#They only got Blondie Branches Out despite them living together :(

[silverthelovebug]

I love this image

Cupid and Blondie have no reason to be doing allat

You can’t tell me they didn’t go to Thronecoming together.

“I’ll vote for you.” “I’ll vote for you too.” Type beat.

They made out after this/j

Seriously though, girls supporting girls, look how happy they are that Apple won (I’m assuming this is for the country that she won in), they are smiling and joyous, no jealousy :3 Raven is proud of her roomie!!!!!!

Meanwhile Cupid and Blondie are like intensely holding hands and begging gay in the back.

[mackeydoodledoo]

Twice the Chaos: Chapter 1

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x (Fem!DemonHybrid)OC: Pandora Barlowe

Summary: You were only passing through. You had nowhere to go; you were the spawn of Satan himself. There was no place in the world for you. Until you met a blonde vampire. 

Warnings: Parental Abandonment, Depression, Chaotic Life

A/n: Listen... I’m just tryna see something here...

Key: Bold/Italics = Telepathic Conversation/Thoughts

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Your mother had left you when you were of age; not wanting to take care of a freak. That was how your mother always referred to you. Your Father? He was never around. Since being left out into the streets, life has been absolute chaos. You try to make a living for yourself; but you began developing new features.

“I’m sorry, we can no longer have you be working at our establishment,” The owner comes up to you

You were just trying to clean tables; next was you getting fired?

“What? Why? I haven’t violated any of your rules,” You try to counter-argue, “More so, I’ve been trying to not violate them...”

“Your... Vibe... Everyone’s giving us weird looks... It’d be better if you no longer worked here,” He doesn’t budge

You storm out of your former workplace. 

That is IT! I’m done! 

You try running your hands through your hair but you felt something knock against your fingertips. 

Stubs?! That can’t be... 

You saw something move from the bottom corner of your eye. 

A tail?! What the absolute hell is happening?

You run off to the woods in order to avoid getting any further attention from humans. You did everything... Just simply trying to get through like at the age of 18. Clearly it wasn’t going to happen... 

You are beginning to become like me...

Who said that?! 

You were beginning to freak out.

Your father...

What are you talking about?! My dad was never around! He could be dead for all I know and care!

You don’t get it do you?... I am your father...

Father? 

You were sure your father just ran off with another woman. But, it wasn’t logically possible to have someone telepathically speak to you. 

Why am I going to believe some voice in my head that’s never been around until now?! 

You just try to get the same voice out of your head.

You’re like me... You can come home. You won’t have to worry about being judged here...

Home?! My mother threw me out as soon as I turned 18... Since then I couldn’t even keep a single job afloat without anyone that comes within my radius getting me fired because of my “bad vibes”! Well, look at it this way-

No! Face it! There’s no place for me!!!!! Heaven or Hell? Doesn’t matter... There’s no damn place for a freak like me...

The voice in your head ceased then. But, the development of new features hadn’t. Your stubs? Grew into small horns. Tail? Resembled a Demon’s tail. Pointed end and everything.. It’s been months since you had your last job... Anyone really. You use a beanie to cover your horns and you shove your tail into your pants or jacket; whichever was comfortable. You mysteriously was still stable enough to create your own little place in the woods. But, it was still depressing for you. You still thought about how your mother abandoned you, getting fired just because of the vibes you give off, despite trying to be a normal human.

“Why me?...” You ask yourself, “Why me?....”

You look up as soon as you felt a single raindrop fall. 

I need a new tarp... But, I’m not in for going back into town... They wouldn’t eve just as so sell me a new tarp... Whatever I guess...

You had passed out while the rain was going on. However, when you open your eyes, you were expected to feel wet. But, you felt warm. You look up to see a brand new tarp draped over your small hideout and you look back down to see a Sherpa-lined blanket engulfing you in warmth. 

Who?...

“Got me these?...” You ask yourself

You crawl out of the hideout and try to look around the woods to see if there was anyone else that had been camping out. But, no such people were there. You scoff but felt thankful that someone was sympathetic enough to give you a whole new tarp to go over your head and a blanket. 

Fortunately it had stopped raining by the time you went out to go fishing to get your fill for the day. To be honest, it didn’t feel so bad when you would be out fishing, you found a big enough lake to see the sun rise and set over the horizon, you were able to catch a handful of fish to get you through each day. 

I see you’ve grown accustomed to living on your own... Nice job kiddo.

What did I say about coming out to “chat”? Don’t try and persuade me to “Come home”.

I’m not. I’m just checking in on you. You claim that there’s no place for you here... Yet, you’ve made a small place for yourself?

Might as well be somewhere off the grid. 

Not to that once blondie...

A blondie?... Who?...

Not sure, but that new tarp and blanket? That’s from her.... She’s been coming nearly every night...

You watch me sleep?...

I do it to protect you so you could sleep. 

Don’t try and act like my dad... I’m fine without him.... 

You still don’t believe me?..

Still haven’t seen you face to face. 

You wouldn’t want to see me face to face....

Good, we’re on the same page then. Don’t think I’d want to meet my old man anyway...

Once dusk had hit, you were putting out a firepit you had set up to cook the fish you had caught not too long before. 

I got you kiddo. Go ahead and sleep.

I said don’t treat me like you’re trying to be like my dad. I never knew him anyway... 

You take the blanket and use a couple of your flannels as a pillow.

Goodnight...

Night.

The same old routine persisted. You felt the off-putting vibes on how you were able to be this stable, especially living in an unused shed of all places that was clearly in a state of decay. 

I think that blondie has taken a liking to you.

She’s still in question? She doesn’t even know me... How could you know?

When she would come check on you, just last night she was lying next to you. I know because she’s been visiting every night. 

And she can’t see you?

No one can. 

That’s a ‘shocker’... But can she not hear you?...

Only you and myself.

“Weird...” You take a deep breath as you sit against the tree 

You were kind of fishing from sitting on a tree branch, decently high from the ground. 

You’ve thought about the last several nights you were sleeping in your little hideout space. You would open your eyes, but still be half asleep. As you were half awake and half asleep; you could have sworn you felt an arm hooked around your waistline. But you don’t think anything of it as you pass right back out. The feeling would be gone in the morning. 

You really think there is someone?

She’s come every night. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be taken to where she lives.

Out here? In the middle of nowhere? I doubt it.. 

Like clockwork, you set up your makeshift flannel pillow and lay across the old tarp you decided to use as a covering form the molding hardwood floor.

You open your eyes and realize the cold morning feeling is no longer around. Your eyes begin adjusting to so much light coming into the room.

“You’re awake now?” A feminine voice asks you

You were startled. Startled to the point where you fell off the bed. You groan at the impact. Trying to gain your vision back, a figure comes walking over to you. You immediately sit up and begin backing away.

“You-you don’t wanna be near me,” You say, almost in a drunken state, “I’m no good around people...”

“Says who?” She asks

“Says the many people that have fired me from jobs because of the vibes I give off,” You groan when you feel the wall against your back

“Well, they just go by the book cover,” She says, helping you back into bed, “You should lay down... You hit your head there pretty hard.”

In your still blurred vision; the woman’s hair was brunette. 

That isn’t her... 

But, she isn’t giving off any bad vibes...

I’ll be the judge of that...

You try to sit up again but a hand is gently pressed against your shoulder.

“My daughter will be here any minute to check on you,” She says, calmly, “You should thank her when you have the chance... She felt miserable watching you every night.”

She... Felt miserable?...

See? She does like you.

But, she still barely knows me. I don’t even know her name and vice versa. 

That could change here.

Will you just stop talking?....

The next time you open your eyes, your vision slowly coming together; you saw a faint color of blonde. 

Could it be?...

“I told you you shouldn’t have brought that... Thing in here. She’ll get us all killed,” A male voice tries to persuade the blonde

“I couldn’t just leave her there,” She argues, “She was miserable. Carlisle and Esme already said she could stay here under my care.”

“If you get us killed it’s your fault,” He replies

You hear him storm out of the room. 

“You’re awake for real now?” She sits at the bedside

“Where?-” You ask, trying to sit up

“My family estate,” She explains

“My-my stuff, some of my stuff-” You begin freaking out

“Already taken care of,” She slightly smiles

You sit up from the lush bedsheets, taking deep breathes as you try to wrap your head around the last several hours.

“How long was I out?” You ask the blonde

“Several hours,” She answers, “I continuously checked on you... You were... Crying, tossing and turning, talked in your sleep...”

“Oh? What about?” You ask

“Does... ‘Why me?...’, ‘What am I?...’ Ring a bell?” She asks

It does for me.

Shut up. 

“I may have had those kinds of panic attacks while I slept...” You explains, “Which is why I look like shit right?..”

“I was going to say that you’ve slept for so long,” She says, cocking an eyebrow at you, “But if you think that too than you do you.”

It was an awkward silence for the both of you. You didn’t know what to make of this blondie.

I like her.

I said shut up. 

What? She’s pretty, she’s looked after you the last serval nights.

That doesn’t mean she’s my soulmate or anything... We barely know each other, let alone each others’ names.

“My name’s Rosalie Hale,” the blondie answers

“Huh?” You ask, removing the bedsheets from your legs

“You... Didn’t know my name so... Thought I’d tell you,” She says, “Now, you must be hungry.”

“Yeah,” You say, in a suspicious tone, “Lead the way blondie.”

“It’s Rosalie,” She corrects you

“Alright blondie,” You continue using that nickname

Rosalie turns to you to try and hit you. You easily block her arm with yours. For the first time since childhood, you laughed. A genuine laugh had come out of your mouth. You stopped dead in your tracks; making Rosalie turn to you.

“You okay?” she asks, walking up to you

A chill runs up your spine as you feel her gentle touch against your forearm. You look back at her with a slight surprise. But, Rosalie didn’t seem phased by your sudden change in expression.

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I haven’t laughed in awhile... It’s.. Been a very long time.”

“How long is a long time?” She asks

“Probably when I was a little kid...” You sigh, “Since then, I’ve never really learned to smile, laugh or experience any sort of positive thing...”

“I’m so sorry,” She says, her expression changing to concern, “Well, what matters most is that you now have an actual roof over your head. You are under my care now.”

“You- don’t do me any favors blondie!” You try to protest

“Too late!” She smiles, letting out a small giggle

Ooooh, I do like her.

Aren’t you a fire spirit or something? Lay off buddy.

Oh we getting jealous now huh? 

What?!- No! You aren’t physically here, so that means you can’t have blondie.

So you can?

That’s not what I’m saying- you know what, shut your trap!

“Your friend there is fond of me I see,” Rosalie blushes

“What? Him?” You ask, “You... Can hear him?”

“He’s in your head no?” She asks you

“Well, yes but- how can you know that?” You ask

“Let’s just say I’m full of surprises,” She smirks 

You watch her walk off into the kitchen as you make eye contact with what looked to be her family members. 

“I hope you’re well rested now sweetheart,” A brunette speaks

“That’s the adoptive mother and father; Carlisle and Esme,” Rosalie explains to you

“I’m sorry you have had a tough time these past few months,” Carlisle says, “But, you are more than welcome here.”

“Oh, just at least I can get back up on my feet,” You say, bashfully, “I wouldn’t want to take up any more space than I already have..”

“Nonsense!” A male voice enthusiastically says

Your feet lose contact with the ground. You let out a yelp as you try to get a vision of who had just grabbed you.

“That is my brother... Emmett Cullen,” Rosalie scoffs, “He’s a little bit... Chaotic..”

“Chaotic is my middle name,” He jokes as he sets you right back onto the ground

“Four of our other kids are somewhere around...” Carlisle explains, “Oh, they must be out hunting. You’ll see them when you see them.”

“Thank you again,” You say

Quite a family...

You’re telling me...

After you had gotten a proper meal for the first time in months, you found yourself in the library. You don’t really read that often anymore as you have come to the conclusion that it would take you a century to read a single book. 

“Looking for something in particular?” Rosalie asks from the doorway

“To be honest... No,” You answer, “I guess I’ve just been wandering aimlessly. Never really been in a house this... Spacious..”

It’ll be much more spacious when you come live with me.

Like I said before. You are not my father and don’t try to have me come to wherever the hell it is that you live in.. Not a chance..

“You don’t get along with your dad very well?” Rosalie asks

“Never knew him...” You sigh, looking out to the forestry that surrounded the estate, “My mother said he left as soon as I was born...”

“Hey, before you go on, do you... Want to talk about it elsewhere?” She asks, placing her palm over your upper arm

“That would be nice,” You slightly smile

“I know a place,” Rosalie smiles

In one swift motion, Rosalie hoists you over her shoulder.

“You better hold on leech,” Rosalie teases

“That should be ME telling you that,” You nervously chuckle

Rosalie hops out of an open window; breaking into an inhuman speed. You weren’t sure where to hold on along Rosalie’s clothing without touching an area where Rosalie wouldn’t want you to touch her. So you just hang over her shoulder. Almost like a heavy weight.

“You doing okay?” Rosalie asks

“Yep!” You sort of lie, “Good as we can be blondie!”

“We’re almost there!” Rosalie announces to the both of you

Chapter 2

[ranger-of-estel]

Finding Refuge

Day three of #CCWeek2018 by @writing-multifandom

This one is actually part of a project I’ve been toying with for a little while. Figured this was a good way to find out what you all think (That said, since it’s an early chapter this is a pre-relationship CC fic)

Alternate Universe

               Sara’s whole-body aches as consciousness slowly returns, but she finds her hip is the worst as she takes inventory. She remembers being chased by the pack, nips to her heals and calves as branches scratch her arms and face. But then one of them had lunged, caught her hip and… “Vampire!” she jerks up, crying out as the pain intensifies in her side.

               “Easy Sara, you’re safe.” A woman is at her side now, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders in waves and concern in her eyes. “You need to rest,”

               “Where am I?” she pushes down the panic that’s threatening to bubble up.

               “You’re in Refuge Manor,” she gives a gentle smile, “My name is Gideon, I’m one of the caretakers here.”

               Sara looks down to where the woman’s skin is touching her arm. “Your skin is cool.”

               The woman nods, “I am an android, I do not produce heat like most other beings.”

               Sara nods, though part of her is still processing the words. “What happened?”

“I appear to have ended your would-be execution last night.” A male voice drawls, looking up she finds the blue eyed vampire that had stepped in, throwing the wolf off of her and frightening the others.

“I suppose you’re expecting a thank you.” His keen eyes remain focused on her as her own gaze roams. He’s dressed entirely in black, the only skin she can see his face and where his long fingers hook into the pockets of his tight jeans.

“Hardly,” his smooth voice draws her attention back to his face, lips curved in a smirk as he pushes away from the wall. “Gideon sent me out to find you.”

Her attention turns curiously back to the woman at her side, “Let’s get you back on your feet, then we can answer whatever questions you may have.”

“I’m fine,” she swings her legs over the opposite side of the bed, absently noticing that she’s never seen the cargo pants and baggy shirt she’s wearing. The observation is short lived as her leg attempts to give out beneath her.

A cool hand catches her arm, waiting until she’s steady to release her. Part of her is unnerved at how quickly the man was able to move, the other part is too distracted by his eyes. His brow is furrows in something dangerously close to concern, and she quickly pulls away with a mumbled, “thanks.”

“Just didn’t want to have to pick you up off the floor.” He replies with an uninterested shrug. But still remains within arm’s reach of her.

“Leonard,” Gideon draws both of their attention. “Why don’t you take Sara for a walk on the grounds?” she motions out the door, “Then Rip and I can explain things in the study?” she turns her attention to Sara, “If you do not oppose?”

Sara shrugs, “Can’t see why not.” She glances back at Leonard, “he seems as safe as anyone right now.”

“Then it’s settled!” Gideon claps her hands together, smiling at them. “We’ll see you soon.”

Leonard motions toward the door and while having him behind her is not ideal, she wants out of the room. He moves to walk silently beside her, and she allows herself to admire the paintings and photos lining the walls. Footsteps pull her attention back up as a brunette approaches them.

“Lenny!” the girl grins, then turns her attention to Sara. “And Sara, right?”

As she gets closer Sara can see the small fangs in her smile. “That’s right…and you’re?”

“Lisa,” the woman offers her hand. “I’m Leonard’s sister.”

Sara accepts the gesture, again surprised at the difference in temperature. “It’s nice to meet you…I think.”

Lisa just laughs, eyes sparkling with a life Sara didn’t know was possible in her kind. She turns to her brother, “I’ll catch you later.” She presses a swift kiss to his cheek before dancing away.

They begin walking once more, and she glances up at her escort. “This isn’t what I pictured Coven’s looking like.”

She gets a short chuckle in return. “This is not a coven Miss Lance.” There’s a hint of real amusement in his features, “and most of the team here would take insult to being called such.” He indicates his head to a room on their right, and she follows him in.

It’s a gathering room, with couches and recliners spread around a large TV. As they enter a large man rises from one of the cushioned seats to approach them. He’s the opposite of the one beside her, his jeans and shirt loose fitting and crumpled. He radiates a heat and energy that Sara is familiar with, a slow anger building as light reflects off something around the man’s neck.

“Sara,” Leonard speaks from her side, “Meet Mick Rory, our-“

“Werewolf,” Sara finishes, looking up at the man who’s watching her curiously. “Collared like a family pet,” she growls.

“I like this one,” Mick grins, “She’s got fire.” He looks back down at her, “But the collar ain’t a form of ownership Blondie.”

“I made it,” a new woman, dark skin and jet black hair, steps up beside them. She only reaches his shoulders but has a powerful presence all the same. “It has properties to help keep his…hotter emotions…manageable.”

He smiles down at her, “Saves a bunch on clothes,”

The new figure turns back to her, “It is good to see you awake.” She rests a hand over her chest, “I’m Amaya,”

“You’re…not a wolf or a vampire.” Sara looks at her curiously.

“No, I’m a practitioner of the old arts.” She offers a wry smile, “Or a witch, by most people’s standards.” She shrugs, “But aside from a little magic, I’m quite human.”

“An android, two vampires, a werewolf and a witch co-existing…The more I see the less I understand,” she frowns.

“Refuge is a place for outcasts.” Mick shrugs, “all kinds of us ‘ere.”

“You hardly strike me as the type to be tossed aside by society,” she gives Leonard a side glance.

He’s smirking at her again, but there’s something self-depreciating this time. “You’d be surprised.” He motions back to the main hall, “Come, I’m sure Rip and Gideon are waiting.”

“Lead the way,” she motions, following him out.

She doesn’t realize she’s started to limp until he’s slowed to walk beside her. “Perhaps touring the grounds was not the best of ideas with your injuries.”

“I’ve managed with worse.” She glares, and he just watches her with a distant curiosity, but doesn’t move from his place alongside her.

The next room they enter appears to be a lab, a young man turning from one of the tables as they enter. “Snart! Good, I was hoping you could –” he trails off as Sara comes into view. “Ah, I see the newest guest is on the mend.”

“This is Sara,” Leonard replies.

“Oh!” he gives her a blinding grin. “I’m Raymond, but everyone calls me Ray.”

“Human,” Sara raises a brow.

“100%” he nods.

“So what’s your story?” she asks, looking around the room. “This seems like a strange place for a man of science.”

Before he can answer a new voice comes from a second doorway. “Ray, are you done with that plant yet? Amaya want’s it back.” Sara’s attention is caught as the light reflects off twin pairs of sheer wings on the woman’s back. They flutter impatiently as she stands with arms crossed, inky hair pulled back to reveal her dark eyes and features. She gives Sara a half-glare, “What are you looking at? Never seen a fairy before?”

“Zari, be nice!” Ray half sings as he turns, “Lily went to water it, I’ll take you to her.” He turns back to wave at Sara, “It was nice meeting you Sara!”

As Leonard leads her toward another doorway she looks back. “I’m not sure what I find more strange. The human size fairy, or the scientist in a hideaway for the supernatural.”

“Well, Dr. Frankenstein is the reason Zari is our size. She can also be small, and it’s far more irritating.” Len makes a distasteful face before shaking his head.

Sara stops, staring at Leonard’s back in surprise. “Wait, did you say Frankenstein…as in the Frankenstein?”

He turns, amusement in his eyes. “A descendent yes.” He frowns, “apparently attempting to conquer death runs in the family. It’s why he’s here.” Leonard motions forward, and they resume walking. “Raymond’s fiancé was killed, and so, struck with grief he decided to bring her back.” He shakes his head, “It failed, but was enough to catch Rip’s attention…which is a story I will let him tell.”

“Okay…so if there’s not a monster, then why is he still here?” Her body is beginning to ache, and she attempts to focus more fully on the conversation.

“The scientific community aren’t huge fans of his work. And, despite his painfully bright personality, he’s good to have around. In fact, he and the other resident science geek, Lily, are the ones who made Gideon’s current form,”

“And Lily, is she?” she cocks her head.

“Also human. Rip rescued her from a changeling nest, she’s grown up here.” He offers a half smile, “She’s some of the more tolerable company in this place.”

If he says anything else Sara misses it, her attention captured entirely by the immense library they’ve stepped into. Sunlight comes in from windows, many of which have reading nooks tucked neatly inside. Two figures rise from a table at the center of the room as they approach. One Sara recognizes as Gideon; the other, a thin man with sharp eyes and short hair in disarray, is unfamiliar.

“Hopefully Leonard was not to terrible of company,” the man has a distinctly British accent, brown duster shifting as he approaches.

Sara offers a half smile, “I’ve spent time with worse.”

“And with that,” he offers a half bow, “I have other matters to attend to.” He gives Sara one last look, “Miss Lance.” And then he’s gone.

“Vampires, they do enjoy their dramatic exits.” The other man shakes his head, making a sweeping motion toward the table. “I’m Rip, the head of this..”

“Household.” Gideon finishes as Sara sits across from her. “Dysfunctional as it may seem.” She has that little half smile again.

Rip nods, “And we’d like you to join us.” He settles next to Gideon once more, “But I’m sure you have questions, so please,” he makes an open gesture before him.

“Who are you?” she narrows her gaze, “How did you find me?”

He chuckles, “By trade I am a Hunter, one of Van Helsing’s line.” She tenses, and he waves a hand dismissively before them. “But I assure you I mean no harm.” He offers a depreciative laugh, “I have not been part of the order for many years.” He motions to the woman at his side, “As for locating you, it’s one of Gideon’s skills.”

“I am able to sense out non-human lifeforms using a vast array of information alongside my algorithms and probabilities.” Gideon picks up, “It is how I located you, and also how we knew you were not like the others of your pack.” She frowns, “I just wish we could have reached you sooner.”

Sara shakes her head, “I would not have come.” She gazes out one of the windows, “Even now there is a pull…to return to them, even though I know it would end poorly.” Her attention shifts back to Rip. “But why leave hunting?” her gaze narrows, “Why walk away from that to build this place?”

“Have you ever been in love Miss Lance?” he asks in return, sadness in his eyes.

“Yes…I think.” She frowns, “But that’s hardly an answer.”

“On the contrary, it is entirely the answer.” He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it in some disarray. “I fell in love with a woman, we were married, had a beautiful son.” He sighs, “But eventually the order learned she was not human,” there’s darkness in his eyes, “And they took my family from me.”

“I’m sorry,” she drops her head slightly, “I didn’t-“

“It’s quite alright,” he gives a small smile, and she notices how Gideon’s hand has moved to cover one of his on the table. “But that is why I made this place. Somewhere that others like Miranda; who are victims, not monsters, can live.”

She looks down to where her hands fidget against the table, and then back up to the pair before her. “You must understand, this is a lot to process.”

“Of course,” Rip nods, “Life in the Refuge is very much different than any home you have had.”

“We do not expect an answer now, only that you think on it.” Gideon offers her an encouraging smile, “Come, we have a room you can stay in while you decide.”

Sara takes the offered hand, allowing the woman to lead her up a set of stairs and down a door lined hall. “How many of you live here?”

Gideon shrugs, “It varies.” She motions to one of the doors, “Leonard likely introduced you to most of our full time residents. But there are a few that are in and out.” She motions to Sara’s clothes, “Kendra was kind enough to offer her clothing while she is away.” She shakes her heads, “Shifters do not settle anywhere very long, but she and Carter will be back I’m sure.”

Gideon stops, unlocking door and allowing it to swing open. “I must insist you remain with us until your wound has healed; but regardless of your final choice the manor is at your disposal for as long as you wish to stay.”

Sara nods, and Gideon leaves her with her thoughts. Rip is waiting when she reaches the main platform, his mouth set in a thin line. “Will she stay?”

“I cannot be sure,” Gideon shrugs, “But I do not believe she has many options.”

“I do not want to frighten her, but she is in a great deal of danger.” He sighs, “Phoenix are a rare breed, and their power is sought out by Hunters and creatures alike. The wolves already know of her existence, it is only a matter of time before others join.”

Gideon pats his arm, “Let’s not rush things, there is a good chance she will choose to remain with us for other reasons.” Her hand slides into his, fingers linking as she pulls him toward their own room. “One challenge at a time my love. One at a time.”

[strangledeggs]

Fables Of The Deconstruction: Post-punk, Hip-hop And The Avant-Garde

Nowadays, it’s old hat to refute the claims of older generations that modern pop music “just sounds like noise”. In some circles, it’s even old hat to bolster such refutations with arguments as to why those older generations aren’t entirely wrong, and that’s not a bad thing. Culturally, it would appear that noise, dissonance, abrasiveness are frequently accepted as a fact of the modern musical landscape to some degree. What might still be interesting to some is a historical explanation as to how pop music got to this point, tracing a path back to shared sensibilities between early hip-hop and post-punk. In some ways, one might be able to argue that Beyonce, Kanye and Young Thug are the heirs to the legacy of more avant-garde groups like Joy Division and the Talking Heads.

Maybe this sounds far-fetched, but bear with me for a moment: punk, in its initial form, was more of a reaction than a real set of ideals, and its reaction was primarily musical in response to a musical phenomenon. Punk was effectively the antithesis of the grandiose, semi-classical, technically-masterful stylings of progressive rock in the late 60s and 70s. This reaction at first manifested itself in what you might call a kind of primitivism: if prog-rockers wanted to play complicated music in the hopes of establishing themselves as the “high art” crowd, punk rockers ignored both any need for technical skill and any distinctions between “high” and “low” art, writing simple songs about deliberately stupid topics and often playing them badly.

Of course, primitivism can only take you so far, and by the end of the 70s many groups associated with the movement began to branch out, finding new ways to distinguish themselves not only from prog, but from the sudden indistinguishable wave of punk bands. This meant finding new approaches to music not often considered commercially viable or important, the underappreciated elements of music overlooked by the mainstream. Johnny Rotten (or John Lydon, as he went by then) may not have been any more of a talented singer for his post-Sex Pistols band Public Image Ltd., but his rhythm section developed a uniquely-warped sounding disco beat, and his guitarists used unconventional materials for eerie timbre and tone.

Though comparable to the former sworn-enemy-of-punk, disco this was not (or at least not yet – groups like New Order and ABC would later make this distinction trickier, but that’s a topic for another essay); this new “post-punk” rarely had the lush arrangements and melodic/harmonic fullness commonly heard on the dancefloor. A kind of minimalism became popular, while bands began making use of the same kinds of short, choppy polyrhythmic fragments James Brown’s bands played while they were inventing funk. Joy Division and the Talking Heads featured singers who brought technically-questionable but distinctly memorable vocal performances to the table. Texture became important, as bands began to experiment with synthesizer tones as well as exploring the full range of noises an instrument could make beyond the commonly-accepted 12 tones.

From this movement emerged a stark, harsh, challenging genre that was at times only barely pop music in its adherence to structure. Songs were constructed less for coherency or “beauty” and more for freedom of personal expression regardless of ability. But post-punk was not the only genre to embrace these sensibilities; at the very same moment in history, another new genre was finding its feet through live shows at which a new kind of performer would “rap” over loops of old funk records…

In many ways, the early days of hip-hop sounded a lot like post-punk: the music was minimalistic and repetitive, the harmonic sense was often dissonant and unsettling and the vocal performances were simultaneously abrasive and spontaneously creative. The genre seemed to function on a similar ethic to post-punk, that of a “cleaning-out” of old sensibilities, a violent destruction of an old sound (represented by appropriately harsh techniques) in order to shift the focus to a different set of musical elements that would inform the new sound. In this light, it should be no surprise that the genres actually experienced a fair amount of crossover. The Clash’s excellent “Magnificent Seven” and “Lightning Strikes” were both inspired by hip-hop, as was Blondie’s less-excellent “Rapture”. John Lydon even “rapped” on a collaboration with hip-hop pioneer Afrika Bambaataa on Time Zone’s “World Destruction”.

Though both genres have been through a lot in the decades since and have seen returns to more conventional notions of talent and skill, these underlying avant-garde tendencies have remained and surface every now and then in mainstream pop music production. One of my favourite examples of this might be Pusha T’s unrelenting “Numbers On The Boards”, a demonstration of the sublime power of minimalist aesthetics in hip-hop. Kanye’s production on the track practically suffocates listeners with its lack of discernible melody. Starved for some kind of melodic/harmonic sense, we are drawn to the set of three, maybe four tones from a percussion sample anchored by a single rumbling bass note that together create an oppressive atmosphere for Pusha T’s virtuosic articulations. His first words alone seem to carry so much power in their forcefully ejaculated consonants (as opposed to consonance) so as to temporarily silence the beat. Partway through the song, a sample of a Jay Z song plays for a single bar; it feels like the first breath of fresh air drawn by the lungs of a drowning victim as the comparatively lush production throws into contrast the abstract noise you realize you’ve been listening to. But it’s only a brief moment, as the next measure plunges the listener’s head back into the murky depths of the original beat’s hollow, almost-skeletal groove.

Young Thug’s beats may not always feel quite as powerful as that behind “Numbers On The Boards”, but his vocal delivery more than makes up for it in strangeness. There’s been enough commentary on his vocal technique and innovation that I don’t feel the need to do much explanation here, but I thought it might be interesting to compare him to another odd and innovative vocalist from the realm of post-punk: David Byrne. Both build their reputations on a unique, “quirky” style rather than technical competence and both are surprisingly expressive in their tendencies to come completely unhinged at points. Even on the Talking Heads’ debut on which the music and melodies stayed, for the most part, relatively conventional, Byrne’s delivery made something sound decidedly “off” – the easiest example is his famous wordless wail during the chorus of “Psycho Killer”, but the album is full of similar moments. What’s so interesting about Byrne is how he forgoes the sort of emoting characteristic of “raw” soul vocals that tried to express an intense emotion by pushing voices to their limits (interestingly enough, something that even most punk singers couldn’t resist); he’s still set on exploring limits, but does so by stretching his voice into strange tones, making “ugly” sonic shapes that wouldn’t normally be considered “good” singing. Young Thug mirrors this; inevitably, hip-hop’s strong ties to R&B mean his vocals draw a little more influence from “soulful” styles, but tracks like “Harambe” also showcase a desire to drop the singing pretenses and outright howl as his already-barely-discernible lyrics become completely subservient to his delivery. As the old cliché goes, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.

“Sure,” you might be saying, “I see the parallels. But Kanye and Young Thug already make ‘weird’ music that is barely-mainstream and fully outside of it, respectively. You still haven’t shown me a connection between post-punk and modern-day radio pop!” Perhaps the final and most prominent example will help clarify: Beyoncé’s own “Formation”. Despite being known primarily as a conventionally-talented singer, Beyoncé opts to “not sing” much of this song, instead reciting lyrics in a chillingly raspy drone. While this does eventually give way to a melody (and a strong one at that), the track begins with this disquieting, unmelodic delivery, with only a creeping chromatic synth line for a beat to back it. The result is jarringly tense, keeping listeners on edge in a way not dissimilar to that of “Numbers On The Boards”. Of course, “Formation” is a slow build to exuberance rather than an outright aural assault; this is a pop song, after all. But just what it builds to is intriguing. Instead of breaking into a lush, bombastic chorus typical of radio-ready pop, Beyoncé’s voice is doubled on the refrain by a horn line of unconventional harmonic composition. It matches her vocal tones, but seems to clash with the beat heard during the verse. And somehow the whole thing works; it’s dissonant, but colossal-sounding and remarkably catchy. Note, finally, that the song ends just as it began, with the receding of its pop elements giving way once more to bare chromaticism and breathy vocals. Truly, avant-pop.

Maybe you think it’s dubious of me to define a largely-black musical style in terms of a largely-white one. Indeed, it must be admitted that post-punk is vastly a “white” genre while hip-hop is undisputedly a “black” one. To this I can only respond that I don’t view the two this way and see them more in dialogue with each other rather than one exerting more influence over the other (after all, I have mentioned that James Brown’s funk was a huge influence on post-punk, and this is not the only thing the genre borrowed from black musicians). I framed this piece the way I did mainly because it’s the way I personally experienced the discovery I made, having taken a strong interest in post-punk before I started listening more carefully to hip-hop. Seeing as such, the comparison could probably have gone the other way as well – though I still think it’s more interesting to position modern pop and hip-hop in terms of its avant-garde inheritance (including that of early hip-hop), as the genealogy, if not the characteristics, seems often to be forgotten in a torrent of backlash against an older generation that misses the music’s subtleties.

All of this aside, I want to end this by proposing a possible theory that is likely incorrect, but interesting to consider all the same: this movement and interaction between post-punk and hip-hop leading up to present-day pop music could potentially be stretched into a longer historical narrative to explain the driving force that shapes pop music over time. Both genres involved a process of scrapping a previous musical method in favour of a new set of musical tools, so to speak. We might see this approach as a kind of “deconstructive” one, and thus extend it back further into pop music history. In theory, pop music is always becoming more formal as it gains in reputation, but moments of deconstruction are necessary to keep it from becoming too formulaic. Chuck Berry’s rock guitar could be seen a deconstruction of blues-based pop music (or “rhythm and blues”), something ragged and harsh-sounding built around a simple scale from which elaborate (even “elegant”) pop songs had previously been constructed. Deconstruction involves an initial simplification, but it almost always builds that simplification into a new skill previously unrecognized in pop music; hence why Berry’s guitar sounds primitive in the wake of Hendrix’s later innovations with the instrument, and why early rapping sounds like nursery rhymes compared to, say, Kendrick Lamar.

As these innovations become formalized, new ones have to take their place to prevent over-familiarization and automatization [for a more in-depth discussion of this process in art in general, see Shklovsky on formalism]. These are the points of deconstruction. Post-punk and hip-hop were each a form of this and it seems likely that they will be replaced one day by further deconstructions in pop music, possibly resulting in the formation (ha) of new genres we can’t possibly imagine yet. Such is at least one theory of how pop music could progress and develop in a sort of cyclical manner.