#i’m not christian but i like the atmosphere anyway

[hypnoneghoul]

Symbol on the Surface Chapter 13

WC: 1,5k

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: Transmasc Swiss, Pregnancy, Mild Dysphoria, Fluff

“Do you know what ‘seahorse dad’ means?”

Notes: Tysm to @jimothybarnes for beta reading :3

Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 13 under the cut or on AO3.

It has always been rare for Swiss to feel dysphoric, and even though he’s been experiencing it more since he started showing, it still doesn’t happen that much.

It’s only sometimes that he’ll catch a glimpse of his reflection somewhere and fall down an ugly spiral that he has to be fished out of by his mate.

By the time Christmas comes around, Swiss is five months pregnant and he is huge.

Being ghouls, they don’t really celebrate Christmas, but everyone loves the atmosphere and the fun of it, so every year they simply…skip the christian parts. Most of the Abbey does; it’s a big thing and the name of the festivities is up to everyone’s personal preference—Christmas, Yule, Winter Solstice, or nothing at all.

One of Swiss and Mountain’s favorite parts about that time are sweaters. They love getting matching Christmas sweaters that half the world’s population would cringe at; they have so many stuffed in the back of their closet—waiting for their time to shine year after year.

Unfortunately, this year they have not accounted for Swiss’ current size. It’s been so busy, neither of them thought about the sweaters until they saw someone else wearing them and remembered about their little custom.

The multi ghoul tries. He looks for the most stretchy sweater there is and gets Mountain’s, instead of his own. They are a little oversized, anyway, it should work.

More or less…

“It’s okay if it doesn’t fit, darling, we don’t have to wear them this year,” Mountain assures him, but he knows Swiss won’t budge—and it’s not only about the damn sweater. It’s about tradition, but also about how his body is changing. He doesn’t particularly like it.

Swiss grunts as he wiggles into the sweater—refusing his mate’s offer of help—and eventually he does get it stretched over his baby bump, but the knitwear is holding on for dear life.

Mountain sighs, looking down at a strangely distorted reindeer. He looks up at the multi ghoul’s face when he hears him sniffle, though, and his heart breaks a little.

“Oh, my darling…” he coos, coming up to Swiss to hug him. “It’s okay, we can find you a different one that doesn’t squeeze you so much. Maybe Aether or Omega have something.”

“It’s not–not about the sweater,” the multi ghoul cries, whining into Mountain’s neck.

“What is it then, my heart?” he asks gently as he rubs Swiss’ back.

“I look like a sack of potatoes! How can you even look at me, I’m all swollen, and then there’s these–these fucking stretchmarks, and–and…” he sobs, but the last part seems to get stuck in his throat.

Mountain wants to know what he’s working with before he addresses every single concern of his mate. He also knows that it’s going to make everything worse if Swiss keeps some part of it in, so he prods gently, “What’s the ‘and’ about?”

The multi ghoul sighs before shoving his face further into the other’s neck to mumble out something incomprehensible.

“My heart, you know I didn’t catch that.” Swiss groans, but moves his face.

“I look like a woman…” he mutters; still quietly, but understandably now.

“My darling,” Mountain starts, pulling back to look into his mate’s eyes when he speaks, “my beloved mate, light of my life, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

He waits for Swiss to nod before carrying on, “You’ve grown because you are carrying our children inside you. Our kits, our babies; you’re going to give them life, bring them into this world! I can only imagine how it feels, and I wish I could take all the hardships of it away from you, but it truly is a wonderful thing and I couldn’t be more proud of you. You do not look like a sack of potatoes, or a woman. You look absolutely beautiful, my handsome man, and I know you can see in my eyes that I mean every single word. Can you not?”

“I can…” the multi ghoul replies quietly—as if ashamed that he’s even dared to doubt his mate. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, my heart,” Mountain smiles and brings Swiss close again for a tight—albeit careful—hug. It lasts a good couple minutes before the earth ghoul notices that his mate starts to shift his feet in discomfort; even though he doesn’t say anything. The earth ghoul pulls away. 

“Do you know what ‘seahorse dad’ means?” he asks, suddenly having remembered something that Rain had mentioned to him a couple weeks ago.

“I don’t think so…” Swiss admits.

“When seahorses make babies, it’s the males that carry them,” Mountain explains. “Apparently trans men that get pregnant are called seahorse dads because of that.”

Swiss stares at him with his mouth slightly agape for a moment. It turns into a smile before he bursts into tears again. The hormones have really turned him into a mess.

“That’s so cuteee,” he all but wails, his crying now cuteness-induced, instead of…the other kind of crying. Mountain considers it a win.

“It is,” he chuckles, wiping Swiss’ tears away, “let’s lay down and I’ll show you some pictures, hm?”

“Okay,” he sniffles and follows his mate to the bed. He cringes at the tight sweater he’s still trapped in, though. “Ough, help me out of this damn contraption.”

Mountain laughs, but helps free him, indeed.

“I’ll text the group chat and get you a sweater for this year, my heart,” he promises, and Swiss doesn’t doubt it. He knows that if Mountain didn’t manage to find one to borrow, he’d make one from scratch overnight—just so his mate wouldn’t be upset. That’s how much he loves him.

The earth ghoul lays down first and Swiss joins him right away. He snuggles himself into Mountain’s side, resting his stomach against his mate’s hip and his face in the crook of his neck. Swiss inhales deeply, trilling at that familiar scent he loves so much; the smell of the first days of summer.

As promised, Mountain gets out his phone and sends out the ‘sweater wanted’ text first, then moving onto TikTok to find some seahorse dads for Swiss—both the actual fish and pregnant trans men. The former makes the multi ghoul shed some more cuteness-tears, and the latter succeeds in boosting his confidence and chasing the dysphoria away.

They stay in bed for a little while—as they’ve been doing most of their time for the last couple weeks. Swiss needs all the rest he can get and Mountain doesn’t want to step away from him for even a second. He doesn’t have anything better to do, anyways; all his outside work is paused for the winter after he and the other earth ghouls have secured everything against the cold.

So Swiss and Mountain keep snuggling—the earth ghoul caressing the other’s stomach as he purrs—until a phone buzzes somewhere. It got lost in the sheets, but once it’s recovered, the multi ghoul chirps happily at the message.

It’s from Omega, he sent Mountain a couple photos of the sweaters he has and could not only borrow, but give away. Apparently, every time they were on tour in the winter, Terzo had gotten the older quintessence ghoul a silly Christmas sweater, so he’s got plenty.

“I can go get them right now,” Mountain offers, “got any favorites, darling?”

“Hm…” Swiss stares at the pictures, zooming in and out and thoroughly analyzing every sweater offered. The earth ghoul gives him time and after a moment he makes his decision. “This one!”

Mountain smiles, kisses Swiss on the forehead and jumps out of bed to go grab it. Omega’s only downstairs, so it’s only a moment. The multi ghoul uses that time to go to the bathroom—it’s not a quick business nowadays.

When his mate returns with the sweater, Swiss is ecstatic. He’s buzzing with excitement and if he weren’t pregnant, he’d be jumping up and down. Mountain laughs as he helps him wiggle into the sweater and while it’s clear that it wasn’t made with pregnant people in mind, it fits nearly perfectly.

The earth ghoul could just about cry, seeing his mate so happy over something so…basic and small. He brings him in for a hug.

“Merry Christmas,” Swiss purrs, nuzzling the side of his face against his mate’s.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Mountain whispers before kissing him—deeply, but softly. When they pull away for breath, the earth ghoul winks and gets down on his knees before Swiss.

At first he thinks he’s about to get a naughty early gift, but instead of pulling down his pants, Mountain pulls up the bottom of his—not that long ago Omega’s—sweater. Swiss looks down at him with his brows furrowed in confusion as his mate kisses his bump.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, little ones,” Mountain mumbles and Swiss tears up once again.

Taglist: @arkeusruin @skele-bunny @everybodyshusband @ratsummer @jazz-bazz @mac-and-thefox @karmicbias @wine-irytatus @ghoultrifle (if anyone from here wants to be removed lmk, and also if anyone else wants to be added)

[zyonsay]

Wildfire, Chapter Three MV1

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: Someone snitched on you and now you are stuck in a team building camp with Max!

Reader: Male

Warnings: Nothing really? Beer is mentioned ONCE at the very end

Now playing: 'Boys will be bugs' by Cavetown

AN: Im so sorry for not updating this story! I've got a lot going on at the moment. I have lot's of upcoming exams, i've been practicing for a concert i'll have soon and i participated in a horse riding competition last weekend, so yeah, my calendar is FULL. But anyways, this part isn't as long as id' like it to be, but don't worry! You and Max will be staying at the camp for a little longer...

(Here's a little Social Media AU to go along with this chapter)

(Here is the previous chapter)

(Here is the next chapter

Somehow word of your fight made its way to Christian, which was the cause of you now sitting on a bench at a camping facility, squeezed in between mechanics and other team members of Redbull Racing.

Just a few days before, you were sitting in a leather chair in Horner’s office, not squeezed between people but suffocating in the room’s atmosphere. He wasn’t one to get angry with his people, but you and Max’s behavior was a pain in the ass and very counterproductive.

He sighed heavily, “Guys, this has to stop. You’re both adults, behave like it. I know you two are very stubborn, but it’s for the sake of our team.” He gave you both a stern look, you heard Max swallow hard beside you. “Have I made myself clear?”, he looked you right in the eye, then shifted his stare towards your Teammate. “Yes.”

The air smelt fresh and clear; the sun was high up in the sky accompanied by thousands of fluffy clouds. The ranger standing in front of you was explaining a few rules you had to follow while staying at the campsite and its surrounding national park. He looked a little bit like a bison, you thought. His curly dark brown hair had a few strikes of silver in it, making him look old and experienced.

“…lastly, please keep away from the swampy areas, they are indicated with yellow signs.”

Many of your fellow Redbull mates looked bored, no wonder, they have been listening to this man talk for about an hour.

“Does everyone know how to not get killed now?” He looked pleased as he earned a loud ‘yes’.

Christian thanked the ranger, then took his place in front of you guys. “So, fellas, we’ll assign the cabins now!”, he gave you an unreadable look. He fumbled around in the pockets of his jeans before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He began reading out names and telling the people to go and take their stuff from the bus and settle into their new stay. Then after a few minutes, more and more people left, and it was only you and Max sitting on the bench.

“As you two might’ve guessed, you’ll be spending a lot of time together on this trip. And I don’t want to hear any complaints.” Horner looked serious, meaning what he said. You were annoyed, of course, but you understood why he wants you two to get along. Max nodded, glancing your way, but quickly looking away as soon as you meet his gaze. “Now, head off. You’ll be staying in cabin 33, here’s the key.”

You pulled your suitcase over the gravelly path, searching for a sign with the number 33 on it. Soon enough you found what you were looking for, the two numbers were burnt into a beautiful wooden sign, decorated with various little details. You unlocked the door, holding it open for Max after entering. He threw one of his Bags on the bed on the right side of the room. “I’m taking this one.”, he stated dryly. You shrugged slightly, setting down your suitcase next to the other bed. The cabin was decorated simply but had all the necessities. Besides the two beds there was a couch with a coffee table and a small bathroom.

The room felt awkward, and you started getting annoyed with Max being unusually quiet. You turned towards your fellow firecracker. “I don’t want to start shit with you, so just stay out of my way.”, he then spoke before you could even open your mouth. “It’s hard to do that when you’re all over the place Max.” He glared at you, definitely not appreciating your words. “We should head back to Christian, come on.”, you swiftly changed the topic.

“Looks like you all settled in! Now, let’s take a look at our first activity”, Horner held up a bag of Maps, “We’ll be doing a scavenger hunt. The price is… well, your dinner. There are clues scattered throughout the Woods and they’ll lead you to an opening with a grilling space. I’ll be waiting for you there!” He then passed around the bag, there was a Map for every group in it.

“Obviously you can’t just all work together, that would be way too easy. Every group has a different route, so you can’t just follow the group in front of you.” Murmuring erupted around you, discussing what the clues might be. You looked at the first clue that was posted to the map.

“Like goliath i tower over them, making them shiver beneath my needles.”, you shifted slightly, showing Max the Map along with the clue. He then pointed towards the forest, where a Pine tree stood, taller than all of the surrounding oak trees. “Let’s go.”

You’ve been wandering around the forest for about 45 minutes, hunting down clues and discovering the national park’s beautiful landscape.

But now? Well, now you and Max were lost. All the trees looked the same, no matter what direction you walked. The map was of no use in the depth of the Woods and your phones would continuously read “No Signal”. Not being able to do anything you two just sort of strolled along bushes and trees of all kinds, hoping to end up on a trail or a familiar opening. Birds were chirping and to your surprise you heard frogs quaking. “Do you hear that?” You turned your head towards Max, still walking. “The Frogs? Yeah, really weird…” Suddenly the thicket spit you out onto an opening, revealing a forest pond, which must’ve been the source of the quaking.

And indeed, a green, slimy frog hopped into the water right in front of you, disappearing in a log beneath the water surface. “Can we stop here really quick?” Max only sighed, but then plopped down on the floor. You sat next to him, gazing over the reflective water. Would you two still find the grilling space before sundown? You hoped for it, at the very least.

“This is nice.” Max closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the tree behind him, taking in the smell of the forest. His usually tense shoulders looked much more relaxed, and he had a pleased expression on his face. You silently agreed with him, copying his movements.

"You know, i don't actually hate you." The words that flowed from your lips felt fragile and just like glass they fell to the floor and shattered. Your advance was met with a sigh and then a warm silence. You really wanted to try and get along with Max, for the sake of your team's future. But if he was gonna be stubborn, you wouldn't gift him your friendliness.

"Nevermind."

The leaves rustled beneath your feet as you two went back to walking after resting by the pond for a while. The golden light was slowly disappearing from the trees crowns. You really weren’t prepared to sleep under the stars tonight, but luckily you wouldn’t have to. Laughter could be heard in the distance, announcing the presence of humans. Your steps quickened ever so slightly, same for your companion. You two reached the opening and were greeted with the smell of food and the chatter of your teammates.

“Maxie! Y/N! I almost thought we’d lost you two!” Chris came walking towards you, handing each of you a beer. “Come on, join us!”

[glass--beach]

having a bit of an Elliott Smith moment lately and i have been especially obsessed with the first couple lines of Speed Trials:

the imagery here is so vivid but it seems like every single detail is perfectly chosen to resist straightforward interpretation. so first of all, i think it’s implicit the horse here is some kind of statue or painting that is enormous, i’m pretty sure we are not talking an actual horse. but a horse statue in a cathedral is a very odd sight, horses are not an animal that (afaik) have much significance in christianity. if anything, horses are seen as too high and mighty. Jesus famously rode a donkey instead of a horse as a display of humility. horses were more associated with conquering armies like the Romans, and that possibly ties into the one significant use of horses in the bible, the horsemen of the apocalypse. i think that the use of the word “master” to refer to the originator of the “sweet high notes” relates to horses as a symbol of power.

“glass stained black” seems to be an expression of elliott smith’s love of contradiction. stained glass is designed to let light through. windows stained black are more associated with unmarked vans and government buildings and the like. covert operations. pretty much opposite to the welcoming atmosphere churches seek to create.

also, who is meeting who here? this is the one place this “he” character appears, with the rest of the verses sticking to second person and the choruses using first person. is “he” the one singing the high notes? is it a priest? the metaphor of blacked out windows could maybe allude to a confession booth…

the rest of the lyrics to the song are comparatively much much more straightforward metaphors for addiction (in the literal and more symbolic sense), a child playing with an electrical socket, a pinball that keeps falling back into the hole. i think the notes echoing back to destroy their master connects the cathedral scene to those metaphors. seems many people interpret the horse as a reference to a slang term for heroin and like, i kinda get it, but i feel like this is such an oblique way to refer to drugs, i think the vagueness intentionally leaves it open to multiple interpretations. that seems to be the way elliott smith liked his lyrics to be understood. anyway idk what it adds up to i’ve just been rotating this verse in my head for days…

also for those who give a shit about music theory i give you this wonderful academic music theory paper about the ambiguous key center of this song and many other elliott smith songs and how that ties into his love of contradiction:

[ceruleanwind]

crash and burn (outside the door of no return)

Max Verstappen/Kimi Antonelli | Explicit | Underage | 6.2k | Read on AO3

Kimi can’t do this anymore. His body feels much too hot in this room, especially with Max practically breathing down his neck and pressed halfway up against him. He slides his chair back and hurriedly moves to get up. “I have to go,” he says, words coming out in a rush. “I have to—I have to—” Max frowns as he watches Kimi get up, clearly wobbly on his feet. “Woah,” he says, getting up to steady Kimi with his hands on his shoulders. “Hey. You’ve clearly had too much. I’ll take you upstairs, yeah? Make sure you get in safe?” Or: Kimi runs into Max at an F2 sponsor event and doesn't know how to handle himself. Max takes matters into his own hands.

Kimi sighs, glancing in the mirror as he adjusts his bow tie. He doesn’t particularly like formal wear, but for events like tonight, where he’ll be under the scrutinous eyes of sponsors and other team principals, he knows he needs to look his best. He’s just finishing up in the bathroom when his phone buzzes on the counter.

ollie (f1>f2): guess who i found out’s gonna be there tonite

Kimi frowns, picking up his phone to type out a reply.

kimi a: who kimi a: please tell me

ollie (f1>f2): max ollie (f1>f2): lol

kimi a: no kimi a: ur joking kimi a: why would he show up to something like this

ollie (f1>f2): who knows mate ollie (f1>f2): maybe to scope out future competition

kimi <3s max: ur evil why would u tell me this i’m nervous now kimi <3s max: shut up stop changing my name

ollie (f1>f2): lol see you soon

kimi <3s max: shut up

It’s not a rare sight to see Formula One sponsors and team officials at Formula Two events, but it is rare to spot a driver. If the rumour is true—Kimi’s hoping it isn’t—Kimi won’t know how to handle himself. How could he handle himself, anyway, when he’s face-to-face with the driver he’s looked up to for the past half a decade at least?

Huffing out a flustered sigh, Kimi stuffs his phone into his pocket and heads out the door of his hotel room. The event is, thankfully, right in the large ballroom of the hotel he’s staying in, but the elevator ride downstairs feels like an eternity. He glances at himself in one of the mirrors on the wall, fusses with his hair a bit more to flatten a stubborn curl that oddly sticks out, only to give up when it refuses to stay in position and the elevator doors crack open to deliver him to the ballroom.

The event is already buzzing when Kimi walks in. The hotel did a half-decent job at decorating, Kimi thinks; the tables are set elegantly with white cotton tablecloths and expensive silverware and golden streamers adorn every wall and light fixture. Kimi unconsciously finds himself scanning the crowd for who he was told would be in attendance, only for Ollie to sneak up behind him and grab his shoulders.

“Boo,” Ollie says, grinning when Kimi jumps. “Got you. Did you see him yet?”

Kimi sighs and swats playfully at Ollie’s arm. “No. Maybe he won’t show.”

“Don’t blame me if he doesn’t,” says Ollie, raising both his hands in defence. “I just heard so. You know, through the grapevine and all that.”

“Okay. Maybe he’ll get here later,” Kimi says, shrugging it off before pushing into the crowd to find his seat at a table. He tries not to think about Max anymore.

The event goes surprisingly well, Kimi thinks. The food is good, the atmosphere isn’t so bad either, and Kimi is more than happy to sit at the table and listen to various sponsors deliver speeches on the stage. He sits there and looks pretty, just like he’s meant to. The free alcohol is another perk; despite still being a few months underage, he surreptitiously manages to secure a couple drinks.

He’s just tucking into a third drink when Ollie nudges him and leans in to murmur in his ear, “Look. He’s here,” before glancing towards a spot beneath the stage, where Max stands with Christian Horner and a few more of his Red Bull colleagues. He’s dressed up too, clad in a nice black suit with a bow tie to match.

Kimi’s breath catches in his throat; he itches to go greet him, hoping for some sort of conversation, if Max even notices him at all.

“Are you gonna go talk to him?” Ollie asks, looking at Kimi excitedly. “Come on. You wouldn’t pass this up.”

“Easy for you to say,” Kimi grumbles, heat flooding to his cheeks. Ollie’s the one that has actually raced with Max, after all. He’d even sung his praises about Ollie’s driving afterwards and Ollie hadn’t shut up about it for a week. Kimi wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “What would I even say?”

The last time Kimi saw Max was at a similar event. They shared a brief conversation, some PR people took photos of them together, and then Max moved on to someone else. Someone more important. Kimi sighs as he watches Max talk, occasionally sipping from his glass as the people in the group laugh at his joke.

“I dunno, mate, but it’s now or never,” Ollie points out, shrugging before turning to talk to the sponsor sitting beside him.

It is now or never; Kimi will give him that. He has no idea when he’ll see Max next; most times it’s through a TV screen as Kimi stares, entranced, at Max’s downright incredible Formula One driving. He’d give anything to be like Max. Kimi glances towards where Max is standing and watches as the group he’s talking to disperses, leaving Max idly standing by the stage, leaning against it as he sips from his drink. Now or never.

When Kimi stands up to make his way towards Max, he finds his head spinning a little, the alcohol quickly taking its course in his small body. He takes a breath, feeling perhaps marginally more courageous than normal, and approaches Max, giving him a shy little wave. He hasn’t even thought about what he’ll say. He is so fucked.

“Oh, hello,” Max says, blinking in surprise once Kimi comes up to him, hands clasped together in front of him. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it been?”

Kimi’s mouth goes dry. Now that he’s here, standing right in front of Max, acutely aware of how he has to tip his head back to look at him, Kimi’s brain fails to put together a coherent thought. He brings one hand up to rub at the back of his neck, his face already feeling warm. It could be from the alcohol, but Kimi knows better than that. “I’ve been—I’ve been good,” he says, laughing nervously. “I’ve been watching you. Your races, I mean. Really, really good—I mean, obviously Australia wasn’t, but—well, the rest, very good, really.”

Max laughs at that, and Kimi glows with pride. “Yeah, bit unlucky really, but we’ve moved on. I’ve been watching your races too, you know.” He looks at Kimi thoughtfully before he goes on. “Not a very good start to the season, I’m guessing?”

The warm pride quickly morphs into the coldest embarrassment right in the pit of Kimi’s stomach. Max had been watching him the whole time? He’d been watching as Kimi consistently performed in the midfield, downplaying everyone’s hopes of him being the new single-seater prodigy? His mouth hangs open for a millisecond while he debates just sinking into the floor and never talking to Max again before he finally stutters, “No, not—not really, but, uh—we’re always looking to make improvements. There’s always room for me to do better.” He manages a smile, fiddling with his fingers. Has he blown it already, two minutes in?

“Hmm. Yeah. I hope so. Everyone’s saying you might end up in an F1 car next year,” Max says, grinning over the rim of his glass before taking a sip. “Come sit,” he urges, reaching to get one of his hands around Kimi’s slender bicep and leading him to sit at a nearby table.

Kimi follows, struck dumb by the firm hold Max has on his arm. The touch has his whole body going warm, something unwelcome twitching beneath the crotch of his suit pants. He lets Max lead him to a chair and he eagerly sinks down onto it, beyond elated to have a moment alone with Max, and to make things even better, the room is already beginning to clear out. Kimi hopes the chances of Max being stolen from him are low.

Max waves over a passing server and asks for two extra strong gin and tonics before turning back to face Kimi. “Are you even old enough to drink? Jesus. Anyway, I was actually just talking to Toto, funnily enough, and he mentioned you a few times. Filling Lewis’ seat and all that.” He takes the last sip of his current drink and sets it aside with a soft thunk. “So? What do you think about that stuff?”

Kimi swallows thickly, pressed up far closer to Max than he’d anticipated. He swears he can smell Max’s cologne from here, something dark and expensive and downright alluring. He’s glad the tablecloth hides the hard-on surely rising to attention in his suit pants. “I—I mean, I would like to drive in F1 next year, of course,” he answers, resisting the urge to shrink into himself under Max’s scrutinising gaze.

“Your teammate sure impressed,” Max goes on, gratefully accepting the two new drinks from the server and nudging one in Kimi’s direction. “Seventh on debut makes for a promising future. Really drove well, I thought.”

Instead of pride, which is what Kimi should feel for Ollie—he really did drive well, and seventh place is nothing to sneeze at—he feels nothing but cold, horrible jealousy. Max should be saying all those nice things about him instead, but Kimi knows he’s done nothing that would warrant such a compliment. He forces himself not to glower. “Yes, we were all very proud of him,” he says, picking up the glass and taking a sip. The strong alcohol makes him cough, tears springing to the corners of his eyes, and that same embarrassment returns to the pit of his stomach as Max watches him splutter at a single sip of alcohol.

“Maybe extra strong wasn’t a good idea,” Max says, amused. “Looks like you’re outperforming him anyway, so who knows what you can do given the right car?” He smiles, something surprisingly warm and inviting.

“Our car this season hasn’t been great,” Kimi supplies once he’s recovered from coughing. Max simply pointing out something obvious—that Kimi’s outperforming Ollie so far this season—makes Kimi glow with pride again, a new fire of determination burning somewhere in him. He needs to beat Ollie, show Max what he’s really made of.

Max glances at him. When he shifts in his seat, his leg bumps against Kimi’s under the table. “But you’ll make the most of it, won’t you?”

Kimi thinks he might die. Max is so close, and even the bump of their legs together has Kimi’s mind nearly going wild. “Of course,” he breathes, voice just above a whisper. Oh, his head is spinning. Has the room always been this hot? “Comes down to the driver, right?”

“Definitely helps if you know how to drive,” Max teases, idly drumming his fingers on the table. Kimi finds himself drawn to them. Max’s hands are so big, his fingers so elegant. Kimi has to tear his eyes away, feeling exceedingly hot under his collar.

Kimi picks up his glass and takes another sip of the strong drink, this time resisting the urge to cough. Ollie’s gone now, he realises—presumably back up to his hotel room to get in bed. Kimi’s still here, practically alone with Max, and the thought makes him a little crazy. He can hardly think straight; the alcohol muddles his brain and his proximity to Max, catching the dark notes of his cologne, has Kimi struggling to form words. “I can drive,” he says, and it comes out whinier than he intended.

The corners of Max’s mouth twitch up into a smile. “I guess we’ll have to see,” he says decisively, raising his glass for a sip. It’s not lost on him that the kid seems awfully flushed; could he have contracted a fever? Had a few too many drinks, maybe?

Kimi can’t do this anymore. His body feels much too hot in this room, especially with Max practically breathing down his neck and pressed halfway up against him. He slides his chair back and hurriedly moves to get up. “I have to go,” he says, words coming out in a rush. “I have to—I have to—”

Max frowns as he watches Kimi get up, clearly wobbly on his feet. “Woah,” he says, getting up to steady Kimi with his hands on his shoulders. “Hey. You’ve clearly had too much. I’ll take you upstairs, yeah? Make sure you get in safe?”

“Okay,” Kimi relents, his head fuzzy. He leans into the warmth of Max’s side as he’s guided out of the ballroom; once they’re out, he’s half-heartedly aware of Max’s hand settling on the small of his back. His cock twitches in his suit pants again. Max is so big and so strong, a stark contrast to Kimi’s small, slender frame. God, and he smells so good, too, all warm and inviting and something Kimi never wants to forget. He’d let Max do anything to him, if he wanted to.

“Here, there you go, nice and easy,” encourages Max as he helps Kimi step into the elevator. “What floor are you on?”

Kimi shrugs in response. His mind is laser-focused on the way Max’s fingers curl around his slim waist.

Max takes a breath, then lets it out in a soft sigh. “Okay,” he says, “I’ll take you to my room, then.” He reaches forward to press the button for his floor, and the doors hardly have time to fully close before Kimi’s swaying forward, trapping Max against the elevator wall, and rising up on his toes to press a kiss to Max’s mouth.

He’s immediately pushed away.

Before he can help it, that same ice-cold boulder of embarrassment weighs down in Kimi’s stomach. He steps back, shame burning hot in his cheeks. Why had he done that? Why would he have ever had a chance with Max anyway? Max has got to be, what, nine, ten years older than him—it’s indescribable how wrong this is. Kimi puts one hand to his flushed cheek, shifts his gaze to the floor, and mumbles, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Come here,” Max commands, his voice soft, but when Kimi looks at him in surprise, his eyes warn Kimi not to argue. “I’ll show you how to kiss me.”

Kimi shyly shuffles closer, tilting his chin up to look at Max. Max looks right back down at him, his gaze softening.

“There, you’re already looking up at me, that’s perfect.” Max reaches for Kimi, his hand finding the side of Kimi’s face. Just as Kimi’s lips part to say something, Max leans down and brings their mouths together—a tentative brush of lips at first, then it devolves into something more heated as Kimi tries to kiss back.

He’s inexperienced, really, and embarrassingly sloppy; Kimi tries to match Max’s movements, heat flooding to his face, but ultimately he lets Max do whatever he likes, happy to follow his lead. Kimi hasn’t been this turned on in his life. He jerks off, sure, usually to terrible Internet porn whenever he has a moment alone, but nothing, absolutely nothing matches up to being touched and kissed by the driver he’s admired for years. Kimi whines into Max’s mouth and he has half a mind to try and rut forward, seek out some more friction, but the elevator slows to a stop and the doors crack open to reveal Max’s floor.

Max lets go of Kimi’s face and gets his arm around his shoulders instead, guiding him out of the elevator. “How many drinks did you have tonight, anyway?” he asks, an air of amusement tinging his voice. Mocking.

Kimi can hardly think. He frowns up at Max, confused for a moment, then he says, “Three, I think,” with a helpful smile. It may not be entirely the alcohol’s fault he’s been rendered so dumb, but he prefers not to think about it. Max knows best. He’ll take care of him.

“Jeez,” breathes Max, stopping in front of a door and slipping his hand into his pocket to search for his room key. “You really are a lightweight, huh?” He swipes the card in front of the electronic panel and swings the door open, soon ushering Kimi inside. He doesn’t exactly like the way his cock twitches to attention at how easily he can manhandle Kimi to wherever he wants him.

“A little,” Kimi giggles, still feeling warm and giddy. After Max kissed him, it’s like all his brain cells have simultaneously gone dormant. “Max. I want—” he goes to say, but then gets a brilliant idea. As Max is busy toeing off his dress shoes, Kimi finds himself sinking to his knees, his stomach twisting into knots as he imagines getting Max off with his mouth. He’s seen enough porn, he thinks, to be able to replicate what they do. It can’t be that hard, can it? He’s more worried about choking on Max’s cock than anything else, but even then—even then he’d be okay with it.

Max’s eyes widen when he turns back to see Kimi on his knees. The kid looks so open and wanting, desperate to please. This is so wrong. It nearly makes Max feel sick. Nearly. “Absolutely not,” he says, voice firm. “Go to the bed and I’ll take care of you myself.”

While momentarily disappointed that Max won’t let him give him head, Kimi is more than happy to follow Max’s instruction. He gets shakily to his feet, planting one hand on the wall to steady himself, before he takes a running start and leaps onto the plush bed. Max follows closely behind, climbing up onto the bed and assuming an easy position right above Kimi, boxing him in. Kimi hardly has time to react before Max leans down to kiss him again, hotter and slicker than last time. When Kimi’s lips part on a moan, Max delves his tongue into Kimi’s mouth, so decisive and dominant as if Kimi doesn’t matter at all.

As soon as Max’s kisses stray from Kimi’s mouth, moving quickly to his jaw and upper neck, Kimi can’t help but half-heartedly breathe, “Max, stop,” as he struggles to keep up. This is all moving so fast, and he’s never done anything remotely like this before. Max’s fingers already work at the collar of his button-up, wrenching his bow tie free before unbuttoning Kimi’s shirt.

“I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” Max murmurs in response, his lips brushing a sensitive spot on the underside of Kimi’s jaw and making him gasp. “That’s it. It feel good there?” His hands easily push apart the two halves of Kimi’s shirt, revealing planes of beautiful, golden, unmarked skin. Max can’t wait to ruin it.

Kimi nods, a whine escaping his lips. “Mm-hmm. Really good,” he manages to answer, shifting uncomfortably at the feeling of his cock straining in his suit pants, desperate to be touched. Max seems much more focused on what he wants to do, anyway, so Kimi lies back and lets him do it. He’s just beginning to relax into the sensations of Max kissing across his neck and jaw when suddenly a sharp pain erupts through him. Max had bitten him, right in one of the most tender spots on his neck. Kimi cries out in pain, trying to jerk away, but Max holds him firmly in place and soothes the bite with his tongue.

“There, see? Not so bad,” Max encourages, lips tilting into a smirk as he finally trails his mouth lower on Kimi’s body. He moves quicker now, settling into place between Kimi’s parted thighs and kissing across Kimi’s slim stomach. He brings his hands up to unbutton Kimi’s dress pants, glancing teasingly up at him, when Kimi reaches down to grab at his wrist.

“Max,” he says desperately, “I’ve never—I’ve never done this. I don’t know—”

Max gently tugs his wrist free and gives Kimi a look, warning him to put his hands back in their place. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I? Just trust me,” he says before continuing on with his task. He works Kimi’s dress pants down his legs and tosses them aside to properly lay eyes on the prize he’s won all for himself.

Kimi looks gorgeous like this, all spread out and only clad in an unbuttoned shirt and a pair of light grey boxer briefs. His cock, wet with pre-come, had formed a delicious dark spot on the light fabric, and Max can’t help but run his thumb over it, delighting in Kimi’s subsequent whimper.

“This is nice,” Max teases before he gets his thumbs underneath the waistband of Kimi’s underwear and tugs them down, exposing Kimi’s desperate cock to the cool air of the room. He’s not small, but he’s certainly not big either—in fact, he’s perfect, just the size that Max wants in his mouth. “Look at you. Cute little thing.”

Just as Kimi moves to cover his face with embarrassment, feeling so horrifically exposed at being laid bare in front of one of his idols, Max leans down and takes just the head of his cock between his lips, letting it sit heavy on his tongue for a moment before closing his mouth around it and dipping slowly downwards. Kimi cries out in surprise, goosebumps erupting all over his golden skin at the unfamiliar yet not unwelcome feeling of his cock being enveloped in slick heat. Fuck, his hand doesn’t even come close to how Max’s mouth feels around him, taking more and more of him like it’s just second nature.

“Ah—God—” One of Kimi’s hands flies to grab at Max’s hair, his hips instinctively trying to push up into Max’s mouth. Max holds him down, steady and unwavering as he laps at Kimi’s little cock, letting him enjoy himself. Kimi’s so inexperienced he knows he won’t be able to last long at all at this rate, but he tries to make the most of it regardless, moaning and crying Max’s name as he edges further and further towards an orgasm.

Max slips his index finger into his mouth alongside Kimi’s cock, gathering spit and pre-come on it before he lets his finger dip lower. He takes the entirety of Kimi’s cock into his mouth, and just as Max teases his slick finger between Kimi’s cheeks, Kimi comes with a surprised shout, spilling hot and sticky right into Max’s mouth.

Kimi shudders with the aftershocks of his orgasm, blood rushing loud in his ears. It’s all so much, and to make matters worse, Max’s fingers don’t stop where they’re teasing at Kimi’s tight little hole. Kimi wants to say something, tell Max to be gentle, maybe, but decides to shut up and take it. This is what he wanted, right? For Max to take care of him?

“Feels good, right?” Max asks before dipping his head down to let more spit and come drip down onto his fingers. Fucking filthy, he thinks, but Kimi won’t know any better. Maybe he should have put a towel down before having his way with him. He pushes Kimi’s thighs apart a little more, his index fingertip pressing at Kimi’s hole until it slips just inside of him, the silky walls parting just for him.

Kimi nods frantically, his little cock already beginning to rise to attention again despite having just come. “Feels so good,” he pants, his head spinning. The alcohol seems to heighten his senses, he thinks, because he’s never come that hard before—even compared to the time when he got himself off by grinding against a pillow alone in his hotel room. He forces himself to relax, trust Max as his finger pushes its way into him. He knew Max was good with his fingers, anyway.

Max hums, letting another trail of spit drop onto his fingers before he gently nudges a second finger into Kimi alongside the first. He’s thankful his fingers are slender, he thinks, because if they were any bigger Max might be afraid he’d break Kimi in half even before fucking him. “How many times do you think I can make you come tonight?” he asks, his two fingers pushing apart to stretch out Kimi’s tight little hole.

Kimi nearly wants to cry at the prospect of being made to come more than twice, but he knows he’ll be made to take it no matter what he says. “Lots,” he supplies, heat flooding to his face at the feeling of his hole being stretched out.

“That’s the nice thing about being young,” Max goes on, curling his fingers up into the tight heat of Kimi’s body and searching for the spot that’ll have him squirming. “You can come over and over without getting too sore. Let’s set a goal tonight. Four. Why don’t you count them for me?”

“Already did one,” Kimi manages to say before Max’s fingertips nudge up into something that sends a jolt of white-hot electricity up his spine, his limbs buzzing with delicious pleasure. He cries out, stuttering over Max’s name, his hips rocking down towards Max’s fingers.

Max grins at Kimi’s adorable reaction to having his prostate toyed with, presumably for the very first time. “That’s the spot, yeah?” He works a third finger into Kimi’s hole now, and this time Kimi does struggle to take it, his hole burning with the stretch. Still, he nods, only to let another pathetic moan slip when Max curls his free hand around Kimi’s cock.

It’s already so much, especially right after coming the first time. Kimi wants to squirm, Max’s hand around his cock nearly painful, but he takes it anyway, desperate to make Max proud. With every press of Max’s fingers up into his prostate, and with how Max strokes his cock, just on the edge of too much, Kimi feels himself careening towards a second orgasm, and before he can say a word, his cock twitches and spurts another few sticky ropes out over Max’s fingers.

“Oh, so quick this time, yeah?” Max teases, stroking Kimi through his orgasm before taking mercy on him, letting go of his cock and pulling his fingers from his hole. He looks down at how Kimi’s come covers his fingers and frowns at it, thinking. “Little bit of a messy thing. I think it’s only fair for you to clean up your mess.”

Kimi eagerly agrees, grabbing Max’s wrist and licking off his own mess from Max’s fingers. It is strange to taste himself—he’s never tried it before—but it’s hot, somehow, to be forced to clean up his own mess like he’s some sort of dog. He thinks he might be okay with Max treating him like one.

Once he’s satisfied, Max takes his fingers from Kimi’s mouth and playfully pats his cheek before reaching over for the lube he’d stashed in his nightstand. His mind idly flits through all the possibilities; he could bend Kimi over the side of the bed and fuck him from behind, he could get Kimi to straddle and ride him like the desperate whore he is, or—and what Max thinks the better option is—Max could fuck him just like this, right on his back like a pliant little toy. Riding might be too complicated for Kimi’s dumb mind to figure out, anyway.

“That’s two,” Kimi adds with another soft giggle once he fully calms down. His cock lies soft and sensitive against his stomach, but he can already feel the anticipation of what’s to come sending bursts of heat right between his legs again. Max was right—he is capable of coming over and over, but four? Kimi thinks he might pass out before then.

“That is two, that’s right,” Max confirms with a warm smile, nearly glowing with pride. He takes the opportunity to take his own clothes off, easily wrenching the buttons free on his shirt and tossing it to the side. His pants come off just as easy, and his boxers follow, exposing his cock, which stands hard and leaking against his stomach. Max coats it generously in lube, shivering at how cold it is against his burning hot skin.

Kimi stares, breath hitching in his throat as he lays eyes on Max’s cock for the first time. He’d fleetingly imagined, of course, what Max might look like underneath his race suits, but nothing compares to seeing it in person. Max is big—to the point where Kimi’s unsure if he can even take it. Max stretched him out nicely, sure, but Max’s cock is a lot bigger than just three of his fingers. Even so, if he wanted to protest, he’s not quick enough, because Max shifts closer on his knees, fitting the head of his cock up against Kimi’s tight rim.

Max smiles down at Kimi, reassuring. “Just breathe,” he tells him. “I’ve got you.”

Kimi does his best to take in a deep breath, and when he lets it out, he relaxes enough that Max slips his cockhead just inside of him. He gasps at the feeling of it, so hot and big right in the most sensitive part of him. His cock rapidly hardens in response, pleasure-pain shooting up his spine with each gentle push of Max’s cock into him. “Oh my God,” he breathes, overwhelmed. Tears spring into his eyes as Max sinks further into him, inch by inch.

“There, look,” Max says, jolting Kimi from his thoughts. “You took it all, see? Isn’t that good?” He playfully thumbs over the tip of Kimi’s cock, smearing his mess across sensitive skin.

Kimi lets out a shuddering breath. He did take it all, and he’s amazed he did. He feels like he’s being split open, the hot pressure of Max’s big cock stretching out his hole, and it all feels like so much. “Yes,” he manages to gasp, impatiently rocking his hips to feel Max’s cock inside of him.

Max smiles and begins to move, pulling just a little ways out before thrusting his way back in. “I’m impressed,” he says, watching as Kimi’s little cock, flushed an angry red, bounces gently against his stomach. “You took it so well for your first time.”

“Oh,” Kimi says stupidly, his cheeks flushing at the praise. Nothing ever matches up to being praised by Max, no matter the context. He moans softly when Max begins to move, in and out, just a gentle fucking motion. A fucking motion, Kimi realises, his stomach twisting into knots when the gravity of the situation sinks in. He’s being fucked by Max fucking Verstappen, and he likes it.

Max’s fingertips dig into Kimi’s waist, holding him firm as he fucks into him a little harder now. He can’t get enough of how small Kimi is under his hands, how pliant he is. He bets he could ask Kimi to do anything and he would—which admittedly drives Max a bit wild. How far would Kimi go? What things could Max do to humiliate him before he backs out? Max glances at the welts and bruises he’d made on Kimi’s neck earlier, along with the angry-looking bite mark he’d left. They’ll certainly be hard to explain, but Max quite likes them; in fact, now Kimi looks like he belongs to someone.

Eventually, Kimi’s thighs close around Max’s hips, his heels pressing into Max’s back. He looks up at Max and his voice is downright wrecked when he begs, “Please, more,” his mouth hanging open as he pants for breath.

“More, he says,” Max teases, using his hold on Kimi’s hips to tilt his body up a little, fucking into him at a better angle. “Why can’t you get someone your own age to fuck you like this? Hmm? Why did you have to parade yourself over to me?”

Kimi feels hot all over. He knew he was pathetic for doing it, but hearing it from Max’s mouth makes him feel all the dirtier. Even so, with how deliciously Max’s cock fills him, his cockhead bumping up into his prostate with every thrust, Kimi can hardly string together a coherent thought. “Because, because,” he babbles, cutting himself off with a drawn-out moan, “because it’s you, I—”

Max laughs softly, amused. He can’t help but fuck into Kimi even harder, addicted to the tight, slick heat of his hole around his cock. “Oh, I think I get it,” he says with a particularly hard thrust into Kimi’s prostate. “You’ve been thinking about this a while?”

“Yes, yes,” Kimi begs, tears spilling out onto his blood-hot cheeks. He’s so close. It feels dirty to admit it, but God, he’s been thinking about this for far longer than he should. The fact that Max is here, right in front of him, fucking him to within an inch of his life sends Kimi over the moon. “Would—ah, watch your races, your interviews, and—” he moans, voice shaking apart on a cry of Max’s name, reaching up to grab at Max’s slick shoulders— “and I’d imagine how it would feel to—God, ah—have you do this to me, make me, ah—”

Kimi can’t even finish his thought before he’s coming, his cockhead drooling a string or two of come across his slim stomach. It sends his back into a delicious arch, his vision whiting out. He’s not exactly sure what comes out of his mouth, but a mix of moans and Max’s name would be a good guess. Max is relentless, too—he fucks Kimi strongly through his orgasm, his pace not slowing despite how Kimi squirms and sobs at the overstimulation.

“How many?” Max demands, his grip on Kimi’s waist tight enough to bruise.

“Three,” Kimi sobs in response, his sensitive little cock screaming for a break, but Max just keeps fucking him, using him as if he’s nothing but a toy. “Too much, Max—ah, can’t take it, stop, please—”

Max just growls, clearly frustrated, reaching for Kimi’s half-soft cock with one of his hands. He wraps his fingers around it and jerks Kimi off in time with his thrusts, forcing him towards another orgasm. “We agreed on four,” Max reminds him, voice soft but firm. “You’ll take four.”

Kimi thinks he might die.

Max’s hand works incessantly against his cock, stroking him rough and dry, and Kimi flies towards a fourth painful orgasm far faster than he’d hoped. He cries when he comes, dry this time, his cock giving a few pathetic twitches before resting soft against his stomach. Thankfully, Max isn’t close behind; he tips over the edge himself, coming hard and filling Kimi’s tight little hole with it. He fucks it into Kimi with a few deep strokes before finally, finally, slowing to a stop and offering Kimi some reprieve from the relentless overstimulation.

The poor kid looks wrecked, Max thinks. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, brown curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. Tear tracks dry on his face and his mouth hangs open as he pants for breath like a desperate little dog.

“Fuck,” Max sighs as he pulls out of Kimi, making him twitch and whine softly. “You shouldn’t have let me do that to you.”

Kimi, although still recovering, gathers enough energy to push himself up on his arms, shakily sitting up despite feeling thoroughly pathetic and fucked-out. His eyes widen in panic, feeling very suddenly small and helpless in front of Max. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice coming out more high-pitched than he’d have liked. “I wanted it.”

Max puts his hands to his face for a moment, sighs, and gets up off the bed. “I’ll be right back,” he tells Kimi, then goes off to the bathroom, bending to pick up his boxers as he goes. When he returns, he’s carrying a damp washcloth, an unrecognisable expression written on his face.

Fuck, has Kimi blown it for real this time? He looks up at Max, frantic, only for Max to sit on the bed beside him and run the washcloth over the mess on his skin. Kimi can’t help but twitch, hissing from oversensitivity, particularly when Max runs the washcloth over his soft little cock, but it makes him feel warm, in a way. Cared for. “I didn’t want you to—” he starts, hoping he can convince Max it wasn’t all a mistake.

“Save it,” Max says, but there’s no hint of anger in his tone. “Sleep here tonight, yeah? Let me help you get under the blankets.”

Kimi breathes a soft sigh of relief. He helps Max pull back the blankets and eagerly climbs underneath, exhaustion soaking into his every bone. When Max slips into bed beside him, he hesitates for a moment before pressing up against Kimi’s back, one arm looping around Kimi’s midsection. Kimi leans into it and breathes, his hazy mind already lulling him towards sleep. Max has him. It’ll be okay.

At least, that’s what he hopes.

[ya-mi-la]

hiiiii!!! i haven’t interacted with you much but i was wondering! if you perhaps had any personal hcs/lore for nnt!! i’m writing a melban fic and currently begging for lore so!!!!!! hi! hope you have a wonderful day/night!!!

Hmmmmmm I think the main hcs that I have for the characters are influenced by other people's AUs/hcs so...

For Mel, it's mainly just the demon form cat stuff. I think at some point I read about someone saying that maybe demons get to pick the shape of their wings when they get them? I also like thinking of Meliodas having double horns (a pair coming out of his forehead and a pair on either side of the top of his head) that have grown in with time (maybe takes 100-200 years to grow fully?) And he has the typical demon tail and bla bla bla. Mostly physical appearances. There's fangs in his mouth, not like.. Vampire fangs, but fangs that can tear through meat easily (I haven't drawn him like that yet I think). Also - extreme flexibility, but that could somewhat be established in the show.

For Ban, I don't have too much? Maybe he has a super soft spot for Meli or smth. He likes cuddles about as much as he likes sparing, he looks kind of intimidating but he's super chill. He gets freaked out when Meliodas does contortionist type shit. He also teaches (or at least tries to teach) Meliodas how to cook properly by making the food the right way, but Meliodas very rarely listens completely because he has the attention span of less than 10 seconds OR he fucks it up to mess with Ban.

Anyways Ban is malewife and Meliodas is his pet cat. I think that's all for what I think about those two?

In terms of lore (like, story wise), I think that Meliodas didn't know how to write or read in English or whatever language they use in Britannia (which I assume is, like, anglo saxon or smth), and when he did learn, he developed an Irish accent because I am a strong believer in him being Irish (cuz, y know, Britannia). Demons and Goddesses speak semitic languages because of me thinking about religion and stuff and how Christianity, Judaism, Islam, etc originated in the Middle East, Fairies are Eastern European to me idk why, Giants are..???? Whatever you wish, and humans are everywhere as expected. Vampires are also Eastern European because I searched it up and liked it. They have traditional dances and such - demons and giants have their dances connected to their fighting (giants dancing makes them stronger, demon dancing is just fusion dance w martial arts, like capoeira.), fairies create more lively atmospheres with dancing, I guess, and goddesses, since they're more "elegant", would have smth real classical. Fairies didn't really involve themselves in war too often, giants and demons involved themselves the most, and goddesses did it because of their VERY strained relationship with demons. Ehmmm, what else..... Meliodas never opened up to ANYONE. Like ever. Until he fully gained their trust (which could've taken months, years, decades even.) Ban's on the same boat. Anyways, after the sealing of the demons and the destruction of the goddess race (I may be incorrect, it's been a while since i watched the anime or read the manga), and since the humans are selfish and also gullible, they made history all about how bad demons were. They didn't see demons as actual people, whatever whatever, bla bla bla, you know the rest. Led to incorrect depictions of both races in history and what not.

That's just me, though. You can write whatever you want.

[protoplanetary-disco]

The Way of Revelation

Jesus finally came back to earth. Like it was planned long before. Kind of. The holiness descended upon earth mostly unseen. Only a lonely human saw it. Jesus stood there for a while, soaking in the atmosphere of the surroundings. The human just stood there too, doing the exact same thing. It was a warm spring night. The soft wind breathing through the trees like oceans through kelp. It was quiet, here at the edge of the city. “Are you alright?” Jesus asked. “I’m having a nice time.”, the human slowly answered. “I’m so glad to hear this.” Did Jesus just sound relieved? “And how are you?” Jesus stood silently for a second. “I’m not quite sure.”, he said, “Can I stay with you for a while?” “Sure, let’s go for a walk.”

The pathway led them along a field of grains weaving in the wind.

“I like this calmness. Why are you out here?”, Jesus asked. “The world really is beautiful. You just have to look at the right spaces.”, the human said, “I’m just thinking about some art projects. For quite a while, I guess. It is not easy to track time in this state of mind. Anyway, I’m thinking about what artist name I should give to myself. I like strange art, so maybe a strange name would fit me. Something weird, nobody can pronounce.” “I wouldn’t recommend that. Quite a while ago my parent used an edgy artist name without any vocals in it. It resulted in everybody just making up different vocals between the consonants to this day. I didn’t make the same mistake.”

At the end of the field the pathway led over a brook in a light forest.

“But you do you.”, Jesus proceeded, “Who am i to tell you?” “You're nice.”, the human said, “This is nice. It almost feels celestial.” “Are you high?”, Jesus asked. “How do you know?” “I don’t know, I just knew.”, Jesus chuckled. “Do you want some too? No pressure though.” “Not right now. I want to keep clear thoughts for the moment.”

The light of the stars sprinkled through the atmosphere.

“So what do you do?”, the human asked. “I want to get a picture of the situation here first hand. I have thought about it for a long time and I want to approach things mindfully. My parent and I had a lot of plans a while ago, but we finally let go of them. My family is quite complicated and I was very submissive to my parent at a young age. I still like my parent. They are a fabulous artist. Creative and glorious. But like many artists they had quite some mental problems and that, of course, was embodied in their projects. I have to admit, sometimes the art of my parent is too dark for my taste.” “That sounds like a lot to bear.” “You don’t even know. Maybe they viewed me as one of their art projects too. They did quite some harm to me, but I forgive them. It’s not easy to have a healthy relationship with others when you are as lonely as my parent was for such a long time. Anyway, we took a lot of time after all that happened. My parent and I decided to take a long break from everything. I wasn’t wandering out here for a long while.”

The brook became a tiny stream and the scent of young herbs wafted through the night.

“Are you Jesus?” “How do you know?” “I don’t know. I don’t even believe in you. You know, I’m high. And that is a perfect explanation for such an experience.” “Fair.”, Jesus smiled, “It used to be very important for my parent that people believe in us. But I think that’s outdated by now. A remnant of the old times. Just stay nice, it’s fine.” “I appreciate that. I try my best. But I hope I don’t disappoint you. I stopped supporting the church for many years now and if I’m being honest I dislike a whole list of things christianity does. Too many of them preach that some groups of people are inherently sinful as they were born. The churches take money from the people, even without their consent. I protest against things like this for example.” “People sometimes get stuff wrong, don’t you know?”, Jesus said, “You're perfectly fine however you are born. Besides, I raged and flipped some tables in a temple once too. Sometimes this is necessary. And it is certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Just be respectful to other beings, isn’t that quite obvious?”

The sounds of the brook faded as the pathway led them on a small hill.

“I’m sorry to hear that some people live their faith in us in a harmful way.”, Jesus said, “That’s not what we wanted back when I was young.” “Then why didn’t you do something about it? Why didn’t you just change that?” “The situation my parent is in is more complicated than you think. After designing everything. After all that creation, my parent is very attached to the project. It’s difficult to just change things after all that thought that went into designing it. Besides, sadly there maybe has to be contrast in art for there to be meaning.” “So what did you do? The last time you visited us was two thousand years ago.” “Back then I was the result of the first existential crisis of my parent. After the creation of everything things didn’t turn out like planned. Mankind was created as an image of my parent. But soon they did things my parent didn’t intend them to.”, Jesus took a deep breath, “Sometimes my parent was outrageous and even cruel to man, because they didn’t understand why they, as my parent's own image, were even able to rebel against them. To fix this my parent wanted to implement a system for treating the bad behaviour. It involved a lot of blaming and resulted in a lot of death, but it didn't seem to be the solution of the problem. After that my parent was frustrated by their beloved creation and I was sent to earth to find what was going wrong all the time. I knew their way of punishment didn’t work before. So I mostly tried to preach love and kindness instead.”

The path almost reached the top of the hill, orchards growing around them.

Jesus proceeded: “My change of tactics was a huge step in the right direction, but my parent didn’t see this immediately. In their old grown belief of rage and punishment they mistreated me and let me be nailed to the cross. I was still young and played along.” “That’s horrible. Why didn't you dismiss them?” “First I wanted to, but then I remembered how well my way of acceptance, love and ultimately forgiveness worked out. It took me three days to get over it though.” “And then? Why did you leave earth after that?” “First, my parent and I wrapped things up. We kind of botched this part, but luckily most of the people still interpret the incident in a positive way. Anyway, as you probably can imagine we had to take our time after this. I had taken care of humanity. Now I had to take care of my parent. We talked a lot and by this my father finally realised why mankind was able to act against their will. You see, they created humans as an image of themself. But my parent isn’t perfect. Humanity only was able to antagonise my parent, because they did so too. It is a hard task to accept that after all that time. So we worked on it. We retreated our earthly influence and cared about us, before we would be able to care about my fathers creation again. We have made steady progress since that.”

As the pathway led back to the city outskirts the horizon seemed to brighten just a little bit.

“But isn’t it an important part of the narrative of the bible, that god is a perfect being?”, the human asked. “What would you imagine my father would say of themselves before realising that really nobody, not even them are perfect?” “I understand.” “I have one last request.”, Jesus said, “We don’t want people to misinterpret this news. Could you keep our conversation for yourself for now? We have to take it slowly. We don't want to rush things this time.”

[denimbex1986]

'Robert Downey Jr. revealed during a career retrospective interview at Los Angeles’ American Cinematheque theater that he originally met Christopher Nolan ahead of “Batman Begins” to discuss the potential of playing the villainous Scarecrow in the director’s “Dark Knight” origin story. He didn’t get the part, although he’d make his impact on the comic book genre three years later with the 2008 release of Marvel’s “Iron Man.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard about [this role] and I was like, ‘I’m Scarecrow,'” Downey Jr. remembered (via The Playlist podcast host Griffin Schiller). “And then I remember meeting [Nolan] for tea and I was like, ‘He doesn’t seem like he’s really in on this interview.’ And he was polite and all that. But you can tell when someone is kind of like, ‘It’s not going to go anywhere.'”

Instead of Downey Jr., Nolan decided to cast Cillian Murphy as Scarecrow in “Batman Begins.” That casting would kick off a years-long collaboration between Murphy and the director, which has now spanned six films. Murphy originally wanted the role of Batman, but Nolan admitted to Entertainment Weekly last year that he knew Murphy was not going to be his Batman as early as their first conversation together. But that didn’t stop Nolan from wanting to screen test Murphy anyway.

“When we had our first conversation I think both of us knew that you weren’t going to wind up playing Batman,” Nolan said. “But I really wanted to get on set with you, I wanted to get you on film. We did those screen tests very elaborately, on 35mm, with a little set. There was just an electric atmosphere in the crew when you started to perform.”

“It was clear to me from the beginning that I wasn’t Batman material,” Murphy added. “It felt to me that it was correct and right that it should be Christian Bale for that part. But I remember the buzz of trying on the suit and being directed by you. Those tests were high production values.”

Although Nolan did not intend to cast Murphy as Batman, he set up a screen test for the role with the intention of getting studio executives on board with the idea of casting Murphy as Scarecrow instead.

“We did two scenes — there was a Bruce Wayne scene and a Batman scene — and I made sure that executives came down and watched what you were doing on set,” Nolan said. “Everybody was so excited by watching you perform that when I then said to them, ‘Okay, Christian Bale is Batman, but what about Cillian to play Scarecrow?’ There was no dissent. All the previous Batman villains had been played by huge movie stars: Jack Nicholson, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jim Carrey, that kind of thing. That was a big leap for them and it really was purely on the basis of that test. So that’s how you got to play Scarecrow.”

Nolan, Murphy and Downey. Jr. would all end up working together years later on the director’s “Oppenheimer,” for which they have all received Oscar nominations.'

[drunk-poets-society]

Omg i had the most dream ever.

Ok so

I was in a bus and very very social, so I got to talking with this guy and he was like “i know a Spot” and so i went there with him and it was like a country club on the countryside and gave me (idk what this word was supposed to be) vibes, with a splash of Appalachia or even Scandinavia but it was a nice wooden lodge and the atmosphere was constantly moody and cloudy, like it would rain any moment and I really liked it.

It was also very very Christian and there was a church, and we were in the back where the alter boys wear their robes and where all the stuff is stored and there’s these individual mini garden swings which fit one person. So I’m standing up looking down at the guy, and we’re looking at pictures and we see some of this old lady doing some weird cult stuff hereditary style and I’m like ‘that’s cool’ and find out that that lady is still alive and in the church.

Plot twist the church members wanted to find out wtf this woman’s deal was, but she was a very very old member so no one dared ask her. so I was tasked, kind of like a PI to uncover the truth and so i moved to the ranch???? Farm????? Adjoining the church.

There was constantly supernatural stuff happening which was pissing me off. Like a lot of paranormal activity which I kept brushing off as me being mentally ill™️🤪 and it was annoying me a lot. It was giving skinwalker ranch honestly. Anyways. one day I hear footsteps or something and then I see this creature-girl with very long but sparse but freakishly strong hair, and just like two scribbles for eyes

Yk kinda like this and her skin was the texture of a stuffed doll. It didn’t scare me, just made me think “either I’m not as insane as I thought or I have completely lost it”. So I went on a mission to catch her, and found out Actually there were two. they were kind of like sisters? Twins? Idk. But they had very long gangly limbs and were like stuffed dolls. And I was like “k cool, I don’t care” and continued living there, the paranormal activity still happening, which I just brushed off as mental illness™️™️🤪

Then one day, I was near the barn and there was this big-ish puddle of water that I didn’t know the depth of, but assumed it wasn’t that deep, seeing as it was a puddle, but the water was opaque and muddy so I didn’t step in it, because I didn’t have any reason to do so.

So like the lodge, right? The guy? Him and his friends gave me some scalpels as weapons that I was to keep on myself at all times. I was like “ok whatevs” and kept the bunch of scalpels tied with a rubber band in the right pocket of my overalls, and forgot about it. but i wore the same overalls every day so it was cool.

There were two feral cats napping, submerging themselves in the very puddle and I thought “hm that’s kinda strange but who am I to judge all cats are different” and then I noticed, upon closer inspection, that they weren’t real cats at all, but rather felted ones. They looked very real though.

and then the water started bubbling and then one of the cats got dragged in. Not too fast, I had time to see that the cat wore the still serene expression stitched to its face as it was gently pulled down under. The same thing happened with the second cat, so I put my fishing rod in the water hoping to catch something. It did get caught on something heavy, and I was like yay.

And then one of the girls bobbed up, but the hook had just been caught in her hair, which had very strong roots. Cos it was like 4 strands which were caught and her head was already sparsely populated. Anyways, no hint of the cats but she kinda just walked back into the barn or the house and I followed her, and she disappeared after climbing up and disappearing Into a horizontal support beam.

I caught a single strand of her hair and held onto it trying to pull her back up, and she had no expression or reaction. And as I was reaching for the scalpel the strand of hair broke :( Tried doing the same thing for the second time, this time more cautious, but it escaped again.

Woke up

[lex1nat0r]

Grimdark Magazine #39

I’ve been subscribed to Grimdark Magazine for years but my actual reading has been spotty at best. As someone with Opinions on “grimdark” I want to fix that, and so I’ll try keeping up with the new issues by putting down my thoughts here. This is my third time doing this on tumblr.

To be clear: this is mainly kvetching about genre(/aesthetics?). And also: not weighing in on whether any given story should be included in a “grimdark” magazine. I’m just fucking about, really.

Just looking at the short stories themselves unless I come across a review for a book I’ve actually read or an interview with an author I already know.

Actually starting out with something to say about one of the essays this time: "Grimdark is a State of Mind" by Krysle Matar. I like this, this is good. Relevant paragraph:

"Grimdark as a genre holds space for the depths of human depravity, sure, but also for the stubborn assertation that none of us are beyond hope. It gathers to it the traumatized, the broken, desperate, the wretched masses. It is built on big questions, some of them ugly, but all of them important. If heroes can only be unfailingly good, where do we, the tragically imperfect, turn to be seen and understood?"

This gets it, I think.

"Dead Reckoning Part II" by Christian Cameron

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: Close encounter.

A spaceship is pursued by an alien ship.

If there's a Dead Reckoning Part I, I've not read it. This is too technical, I think, to work as grimdark. There's a tension in the story, but not the atmosphere of misery I want from grimdark. It's good space opera, I'd read a book of this, but no grimdark.

Then there's a small materials science lecture with the essay "The Quest for Transparent Aluminium: Materials Science in Science Fiction" by John Mauro. Wouldn't mind seeing more stuff like that.

"Waiting for the Witnesses" by Gautam Bhatia

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: Cooperating witness.

Five people arrive on an obsidian plane to await the arrival of the Witnesses.

Shoutout to this one off the bat for being one of the few published works I've seen to have a character with xe/xir pronouns. In terms of grimdarkness this is a tricky one. The world-at-large is explicitly doing pretty well - there's no doom on the horizon. But it does have a post-apocalyptic atmosphere and the sense that it's all somewhat fragile. Bastards it's got, at least. And given the required sacrifice of the hopeful but ambiguous ending, I think it lands comfortably over the line for me.

"The Skin of Aquila Cadens" by Chris Panatier

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: In bloom.

A woman attempts to terraform an exoplanet into a new home for humanity.

Grimdark. Earth is, at best, a shithole. The protagonist is many lightyears away anyway and has nothing to come back to given the time dilation. A very lonely short story - the woman is the only human character there. Under an alien sun, on a mission that may be Doomed from the start - a mission that has already made Bastards of everyone involved. Solidly in the black (grey? note to self: work on this color scale for grimdark).

"Observer" by Eric Malikyte

GRIMDARKNESS RATING: Witnessed.

A soldier and an AI drone doing counterterrorism.

Also solidly grimdark. The government sucks, several places have already been nuked, there's some kind of climate disaster. Solidly hits my criteria. Not much to say about this one, really.

GRIMDARK MAGAZINE #39 OVERALL GRIMDARKNESS RATING:

GRIM: YES

DARK: LIKE SPACE

[blueysbookshelf]

2024: Book 52 - Dust Storm

Dust Storm by Maggie C. Gates My rating: 4 of 5 stars I was hesitant going into this book because so many people were negative about the FMC, Cassandra, in their reviews…but I gave it a shot anyway and I’m glad I did. I enjoyed it very much. However…I do have a few gripes. Cass was indeed prickly and short, but there was no real explanation as to why, other than her fiance and a brief mention of her parents and family and how they weren’t very affectionate. I’m not sure that’s enough to make me buy that someone had a chip on their shoulder the size of the one Cass had. But I kind of invented a backstory for her in my head that didn’t work against the story and that was that…however, I wish I’d been given something a little more fleshed out for her. She was a fun character and I really enjoyed the way she grew, I just wanted to understand her better. Christian, on the other hand, was very well fleshed out. He was so well fleshed out, his backstory so strong, that some of it didn’t make a lick of sense to me at all and I just told myself I had to just go with it. I don’t fully understand why he felt everything that happened to anyone he cared about was his fault in particular, but I also know that sometimes our mental health issues just don’t make a lick of sense. The only thing I could actually see him thinking was his fault was his first wife passing…It was in no way his fault, he didn’t cause it, but I can see where he’d think he could have. I enjoyed the interactions with the kids on all sides and I didn’t think it was weird. Cass is open about the fact that she’s not a “kid person” and she shouldn’t be forced to become one. Some people don’t understand or enjoy children and there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as they aren’t bringing children into the world. All in all the book was interesting and fun and well paced. My only other issue was with the spice. There was something missing for me. All of the encounters were short and felt stilted and not as enjoyable as I wanted. But that’s a personal choice. I use the CAWPILE Review method for my reviews (see explanation here) just to keep me honest and help me understand what exactly it was that I liked/didn’t like. My rankings and ultimate rating are below. Characters: 8/10 Atmosphere/Setting: 8/10 Writing: 8/10 Plot: 8/10 Intrigue: 8/10 Logic/Relationships: 8/10 Enjoyment: 10/10 total: 58/70 - divided by 7 = 8.2 View all my reviews

[smugblueenby69]

I absolutely would agree with you, but I also think she’d need something to drown out the voices in her head. Like yes she’d listen to church music, but I think a modern AU Harrow would secretly be listening to at least like an instrumental.

Could it possibly be a rock instrumental? Who knows. But it’d be something to drown out the voices. I relate super heavy to Harrow, and I think that her finding rock/goth/and metal music she likes would work really well. Especially given how many Christians/catholics work in those genres.

Also

Coming from both a perspective of depression, and various neurodivergence, but also a perspective of having hallucinations, its easier when you have something to focus on or to dissociate into. And Harrow canonically having a bad brain atmosphere would likely not want to dissociate into her thoughts. She probably USED to dissociate into her thoughts.

She probably spiraled a lot, constantly hating herself and having a terrible relationship with religion and living, but alas, she would have access to music as an outlet that she definitely doesn’t have in canon, and also the mirror to fixing her relationship with Gideon in a modern AU would probably lead to her not wanting to rely on self harm in any form anymore (and yes, allowing yourself to talk bad about yourself on purpose all the time is self harm, and also Harrow canonically self harms throughout the series, just in necromantic ways, I’m not putting any weird head canons onto her, so stop typing)

So yeah, music or noise of any sort would make sense for a teenage, modern AU Harrow to get into, especially on the journey to self recovery. Now, do I know people IRL who genuinely cannot listen to music? Yes. In fact, my therapist for some reason cannot for the life of her listen to ANYTHING at all, which tbh is really interesting ig. Idk what her brain is like that she doesn’t like audio books or anything else.

But also I genuinely don’t think Harrow is like that, people who have a lot of noise in their head tend to want to match it on the outside. And Harrow always has a lot of noise, even minus 201 souls, cause she’d still have hallucinations and stuffs.

Do I think Harrow would like panic and the disco? Absolutely not. But something melodic and haunting that also feels like someone is scratching at your soul? She’d fucking cry her heart out at three am trying to cram the song into her chest cavity via will. Give her something grungy and dark and put it in one of those boombox radios, not so she can play it super loud no, but so she can lay it on her chest while she’s in bed and feel the vibrations and the pressure. Built in sad goth weighted blanket.

Also, its not goth but one day Pal introduces her to Mon Rovîa, Nemahsis, the 2017 Chappell Roan album, and The Happy Fits and she creates a singular tiny playlist with some of her favorites from what Pal showed her (I genuinely think there are some she would enjoy given the chance)

But yeah no, the fact that Harrow doesn’t listen to music in canon isn’t because she hates it, it’s because there really isnt any music for her to listen to other than really guttural Ninth funeral songs that honestly aren’t all that great, and really just about the emperor. This gives her a real outlet!

Music could save her guys

I do think its fair that you believe she’d prefer silence, but I think its way more conditional. If she’s got something else to fully dissociate into then I agree, but I doubt it’d be easy for her to do with hw, especially on subjects she despises. This is still a neurodivergent person we’re talking about

Anyways thats my take. Sorry for any typos, my cat was sleeping on my face during this

I see so many posts on Harrowhark's modern music taste "she'd like this goth band and that goth band".

I'm gonna level with you.

I don't think she likes music.

I think Harrowhark is the kind of person who will go on a 12 hour road trip and demand the trip to be in dead silence. She's not even the one driving, obviously. But she will turn the radio off passive aggressively as soon as it makes a sound. Doesn't matter if it's music, the news, advertisements, she'd just turn it right off.

No music for studying either, or for making soup. It's dead silence all the time.

Maybe in the evening after a long day of research, she'll sit down on the couch, with a nice tall glass of tab water, turn on the radio and listen to CATHOLIC CHURCH MUSIC like the weird over devoted nun she is. She listens to this actively. She leans back, closes her eyes, lets the churchy tunes settle in and sometimes forms the lyrics (which she knows by heart) with her lips (only lip synching though, no singing). After like half an hour of that, she turns the radio off and goes back to silence.

[jezfletcher]

1000 Albums 2022: Albums #25-16

I'm a bit late in writing up my Top Albums this year, but it being the first day of 2023, I thought it's probably a good time to look back on the year that was in music, and start writing up my top albums. As has been the case since 2016 (wow, 7 years of this now), Sam and I have listened to over 1000 albums this year, and I've distilled the very best of 2022's music into just a top 25. For the stats-curious: we hit 1032 albums in total this year, of which 938 were actually released in 2022 (that's 91% brand new music). That added up to over 11,000 individual tracks, and almost 717 hours of unique music (that's about an entire month listening 24 hours a day). My Spotify Wrapped said I listened for more than twice this when you take into account relistening and so-on—so it's undoubtedly a big undertaking. In addition to our 2022 albums, we listened to 2 "throwback" albums from previous years each week, and managed complete retrospectives of four different artists' work. This year, the lucky artists were Van Dyke Parks (including the various albums for other artists that he produced and arranged for), Buffy Sainte-Marie, Tracy Chapman, and Blur. Of these, the absolute standout was Buffy Sainte-Marie, who was a revelation to me. For two sides of a fascinating artist, check out My Country Tis Of Thy People You're Dying, one of the best bist of protest folk I've ever heard, or the psychedelic folk rock of Sweet September Morning. Amazing stuff. Anyway, we're not really here to talk about that, but I can't resist putting a little call-out for Buffy. We're here to count down my Top Albums of 2022. I've gone fom 25 to 16 in this post. Tomorrow, I'll count down 15-5, leaving the top 5 for a big reveal in a few days. But lets get started...

25. Bitch - Bitchcraft (experimental queer pop)

Bitchcraft by Bitch

Kicking off the writeups this year we have this pot-pourri of experimental and less-experimental queer electropop from self-styled poet-witch Bitch. It has all the anarchy of true punk, laced with screaming electronic hooks and a consistent use of Bitch's iconic violin. But she also turns in soulful, melodic ballads like Another Wound, which may be the best piece of music on the album. It all makes for a rich and varied experience, always with a very unique and personally engaging world view. As an iconic song from the album though, which represents all the wonderful genre-smashing, I can't go past "Hello Meadow!". You'll like it if you want: Lindsey Stirling, only weirder, and queer rather than fundamentalist Christian.

24. Lack the Low - God-Carrier (avant-pop)

God-Carrier by Lack The Low

Björk had an excellent album this year; it ended up #34, so just missing out on a write-up. But instead we have Lack the Low, an Australian artist who obviously owes some inspiration to the darker parts of Björk's oeuvre. I heard the excellent The Sharpest Knife playing one Saturday morning on our local community radio station, and it immediately thrust God-Carrier on to my listen-list for the following week. She does wonderfully atmospheric electro-prog with a sense of build to her tracks that drives towards an often ecstatic, cathartic finish. While The Sharpest Knife was my introduction, I think the best track is the opener, Rushlight. You'll like it if you want: independent Aussie artists taking barbershop in strange new directions.

23. Kae Tempest - The Line Is A Curve (spoken-word poetry)

kaetempest · Priority Boredom

One of our finest modern poets, Kae Tempest brought back the punch of their spoken-word outings like Let Them Eat Chaos and Everybody Down, leaving behind what I found more introspective and downbeat in their previous 2019 album. This pushes Tempest back into the upper echelons of the year with The Line Is a Curve, another collab between Tempest's gripping delivery with Dan Carey's electronic production—together they provide one of the most potent electronic albums of the year, while Tempest proves once again why they are lyrically such a powerhouse. Hard to single out a track to represent the whole album—its potency comes from the accumulation of the whole—but I've shared here Priority Boredom which I feel is a fabulous entry to the album. You'll like it if you like: contemporary spoken-word poetry or modern electronica. You'll love it if you like: both of the above.

22. Murder By Death - Spell/Bound (gothic country)

Spell/Bound by Murder By Death

Atmospheric indie rock by way of That Haunted Gorge Where All Those Cowboys All Mysteriously Disappeared Exactly 10 Years Ago Tonight, Murder By Death provide a wonderfully dark take on modern Americana. This is all about creating a mood with their sophisticated rock, lashed with country elements. It's music for driving at night through West Texas, or for that hipster bar in Asheville that hasn't quite shaken off its bluegrass roots entirely. This is an album I could absolutely listen to end-to-end and consider it a singular experience. It's hard to single out something again—this is about the whole journey, not the sights along the way—but I'll go with Never Be which I think is possibly the most accessible, even if it's not that emblematic of the whole album. You'll like it if you like: country, but only kinda secretly.

21. Telenova - Stained Glass Love (indie pop)

Stained Glass Love by Telenova

Easily my highest-rated EP of the year, this 5-track outing gets a big boost from having a Track of the Week for the title track, and then following it up with another a few weeks later when we heard the full EP, this time for Silver Lining, which is a wonderfully melancholy bit of downtempo pop that shifts its way through various harmonic peculiarities. As always when this kind of jewel-studded EP appears, you fear that it's just the precursor to a bigger debut album which will seem less novel when it's just "this EP stretched out to 45m long". But presuming that this is a stand-alone, it's a great one. I've highlighted the title track here, but you can spare the 21m to listen to the whole thing. You'll like it if you like: anything of modern indie pop, or 90s downtempo

20. Mice Parade - lapopọ (post shoegaze)

lapapọ by Mice Parade

I came across Mice Parade for the first time at the 2008 Sydney Festival, where I completely eschewed their show, but was waiting outside the Spiegeltent waiting a different performance while they were on inside. I was rapt by their fascinating blend of dreamy shoegaze and complex polyrhythms, even if the sound was muted by the canvas between me and them. Fortunately, since then, while I've not managed to catch them live, I've fallen in love with their albums, and their latest might be their best. It has the same hypnotic drawl of Adam Pierce's vocals (an anagram of "Mice Parade", you'll note), with fluid motivic guitar riffs and multi-layered drum-patterns. This is an album that builds up over time, but I have to call out Eisa Dancers which starts with this ethereal riff (possibly on hammered dulcimer, or on a koto) and builds waves, wending in and out of the dream-like otherworldiness. You'll like it if you like: a novel take on jangly indie rock.

19. Keston Cobblers Club - Alchemy (twee folk)

I've recently very much become attached to the music reviews site At The Barrier, which does a great job of unearthing music that I find nowhere else—they also have a particular focus on various kinds of folk, and this is one of those albums this year which comes solely from ATB. It's an eclectic album, jumping between variations of folk pop, switching out singers and showing off their multi-instrumental prowess. I could call out quite a few song here—Jupiter has a wonderful expansive space-folk sound (is that a thing? it should be), Rigmarole brings in tuba and accordion for a kind of indie-trad sound, Tarantula has a musical theatricality to it to bring the album home. I might just go with one of the early tracks Find My Way, which sits a little more in the centre of everything. You'll like it if: you're not afraid of a bit of a trad folk sound, but still enjoy pop songwriting.

18. Frank Turner - FTHC (alt punk)

Frank Turner is a little hard to classify, because he definitely comes from a punk background, but now turns to a kind of raucous singalong pub rock—he can also pull together a genuinely excellent bit of pop like his satirical Make America Great Again from 2018. Here, he's in more of a heavier, angrier, shoutier style for the most part, even when he sticks with pop tropes like in Haven't Been Doing So Well, or the show-ending Farewell To My City. The standout track for me here though is the wonderful Miranda, a story about reconciling with his father after she came out as trans. You'll like it if you like: hard indie rock, or punk with a soft heart.

17. bis - Systems Music for Home Defence (electropunk)

Systems Music For Home Defence by bis

A great collection of eclectic, shouty electropop that takes the kind of 80s sound back to its post-punk root, and is willing to have fun along with way. I love music that doesn't take itself too seriously (my common refrain is that you should be able to tell that the band is having fun), and this has this feeling all over it. Bis has only released about an album every 5 years or so since 2000, although they've been around since the mid-90s (and broken up then reformed at least once), and you can feel like they're pretty happy just doing what they want—nothing is forced in this album. They've got nothing to prove, and they can do the things that work for them. My pick here is the opening track Lucky Night, which has a pointed satire to it, as well as a super-catchy indie pop sound. You'll like it if you like: 00s electropunk, after big beat went off in a weird direction.

16. Death's Dynamic Shroud - Darklife (slushwave)

Darklife by death's dynamic shroud

This is a bit of a monster, both in terms of its length, and its aggressive, spiky electronica. It takes some of the massive symphonic sound of someone like Roly Porter, but adds synthpop elements, along with the kind of knowing deconstruction of hyperpop. I relistened to this on a drive between Sydney and Canberra and I realised that I'd probably massively underrated it earlier in the year (even though it won my Album of the Week the week it was released). But it's an album that you really need to experience in its entirety to get its full impact. That being said, there's a nice sample of the whole in the epic, progressive Messe de E-102, which gets my nod here. You'll like it if you like: Wagner

[everysanemi]

merry christmas everyone !!!

[witchybiitchy]

c’est ça l’amour | l.n

fic masterlist

chapter 10

“I think it’s safe to say that everyone, both from AlphaTauri and McLaren, are incredibly disappointed in you two.” Dan Brown’s words echoed around Sydney’s head as she blow dried her hair, Alpha Tauri polo and jeans already on as she prepared for her first day of formal press since, what Daisy is privately referring to as ‘The Pash’, occurred. She’d performed well last week getting to P7, so there was no reason she couldn’t perform just as well this week, and that was what she’d tell everyone who asked. That didn’t stop her hands from shaking as she unplugged her hair dryer, nor her heart from beating at 1000 miles an hour as she stepped out of the hotel lobby and into her provided car with Daisy. Driving always calmed her down, but she didn’t think that anything could truly calm her down before this.

“Lando’s nervous too.” Daisy said sympathetically. She needed to give Sydney updates like this as the pair had been ‘formally discouraged from making non-professional, social contact’ with each other. Corporate speak for ‘make this any worse and you will lose your job.’

“He is not about to be called a slut on TV in front of all his colleagues, now is he?” Sydney’s lack of h’s seemed ever so prominent in her time of stress. Her accent had seemingly thickened in one day, as she’d spent all of the previous day on the phone with Pierre in between their individual duties for the day.

“Well, that’s the patriarchy for you, love. Don’t worry, the interviewers will probably feel just as awkward asking the questions as you will answering them.” Daisy replied. All Sydney could see in her head was Olav winking at her after poking his tongue in the inside of his cheek and already knew that wouldn’t be the case.

As soon as she stepped out of the car and onto the pavement of the Red Bull Ring’s driver entrance, she could feel eyes and cameras on her. They were earlier than a lot of other teams, and earlier than most of their team, as they wanted to avoid the majority of unofficial media personnel asking questions, but of course you couldn’t plan it perfectly.

“Are you and Lando like, dating?” A young girl in an FiA top said as she scanned Sydney’s pass for her. Apparently the machines were broken, but Daisy didn’t seem to be having too much trouble.

“No.” Sydney deadpanned before grabbing her pass back and rejoining Daisy. “One question and I am already wanting to go home.” Sydney groaned.

“Just take it one question at a time.” Daisy said positively.

The format of the Thursday was the same as any other. Sydney would complete all her individual interviews, the official Formula 1 press conference with another randomly selected driver, and then anything extra for AlphaTauri. Today, there was also a Grill the Grid to film, which made her feel physically nauseous as they almost always involved the discussion of fellow drivers. And yet, the entire atmosphere was different. Sydney felt like a zoo animal with all the eyes on her, and she even saw Christian Horner whisper something to Max Verstappen as she walked past them at one point. To his credit, Max didn’t seem overly impressed with whatever Christian had to say, and sent Sydney a comforting smile.

“Sydney, fuck, how are you?” Charles said as he was passing by with his team, seeming tentative to give her a hug but doing so anyway.

“I’m fine, I just need to get through today.” Sydney said softly into his shoulder.

“You’ll be great.” He smiled sympathetically before being swept off to another interview.

She didn’t really pay any attention to where they were going until Daisy stopped walking and got out her phone, probably panic checking Sydney’s schedule. They were basically in the middle of nowhere, in the AlpaTauri pit lane garage surrounded by a couple of engineers and mechanics but definitely no press. She gave Daisy a questioning look at their locale.

“Sky want to meet us here for an interview, something about location variety for their cut-shots before the race, I don’t know.” Daisy trailed off, her fidgeting hands revealing that she was nervous as well.

“Who is the interviewer? I do not want a man.” Sydney said as she closed her eyes and rubbed the heel of her palm into them.

“I think we have Natalie, so you’re in luck.” Daisy said just as a TV crew arrived in the pit lane. Two chairs were set up facing into the garage, so that the background of the video would be the pit wall. Natalie beckoned Sydney over as the crew continued setting up cameras and microphones, and she gave Daisy a questioning look before going over.

“Now, I know you’re probably nervous, and that’s totally fine, but I just want you to know that I only have one question about, well you know what about,” Natalie began, and Sydney was thanking the omnipotent powers of the world that this was the presenter she was given. “And it’s so open-ended you can basically give a press-statement on it. I'm not gonna try and make you say something risqué, as much as my boss wants me to. The interview’s mainly to talk about feminist shit, the female experience in F1. But don’t worry, this was planned before Tuesday, it’s not some cover up thing.” Natalie smiled comfortingly, and Sydney tried her best to smile back. Maybe she’d over-reacted, maybe the press wasn’t actually going to be that bad.

God, was she wrong. Her interviews all went by fairly quickly, her anxiety-riddled brain relaxing in relief at the questions that would normally seem brain numbing, and most only asked one or two questions about her and Lando. Grill the Grid was also fine, it was about driver heights and she made sure to group the shorter drivers together so that she wouldn’t have to actually say Lando’s name. They even filmed a few jokey AlphaTauri videos while they were in their racing gear. It was the press conference where the day really went to shit.

Her group was made up of Lewis Hamilton, neutral, Sebastian Vettel, kind but never spoken to him, Mick Schumacher, nice enough, and, even though the driver selections were supposedly random, Lando Norris. She made sure to seat herself in the far right-hand chair, hopefully so that the interviewers would forget about her. That was obviously a feeble wish.

“Sorry to Seb, Lewis and Mick, this could be a bit of a boring one for you.” One of the press conference interviewers said as they all settled themselves down. The five of them chuckled good naturedly, but Sydney thought she might vomit again.

“And we’re good to go. Well, I don’t think anyone will be surprised by this first question. Lando, we’ll come to you first, what do you have to say after that photo was leaked on Tuesday?” There was a slightly awkward moment of silence as Lando paused to readjust in his chair, obviously trying to stall as well.

“Well, I mean, obviously it’s not an ideal situation for myself and Sydney to be in,” Sydney noticed him tack on the end of her name like an afterthought, obviously not wanting to use a nickname on air, “because it wasn’t a public place, you know, so it’s unfortunate that even our private lives aren’t very private, but I suppose that comes with the territory.” Lando seemed like he was done, but a stern looked from Charlotte prompted him to continue.

“It’s also not as if we need to apologise, so I guess all I really have to say is that it’s just a photo from a 21st birthday party and people shouldn’t read too much into it.” Lando sank back in his chair, and no amount of eye contact from Charlotte was going to make him keep going.

“And Sydney, what are your thoughts?” The interviewer turned to look at her. She had to stop herself from instinctually looking over at Lando, needing the support of his blue eyes at a time like this.

“I agree with Lando, I think that it is not a photo that belongs to the public, and it is unfortunate that we cannot behave like normal people our age without a big fuss being made. On the other hand,” Sydney continued, receiving a look from Daisy this time, “I do recognise that I have a great privilege in being a Formula 1 driver, and obviously part of that is being, euh, watched? I guess? And although, as Lando said, I do not need to apologise, I can see why certain people have, euh, issues with our behaviour.”

The interviewer moved onto questions about the race for the other three for about 5 minutes, a fraction of the time they would usually spend on official questions, before opening up to the floor.

“David Croft, Sky Sports F1, a question for Sydney. You said before that you can see why certain people would ‘have issues’ with your and Lando’s actions. Why is that?”

“Well, I need to be, euh, diplomatic, non?” Sydney elicited a laugh from a few journalists, but barely cracked a smile herself. “The reason is that people usually have issues when young people in, euh, with fame, behave the way other people their age do. Drinking, dancing, a lot of people have problems with that.”

“And how do you respond to assertions that you’re throwing away your career, or making a mockery of F1?” Sydney’s head began to buzz, and the long words he was using didn’t help. She inferred what ‘assertions’ meant and carried on, hoping she was correct.

“Euh, well, I think that could be how it seems, but I think that some people are forgetting that it was my 21st birthday, and that I do not do this every weekend, if ever, and that I am still capable of racing well even though I am not just a Formula 1 robot with no desire to have fun.” Sydney tried to stop herself from getting too annoyed.

“I think, what I’m more trying to get at here, forgive me for the insistence, is that a relationship between two drivers could be potentially detrimental to the sport as a whole.” The man continued.

“Well, maybe it could be, but we are not in a relationship so that is not a problem.” Sydney said bluntly.

“Okay, I think we’ll move on to somebody else now.” The main interviewer said.

“Peter Vamosi, Racingline. Sydney, how do you think the presence of both genders in Formula 1 will change the sport, especially given the actions of Monday night?” Sydney had to push down a grimace.

“I think that the presence of women in Formula 1 can only be a good thing. There are too many men in this sport, both on the track and off, and I think that, when girls who are interested in karting see female engineers and female drivers, they understand that this is a real career for them. I also think that sometimes this sport can be, euh, negative in that there is too much, euh, trying to prove that you’re the best. I mean obviously we all want to be the best, we all want to win. But I think sometimes, with all the, euh, I think testosterone is the word, with all the testosterone the competition can compromise safety and can create really negative attitudes towards other teams or other supporters.” Sydney knew that that wasn’t the answer he was looking for, but it was how she really felt, and she wouldn’t bow to his will and talk about Monday night when it was irrelevant.

“Matt Kew, Autosport. Sydney, can you really maintain that view, that there are only positives to come from a female presence in Formula 1, when one photo of you and Lando has already thrown the paddock into such a frenzy?” God, she wanted to strangle that little man.

“Euh, well, yes, of course I can. That ‘frenzy’ is because of an attitude problem in this sport, not because of a female presence.” She had completely forgotten about keeping her cool.

“Christian Nimmervoll, Motorsport Total. Christian Horner has just told my colleague that, quote ‘drivers who behave like drunk teenagers in their free time are a poor representation of the serious athletes in this sport.’ What do you have to say about that, and do you think that that is reflective of the attitude problem you mentioned?” Sydney paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, struggling to stay civil.

“You didn’t address the question, can I answer?” Seb said jokingly, representing the thoughts of the other three drivers. Well, potentially even four, given Lando hadn’t been asked a single question so far either.

“Um, Sydney?” The interviewer said awkwardly, and she could hear Lewis exhale in comedic disbelief next to her.

“Euh, I think that, um, well I do not really know what to say.” Sydney half-laughed. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but if she began crying sexism up and down the paddock she’d be called hysterical.

“I’d like to answer this question, actually.” Lando said from a few chairs down, and all heads in the room, including Sydney’s, turned to face him. “I think that the attitude problem Syd mentioned isn’t just people saying things like what Christian said, which I have my own thoughts on, but that’s besides the point. I think the attitude problem is perfectly represented in this room. She was asked four questions in a row, all of which tried to insinuate that a drunken kiss between us somehow meant that women shouldn’t be allowed to race in Formula 1, which, pardon my language, is the biggest bullshit I’ve ever heard. At least if all of you were interrogating both of us, it could be written off as gossip for entertainment, but the fact that Syd’s getting the blame for something that wasn’t even bad in the first place is ridiculous, given there are two of us in that photo.” The room fell silent after Lando’s short outburst, and Sydney noticed that Charlotte and Daisy had already left the room. They were beyond help.

“Well, maybe we’ll just end it there for today.” The main interviewer said, awkwardly mouthing something to his colleague. Lewis turned to Sydney sympathetically.

“I know how it feels, don’t worry. Just remember that if you’re driving well, and getting good results, there’s nothing they can really say to you.” With that, the older man stood up and left the room, allowing Sydney to make brief eye contact with Lando before he too left the room. It was going to be a long weekend.

She was in the car, in the last minutes remaining of Q3. She would have just enough time to complete one flying lap after this slow lap to let her battery recover. Mattia had told her to aim for the 1:03s, and she had no idea where that would put her but she trusted him. Disappointed my ass, Sydney thought to herself. She’d never qualified so well in her whole life. It was as if a hole had opened up in the middle of the track ahead of her and she was just disappearing through it, the air in front of her splitting like a tunnel.

She rounded the last corner, hitting the apex just right and accelerating out in a way that made her feel as though she had melted into the car and was simply extending her own body parts. As she passed the chequered flag, she heard the telltale crackle of the radio, followed by a cheer that surprised her so much she nearly spun the car.

“P4 SYD! P FUCKING 4!” Mattia yelled over the radio from the pit wall.

“Seriously?” Sydney asked in true disbelief.

“Yeah Syd, well done, well done today.” Mattia continued.

“Fuck me man, fuck, I was not expecting that.” Sydney could feel tears running down her cheeks. If she was Max or Lewis they would’ve been tears of disappointment with P4, but she was elated. A small voice in the back of her head whispered, “Lando had better have done well too, or you’ll look really, really bad.”

“And now, is that Sydney Laurent I see? I think it is.” The voice of Ted Kravitz made Sydney turn her head to face him, stopping her walk through the paddock. She had her hair unplaited and tied into a bun, and her overalls were down around her waist, and she hadn’t taken off the shit-eating grin that she’d been wearing for the past hour and a half. “Well, someone certainly looks happy.” He said in his cheerful voice.

“I think this is the best day of my life since France.” She said happily.

“And France was less than a month ago, you have to be aware that you’re having an astoundingly good season.” The photo flashed through her mind and she winced slightly.

“Well, euh, astoundingly? That was what you said? No, I wouldn’t say that, not after this week. But today, it has definitely improved things.” Sydney laughed.

“Speaking of this week, with you in P4 and Lando in P2 after qualifying, I mean, I think everyone has to eat their words now, don’t they?” Ted said, with a grin still on his face.

“Eat their words? I have never heard that expression before, it is funny. Yes, yes I believe that they do have to eat their words. We are both serious athletes, even if some people don’t think so.” She said, cheekily referencing Christian Horner’s comments from earlier in the week.

“We’d better get going, but it was lovely talking to you Sydney, best of luck for tomorrow.” Ted said, rushing off to find another person to interview for his post-qualifying, post-media show.

Once again, it was more due to the pitfalls in other driver’s strategies, with Lewis’ pitstop taking over 6 seconds and the undercut not working in Checo’s favour, but Sydney found herself walking out onto the podium in third place, accepting her trophy and holding it high above her head. You couldn’t call this a fluke anymore, nor luck, nor anything else. She was just a good driver, and no one could dispute it. But the thing that made this podium even better, that made a grin split her face open in two like a madwoman, was who walked out when they announced second place.

“LANDOOO NORRIS!” Cheers erupted from the crowd as the boy stepped out to accept his trophy. Sydney couldn’t help but stare. His brown curls spilled out from under his cap and his smile was bright enough to rival the sun. Her chest ached for what could now never transpire between them, but she also felt elated at what they had achieved. They had managed to make all the doubt and the criticism vanish in just one fell swoop.

The music began to play and Lando and Sydney began spraying their champagne with noticeably more enthusiasm than Max, but that didn’t stop him from dousing the pair in equal measure. Once the cheering had died down, Sydney lifted the comically large bottle to take a well-deserved swig.

“You two are unbelievable.” Max said, laughing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lando said, cringing at the taste of champagne in his mouth.

“You have maybe the biggest scandal between two drivers, and I’m literally dating the ex-wife of the driver I replaced, and then you finish the week with a podium for both of you. I just, it’s unbelievable.” Max continued, laughing to himself.

“Yeah, we’re pretty good.” Lando said, and he swung his arm around Sydney’s shoulders as they walked off the podium. He removed it fairly swiftly upon noticing all the cameras that were on them, but at this point Sydney didn’t care. They could shit-stir all they wanted, because they’d proved that whatever was going on between them, which neither them nor the media really understood, wouldn’t get in the way of their jobs.

That night, after she was interviewed, debriefed and showered, Sydney cuddled under her duna, the warmth of her hotel room nearly lulling her to sleep. Her newly founded phone addiction led her to opening Instagram, despite her better judgement. She saw more notifications than usual, all of which were about the same tagged post. Clicking on the first one to pop up, she was taken to Lando’s account. On the first slide, a picture of Max, Lando and Sydney on the podium, grins wide as Max spoke to both of them. On the second, it was the picture from the pub. Not the one taken by some stranger, nor the video taken by Pierre. It was Daisy’s photo, the one of them laughing. His caption? 🥉+🥈. God, she really did blush like a schoolgirl.

[finelinegynandromorph]

hallelujah, how’d you do it: gospel and religious harmonic convergence in lil nas x’s dead right now

hi! i know i usually write about harry styles here but i’m going through my periodic montero spiral and wanted to share a few vocal symbology thoughts because i am a slut for harmonies. so! if that sounds interesting, i’ll be using the usual fast and loose approach to musical terminology, you have been forewarned. 

as some personal background, a lot of my earlier singing experience was in a gospel context. to clarify, this was distinct from the US gospel choir tradition because mine was in the African Traditional Church (ATC) structure, where tenants of christianity are combined with traditional elements of animism, folklore, and mythology. there’s definite overlap and influence of US gospel traditions and ATC’s on each other, but just want to fully clarify that my experience has only been in one of those contexts. i’ll be using my ATC experience to speak to some gospel themes i personally see in dead right now, but since the traditions are similar and intertwined but *not* identical, if you have more experience with US gospel traditions and have corrections or clarifications or things to add please do share your thoughts i’d love to hear them!

me and the church have more of a. distant. relationship now, further complicated by growing up in a religious context that was mixed christian/hindu/buddhist/muslim and also being gay and trans. but! with that being said, i hold so many very special memories from gospel traditions. memories like singing with my granny and older aunties in the community while the pastor gave a rhythmic spoken word sermon at midnight on new year’s eve—that’s the kind of formative musical and social experiences that i still hold very close to my chest. anyway all this to say i’m coming at this with a little bit of distance but also a lot of complicated nuanced warmth. 

x

so! here we go, more under the cut!

we begin with a slightly distorted/faded organ-like musical prompting, as if we’re slightly underwater (a production theme in this album, with rain noises, splashes, etc. interspersed throughout which gives me ~thoughts~ on symbols of water and the movement of water in diasporic traditions but yes more on that another time). the sound here reminds me of an organ intro that helps cue in the choir for a church hymn. this sonic convergence feels very intentional given the very consistent nods to gospel tradition through the rest of the song.

when we move into the body of music at large, we’ve got the striking trumpets and the introduction of a choir! there’s consonance in two main keys here, providing a soft, atmospheric harmonization that feels very instrumental. then we have an electronic beep cueing in montero rapping the first verse. 

the two forms of prompting we have here, first the organ for the choir and next the beep for montero, just absolutely remind me of cueing techniques for choral arrangements. these sonic choices seem significant to me in a song that deals so directly with themes of community and origin. the beep also sounds reminiscent of a dial tone/phone sound, which leads smoothly into the image montero creates in the first verse, of folks contacting him on the phone.

in the first verse we’ve got instrumental synth in the background at the same key as the choir from before, contributing to the atmospheric feeling. then, the chorus!

we move here to an inclusion of a more typical hip-hop backing beat together with the trumpets from before—this beat expands in the second verse, and we have montero dipping into his characteristic weaving together of musical conventions from different genres, whether that’s country, rock, pop, jazz, etc. (there’s also something to this here about how mainstream musical media genres, as siloed as they appear, mostly stem from oral storytelling traditions that weren’t nearly as divided but we’ll leave that here for now)

i’d like to draw your attention to a beautiful moment we get in the second verse, where montero begins to use rhythmic pauses in a way that gives me so! much joy.

daddy, i am that one, uh - uh / i ain’t never need em, huh

the uh-uh section here is a musical break—a breath, a jump, a nonverbal filling in to complete a literary metric unit, and a common feature in gospel traditions! i’ve heard this referred to as “the rhythms of pausing” before and it’s a mainstay of rap and preaching traditions alike. many churches will have people who act as “gospel readers”, injecting religious sermons with a vibrancy that has a very musical quality. it’s a form of enunciating a sermon and sonically prompting your audience to keep paying attention, because more is coming, “let us pray” together. 

here we have the beautiful rhythms of a gospel reading used to Deliver an incising commentary on fame, support, beliefs in an individual person, and the way a community can both care for and neglect one of its members. just. very much thoughts.

hallelujah / how’d you do it?

!! so we’ve got this line delivered by a gospel choir and now we’re explicitly invoking that musical and religious tradition with the use of the word “hallelujah”!! it’s another example of prompting within this vocal tradition and we’ve got a rhythmic break/bounce between the prompt “hallelujah” and the continued question “how’d you do it?” there is something so poignant about this particular questioning being delivered in this format. there’s this feeling of a whole community imploring montero to let them in on the secret of his success, speaking in the language of a deep-seated tradition. it’s a call that montero is trying to navigate how to respond to.

okay, so let’s breakdown this choir. we’ve got montero on the melody, in his usual semi-baritone, and then we’ve got the *main* parts of the choir (there’s layering here, but just sticking to the most apparent components) performing a fairly typical gospel arrangement:

- soprano harmony

- bass doubled harmony one octave lower than the soprano harmony

we’ve got many singers in each part to add body to the sound, and the vocalists are harnessing a very warm, rich timbre. 

we also have an improvisational tone!! in soprano and a much fainter bass!

so, an improvisational tone is someone harmonizing in a non-rigid way, usually involving lots of vocal runs. it can sound round, curvy, or sort of shaky (but never weak in tone). there’s a lot here but in essence vocal improvisation speaks to a wider history of gospel improvisation, the broader impact of jazz, and the “blues sensibility” of particular prominence during the harlem renaissance. in the traditions i was part of, these kinds of improvisations map onto a larger use of nonverbal rhythmic expressions, like ululations. they also connect to spoken word and oral storytelling traditions.

all this to say that this is a very very striking and clear component of gospel tradition that we’ve got at play here! *and* the main soprano tone is slightly distorted as a production feature, similar to the organ from the intro to the song. i find the repeated slight distortion of characteristic religious musical traditions a fascinating choice and i personally think it speaks to the themes montero seems to be exploring here, of trying to grapple with a fraught and changing relationship to the place and people you’re from (what does “from” mean? what is the relationship between belonging and entitlement?) 

in the third verse we’ve got even more inclusion of gospel elements along with montero’s rapping. there’s an element of call-and-response in a softer voice, with some slight distortion, there’s choral harmonies in the background, and there’s also a higher improvisational tone vocalizing over the track. 

finally, in the last chorus we have a more forceful example of call-and-reponse, a signature gospel/blues tradition, this time in the form of a dynamic between montero and his father, who is a vocalist on this track. montero is delivering the melody for the chorus in the same introspective baritone he’s used for the chorus all throughout, while his father responds with cries of “treat you like you’re dead!” / “oh now you can’t!” in a higher key. these are expressive, emotive vocalizations, you can feel the bodily jump as he shouts. the choice to have his father provide this response to montero’s call, complete with the heavy themes of contact and communication with one’s community that ring throughout this song, the elements of a phone call beeping, a siren (an electronic signal, to who? to communicate what? a warning? a haunting reminder of the violent communication happening about this community by external viewers?), distorting, improvising like a gospel singer in a whine at the end of the song, all seem incredibly important. 

this is a song that is explicitly aware that it is a communication of intimate non-contact, of an individual who is trying to navigate a charged narrative of origin. in an album that deals heavily with themes of family, community, and organized religion, i find the move to heavily incorporate elements of gospel tradition here incredibly powerful.

that’s about all i wanted to share. if you’d be keen to chat more about origin, homegoing, and vocal symbology in tales of dominica from the same album do lmk!

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter ii. previous. series masterlist.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n

warnings: ptsd/military service, violence, injury detail, language, angsty.

summary: santi’s hunch is no longer a hunch, but only will knows how close they are to finding frankie’s girl. 

rating: mature wc: 1.8k 

When a strong hand had clamped around her shoulder, Dove’s instinct was to break it. It wasn’t menacing; they were just waiting at the bar to be served.

A burly, middle-aged man was towering beside her, clutching a beer bottle that looked miniature in his thick grasp. His arms, still holding the shadow of what was once impressive muscle, were littered with military tattoos. Dove could spot a stick-and-poke from a mile off.

“I recognise that,” He gestures to her neck, where a small Delta Force tattoo was usually disguised by her long hair. “You ex-forces? Delta?” 

She wanted to kick herself. The sticky atmosphere had gotten the better of her and she’d thrown her hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Yeah, but that isn’t exactly public knowledge ‘round here.” She murmurs. 

Across the room, Roni throws her head back in exaggerated laughter. A group of men, who looked barely out of their teen years, had come over to make some desperate attempts at getting laid. Dove had excused herself to buy the next round after one of them had cracked a mortifying joke about liking older women.

“That’s understandable.” The man held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. “My name’s Mark, I just retired out here. Served for twenty three years.” He chuckled gruffly, his voice thick from cigarettes. “I got jack shit to show for it, mind you.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, but she doesn’t offer her name. 

Mark notices as the conversation lulls. “I trained with a guy who made Delta. Santiago Garcia - we called him Pope, ‘cause he just had that way about him. You probably knew him.”

Dove swallows, chest lurching. “Sounds familiar… You know how it is though, the nicknames all blur into one eventually.”

That’s a lie, you never forget your teammates’ names. Mark knows it and so does Dove. Thankfully, he doesn’t push a conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have, and raises his bottle to her.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway. Enjoy yourself out here.”

“You too, Mark.” She tries to smile, but her lips press into a thin line that probably looks more like a grimace.

*

Mark had called Santiago the following day, the alcohol-blurred memory peaking his interest once he remembered his old friend’s plea a few months back. He’d asked around for any heads-up if any ex-Delta women around their age popped up. Mark had thought the man was delusional when he’d heard. If she was Delta Force, she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be. 

Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe even the best of the best got rusty after a while.

The town Dove had been spotted in was questionable to Santiago. It was too cosmopolitan for a woman who was starting over. However, after a onceover on a map of Mexico, Santi spotted its smaller neighbour. He’d never heard of it, which meant it must be the place. Small population, right on the coast, with enough amenities and business to get by without any trouble.

“And, man, she had a wicked scar on her throat. Sort of shit you’d only see on a Delta.” Mark had added, with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine that ain’t your girl.”

‘Dove isn’t my girl,’ Santi wanted to bite back instinctually. He bit his tongue, and instead offered, “It sounds like her. I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

*

Santiago only told Will what he knew about Dove. He had the mind to retain that information no matter what this trip threw at them. Plus, he trusted him with his life, plus a couple other lives that came to mind. Call it insurance, if things went south.

Plus, Will didn’t have Tom’s mouth, or twisted morality. Tom was more than willing to accept that Dove would miss out on their prospective fortune, that the ‘hunch’ would have to wait until Lorea was dealt with. Santiago knew his brothers well enough to know Benny would throw a hissy fit if they knew where Dove was and she wasn’t included. She’d spent enough time stitching up their war-torn skin and shoving them out of bullets to deserve a cut.

So, Pope told a little white lie. They had a stop in Mexico to meet with a contact. 

Frankie had murmured, “Better be worth it, stuck in this shitty car with you fuckers for ten hours.” 

Santiago resisted the urge to agree. God, he hoped it would be worth it too. He hoped he wasn’t driving them into a dead end, a bluff on Mark’s part. Or even worse, invading Dove’s beautiful new life without them. That would destroy everything; Dove, the boys, Frankie. What if she had settled down? What if he pulled into that idyllic beach bar she wanted and she’s there, a baby with the same brilliant eyes balanced on her hip? She was never sure about kids. A vivid mental picture of the wrong diamond, glistening on her ring finger in the afternoon sun, and the wrong man pecking her lips, made Santi physically wince. 

Fish would never forgive him. Will and Benny would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself. 

It was a long, apprehensive drive. Santi’s eyes were drying, squinting against the headlights that occasionally glared past them. His jaw had been clenched for the last few hours as his anxiety grew, nothing but open road to stare at while he contemplated over and over as to whether it was the right decision. It didn’t help that Frankie never really slept like the others did on the move. While the other boys passed out, Frankie’s soft eyes continued scanning the scene flying past the window. It was like he stayed awake to watch Pope’s back, as if they were still in combat, or as an unspoken act of kindness to keep him company. 

Really, Frankie was a terrible sleeper. Santi remembered that from the early days, before he and Dove gave it up and became an item. He was the last to drift off and first to wake up, always restless. Once Dove started tip-toeing over to his cot in the night, he became the worst snorer in the division. Always splayed on his front, one arm tossed over Dove’s waist and the other under his pillow. She’d kick him in the night so he’d roll over and shut up, but it never lasted long. 

One night, Benny had enough, and groaned to Dove, “Put us out of our fuckin’ misery and smother him with your pillow, for the love of God.”

Dove had snapped back, “Fuck off, Benny, just ‘cause you aren’t getting any of the action doesn’t mean you have to get all bitter.”

“I’ve told you guys - I’m more than willing to join in-”

“Ben.” Frankie grumbled into her shoulder. It was gruff with sleep but still menacing enough to make the hairs on Dove’s arms stand on end.

Before a pillow smacked into his head, Benny guffawed, “Oh, so he is alive after all.”

*

Wringing a soft rag for polishing glasses between her fingertips, Dove descends the wooden steps at the entrance of the bar. The last huddle of regulars holler behind her, wrapping up their weekend drinks as the evening creeps closer to the early hours; Dove always notices the time when moths start colliding with the lanterns.

Roni rises from a crouch on the ground, dropping a paintbrush into a can with a clatter. “See, your own little touch!” 

The wooden panels that constructed the side of the bar, usually concealed by a stack of cardboard beer boxes, is decorated with little doves. Despite studying criminology, mainly for the satisfaction of her parents, Roni loved painting and insisted on brightening the exterior of their beach shack.

Dove cracks a half-smile. “It’s lovely, Ron. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She beams, throwing the half-empty cans into the nearby bins. She pauses, glancing hesitantly at the older woman over her shoulder,  “Dove’s not your real name, right?”

“No, no. Nickname from when I was nursing overseas.” Dove chuckles, before adding, “Feels more like my real name than my Christian one nowadays.”

Roni passes Dove on the steps as she returns to the bar, “It suits you. You’re always graceful, but… you’re fucking fast.”

Dove laughs with her, ignoring the familiar clench in her chest. It’s exactly what Frankie used to say. The difference is Roni notices when she almost drops a glass, or her tray of drinks starts to wobble, and Dove is there to catch it with such fluidity Roni never saw her coming. Even the way Dove’s knife slices through fruit like each piece is a slab of melted butter. Frankie witnessed the extreme of that, the stealth and grace that usually ensured the enemy was dead before the others had even thought to raise their guns. Still, he admired her the same way Roni was right now. It was like awe.

It’s probably because he loved her effortlessly, every single aspect of her being without a glimmer of doubt or judgement. And now he wasn’t here.

The group of regulars stumbling down the steps break Dove from her thoughts, chortling and wishing her goodnight. One of the older men turns and jerks his thumb towards the road, “You might wanna tell them you’re closing, bonita.”

Before the road becomes the sand, there is a small, dusty wasteland that doubles as a makeshift car park. A vehicle is parked, glaring headlights facing towards the ocean and forming peculiar, alien-like beams in the dark. She’s definitely getting rusty; she’d barely registered the idling truck.

“I’ll sort ‘em out, Miguel, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” He jokes, waving to her. “Buenos noches, Dove.”

Military habits are practically impossible to shake, and immediately, Dove’s mind launches into overdrive. She raises her hand above her eyes, squinting against the blinding white LEDs in an attempt to make out a registration plate or even a recognisable model. Her mind is fine-tuned to memorise; most of the locals’ cars are already catalogued in her memory, but this isn’t one of them.

Maybe they’re tourists, ready to push their luck with the opening times. That’s the reasonable side of Dove’s mind. The irrational, dark edges whisper, ‘What if someone found you?’ By someone, it means someone bad. Someone she wronged during her service, an enemy or straggler that got away. Even a civilian that might have been caught in the crossfire. She thought about those ghosts often. Hell, some of them she could still name. When she can’t sleep, sometimes she lists them, pictures their faces if she can recall them, just in case they ever came back.

She inhales a sharp gust of ocean air through her nostrils, welcoming the clarity that spreads through her mind. Parting her lips (the lips Frankie always teased were in a permanent pout), she released the breath slowly, trying to relax the stressed scrunch in her features.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that someday.”

The voice is familiar. A deep, breathy chuckle, barrel-toned and gravelly. It sounds like home.

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