#I used to think the song had said “You are my libertine” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

killerqueenlux · 4 years ago

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Thanks to my dear @nico-cab for tagging me 🤍🤍 sorry it took me ages to do

MUSIC

fav genre? I couldn't choose just one, I listen a lot pop-rock, pop-punk, rock and folk-rock

fav artist? Well favorite bands are The Killers, 1D, The Lumineers and Mumford & Sons. Solo artists, I obviously love Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles and Regina Spektor

fav song? Hear me out hahha I have a fav song of all times (Carry on my wayward son by Kansas), fav song of the moment (Hey Angel by 1D) and fav song in spanish ( Contigo by Joaquín Sabina)

most listened song recently? according to Spotify, Little black dress by 1D

song currently stuck in your head? AHHAHAHAHHAHAHA Lovebug by Jonas brothers

5 fav lyrics? uuufff this will be a bit long

"The good old days, the honest man, the restless heart, the Promised Land, a subtle kiss that no one sees. A broken wrist and a big trapeze. Oh well, I don't mind if you don't mind 'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine. Before you go... Can you read my mind?" — Read my mind by The killers

"For evey question "why" you were my "because " — Walls by LT

"We don't know where we're going but we know where we belong" — Sweet Creature by HS

"Hold on to me as we go, as we roll down this unfamiliar road, and although this wave is stringing us along, just know you're not alone... 'Cause I'm going to make this place your home" — Home by Phillip Phillips

"You're my Waterloo, I'll be your Stanley Park, well I'm so glad we know just what to do, and one's left, stumbling around, fumbling around in the dark" — You're my waterloo by the libertines

BOOKS

fav book genre? magical realism, fantasy and maybe poetry, does fanfiction count?? Hahaha and obviously I prefer queer literature

fav writer? Gabriel García Márquez, Juan José Arreola and Gabriela Mistral the three of them are Latin American writers, in English I love E.E Cummings, Neil Gaiman and my king Tolkien

fav book series? Lord of the Rings and Percy Jackson 🤍🤍🤍🤍

comfort book? The Hobbit (and my comfort fic is unbelievers haha I think I read it more often than the Hobbit)

perfect book to read on a rainy day? any Larry fics or The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, quite entertaining for an afternoon

fav characters? ANNABETH CHASE AND LUKE CASTELLAN from Percy Jackson and the olympians (obviously i love percy but they are my babies) I'm also going to add Harry from Unbelievers because I had never identified as much with someone as I do with him

5 quotes from your fav books that you know by heart?

This one is in Spanish so I'll do my best to translate. "El hecho de que alguien no te ame como tú quieras, no significa que no te ame con todo su ser"/ The fact that someone doesn't love you the way you want, doesn't mean that they don't love you with all their heart" —El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Gabriel García Márquez

"Evean the smallest person can change the course of the future" — The lord of the rings, J.R.R Tolkien

"There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and all sorts of fun wherever you go" — The Hobbit, J.R.R Tolkien

"I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have gone off to war, I am all that's left. Home. Heart. I am the Last Olympian" — Percy Jackson and the Last Olympian, Rick Riordan

"Time is fluid here, said the Demon" —Fragile things, Neil Gaiman

TV AND MOVIES

fav tv/movie genre? Fiction, fantasy romance and true crime

fav movie? HAHAHAHAHHA just loveeeee Titanic so much, Fight Club, Inglourious Basterds, Across the Universe, Stardust and The imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

comfort movie? Spiderman into the spider verse, Love Actually and any of the lord of the rings or harry potter movies

movie you watch every year? I always watch Lord of the Rings: The return of the King on Christmas and Titanic on New Years and of course V for Vendetta on November 5

fav tv show? Doctor Who, Sense 8, Pushing Daisies, Supernatural and bbc Merlín

comfort tv show? The Good Place and Teen Wolf

most rewatched tv show? Oh boy, my guilty pleasure is Grey's Anatomy I have rewatched all the seasons thousands of times

ultimate otp? Merlin/Arthur and Aragorn/Legolas

5 fav characters? Rose Tyler (Doctor Who), Jack Dawson (Titanic) and Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the rings)

i'd like to tag @chispitalovesruby @moonelust @touchoflouis @holyshit @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk @celestial0ne @booksmusicandsodapancakes

#mutuals #i love my mutuals #I had a great time doing this #movies #books #music #personal

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

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I did a long thread on twitter analyzing/interpreting You’re My Waterloo for the fun of it, but it was mostly for the amusement/interest of myself and like one other friend on there that likes The Libertines. So I figured I’d transcribe it over here where people might get more out of it? Since it was a twitter thread, the sentences might be a bit weird and stilted, by the way. So:

I'm glad they waited to record Waterloo until 2015. I feel like any other time would have been wrong. I know Peter was playing the slow version back in at least 2007 but I think it would have been sad in a different way if they had recorded it before 2015. Like, in 2015 it's just a straight up love song that's slightly sad because, well, it's Peter. If they had recorded it before I feel like it'd have been a love song with resentment wound through it. There's just a lot of emotion in that song and if there's one thing Peter is really really good at doing, it's Emoting Intensely. But it's not just Peter, the piano is so beautiful and the strings are beautiful and Carl's guitar solo is Intense. It's all A Lot. Like, of all the songs that Peter has written about Carl, about their relationship and career and experiences together, THIS is the one where you can feel most strongly the near-obsessive type adoration. So I’m glad they waited to record it properly when they were friends again (also I’m mildly surprised that it was Carl’s suggestion to rerecord it). Anyway.

Fuck the first verse of this song is a lot. This whole song is a lot. I mean it starts off with such a sad sentiment, it's almost a warning? "You'll never fumigate the demons / No matter how much you smoke." You can't smoke away sadness no matter how much you want to. Bitterly ironic, considering the sorts of things Peter ended up smoking etc to chase away demons, the types of extremes they both went to above and beyond just trying to fumigate. But anyway. "Just say you love me for three good reasons / And I'll throw you the rope." It's just so fucking codependent. So intensely obsessive and codependent. There was a quote, I think maybe from Roger Sargent?, about Peter crying outside a venue in like 2002 because even then he was scared about losing his friendship with Carl to the Something Bigger of fame. This feels like a desperate bid to hang on to that love. But also like Peter is so intense. Every video of interviews where he's sitting next to Carl or gigs when they're friends or reunions or whatever, he just wants to be in Carl's space and have Carl's gaze and his attention and stuff. Like a cat that sits on your work.

Again, a digression. Oops. I said I was in a mood. It's so interesting that while it's definitely a love song To Carl, the only direct mention of Love is asking for love From Carl. It's like he's working on the assumption that his feelings are obvious (they are) and desperately wants reassurance or reciprocation.

"You don't need it / Because you are the survivor / Of more than one life" We know the origin of this is apparently Carl's dead twin brother. But also the offering of a rope only to reassure that no, you don't need it is just so...I don't know...sweet? Especially because while "throw you the rope" is obviously a symbol of rescue it could just as easily be a noose. Except that it's neither. Because he doesn't need it. Because he can survive fucking anything, because they love each other--he hopes. It’s like, if you love me as much as I love you, I’ll try to help you, even though I know you don’t need me because you just need to realize you can do it on your own. "And you're the only lover I had / Who ever slept with a knife" The interview where they talk about this line is so funny. "No it's not about us. But Carl did sleep with a knife and the line about being a survivor is about Carl having a dead twin and Peter saying he was the twin reincarnated. But it’s totally not about us." Anyway. Ugh just so much of this song seems to be about Peter being Super Obvious and open about his love for Carl and Carl being more closed off. Carl being the only lover who slept with a knife; he'll accept the love but he's wary of it and wary giving it.

(By the way by love I don't necessarily mean Romantic or Sexual love. They clearly adore each other one way or another, that's obvious enough. But Best Friendship love is 100% a thing.) (However, the Judy Garland line is so funny to me because "Friend of Dorothy" was a secret code for gay men for a while. And considering the amount of queer literature etc Peter references in everything, there's no way he didn't know this.)

I can't really go in depth into the Tony Hancock line since I really don't know much about Hancock and I know that it was a real touchstone for Peter and Carl. But it plus the Judy Garland line feels like a "neither of us have ever really had a home, but we found one in each other" thing. Which is. A lot. Especially with the "until the dawn" bit, because a main component of so many stories about them from other people is the two of them staying up for days together writing and adventuring and just doing stuff and no one else being able to get in their little bubble.

I love the "ahh" after "Stone the crows" and the way the music starts to swell. It's obvious that the next verse is the Important One. And it is. There's the story about Peter crashing an event at the Old Vic while Carl was ushering to tell him they should be writing together and everyone who's there are dicks. But it's also like...so many layers of what is success and what is appreciation and how do you express love. I assume the flowers are not from his show, that he's collected them from the stage after someone else's show. But it's reusing tokens of mostly empty/superficial/performative appreciation--the tradition of tossing flowers on the stage--as a token of genuine love. Sitting through an entire performance, watching someone else's success and dreaming of being there and then using the token of appreciation for that person to instead give it to the person you yourself appreciate and love and want to succeed with. It's like a promise, a "we'll get there." But also another act of desperation because he's been sitting there for hours. Carl wasn't there to receive the gift and wasn't there to write with him. But he's been chasing words around on the page--the love-words to this song or the words to another one?--and he needs Carl there to really complete it, needs Carl there to hear it. It's very much in line with Peter yelling that they should be writing. This intense "Please be with me please accept the way I express myself please complete my incomplete bits please like me as much as I like you" etc.

And then the chorus which is so interesting. I desperately wish I understood the Gypsy Lane and Stanley Park references. I think Stanley Park is a footie reference but I’m not sure? I'm trying to do all of the interpretation off my own brain and not use the notes on the Genius website or anywhere else but I wanted to see if those two references here had been crowdsourced. Apparently both Gypsy Lane and Stanley Park are places he spent time in his childhood (and I called it on the football reference, yes!). Which is. Wow. Okay. And then there's Waterloo which is a whole thing in itself. It's Waterloo as Waterloo but also Waterloo Station. So Carl is able to be Peter's Ultimate Defeat, the thing that has the ability to ruin him. But also Waterloo Station is near the Old Vic where Carl worked & would go to theatre bars, so it's also a place of familiarity. Since I don't know anything else about the Gypsy Lane reference, I can only assume it's also a place of comfort and familiarity. So Peter's admitting to Carl's power over him, ability to hurt him, but offering to comfort him in return. (Important for later.)

"I'm so glad we know just what to do / And exactly who's to blame" I love this line because it knows it's wrong. Especially in 2015 but maybe even in the early days. They bounced blame back and forth between them for YEARS. Not to mention all the outside bullshit. And obviously they didn't know what to do. The Waterloo/Stanley Park is another reference to a familiar place and a power to hurt/offer to comfort moment. I wish I knew if there was some sort of proper football reference here (aka a QPR reference since that's Peter's team) but I know absolutely nothing about sport so idk.

"Well I'm so glad we know just what to do / And no one's left / Stumbling around / Tumbling around / Fumbling around / In the dark" The way Peter sings this sounds so hopeful and sad at the same time. It's interesting to know this line was written way, way back. Like, this song was apparently one of the first ever songs they demoed. The demo is a lot more frantic and less romantic but jesus christ. The way Peter sings it now it's like he knows that was just an unconscious self-fulfilling prophecy. Like, no, they absolutely were left in the dark, hurting each other over and over and not being able/willing to place blame or to communicate. Except now, in 2015, they're not anymore. (and especially not now in 2021). But it's also another desire for comfort. Like, Peter's offering the comfort here. But he's also just confessed the power to hurt that Carl has. So this is also a "are you going to offer me comfort the way I've offered it to you?" sort of question.

And then there's the solo which. Woof. It feels like a response to Peter's words. Like reaching out with sound. Like a shoulder-squeeze or a hug in response, something nonverbal that’s really trying to catch up and match up to the intense emotions in the words. The music crescendos and the solo is literally waves of notes that roll up and down and up and then it crashes down but lands so softly at the feet of the chorus.

And then we have equal footing, sort of (and Carl as Jesus again). Carl is still Peter's Waterloo, his ultimate defeat (or his place of comfort). But now Peter is Carl's Calvary. Which is the place where Jesus was crucified. Peter’s been offering comfort to Carl, but suddenly Peter has power over Carl. It's like...veneration and threat at once. Carl's Jesus, the savior, but also if he doesn't love Peter, Peter has the power to crucify him (or at least threatens to have that power). Or it's another portent: Carl could be Peter's savior, except that everything falls apart and Carl ends up hurt instead. They both end up hurt instead. So then they're on equal footing.

Which brings them to the "Well I'm so glad we know just what to do," which feels a little sadder but also a little more confident than the other two. The answer is in the "Everyone's gonna be happy / But of course." They need to work to figure out how to make each other happy, how to be comfort rather than hurt. It's not that simple. It never is. The "But of course" is a sarcy acknowledgement of how difficult that actually is. But it's also that sort of quiet hopefulness that yeah, maybe soon we'll figure it out and everyone will be happy and will get to say "of course I'm happy" about it.

#i also did one for the Heart Of The Matter video if people are interested #the libertines #peter doherty #carl barat #apologies to the people who have been in this fandom for ages i apparently like diving straight into the deep end #when i get to a subject I like to learn EVERYTHING about it and totally immerse myself very quickly #i've known the basics of the libs story for a while now just from being into mildly related bands #and liking Peter's lyrics enough to research them a bit #but when i get into something new i do all the research on it as quickly and intensely as i can #also i'm just having fun #analyzing literature/lyrics/etc is what i like doing for fun #(PS I do most of my Libertines blogging on my other blog jesuisgourde)

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prettyindielads · 4 years ago

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“He was also a cop ...”

[early Pete + Carl Interview, translated from german]

Interview conducted by Michael Schuh, November 22, 2002, Munich

Munich. The Atomic Cafe is sold out. LAUT dared to talk to the two songwriters of the band who are currently causing a sensation with their debut album "Up The Bracket": Pete Doherty and Carl Barât. Despite the warning from the record company envoy: "They are often a bit out of order, but well ... have fun anyway, Michel." The man was right.

You are on tour in Germany for the first time. How have you been received so far?

Pete: Good.

Silence.

Did you notice any differences to your gigs in England?

Pete: No.

They are sitting in front of me now, Pete and Carl. One wears a torn black leather jacket, the other a camouflage army parka. I'm not leaning too far out of the window with the claim that both of them could just imagine more exciting things than telling strangers about their past. Pete gets up briefly to wear sunglasses in the dimly lit room and then sits down with us again. His colleague Carl is eating a sandwich in slow motion and is careful not to look at me.

Is the reaction in Berlin the same as in London?

Pete: The reactions to our shows are very different in England too, it changes from one night to the next. That's why every concert is different. Different clubs, different cities, different people. Young and old. Journalists and drinkers. Those are the joys of playing live: you never know what will happen next.

Your debut album "Up The Bracket" caused generally euphoric reactions and comparisons to legendary English bands like The Jam or The Clash. Isn't that a great burden?

Pete: I don't have a problem with that, as long as people mean what they write. Do you understand? If they just say it like that, that's different. But if there are actually people who believe that we wrote songs that come close to The Jam or The Smiths ... well, if people came up to me to tell me that, then I wouldn't know what to answer. I would have to think. But I hope, they really think it because I think so, too. We live in our songs like in a cocoon.

Do you care what is written about your music?

Pete: We are the young believers, you see? We are kind of innocent and we are proud of what we do. We wouldn't be on tour and we wouldn't do anything else that we didn't want to do. Reading reviews is not a motivation, you get to it every now and then. We read reviews of ourselves years ago when we were playing in front of three people. But most of the things that are written, I don't see as reviews. Maybe I'm just boring, but it's very rare, that the songs are really described. About how someone feels when they hear them. Or about ideas in a song. I never read anything about that. Sometimes I really think that 20 or 30 years ago, you last tried to express what songs moved you. I do not know either. But our songs are very personal and if the answer to that is some kind of clinical cliché, then that's ... a shame.

What does it mean to you to release records on Rough Trade?

Silence. Carl looks down the hall and seems to have forgotten the question again, assuming he's even listening. Pete fiddles with his sunglasses. Very long seconds pass.

Pete: It's a family.

Carl (mumbling into a piece of bread crust on his plate): They're outsiders who work for love.

Your first single "What A Waster" was produced by ex-Suede guitarist Bernard Butler, with the follow-up "Up The Bracket" ex-Clash guitarist Mick Jones was already in the studio. Can you believe that yourself in retrospect?

They look at me (even Carl) and don't say anything. Today is either not her day, or above all not mine. Carl also thinks that he has contributed enough to the subject with the sentence, he just uttered and devotes himself to a new sandwich.

Pete: Maybe it all went like this, because we wrote some of the best and simplest pop songs in years. And still write. Our songs are simple and at the same time seem to be of such a quality that people are drawn to them. That could be a reason. For example, I can't get that damn song "Up The Bracket" out of my head. Never. I've had nightmares about it. It's the most incredible song I've ever heard. Apart from that, I'm very tired right now. (grins)

You still have to tell about the work with Mick Jones, who ultimately produced your entire album. Was it an easy thing to work with?

Pete: Well, I wouldn't describe it that way, but it went pretty well with him. There were few communication problems. He understood the songs immediately.

Carl: It was just difficult to find the right take.

So he was driving you?

Carl: He didn't have to push us. We drove him.

Pete grins, Carl doesn't make a face. I'll take a moment to recover from Carl's communications offensive and continue.

Did you want to sign Jones for the album right from the start?

Pete: It was originally just for the single, but we wanted to record other songs that same week. So we asked him if he might want to stay longer.

In retrospect, were you dissatisfied with Bernard Butler's work on "What A Waster"?

Pete: Oh no, we are very proud to work with him. But he just does his own stuff. And he didn't have time to leave it. (Pause) He's also had a falling out with our manager. It started with a food fight and then it got very gross. In the end, he was hit by a pumpkin and his eye was black.

As we come to the anecdotes: they say you had problems in England with your soundman and the tour manager. The first left voluntarily, the second was fired by you.

Pete: I guess it is.

Breathless silence.

What's so difficult about touring with you guys?

Pete: Nothing, touring is great fun.

I get the urgent feeling that this is a topic, that should be kept quiet. Even the easy-going Pete suddenly seems slightly annoyed.

So this anecdote is fictitious?

Pete: No, it's true. You got the facts right. And now there is nothing more to say about it.

Then you can't understand, that your ex-tour manager should have said that, compared to the Libertines, the Strokes are pussycats on tour.

Pete: Yes. He said that because he's toured with the Strokes too.

Carl gets up and leaves the room. Also an answer. Pete looks hostile. But well, if the exchange of internals is not desired, let's leave that. I now spontaneously declare the interview over. But as soon as I want to switch off the minidisc, I suddenly have to speak. I would have expected Carl to come back into the room and introduce me to his baseball bat.

Pete: Besides, he was a cop and we didn't know that.

Addendum: The appearance of the Libertines then turned into a 50-minute garage rock inferno for which there are no words. Whoever speaks little has more to say, it seems. However, the two encores noted on the setlist were not played, which for once was perhaps due to the Atomic audience, who hoped to get a rock boost mainly through telepathy. Great mosh pit sport.

https://www.laut.de/The-Libertines/Interviews/Ausserdem-war-er-Polizist-...-22-11-2002-107

#the libertines #early interview #carl barât #Pete Doherty #hilarious

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monstrousroommates · 3 years ago

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Raspberry Morbs

On AO3

Getting back into the swing of things with a new chapter!

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Roman didn’t have as much time to spend with Remy and his boys once he’d gotten a job at the theatre. He had his own parties to attend, which he did invite Remy to join in with, and Remy would from time to time. Roman left the name ‘Cairnhill’ behind when he went into the theatre, going for the less upper class and cheerfully alliterative ‘Roman Richards’. Remy wasn’t surprised at all when Roman’s talent was more than enough to get him on stage with the barest whisper of persuasion. He had talent and dedication, and he was a pretty thing as well, if a bit more brown than most people liked. Stage makeup did wonders for that, apparently, and if Roman’s memory was spotty about what he had been like or what he did before he’d awakened, he didn’t forget things now, learning songs, scripts and blocking with ease and flair.

He continued to live with Remy, as he promised, and they’d meet in the late nights when Roman came home from the theatre, and Remy came back from his outings. From time to time, Roman Cairnhill would make a reappearance, of course, when he wasn’t busy being someone else, and once because he absolutely had to be there for his cousin’s wedding. Then the weddings of some of the boys, as they settled into more sedate lives. Roman even managed to bring himself to Reggie’s wedding, impeccably turned out to watch the man get married to a flushed pink woman of no real beauty but lovely wheat-blond hair. Roman joked, quietly to Remy that she looked like she had good teeth at least. Remy thought that her father’s position as senior partner in Reggie’s law firm had more to do with it.

Another thing that his new career slowed was Roman’s working through Algernon’s journals. It was over two years later when he finally found an answer as to how his portrait had been damaged.

There had been an argument between Algernon and his dearest friend Laurence- dearest friend being a not particularly effective cover for his live in lover, though Algernon never referred to him as anything else. Laurence had, after a long sickness become hysterical, demanding to know why Algernon loved his artifacts more than he loved him. Algernon had attempted to soothe him, but to no avail, Laurence was certain that his place in Algernon’s affections was being usurped- especially by the eyes of the mummy that sat in his office. Apparently, the mummy had a place of honor, stood carefully in a supportive box like a grandfather clock, watching over Algernon’s study where he did most of his work. Algernon had referred to the mummy as ‘his ancient angel’ fondly in the journals. So in a fit of jealous pique, Laurence had viciously scratched the eyes of the portrait, scoring into the wood panel it was painted on, using a letter opener. He had immediately collapsed back into his fever, having risen from his sick bed to do it.

Roman would have almost found it funny if it hadn’t involved him. After reading the journal entry, and the ones after it as Algernon desperately tried to nurse his friend back to health, Roman suffered from nightmares that were almost night terrors. Of being held down while his eyes were plucked out. Of being held immobile while people negotiated his worth. Of screams of an argument where he couldn’t defend himself. And of being a child, held by a female figure who he knew in the dream was his mother, as she railed hysterically and threatened him with a knife, as his dream father tried to placate her. Nothing he could do would chase these dreams away- even drinking himself into a stupor- the best he could do was send his soul flying away, to explore the world rather than staying in his body to dream.

“In June, seized by a fit of fever, Laurie rose from his bed whilst I was elsewhere. I came home to find him in the study, screaming at my magnificent specimen of mummification as though it could hear and understand him. When I came in, full of concern for Laurie’s health, he rounded on me- venting his fever worries. An educated man such as himself, babbling about a mummy’s curse, tearing our friendship apart. That I was bewitched somehow. Nothing I said seemed to reach him. In fact it only seemed to agitate poor Laurie more.

With a mighty screech he upset the specimen, sending it tumbling down to the ground. Nightshirt askew, he leapt on top of it like a squabbling farm-maid, taking the letter opener in his hand and gouging at the portrait. I managed to physically subdue him, as the action seemed to have broken the bizarre state he was in, and he sobbed terribly as I brought him back to bed, and took care of him.

Once Laurie was safely asleep once more, pressed there under the weight of a quarter grain of morphine, I finally returned to my study, and my poor specimen. The mummy itself seemed to have taken no harm from the rough handling, but the portrait that adorned it- ah! It makes me quite sad to look upon it, remembering the glory it once was. I have decided to remove the portrait and store it elsewhere. Poor Laurie, I wonder what sort of nightmare set this off?”

Remy looked up from the journal entry he’d just read outloud, over to where Roman sat, wine glass clutched in both hands between his knees.

“That’s a lot, pidge.”

Roman nodded.

“I just felt- I needed to share it with something.” he gave a weak laugh. “Imagine! My beauty is just so great that someone felt the need to defend their lover from it when I was a thousand years dead! What an honor.” He shook his head, and Remy put the journal down, moving to put his arm around his friend. “It wasn’t even anything personal, just a fever dream.” He tossed back the last of the wine and put the cup down, so he could cover his eyes. “It’s been haunting me since I read it.”

“I can understand that.” Remy nodded. Roman straightened up and stared across the parlor, clearly not seeing anything.

“I think that I’m going to leave the box and the portrait with Dr. Lloyd.” Roman said after a moment. “I just… I can’t stand to look at it right now. And it’s hardly doing me any good. He’ll at least enjoy it more, and he had hopes for restoration projects. Though last I heard he was trying to learn the technique they used in the first place.” Roman shook his head, and leaned against Remy’s shoulder. “So how have you been? We haven’t had many evenings together of late. We’re approaching the end of a run and the director and owner have had their heads together about what to do next. I might even get a few nights off.”

Remy gave a soft chuckle.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, Roman.”

“Gadzooks! My name! Are you feeling quite the top, Remy?”

“Little tired and sad- you know I love a flit and flirt with the boys. Thing is most of them are shackled and respectable these days. A few confirmed bachelors, but I’ve had to venture more into the libertine areas of the city, which wouldn’t do my reputation much good if I was caught, not at my ‘age’.”

“What is that again, young man?”

“Oh hush.” Remy snorted. Roman might not look or act it, but it was pleasant knowing that he wasn’t automatically the oldest person in the room. Picking up his own glass, he tossed most of it back. “I have to reset soon, I think. I don’t really want to go back to France.”

“Oh, like your friend.” Roman said with understanding, and snagged the bottle, refiling both their drinks.

“Yes. Johan is about ready to come back as well, which would mean I’d have to give him back his house anyway.”

“Has it been that long already?”

“Well we’d been gadding about for a good handful before we met, Pidge. A properly constructed reset only takes a decade or two at most.”

“I wonder if I shall have to learn to do that.” Roman mused stroking his thumb along the clean-shaven line of his jaw.

“Huh.” Remy huffed thoughtfully, and leaned over, dropping his head against Roman’s, where it was still leaned against him. “Well if you do I’ll give a hand. You don’t have the network for it.”

“I doubt I fit in with the Red Pages.”

“You’re unique, that’s for sure.”

“I suppose I am.” Roman said softly. They stayed like that for a long time, sitting together in uncharacteristic silence.

#sanders sides fic #monster AU #ts roman #TS remy #mummy!roman #vampire!remy

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indomitablemegnolia · 4 years ago

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Languishing at the bar, ruby lips caressing my glamorously green margarita; the midnight purple dress hugged my body like a sports cars paint, black beaded fringe thrummed on my thighs as I moved my hips to the music, all road signs spoke of warning hazards; my goal, mayhem; I am tired of being this good reliable human; I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond this daily life; I am here at this lovely bar, to test the morality of a priest, I am prowling, wanting, needing desperately to have an itch scratched, and finding; and needless to say, oh Lordy he was no priest. The single purple jeweled flower pinning my hair slipped making the picture perfect, exquisite, glittering in the sunshine of preening laughter showing the dulling edge of my personal lack of compunction and slipping morals. I watched his dark eyes watch me in the mirror, why him, I licked my lips, he was just the kind of naughty I had in mind; oh yes, there he is, exactly what I was hoping to find; I was just thinking, I am in the mood for some Latin spice. He watched me from a distance just waiting for his opening and here it was, I swilled the last of my drink through the red straw, reaching my tongue out to lick seductively at the salt; the song changed my laugh was unstoppable as the bartender flirted with me; he pounced sliding next to me; “Dos margaritas por favor” he held up two fingers; the bartender waited for me to approve before starting assemble the drinks in a shaker; he stood there smiling that suave smile at me sliding in close to me, running a hand along my back, I didn’t pull away “It is too beautiful of a night to be drinking alone.”

I took it, shrugging evocatively, dipping my top lip over the edge I took in a fair-sized drink, “So, how is the weather in Albuquerque?” I settled closer to him but not touching, never taking my eyes off of him in the mirror, he expected me to turn and look at him, I smiled a half smile and waited swirling my drink slowly.

Oh, the way he just let his full bottom lip lower, then hang still a little knocked askew; god that lip, so provocative, so titillating, so kissable; it was the perfect mismatch for his shaped cupids bow top lip; God though, the way his sensuous, heavy, pouty bottom lip hanging slightly ajar, showing interest and the evaluation that was being made; so enticing, seductively evocative; when his assessment was finished the muscles tensed in his cheeks pulling that mouth into the most provocative suave smile; given the deep, wildly dark abyss of his eyes that were swimming with approval and temptation; lord with the light crinkle to the corners and that smile sharp teeth and delicious dimples a belying innocence it was a dead certainty that he may well be Lucifer himself; solidifying my assumption as he spoke dropping the delicious sound-sex of his carnal voice down a full octave; letting it rumble through his chest; his simple words not seductive in and of themselves; goddamn, the concerted effort together all served to bring my pulse to life; his chuckle danced on my skin. I watched his satisfied lazy smile draw his lips as the offhand phrase that taunted like a dare. “Perhaps, we are lost in translation.” God that Latin lilt at the end of his words. The Oxytocin running through my veins thick as honey; “though as long as you stay, I hope that we are never found.” He clinked the rim of his glass on mine.

My eyes drawn away from those lips’ reflection; “Oh, darlin’, there is no translation for this, just instinct.” I licked the salt, snagging the cherry stem from the rim I pulled it into my mouth; I watched those terrible, sexy fingers rolling deliciously, accentuating the dare, telegraphing a none too subtle promise of delicate fiddling with my vivid, hungry nerves. Yes, this might be a mistake, but if all I do is all I have ever done, nothing will ever change; I have to break the cycle; nibbling the fruit from the stem my mind wandered from those hands.

God, this time of year, this season, there is not much in it to make me smile; it is not yet, not quite yet, the saddest time of the year; yet, there is a haunting sense of the imminent doom, like a bleak abeyance of life; it’s not stark introspective weather, grey and bleak, but none the less the blue skies, fresh green, seemed to be festering, suppurating, killing my soul, I know that time had run out; that horrible clock with the second hand ticking tightening the garrote around my neck painfully, slowly; Jesus what a sick suffocating weight; there are too many things that I wanted to feel, wanted to do and always time… that small hyphen between birth and death the ultimate cause of death… that time; I tied the stem into a knot using my tongue, pressing it back between my shiny lips, pulling it cleanly from my lips with a thumb and forefinger. The time to hesitate was through; my hand shook as I watched a delectable twinge running along that delicious bottom lip, like a smile still trying to hide; waiting for the trap to spring when I ask a simple single syllable question, the ubiquitous air of his words raised several; or did I miss part of the conversation? Should I ask… mmm why, or what, but no, I so not want to play his game; I double down and call the bluff, answering with a simple whispered. The trap is sprung, I really have no idea if it is, he who is caught or me.

“Yes.” My whisper much huskier than I had intended, my margarita wavering in my hand, my hip bumping his; his delicious thick brow shot up tilting his head slightly to the left, he let out a silent ‘what?’ I watched him in the mirror behind the bar, he hovered those dark delicious eyes staring into mine; I nodded, and again “Yes.” I smiled chewing lightly on my straw; I took joy in his face caught off guard, lazy smile pulled the edge of his lips; again, his lips waved in a silent, ‘what?’

“Oh, come on, I answered your real question, the one written in your eyes and on that sensual pouty lip, the answer is yes.”

He looked even more confused, “What is the question are you are answering?”

“Well, I have read promises written loosely in your fingertips, I saw previews of plans in your eyes, and lies you will tell to get there, on that lip.” I turned and stepped to him, running my thumb along that bottom lip. “Why go with pretense, so simply, I said yes, should I include a please?”

He chuckled and edged behind me turning me back to the mirror, pressing his forehead to the back of my head, his cool fingers sweeping my hair out of the way, he kissed the back of my hair, “Then no, mi cariño don’t say anything.” His eyes so lusciously dark and turbulent never looking away from mine in the mirror; “I want to watch you revel in the feel of my hot breath against your ear. Now I ask you;” he breathed in deeply, the cool air passing my skin into his lungs sent a shiver down my spine; the contrast in temperature mind blowing, my skin prickled into Goosebumps; “do not move.” He let his breath excite yet again, the warmth had all those tiny hairs stand to attention, his lips touched feather soft, moist warm breath, my heart kicked a little each pass of his lips, then words. “Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo ni de dónde.” I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. His lips caressed the skin just behind my ear, “Te amo simplemente, sin problemas ni orgullo.” I love you simply, without problems or pride, his hands with those delicious rolling fingers danced down the satin at my sides, my breath shuddering; “te amo de esta manera porque no conozco otra forma de amar sino esta,” I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, his lips ghosted just along the edge of my ear sending small shivers through me, “en la que no hay yo ni tú, tan íntimo que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mi mano. Tan íntimo que cuando me duermo tus ojos se cierran.” so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close. My eyes reflexively flutter closed, and I lean back into him. I took a long breath, pulling away looking right into his

“Coelho?” Arching one eyebrow, I downed my margarita looking somewhat the part of the provocateur

“Si.” He looked cocky, he looked far too self-assured, so much so that I almost forgot my goal.

“Esto no es amor, es lujuria.” this is not love but lust… hmm, in my current state lust even the delectable word sounded so much more alluring en español.

“En este momento la lujuria functiona para mi.” in this moment lust works for me, oh yes it does for me as well. Good lord that word in his Spanish just added a delicious wanton edge to the overdose of libidinous delight that he wrought in me, making my head literally spin. His soft cool fingers delectably caressed the other side of my throat, his tongue ran lightly along the rim of my ear; I shivered still our eyes connected in the mirror, I was putty in his hands.

His lips danced along my neck commanding my already tittillated nerves into a frenzy; nuzzling with intent, his cheek pushing my head to a delicious angle, he feasted on the left side; his lips and teeth acting in a beautiful tango so delicious that I leaned back into him reaching behind me for an anchor; he gripped my wrists in one hand, using his other to sweep my hair such as it was to the other side as his libertine lips began to such and feast on the right side, “Ser mío no es fácil. Tengo expectativas Yo hago demandas.” Being mine is not easy. I have expectations. I fell back into him, his warmth reminding me that I was indeed alive for now, his tongue caressing the side of my neck. “Cuando ofrezco mi corazón espero devoción.” I make demands. When I offer my heart, I expect devotion, he devoted his tongue and teeth to appreciating my flesh, and I accepted. “Insisto en la pasión, cruda y completa, necesitada y fuera de control.” I insist on passion, raw and all encompassing, needy and out of control. He pulled me roughly to him, his hands claiming parts of my soul, “Quiero que me duela el corazón cuando estamos separados. Quiero que mis manos sean incapaces de no tocar su piel cuando esté cerca.” I want my heart to ache when we’re apart. I want my hands to be incapable of not touching your skin whenever you are near. His hands seemed to somehow bypass the satin of my dress and let him feast of my skin directly, I shivered; “Quiero que nuestros cuerpos se quemen cada vez que nos besamos. No puedo y nunca aceptaré nada menos. Por eso ser mío no es fácil, pero créeme, vale la pena.” I want our bodies to burn every time we kiss. I can’t and I will never accept anything less. That’s why being mine is not easy, but believe me, it’s absolutely fucking worth it. Needy and out of control I could do, I was on a mission for exactly that; I let myself ease into the moment, feeling as much as I possibly could devouring it as if it was my last chance at living, enjoying the sweet and the salt and … oh gosh, my eyes flared as he kicked it up a notch his tongue sliding from just behind my ear to the spot where all nerves collide where shoulder and neck meet, my eyes fluttered; apparently to get my attention back his free hand traced across my bare flesh just above my modest neckline, dipping lightly between my breasts.

Jittery my attention came front and center back on his eyes; I raised a single eyebrow; "¿Quién dijo que era tuyo?” Who ever said I was yours? His lips again moved along my neck to the place where neck meets shoulder, I became soft in his hands; his free hand caressing up to the edge of my chin, coaxing my head turning it, he kissed along my clavicle; my eyes finally rolled closed as he kissed my lips, he tasted of strong tequila, lime and dreams; I moaned softly.

“Oh, you just did, right there. No translation needed for that…” his hands more licentious pushing farther “Voy a probar, disfrutar del calor de su sabor embriagador.” I want to breathe in your sighs. He kissed me roughly, my breath leaving in a sigh, “Quiero respirar tus suspiros; quiero sentirte desde adentro,” I’m going to try, to enjoy the heat of its heady taste; he kissed me deep again, “I am drawn to you, like a moth to fire, he kept his glorious mouth moving, all tongue and teeth and temptation, “I see a frantic almost panic on you;” his hand still holding mine in check, “I have you safe here,” his loose hand pulling me to him; “I hunger for your touch after get you excited and how easy it is.” Neck kissing, is honestly the most sensual, seductive things that I have ever known, but when it is done as well as this gorgeous man is… it is not just a syllogy for sex, I feel his talented tongue slide on my skin, we may as well be going at it right on the bar. “Deliciosa, caliente, con una gota de salsa picante” Delicious, hot, like a drop of hot sauce. He gripped my wrist spun me on the stool, taking off at a run.

We made it as far as the dance floor where he stopped suddenly, turning with accentuated drama. The smooth rolling bass, guitar plucking with an ironic blusey twang; my soul soaked deep in the delicious vibrations; the difference in the textures of the sound, graceful single plunking guitar with that light percussive slap, reverent, erotic. He closes the distance of those few inches between us, his dark deep eyes searching my face; I stretch my arm up above my head, arching back, his hands pulling me closer. At that second the song hits a soaring note, my pulse kicking up making me dizzy I confuse the feeling and I set myself soaring; my hips tolling into his, arms dropping to drape around his neck; we spun in tight circles; I laugh, his face intent; I watch the gentle subtle light refract through the beads of sweat that graced his brow. His grip on my waist strong, lifting me high on the music and we sink into the slower rolling bass again; a natural rhythm to our clashing hips, searching hands in this pulsating dance. His steps now slow rocking, like a playful cat pounce back and forth, rocking up onto the toes; delicious salty perspiration bonded his heather gray shirt to his glorious chest. Then closely he held me as we spin in small circles in a circuit around the room, he spins me out, only to retract me even closer to his tall frame. The music builds again soaring, romp of cross over foot work and dramatic hip work, our bodies meeting and clashing lending a dramatic friction between bodies, two souls.

Slowing again to that now extremely sensual bass roll, spinning in wide circles this time rolling me back into almost a dip on each half revolution, every time he pulls me back up we make a sizzling eye contact, the zing of it traveling my entire body making it to the tips of my toes. He spins me out pulling me back, his front to my back.

The pace picks up again, we step in a syncopated pattern, he pulls my arms in tight holding my body so close to his we may well become one, then spreading my arms wide, our hips taking a wide swinging cadence as we step, step, then spin. He spins me out leaving us at arm’s length from each other, the music slows rolling. He lowers his head; I take retreating steps as we keep to the sensuous rhythm. He pulls me in and close then out spinning me so many times I leave the earth far behind. Pulling me to him tight we keep the playful foot work a back and forth pounce, my face tucked close to the collar of his shirt, his fresh lavender and tea tree scent relaxing the last of my senses.

“So if you wake up with the sunrise;” he sang along with the music, “with all your dreams still brand new;” his lips caressing my neck, my ear; “happiness is what you need so badly…” his hands lifted me again, “girl you know it’s up to you…” he spins us again

Soon it feels as if my feet leave the earth, slowly using a foxtrot step on a delicate cloud, the rest of the world disappears and it’s just the riot of music, his hands and the feel of my soul on the melody singing my own vow of love, the moon and all the stars. The soft strum of guitars transports us away. His lips finding the rim of my ear caressing it sweetly whist we are spinning in small circles, making a completely transcendent feeling. We continue dancing for endless moments close, held in a spell. Slowly the world returns and finally I notice there is no longer that melody cradling us in its soft arms. I look up at his classic beautiful face; the world comes back into focus but the ethereal feeling still there. We smile softly at one another.

He danced me in circles, whirling me making me feel as if I were flying. He dipped me and lightly kissed me as the song ended. An argentine tango starts. He stops in his tracks and spins me to face him, a motion soaked with drama. I chew my bottom lip unsure of my ability; he wiggles that delicious eyebrow, giving me a new amazing smile. His beautiful straight teeth taking on a Big Bad Wolf glint as the look in his eyes goes from that ever-charming cavalier to dazzlingly predatory. My stomach drops out like the upswing on a roller coaster completely titillated, entranced by this new facet of his nature. With that smile he pulls me tight to him, our frames lock, we step and we are gone. My chin lowered nearly touching my chest a coquettish shyness over taking me. My eyes looking up into his gloriously seductive gaze, his face looks as if to say, all the better to eat you with my dear, a provocative and risqué promise to me, body and soul. His pearly white grin showing more of his straight sharp teeth than usual, my heart speeds its rhythm, thumping hard in my chest. Spinning in tight circles we make a circuit of the floor, the background swirls the only thing clear and constant in my vision was his fantastically angular face enveloped in secreted promise. As I step into him, keeping pace, not being shy of how our bodies are clashing and rubbing, one of his fantastic eyebrows slowly rose. The look on his face now completely Big Bad Wolf thrilled that Red Riding Hood snapped up his challenge. I tenaciously add flair as I keep step with him and boy did he step.

Our gazes locked, he spins me out to arm’s length, inertia and drama send my outer arm and leg flinging artfully as he retracts me like a yo-yo.

He pushes me around the floor his chin lowered a predatory look to his eye growing deeper, darker. He spins me twice under his arm and out and leaves me out there. I wrap my arms around myself and sway he adds a little light stepping pizazz. Suddenly he stops looking straight into my eyes. He hesitates one, two, three, beats then slowly stepping with a stalking intent towards me, I retreat, stifling a welling up giggle. I gather my skirt in my hands not entirely sure if it is just part of the act of the dance or if I truly was about to bolt. That look in his eyes tied my stomach in knots, I retreat two steps but his beautiful legs eat up the ground between us. His lovely long legs moving to a sensual rhythm he catches me around the waist, I freeze. He steps between my separated feet, pulling me tight to his chest. Our eyes, hips and arms locked. My insides nearly gelatin, the rhythm, the dance and his looks affecting me drastically, my breath coming out in short pants, desire kicking up to amazing levels. He pushes me around the dance floor our legs stepping in the syncopated pattern he draws us in. Spinning me under his arm holding my back to his front, I hear his faint growl in my ear, the hair on my neck stands on end as we again spin in tight circles around the floor, a high note on the accordion signals him to spin me out again. Retracting me, pulling me tight to his chest face inches from mine my heart roaring in my ears. We undulate together, hips colliding adding drama to the dance. My eyes lock onto his beautiful blue green depths and he sweeps me away, sparking my truly libidinous nature. Sensuality and passion overtaking me, I had never felt as free or as alluring as I used every ounce of my soul to keep up with him, dips, twirls and some of the sexiest looks I have ever seen.

As always the entire world fell away as we danced, nothing existed but he and I and the music, desire racing through my veins, ratcheting up every time our hips touched, I had only eyes for him. Our bodies match in a fantastic unison he anticipates my foot falls and I knowing when he is going to use me for a frisbee. This was the most intimate and carnal experience, fantastically delicious nearly out of body moment in my life. As the music spools up for its dramatic end, my cheeks are cramping from the smile. A laugh escapes me as we crescendo, nearly hitting an erotic plateau. A sudden sexy spin sets me out and retracts me, my back to his front. The last pose full of drama, his arms wrapped around me, holding my one my hand pulling my arm across my torso to my hip, as the last keening note peals across my ears; my arm tossed up and behind his neck, my palm caressing his cheek. My eyes closed, breath coming in heaves. I enjoyed his delicious rasping breath on my neck a step above a growl. I turn my face to him, our gazes lock; slowly our faces magnetically nudge closer, our lips all but touching in a kiss before the applause breaks into our private universe. Confusion floods my brain as he chuckles the cavalier returning to his face. He spins me out, and bows, I take his cue offering an awkward curtsy, laughing like mad.

He pulls me tight to him his hands delicious on my skin he pulls me to a dark corner and pressing my back to the wall he kisses me with a passion I had never felt, hot, searing like kissing the sun; he pushes for more my hands greedy grabbing him deliciously, one finding his rump, the other pulling his lightly sweaty hair. He leaned in closer, his hand ghosted my face, his finger ran along my cheek, his tongue playing merry hob in my mouth, his warm, fingertips lightly whisper along my throat, coaxing me, and honestly it didn't take much coaxing; I surrendered, returning the kiss, my breath now coming billowing pants, he frames my face with his hands. His jittering hands held a desperation that ratcheted up my own to a frenzy; the hip that had cocked toward mine pressed delightfully as it came to meet mine dominating, rocking lightly; a knee nudges slyly between mine making my skirt wrap tightly around my thighs. I bite his full bottom lip playfully, his hands glide down the sides of my neck tickling, he nips me back, my hands gathering his suit jacket tight in my fists; I slide my body along his, rising on my tip toes, flicking my tongue along the roof of his mouth; the clean sweetness of margarita and his flavour making such a heady delicious cocktail.

My hands loose themselves from his lapels, hunting for more of him; caressing along his jaw; his fingers finding their way beneath the edge of my blouse, flitting along my waistband; the small tickling caress sending shivers through my body; my hands pushing into his curls, they wrap around my fingers invitingly, I fist my hands pulling lightly; pressing into me, bending me slowly backward, his kiss deepens, air and breathing become elective, superfluous. He growls, his fingers now gripping, pulling, demanding; I am overcome, letting out a breathless whimper. He slows. He sighs, dropping his chin to his chest, emerging from the throughs of passion.

God do I want him… I want him so badly; I try to clamp my legs together until the wanting passes, but I find his knee there, keeping me from relieving pressure; in fact, he added to it. He grips both my wrists swinging them above my head; I am lost in feeling, watching his hands, those fingers, feeling his determination; I shiver as he chuckles, letting it rumble deep in his chest; the thrill of his gasping breath dancing across my face with the delicious sweet libidinous sigh making the loose hairs at my forehead dance; his scent exhilarating, and so intoxicating to me. I watch a surge of electric passion wash over his features like an ocean wave, intention evident in his every motion.

He slowly presses into me, holding me securely in place; he stood close, but not touching, simply dominating with his presence, using that delectable knee pressed between my own; he pressed it higher adding even more libidinous pressure to my need; my slim fit skirt worked like hobbles holding my thighs in place for his teasing; his posture holding me lightly suspended secured, but freely dangling in his grasp pressed against the wall for his rapacious perusal; he raised that knee higher, eliciting a shiver from me and a full smile from him, all locking us into place, using his muscled thigh pressed deep between mine coaxing, caressing, keeping me bent to his will. My breath escaped as a ragged sigh, my heart hammering in my chest feel my pulse surge," yeah, no kidding, I was a rabbit being toyed with; he dips his head, his lips and tongue dancing along my neck as my blood thrums along the column of my throat under his lips, my body reacts as I try to regain control, but I am simply left to move against him.

His voice quivered, his hands shook: I, myself was a leaf in a hurricane. His breath was shaky as he went on, caressing the place where neck meets shoulder. God it’s hard to admit this, but the feeling of him holding my wrists above my head with one hand, trailing the other lithe fingered, free hand flowing down the inside of my arm, tracing the edge of my blouse, dipping a single sticky finger in deeply caressing the edge of the lacy black longline bustier and the side of my breast. Lifting my chin with that same reverent fingertip, tilting my head back. Gently, pushing my hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear, letting his hand slowly softly caress down my neck. Finally, I look up into his wide exotic deep dark soul-searching eyes, he peers down into mine… into my soul, his holding a particularly delicious intensity that changed his from a tranquil, reflective, mirrored abyss to a raging blackhole pulling me in. As those fiery orbs, searing with the desire I am sure matched the one burning deep in mine. I barely stop myself from devouring him whole.

He leans in close letting his shaking, raspy breath tickles my face, caress my ear. He almost inaudibly whispers his wanting wish so close, so low; “Ah, dios mio is that answer still, Yes.” It may as well have been coming from my soul, speaking in that delicious rumble of rolling thunder voice adding to the evocative question.

“Si.” I feel him shiver as I become boneless in his hands, His long-lashed lids flutter closed as he finally leans into me, his hand softly finishing the descent to my hip. Then, only then does he softly brush my lips with is sweetly supple soft lips, I feel him sigh, warm against my lips. I kiss him slowly, intently, but playfully, it will be a dance, a dance of caress, a give and take, a feel and respond. I never would be the first to break that kiss. My hands strain against his hold, but he never lets loose. Not even when the passion notches up quickly in this kiss.

@keeper0fthestars @pedeka @writernotwaiting @iamhisgloriouspurpose @freudensteins-monster

Last try at regaining my words.

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sadlyafanofotomegames · 5 years ago

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A Road Paved with Bad Endings - Nightshade

You know why it takes so long to talk about Nameless Bad Endings? Because they’re so complicated and different from each other! There’s so many bad endings. So. Many. Bad. Endings. So why don’t we shift gears and talk about a game that limits itself to one bad ending per boy. Sometimes you get otome games where each ending is unique and fucked up in their own special way. And then sometimes its just “And then they died.” And you know what? Those endings can be just as valid. So lets get to these shinobis and ninjas and Naruto has corrupted my vision of ninjas permanently I am so sorry.

Nightshade is about Enju, daughter of the Koga Clan’s leader and the sister of the Iga Clan leader. After the Iga Clan was destroyed in a war the Koga Clan absorbed the survivors. Because of this Enju is seen as the glue keeping the Koga and Iga Clan together, and is treasured by the villagers. But Enju wants to be a real shinobi and go on missions like everyone else. One day she gets her wish, and travels with her childhood friends and mentor to complete a mission. Good news, she completed the mission! Bad news, she gets accused of killing the ruler right after.

On the way she travels with her childhood friend and bodyguard Gekkamaru, her other childhood friend and Gekkamaru’s brother Kuroyuki, and her mentor and cousin (oh no) Chojiro, as well as meeting a cold-hearted powerful ninja from another clan, Hanzo, and a libertine totally-not-a-gentleman-thief Goemon. Who’s going to be with Enju beyond the game of life-and-death she’s been forced into? Or in this case, who’s going to see her literal end?

General Thoughts on This Bad End Journey

So before I get to the boys I’ll just do an overview on how choices work here. Note that I’m playing the Switch Version. You got the boys. You got choices. First four chapters you make choices that the boy you want likes and then in chapter five that’s when the route starts (though some routes start a bit early, but each route’s choices still start in Chapter 5.) If you go to the Relationships in the Menu you’ll notice the line of boys and under each one is a line of flowers. Every time you pick a choice a boy would like, the flowers will flash on screen and the next time you check the Relationships you’ll see the flower line begin to fill in with color. Whoever’s flower is colored in the most until chapter 4 will begin the route in 5, and to get the good end you need to continue filling the line with color as much as possible. Don’t fill the line by the end? Bad Ending.

This makes it pretty simple to get the ending you want. Quick Save, make a choice, see the flowers, good. Make a choice, don’t see the flowers, bad, quick load. I’d recommend Quick Saving continuously if you’re like me and can’t stop smashing buttons like I’m trying to speedrun (I can read pretty fast) because if you’re not paying attention you’ll “A” yourself right into picking the first option of a choice that popped up. I did this more times than I would like to admit to.

On the content of the choices themselves, they’re good at connecting to the themes of each boy, so even though you can depend on the flower pop-up to keep you on the path you want you can intuitively see which choices work. This is not true for all otome games.

The Bad Endings themselves basically all lead to the same place - dead and sad. Enju dies, then boy. Or boy dies, then Enju. But each ending differentiates itself in the various flavors of how the deaths occurs and the reaction to it. Also there’s one sad song for all the bad endings and it is a mood. Despite the simplicity of it these endings do genuinely make me sad because Enju is a cutie and I love her and how dare you do this to her and dangit now I’m fond of the boys and now they’re sad and now I’m sad and I’m listening to a sad credit song and want to eat ice cream in a empty bathtub and cry for some reason. So lets be sad...together.

Spoilers for each route. Warning for Descriptions of Death and Suicide.

Goemon - It’s All Fun and Games Until You Need to Pretend You Betrayed a Cute Girl and Cause Her to Be So Sad She Doesn’t Stop Someone From Killing Her

Goemon is a gentleman thief archetype, who’s a player (or in this case libertine?) and steals from the rich to give to the poor. Goemon is the only real one because he doesn't give a single fuck about cops, shinobi rules or the hierarchy, and strives not to shed blood if he can help it, AND is always good to Enju (expect when he was forced to be mean and he literally cried about it later in the good ending.) Usually I’m not for player types, but Goemon manages to pull off being flirty and playful without coming off as pervy and careless. It helps that there’s isn’t a Mean Girl for him to flirt with to cause conflict. But then we near the ending of the route, where Goemon has to pull off a ploy to save Enju without being able to tell her the ploy, and it sucks. I knew it was a ploy from the start, but you still made her be sad gosh darnit! They managed to save the good mood of the route after that spell but just thinking about it left a sour taste in my mouth. Unless you’re in the bad end, in which case you’ll be left with the taste of TEARS.

How to Get the Bad End

Show distrust toward Goemon. Goemon, lets be honest here, looks a little sus. He pressures young ladies into going out for deserts, he’s a little flirty and doesn’t seem to take things with the right amount of seriousness, you fought him on a rooftop because he’s a notorious thief you were sent to capture, you know, it might be hard for Enju to trust him. When Enju trusts in Goemon and is ready to have a good time (no not that kind) the two really establish a bond. But on the road to the bad end Enju always had a seed of doubt in her mind about Goemon.

What Happens

The ploy Goemon came up with was to pretend to rejoin his old shinobi clan, the Fuma Clan, and deliver Enju to the Council of the Five Elder (who all want to be the regent for the late rulers son but need to avenge him by killing his murderer) and then double-crossing both the Lords and his old clan and escaping with Enju with them believing she died. Unfortunately because he’s surrounded by Fuma Clan members during this ruse he couldn’t spill the beans, thus Enju was left in the dark. Also he faked all of her friends murders. It’s not a great feeling to become so connected to someone only to find out that they killed all your friend and will send you to your death.

But in the good path Enju is able to still believe in Goemon. In the bad route...she just gives up on that line of thinking. When they reach the palace, there’s a twist Goemon wasn’t expecting. The late ruler’s Concubine and mother of the later ruler’s son enters before any of the Lords can debate who’ll execute her and kills Enju herself, and in her despair Enju lets her. Goemon then releases the poison that causes people to see illusions and kill each other. Hanzo escapes with his lord Tokugawa before it hits them.

Review

This ending fits well with Goemon because its after Enju dies because of her doubt toward him that Goemon truly betrays his beliefs. He didn’t want to kill anymore. He didn’t want to ever use the cruel techniques he was taught as a shinobi leader. And then he’s left holding Enju’s body covered in blood that’s not his own, tear in one eye. Hearing the screams of lords and servants alike killing each other due to his poison. It’s poetic.

Hanzo - TFW You Go From Cold to Softie But Still End Up in a Double-Suicide Because You’re Girlfriend Didn’t Fully Learn Her Own Self-Worth

So Hanzo is what the kids call, a kuudere. He’s also the oldest, being the same age as Enju’s mom. Enju is 16-17. I am uncomfortable. To be fair Goemon is also around Hanzo’s age, but Goemon doesn’t act as a tutor/guardian in the way Hanzo does, so its less noticeable. Also...he gets real saucy in the last chapter. Saucier than the so-called libertine. Went from 0 to 100 real fast. There are some parts I really love about this route, but given Hanzo’s role and age-gap I feel like this is one of those ones where I wish they left out the romance altogether, but hey this wouldn’t be an otome game without the smooching, so eh.

How to Get the Bad End

Be pessimistic, hesitant, self-defeating, make silly mistakes. Hanzo wants Enju to be smart and willing to improve her skills. This entire route is really about Enju’s growth, both mental and physical, in the face of overbearing odds. So don’t do that and you’ll end up in the bad end. There’s a loooong gap between your last choice and where the bad end hits, and in the last chapter you don’t get any more choices.

What happens.

When Hanzo seemingly disobeys his lord’s order to kill Enju (at least, that’s what the messenger said) he planned to commit suicide. In the good ending Enju stops him and they move on to smooches but in the bad ending...she kills him herself so that he wouldn’t have to do it. Then she ends her life soon after.

Review

I was honestly wasn’t expected this flavor of death from this route, but I suppose its attached to the antithesis of the route. Hanzo, first from orders and then from heart, needed Enju to live and demanded Enju to stay alive, but in the bad end she was able to kill her own lover but didn’t learn to stay alive for herself. It’s sad, but its a little too short for me to really sink in the tragedy. Now if you want tragedy for the entire route, well that’s what our next boy’s for.

Chojiro - This Whole Route is a Bad Ending That the Real Bad End is Almost Cathartic

Chojiro is...*long, drawn out sigh* Enju’s cousin and mentor, whom she calls “Brother Chojiro.” Look there’s a lot of tropes common in otome games that I just can’t get behind, but here I am still playing them. Anyway sliding that fact back under the carpet Chojiro is another seemingly cold-hearted man, but unlike Hanzo, Chojiro already has a developed bond with Enju, and that bond makes it obvious that Chojiro’s got the fuzzies deep down. Unfortunately a lot depends on him being a shinobi who follows the rules and orders to a T, which is awkward when yer girl becomes a fugitive after being accused of murder and you’re sent to kill her. Again, there’s parts of this route I really like if they didn’t bother with the romance. The thing under the carpet aside I feel like there was already an established love between the two from the get go, so to have them smooch, especially after all their friends died, is a little bit...bad timing is all I’m saying. Now the bad ending, well, that just fits right in.

How to Get the Bad End

A good chunk of the choices made are without Chojiro present at all, but if you pick the right choice you’ll still see the flowers. A main theme I suppose would be to get the bad end Enju emulates Chojiro. Try to be cool and calm. It’s not real, but its how Enju sees Chojiro. Think of what Chojiro would do, rather than what Enju truly feels. That’s just a loose thread though. The path to the bad end comes mainly from how the plot of the route happens, which is Enju asking if living is really worth...all this?

What Happens

So uh, that ruler Enju was accused of murdering? Yeah he never died. The double was killed. In this route at least, he set it up so that the Five Elders would play a game to see who would become the guardian. Each of Enju’s friends, tricked into hunting down Enju at risk of losing their entire village, represented one of the five lords. But then, in the ruler’s viewpoint, Enju managed to kill four of her friends (actually they mostly killed each other...it was actually three of them who died) and was so impressed...that he decided to bring her and Chojiro to the castle to set up a death match. Enju’s blood is boiling. Chojiro’s blood is boiling. My blood is boiling.

So what are we gonna do? Go down in style. Enju decides that if they both can’t live in peace, then they shouldn’t have to live while the other dies either. She convinces Chojiro, who’s revealed to be as soft as Chojiro always told her she was, to strike her as she strikes him. They die in each other’s arms with smiles on their faces.

Review

While the choices don’t really connect outside of whether they’re good for Enju or not, the Bad End fits like a glass slipper on this horrific tragedy. It’s poignant that its Enju who takes the lead in how they go out, when its always been Chojiro who had to be in charge. At the end it was like Chojiro was holding Enju’s sleeve. Sad and beautiful...and closed off from the opportunity to escape that was so close.

Kuroyuki - Kuroyuki is a Tragedy with a Neat Scarf and Losing Enju Did Not Help

Kuroyuki was raised alongside Enju and is, FOR ONCE, around the same age as Enju. At age 8 he was sent out on a mission and only returns now to tag along with Enju and her friends during their mission. He’s aloof and playful, but its pretty clear he gots some secrets, and has some feelings for Enju from the beginning. Once you get into Kuroyuki’s route he doesn’t hide that fact, up and saying that he loves Enju early on in his route. He can act very forward (forward enough to make me act like a PTA mom and evoke the three-feet-apart rule), but when he realizes Enju’s upset he’ll quickly apologize and make pouty faces. Despite the fact that he can be a cold-blooded killer (like all the boys except Goemon can be) and also be the most calculating, he can also be a sweetie, and it feels like he and Enju are on a more even playing field than the other boys. Kuroyuki and Enju can be pretty childish toward each other, and it can get pretty cute. That won’t stop the plotwist, and this bad end, coming fast to snap your heart in two.

How to Get the Bad End

Okay also Kuroyuki’s a yandere. Probably should have said that sooner. Anytime you’re in a yandere route the choices that lead you to the good end are basically to be sensible, because your yandere pal sure won’t. Its the same here, though its good to show some care. So get to the bad end...don’t be sensible. Be reckless. He’s says they’d live together and die together. That’s not worrying at all! What if I want to be with the yandere who gaslit me, mom!? Ever thought about that!?

What Happens

So in this route, the ruler was killed for realzies this time...by Kuroyuki. He was probably killed by Kuroyuki in every route except in Chojiro’s and Gekkamaru’s, because when he kills the ruler there’s no blood or open gash, which is a mark of his type of power. There was a deal between the Kaga Clan (who Kuroyuki was sent to train in 8 years ago) and the Koga Clan to kill the ruler, bringing the country back into war. There’s no use for shinobi in times of peace. What Kuroyuki wasn’t planning was for Enju to be accused of the murder. So uh...he basically sets it up so that he’d be the only one to save her from prison and travel with her. He lied about her friends possibly coming after her, which even I was set to believe because I was in a couple of routes where they did come after her, which was clever. He was spot on about Enju’s father disowning her though, even if he didn’t know it when he told her, which goes to show how much of an ass her dad is.

I need to set this all up to say after all this is revealed Kuroyuki decides that if he can’t be with her, he’ll at least make a better world for her, first by killing her ass of a dad (which, like, same.) Coincidentally Enju, determined to find out who ordered Kuroyuki to kill the ruler to save Kuroyuki, decides to confront her dad on the matter as well. So they both meet again while facing off her dad. Enju wants to live and die with Kuroyuki, and in her reckless rush to protect Kuroyuki her dad stabs her. Kuroyuki kills her dad (good) then carries Enju to a clear field. He gives Enju the only thing he can give her at that point - a happy dream that everything turned out alright, and that he and all her friends are together and happy. Enju dies peacefully in his arms. He promises to join her soon.

Review

I feel like I’m going to say this every time we meet a yandere, but while I like seeing yanderes as obstacles, I don’t believe in good endings with yanderes, at least romantically. Like if a boy can only see happiness by keeping one girl by his side with rope and a red eye that freezes your shadow so you can’t move, maybe he should, at the very least, try to connect with people other than her? Like, maaaaaaybe take a break from each other, clear your mind? No? Enju wants to be with you forever now too? Tch.

That being said, I’m glad this was the bad end for this route, and not a yandere ending where Kuroyuki kills Enju or Enju gets trapped in an illusion so that she couldn’t escape or something. Much as I like “WTF” bad endings this bad ending struck a chord in how...sad it is. Hands down, this one made me cry for Enju and Kuroyuki. Much as Kuroyuki’s got issues, he gave Enju a way to pass peacefully. It hurt me when she closed her eyes, and it hurt me when Kuroyuki cried.

Gekkamaru - The Overprotective Childhood Friend to End All Overprotective Childhood Friends

Gekkamaru is Enju’s childhood friends and bodyguard, and is overprotective to a...concerning degree. No matter which route you’re in he’ll come to Enju’s aid, ranging from “well that’s sweet” to “oh gawd Gekka pls calm tf down.” So you can imagine how he acts in his own route. Despite the over-protectiveness (though I suppose when you become a wanted criminal over-protectiveness is a welcome trait) Gakkamaru is probably the Best Boy of the whole game. He’s earnest and a real sweetheart. Its too bad that this route is about as tragic as Chojiro’s, except the tragedy happens gradually, over and over again, not to mention his bad end...

How to Get The Bad End

So that whole servant-and-master thing? Yeah it’s fine. Gekkamaru wants to act as a servant towards Enju? Eh, don’t worry about it. Pick options that don’t rock the boat on their relationship. Don’t pay attention to Gekkamaru’s growing feelings, it’s fine. It’s fine! Not like he’ll die or anything.

What Happens

So he dies. Turns out Gekkamaru’s been hypnotized not once, but twice! Enju’s mother hypnotized him into protecting Enju at all costs, and his mother hypnotized him into want to kill Enju, due to her father killing his parents before she was born. Enju was tricked into releasing Gekka from her mother’s spell, leaving him with the curse forcing him to attempt to Enju. Before he could do the deed, Enju tell him she loves him. Rather than her love breaking the curse, Gekka’s role as her servant and bodyguard wins over, and he stabs himself fatally. Enju follows after him.

Review

This ending isn’t far off from what actually happens in the good ending, but it mattered how Gekkamaru broke the curse. What killed him was his duty trumping both the curse AND his love. It’s what Enju feared - that his devotion was only due to the spell, and that it would kill him. It’s poetic, but given the roller coaster of tragedy that’s happened throughout the route it feels like just another addition to it.

Conclusion

If I were to rank these bad endings from least interesting to most interesting, I’d say Hanzo - Gekkamaru - Chojiro - Kuroyuki - Goemon. Obviously if you’re looking at good ending ranking or best boy the ranking would be different, but that’s not what we’re here for! This is BadEndVille babey! Chojiro, Kuroyuki and Goemon are a bit of a toss-up, since all three of those bad endings match the character and evoke a unique sort of pain. Hanzo and Gekkamaru’s endings are also sad, but I don’t think they’re as strong a finish as the others. Chojiro, Kuroyuki and Goemon’s bad endings feel like a real conclusion to a tragedy, while Hanzo and Gekkamaru’s bad endings feel like a “whoopsie you killed yer boy from the top!”

Still, all the bad endings are fitting for how they occur: Enju and Her Love learned the wrong lessons. Enju constantly has to face being hunted down by shinobi stronger than her, being abandoned by the village who treasured her and the father who never acknowledged her, and sometimes she has to face her own childhood friends. But on the way she’s often with someone who loves her, who’s willing to carry her through. What she needs isn’t just strength and willpower, its the desire to live. Live even when it feels like it’d be easier for everyone if you were gone, because your life is not for others to use up and wilt.

And in the bad end, Enju fails to learn that lesson. She dies because she can’t see happiness in living, not without the person who loved her by her side, and doesn’t realize that there is a way out, that they can both be saved. With Kuroyuki, they both agreed that they will live together and they will die together, and in every bad end Enju decided that dying together was the better option.

It’s the same for the boys: Goemon fails to keep his beliefs after Enju dies, Hanzo fails to save Enju because he couldn’t change his beliefs as a shinobi, Chojiro fails because he’s so certain that everything he loves with eventually wilt, Kuroyuki fails because he realizes the consequences of what he’s done too little too late, and Gekkamaru fails because he couldn’t truly see himself as anything other than a loyal servant, ready to die even if that dooms the one he serves to misery. They all became Romeos and Juliets, too short-sighted to see the light beyond the horizon.

All this to say that if you have the time after completing the good endings for all the boys, grab some ice cream or any other sweet treat that suits you and go through these bad endings. Let those sad feels wash over you for a bit. Then get to those bonus stories in the extras because I THOUGHT I WAS DONE-

#a road paved with bad endings #nightshade otome #nightshade #otome game

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myremains · 4 years ago

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Architects - For Those That Wish To Exist

Tracklist:

Do You Dream of Armageddon?

Black Lungs

Giving Blood

Discourse is Dead

Dead Butterflies

An Ordinary Extinction

Impermanence (Ft. Winston McCall)

Fight Without Feathers

Littler Wonder (Ft. Mike Kerr)

Animals

Libertine

Goliath (Ft. Simon Neil)

Demi God

Meteor

Dying is Absolutely Safe

So Architects have made quite the name for themselves as they’ve kicked the scenes ass since 2004, this makes their 9th studio album and they really haven’t been stingy with a whopping 15 new tracks for us on this one which is a much welcomed present given the circumstances we’re all living in. When Tom Searle passed away in 2016, it was hard to see the band continuing with the same magic, fortunately their choice in Josh Middleton from fellow british band Sylosis has really worked out for them and he has had a very clear impact on the band for the better since his inclusion and has since paid nothing but homage and respect to Tom.

The first taste of new Architects we got was back in October with “Animals” and that guitar tone and steady riff is enough to rupture even a healthy neck from headbanging. Without a doubt, there is no denying that “Black Lungs” has had a really big impact on me, lyrically these are some of the most beautiful and thought provoking lyrics that I have ever heard, I dread to think how many times I’ve listened to it since it dropped as the second single, the way that this crunchy bouncy track utilises everything in Sam Carters vocal range and that raw aggression just where it matters most is just something of pure ecstasy. Then of course came “Dead Butterflies” which is funny when BMTH just released a song called “The Only Butterflies Left Will Be In Your Chest” and it did not make me think of Sal from Impractical Jokers singing “Butterfly Crimescene” as his punishment - ok it totally did to start with until I heard it - but then of course Architects smack you round the face with a grand piece of musical gold with inclusion of orchestral backing with strings and brass, layered under their dynamic style and just leaving Sam to run away with those vocals. The last single that dropped was this month and was “Meteor” which starts off with big Bury Tomorrow vibes which isn’t a bad thing but it’s just uncanny how similar that chorus riff is, it’s catchy with a light punchy flow but not their strongest so far. “Discourse Is Real” is a diamond of a track, it pushes past the momentum of “Giving Blood” utilising those synth and electronic elements on the background to add extra clout behind the riffs and growls. “Impermanence” instantly caught my attention simply because it had Parkway Drive’s phenomenal singer Winston McCall as a featured guest, enough said from my perspective especially given Winston’s different styles and ranges on his last album, it slots in as an absolute treat.

This is truly something special, they reached new heights with Holy Hell which was the worry as to what would be coming next, the worry was unfounded because this has easily reached the same heights, some of the songs took a few spins to really take their hold on me but once they did I was completely and utterly hooked and refused to listen to anything else for a couple of weeks, then I realised I had more reviews to do. Lads, Thank you, so much.

[10/10]

#Architects #For Those Who Wish To Exist #British #Metal #Metalcore #Rock #Music #Albums #2021 #Reviews #MyRemains

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 5 years ago

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Thurs 5 Sept 1/2

“Happy release day everyone, exciting stuff!”

Too right Louis! Kill My Mind is out and it's awesome and the world is all over it, hell yeah. KMM hit the charts high and climbed all day, hitting #2 on iTunes and getting great press, with LTHQ going hard on the global focus.

He did the first of many radio appearances, notably the Indie House Party spot, genuinely the Louis interview of DREAMS, a full hour of real music talk and respect and Louis just relaxing and talking about what he loves with someone knowledgeable and smart who takes him seriously as an artist, I'm... overwhelmed. And Louis playing music for us? Please just give Louis his own radio show I want this content always! He also did an earlier show, played the rom com game, fun stuff but no room to get into it sorry highlights below. The Notebook still isn't a rom com though, where's the comedy? Someone needs to talk to him and Harry about that.

MTV calls KMM "bigger slicker and rockier than anything he's ever done", and talks about his note of intention, Rolling Stone published a write up and tweeted about the song (as does Rob Sheffield, "KMM is the No Control sequel I did know I needed"), iHeart says "think LBD and No Control vibes with an Oasis twist," Euphoria calls the song "a new age Britpop banger that'll shine even brighter in a live setting" and Louis "your new Britpop icon," he got a twitter moment, Power Radio UK is gonna play the song hourly all weekend, and the Comic Relief breakfast footage is finally dropping, teased today and out tomorrow.

Louis says the song is about experimenting when you're young, fun nostalgia, and looking back at being juvenile. He says it can be read as being about a toxic relationship but mostly that it's about going through an experimental phase in your youth and doing things that might not be good for you but are exciting, about "... uh... being naughty" (it's at least in part about drugs like yeah I'm saying it. It is and you know it, fight me, and also who cares, it's not a big deal.) He says, "the next few songs I have coming out represent me as an artist," "this is the most comfortable I've felt musically," "this is the vibe from now on," about the song being loud and in your face, "as promised!" and that he is "proud and excited"- yeah! Us too!!

He thanks the fans more times and in more ways than I can count but yeah bunches of tweets, radio mentions ("they're smart yeah?" *taps head cutely*), re: the fan project of a BILLBOARD IN TIMES SQUARE (can you believe?!) he says, “so fucking incredible,” he did a thank you video, and a final tweet to finish out the day "even if I don’t always see you all I feel your presence and your backing" and signed off by saying fuck fandom factions with his emphasis on how much he loves ALL his fans.

An Arista release about KMM calls TOU “the first single off (Louis') album” and Louis said today that he wouldn't be playing Miss You in Madrid- he said he will play five new songs not counting KMM yiiiikkkes and OMG. He says he will be covering one of the songs he deleted on the radio show keep or delete game! (But not the Arctic Monkeys one so that narrows it down to what like three? My money's on the Libertines) (FYI I hope yall know I'm taking that day off just getting that out there now.) About the 1D ten year anniversary he says, "we should do something for that." And yeah what about those guys? Let's be real, we need a special section for this; he's talking about Harry. He's saying his name and casually talking about communicating with him! Asked about being in touch with the boys- he said he "saw Liam most recently," that he talks to him on the phone, that he hung out with Niall at Glastonbury, in fact he really gets into specifics and details for them both, exactly when and where, and then he says he hasn't seen Harry in "a while" but "I've been in contact with him recently, it's proper nice. Proper nice." Okay okay... by nighttime radio slots we had progressed to chatting about Harry's hair. He's asked about Harry's new haircut looking like his and he says, "I'll be telling him that yeah," and later, "I'll be sending Harry a text about his hair." Listen NBD right ....unless maybe you've been force fed a narrative of them not even being friends anymore for years. So are we seeing an end to that nonsense? HELL YEAH bring it on! A good start, KMM cowriter Jamie Hartman casually dropping the factoid that KMM was recorded at Shangri La, yes, the same studio where Harry was holed up to taking all those shrooms and recording HS2. Louis also named Japan as where he'd most like to go on tour, lol. Not mentioned once today: Eleanor or Freddie. I mean why would you mention your girlfriend during a whole radio segment about rom coms and romance amiright? Mhmm. I'm not saying we've heard the last of them but it definitely wasn't a focus today.

The lyric video exists and is cool and I don't have time for it but it shows him dressed as Liam Gallagher onstage, cute, and tells the story of a couple meeting at a Louis show and in the end smooching by a, uh, lighthouse. Maybe we'll have time for video analysis in full by the weekend? Let's go girls!

Finally, when promo was done for the day he parked himself on twitter to see what was up- he responded to a fan teasing about the Real Madrid shirt- “beaut shirt tho.” It was beautiful, the rainbow especially. He defended his height, ("to be fair he's a tall fucker"), says he liked Florence and the Machine, thanked Rolling Stone and various others and a few other things.

There were also lots of pics look go check a UA or something I'm done for I mean I also left out so much interview stuff and you all saw all this anyway! Whatever! Goodbye! Goodnight to Louis only THANKS FOR THE TUNE

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missoneminute · 4 years ago

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Does anyone have the full Gary interview in The Telegraph? It’s behind a paywall.

Hey! I think you just need to make an account, as it's free for me. But you can find it after the cut. x

‘Dave Grohl saw me naked’: The Libertines drummer Gary Powell on his wildest festival moments

Unfortunately for the rest of the boys, I remember all our festival moments. Our first Reading and Leeds was an interesting one. It was a Saturday afternoon – a miserable day – but there was a fair crowd in front of us. On stage, though, Peter [Doherty] and Carl [Barat] weren’t quite clicking, or maybe it was clicking too much and that kinetic energy they have went into overdrive. By the time we got offstage, they dived at each other – a fight kicked off. Everyone was looking at each other while Peter and Carl went hammer and tongs. They never punched each other in the face, though. With those guys, it’s all about the relationship. I count myself lucky to have the best seat in the house. Well… not really, because I’m looking at their butts. But it’s definitely “up close and personal”. Then at Leeds, another time, we’d just finished performing and there was a young kid there waiting to take us in a cart backstage. Carl saw him and said, “I’ll drive!” Hadn’t passed his driving test or anything. The kid was too scared to say no. Luckily for me, I was in the buggy behind. Carl put his foot down and went down the hill, there was a fence… Carl rocketed into the air, crashed through the fence and the buggy ended up on its side. Everyone was fine! Carl got out, gave the keys back, said “thanks mate” and off he went. The first time we played Witness festival in Ireland [2002], we got there in the morning and arrived at the dressing room. They hadn’t sorted out the rider but there was booze – a bottle of whisky, a bottle of vodka… Everyone went silent for a second. Then we grabbed a bottle each – “THIS IS MINE!” and everyone vanished: Carl disappeared, Peter disappeared, I disappeared, John disappeared! We came back together later, before we went onstage, absolutely hammered. I couldn’t hold my drumsticks. It was the worst show I ever played in my life. For some strange reason, we sobered up during the show and all went back to the BBC tent to watch it on TV. We were cringing and laughing at the same time. Then I went to watch No Doubt perform in the afternoon – Gwen Stefani climbed up to the very top [of the railings on side of stage], put the mic between her legs, then leaned back and put her arms out. Security went nuts!A couple of years later I was at Coachella with some mates watching Razorlight play a smaller stage (a much, much smaller stage). Johnny Borrell went to the side and started climbing. He got about 10 feet up when he stopped, and realised he was a bit high. Then he went to climb down again but couldn’t find the rail, and he had his mic and you heard him go, “Arghhhhhh”. Security were standing there like, “If he falls, all he’s gonna do is sprain his ankle.” Eventually Johnny climbed down and scurried off the stage. That’s one of my funniest festival highlights. Sorry, Johnny.

Of course, there was the secret Libertines show at Glastonbury [2015]. We came in on the helicopter – I hated it, I felt like U2. In the picture where we’re getting off you can see me, I felt like an absolute d***head. It was a great experience though. The logistics of it were mad – we’d just come back from Thailand recording the album [Anthems for Doomed Youth], and we got a call from management. “Boys, are you by yourselves?” We had to travel on our own to Bristol on the Thursday after playing Reading and Leeds the weekend before. We couldn’t tell anyone. I got the train, like an idiot. The first day of Glastonbury! Waterloo station was rammed. I went in WH Smiths for some ciggies or something and some guys came up: “YOU GUYS ARE PLAYING!” I went, “No! I’m seeing a friend, and then we’re in Moscow on Sunday. So how can we be doing Glastonbury?” And they were like, “Oh, OK.” It was like that the whole way to Bristol. The thing about a Libertines show is it’s less about us [as musicians] and more about the energy between the band and the audience, between Peter and Carl. It’s not amazing musicianship, let’s face it. It’s in the delivery, the emotionally crafted music. I love performing it, the whole aspect of that, especially at festivals.

Because at festivals a lot of people are seeing us for the first time, and they get carried away in that environment. It ends up being something less derivative of itself and becomes kind of new and fresh, regardless of how many times we’ve played those songs. It seems to maintain that energy.

There was an awkward moment at Isle of Wight in 2006. Management were going to watch the Foo Fighters – before that we’d been onstage as Dirty Pretty Things. Our booking agent also looked after the Foos, and he introduced me to Dave Grohl and we had a little chat. I think that spurred me on for the day, because Dave is awesome. Later on, though, I started drinking. I didn’t stop drinking. Foo Fighters came on but by that point I was gone.

I was wasted to the point they had to escort me to the backstage area – Bobby Gillespie was there with Primal Scream, and for whatever reason, we decided to run around trashing people’s dressing rooms. Security helped carry me out, but in my mind, they thought it was really funny. They took me back to the bus and locked me in until we were on the ferry and I managed to get off again. But by that time, I was naked. Everyone else was walking around [upstairs], and I decided I needed to go for a wee. So I stood behind the truck – the wind was blowing everywhere – and who gets off his bus but… Dave Grohl. He looked at me and went, “That’s a good look, man.” Dave Grohl saw me naked!

#asks

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marinaaniseed · 5 years ago

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What became of the likely lads

Song: What became of the likely lads from the album The Libertines by The Libertines.

Summary: A look at what happened in the aftermath of Death on the stairs after you broke your ankle.

Characters: Female reader x Stucky

Length: 1,490 words

A/N: Injuries, Stucky, poly relationships, bisexuals everywhere. Apparently Death on the stairs is going to keep going. See here for what this is all about.

***

The battle in the apartment was over before it had really begun. Bucky assumed you’d taken cover behind some of the ratty furniture on the balcony.

“Where is she?” he asked Wanda, starting to panic, looking around the empty space.

“She jumped-”

“Oh my god,” he wailed, the tears already spilling over.

“-down to our balcony,” Wanda finished. “She’s alive, she warned us but her ankle is broken. Badly. We need to get out of here. I’ll help Steve upstairs, make sure the kids are handed over to our contact. You grab yours and Y/N’s stuff and meet us in our apartment.”

Wiping away his tears, he began his mission. Living like a ghost was second nature for him, so there wasn’t much to grab.

It’d hurt something very deep inside of him when Wanda had said you’d jumped, something he didn’t realise still existed there.

His capacity to love Steve was something not even Hydra could erase, the bond ran far too deep. But the capacity to love another, to meet them and love them so dearly that the thought of losing them was too much to take? That was another thing.

Guiltily he realised he wouldn’t have reacted the same way if he thought he’d lost Wanda.

And that’s when it twigged.

The fake domestic intimacy you’d been sharing wasn’t fake to him. The way his body reacted to yours wasn’t just simple biology, it was because he was attracted to you, cared for you, wanted to be more than just your friend.

Well, shit. He was with Steve and that was that. They’d talked about the possibility of not being exclusive but nothing had ever happened. And even if Steve was cool, would you be? Were you even interested in him? Had you been so committed you’d continued your role behind closed doors?

She’s lying downstairs with a broken ankle and you’re thinking about your dick? Get a grip, Barnes, he silently scolded himself.

He got downstairs before either Wanda or Steve. Setting his rucksack and yours gently on the floor, he looked down at your still form on the settee. You’d passed out, probably from the pain, and he couldn’t blame you. No bones had broken through your skin but it looked an absolute mess, your foot at an impossible angle. He rolled you into the recovery position, being careful with your ankle, and draped a throw over you to keep you warm.

Gathering up Wanda and Steve’s belonging is the most useful thing he can do right now, so he focuses on that, checking and rechecking everything. You occasionally come to with a scream before passing back out again and he feels awful for you. You were damn lucky you made it to the balcony below instead of plummeting to the ground. It’s small consolation but at least he knows you’ll be cared for, unlike the treatment he received for his arm.

***

Wanda and Steve find him holding your hand, crying into the threadbare cushions of the settee.

“She’ll be alright, Buck,” Steve tried to reassure him. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Wanda knows, she’s known for a while about Bucky’s growing feelings for you, but now’s not the time to explain.

“We need to evacuate her,” Wanda explained, getting the two supersoldiers to focus on the task at hand.

“Agreed,” Steve answered, “but how? There’s an awful lot of stairs to get down and the authorities will be here soon. We don’t want to be caught at the scene.”

“We move her to the balcony, cover her in blankets to keep her warm. We go as fast as we can out of the building and grab the quinjet. We’ll open the doors and I’ll use my powers to bring her to us,” Wanda said.

“We can’t leave her,” came Bucky’s muffled voice.

“We have to.”

“Wanda’s right,” Steve admitted, “but what if you drop her?”

Wanda shot him a harsh glare and he immediately regretted his words.

“I take it back, I’ve never seen you drop anything you didn’t want to. Now, let’s go.”

*** At some point over the Atlantic, and with you safely sedated, Wanda finally cracked.

“I’m going to sit in the cockpit while you two talk,” she told them pointedly. “And don’t tell me there’s nothing to talk about,” she added silencing their protests, “I can hear your thoughts.”

Bucky felt his cheeks burn at that. Was nothing sacred anymore?

“So…” Steve started once Wanda has left.

“So what?” Bucky asked defensively.

“Out with it, Buck.”

“It’s not important,” Bucky deflected.

“If it's important to you, it's important to me,” Steve implored. “We’re partners, Buck. If something’s bothering you, I want to know about it.”

“Nothing’s bothering me, I just feel bad that Y/N got hurt.”

“Cut the crap, Buck,” Steve continued. “I’ve known you for most of my life. We're thick as thieves, you know. I can tell when you’re lying.”

It’s true, and Bucky knew it. He just couldn’t find the words to delicately explain everything he’s feeling, so instead, it came out as one rushed, garbled mess, the separate words running into each other.

“IthinkI’minlovewithY/N.”

Steve stared at him for a moment trying to process what Bucky’s just said. Bucky, in turn, is absolutely mortified. He meant to broach the subject was some degree of tact but instead, his mouth decided to just blurt it all out in one go, as if it would be less painful if he did it quickly, like ripping off a plaster.

“Ok,” Steve said eventually.

“Ok?”

“Well, it’s ok with me if you date other people, you know that,” Steve explained. “Unless you don’t want to be with me at all?”

“What? No, of course I want to be with you,” Bucky replied, absolutely adamant. “I just… I don’t think that there’s one person out there, even you, who can fulfil all of my needs, not completely. I’m way past being able to settle down and have a normal life, but if I can share the life I do have with more than one person, I think I’d like that.”

“That’s good,” Steve smiled, relieved that he’s not losing Bucky, just sharing him. “I’m happy for you, Y/N’s a very special lady. She reminds me of Peggy, in a way. Does she know how you feel about her?”

“No, I think she thinks I was just playing along for the mission. Are you sure you don’t mind? I don’t want you to feel left out or feel like you’re second best?”

“Buck, I know I’m your best guy. Maybe Y/N is your best girl. You’ve got a big heart, I’m sure there’s room in it for you to love us both if that’s what’s right for you,” Steve explained, placing his hand over Bucky’s where it holds onto yours. “You spent a lot of years without any love at all, maybe the world is trying to make it up to you by giving you two loves at once?”

It’s all a bit too much for Bucky and he has to wipe away tears with his free hand. He wasn’t expecting Steve to be so kind and understanding. In hindsight, he didn’t know why, Steve always understood him, even when nobody else did.

“Well, we’ll have to see what she says when she wakes up,” Bucky concluded. He’s even less sure about how that conversation will go.

***

“Do you think you’ll start seeing someone else?” he asks Steve after a while.

“I wouldn’t like to say, I think I’d have a hard time finding someone as special as you or Y/N.”

“You like her too?” Bucky asked, somewhat surprised.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said she was as special as me.”

Bucky had him there, there was no denying it, and now it was Steve’s turn to blush.

“I mean… what I meant was… yes, ok, damnit. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. She might not be interested in either of us, Buck. She probably wants someone her own age that she doesn’t have to share with another fella.”

“Don’t ask, don’t get. Just as well I asked you,” Bucky observed with a grin, earning him a light smack to the back of the head.

“You’re not gonna move from there, are ya, ya jerk?” Steve questioned. He knows Bucky’s too much of a softie to let go of you unless he has to.

“No,” Bucky admitted.

“Well, get up a sec so you can sit on my lap. We might as well all be sat here holding hands.”

***

It’s really quite sweet, Steve with his head resting against the fuselage snoring, Bucky on his lap, head lolled back, drool running down his cheek, the two of them both holding your hand. Wanda takes a quick photo before nudging them awake.

“Better separate before the med team arrives,” she told them.

#366songshots #Winter Soldier #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #Female reader #stevebucky #steve rogers #captain america #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #The Avengers

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sepulcrorum · 5 years ago

Text

JUDE LAW, FIFTY, ARCHBISHOP DE MEDICI. ❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the DUCHY OF FLORENCE, ARCHBISHOP GIANCARLO DI GIAN GASTONE DE’ MEDICI, from FLORENCE. they are at best CHARMING, and at their worst IMPIOUS. whilst abroad, their ambition is to REAP EVER MORE GREATER LUXURIES FOR HIMSELF. HE seems to remind everyone of JUDE LAW & DESIRES BOTH HERETICAL AND UNHOLY : THE SONG OF SOLOMON SPILLING FORTH FROM ONE’S LIPS WHILST IN THE THROES OF PASSION ; INTELLECTUALISM SOUGHT FOR HEDONISM’S SAKE : ANTIQUATED TEXTS SMUGGLED FROM THE CRUMBLING REMNANTS OF ANCIENT ROMAN VILLAS AND DISPLAYED TO EXPECTED LOOKS OF AWE ; & HOLINESS FOUND, HOLINESS LOST, HOLINESS REVERED : A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT SHINING THROUGH HIGH-VAULTED ARCHES. ❞

introduction

Provide a blurb introducing your character generally. This should include an overview of strengths, weaknesses, aspirations, and set backs.

It has been once said by the Lord: be ye like children, for ye to enter the Kingdom of God. Capricious, selfish, absorbed only by thoughts of himself, petty, and whimsical, the Archbishop de’ Medici does not assume the dignity of his station as a member of the Church but he does assume all the qualities of a child in him, and that makes him saved by default.

His theology is quaint, bordering on unorthodox, and it’s almost tempting to call him out for heresies but he knows too much about Scripture and can run circles around any fellow servant of Christ, much more the ordinary layman. He’s either mystical or absolutely canonical: at a certain point in theology, everything becomes one and the same. Give him time, and he can justify anything—the cruellest of acts as well as the most compassionate acts of goodwill and charity—with verses pulled from the Holy Book and the most seraphic smile on his face, almost as if his lips are intoning a blessing. He’s a Devil’s advocate in perhaps more ways than one, the destruction of Rome entire as one itinerant preacher once called him, and yet he luxuriates on wealth on top of the social pyramid, secure in his position and backed by the splendorous wealth made available by his family’s support.

Yet despite all this, despite possessing all the qualities of a man who could be—intelligent, charming, sociable, and ambitious—Giancarlo ended up being the man who isn’t, by some strange (perhaps cruel) twist of fate. With his dubious origins erasing any hope for a cardinalate, much less a chance for the Throne of St. Peter, he languishes in his role as a mere archbishop. As the years pass, he has turned bitter, cruel, recalcitrant—for what does a child do when they are given what they want?

They throw a tantrum.

What are some potential plotlines you are interested in pursuing?

I’ve inserted the little nuggets of the plotlines I plan to pursue on the blurb but to expand on it:

First is I am definitely very interested in making him a Cardinal and that is very much a thing he also wants for himself, even as much as he denies it and says he never wanted it anyway. It’s a way for him to rationalise the fact that, strictly speaking, his life didn’t go the way he wanted it to go, and so he subsists on the lie that his life (as it is right now) was what he always wanted—but ultimately, I do think that he’s still on the lookout for any opportunity to finally have the red robes of a cardinal.

Second is the state of Florence and of Italy as a whole. The blemish of the riots on the Florentines’ reputation is something that must be rectified—not even because someone died (after all, very many people die everyday) but because it sends the message that they are unable to control their own people. The Church as an institution that does much works of charity can be used to pacify the rebellious masses and perhaps turn them into the better angels that they haven’t been before. Meanwhile, Italy as a whole concerns him because they are still, ultimately, disparate nation-states with differing goals and ambitions. In a world filled with empires and hegemons, Giancarlo realises that the Italian peoples must unite—far better that it be headed, of course, by the Church or by Florence, but unity itself is non-negotiable. If the Italians do not want to be swallowed up by their neighbours, they must pool together their resources and make a stand for their existence.

Thirdly is the option of interfaith dialogue. Giancarlo is by no means perfect, but I do imagine he’s a touch more tolerant than most holy men are. He’s less a crusader and more of a diplomat, far too disillusioned to really believe in any cause of holy war. Entrenched in cynicism—usually a character flaw—he’s cognisant enough of the fact that humans are going to be shitty one way or another, and religion has almost no bearing on whether one is a good person or not. As such, I do think he has a lot of plotting potential for those characters following a different faith, and it’s fun to see how that might all play out.

three bullet-points.

Giancarlo di Gian Gastone de’ Medici is born a stain of shame. Birthed by a servant-girl and the man from whom his name marks out as his progenitor, he is kept by his father as a spare heir—only to be tossed away when a legitimate one finally comes. In this act, his father has taught him the harsh realities of life: one minute, you can have everything in front of you; the next, it all comes crashing down with nothing to show for it. He is left with no security save that which his father carved out for him: mastery of an abbey at twelve years of age and, from there, the religious life. There was nothing else for him. There is nothing else to him.

Giancarlo takes to the intellectual and monastic life quite quickly. His learning under humanist tutors in the household of his father has enabled him to take quickly to reading dense texts that speak of grand contexts. It helps that he is good with languages, and that he is friendly to everyone he meets. How bright his career would be, some would say, before adding: if only he wasn’t illegitimate. And so that stain of shame that adorned the Medici family history now mars his own future: he was always going to be a mistake, and the world will never let him forget it.

He is, by all accounts, a very disenchanted man who works himself through a façade of mustered charm gathered from who-knows-where with his mind an utter repository of Scripture and theological concepts. He can quote from Papal Bulls enacted centuries ago as easily as if they had been dictated to him just that moment; yet he always says it so drily that you’d think he’s mocking the words he’s citing. He’s in the habit of mentioning what kind of sins one is doing but always concludes it with a small note of how God is a forgiving God. He delights in the company of the wicked and the infamous; truly good people disgust him. He thinks God is present more in ugliness than any kind of beauty exemplified in art and song, and that He is dirt-covered, bloody and bruised, made with mulch and rot and diseased flesh. His God is filthy; it is only natural. We all fashion God into the form that would accept us the most.

character sheet.

FULL NAME : giancarlo di gian gastone de’ medici TITLES :

commander of badia fiorentina ( from 1420 - 1428 )

commander and rector of badia fiorentina ( from 1428 onwards )

metropolitan archbishop of florence ( from 1446 onwards )

master of the sacred apostolic palace ( from 1450 onwards )

BIRTHPLACE : florence, italian peninsula

AGE : fifty, b. 10 november 1407

LANGUAGES : fluent — italian ( tuscan ), french, ancient greek, latin, arabic, spanish, german, bavarian ; conversational — english, portuguese ; learning — ottoman turkish, farsi / persian

DYNASTY / HOUSE: house de’ medici

MOTHER & FATHER : unnamed servant girl & gian gastone de’ medici

SPOUSE : none

ISSUE : none

SIBLINGS : giovanni, lucrezia, and girolamo ( half-siblings )

OTHER : lorenzo de’ medici ( tbd )

ZODIAC : scorpio sun / sagittarius moon / scorpio rising

RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION : roman catholicism

ORIENTATION : bisexual biromantic ( with a medium to high preference for his own gender )

PERSONALITY TYPE : estj-a / choleric-sanguine / enneagram tbd / slytherin

VICES : everything

VIRTUES : knowledge can be and is a virtue but not with giancarlo, babyyyyy

FACECLAIM : jude law

HEIGHT : 6′1″ or 1.85m

RECOGNISABLE FEATURES : kindly-seeming blue eyes that speaks to unfathomable depths — look too closely, and you just might find yourself falling in them; an ever-present smile that can turn earnest or mocking depending on the conversation; a smug demeanour that you can’t help but feel that he thinks he knows better than you

REPUTATION IN PORTUGAL : a famed master theologian but also a widely known libertine, giancarlo both attracts and repulses the whole of christendom with his easy smiles, his kindly-looking blue eyes, and the power of the storied lineage that has produced him. for all those who’ve had the chance to coalesce in rome—or perhaps even the italian peninsula—his name will revoke memories of scandalised whispers erupting from people huddled in corners as soon as they see him make entry into a room. portugal as of yet is a new frontier, not for reasons of lack of opportunity but due to lack of interest. after all, why stray from that eternal city whose glory is sung in ancient ballads and whose place in the world is the envy of millions? now that he is here, however, he is more than eager to make his mark.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

i sought whom my soul loves — were giancarlo any other man, they could have been together, a couple enjoined in the warm embrace of love and unity; yet, alas, the Church has bound giancarlo to herself, and he is a weak and foolish man who cannot find himself able to stand up to anybody. ever since then, their meetings have been few and far between—but no less precious to giancarlo, no less treasured, no less sought for. ::: ( open to anyone, preferably female but any gender can technically work ! )

a young deer on the mountains of Bether — arcadian idyll had been the theme of their shared years, wild and wandering, when responsibility had been a far off concept that seemed as foreign as greying hair and the yoke of adulthood. they frolicked in sun-kissed green-topped hills and ran as carefree as the wind. now they are old, both with their respective offices, and there is nothing else to them save nostalgia over lost innocence—if they had innocence at all. ::: ( open to anyone of the same age range as giancarlo ! )

beautiful as the moon, clear as the sun — a look at them and they’re like fourteen again, dumbstruck and awed, ashamed of his own lowly station and the stain of his origins—yet now they are old, and they have significantly more resources available to them now than they had before. giancarlo has always loved what he has thought is lacking within himself; he has always sought the true, the good, and the beautiful. he deludes himself into thinking he’s found it in god, but he is about to discover he’s wrong. ::: ( open to anyone ! )

with my royal people’s chariots — people have the propensity to think that giancarlo’s last name and relative wealth and status makes him the gatekeeper to the pope’s favour. he does not think himself as holding the keys to anything, but he lets other people do—mainly because it affords him the simulation of power the likes of which he only imagined as a child. of course, there is no real backing to the promises he says he’ll fulfil for them, but it is a merry show nonetheless and a piece of theatre that giancarlo’s keen to continue in lisboa. ::: ( open to anyone who’s looking to curry favour with the pope ! )

you who dwell in the gardens — there are many blooms in the garden of God’s creation and it is not a stretch to say giancarlo is absolutely besotted with the idea of experiencing all of them. this meet in lisbon might prove to be a more fortuitous moot than the one in florence, and he is always keen to start dialogue with any and all those who would like to exchange knowledge for knowledge’s sake, even those that the rest of christendom would not welcome. ::: ( open to non-christian characters ! )

the shadows flee away — giancarlo isn’t known for moderation and temperance; he has always been one driven to excess, and he has never toned down his appetites for the sake of any cause or person. he is a flit of a thing, a butterfly eager to sap the nectar out of any willing flower before moving to the next, willing to spill honey-laced words out of cherubic lips if that is what it took to mark one as his next conquest. in this, he has doubtless transgressed against many, and there are some whose memories run long and whose desire for correction would cover even those who are consecrated to God. ::: ( open to anyone ! )

#crhs.intro #* ( 𝔤𝔦𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔞𝔯��𝔬 ) ╱ per speculum in ænigmate : info !

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