, running her fingers reverently over the cover, almost stroking it lovingly. Her eyes lifted and he was shocked to see the beginnings of tears forming.

Without speaking further, she lifted the cover and turned it for Bucky to see.

Printed on the inside cover, faded but still legible, heart-breakingly legible.

James Barnes

Bucky froze, reaching for the book before pulling back, staring up at the girl with wide eyes.

What were the chances?

“I always got the sense that whoever this James Barnes was that owned this, that they really loved it and I was honored to have found it, to be able to read it and love it too.”

“I… how much is it?”

“It’s not for sale.” Her answer was blunt, bringing Bucky right down to Earth. Of course, it wasn’t for sale, she’d bought it for herself. The fact that he’d owned it once upon a time meant nothing and he felt a cringing, almost dirty shame. He’d misread this whole thing, hadn’t he? Whatever he’d thought he’d seen in her eyes, heard in her voice too was all probably his imagination too-

“It’s not for sale… because it’s yours.” She whispered. Silently she handed it to him, and he took it reverently, his mind racing, eyes snapping from hers to the book and back again, hardly able to believe his ears.

“W-what?”

“I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure if you were him.” She replied quietly. “I never thought I’d get the chance to give it back to you.”

He couldn’t speak, grasping for words, for anything to say, could only stare down at his book, his fingers clasping it almost desperately.

Her hand appeared in his vision, resting gently, carefully, hesitantly on his and he raised his gaze to hers, eyes burning with his own tears.

“I’m Lev.” She offered shyly. “I’m done in an hour; do you want to get a drink?”

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Three(k)some Challenge Awards & Masterlist!

So, as per this post, I came up with some wonky little “awards” as part of my threesome challenge, and in true Lou style, I ditched some of those and swapped in a couple new ones, because I am a cruel capricious god writer and there are no rules on this blog. It’s anarchy. 

I didn’t get that many entries, and they were all great, so I wanted to recognize each one! There’s an additional rec list coming soon with a general list of threesome fics for your enjoyment, but these are the ones that were submitted specifically for the challenge. 

Thank you to everyone who joined in the fun! You each win a graphic, for your troubles. Get in touch, tell me what you want, and let me make you something pretty. 

The Glass Case of Emotions, for a fic that made me feel my own feelings, goes to Bandits by @watermelonlipstick​​​! The premise (Winchester love triangle) could’ve easily fallen flat, but instead this turned into a story about the boys’ (plentiful) emotional issues. The conflict is true to the psychology of the characters, and that sort of emotional grounding made this feel very real and very touching. 

The Nobel Niche Prize for the most unexpected or unusual character combo goes to Hunter’s Crossing: And Billie Makes Three by @stusbunker​​​! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Billie-centric smut before, and it’s not something I would expect to work for me, but Stu pulled it off. A major factor is the sweetness and trust in the established Dean/Reader relationship, but it’s also because of the spot-fucking-on Billie characterization. It’s honestly rare to see side characters written so well, let alone in a sexy way that doesn’t come across as a caricature. 

The Dentures Award for excellence in extreme tooth-rotting is hereby presented to Three Hearts by @fangirlxwritesx67​​! Like, yes, I am biased, because this is Viv’s take on my favorite Everything-verse throuple and she also put me in the fic, but. God damn. This feels like a cake full of rainbows and smiles, and when I eat read it I’m just so happy! It’s the epitome of fluff, and I want it to be my Valentine. 

The “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Wincest!” Prize for most creative take on a Winchester sandwich goes to The Next Best Thing by @thinkinghardhardlythinking​​​! And it’s seriously prize-worthy, because as much as I’d like to fantasize about being in the middle of all that, I almost always get hung up on the squick factor. This is a superb workaround to that problem. The setup also makes for some excellent comedic relief, and it’s hot as hell to boot.  

The Ben Shapiro Memorial WAP Award for steamiest smut is presented to Triptych by @thoughtslikeaminefield​​​! This is so sensual and sultry and emotionally rich. It features two very distinct, well-developed OCs, and we get a really lovely picture of their relationship, but also, it’s so Dean. This is not “insert appendage A in hole B” smut; the characters and the tone and the intimacy are unmistakable, and that makes it so much hotter. Bring a bucket and a mop.  

The One Bed Award for best version (or subversion) of a classic fanfic trope goes to Axis Shift by @waywardbaby​​​! Bed sharing is a classic for a reason, let’s be real, and this puts that classic to great use: shyness, tension, are we really doing this? surprise... that’s what it’s all about. Plus a side of self-discovery and first-time-with-the-same-sex thrills! 

The “I Don’t Even Go Here” Award for excellence in a fandom that I know nothing about goes to We Are Gemini by @idabbleincrazy​! I’d literally never heard of the movie, but I still enjoyed the fuck out of this, and that’s not an easy thing to write. The characterizations are very clear even without prior knowledge. Bonus points for the period-typical slang and the defined narrative voice, and for not letting those things distract from the sex appeal. 

The Lizzo Prize for body positivity goes to Girl Crush by @fangirlxwritesx67​​​​! The descriptions of Donna and her curves and her softness are so lovingly written, and then the appreciation for Dean is equal, but such a clear contrast. The worship of both bodies and all their differences makes me feel peak bi. I don’t know how else to describe it! Just... bodies. They’re neat. You can feel the joy in every vivid physical detail in this fic.  

[winterironbang]

Second round of Claims

I’ve had one or two people express interest in a second round of claims and so I’m reopening the claims now!

Take a good look and pick 2-3 favourites and remember their Title for when claiming does begin.

If you’d like to check out the art click here for the google doc

Title: Kissing under the fireworks

Description/Prompt: what it says on the tin. Kissing under the fireworks.

This one is a pretty open universe, could be a first kiss, a regular kiss exchanged at New Year's Eve, the fireworks are celebrating that one of them have been crowned King or them finally getting married. Or maybe a romantic proposal at a holiday celebration.

Warnings: None

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar

*

Title: welcome back / welcome home

Description/Prompt: Bucky pulls Tony into a bone crushing hug, extremely relieved that Tony is back home and alive. Bucky doesn't plan to let him go, ever again.

Open verse, could be a no-power AU, or pre-Afghanistan, or maybe sometime when Tony is IronMan. It could be focusing on Bucky's anguish at not knowing where is Tony if he is alive. Or could be the celebration that Tony is home. Maybe how is their life is being affected after.

Warnings: None

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar

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Title: 19th century AU

Prompt: 19th century-vibes AU (or can be Bridgerton AU), with behaving one way in private and another way in public to save face, love, and searching for one's freedom. (Can be ABO or not)

Limitations: dubcon/noncon between the OTP, eye gore, MCD, D/s verse (a normal universe with a D/s relationship is fine though), unhappy ending, pwp. I would prefer if it was not simple love at first sight.

*

Title: Sweethearts

Description/Prompt:  Punk!Alpha!Bucky gets into a fight, not on purpose - this time - and while he does win, he gets beaten badly.

He tries to walk it off, but he runs into his Omega classmate Tony who is heading home from a late night lab-session.

Tony sees him and is very adamant to treat Bucky's injuries - he lets slip by accident a couple of details about Bucky, showcasing that he pays more attention to Bucky than a "proper" Omega should.

Tony patches Bucky up, and they fall asleep on the couch, Bucky relaxing after a long while.

They end up becoming friends and Tony offers to tutor Bucky.

They end up falling in love with Tony, and Bucky stops skipping class and getting into so many fights. Though Tony patches him up, every single time.

In the end Bucky's grades improve enough that he finishes in the Top 10 of the class.

Warnings: none

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar  

*

Title: Iron Man Noir AU

Prompt: Iron Man Noir AU with influences from Spider-Man Noir. It is 1939, Tony Stark is undercover in Berlin in his hidden Cabaret, to gather intel, and help where help is needed.

Why is Bucky there? Is he sent for undercover work, ready to meet some secret contact? Is he a Russian spy sent to gather information about America's plans? Or is he just some normal guy who wandered into the wrong Cabaret at the wrong time?

(These are just some ideas for Bucky, if you have others, let's talk! Bucky could be MCU-inspired or comic-inspired, or a mix or something else.)

Limitations: noncon between Bucky and Tony,  MCD, ABO, D/s verse (a normal universe with a D/s relationship is fine though), eye gore, eye things in general, unhappy ending, pwp, smoking except pipes.

*

Title: BDSM AU

Description/Prompt: I was definitely thinking praise kink and rope play, but feel free to include others as well. Who is being tied up is the Author's choice, I will adjust the art accordingly (like including Bucky's metal arm)

Warnings: BDSM, Rope play and I guess other kind of kinks if they get included.

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar.

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Title: Sea AU

Description/Prompt: Siren/Mermaid Tony and Sailor/Pirate/Privateer!Bucky - Tony visits his land bound lover, Bucky.

This one is open verse, I have already listed couple of options for them, but feel free to change that.

The world can be dark - Siren!Tony attracts unsuspecting ships (and sailors) to their death. Either by Bucky's sword or by shipwrecking them.

Could be angst - ala Little Mermaid style (original or Disney version) or a completely new one

Could be hurt/comfort - Bucky is the only survivor of his ship, because Tony saved him. But Tony could only bring him to a lonely Island, where the only way out is for Bucky to build a raft, and Tony provides company whenever he can stay above water.

Could be fluff - Tony and Bucky deeply in love, where in the end Bucky follows Prince Tony into the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again by human eyes.

Or any other combinations! Go wild!

Warnings: None, I would say

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar

*

Title: Vampire Bucky

Prompt: Vampire Bucky AU with Bucky. How does Tony find him like this? Let’s brainstorm together.

Limitations: noncon between Bucky and Tony, unhappy ending, pwp, MCD, ABO, D/s verse (a normal universe with a D/s relationship is fine though), eye gore, eye things in general, smoking, evil Tony, evil Bucky

A/N: It's still very sketchy, total WIP.

*

Title: Knight in shining armour

Description/Prompt: The Winter soldier is pulled from a burning HYDRA base by IronMan.

Open verse, it could be that Bucky is slowly methodically taking his revenge on HYDRA, and everytime he is injured IronMan comes and rescues him, but Bucky never stays, all the way until the end.

Or maybe Bucky was kidnapped and wiped, and IronMan wiped out the HYDRA base in revenge and now he is taking Bucky home.

Maybe IronMan finds HYDRA during Avengers one and decides to do some recon on his own and comes face to face with Bucky Barnes.

There are sooo many possibilities!

(While the IronMan armour is intended to be the Bleeding Edge armour, this can be changed)

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort? Possibly darker themes

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar

*

Title: Dragon Shifter AU

Description/Prompt: Tony and Bucky are dragon shifters, Tony with fire magic, Bucky with ice magic. They can't stand each other, but they have to get along now... (Basically any enemies/ frenemies to lovers story you can thing of will make me happy, maybe with arranged marriage or a common goal/ enemy?)

Limitations: no A/B/O, no Civl War salt, no non-con between bucky/ tony, no mpreg

A/N: This art is purely self-indulgent. Anyone who wants to just have fun with the idea feel free to pick it up!

*

Title: Warlord Tony AU

Prompt: Everyone has heard of the warlord Iron Man, a cunning monster whose troops mercilessly slaughter his opponents on the battlefield and who has never lost a single battle. According to some he's not even a man at all: After all, he can cut through weapons and people alike, and survived direct hits that would kill a normal man. His army turns wins fights against superior numbers and his cannons never miss their target. Very few people know that he also hides quite a number of secrets in a calm little valley at the heart of his territory, in a town called Arc.

For Bucky, you can go wild - whether he's part of a tribute, an enemy soldier, an assassin or something else. We're looking forward to talking about plot ideas!

Warnings: implied violence, blood

Limitations: no non-con between Tony/Bucky, no fully evil Tony, no MCD, no ABO, no mrpeg, no team cap  bashing pls

*

Title: Alpine

Description/Prompt: Biker Bucky finds Alpine on the side of the road, abadoned and hungry. Bucky decides to take Alpine to the vet, unfortunately this being - your choice of holiday - there are not many vets are open and most of them is for emergency only.

Bucky worried that the kitten won't survive the night, runs into vet!Tony who is about to head home. However seeing the kitten, Tony decides to help and nurture the kitten. Alpine survives the night and becomes a bike-riding cat, usually traveling on Bucky's shoulders or back pack.

The story could be a falling in love at first sight, or Bucky bringing all kinds of animals to Tony, because Bucky trusts Tony to take care of them. (There maybe a cracky story hidden in there somewhere too *wink*)

Warnings: no kittens were harmed in the making of this prompt - none

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar  

*

Title: Late night dance lessons

Description/Prompt: Bucky is baking late into the night as a super soldier he doesn't need much sleep and baking is a relaxing hobby. It's 2am, the night is quiet no people around and his favourite music is playing from the stereo.

This is the moment when Tony arrives (could be a long night at the 'shop, or maybe just coming in from an overnight flight, maybe this is the time they regularly meet), they get into a small talk which slowly evolves into Tony staying and talking and Bucky reminscens of old times and what he can remember. It's a soft and tender talking the one people only have at 3am. Then an old times music comes on, reminding Bucky of nights when he went out to dance. And Tony seeing the look on his face offers to dance with him.

Warnings: None

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar

*

Title: Feats of Flexibility

Description/Prompt: Bucky is doing push-ups, and someone accuses him of showing off - he had been in the gym for hours now - and Bucky claims that this nothing challenging to him, so naturally he is challenged into proving it.

This is escalated into more and more complicated and complex tasks ending in Tony sitting on Bucky's back while he is doing push ups, with his feet in the air

Poor Tony who only come down to keep in shape and tries valiantly to not stare at those feats of muscles and flexibility gets roped in

Can end in a kiss/confession or more sexy times *wink*

Warnings: None

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar

*

Title: Untitled

Description/Prompt: Open to any ideas for some steampunk shenaniganry! Skyships, pirates, dashing captains, scrappy inventors, swash*buckly* adventures?

Warnings: none?

Limitations:  DNWs include a/b/o, mpreg, noncon, dubcon between major protagonists, death of major protagonists, unhappy/ bad endings

*

Title: Fantasy Secret Identity AU

Description: Bucky standing in front of a wall plastered with posters of all sorts, among them some wanted posters, one for Iron Man, one for the Winter Soldier.

Prompt: Tony Stark is a well-known noble and mage, and Iron Man is a well-known villain. Of course, the two aren't connected at all. Until Tony Stark takes on a bet to figure out the identity of the man in the armor - and hires James Barnes, a washed-up mercenary to find any clues possible. It's just as well James has no links to the feared assassin called Winter Soldier, because that would be making things complicated.

I'm always open for other ideas but am really hoping for some identity porn :D

Warnings: None

Limitations: no A/B/O, no mpreg, no CW salt, no MCD

A/N: I haven't inked most of the posters in order to leave the author some freedom for the AU they want to make - I'm open for suggestions about adding stuff in!

*

Title: Promise of the Desire to Live

Description/Prompt: This is a Pokémon crossover piece. The Pokémon egg on the left belongs to Magearna and will hatch in her original coloring (which are pretty much Iron Man colors). This Magearna will be the partner of Tony. The Pokémon egg on the right belongs to Mewtwo and will have almost the same coloring as Shadow Mewtwo except that his tail will be navy blue. This Mewtwo will be Bucky’s partner. Here’s the prompt –

           The Avengers are called to deescalate a situation involving a young and semi-inexperienced Inhuman who lost her family due to a suicide bomber. After receiving her powers mere days after that traumatic event, this young girl, no more than 12, is able to sense who has a strong desire to commit suicide and send them to places/people/beings that need help and are able to bring them back from the brink of suicide.

Omega!Tony and Alpha!Bucky are sent to a Team Plasma lab with an egg incubator in the center of the room with two eggs in it. They take the eggs.

Warnings: Discussions of depression and suicidal thoughts

Limitations: Story cannot be ended with the Pokémon hatching. I want a full-length Pokémon journey from Bucky, Tony, and their Pokémon. I want them to find a way to travel between the Pokémon world and their home world. Also, must have A/B/O. No rape.

*

Title: Bunny Tony/ Wolf Bucky

Description/prompt: No matter what the media and Hollywood tried to say, there wasn't really that much difference between predator and prey presenting people. A jaguar wouldn't love climbing trees and napping all day anymore than a squirrel would hoard nuts and play deadly games with cars.

But whenever Tony's gorgeous rear and fluffy tail wind up in Bucky's line of sight, he has to clamp his teeth against a strong urge to bite. And when Tony comes down to the kitchen each morning, hair a mess and silky, floppy ears on display, Bucky has to fight more possessive urges. He's sure neither the team or Tony would appreciate Bucky dragging the bunny off to his territory...Would they?

Warnings: N/A

Limitations: Happy Ending, No Civil War, No  AoU, No bathroom kinks, Prefer Team as family, Explicit welcome

A/N: The sketch will be colored and have at least one more piece featuring a Wolf Bucky. And maybe a shot of Tony's fluffy tail.

*

Title: Untitled 2

Description/Prompt: something based on the John Wick tailor scene or James Bond-Q outfitting or just general spies or mafia?

Open for brainstorming or alternate interpretations or anything really! Assassins/Spies not up your alley? image can be edited/background removed if your idea is for a non powers tailor au instead!

Warnings: canon typical violence for story (john wick levels or mcu levels up to author?)

Limitations:  DNWs include a/b/o, mpreg, noncon, dubcon between major protagonists, death of major protagonists, unhappy/ bad endings

*

Title: Hold out your hand

Description/Prompt: The only thing I feel needs to be heavily included in the fic would be about Bucky's relationship with his arm and how Tony helps him with that (though it doesn't technically need to be the main storyline)

If you want other input then I love tropes especially soulmate type situations and Bucky recovery fics, but pretty much any trope is good.

Warnings: NA

Limitations: Character death, age play (I am pretty much open to anything else, any rating is cool with me as is including smut or not)

A/N: I am still messing with the composition and finish on this so if you have any input then let me know :) (for example the smaller images of the hands and Tony could be used individually for page breaks in the story rather than being the main art?)

*

Title: Porcelain and Metal or maybe a Toy au?

Description/Prompt: This particular piece was created because I really wanted a porcelain ballerina tony and nutcracker-ish bucky.This could be a first meeting scene of sorts with bucky being a shameless flirt but the writer could expand and add more scenes of course! I mostly just wanted a very cute and magic realism-ish vibe.

Warnings: N/A

Limitations: No unhappy endings. A bit of angst for the sake of the plot is fine. Non-consensual acts of any sorts is also a no

*

Title: Scheherazade AU

Description/Prompt: Based on Thousand and One Nights, war chief!Bucky refuses a spouse and threatens to kill anyone he's set up with. Tony ends up married to him and talks every night, leaving off right before bed so Bucky has to keep him around another day

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Limitations: no noncon/heavy warnings. Also really not into stucky, even as background influence/past feelings. Also don't want any feminization of Tony by having him as 'weaker' or a damsel. I don't like infidelity or overcomplicated drama because of simple misunderstandings. Some smut is okay, but no hard kinks, PWP, or A/B/O.

A/N: Besides inspiration of original story, I don't have much planned. While no warnings, it would include arranged marriage, but no actual noncon please. I like slowburn so totally down for a long fic. Also pretty relaxed with background ships and always here for some epic friendships (tony and rhodey, bucky and nat, etc).

*

Title: Mirror images

Description/Prompt: Bucky and Winter got separated into two bodies by accident or on purpose, which helps greatly with them getting along better (or at all), until they decide independently to woo Tony

Both of them show how much they care about Tony, even if it's very very different from each other

Tony appreciates and loves both and absolutely can't decide between the two (nor does he want to because both are important to him) and it ends in polamory either a triangle or v-shaped

Warnings: N/A

Limitations: No unhappy/ambiguous ending, no alcoholism (but recovery or past mentions are fine), no watersports (kink)

A/N: The art is not finished I am open to reinterpretation and/or taking the prompt a different way then the one I have outlined or changing the art a bit to better fit the story like Bucky (not) having the arm, short hair or long and similar

*

Title: College au meet cute or something

Description/Prompt: No specific plot, maybe Bucky and Tony like each other but both are oblivious to the others feelings. Steve and Rhodey as the "Why am I bestf riends with an idiot" best friend. With minor thundershield please

Warning: N/A

Limitations: No unhappy endings. Bit of angst for the sake of plot is fine.

A/N: Will color and clean this up a bit. I'll also be willing to make more art for the story if ever.