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it-is-bugs · 5 years

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Blake Secret Santa Fic: I’ll be Home for Christmas

I can feel @blakesecretsanta2019 sweating in her latest post, but posting with plenty of time. (two whole hours)

For @thetucc: prompt is 'Jean/Lucien or Matthew/Alice (your choice) with settled Christmas traditions (so not first Christmas together)'

Thank you to thetucc and all the fans that are keeping this fandom strong, and here’s to 2020 giving us even more to enjoy. And thank you so much to @aussiegirl41 for Ausifying.

Lucien and Jean build a new tradition, while Matthew and Alice enact their own annual celebration

***

"You put the angel on top, and it's finished."

The woman directs your tentative actions...the woman is Jean. Jean is your wife. Your wife is explaining this process, where in the colourful and shiny objects in the box are transferred to the conifer. This is done for every Christmas...it is Christmas, a holiday to celebrate friends, family, and faith. Nod and smile. Show your appreciation. Try not to react to the distress in her expression.

"Missed a spot," from behind them.

The man...the man is your friend...the man is Matthew. Not Matt, not Matty. Move the string of lights to the left, and he nods in satisfaction. Release a breath of relief.

"Lucien?" All her fear in that name.

Lucien...yes, your name is Lucien. Not Louie, not Lucky, not these names other people have been calling you since the darkness lifted. You didn't question the darkness; didn't everyone's life start in the dark?

"Yes, darling?" You find it easier than saying a name that means nothing, and there's always a glimmer of hope in her eyes when you say it.

"Why don't you help me start dinner?" she says, forcing cheerfulness.

An instinct tells you to hold out your hand to help Jean stand, which she takes and her slim finger slips along your bare ring finger. She'd asked if you'd lost your wedding ring, but she's really asking another question. You lie, and say you don't remember where you lost it.

The gold band had been the first thing you sold for food, an easy act in the moment of gnawing hunger. It had meant nothing, and the act gave you no pause to question 'where's this wife?' The only force more powerful than the hunger and pain in your skull was this need to hide, to stay in the shadows, a sense that a pursuer wanted to take your life. Surely no woman waited at home as this Jean said she had. No hearth was warm, no supper ready, no bed soft. Only the dark cold cobblestones of the back alleys felt comfortable.

The first night in this house, Jean took you to a large bed under a flickering golden ceiling. Her pale arms wrapped around you, her breasts heaved against your chest from her rapid breathing. "You're home now, my love. I never lost faith."

It would have been easy to complete this act. You were urgent and hot between your bodies, her scent was intoxicating. Her touch seemed as familiar as that of a longtime lover, but she was a stranger. For all these months you'd been another man, not her Lucien, women had reached for you, offered you this but something had stopped you. Had it been her holding your urges in check?

You'd left the bed, her embrace, and slept on the floor wedged between a dresser and a corner. This felt right and familiar. Later you moved to a bedroom by the front door; easier to leave when this all becomes too much. It is nearly too much; you vibrate like a plucked violin string all the time.

The other woman breaks your paralysis as she rises from the lounge chair where she's been reading a psychology book. "I shall help with the preparation as well." She is Alice, and she tells you that she worked with you in your role as police surgeon. An odd thing for a lady to do, but her steady, competent gaze shows she could dissect a corpse with ease.

You see dead bodies when you close your eyes, and you didn't know why. Or why you were a doctor if these thoughts fill you with dread. Shaking your head, you trail the others to the kitchen.

"Lucien, why don't you peel the potatoes for us?" The one called Alice remains cool and controlled, even as your wife bunches her shoulders at the sink and scrubs the carrots much too hard.

"Ever since I came to work at the hospital, you've made me welcome in your home at Christmas time," Alice explains as she takes down the china from the cupboards. "I'm an awful cook, so I try to help by setting the table, and bringing the wine."

You smile encouragingly. She cocks an eyebrow. No, you don't remember.

Matthew limps to the table where a bowl of potatoes waits. "I'm a much better help." Waving the paring knife at Alice, he notes, "You should be able to slice and dice a spud if you can butcher a man like a suckling pig."

"That's simply a matter of anatomy," she counters, "from years of study. I've not had the time to apply myself to cookery."

"Leave her be," Jean says sharply. "She doesn't need to cook."

You don't like to see her upset. "What's going to be on for dinner beside potatoes?" What do people eat at Christmas Eve? "Goose?" Once, there was a goose...but not here. Not in this bright light. Dim evenings, lamplight casting into dark rooms from the streets outside. A roaring fire, not these warm Australian summer nights.

Although she's not happy that you don't know, she's relieved that you're trying. "Goodness no. Too greasy. We do a nice pork roast, with roasted potatoes, pumpkin, honeyed carrots, buttered brussel sprouts and my Nanna's plum pudding for afterwards."

You can smell the pork even though you know it's still sitting raw on a plate in the fridge. "It's delicious," and she gives a genuine smile.

"Yes, yes it is, if I may say so myself."

Matthew clears his throat and you look down at the unpeeled potatoes. Picking up the knife with one hand and a spud with the other, you are uncertain what's next. Matthew still watches, and slows his motion so you can observe. Carefully, mustn't cut a finger, the curl of peeling gives satisfaction. You're surprised to find your forehead moist with sweat when you finish.

The meal is equally torturous, with many more prompts: as host, you pour the wine, slice the meat, pass the dishes.

Finally Alice lifts her glass and offers a toast that makes no one feel better: "To old friends, together again."

All through the meal, there is a tension beyond your missing past. It has form and shape. You've watched the lurking figure in the shadow out of the corner of your eye. Jean doesn't see it, Matthew seems to ignore it, Alice keeps her back to it. But you see it. You want to trust these people, but can't from the way Matthew and Alice meet gazes, then their eyes dart away. They whisper near those shadows, then part, watching Jean to assure she hasn't seen. They watch you too, checking if your attention is caught. Months on the streets of Melbourne have taught you how to keep your attention one place, while the hunter's heart watches another.

"I suppose I should be getting home," Alice says, beginning the process of giving her farwells, gathering her handbag, and moving to the door. You stay back at the table, observing the scene, alert for that deception that weighs heavily on your shoulders.

"Lucien, aren't you going to thank our guest for coming?" Jean is losing patience with you, but it doesn't matter. You will bring light to the shadows.

Matthew is equally nonchalant, tossing a "Seeya then," to Alice, then wandering back to the lounge and his newspaper.

You face Alice and don't like how her level gaze probes. Give a smile, a kiss on the cheek, and she pulls back, containing a shudder. Sometimes moving closer will push someone away.

The door shuts. "It's been a long evening. I think I'd better go to bed," you announce. Jean steps into your kiss, holding her close until you can feel her fingers' grip through your shirt. Retreating through the bedroom doorway, the heavy walnut door closes off her pained expression.

When the darkness covers the entire house, and the only sound is the low buzz of frogs, you leave the house and wait in the deep shadows by the garage. Patience is rewarded. The front door cracks open and a figure stumbles through. In the time it takes Matthew to lock the door, you dart to the auto, slide into the backseat, holding the door closed but not latched. Matthew comes to the driver's door and gets behind the wheel. As he slams his door, you can secure yours.

The auto moves slowly down the drive then picks up speed after turning onto the street. Minutes pass until Matthew stops and turns off the engine. You press down on the floorboards, holding your breath so he won't notice you.

His dragging steps fade away. Sliding from the auto, you crouch in the carpark, spotting Matthew as he goes through a side door of a large building. It's the hospital, quiet and still this late on Christmas Eve.

You follow, silent on light feet. The hunt feels good after weeks confined in that house. Matthew's distinct footfall is easy to track through the tiled corridors. You seem to know where you're going, and it's not necessary to trail him closely. Downstairs, as he travels from spot to spot of light, you remain in the shadows. At the end of a corridor, he pauses, glancing behind him and you melt back into an alcove. He goes through a swinging door. You wait, but he doesn't come out, minute after minute passing. Finally, you move forward. At the door, you listen. Low voices, speak, long pauses, speak again with urgency but you cannot make out the words.

You dare to push open the door the slightest of cracks. Easing closer, you peer through.

There's a small Christmas tree on a stainless steel topped gurney. Two glasses of champagne sit beside it, untouched. Your gaze refocuses at the sound of movement....and Matthew Lawson and Alice Harvey are engaged in an act of intimacy across the room.

Stepping back, you carefully ease the door shut and reflect. You dare to murmur, "Bloody hell." If they are involved in any conspiracy, it is none of your business. Retracing your steps, you find your way outside and look up and down the street. On Christmas Eve, there are no cars or taxis. It's a warm summer night, the sky full of stars. A walk will do no harm. You know you were once a larger man because your clothes now hang on your frame. Jean tries to fatten you up, but if you had an interest in extra pudding, it's fled. Sturdier limbs would be welcome.

A mile along a dark street, headlights catch you. The urge to flee is strong, and when the vehicle is revealed to be a blue police car, it's nearly overwhelming. It stops beside you.

A blockish face peers out. "What's up, Doc," says the policeman, a sneer on his lips.

You are a doctor. You are Doctor Lucien Blake. "I'm out for a stroll."

"Pretty far from home."

"The time escaped me."

"Get in and I'll give you a ride." It was not a suggestion, but an order.

You take the passenger seat after pausing at the back door, wondering if you should sit in the criminal's place.

"Out drinking." Again, not a question. The policeman drives swiftly but not recklessly.

"No." You realise that you haven't had a drink in days, weeks, when was the last time you drank? But you tasted whisky on your tongue the moment he said drink.

"Jean will wonder where you got to."

You don't like the way this man says your wife's name. You have no reply.

He's turned down your street--how do you know your street?--but as relief washes over you, he speaks again. "It would have been better for everyone if you'd stayed dead." He pulls into the drive.

You don't reply until you're out of the car. "But I am back and I'm not going anywhere." Every day you want to leave, but saying it aloud means it's true.

You don't thank him for the ride.

Inside the front door that you open as quietly as you can, Jean is standing, her sheer dressing gown flowing around her slender legs, her face white, her knuckles tight on her clenched fists. "Where have you been?"

"I went for a walk."

"You've been gone for hours."

She's the watcher, not Matthew and Alice.

"I lost track of time." It's a foolish thing to say.

Her fingers lace with yours. "You're freezing."

"It's a warm night."

"You're freezing," she repeats, and tugs you past the first bedroom door and down the hall to the magnificent room that she calls your bedroom. It's made you ache to enter it. It speaks to a special sort of marriage, where there's the intimacy of two people spending time alone before a fire, one reading aloud from the many volumes lining the room while another listens; her knitting while you warm your socked feet; of time spent in the large bed set at the middle of the room like a throne.

She pulls you down to the bed, and slips her dressing gown from her shoulders before holding you close. "We don't--please just let me hold you. Warm you up." Her skin is heated and smells welcoming. Your head drops to her shoulder as you're suddenly exhausted.

"Tired, my love?"

"Always."

The two of you stretch out atop the bedspread, and stare at the dead fire, suddenly muted. Finally she asks again, "Where did you go?"

After considering lying, you keep it short. "I followed Matthew. I wanted to know where he was going so late."

She goes bolt upright. "Oh, Lucien!"

"What?"

She flops back down. "Did you see anything?"

You don't want to shock Jean--

"You did. I hope you didn't embarrass them."

"I'm sure they didn't see me." You clear your throat. "They were occupied."

Her arms around you, her legs twining with yours. "Just don't tell anyone. It's their secret."

"But you know."

"Silly," she calls you.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Please don't." Her arms tighten.

Forcing yourself to relax, you listen for your memory in her soft limbs and steady breathing. She remains a stranger but you still close your eyes, and allow sleep to come.

Christmas day dawn filters around the heavy curtains, waking you before Jean. In the night, she's rolled over, her back to you. Sunbeams illuminate her spine--you see pearls down her back, she's turning to hand her bouquet to a young woman--

Your fingertips trace this sharply focused picture along her vertebrae, causing her to murmur and roll to face you. Sleepily, her eyes open then widen at your intense gaze. "Do you remember something?"

You need to respond to her pain-filled hope. "I've never forgotten I love you. Never."

Even as she collapses against your chest, you know that's not enough. If you loved her, why didn't you come back? Why did you stay away all these long months?

She kisses you anyway, tentative at first, then soft and warm, her chilled fingers plucking at your shirt buttons. Her spine arches and presses her writhing body to yours, and memories don't matter. Just this feeling of belonging to someone--this someone who seems to fit with your limbs like puzzle pieces.

A ringing from across the room; the phone is ringing.

"Jean--"

She wriggles free. "It's probably Christopher calling to wish us Happy Christmas. I don't want to miss the call." She does lean over for a quick kiss, and promises, "I'll keep it short though."

But when she picks up the receiver, her expression becomes worried. "Danny?" She half-turns away.

Danny...sandy-haired lad in a blue uniform. You in court again, more charges for petty larceny. None of it matters. A night in jail is a night with a bed and supper assured. But this time, one of the coppers in the seats waiting for his case called out: "Doc!" He was calling to you, recalling another life that you could not remember.

"Are there more charges?" Jean murmurs, winding the phone cord around her nervous fingers.

His fines had been paid, the shop owner repaid handsomely for his troubles. He'd been carried away from Melbourne in a large auto, this woman, this wife, his Jean beside him, her hand clinging to his arm tightly enough to hurt.

"Yes, yes, you can come by--" She glances to you, and you rise, straightening your clothes. "Charlie's with you too? What's wrong?" Frustrated, she says, "Alright, we'll be ready for you." She rings off.

"They'll be here in about twenty minutes." She moves to the wardrobe. "You've met Danny, but Charlie is an old friend as well." She's become used to introducing everyone to you before we met again.

She hands you a set of fresh clothing, and you take them slowly. It feels as though you're dressing for a tribunal.

Two young men arrive, the one called Danny in a uniform, and a stranger in a dark suit with a portfolio under his arm. They are not dressed for a Christmas Day visit, and their faces are grave.

Jean, her hands shaking as she grips the tray with teapot and cups, leads them to the lounge. After she pours, she sinks down beside you on the settee to face them.

"This is Charlie Davis," says Danny, "he's a detective with the Melbourne police."

"A detective," you repeat.

The two men lock eyes, as though gathering their courage.

Charlie removes a photograph from his portfolio and puts it on the table before you. "Do you know this man?"

It's an older man, about your age, with blank sullen eyes and a scar along his jaw. You touch your beard that covers your scars. You know they're there even if you can't see them.

"Who is he?" Jean asks.

You keep staring at the picture. "He's dead." You know this because his very image crushes your chest, makes your eyes burn, causes blood to rush in your ears.

Jean grips your hand tightly but you don't acknowledge her.

"His badly decomposed body was found three weeks ago, downstream from the bridge where you were last seen."

"You don't believe--" Jean gasps.

"A suicide note was found inside his pocket," Charlie quickly explains, meeting gazes with Danny again.

"At the same time that you disappeared, Doc," says Danny, "A woman named Vera Griffith was found murdered in her home. Her husband was missing." He nods to Charlie, as though they were passing a football back and forth.

"When I did my initial investigation of the murder scene," Charlie says, "Lucien's fingerprints were found on the doorknob."

This time, Jean can't even protest. She sags against you, but your body is frozen with terror.

Danny doesn't look at his aunt when he admits, "We kept this from you, Auntie Jean. We weren't sure what had happened--"

She spits out, "That's why you shut down any inquiries I made--"

"We were protecting you, Jean," Charlie offers but she only huffs louder.

Your question stops the argument: "Did I kill this poor woman?"

Shaking his head, Charlie taps the photo. "This is Michael Griffith, her husband. The suicide note was saturated with water, but our forensic scientists were recently able to decipher it. He confessed to the crime and that he was killing himself as well."

Jean sputters angrily, but your heartbeat thumping erratically between relief and anxiety.

"With the discovery of Griffith's body," Charlie says, "I searched their house again; tore it apart." He removes a thick folder from the portfolio. "I found a number of letters from Doctor Blake."

Jean turns to you. "Did you know him well?"

A flash of irritation. Of course you did. The blood in your ears has become pounding waves, and bury your head in your hands. It was cold and dark on the bridge. Shouting voices--you wanted him to come to you, to stop talking madness, why was he covered in blood? Why so much blood?

Jean takes the letters. "What's in them?"

"We need you to give us that answer," Charlie says to you, not Jean. "They're one side of the correspondence and don't tell us much. We're hoping his letters are here." Now he asks Jean, "Did you find any letters from Griffith?"

She shifts away on the settee, blushing. You're confused at her embarrassment. Of course she would go through your things when you disappeared, trying to find an answer.

"Just a bit," she admits, "But I know one place I didn't look." She hops from the settee and hurries from the room. You remain staring at the picture until she returns with a large metal box.

"Let me get that for you, Auntie Jean," Danny says, but she holds it away, giving it to you instead.

"It's Lucien's."

The box is heavy. You open the lid slowly and are confronted by a charcoal drawing of an unspeakable act being done by a Japanese soldier to a child. Jean watches you turn the drawings, one after the other. These are horrible images, but you cannot look away. Each one must be carefully examined. When the final one is seen, there's a bundle of letters underneath. You say, "Mike did the drawings. He didn't want to keep them after the war, but I couldn't see them destroyed. He thought if he burned them, those memories would go away. They never go away."

Jean stands. "Why don't you boys go down to the station. Matthew's on shift for the holidays." She's ordering them out of the house, and they know it. After looking yearningly at the letters, they leave.

When she returns from shutting the door behind them, she says, "Drink your tea."

"I've got to go through these letters."

"Drink your tea," she orders more forcibly. "I'll organise them."

As you down your tea thirstily, she puts the letters together, yours and Michael's, by postal mark date.

"Do you want to read them, or shall I?" she asks.

You touch the stack carefully, as one would lift a hot kettle. "I'll read the ones I wrote. Can you read Michael's?"

She hesitates, then nods. The first letter is from Michael. He had reached out to Lucien Blake after years of silence, reminding him that they had been in the same prisoner of war camp but had gone separate ways after returning to Australia. Now he wrote in distress.

"Sorry to be a bother, mate, but I saw your wedding announcement in the paper and thought I'd drop a line. How are you getting on? ...I can't stop the nightmares, haven't slept in days. " Jean puts down the page and looks expectantly at you.

"I am so very sorry to hear things are getting you low, Mike, and that I hadn't replied sooner. I've been on my honeymoon. If you need to talk, I'm up in Melbourne now and then."

The letters went on in the same tone, Lucien trying to help Mike, until the week before your disappearance.

Griffith had written: "No matter what I do, I can't keep the dark thoughts away. I'm just so bloody angry. Vera does nothing to help, always yapping at me to try harder. I do try, and find myself right back in this hell. How do you keep the wife off your back?"

You look down at the page before you. "Vera only wants what's best for you. Just as Jean knows the man I can be, so I work every day to be that man. You were a great artist at the darkest time and you can be great again. I'm coming to Melbourne to follow up on a case next week. Let's get together, and see if we can get you through this."

Jean taps the empty table. "That's the last of them. Why didn't you tell me about meeting up with Mike?" She's the most hurt that you've seen her.

"Our life was going so well. My troubles were behind us. If you saw this...afraid that you'd come to fear me as Vera rightly feared Mike." These are less certain memories of Lucien Blake, more words that just appear on your tongue.

She starts to protest, but then stops. Carefully, she says, "I can never know what you feel, but I do want to help."

Lifting her hand to your lips, you press a kiss to it.

She turns her hand to cradle your cheek. She whispers, "Do you remember what happened? Were you there when he did it?"

You cling to her hand as the room goes dark. You whimper, "I don't want to go back."

"If you go back to that day, perhaps you can go back to the day before and the day before that, and find yourself," she says urgently. "And I'll be there. I'll always be there to catch you when you fall."

You're shaking. "It's cold. I'm cold."

Her mouth is close to your ear. "Is Mike there?"

"Yes."

"What's happening?" She pulls you into her arms and holds you with fierce strength.

"I went to their house. Vera was already dead. I told Mike we had to go to the police. He laughed. Said I would do the same some day. I'd snap." You're babbling. "I tried to force him to his car and he knocked me down. When I got up, he'd run...run to the river....the bridge."

"You tried to stop him."

"Yes."

"But he'd already planned to jump."

"S'pose." You're so very tired. Can barely speak.

"He wanted to take you with him," she breathes, clinging to your heaving back.

"Did he?"

"You never would have jumped."

"No. But I had to try to stop him. I had to," you sob.

"Yes, you always need to try."

"Then he was falling...I was falling....we were falling."

"You survived again. He fell, but you lived."

You can't even hold your head up. You accept her embrace, your face in the shelter of the crook of her neck. "But your Lucien is gone."

"For now." Her hand makes soothing circles on your back. Minutes pass. Her hand presses your chest over your heart. "But this Lucien, perhaps he's come home to stay."

"Perhaps," you choke out. The photos have been everywhere, people talk about Lucien Blake--his humour, his compassion, his passion--as though he's not the man whose body you live in. Surely you're not enough for her?

Gently she disentangles herself and goes to the tree. She plucks a small gold box from one of the branches. Sitting beside you again, she cradles the box, seeming nervous.

"You remembered our wedding?"

"I think so. Parts." I feel as dizzy as if dancing. Music playing--

"The Christmas before our wedding, I set the date. Perhaps we should make that our new tradition." She turns my hand over and places the box in it. "Will you marry me again?"

Opening the box, I see a wedding band inside. After staring at it for a long moment, I ask, "Jean...you'd marry this man?"

"You have come back to me, don't you see that?"

I barely nod. The stone as been cleaved, and memories are seeping through.

Her chin goes up. "So, then, will you marry me? On our anniversary?"

March, our anniversary is in March. "Let's do the ceremony in the sunroom. I'll get my kiss this time."

She's breathing as though running. "You haven't answered my question."

I face her, tracing the tears on her cheeks with my thumbs. "I will, Jean. I will marry you."

~ End

#blakesecretsanta2019 #the doctor blake mysteries #lucien x jean #malice

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voodoochili · 4 years

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My Favorite Songs of 2020

With nowhere to go and nothing to do in 2020, I had plenty of time to listen to as much music as I could stand. Luckily for me and for everyone else, 2020 supplied an embarrassment of musical riches; the endless creativity of our artists providing necessary emotional support during the Worst Year Ever™.

I’ve compiled my favorite 100 songs of 2020. Again, I limited my selections to only one song per artist, but as you’ll see, I couldn’t quite stick to it this year. Narrowing the list down to 100 was a painful process, with many excellent songs left on the cutting room floor.

Check below for Spotify playlists

Top 100 Songs of 2020: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ySKk19paBFgO698vw7HTs?si=-al-SyEsTqWzqKfmEraNFw Best Songs of 2020 (Refined): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ET0aA5TPj5JDsUtosaCVv?si=MyDxjcXKQpy3SNs7dV0wIQ Best Songs of 2020 (Catch-All): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0XxtEo0PrNSyZDWBCjJtuR?si=pBZWRoNGSGWBCaqxJrHoyw

Without further ado, my favorite songs of 2020.:

25. Yg Teck - “What You Know”: Yg Teck has one of the more prominent Baltimore accents in rap music, elongating “ooh” sounds and shortening “er” sounds with reckless abandon. “What You Know” is buried towards the end of his excellent mixtape Eyes Won’t Close 2, but it stands out as one of Teck’s strongest songs. The buoyant piano-led beat offers Teck an opportunity to reflect on his struggle with heart-breaking directness: “So what if they hate me, sometimes I hate myself.”

24. Brian Brown - “Runnin” ft. Reaux Marquez: Filtering the conventions of southern rap through his easy-going drawl and omnivorous musical appetite, Brian Brown is the brightest light in Nashville’s burgeoning hip-hop scene. Built around producer Black Metaphor’s circuitous jazz piano, “Runnin” is a soulful and poetic meditation on breaking out of the staid existence that can creep up on you if you stay still for long enough. Brown serves up the song’s irresistible hook and provides a grounding presence on his second verse, evoking the styles of two Tennessee rap titans: Chattanooga’s Isaiah Rashad and Cashville’s own Starlito.

23. 42 Dugg - “One Of One” ft. Babyface Ray: Detroit producer Helluva’s beats provide the tissue that connects the Motor City with the West Coast, creating anthems that mix D-Town propulsion with soundscapes perfect for a top-down drive down PCH. The Helluva-produced “One Of One” is an electric duet between two of the D’s most distinct voices: low-talking, whistle-happy guest verse god 42 Dugg and nonchalantly fly Babyface Ray. They trade bars throughout the track, weaving between squelches of bass to talk about the ways women have done them wrong.

22. PG Ra & jetsonmade - “Keeping Time”: The phrase “young OG” was invented for guys like PG Ra, who is somehow only 20-years-old. On “Keeping Time,” the South Carolina rapper spits sage-like wisdom about street life over Jetsonmade’s signature trampoline 808s, decrying nihilism and emphasizing the importance of holding strong convictions in a deliberate, raspy drawl: “Oh, you don't give a fuck 'bout nothing, then you damn wrong/Cause every soldier stand for something if he stand strong.”

21. Empty Country - “Marian”: After spending a decade as the main songwriter for Cymbals Eat Guitars, Joseph D'Agostino is an expert at crafting widescreen indie anthems. CEG is no more, but D’Agostino is still doing his thing, opening the self-titled album of his new entity Empty Country with “Marian,” a chiming and heartfelt power ballad with sunny vocal harmonies and a fist-pumping riff. It’s hard to make out the lyrics on the first few spins, but a closer listen reveals some striking imagery (“In a sea of Virginia pines/A burnt bus”), as the narrator imagines the life that lies ahead for his newborn daughter.

20. Raveena - “Headaches”: Raveena’s music is a soothing balm, capable of transforming any negative emotion into peaceful reverie. “Headaches” starts as a sensual, woozy, reverbed-out slow jam–typical Raveena territory, perfect for emphasizing the enlightened sensuality that she exudes in her vocals. The song mutates in its second half into an invigorating bit of dream pop, picking up a ringing guitar riff and a prominent backbeat as Raveena struggles to stay close to the one she loves (“There's no sunset, without you”).

19. Los & Nutty - “I’m Jus Fuckin Around” ft. WB Cash: In which three Detroit emcees receive an instrumental funky enough for ‘90s DJ Quik and proceed to not only not ride the beat but to fight so hard against it you’d think they’re training to get in the ring with Mayweather. I love Michigan rap.

18. Sufjan Stevens - “My Rajneesh”: I’ve never seen Wild Wild Country, or read about Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh and his cult, so I don’t know too much about the subject matter of “My Rajneesh.” I do know, however, that it’s a story that involves crises of faith and the state of Oregon, which means it fits perfectly into Sufjan’s milieu. “My Rajneesh” does an excellent job of relaying the ecstasy of a devout believer, layering celebratory chants, South Asian traditional percussion, and glitchy electronics into a 10-minute epic. As the song progresses, the sonic tapestry grows distorted, mimicking the emptiness that lies beneath Rajneesh’s surface and the darkness and confusion faced by his followers when the illusion fades.

17. Koffee - “Lockdown”: Leave it to rising dancehall superstar Koffee to find ebullient joy in a situation as bleak as quarantine. Weaving around piercing guitar licks and euphoric vocal samples, Koffee schemes to turn her lockdown romance (”quarantine ting”) into a long-term deal, fantasizing about travel with her love even as she’s content to just spend time in her apartment. Everything is dandy as long as they're in the same room.

16. Rio Da Yung OG & Louie Ray - “Movie”: Flint’s answer to Detroit’s “Bloxk Party,” one of the best rap songs of the past decade. Rio and Louie trade verses throughout the song, competing with one another to see who can be the most disrespectful.

Rio’s best line: “Ma don't drink that pop in there, I got purple in it/I know it look like Alka-Seltzer, it's a perky in it”

Louie’s best line: “Let me cut my arms off before I ball, make it fair”

15. Ratboys - “My Hands Grow”: “My Hands Grow” shines like an early-morning sunbeam, hitting that circa-2001 Saddle Creek* sweet spot with aplomb. But “My Hands Grow” is more than just a throwback–it’s an oasis, populated by sweeping acoustic guitars, electric leads with just the right amount of distortion, and especially Julia Steiner’s affectionate vocal, which blooms into gorgeous self-harmonies during the bridge.

*Obligated to add that this song came out before Azure Ray signed to Saddle Creek, but the point stands.

14. J Hus - “Triumph”: J Hus and Jae5 have the kind of telepathic artistic connection and song-elevating chemistry only present in the best rapper-producer pairs. A great example of how their alchemy blurs the lines between genres, “Triumph” is the J Hus/Jae5 version of a boom-bap rap track. Hus rides Jae5’s woodblock-and-horn-accented beat with unassailable confidence, gradually elevating his intensity level as he sprays his unflappable threats. Like most of Hus’s best songs, “Triumph” is home to an irresistible hook, which I can’t help but recite whenever I hear the words “violence,” “silence,” or “alliance” (more often than you think!).

13. Sada Baby - “Aktivated”: Every post-disco classic from the early ‘80s could use a little bit of Sada Baby’s wild-eyed intensity and dextrous flow. On “Aktivated,” Sada runs roughshod atop Kool & The Gang’s ‘81 classic “Get Down On It,” turning it into an irresistible and danceable anthem about going dumb off a Percocet. Sada is a master of controlled chaos, modulating his voice from a simmer to a full-throated yell within the space of a single bar. It really makes lines like “Coochie made me cry like Herb in the turtleneck” pop.

12. Yves Tumor - “Kerosene!”: Prince is one of the most-imitated artists on the planet, but while most artists can only grasp at his heels, Yves Tumor’s “Kerosene!” reaches a level of burning passion and sexual literacy that would make The Purple One proud. A duet with Diana Gordon, “Kerosene!” is a desperate plea for connection, each duet partner thinking that a passionate dalliance might cure the emptiness inside. The song vamps for five minutes, filled with guitar pyrotechnics and moaning vocals, its extended runtime and gradual comedown consigning the partners to a futile search for a self-sustaining love that won’t burn itself out when the passion fades.

11. Special Interest - “Street Pulse Beat”: “Street Pulse Beat” sounds like “Seven Nation Army,” as performed by post-punk legends Killing Joke. It’s a strutting, wild, propulsive anthem–part come-on, part self-actualization, all-powerful. Dominated by an insistent industrial beat and the fiery vocals of frontperson Alli Logout, whose performance more than lives up to the song’s grandiose lyrics (““I go by many names such as Mistress, Goddess, Allah, Jah, and Jesus Christ”), “Street Pulse Beat” was the song released this year that made me miss live music the most.

10. Megan Thee Stallion - “Savage” (Remix) ft. Beyonce: The first-ever collaboration between these two H-Town royals was the most quotable song of the year, firing off hot lines and memorable moments with an effortless majesty. Megan does her thing, bringing classy, bougie, and ratchet punchlines about the men who grovel at her feet, but it’s who Beyoncé elevates the track to transcendence. She prances around the outskirts of Megan’s verses, applying the full force of her lower register to her ad-libs (“THEM JEANS”), and during her verses, the Queen proves once again that you can count the number of rappers better than her on your fingers.

9. DJ Tunez - “Cool Me Down” ft. Wizkid: WizKid is almost alarmingly prolific, releasing enough amazing songs per year that he would be a worthy subject of his own “best-of” list. My favorite WizKid song of 2020 didn’t come from his excellent album Made In Lagos–instead it was this team-up with Brooklyn-based DJ Tunez. A favored collaborator of WizKid (Tunez is partially responsible for career highlights like 2019’s “Cover Me” and 2020’s “PAMI”), Tunez’s organic and textured approach to Afrobeats is an excellent fit for his voice, mixing swelling organs, 808 blocks, and the occasional stab of saxophone into a percolating concoction. The “Starboy” rises to the occasion, hypnotically repeating phrases in English and Yoruba, making octave-sized leaps in his vocal register, and stretching syllables like taffy as he sings the praises of his lady love.

8. Sorry - “Rock ‘n’ Roll Star”: Part swaggering indie anthem and part skronking no wave, “Rock ‘n’ Roll Star” struts with the woozy confidence of someone who’s had just the right amount to drink. It’s the ideal throwback to late L.E.S. (or Shoreditch) nights, sung with irresistible gang vocals on the chorus and a detached sneer on the verse that jibes with the sinister undertones of the deliberately off-key backing track.

7. Destroyer - “Cue Synthesizer”: As Dan Bejar ages, he becomes less like a singer and more like a shaman, his incantatory near-spoken word verses grounding his band’s instrumental heroics. On “Cue Synthesizer,” Bejar plays the role of conjurer, summoning synthesizers and electric guitars in celebration of music’s ability to breathe life into modern mundanity.

6. Chloe x Halle - “Do It”: Pillow-soft R&B that walks the fine line between retro and futuristic, powered by the Bailey Sisters’ playfully twisty melodies and sumptuous production from a somewhat unexpected source. That’s right, piano man Scott Storch took a break from smoking blunts with Berner to deliver his smoothest beat since he teamed with Chloe x Halle mentor Beyoncé for “Me Myself & I” in 2003.

5. Fireboy DML - “ELI”: Nigeria singer Fireboy DML is an unabashed fan of ‘90s adult contemporary, worshipping idols (‘90s Elton John, Celine Dion) that even some devout poptimists wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. A modern-day retelling of the Biblical fable of Samson and Delilah, “ELI” seems to take inspiration from Ace of Base’s “All That She Wants,” its rocksteady beat, wobbling bassline, snake-charming flute, and “lonely girl, lonely world” lyrics recalling the 1994 Swedish pop smash. It’s a testament to Fireboy’s charisma and melodic mastery that “ELI” is as invigorating as “All That She Wants” is annoying. He switches from playful flirtation on the verse, to hopeless devotion on the chorus, to lascivious swagger on the bridge, gently ratcheting up the intensity in his vocals until the song’s climactic guitar solo* grants glorious release. *The build-up on “ELI” is so great that it makes it easy to ignore that the guitar solo itself is a mess. It sounds like the producers couldn’t get Carlos Santana, so they settled for Andre 3000 instead.

4. The Beths - “Dying To Believe”: If you’ve ever audibly cringed while thinking about something you’ve said or done in the past, The Beths have the song for you. Carried by its driving backbeat, “Dying To Believe” chronicles singer Liz Stokes’s rumination on a crumbling friendship, her fear of confrontation preventing her from removing her toxic friend from her life. Though the lyric is pained and uncertain, there’s no such lack of confidence in the music. An adrenaline rush of muscular, sugary power pop, “Dying To Believe” is an immaculate construction, each fuzzy guitar riff arriving with mathematical precision and each “whoa-oh” chorus hitting like a ton of bricks. Jump Rope Gazers might not have been as consistent as the Auckland, NZ band’s self-titled debut, but “Dying To Believe” is as good as anything on that album and helps solidify The Beths’ deserved reputation as some of the best songwriters and tightest performers on either side of the International Date Line.

3. The 1975 - “What Should I Say”/“If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)”: I know, I know. I was supposed to only pick one song per artist, but sue me, this is my list and I just could not decide between these two. The 1975 have always balanced their affinity for ‘80s-style pop anthems with an interest in experimental electronic music. In 2020, they released the two very best songs of their career, each seemingly fitting into one of those two boxes. On its face, “If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)” is the band’s transparent attempt at recording their own “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”–it’s in D Major, it has a chugging backbeat, an echoing two-chord riff in the verse, and an ascending E Minor progression in the pre-chorus. Where the Tears For Fears classic takes a birds-eye look at the yuppie generation, Matty Healy uses his song’s swelling bombast and gleefully cheesy sax solo to explore the awkward intimacy of cyber sex. The burbling Eno-style synth that opens up “If You’re Too Shy” evokes a dial-up connection, simulating the thrill of discovery felt by those whose only connection to the outside world comes through their screens.

“What Should I Say,” meanwhile, combines Boards Of Canada-esque bloops with bassline that strongly resembles Mr. Fingers’ oft-sampled “Mystery Of Love”, over which Healy sings in a heavily-manipulated voice that sounds like the lovechild of Travis Scott and Sam Smith. Fittingly for a song about loss for words, the best moments of “What Should I Say” spring from vocal manipulations, imparting more emotional resonance than mere words could ever hope to provide. The final minute of “What Should I Say” is almost tear-jerkingly beautiful, as a single computerized voice cuts through cacophony, determined to let the world know how it feels, language be damned.

2. King Von - “Took Her To The O”: His career was far too short, but King Von had plenty of chances to demonstrate his god-given storytelling ability before he passed away in November. Accompanied by regular collaborator Chopsquad DJ’s chaotic, circular pianos, Von recounts an eventful night in his home neighborhood of O’Block. Von’s gripping narrative is packed with writerly detail (“Nine missed calls, three of them from ‘Mom,’ other six say ‘Duck’”), peeking into his justifiably paranoid state-of-mind (“My Glock on my lap, I'm just thinkin' smart”) and ending with a smirk on a bit of gallows humor that recalls prime Ghostface. Long Live Von.

1. Bob Dylan - “I’ve Made Up My Mind To Give Myself to You”: It’s impossible to escape that 2020 was a year of mass devastation, on a scale not seen in American life since the second World War. In the midst of the cascading chaos of this year, I married my best friend. So it’s fitting that the song that resonated most with me this year was “Throat Baby (Go Baby)” by BRS Kash.

*Ahem* Excuse me. It was a love song, and not just any love song: the finest love song of Bob Dylan’s six-decade, Nobel Prize-winning career.

Bob Dylan spent much of the 2010s trying his hand at the Great American Songbook, applying his craggy croon to standards made famous by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. It felt like a weird turn for such an iconoclastic figure, one known for his massive (and valuable) library of originals. “I’ve Made Up My Mind To Give Myself To You” proves that Bob’s covers and Christmas albums weren’t larks or cash grabs, but an old dog’s attempt to learn new tricks by digging into the past.

“IMUMMTGMTY” shares a lot of DNA with “The Way You Look Tonight” and “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” bringing florid metaphors and touching pledges of devotion, but it also inherently understands that love is a decision–a weighty decision that imparts great responsibility–as much as it’s a feeling. What really makes “IMUMM” sing is the tastefully folksy arrangement, which ties into the old weird America explored by Dylan’s compadres in The Band, filled with bright Telecaster leads and easily-hummed choruses. And the lyrics are excellent even by Bob’s elevated standards. It turns me into a puddle every time I listen. I’ll let Bob take it from here:

Well, my heart's like a river, a river that sings Just takes me a while to realize things I've seen the sunrise, I've seen the dawn I'll lay down beside you when everyone's gone

Here’s the rest of the list. Check back later this week for my albums list!

26. Katie Gately - “Waltz” 27. Bonny Light Horseman - “Bonny Light Horseman” 28. Bullion - “Hula” 29. Omah Lay - “Lo Lo” 30. Greg Dulli - “Sempre” 31. Fiona Apple - “Shameika” 32. Anjimilie - “Your Tree” 33. Key Glock - “Look At They Face” 34. Lido Pimienta - “Te Queria” 35. Morray - “Quicksand” 36. Obongjayar - “10K” 37. Xenia Rubinos - “Who Shot Ya?” 38. Kiana Lede - “Protection” 39. Flo Milli - “Weak” 40. G.T. - “What You Gon Do” 41. Chris Crack - “Hoes At Trader Joe’s” 42. Lil Baby - “The Bigger Picture” 43. The Orielles - “Memoirs of Miso” 44. Shoreline Mafia - “Change Ya Life” 45. Masego - “Mystery Lady” ft. Don Toliver 46. Junglepussy - “Out My Window” ft. Ian Isiah 47. Siete Gang Yabbie - “Gift Of Gab” 48. Rosalía - “Juro Que” 49. Black Noi$e - “Mutha Magick” ft. BbyMutha 50. BFB Da Packman - “Free Joe Exotic” ft. Sada Baby 51. Andras - “Poppy” 52. Lianne La Havas - “Weird Fishes” 53. Crack Cloud - “Tunnel Vision” 54. Lil Uzi Vert - “No Auto” ft. Lil Durk 55. Fred again… - “Kyle (I Found You)” 56. Burna Boy - “Wonderful” 57. Lonnie Holliday - “Crystal Doorknob” 58. Mozzy - “Bulletproofly” 59. Tiwa Savage - “Koroba” 60. Frances Quinlan - “Your Reply” 61. Ariana Grande - “my hair” 62. Bad Bunny - “Safaera” ft. Jowell & Randy & Ñengo Flow 63. Yhung T.O. & DaBoii - “Forever Ballin” 64. Katie Pruitt - “Out Of The Blue” 65. Sleepy Hallow - “Molly” ft. Sheff G 66. Niniola - “Addicted” 67. Prado - “STEPHEN” 68. Drakeo The Ruler - “GTA VI” 69. Boldy James - “Monte Cristo” 70. Caribou - “Like I Loved You” 71. Andy Shauf - “Living Room” 72. Hailu Mergia - “Yene Mircha” 73. Kabza de Small & DJ Maphorisa - “eMcimbini” ft Aymos, Samthing Soweto, Mas Musiq 74. Gunna - “Dollaz On My Head” ft. Young Thug 75. Roddy Ricch - “The Box” 76. The Lemon Twigs - “Hell On Wheels” 77. Sun-El Musician - “Emoyeni” ft. Simmy & Khuzani 78. Madeline Kenney - “Sucker” 79. Natanael Cano - “Que Benedicion” 80. ShooterGang Kony - “Jungle” 81. Don Toliver - “After Party” 82. Chicano Batman - “Color my life” 83. Pa Salieu - “Betty” 84. Chubby & The Gang - “Trouble (You Were Always On My Mind)” 85. Dua Lipa - “Love Again” 86. Rucci - “Understand” ft. Blxst 87. Skilla Baby - “Carmelo Bryant” ft. Sada Baby 88. Bartees Strange - “Boomer” 89. Jessie Ware - “Read My Lips” 90. The Hernandez Bros. & LUSTBASS - “At The End Of Time” 91. Brokeasf - “How” ft. 42 Dugg 92. Mulatto - “No Hook” 93. Eddie Chacon - “Outside” 94. Veeze - “Law N Order” 95. Polo G - “33” 96. Bktherula - “Summer” 97. Jessy Lanza - “Anyone Around” 98. Perfume Genius - “On The Floor” 99. ComptonAssTg - “I’m Thuggin’” 100. Mario Judah - “Die Very Rough”

Honorable Mentions: Jamila Woods - “SULA (Paperback)” Demae - “Stuck In A Daze” ft. Ego Ella May Good Sad Happy Bad - “Bubble” Guerilla Toss - “Human Girl” Kaash Paige - “Grammy Week” ft. Don Toliver Kre8 & CJ Santana - “Slide!” Laura Veirs - “Another Space & Time” Angelica Garcia - “Jicama” Malome Vector - “Dumelang” ft. Blaq Diamond OMB Bloodbath - “Dropout” ft. Maxo Kream SahBabii - “Soulja Slim” Shabason, Krgovich & Harris - “Friday Afternoon” Skillibeng - “Mr. Universe” Waxahatchee - “Fire” Westerman - “Float Over”

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galandrielle · 7 years

Text

The Story of my Story

Primary School

It all began when I was 8 or 9 years old. I was a lonely kid in general and I liked wandering around and imagining stories to entertain myself. My very first stories included myself, some random classmates of mine, Donald Duck and his family, fairies, smurfs, magical lands etc. I barely remember ANY of them, so I will not analyze them at all, plus, even the fact that I brought them in my mind again makes me wonder what the hell was going on with me back then. Soon, I thought that Donald Duck needed a younger sister (except Huey, Dewy and Louie’s mother) who would be adventurous, awesome and helping me (and ALL the other characters I mentioned before) face issues. So I created a duck named Nancy Duck and she was based A LOT to my sister. It was technically her (even the name is the same). But I made her to have short instead of long hair, and it was first blond and then black (even though my sister’s real color is brunette-blond).

Anyway, like I didn’t believe Nancy had enough adventures with EVERYONE, I decided to create a bunch of friends for her. I don’t exactly remember them completely, but I do remember the basics. They were these guys: - Mary, a lovely girl with long brown curly hair and glasses. In real life, she used to be friends with my sister. (They are not friends anymore.) - Spyrous, a very sassy and meany, yet faithful friend with emo-styled brown hair. In real life, he had been friends with my sister for a long time. (They are not friends anymore either.) - John, a very cool, nice and caring duck with black messy hair. (He was also Nancy’s boyfriend.) Unlike the others, he was the only one who wasn’t a real person. He literally popped in my head, yet for no specific reason I decided that I wanted to keep him. The friends were added at the end of primary school, with another one to join them very soon…

Middle School

When middle school began, I threw away almost ALL the characters, keeping only Nancy and her friends. (It had to be done, too many characters to deal with!) And another member was added. Antigoni, a girl I met at middle school, became my best friend and we were friends for a long time. But when we changed schools, things got weird and we got separated. I’m not gonna analyze what exactly happened, but I’ll just let you know that it was for the best. Antigoni at my story was another faithful friend, yet a little coward, and she had brown hair, always in a strand. She and Spyrous fighted all the time (because the real Spyrous didn’t actually like the real Antigoni from the way I described her and I really thank God they never met each other), but when times were serious, they always cooperated to save the day!

At the middle of middle school (well, that sounded weird), I decided to take these guys more seriously and not making them live adventures like the ones Donald, uncle Scrooge and the three nephews did. So I changed their form, added more details to their appearance and character AND did a replacement. I will now need your attention, so try to bare with me and again, understand that I don’t remember anything. So here we go: - Nancy didn’t have “Duck” as the last name and she was definitely not a duck anymore. Her last name was my sister’s (and mine, but I’m not revealing it), she had blue eyes, pale skin and she pretty much looked like my sister (but I still kept the short hair, though I did later on change the black into the actual brunette-blond both my sister and I have). - Mary was replaced by another, newer friend of my sister’s. It was Irene, a badass, kind of punky girl with long dark wavy hair, dark brown eyes and tanned skin. She and my sister became friends at middle school. (They are not friends anymore. Surprise, surprise.) Her last name was the same as in real life. (I also made her be a couple with Spyrous.) This replacement was my sister’s idea, since she believed Irene would suit more at the new story I was thinking. (She, real Irene and real Spyrous were the only ones who knew about that story.) - Antigoni didn’t change much either, she got brown eyes and her personality just turned into a more different than the real one’s. Her last name was the same as in real life. - Spyrous’ hair became a little shorter, and to be honest, I think they were changing a lot in my head. Anyway, he got brown eyes (not a specific color either) and his last name was the same as in real life. (And I still kept his fights with Antigoni.) - John wasn’t a duck anymore. He got bright green eyes, pale skin like Nancy’s, but the hair remained the same. As well about last name, he never got one, so I decided to leave it this way, since I kept everything for myself and I had no reason to find one.

So now, you guys are wondering: what was their story now since I decided to stop the adventures that were similar to the comics I read? Well, it’s pretty simple; they had supernatural powers. (They could also control the elements.) That’s right, the new story was about them being the chosen ones to save the world. Marks appear at their right palms when they are 14, but when the truth is revealed between them, they had to learn how to cooperate in order to win the war against the dark powers. All these with also facing personal problems. (I will not write who had which powers, because there were so many, but you’ll see at the end who controlled which element.) Soon, I added three more characters that were based on real people as well and were supposed to be their protectors (who also had some small powers for that reason), but there is no point in me analyzing them and their backstory, because other than this story, I never used them again. I will just say that it was two twin boys (one of them became Antigoni’s boyfriend, because the real Antigoni had a crush on the real him when we first became friends) and a girl (with whom the other twin became couple, but there were the real people never fell in love with each other). Also, I tried to ACTUALLY write this story (in Greek) for my sister to read it (as I already said, she, Irene and Spyrous were the only ones who knew about me making it), but I never finished it and when the current story appeared, I gave up on it. But this story didn’t go completely wasted…

High School

Right at the year I joined high school, I watched a greek TV show that was called “Burn the Script”. It was about five people (four men, one woman) who were doing improvisation games on stage with live audience (which was helping too). And that’s when I thought how cool it would be if my characters did the same. So I decided to create another alternate universe (I had already created one where the five friends were a teen band, but I wasn’t really using it) at which the story with the supernatural powers was only a movie; the five were actually actors and after the movie, they decided to present a show called “Burn the Script”; with the exact same content the greek one had. (I also added them doing the show at a theater before an agent finded them and asked them to do the movie in order to transfer it on TV, because the actors at the real show were at a theater too before it was transferred on TV.) And that was where I loved imagining them facing situations, like problems with the show, popularity etc. And the story ended when the show was over after being on TV for three seasons.

The funny thing is that these alternate universe people NEVER had new names. I was just making and changing the stories in my mind without bothering finding new names, where they are from etc. But I DID slowly created their backstories and changed their characters; I actually broke their bonds with the people they were based at, turning all of them into independent characters with their own story and their own personality (except “John”, who again was 100% created from zero, not being based to a real person). And most of these properties still exist at the current story. Now here’s the key part; before, I was focusing only at Nancy; or, the actress who was Nancy. Then, I focused to all of them in order to figure out their backstories, but there was one special backstory that got me into a lot of thoughts and believed that it was important: the story between the two boys of the team.

If it wasn’t obvious, the five characters first met at the audition of “Burn the Script” when it was on theater; with “Nancy” doing the audition. (That happened because at the real show, a famous stand-up comedian had the idea for it, did auditions in order to find actors for it AND was giving the instructions on what the actors had to do at every scene; so, I decided she would do the same, but being less famous.) They steadily became friends, but somehow I was thinking to make the two boys become friends slower than the others. I didn’t know how or why, I don’t even remember why my mind wanted me to do this, but I did it. So, instead of just throwing it away, I started finding a backstory which would explain why the two males didn’t immediately become friends. And slowly, but steadily, I created it. In order to do that, I had to create more characters, and specifically family members for “Spyrous”; his mother, his stepfather, his aunt, his uncle and finally his cousin. None of them had names either, but I did want the cousin to have a big part at the story too, so I made him find the five in LA, and after succeeding in staying, he would try to make his dream come true and become a songwriter/singer. And he would succeed it RIGHT before “Burn the Script” was officially over. And he would also become the savior in order for the five friends to stick together as a real family, even after the end of the show.

So, the story was ready. I had remade it again to fit better with the extra details I added and the characters were remade to look different (at both appearance and personality) from the real-life people they were based at (still not having actual names, though). I had also added a new character, “Antigoni” ’s unnamed son, who is born during the second season of the show. There was no way the story was continuing after the show was over and I had no purpose in writing it. But when school was over, everything changed…

University

The year I succeeded in making it to university, I made a DeviantArt account, which was created in order for me to leave comments and show my appreciation to the artists I have known since the summer of the same year. I also did drop some “art” I had made so that my page wasn’t completely empty, but I felt like it needed something more. And I thought: since I can’t draw, why not write instead? And somehow, I already knew what to write. But then, another problem showed up: if I had to actually write this story, I had to find names (and places of origin); especially for the two males, since I had decided I really wanted THEM to be the main characters because of their interesting backstory. So, the first step was to find names for these two and later on for the rest of the characters. I believed that “John” wouldn’t change name at all; it really suited him, so I went with it. And as well about the second male, after thinking a lot of names, I decided that Michael was a good enough name. So, the story was called “Michael & John: A Story of Friendship”. And after some working, the Prologue was ready. I asked people I followed how to write on DA and with their help, I posted my first work of writing. I sent it to them and after all of them told me to keep it up and gave me some helpful tips, I decided to continue. And at the beginning of the new year, I began uploading it on Wattpad as well. Looking up USA maps, first names and last names, I found their last names and places of origin; and as I was progressing the story, I soon had more information for ALL of my characters. (Even their appearances became now clearer; Michael actually got brown spikey hair instead on undetermined haircut and light brown eyes.) But, when I had the whole story in my head, ready to be written, I started having doubts. Did I really want to end it there?

Fortunately, a favorite habit of mine, which had appeared before I started writing, helped me determine the existence of a sequel: watching Youtube. Yeah. That’s right. Youtube. And I’ll explain why. Watching all of these Youtubers playing games, screaming, swearing and having fun in general, especially when they were having collabs, made me think about how similar they were to Michael and John; they played games and had fun the same way. See, I had already given them the love for video games and playing together, so it wasn’t hard enough for me to think how they would be as Youtubers. And that’s when I knew how the story could continue. Now I knew what would happen to the characters when “Burn the Script” was over. While still writing the first story, I was keeping notes for the sequel. It took me a long time to figure out the details, like the name and the logo of their channel, to organize the facts etc. And the funny thing is, I haven’t completely finished it yet.

After six months of writing, the first story was finally over and my hype made me begin the second one almost immediately. And its name is “Psychoburners”; the name of the channel Michael and John have. Unfortunately, unlike the first story, this one is not complete yet on my head and it will take a longer time to be finished. But it will be finished! I give you my word! Anyway, the sequel is about Michael and John becoming Youtubers and facing new problems, but also meeting new friends; all of these with the help of their old friends, their new family. No spoiling though, you gotta read and find out by yourselves what will happen! (I will just reveal that almost all of them will dye their hair, each with a different way… You’ll see why.)

The Evolution of the Additional Characters (sorted from oldest to most recent)

Me, my classmates, some fairies, the smurfs, Donald Duck, Scrooge Mc Duck, Huey, Dewy and Louie Duck ——> DISCARDED My three friends (not revealing their names) ——> The Three Protectors ——> DISCARDED "Antigoni" 's unnamed son ——> James (Jimmy) Kelly "Spyrous" ' unnamed mother ——> Emma Blunt "Spyrous" ' unnamed stepfather ——> Nathan (no last name) "Spyrous" ' unnamed aunt ——> Janet Blunt "Spyrous" ' unnamed uncle ——> David (n.l.n.) "Spyrous" ' unnamed cousin ——> Sean Blunt

The Evolution of the Five (s.f.o.t.m.r)

Real Nancy (my sister) ——> Nancy Duck (duck form) ——> Nancy the "Chosen One" (she could control all the elements) ——> Unnamed "Burn the Script" actress/stand-up comedian ——> Emily Evans Real Mary ——> Comic Mary ——> REPLACED BY ——> Real Irene ——> Irene the Waterbender ——> Unnamed "Burn the Script" actress ——> Evelyn Belrose Real Spyrous ——> Comic Spyrous ——> Spyrous the Firebender ——> Unnamed "Burn the Script" actor ——> Michael Blunt John (duck form) ——> John the Earthbender ——> Unnamed "Burn the Script" actor ——> John Cole Real Antigoni —–> Comic Antigoni ——> Antigoni the Airbender ——> Unnamed "Burn the Script" actress ——> Amy Kelly

#galandrielle #storytime #stories by ellie

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crowblackbird · 7 years

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The City of Beautiful Liars: Part 2. The Life and Times of Louie Caldo.

My name is Louie Caldo, Italian by origin, I even grew up there, until my last year of high school. I liked being the cool guy with the cool accent, I couldn’t help it. I was learning to speak English in my last year of school in Amerikka. I knew Bon Jovi’s real Italian name, and I knew how to say it, it drove the girl’s nuts. Needless to say, I got a lot of girls that year. All the guys were jealous. They wanted to know which one was the easiest. I said no one was easy, we just talked, held other, kissed, we made love. When we were done, we promised to love each other forever. The guys all got lost in thought, but the hardest part I said, was saying good bye and good night.

Just thinking of this makes me wanna dance. I float back in time, we lived in the beautiful ancient part of Trastevera, the original slum area of ancient Rome, Italy. One day, my Dad got a job in the late 80’s as a software engineer. Was a good time for us, we had money. My Dad developed, some of the early laptops(which were never sold!). We all still live here, Amerikkka is our home. I also married a beautiful Amerikkkan Indian woman, she came with a small child a turning three: girl. It took a long time for that little angel to like me, at least I think it did. Even now, as we are separated, I wonder if the little 11 year old girl misses me, or ever wishes dearly that I was there.

Those past times, when we said, “good night, I love you.” I would then say in my typical Dad humor, dream of blue turtles. “Blue turtles?”

“Yeah, it’s an album by STING. Dream of Blues Turtles, or purple ones or pink ones.

She would laugh, and say, “good night.”

I will never know if that little girl thinks of me, I want to know. If I had a chance I would hold that little girl, along with her Mom. So close. I would tell them both, I am so sorry I left. Daddy needs you, you two wonderful girls are a part of Louie’s heart. I know we would hold each other so tight, and maybe even cry. I know I would. I fear I am too weak of a man. I wasn’t strong enough to stay, I wasn’t strong enough to fight the same desires my parents had: the urge to go. Ya, you guessed it. They eventually did separate. They both claim to be living happy separate lives. Maybe this is what will be with my wife and I, in the future.. Maybe she and the little girl are both living this happy separate life without me.

There’s me like a sick Husband, lying in bed, calling on his wife to care for him. She loves to cater, he tells her she doesn’t have to. She, like a faithful person, says she loves him, so it is no problem. What would I do without you, he says. Prolly die, she grins back. He laughs, knowing why he fell in love with her. Her grin and her sense of humor with him, towards him. He could be in a room full of people and all he heard was her. It has happened several times.

Instead with me and my wife, it was tense. I never knew if she was bored, or having a good time. There were a few times, he admitted, he saw he looking over at him. They would exchange a smile, it was a type of love making. He really did enjoy that, when they got home, the sex was different. It was more tender, he forgot about what we doing and was taken back to the party they had attended. He saw her in my mind, what she was wearing, and they way in which she held herself, as she spoke to that other woman.

She said he ogled women, fuck that shit! He was just surprised those other women didn’t look as good as his. He was disgusted in all the other women. Only she mattered to him. Then he would thrust, and she would moan, “oh you are so deep.”

This would always bring him back to the moment. Louie remembered a few nights, when they were going at it hard and sweaty. He said, “I love you my beautiful wife.” She said, “I love you my wonderful husband.”

Louie calls The Beautiful City Help-Line: She always claimed I was flirting with other women, in a way I guess I was. She told me to lose contact with them, but I didn’t. I didn’t believe a few words of hello would turn into such arguments just between the two of us. I was being lazy and noncommittal. This is why I came to The City of Beautiful Liars. I needed to see something, I don’t know what it is. But, I feel like I have seen a glimpse. It’s like looking in the mirror, I see some loneliness. There are a lot of lonely single people in this world. They walk down the snow covered sidewalks, they think to themselves continually. They need the commotion, the other. The other is not inside the house when they enter, they keep talking, keep walking. Once inside, they talk to the cat, the dog, the pets, or they turn on the radio. The radio helps, it all helps. It gives them, us, me, a chance to relax, sum up the day. Breathe it out. Give ourselves a chance to be home, at home, where we are home alone and can do something for ourselves. For me, it’s writing. I write so much since I have been alone, that I spend the day with my characters. I even had to tell myself that they won’t be there, when I am at work. Only you, Louie Caldo and only you Louie Caldo will be there. Don’t forget that, you can be you.

Truth be told, since I am the only one here who knows me. I have come here to The Beautiful City to drink myself to death. I know my heart is weak, and I don’t have a vision anymore; like the good book says: without a vision the people perish. I plan on perishing here in The City of Beautiful Liars. Instead right now, I wanna play some Bon Jovi, we related to this band, we both grew up to this. We laughed as we both mentioned that we both slow-danced to Don’t Cry by Guns n’ Roses. I said, the girl I danced with said that guy over there, he wants to fight you because I am dancing with you. I looked over and I didn’t want to fight him. I let her go a little, she said don’t do that. Hold me she whispered. Hold me like he would hold me. I obeyed. Just now, I drive myself crazy with the thought she might be thinking the same thing. I can’t imagine another man embracing her, I can’t imagine her return embrace. Holding him, like she would held me.

I am Louie Caldo and I am falling in love with death. I have come here to die without her. I am sorry that she doesn’t love me anymore, and I am sorry she no longer considers me to be her husband.

Cracking open another beer, I’ve already been on a four month fast. I don’t eat, I don’t need to eat, I don’t want to eat. I am skin and bones. I know I am dying already, sometimes there’s a sudden pierce to my heart, and I refuse to stop smoking. Yeah I should be on the TV show, The Pity Party. I laughed just now. Thinking of her in the crowd, she wouldn’t be in the crowd. She would refuse the invite, just like when she sent all my letters back to me. To be honest, thought Louie, I was hurt so much. But, he encouraged himself with the content of the letters. His heart-felt words were summoned from deep inside of himself. He meant every word. Also, by the return of the letters, he knew she still loved him. Some part of you loves me, Louie said out loud, some part of you aches for me. Maybe it’s my feet touching your feet, in bed. Lpouie held himself.

Whoa, where did I just go there? Sorry, I digressed. Says Louie.

I was telling you I was lonely. I am lonely. I always thought my parents were lonely, but cool. They would come home, I split-stayed. Dad: Thursday to Sun. Mom: Sunday to Wednesday. The funny thing, this was normal for me. I had the best of both worlds, they gave themselves to me utterly. I never felt alone. But, here I am now, utterly alone.

I am Louie Caldo, and I am utterly alone. On the night stand, is a name tag. On the name tag, it states: Hi, My Name is Love Proof Heart. Every single hotel room in this city has a name. I wonder what the other names are, I should go out and seek them. Maybe I can write about it, it would be my last ever article. Oh yeah, she always liked my words, she liked my writing. But, I can’t be with you. To me, this always meant that she had another. Maybe she just needed to go there, to say that. She needed the space to learn not to love me. It wasn’t about another man. She would always cry to me, let another man love me like I need to be loved. I always thought, why another man? I am here.

Say it, “my name is Love Proof Heart,” says the instructions on The City of Beautiful Liars visitor manual. Too be honest it felt good. I felt like this was me, I was Love Proof Heart. I am Love Proof Heart. I checked my email, no more messages from her. I remembered in the past I copied and pasted, I mean wrote her a letter. I asked her not to tell me what a terrible man I was, I couldn’t stand it anymore. This part was copied and pasted.

Funny, in a way. I just thought, I have been playing by the rules of a game, the game always goes to the house. Instead, I was hoping I could take the house this time.

I lost to the house.

I want to be the other man, that can love her. I know I could do it now. Right now, I hate that thought, because at the moment, she is likely not even thinking of me. I know it, because she hasn’t even written me another email.

She asked once, in an email. How can a person always make the same mistake? I had no words. I had no idea, except that maybe she never asked him sooner. When we were together, we could have figured that out.

Instead, I think. Only you Louie Caldo are here. Here alone. Only you, say it: I am Love Proof Heart.

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