#I yearn to write but my muse is non-existent

[fancyfearful]

If this post gets at least one (1) note, I'll do something writing related for the first time in ages. Sure, it'll probably be rushed, cringey, and short, but it'll be SOMETHING new at least.

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship (4): The Gargoyle Graveyard

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Author note: Again, thank you all for being patient with me and I apologize for having a very inconsistent writing schedule. I'm going to make it my goal to update on a bi weekly basis instead of leaving you all in silent limbo. Also a reminder I suck at figuring out which warnings to put so if there's something that needs to be forewarned that I failed to disclose please lmk!

Warnings: Mentions of heavy bodily injuries | childhood trauma/neglect | discussions/mentions of discrimination | mentions of virginity/sexual history

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AO3 version

Clay. Stone. Porcelain. Plaster. Metal. There are even gargoyles carved entirely of wood! Some statues are stand-alone works of art while others are part of a clear collection or series of similar inspiration. They even come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; as small as an apple or a towering height to rival Malleus himself. No matter what, each grotesque has been crafted with the utmost consideration, by well seasoned and knowing hands. Even the ones that have clear defects and cannot serve their intended purpose are free of overabundant ivy, weeds, or dust. There’s a clear degree of love and care the family who makes these statues has for their craft that makes him feel less alone in his interest in an uncherished form of art.

“It should be around here somewhere,” you muse aloud. Ever since he expressed interest in seeing more sculptures made with non-traditional materials, you’ve been keeping your eye out for a particular one that would fulfill his yearning. You eventually find it and eagerly point to it. “There it is!”

Malleus watches as you approach a massive-sized statue covered with a thick and half-wet tarp. He helps you remove the cover, revealing a winged and slightly humanoid canine. There are many more grotesques with a similar design, but what makes this one stand out the most is the material it’s made out of.

“Amazing!” Malleus awes. “I’ve never seen a grotesque of this size made entirely of glass! They’ve even managed to maintain their attention to detail despite such an abnormal material choice.”

“You can even see the inner channel where the water would flow in and redirect out of its mouth,” you notice.

“They even went out of their way to make it functional despite it being unfit for actual installation?” Malleus inquires with disbelief. “Such a shame.”

“If you’re looking to buy anything here, I’m afraid it's a lost cause. One of the first warnings the grandfather gave me is that none of these are for sale.”

“What was his second warning?”

“If we damage anything, even as small as a scratch, he’ll kill us.”

“How charming,” he chuckles. “I cannot blame him. These statues must take weeks to complete. Time is a human’s greatest enemy.”

“For some, sure. But when I went to visit the family and talked to the old man, he was lunging around all this heavy equipment like he was still in his prime,” you recall. “He lives for his craft. If there’s anything humans are at risk of their entire lives, it’s a lack of motivation and reason to live.”

“I suppose that’s true, but the lifespan of humans and the inevitable effects of aging is difficult to live with, especially once it begins to hinder one’s ability to do what one could previously do without issue. ”

“You’re not wrong,” you acknowledge. “But I think I’d rather live a short life with fulfillment than a dull, long-as-shit life.”

To show that he’s entirely on your side, Gunter lets out a guttural bark while his tail rapidly wags and thumps the damp ground, coating the ends of his bushy tail in specs of dirt and dirtied, remnant snow of the north that has managed to stay frozen on the isles warmer south end.

“You’re only agreeing with them because you’ve been promised food,” Malleus chastises. “Don’t think I didn’t pick up on your grumbling stomach.”

“And don't think I didn't pick up on your stomach rumbling either your highness," you quip back at him. "The family has a small cottage nearby we can use. We'll settle down for a bit and eat before sightseeing some more."

Before you turn and walk in the direction towards the aforementioned lodgings, you reach your hand out for Malleus to take and he latches onto you with restrained enthusiasm. He's taller than you, but he takes care not to take his normal strides as to not leave you struggling to keep up with him. Gunter doesn't know the way, so he trots beside you every step of the way up until the destination is in plain view. The cottage is small but well-attended. There’s a rustic flair to its construction that makes it feel familiar and safe despite never stepping foot in it before.

"Those gargoyles were something, huh?" you remark to him while you tap and shake off the gunk wedged into the soles of your heavy boots against the frame of the door.

"Indeed," he nods, taking your cloak off for you and hanging it on the wooden rack nearby. "I don't think I've ever seen that many gargoyles in one day. Just when my eyes land upon an intriguing one, there's several more that catch my attention."

The way he gets all wide-eyed is outright adorable. It makes you grin just as enthusiastically too. "I bet your club is going to have a field day once you tell them about this!"

His child-like smile turns into one of disappointment. "I'm certain they would, if I wasn't the sole member that is."

Your hands halt from pulling out and setting down all the premade food out of your pack. "Seriously? You're the only one?"

When he nods his head, you feel a twinge of hurt in your heart. Poor guy. You can only imagine how disappointing it must be to go through all those lengths to start a club (you would know since you're technically a staff member of the school and have been given a rundown on some of the school's functions and regulations) only for no one to show interest. Of course, you completely understand that gargoyles aren't exactly all the rage within the minds of teenage boys. Still! He goes through so much effort to build relationships with his peers but they always cower away, either due to his status or even because of the way he looks. You won’t deny that he does come off as rather intimidating at first glance, but he's a sweet guy once you give him the chance to speak.

But to expect teenagers going through social pressures and demanding academics to be as understanding and willing to understand someone like Malleus is an impossible demand. Given that everyone in the school can be a bunch of self-centered and easily agitated bunch of pricks, it's understandable that most of the student body isn't keen on trying to take into consideration the proper etiquette one needs to consider in the presence of a young and noble fae. Deuce has met and talked briefly with Malleus on one occasion, but even he visibly shakes whenever his name is mentioned, even in casual passing.

Wait until they found out who you've gone and gotten buddy-buddy with behind their back. They probably think they're slick or that their intentions are well swept under the rug, but it's clear they feel some semblance of responsibility for your well-being, as both a magicless individual as well as a close, albeit older, friend. You dread the day people begin to make the connections between Malleus and you, but you still can’t help but wonder what their reactions might be. You also dread the high probability those two idiots are going to find out and embarrass the living hell out of you, which you know you do not have the patience or tolerance for.

Gunter jumps up and sits himself down in one of the wooden dining chairs, pushing the small ceramic plate towards you with his nose, as if telling you "Alright, I’ve done what I said I'd do, now feed me what I'm owed." You tell him that you'll give him what he's well earned after you get a small fire started in the brick fireplace. Just because it's warmer near the southern half of the island and not as heavily blanketed with snow, doesn't mean the cold has completely vanished, Winter is still winter after all.

"Where did these scars come from?"

Malleus' unexpected question and closeness nearly make you drop the iron rod you've been using to stoke the growing fire. You've since taken off your boots and rolled up the bottoms of your pants just above your knee as the room starts to warm up enough for a thin layer of perspiration to accumulate and roll down your skin. The scars he's referring to are the ones on your right leg, both side by side at an awkward angle and discolored. You have a lot more scars than these, some much more gruesome in appearance than these two. Malleus has never asked about your scars, but sometimes you catch him looking in the general area of some that peak through your clothes. He likely keeps quiet about their existence out of courtesy.

Yet out of all the markings on your body, why did these two stand out enough that he'd finally ask about them?

"It's a long story," you say in an effort to stall the topic. "Sit. I'll feed you two once the fire is stable."

He doesn’t push you for an answer, instead simply doing as you say and lets you poke at the burning logs until they're properly aflame on their own. You made mostly some of your morning favorites; Creamy and thick potato stew with diced carrots and peas and some eggs, ham, and crispy hash browns sandwich between homemade halved croissants. You teased him about having picky taste buds earlier, but Malleus is content to eat anything you serve him so long as it is not comparable to the likes of Lilia's atrocious cooking.

(Seriously, how does a man as old as Lilia not know the basic fundamentals of cooking? And why does everything he makes end up burnt and tasting like something rotten? You will never understand.)

"Don't eat too quickly," you warn Gunter as you pour a bit of light-colored soup onto his designated plate. Your words are ignored, as the equally marred wolf sloppily slurps and munches on the few bits of potatoes and vegetables you generously scraped out of the thermos. His food is gone as quickly as it’s put in front of him and he looks at you expecting more.

"No. The rest is mine," you scold. "And don't beg Malleus for some either! I know you do it behind my back, you little shit!"

He turns to look at Malleus with an accusatory glare, thinking that he ratted him out to you. Malleus’s response towards the silent imputation is to turn and look out the window as if something caught his interest all of a sudden, cup raised to his lips as he politely sips away at his meal without an air of calmness. You have to slap a hand over your mouth to hide the amusement that overtakes your senses.

"Malleus, stop that!"

"Stop what?" he innocently asks.

"Stop making me want to laugh!"

He sets his cup down onto its matching serving dish. "It's not my fault you have an easily satiable sense of humor."

"Wow!" you say incredulously and put your arms up in offense. "And here I was thinking we were friends!"

His distant demeanor breaks and you both devolve into a fit of laughter together. Gunter unfortunately takes advantage of your joint distraction and slips away with a warm sandwich between his jaw, your sandwich in particular.

"That damn wolf!" you curse. "I knew I should have trusted my gut and pack extras.”

Malleus pities your distress before moving over to sit closer. "Worry not. I'll split mine in half with you,” he reassures.

"No, it's fine," you immediately dismiss his offer. "Have it for yourself."

"I'm not taking no for an answer," he firmly states. “Don’t be stubborn. It’s far too early for that.”

"I thought you liked it when I was stubborn?” you pout.

He shakes his head with a smile. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t”

"At least someone likes my attitude,” you say after chewing and swallowing a mouthful of soup. “Sebek certainly doesn’t."

"The boy is stubborn as well. When two equally stubborn individuals cross paths, you will witness nothing but discord between the two."

"Add the fact I'm human into the mix, and we'll be exchanging fists instead of words sooner or later," you scoff. "I get that some faes don't like humans, but what's his deal with acting like he’s got a vendetta against me?"

"Sebek doesn't hate humans for the reasons you might think," Malleus admits. "It’s more like he finds them difficult to think that highly of. Did you know that he is half-human?"

You nearly choke on your own breath over the sudden revelation. "Really?"

"Indeed," Malleus finds amusement at your disbelief. "Have you ever wondered why his ears aren't pointed like Silver, but his eyes are like mine and Lilia’s?"

"Damn,” you scratch the back of your head with embarrassment. “Now I feel stupid.”

"You aren't. Given the way he speaks, not many would assume he had human blood in his veins. His mother was highly regarded within her social circle, but her marriage to a human man tarnished her reputation a great deal. She's happy and does not seem to care what others think of her these days. However, when Sebek set out to be a knight, his mother's marriage and his lineage were often brought up as a way to scrutinize his character and capabilities rather than any of his actual shortcomings as an individual."

"Poor kid," you sigh. "Lilia told me those sorts of things still happen in The Valley, but it sounds so outlandish that I couldn’t take it that seriously."

"Many faes hold old traditions above all else, to a degree that the purity of one's blood stands above all other merits." His eyebrows pressed together in annoyance. "Even my grandmother thinks it's archaic, but as the reigning queen she has to embody a persona of neutrality between the social divide."

"It sounds like you have your work cut out for you in the future," you say, almost apologetically. "What do you plan to do about it once you're the king?"

There's a brief flash of surprise over your question, but Malleus easily answers it as usual. "I think my first course of action as king would be to properly knight Sebek and Silver."

"Bet my rifle that Sebek is going to cry the entire ceremony!" you remark with certainty. "That's all he ever goes on about, being a knight and all."

"He's devoted countless hours and efforts since he was a child. If there's anyone who deserves to join the knighthood, it's him."

"Definitely," you nod to further cement your agreement with him. "He could stand to lower his voice a bit. He'll give you tinnitus before long.”

"At least we won't have to worry about losing him in a crowd," Malleus jests.

"That's to say we'll lose sight of him to begin with," you remark. "He'll gladly lose me in a crowd. You? You'd be lucky to get out of arm's length."

"You underestimate me, dearest," Malleus smirks. "Ever since I've met you, I've perfected the art of avoiding Sebek's insistent searches."

"Have you now?" you razz back. "Don't let him catch onto the fact. He'll have my head."

He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Each second his skin touches yours makes you tingle. Time slows down ever so briefly if only to savor the small instance of physical connection for as long as possible. "What of your aunts?" he inquires. "Are they as overprotective of you as Sebek is of myself?"

"They’re a trio of mama bears," you proudly admit. "I'm old enough to drink and well equipped to fend for myself, but in their minds, I'll always be the little tyke that couldn't even eat their meals without looking at them for approval. Especially my aunt Gia."

You have three aunts. There's your aunt Marisol, the mother of most of your cousins and the main caretaker of the household. Your second aunt Lucia was well into her studies at university when you came to live with them, but her stress and long hours of mulling over her course materials paid off in the long run. Your gardening skills wouldn't be what they are now without her expertise in agricultural botany.

Then there's your aunt Gia. Oldest of the three. An absolute tank of a woman. No spouse. No kids of her own. She lived off the land like an absolute titan. The woman raised you as if she was the one that carried you for nine months and not your actual birth mother.

How would you describe your parents? If your parents were told to list out their priorities in life, their careers would be at the top of the list and you would be put at the very bottom. Why they carried you to term is beyond your understanding. You later learned that Gia had even offered to take you under her care well before your birth, knowing that your parents might not be well-suited to take care of you in the way she thinks would be beneficial for you. It was a convenient offer that would have saved everyone the trouble years down the line when you had your accident. They worked in a cutthroat industry and were constantly moving up the executive echelons. They had no time for you, yet their pride as a pair of young, successful business magnates made them incapable of seeing past the reality of the situation. That left you mostly in the care of last-minute caretakers and your aunts, but only if they had time from their own busy and preoccupied lives to come out into the city and visit.

You were eight years old when things started to get better, but it was upstarted in the worst possible way. Your parents had to go away for the upcoming weekend for work and left you in the care of a babysitter as per the norm. The babysitter never showed up however and your parents apparently couldn’t be bothered to check up on you even once the entire trip. Their silence wasn’t surprising. You just went on about your business for the next three days on your own like nothing was wrong. Your aunt Gia had even called at one point to check up on you, but you didn’t bother to tell her that your parents had left you to fend for yourself. She would have exploded if you did, but not as much as she did when you woke up in the hospital after falling down the stairs and lying helplessly on the ground for several hours with a dislocated shoulder and a compound-fractured leg. You were lulling in and out of consciousness due to all the medication pumped into you, but what little you do remember seeing and hearing when you regained consciousness will forever stick with you for the rest of your life.

If people think your level of swearing is bad, they should have heard your aunt that day. She swore so viciously that it could set an innocent bystander's eardrums on fire. What will forever stand out the most to you was the fact that your parents didn’t even look the least bit apologetic or regretful. They didn’t even approach you once your aunt was done giving them a piece of her mind to check up on you. They simply talked with the awaiting social worker and doctors and then left. It was for the better, but the small part of you that continued to hold onto the desperate belief that your parents would come around one day sent you into a thrashing frenzy and you had to be sedated before you could hurt yourself anymore.

The next year was spent recovering from your injuries, meeting regularly with your caseworker, and going through therapists like a pack of cigarettes. By the time you were back on your feet and the legal proceedings of your custody case were concluded, all you wanted was to move on with it all. Nearly a decade of neglect left you this unattentive, uncertain husk of a person who couldn’t take a single step forward without looking for some sort of guidance or assurance. Your family was exhausted by the entire ordeal and over speaking with third parties. Your aunts took it upon themselves to help you regain your sense of self in the comfort of your new home, no matter how difficult or demanding it was going to be.

“It took some time, but eventually it clicked in my mind that I was in a better place and I started to get better. As for my parents, I have no clue what they’re up to these days.” You lean back into your chair and let out a shaking yawn. “I like to think they’re getting on well like I am.”

“I don’t understand.” Malleus looks at you with unbelievable confusion. “Your parents treated you poorly, yet you don’t sound the least bit resentful. Why is that?”

You shrug your shoulders. “What’s the point? I'm in a better place now, so I've let bygones be bygones. 'Doesn't mean I don't harbor any anger against them anymore. I do, but getting upset won't change what's happened to me."

Gunter, having sensed your discomfort over the matter, trots over and rests his head on your lap. You gratefully rub the top of his head, carding your hands through his thick, coarse hair. "I'm just glad they let me go without a fuss. Family court was hell for my family.” Your eyebrows knit together. “Expensive too.”

Crackling wood fills the momentary silence that befalls the small cottage. What you've recollected to Malleus is a lot to take in, and if you're being quite honest you'd prefer if he just dropped the subject and talked about literally anything else right now. You hope he doesn't say he's sorry or any other type of apologetic comment. That's all you were ever told that entire year it all happened, during court proceedings, your rehabilitation, by both strangers and distant family members alike.

"I'm so sorry. What happened to you was unfortunate. You didn't deserve it."

No shit you didn't deserve any of that. You were a kid. You don’t need one pity party after another to realize that what took place then had fucked you forever. But as you said earlier, you're in a better place now, with a loving and supportive family that's moved on alongside you. A family you need to get back to as soon as possible.

"I love you."

Well, if he was hoping to take your mind off the past. that certainly did it. How can it not? It came out of nowhere and as good as you are at holding your composure when need be, you're sure you look no less like a gaping fish when warm and plush softness presses right against the corner of your lips. A kiss. His kiss.

"What's wrong?" Your voice sounds shaky. You’re nervous.

"Nothing," he smiles reassuringly. "I simply said what I felt needed to be said."

"Fair enough" you concede easily. He was going to say it sooner or later. He already has actually, now that you think about it. Yet here you are trying to process his words like it’s rocket science.

"Am I going about this too fast perhaps?" he genuinely asks. His hands that have been busy massaging your calves that have settled across his lap somewhere during your long retelling gradually slow down, but his hands never go completely still. "This is my first time experiencing something like this."

"What?" You sit up a bit straighter. "A relationship?"

"Yes."

Your head tilts to the side. "Really?"

He nods hesitantly "Yes?"

For a moment, you go completely quiet. "I don't believe you,” you doubtfully say, head shaking to further showcase your refusal to believe him.

He must not have liked your remark, frowning with clear offense in his eyes. When he dislikes something, the vertical slits in his eyes contract into a thin line. "I cannot lie, yet you still doubt me?"

"I know you can't lie, but I find it hard to believe you haven't been with anyone else before," you explain. Before you can consider the appropriateness that was your newfound curiosity about Malleus's apparently non-existent love life, you blurt out, "Are you still a virgin?"

You slap your hand over your mouth the moment those words come out of it. He's equally caught off guard and nearly drops his warm cup of coffee. Even Gunter is surprised by your question, olive-colored eyes looking at you as if you've lost your mind. It's an invasive question, inappropriate even. You and Malleus have been dating for a little over two days. A question like that is way too early to bring up just yet.

"You don't have to answer that," you tell him behind your palm. "I shouldn't have even asked it. Forget I ever brought it up-”

"I'm not," he interrupts you, leaving you even more shocked than you already are. You’re practically gaping like a fish by now. "I'm not a virgin,” he further insinuates.

A deafening silence, but it’s eventually broken by yourself. “I still don’t believe you.”

Malleus gets further annoyed at your refusal to accept his truth. "I'm not lying!" he insists.

"Bullshit!"

"Do you want me to recount my history to you?" he asks, exasperated as you are at the shift the conversation is taking. "Will that satisfy your doubts?"

"You know what? It will!" you loudly declare. "Who'd you sleep with?"

"He was a young page at the time,” he reminisced. “It happened before I was a century old.”

Your eyebrows raise with intrigue. "Was he cute?"

"Yes," he hushedly agrees. The disconcerting admittance paints his face a pinkish-red glow. "But that's not why I bedded him."

"But surely his looks are what made you interested in the first place?” you make blatant regard of the fact.

“You’re not wrong,” he acknowledges, expertly avoiding agreeing with you outright. “But his looks aren't the sole reason I was drawn to him. He was bright-eyed and ambitious, to the point you’d think him insane given his position in the court. It was also the first time I ever truly met with a group of humans, and my young mind was eager to get a more accurate perspective of humans that wasn’t through the lens of my tutors.”

“An ‘accurate perspective’?” You make playful air quotes, eyebrows wiggling because you know the fact that he knows what you’re implying. The playful comment is met with a sharp pinch on your leg that makes you jump and shriek out in pain. Did he have to dig his nails into you? Apparently so, and now you have small crescent indents on your skin. “I bet Lilia had a good laugh when he found out.”

“He doesn’t know, actually,” he admits to you with what is obviously a proud smile.

“Now I know you’re lying to me,” you scoff. “Nothing escapes the old man’s radar.”

His hands begin to rub out the marks he’s left on you as a form of apology. “Lilia is sharp, but he had lost most of his vigor by the time I was born.”

You go wide-eyed again. “You mean his hearing and eyesight was better than it is now?”

He nods affirmatively. “From what I’ve been told, terrifyingly so.”

Lilia is already frightening as is. His short stature and boyish looks make him perfectly unassuming to those who don’t know any better. You once watched him beat up a couple of bulky, twice-his-height students from Savanaclaw without breaking a sweat, yet moments before he was jokingly scolding himself for dozing off so easily. You never once thought he was ever out of his elements. A cold chill runs down your spine thinking how much more perceptive the older fae may have been back during his prime years.

“Wonder what Lilia’s gonna think,” you ponder out loud in a quick effort to banish out the skin-prickling mental imagery your mind was invoking. “About us, I mean.”

Malleus seems surprised that you would change the topic to that of all things, but his initial shock goes away as quickly as it came. “As you may have guessed, he’s an open-minded individual, but he’s also very realistic and unafraid to say what’s on his mind.”

“So what does that mean for you and me?” you question with a bit of hesitation.

“Well,” he trails off and ponders for a moment. “He’ll surely like the scandal our relationship would invoke. However, as my caretaker and mentor, he won’t hesitate to put an end to it if he feels it necessary.”

Had it been anyone else sitting beside you, you’d have found that comment way too extreme and outright ridiculous. However, you are not speaking to anyone ordinary. You are not sitting before someone normal. It doesn't matter how well you get along with him. It sure as hell doesn't matter how deeply in love you are with him, and him of you. The moment you have been deemed a shortcoming, the outings, the closeness, it all stops. All of it will come crashing down and both you and him will be left wondering what could have been done differently.

Malleus is truly your best friend, because already he can tell that your mind is beginning to spiral even when you go quiet. He calls for your attention by gripping his hand around your bare ankle and carefully tugging the end of your limb. “Don’t fret over it too much,” he soothes, yet also sounding like he’s scolding you for letting your mind wander off so negatively. “Lilia is an exceptional judge of character. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve well exceeded all his marks. He trusts you, and to gain such a thing from someone as old and wise as him is an extraordinary feat.”

You brew over the attempted compliment he tried to pay to you. Unfortunately, it doesn’t snub out all these festering thoughts in your head. It doesn’t even give you temporary relief. Perhaps it would have brought you a sense of peace a few months ago, but with everything that has happened thus far, you doubt even Malleus can alleviate the storm that rattles inside you, even if what he speaks is without a doubt nothing but the truth.

Surely he can see that you are still having some hangups. When you lift his hand and plant a chaste kiss on the back of his hand, you hope he can decipher the gesture as a pitiful request for his forgiveness for dampening the once energetic mood. He is not at fault for your loss and inability to think optimistically at the moment and you need to make sure he knows it.

Today is about him, not you. Even if it’s just for today, you’ll put on a pleasant facade and worry about the rest at a later date. It’s just you and him, and for now, that’s enough.

You do a mental countdown starting from three, before finally giving him a late response to the three words he uttered in confidence to you earlier. “I love you too, by the way.”

You love him. You love him. You love him. That’s all his mind can think of for the rest of the day. He replays your reciprocation over and over like it’s sacred and all-powerful.

He had planned to return to his dorm before the sun began to set, but he found the mere idea of detaching from you deeply unwanted and made the last-minute decision to spend the evening at the Ramshackle dorm. He already has a few articles of clothing and personal essentials set up in one of the many empty rooms, so neither Lilia nor you had any objections at his sudden request.

“Don’t worry!” You shout across the room so that Lilia can hear you over his phone. “I’ll make sure he gets to bed on time!”

“You have my gratitude!” Lilia’s muffled voice responds gratefully. “Don’t cause too much trouble now, you two.”

“No promises~” you sing in jest before Malleus hangs up. Once the call ends Johnny, Benji, Franky, and you turn their attention back to their ongoing game of poker. Malleus watches and occasionally laughs to himself over the friendly banter shared between the quartet. At the end of every round, the winner is assaulted with colorful profanities whilst they take their newly won gambling chips with ebullience. Yet with each new dealing of cards, the animosity goes away and they’re all back to being friendly. He finds your interactions with your incorporeal roommates more entertaining than the book he’s been reading to pass the time.

“Hey, fairy boy,” Franky informally calls out toward him. “Don’t be a stranger now. Play a few rounds with us.”

“I’m afraid I’m not well versed in card games,” he admits, yet he still finds himself setting his literature aside and moving over to join them.

“Don’t worry,” you give him a reassuring smile. “They’ll go easy on you.”

“For how long?” he knowingly asks.

You give him an impressed smirk at his quick uptake. “I give it three rounds before they start to pull back their sleeves.”

Malleus is well-adjusted to the need to quickly learn a new topic and the expectation for him to fully comprehend it in full. None of them are harsh on him for his minor mistakes like some of the tutors he’s had in the past. Answers that he believes may be obvious or not as complicated as he thinks they are being answered with enthusiastic patience. The smallest achievements he makes are met with a proud response. When he makes a surprise turnabout and wins his first game, he’s rewarded with an encouraging round of applause by everyone.

“Not bad,” Benji praises as he shuffles the deck of cards. “You’re a fast learner.”

“So I’ve been told,” he humbly replies. “Is this the part where you all stop going easy on me now?”

“Don’t provoke them,” you half-heartedly warn. “Otherwise we’ll be up all night duking it out otherwise.”

Franky sets his glass of iced liquor down on the edge of the table. “Don’t you little lovebirds worry. We won’t take up too much of your well-needed time together.”

Annoyed at the clear jab at his relationship with you, you throw one of your chips towards his head. It passes through his body and clatters on the floor behind him. Your fawn Blossom jumps down from their spot on the couch and goes to sniff it, thinking it to be food, but walks away with a disappointed strut when he realizes it isn’t anything edible.

“I didn’t tell them a damn thing,” you defensively clarify. “It was so obvious what was going on between us that they figured it all out before we made it official.”

He lets out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That’s...I can’t say I’m too pleased to hear about that.”

“We won’t say anything,” Franky reassures. “Just make sure to put a sock on the door whenever you guys want some alone time.”

“Franky!” you hiss at him. “What the hell?!”

“What?” he looks at you, unbothered by your clear embarrassment. “Do you honestly expect us to think you guys went out just to look at a bunch of statues?”

“Oh, I’m sure they were looking at something,” Johnny smirks. “It wasn’t made of stone though.”

“I hate you guys,” you growl out, arms crossing and leaning back into your seat with an angry huff. You don’t mean it. He can see the tremble of your lips as you try to contain the urge to grin. “Even if we did end up rolling around in the sheets, I wouldn’t be yapping about it for all to hear, much less you guys!”

“What happens in the gargoyle graveyard stays in the gargoyle graveyard, eh?” Franky winks at both Malleus and you, nudging you with his elbow.

“Exactly!” you affirm, batting the large ghost away from you for some much-needed distance. “Now stop being so damn nosy.”

They cackle one last time and everyone seamlessly goes back to their ongoing game. Conversations like the one that just concluded are commonplace in your dormitory. Even if he contributed next to nothing to the discussion, he enjoys watching them interact. You come from a world where ghosts are hardly as overt as the ones in this world. Ghosts are said to entertain themselves by picking on the living, to the point that it can be fatal. Your ability to come up with witticisms at a moment's notice is something he enjoys seeing in action. He feels great satisfaction not only knowing that he has secured your love but to also see you in a state of tranquility and within your elements.

As Benji and you have a hushed conversation on the sidelines, he reaches over and places his hand on your knee beneath the table. You quietly reach over and put your hand over his, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb like it’s instinctual. Unfortunately, the heart-fluttering moment is ruined by the sudden buzzing of his phone. He has half a mind to ignore it, but when he gives the screen a glance he realizes ignoring the caller is not an option.

“I’ll be out for a moment,” he excuses himself once he sets his hand down and stands himself upright. “This shouldn’t take that long, hopefully.”

They all stop to look up at him inquisitively for half a second. In unison, they ask, “Sebek?”

“Sebek,” he affirms.

There are simultaneous displays of annoyance, pity, and silent wishes of good luck directed at him. He’s tempted to ask where all this contempt for the boy comes from, but then he remembers the many times Sebek barges his way into their dorm at the worst possible moments. It is either when everyone is beginning to settle down after a long day or in the middle of an important house project, the former more so than the latter now that the dorm is much more stable and in need of less restoration. Malleus learned the hard way how ill you and the ghosts will react when your peace is unwantedly interrupted and your space invaded by an unwanted guest.

Sebek is also quick to scrutinize whatever he sees out loud without a filter. You never seem to mind half of the time, merely rolling your eyes and moving past Sebek’s ill-meaning remarks as if you never heard them. As you are someone Malleus highly regards and holds close to his bosom, he hopes Sebek can one day set aside his strife with humankind and give you the due diligence you deserve.

...Though, he completely understands that reaching that point will take time. While you can endure Sebek to a certain degree, there are times where he, unfortunately, pushes you past that threshold and, without flinching, you will tell him to “Shut the fuck up”. Your words, not his.

“Young master!” Sebek's transmitted voice peaks and he has to half pull it away to give his pained eardrums some relief. “I was informed by Lord Lilia that you will be spending the night over at the Human’s dorm. Have you all your accommodations at their estate? If not, I will swiftly-”

“That won’t be necessary,” he half laughs at his enthusiasm over such a small task. “I have enough to keep me comfortable and well for a few days. Your offer is still very much appreciated.”

“Y-Yes, of course,” he stutters. “If there’s anything you should ever find a need for, please inform me at once! I will fulfill your every wishes no matter the hour!”

He’s enthusiastic and ready to act at a moment’s notice, even during the middle of a cold and dark hour. Malleus doesn’t necessarily dislike this part of Sebek, but he’s starting to understand why someone like you would find such subservience difficult to deal with. At any moment, Malleus could ask Sebek to grab some insignificant item of his and tread through the thick snow to deliver it to him, and the boy would do so with jubilation and utmost timeliness. You on the other hand wouldn’t be caught dead ordering someone to do something on your behalf when you believe you are well and capable of doing it yourself.

You don’t put expectations onto the backs of others, choosing to trust yourself first before anyone else. He knows now that it’s a result of the one instance where you expected something from someone, only to be thoroughly let down and left wondering if it was you who did something wrong.

Malleus cannot make up for the pain you’ve been subjected to, but he hopes that he can become the outlier in your life that surpasses any preconceived notions you may hold onto others. He hopes...No, he absolutely will be the one who brings you your well-earned and deserved joy and repose, just as you have done for him and continue to do so.

You love him, and he will ensure he is worthy of every last drop of your fidelity.

[missdawnandherdusk]

hello can i pls have draco x reader fanfiction but can it be thunderstorming and the reader is scared?

Eye of the Hurricane

Draco X Reader

A/n: okay, so I made this a drabble, but it has comfort and thunderstorms all the same and it’s all for you my dear~ and I quite enjoyed writing a drabble ngl.

Draco had said that he would be back in a few minutes. That was fine, he was just popping out for more tea.

It was totally fine until a massive clap of thunder shook the crystal on the chandeliers.

I jumped to me feet, my heart pitter pattering in my chest as an onslaught of rain joined the rumbling clouds. I should have known that the fist clap of thunder would bring more. My fingers grasped an old afghan. Swaddled in the knotted yarn I yearned to find a room in the large cold manor where the rain and thunder were non-existent.

“Come on Draco, where are you?” I asked as the light flickered.

I felt utterly alone. There were no house elves any longer, it was just Draco and I living here until we found a more suitable place. And without Draco home...

I yelped at the next strike of lightning followed by the boom of thunder.

“It’s just rain,” I tried to convince myself. “Just some water,” The wind howled drowning out the sound of my justifications.

Finding a sitting room deep within the Manor, I cast a lighting charm and curled up on the floor next to the inner most wall. The lights threatened to go out, a jarring contrast to the flashes of lightning that lit up the room.

The next loud sound was not that of thunder, but of apperation. “Y/n!?” Draco’s desperate voice called. Relief flooded through my veins.

“Draco!?” I called, searching for him, only to find him dripping wet in the foyer, a ruined paper bag in his hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think it would storm before I got back,” Setting the ruined bag on an antique dry sink, Draco ran a hand through his wet hair to slick it back.

Disregarding the notion that he was soaked, I dive into his arms, finding protection and security in his embrace.

“I’m here,” He assured, rubbing my back. “You’re not alone, you’re safe.” As the words left his lips, a crack of thunder plunged the house into total darkness. “Oh for Merlin’s sake,”

Drawing his wand, he casted first a drying charm, then came a more complicated incantation that lit the room with a soft candle glow.

“Alright, I’ve got tea, and we can have a fire and wait out the storm.” Draco smiled down at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I hummed. “I don’t like it,” My eyes were trained on the nearest window. “I know,”

Sighing, he drew me deep into the house, to the sitting room that I had sought shelter in earlier, casting a fire into the hearth with a simple spell before transfiguring two teacups for us to use. Draco slid the pocket doors closed, sealing off our little haven away from the tempest around us. Our own little eye of a hurricane.

Before he joined me on the sofa, he went to one of the built-in bookshelves and selected a novel. Pulling me into his arms, as were situated in such a way that I was cradled in his embrace, but he was still able to read aloud to me.

“Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy,” Draco began, and a smile curled onto my face.

“Really?” I leaned my head back to look up at him. “What? Do you not want me to read to you?”

“No, I do. But your choice surprises me, that’s all,” I settled back down letting my eyes drift close.

“You know Lucy found Narnia when it was raining outside,” Draco pointed out. “They played hide and seek because it was storming,”

“I suppose she did,” I mused, letting myself get lost, not in the fear of the storm, but in Draco’s voice spinning a narrative, his warmth, and the aura of comfort that covered us like the blanket draped over me.

.

@coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18@whygz@crazywritingbug @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog@savingdraco  @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen@hxneybgb @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms   @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-johnston     @jiggllyy @darcypotter-blog  @thiccheerioss@lottie289 @beautiful-pegasus@tceedlmao @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @dragonsandbread @the-queen-of-hell-things @alienmotel  @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @quillsareforwriting @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy @naughtygranger @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @echpr@dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle @lonely-skywalker @sleepysnapesnake @hoeforthefictional @coldlilheart @helen-paris @rosie-starlit-sky @vulture-withafile @hogstupefy @eveft @iraniq @groovyfluxie @cool-weirdo-wannabee-author @rosegold-thorns @criminaly-supernatural @ghostofdolans @mxl-foyrecs @ginger-haired-queen @bex4whovian @kellyrose193 @unlikelygalaxygiver @marvel-trash-was-taken @one-edgy-bitch@supersouthy @garbagejay@rejectedlonelyasianchild  @lucymxwell @coldlilheart @elia-the-bibliophile @biggalaxydreamland @fuckbuckyyy @hopem1218 @youareinllve @tyrusparker @3rdofkingdomtrees @i-mmunity @zero-nightshade @graym01 @fandomtrash88 @snakey-drakey @ceeellewrites @thatguppienamedbae @pinkleopardss @angel-blogging @xhoney-bee-x @jovialthings @samanthahaigwood @minigigglybabi @clumsy-writing-rdb @lahoete @yourenotafailureoverall @m-winchester-67 @shiningstar-byulxx@clumsy-writing-rdb @dracosathenaeum @dracofeltonmalfoy   @harryslouis @iilovemusic12us @itsbebeyyy @dumspirospero-1 @kaye-lantern @anerroroccurrrrred @franbow29 @big-galaxy-chaos @itsbebeyyy @gryffindors-weasley @ornella0910 @ultrabuzzlightyear @phantomface1983 @emmalee12 @kuyrukludenizkizi @aubreylovesthegames @deafeninglandpersonempath @ackermanbitch @oingo233 @drismultiverse-blog @majicbamana @harrypotter289 @marinettepotterandplagg @cupidpoison @brownwheatrice @introvertedrae @gryffindors-weasley @frecklesandfirecrackers @bitchinbadgers @mkstover @dracomalfoyreader @mortallythoughtfulgurl @sakumorubywy @smileycount @ceeellewrites @is-it-really-a-secret @blogforharrypotter @spencerreidisbootiful @lam-ila @justawilddreamerchild @heavenlyrainyparis @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room @dracomalfoyreader @spellbinding10 @justawilddreamerchild @queen-of-the-coven @potterpasties @trudabest @theonlystoriesiliketoread @daltonacademia @jemmakates @dannighost @imagines-andshizz @unstableye @hahee154hq @malfoystylinson @idkmanicantenglish @subpar-life @myshadowsingeraz @isabellamur @dracoswhore007 @subpar-life @sxphiemxlfoy @mxxnlights @malfoyyyyed @crabbygorl15 @legendarywinchester1 @alias07jef @hufflepuffprinces @youarethereasonimsmiling @mazerunnerrose @neomarker @confusedscreaminggremlin @cal-eid @neomarker @anna-banana-13 @ssinfulhxn @black-cherrie @thomaslefteyebrow @devilsredrosc @dracoswhore007 @marianne1806 @belladaises @detective-lazy @0000011111 @wontlastimokwiththat @maroonmaiden @haechelios @zenobiagrace @maybesandohnos @sycathorn-slush @cauliflowercounty @vivvyinvienna @i-like-to-fuck-spiders @auraaa-potato @potionsclasss @sycathorn-slush @geeky-imagines @leximunroe @sonderandroses @axgelre @tahiti-island-dream @shinsouskittenmeowxdxd @secretfairytailpetscookie @bossybitchsblog @maybeimart @witch-o-memes @latenightmiraclesss @elevatorsdoor @loxbbg @misty081104 @fluoruran @amandalove1355 @anna-banana-13 @desiredmalfoy @slut4drvc0 @loxbbg @ruthdied @myunngi

[vnights]

(Non-)Muse notes: Vanellope

Vanellope, or, Vanny !!! Let’s get into my portrayal of her :)

Let me write something out first: She is not Williams victim. She is his equal. She is just as putrid and disgusting as he is, with the same brainwashed, warped ideas of cheating death with the power gained from Remnant. Her discoveries have nothing to do with him, and she is in fact Williams gateway out of hell. He did not use her, it was a mutual agreement. She’s her own character, with her own narratives, and I don’t want her plot being overshadowed by Williams. They’re a team, who work together. Also, Vanny exclusively takes place within the Doily-Verse!!! YEARS in the future, after Michael, Henry, and Doily are all dead and gone !!! (Almost 😉)

WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY, LET’S GET INTO THE MESS THAT IS HER

Her exposure to Remnant is what unlocked Williams chains, but it didn’t provide the key to the exit. It simply gave him the same kind of freedom he had while within Doily, adopting poltergeist-like abilities while primarily connected to Vanny. At this time, he’s on a leash, and can not stray too far from her, nor can he manifest into something more than a shadow-figure or hallucination. From this point, Vanny goes on to collect more Remnant in an attempt to revive William, eventually restoring his body to the point it was at before his entrance into Springtrap. Though officially disconnected from each other, they stick together, sharing a common goal of finding true immortality, while grinding to resurrect those they love. (William, from this point on, carries Shadow-Animatronic abilities, since they’re basically the same kind of entity ssshhh it makes writing easier for me) Aside from yearning for their deceased family, they’re also both massive control freaks, and have devoted their existences to finding limitless life for both themselves and their, soon to be, reunited relatives. As William has 3 children, a grandchild, and a wife to seek out, Vanny simply has a sister, who was taken far too soon.

She’s got so much more on her, but this is all I could muster at the moment 🥴 Please enjoy the chaotic crayon that is Vanny, and her oh my god, it’s her roommate William 💻🐰🐇

[withhclding-a]

✂ - … Someone who dislikes my muse↥ - … Someone who is attracted to my muse

SEND ME A SYMBOL AND I’LL WRITE A DRABBLE ABOUT MY MUSE FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF:

✂ - … Someone who dislikes my muse

↥ - … Someone who is attracted to my muse 

. * ¦ okay i’m so sorry i kind of copped out here and combined two into one because a) i am the laziest writer under the sun i’m really sorry, and b) literally everyone in the world (including me and including the trash mom herself) dislikes lucille to some extent and i was finding it hard to choose just one. anyway have my awful drabble from george’s point of view about his wife. thank you so, so much for sending these !! (literally it means a lot to me and thank you for putting up with my trash writing aha)

 ❝ she’s the sexiest creature i have ever laid eyes upon. ❞

 in george bluth’s mind, at least, conviction always has ruled his tone. the company has been his for fifty years for christ’s sake. people don’t get to the level of success that he has achieved if their lies fail to be convincing. this particular statement, however, is neither; for all its certainty it fails to convince his wife, and yet, for perhaps one of the few times in his life, it’s a statement of fact. 

 can he blame her for her doubts? no one blames him, it seems, and christ knows that’s the only reason he’s managed to get away with it for so long. it’s no secret that lucille bluth is a NIGHTMARE of a wife; a lady macbeth in a pastel chanel suit; controlling, domineering, possessive. she’s the perfect foil for the misunderstood, long-suffering character he creates, the non-existent man which has allowed him to stray from her with such ease. it’s not him that matters, in the end; he can become whatever they want him to be, so long as his wife remains distant and cold and doesn’t understand him. he doesn’t even have to twist the narrative. she brings this upon herself. always. 

 always. 

 he often wonders which she fell for first: him, or the lavish riches of the places he took her to when he couldn’t stand the thought of entering her cheap little apartment in his $3000 suit. sometimes he still doesn’t know which she would choose if she were to have to lose one; she might know herself, but he doesn’t dare approach the situation for fear of hearing something he wouldn’t like. but somewhere in the middle, he and his riches seem to satisfy her, even after all these years. she, conversely, though god knows she spends enough time and effort and money trying, cannot do the same for him. she’s yearning for attention from the man she knows as her husband, whilst he searches in every other woman he meets for the waitress he made his wife. a woman defined by the present and a man caught up in the past. no wonder theirs isn’t a happy marriage. 

and yet, when he tells her that she is attractive, beautiful, it is still not a lie. theirs began a relationship based on attraction, and that seems to be the final, flickering flame left in whatever it is they now have. perhaps love would be more appropriate on a stage like this, but love is also more complicated - he saves ‘i love you’ for the very rare times when he can be certain he means it. her allure is a constant, one she’s always known he is fond of, and one she’s always worked so hard to keep. it's what has kept their marriage together, as they've grown older and he's come to dislike more and more of her. he can find his kicks elsewhere and still return to his wife, as long as she still vaguely loves him and as long as she's still beautiful. 

lucille will never be the long suffering wife, because she has a talent for convincing everyone around her that she has never suffered. 

he brushes past her to retrieve his camera when a hand presses to his shoulder, stopping him in his path. ❝ did you mean all that? ❞ he wonders if there's a vulnerability to her tone, if he moulds it well enough in his mind. he knows that she wants to hear MORE. more than sexiest, more than just the top of a line of a hundred women her husband has viewed as beautiful enough for him. but two lives have already been ruined because at twenty-three, he somehow convinced her that she was a little more than that. 

❝ of course. ❞ he responds, without any semblance of doubt. and that is all. his wife's eyes lower into slits, and when he moves to kiss her cheek she moves effortlessly out of his way, onto the nearest distraction she can find. george exhales his irritation. he’ll want her when she’s distant and repel her when she is not. neither one of them is to blame, but lord knows they’re both at fault.

fourty years have birthed, nutured, and raised his dislike of the woman he married. somehow - through good management, he suspects - they’ve left his attraction untouched.

[2whatcom-blog]

In Protection of Disbelief An Anti-Creed

Final month my faculty, Stevens Institute of Know-how, hosted a "debate" referred to as "Souls or Selfish Genes?" The Stevens Christian Fellowship, which organized the occasion (together with Veritas), billed it as "a discussion between two professors (a Christian and non-Christian) in search of truth about what makes us human." I used to be the non-Christian and David Lahti, a biologist at Metropolis College of New York, the Christian. The moderator and a lot of the viewers (in line with a present of palms) had been Christian too. Lahti and I had a tough time discovering issues on which to disagree. I nodded alongside when he objected to the "souls or selfish genes" dichotomy, arguing that religion and evolutionary idea are suitable. I did not oppose spiritual perception a lot as I defended disbelief, towards scientific in addition to spiritual explanations of who we're. Beneath are issues I mentioned, or needed to say, on the occasion. For so long as I can bear in mind, the world has struck me as unbelievable, inexplicable, simply plain bizarre. I've felt estranged from every thing, together with different folks and myself. Psychiatrists name these emotions derealization and depersonalization. I yearned for a revelation that would dispel the weirdness and make me really feel at house in my very own pores and skin. As a boy I took consolation in my dad and mom' faith, Catholicism. Clergymen, nuns and my dad and mom assured me that I'm a baby of God with an immortal soul. If I obey the Ten Commandments, confess my sins and go to church, I'll ascend to heaven, the place I'll hang around with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit (which a mural in my church depicted as a dove emanating laser beams). By the point I used to be 11 or so Catholicism stopped making sense. Why, if God loves us, would He inflict hell on us, only for skipping mass at times? That doctrine, which hard-eyed nuns taught in catechism, appeared awfully harsh. Additionally, I could not think about how heaven may fail to be boring. Like a lot of younger folks in my technology (I graduated from highschool in 1971), I started trying out extra unique religions. I turned intrigued by enlightenment, the objective of Hinduism and Buddhism. I envisioned it as a state of supreme bliss and knowledge. It is like heaven, besides you do not have to die to get there. Looking for enlightenment, I realized meditation and yoga and ingested psychedelics, and I learn Doorways of Notion by Aldous Huxley and Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. Removed from enlightening me, my forays into mysticism deepened my sense of weirdness. Ultimately I made a decision that science represents our greatest hope for understanding ourselves. Within the mid-1980s, after I began writing for Scientific American, Stephen Hawking and different big-shots had been proclaiming that science was on the verge of fixing the riddle of existence and revealing "the mind of God," as Hawking put it. This risk thrilled me, however finally I concluded that science, for all its energy, can not give us a real idea of every thing. Science is bumping into what could become absolute limits, and it'll by no means inform us why there's something reasonably than nothing. So I argued in my e-book The Finish of Science. Hoping to be proved fallacious, I saved monitoring efforts to reply massive questions, and particularly the most important of all, the mind-body downside. Narrowly talking, the mind-body downside focuses on how matter generates thoughts, together with consciousness and free will, however in a broader sense it asks what we're, could be and ought to be. Prophets, philosophers and poets have peddled solutions to this query for millennia. Solely not too long ago have scientists gotten in on the motion. The difficulty is, scientists cannot agree on an answer to the mind-body downside, and even on an strategy to an answer. Theorists I interviewed for my most up-to-date e-book, Thoughts-Physique Issues (which I devoted to my college students), advocate dizzyingly various mind-body fashions. We're nodes of data, clusters of Bayesian algorithms, egos making an attempt to maintain a lid on our ids, genes blindly striving to duplicate, wave capabilities in an infinite quantum subject. Some researchers defend their views by citing Buddha. That is like physicists citing the traditional Greek speculation that the world is product of earth, water, air and fireplace. Outstanding theorists are even difficult materialism, the idea that matter is the muse of actuality. They argue that consciousness could also be as elementary as matter, or extra elementary. So the place does this depart me, by way of my seek for solutions? I've given up hope that science may give us a single, objectively true answer to the mind-body downside, one true for everybody. Disbelief, I've determined, is the one rational stance to take towards alleged options, whether or not spiritual or scientific. I now not crave a revelation that can dispel my sense of weirdness, as a result of I've accepted that we actually are bizarre. The weirdness is not only a perform of our ignorance, it's intrinsic to actuality. As a lot as I really like some mind-body concepts (like Douglas Hofstadter's self-generating unusual loops), I do not actually imagine any of them, not like I imagine within the atomic idea of matter or the genetic code. I consider mind-body theories as tales, works of creativeness, of artwork. Some are extra compelling than others--more significant and comforting--but none actually solves the mind-body downside, any greater than The Inferno or Struggle and Peace do. Those that yearn for certainty about who we actually are may discover disbelief unsatisfying, even horrifying. You don't have any floor on which to face, no assurance that God or science will care for us, that every thing goes to be okay. But when historical past teaches us something, it's that our yearning for certainty can get us into bother. It has led to genocide, slavery, crusades, inquisitions, wars. That is true not solely of spiritual mind-body options but additionally of supposedly scientific ones, like Marxism and social Darwinism. We're by no means extra harmful than after we know what we actually are, could be and ought to be, and we insist that others share our perception. Disbelief can defend us from our desperation for solutions. And in change for certainty, you get the exhilaration of confronting the unknown with no preconceptions. You get the liberty to be no matter you think about your self to be, to create your individual identification and future. You possibly can see your self as a pack of egocentric genes, bundle of algorithms, immortal soul or all of the above. You simply cannot insist that your reply to the mind-body downside is The Reply. My fundamental recommendation to folks of religion, whether or not Christians or hard-core scientific materialists, is to doubt your self. Be open-minded. Think about the likelihood, even likelihood, that your beliefs are a matter of style, not reality. And do not forget that if we can not clear up the thriller of ourselves, we will preserve exploring ourselves without end. Additional Studying: Thoughts-Physique Issues (free on-line version, Kindle e-book and paperback) Meta-Submit: Posts on the Thoughts-Physique Drawback Read the full article

[tune-collective]

Tigers Jaw's Charming New LP & Atlantic's Latest Cred-Carrying Imprint Are Alt-Rock's New Major Label Hopes

Tigers Jaw's Charming New LP & Atlantic's Latest Cred-Carrying Imprint Are Alt-Rock's New Major Label Hopes

The beloved indie-punk band follows 2014’s ‘Charmer’ — released on scene staple Run For Cover Records — with the debut for new label Black Cement.

Tigers Jaw vocalist-guitarist Ben Walsh calls Saves the Day’s In Reverie his favorite record. The seminal New Jersey punk band’s 2003 release is best known today not for its intricate melodies — as Walsh would probably prefer — but as the prototypical punk band-screwed-over-by-major label cautionary tale. Saves the Day’s three previous albums — released through respected indies Equal Vision and Vagrant — upped the grassroots ante to the point where they seemed likely to follow like-minded bands like Jimmy Eat World and New Found Glory to major label success. The opposite happened.

“They got dropped from [Dreamworks Records] the day the record came out,” Walsh remembers. The press archives technically place it a few weeks later, but the point remains — when majors court punk bands, there’s a boom-or-bust history with a lot more Dear Yous than Dookies in its wake. It’s especially jarring to hear this from Walsh because the Scranton, Penn. band’s latest album is coming out this spring on the brand new imprint of a major record label. It’s called spin and it’s arriving May 19 on a new Atlantic Records venture dubbed Black Cement.

The shock has nothing to do with Tigers Jaw’s credentials (Charmer was actually filled with cozy harmonies) and everything to do with punk’s almost non-existent relationship with the current major-label ecosystem and its especially volatile past. “We came from a generation of bands that formed shortly after the collapse of the seedy industry, big label, big 360-deal era,” Walsh says, thinking back to Tigers Jaw’s 2005 formation. “A lot of bands did get screwed over by major labels. [Tigers Jaw] was formed with this pre-conceived caution.” Brianna Collins, Walsh’s songwriting counterpart, likens that caution to “the image you have in your mind of a major-label person wearing a suit, buying steak dinners.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xG3E0SAw4uA

The duo — Walsh alongside keyboardist-vocalist Brianna Collins — was wooed by a decidedly less destructive vision of strip clubs and A-list restaurant tabs, courtesy of chief ambassador and A&R rep for Black Cement, Will Yip. For the better part of the last decade, the Philadelphia-based producer built a reputation as the amicable, accommodating guiding light behind some of the alt-rock underground’s most influential albums — Title Fight’s Hyperview, La Dispute’s Rooms of the House, Balance and Composure’s The Things We Think We’re Missing and naturally, Tigers Jaw’s previous LP, crafted after three-fifths of the band (including founding songwriter Adam McIlwee) announced plans to go their separate ways. “Charmer for us was a transitional period, but [Yip] was so consistent and so creative and helpful,” Walsh says. “So it was completely a natural thing — ‘No matter who’s putting out our next record, we want to work with Will.’” 

The feeling’s mutual. “There’s a Mount Rushmore of bands that are kind of the OGs in this world,” says Yip. His etched-in-stone core four includes Tigers Jaw, plus the trio mentioned above. “When Black Cement formed, Atlantic approached me [saying] we wanna do a label with these bands… [I said] ‘You can’t do this label without some of the OGs.’” Dave Rath, head of A&R at Roadrunner Records for the past decade, had long been fascinated by Yip’s corner of the rock world and spent over two years planning Black Cement with Yip. “Other labels are running away from rock while we’re running at it,” Rath asserts. Case-in-point: Atlantic now houses what figures to be the most punk and indie rock-oriented imprint of any major label alongside the hard rock-heavy Roadrunner and the pop-rock smorgasbord Fueled By Ramen. 

So Yip’s world has a Mont Rushmore, but does it even have a name? These groups are all adjacent to those commonly placed within the so-called “emo revival,” but sound nothing akin to bands like My Chemical Romance and mascara-era Fall Out Boy that the three-letter word commonly evokes. (Neither do the core “emo revival” bands, for that matter, but that’s a discussion for another day). Punk or alt-rock? Those qualifiers are less incorrect, but no more compelling. Perhaps it’s most accurate to define Tigers Jaw’s world by what it isn’t. “It’s not like Mumford & Sons, that folky alternative stuff,” Yip says. “Mainstream rock radio really isn’t true rock music to me… I love a lot of stuff that’s on the radio. I love fun. — they’re my buddies — but I don’t think of them as a rock band.” 

Rock or not, the fact Yip names a band that hasn’t been active in two years is telling of the genre’s place in Top 40 in 2017. And the dearth of non-folksy guitar extends even to alternative radio. Once the playground of established bands like Red Hot Chili Peppers and Linkin Park, this week’s Alternative Songs tally features only two electric guitar-driven songs in its top 10 and a guitar-less Linkin Park song at No. 22. “Guardian,” the yearning, Walsh-fronted first single shared from spin, sounds a little like pre-major label Death Cab For Cutie (one of the few traditional alt-rock bands left on radio these days) and virtually nothing else heard on the format these days.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxat0Y-l59g

But the label is trying. Rath confirms Tigers Jaw will be worked to alternative radio and with the band’s blessing, radio mixes have been made for “Guardian” and “June,” a sunlit guitar-pop nugget that’s yet to be released, but an even better bet to catch on. It features Collins on lead vocals; though a longtime member, the keyboardist didn’t get her shine as a vocalist until she ran away with the opening verse on “Hum,” Charmer‘s most popular track. This time around, she’s writing her own songs for the first time. “I just never thought I’d be capable of that role in the band,” she says. “The experience with ‘Hum’ was what started myself thinking that maybe I could really try to do this. [spin] was the first record Ben and I did completely on our own. Tigers Jaw had always been two primary songwriters and I thought I might as well give it a go.”

Collins, like Walsh, is aware of her scene’s brushes with the mainstream and that yes, it’s sometimes clicked. Fall Out Boy and MCR were among her early influences, and she happily remembers cheering on New Found Glory on TRL. But the playing field has changed a lot since the early 2000s. Aside from guitar rock’s struggles on radio, it lags mightily behind just about every beat-driven genre in the streaming game.

These will be uphill battles, but the live stage presents particular opportunity for Tigers Jaw. The festival circuit has long been a boon for underappreciated alt acts, and last year, Lollapalooza’s lineup even featured Modern Baseball and Pinegrove, the exact sort of indie-punk bands you’d expect Tigers Jaw to share bills with. Being part of the Atlantic family opens doors, too; both Walsh and Rath float the idea of Tigers Jaw playing with Paramore, longtime Fueled By Ramen members who’d figure to be on the road soon to promote the new album they’ve been teasing. 

Major label life will be a unique challenge for Tigers Jaw, but their numerous successful muses prove the scene can indeed hang in a god damn arms race. Around the same time Dreamworks obliterated Walsh’s beloved Saves the Day, it vaulted a once-failed major label band called Jimmy Eat World to stardom. But at the end of the day, Yip assures, “Tigers Jaw does not need a record label in 2017, period,” just as Walsh stresses this wasn’t “some sort of Hail Mary move to blow up the band.” Tigers Jaw has spent over a decade nurturing a grassroots fanbase; now Black Cement gets to nurture one quarter of Yip’s Mount Rushmore. 

“The coolest part about this record,” says Walsh, “is that it was totally finished before we signed any deal, before we committed to any label. The record is exactly how we envisioned.”

This article originally appeared on: Billboard

http://tunecollective.com/2017/03/25/tigers-jaws-charming-new-lp-atlantics-latest-cred-carrying-imprint-alt-rocks-new-major-label-hopes/

[rockandrollportlandor]

GOOD CHEER RECORDS HOLIDAY SHOWCASE

I've expressed before my affection for Good Cheer Records, a local label that emerged from the DIY all ages indie rock scene in Portland, but whose personnel have connections and influence in the mainstream of local and national indie music. Geek rockerMo Troper, also a writer for the Portland Mercury (cleverly disguised as Morgan Troper), even scored the coveted Pitchfork review, something which has eluded many of the best bands in town at the moment. Troper, the label's co-founder with Blake Hickman, has vanished to Los Angeles, replaced by Maya Stoner, a performer in several GC bands. Kyle Bates' project Drowse has seen praise from Vice's Noisey blog and SPIN Magazine, while another one of the label's star acts, Little Star, have gotten great reviews all over the place, including here on ROCK AND ROLL PORTLAND, OR. My favorite Good Cheer band, Mr. Bones, is sadly over, but the label, with so many other good acts, has hardly been damaged by these shifts--or a scandal that saw Jackson Walker, a member of Good Cheer band Naked Hour, excommunicated in the wake of his much younger ex-girlfriend's allegations of physical/emotional abuse. Good Cheer's bands are each unique, but broadly speaking they traffic in a hyper-sincere, heart-on-sleeve, guitar-based pop/rock that seems to trace its roots back to the 90's and early 00's, a time before MP3s--or at least a time when a single MP3 took a whole morning to download. It's the art-damaged cool and guitar abuse of bands like Pavement and Sonic Youth injected with the bloodletting melodicism of emo and the sweetness of twee-pop. It's a reminder of the truth in that old quote about Pavement being "the band that launched a thousand Weezers." These tendencies make the label's roster a refreshing departure, perhaps even a necessary counter-reaction, to the various fusions of psychedelic rock, dream pop, and blissed-out oddball party music so often seems to dominate Portlandian "pop". The earnestness of Good Cheer's bands, which the label proudly declares free of "mercenary ambition", makes a lot of what was represented by 2016's now-tainted "Mt. Portland" compilation seem positively decadent. On the other side of the coin, that comp's hip groups, often resented across the music scene for their perceived complacence and supposedly undeserved "fame", offer a sense of easy fun and trippy euphoria that the Good Cheer bands often lack--the label's name is pretty ironic, since good cheer is just about the last thing you'll get from most of these bands. Rather, they provide what Kurt Cobain ambivalently called "the comfort in being sad," the paradoxical sense of suffering as painful but life-affirming. At best that means a strangely joyous catharsis on the other side of the pain, at worst it might be written off as wallowing, navel gazing, and irksome preciousness. It's not for everybody, but it's way up my moody emo kid alley. These bands' music is about intimate feelings--even at its most bombastic, it's introverted almost as a rule, and perhaps that's how they create the feeling that they're Your Special Band, even when you're, as I was on this December Wednesday night, surrounded by a bunch of other people watching them. Good Cheer maintains the sense that their acts are the best band in your shitty hometown, who you see in some basement when you're 17, and finally, you've found a place where you fit in, finally, some people who speak for you. Perhaps the ideal place to see these bands is indeed someone's basement, but it was also fitting to see them in a major mid-sized venue like the Holocene--it was a sign that Good Cheer have emerged from a scrappy underground operation to become a major force in that vague genre known as "Portland pop". I didn't catch the entire show, which crammed six acts, successfully, into three hours, but the first group I caught was ALIEN BOY, one of the moodier bands on this moody label. Frontwoman Sonia Weber sings with the lovelorn yearning of Morrissey, but without the sass--unlike with the Moz, we never wonder if she's just milking it. The guitars hiss like TV static and twinkle like stars seen out a car window in the vanishing autumn, the rhythm section sprinting with teenage energy, paradoxically despondent and enthusiastic. At the Holocene, Weber's vocals seemed pretty off key a lot of the time, but it didn't really matter. The melody's largely in the guitars, and even the melody isn't that important. It's the mood the band creates with all of these elements that makes them such a powerful emotive unit. Even off-key, Weber's vocals are the definite not-so-secret weapon here, her contralto timber pitched perfectly in the dead center of the human vocal spectrum, neither male nor female, and therefore unusually universal in a social order still cleaved traumatically in two by a gender binary inherited from a religious order no one even believes in anymore. The group's latest EP, "Stay Alive", is a fantastic piece of gothic power pop, the fury of the instruments on tracks like "Burning II" contrasted to heart-rending effect with the vulnerability of Weber's vocals. These guys are one of my favorite acts Good Cheer has in its corner for 2017. Next up were a pair of musical twin bands, both involving Kyle Bates: DROWSE and FLOATING ROOM. Drowse is the more ambient of two, creating a storm of darkly psychedelic mood energy, as if Bates were some mad scientist attempting to isolate The Feels in their pure plasma form. Bates has been admirably candid about his struggle with clinical depression, even in his press releases, and some of his music is meant to be a literal translation of these horrifying experiences in musical form. As a person who's visited similar hells, I can definitely relate, and if you haven't, Drowse can give you a taste. It's the kind of music you bathe in almost more than listen to. I find it pretty hard to articulate with a vocabulary developed for pop songs--do yourself a favor and just listen. Undergirding the pure emotional whirlpool is a theoretical edge, at least according to Drowse's bio, which references Roland Barthes and Sarah Manguso alongside Mt. Erie and Unwound. I'm pretty sure those are uncommon influences for an indie music bio. Floating Room is the more conventional indie rock side of Bates' muse, but he still hangs in the background, and Maya Stoner writes lyrics and sings lead, while he continues his role as a sound-sculptor. Under this moniker he deals in his version of the Good Cheer house sound, described on the group's Bandcamp page as "the type of sadness felt at 4 in the morning, reserved for the heartbroken and the nervous." The guitar squalls of Drowse, almost more like weather patterns than music, wash over the structure of the songs like photo filters, providing a depth and texture that the more purely rock n roll acts on Good Cheer can't touch. Eschewing the crunchier "alt rock" guitar tones and punk rock enthusiasms of Alien Boy, Mr. Bones, or Cool American for a generously reverberated, fuzz-soaked, more plodding sound, Floating Room crosses definitively into shoegaze territory. It's gloriously eerie and ice-cold in temperature. It's the perfect soundtrack for walking through the woods in the snow, when all sounds are muffled by the falling flakes a the beautiful deathly calm seems to pervade the landscape--and it is a landscape, one you can seemingly gaze far into. On some tracks, the band is almost too delicate for this world, and the sounds seem made of glass, or icicles, ready to crash and fall the moment the temperature gets back above freezing. It's music for winter, for the low-hanging winter sun, gone as soon as it comes up, peering over the leafless treetops, secretly gathering power again once the solstice has passed. TURTLENECKED, the stage name of Harrison Smith, came up next, playing a very short set. Lanky and nervous, he paced the stage, singing R&B songs about being neurotic and narcissistic and romantic, all from electronic backing tracks played from his laptop. It was a very amusing break from all the intensity--even as he sang about heartbreak or unrequited love, Smith was funny, unlike anyone else who I saw perform that night. The stuff on his Bandcamp is mostly minimal indie pop, just electric guitar and drums, very dressed down and sparse, focused on Smith's deadpan vocals, both snarky and pathetic, but always charismatic. An older album, "Pure Plush Bone Cage", was fuzzier and noisier, but Smith's newer style, clean and clear, works better, matching the music's emotional exhibitionism. This presumably even newer R&B stuff is another pretty much genius leap forward. Turtlenecked captures the fine line between self-pity and self-aggrandizement, or rather signals its non-existence, refusing to apologize for anything--or else apologizing for everything--it doesn't really matter which--who ever believes an apology anyway? Good Cheer's brand can, as I said above, come off as overly precious, but Turtlenecked is an exception--one gets the wonderful sense that he barely even believes himself, but it's only the same sincerity of his labelmates doubling back on itself. Morrissey knows this trick well--it's basically his bread and butter. While most of the Good Cheer bands seem to work as band entities, Harrison Smith of one of the few who doesn't really need a band, or for whom any backing band would only be a backing band. He's just an entertaining and engaging enough figure in his own right--perhaps only Mo Troper, among his labelmates, rivals him for sheer personal charisma. Finally was the band I was most keen on seeing, COOL AMERICAN, named for a brand of Doritos. It's the project of singer-guitarist Nathan Tucker, a serious-looking dude who blew through the set with apparently great anxiety, often failing to sing directly into the microphone, seemingly wound tighter than a human can be wound. The band's tall bass player, Tim Howe, with his goofy grin and a santa hat borrowed from Maya Stoner, provided the necessary humorous counterpoint. Cool American's style is a pleasantly loose but melancholy power pop, filled with breezy riffs, mid-tempo grooves and smoothy shifting tempos and beats. But there's also a punk edge in it--at some point in every song, Tucker upshifts into a cathartic yelp, from which I felt sympathy pangs in my own vocal chords, before this explosion of his nervous energy receded, and he began to recharge again. Tucker's vocal range is limited, but the melody's in the guitars, spinning circles around each other, swirling and looping when they aren't exploding. Probably the most direct example of my Pavement-meets-emo description above, Cool American's unusual combination of mellowness and tension feels very much like West Coast life as I've come to know it, the cycle of putting up a veneer of "no worries" chillness and having it break down in the face of un-chill reality, only to put it up again, because fuck life, life should be better than it is. Better to try and fail to be chill and hopeful than live in cynical detachment. And for all their moodiness, the Good Cheer bands are never cynical. They don't just express heavy feelings, they believe in them, affirming their value and meaning in a society that usually runs scared from them. Unlike so much of the buzzy music in Portland, these bands never come off as careerist--you get the sense that any day one of them might break up because so-and-so had to move away for school or whatever. One could be cynical in response and argue that this sincerity is just another brand, but if so, I'll take it over the glassy-eyed smugness and empty glitz of so much of what passes for indie music these days. Long live Good Cheer.