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alfredosauce50 · 3 years ago

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Island Escapade [Ex-con! 2p! America x reader x Denmark] 09

Island Escapade - 09 - The Great Escape Wordcount: 3, 370 The reader is referred to as she/her.

The house was quiet save for the voice of a reporter. Mathias wasn't one to watch something as boring as the news, so he was probably dead asleep in front of the TV. If not, about to be. You appeared in the doorway, unable to help the growing smile at the sight of him nodding off. As peaceful as he looked, you couldn't let him pass out on the couch. "Don't sleep like that, or you'll ruin your neck. C'mon. You have a perfectly usable bed at your disposal."

You patted his cheek until his eyes began to flutter. He merely grumbled, unwilling. "But you’re not in the bedroom." Mathias rolled his head away and screwed his eyes shut. "Night." Never bothering to add anything else, he licked his bottom lip before drifting off again.

You sat beside him with a huff. A week had passed since he recovered, but the exhaustion was there all the same. When you put two and two together, concern washed over you all over again.

If he wasn’t excitable and bounding with energy, he was tired, burnt-out, even. It reflected his mood, which was rarely anything besides a good one. Anger he could manage, but sadness? It drained him like a vampire would suck their victims dry.

"Just because I'm not sharing a room with you." He couldn't seem to handle being alone at all. Not even when he was sleeping. "You're hopeless." Pulling his head onto your lap, he immediately buried his face into your shirt. Despite being unconscious, he took on a relaxed expression as if he knew where he was. It was exactly where he wanted to be. "I can’t keep doing this for you, Mat..."

And yet, here you were. You’d be lying if you said it was just for him.

He was pulling you in again. Getting you to put up with his shit. First, he disappeared, then fell sick. And now, the sad sap didn't need to compete for your attention. Not anymore. It seriously begged the question, what if you never shut him out? Physically, you did. For a while. But emotionally? You didn't want to think about it.

So you were stubborn. So what?

Allen had been filling out his logbook when you wandered off into the living room. Giving all the boxes a brief skim, he left his room to find you. "Looks good to me. Now I gotta get this signed off..."

When he walked out, he saw you on the couch with the dumbass Dane on your lap. He never thought much of you still caring about the guy, especially after being shipped off like that. But watching you comb a hand through his hair made it too jarring. The way you held him, looked at him.

You were still in love with him.

It made his chest ache in the subtlest of ways.

"Am I interrupting something?" He began, the voice making you freeze. The denial was glaring at this point. Allen grinned lazily when you exchanged glances with him and Mathias on your lap. Nervously. "Don't mind me. Just wonderin' if you could spare me a few and sign off my hours." Holding up his booklet at that, he waved it around for emphasis.

"Yeah, of course! Hand it over." He did as told. While you flicked through the pages, he came around to the back to wrap his arms around your neck. There, he watched on. "Let's see... Wow, your hours are coming along nicely. You'll be done with this in no time!"

He bumped his head against yours. "Couldn't do it without ya. Let's say waking up early isn't my strongest suit."

"Oh, yeah?" You ticked everything off with a smile of your own. "I can't believe it's already been three months! I don't think you'll have to stay for the whole sentence. Six months, I mean. Cuz' at this rate, you'll only need..." Your excitement for him faded. "One month." In other words, he already stayed most of his welcome. Three-quarters of it.

Allen seemed to be on the same page as you.

"One month until I'm a free man again, huh?" He took his logbook and set that aside. "And I was beginning to like it here. But nothing lasts forever, I guess." Closing his eyes at that, he joined you on the couch with a soft sigh. He never said anything after that. He didn't need to. The silence was deafening, and both of you shared the same sentiments without opening your mouths.

"I'm gonna miss you, Al." Your gaze saddened. He furrowed his brows. And he was trying to avoid the emotional aspect of it. You, however, jumped straight to it. In your defense, nothing lasts forever didn't seem to apply to you the same way it did to him. What you wanted to stay didn't. What you wanted to go away never budged. Allen and Mathias. Like Yin and Yang, they were the perfect opposites of one another.

Allen reached out to pinch your cheek affectionately.

"What do you mean? I'm still here."

You hardened your stare. "Not in a month, you won't."

He nodded slowly in defeat. Then, he responded with a low chuckle. "Always so serious, aren't you, doll? You didn't have to say it like that. We can't help what we can't change." Pulling out his phone, he directed your attention to what was on the screen. "What we can help is animal trafficking, though. What do you know? What your stupid ex did gave the Interpol good, useable intel."

Who would've thought?

After scanning the article's contents, you sucked in a gasp, completely enraptured by the news. "And you never told me? Allen, this is amazing! Oh my God, we're getting our turtles back!" The said man managed a lopsided grin to reflect your delight. While you shook Mathias awake, violently, the reporter on TV announced the news—'Lucky ferry mix up leads to animal trafficking bust'

"I figured it would find its way to you," Allen said.

Mathias groaned while he was rocked back and forth. "Guh... What... What's happening?" He croaked. An earthquake? No way. When he saw the look on your face, he snapped out of his daze. But nothing could've prepared him for what he was about to hear.

"Mat, you did it! We're getting our turtles back!" You exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. That wasn't enough to express the gratitude and relief surging through your system, however. "I can't believe it! You actually did something right! Not that you don't ever, but what you did was really stupid--" He shook his head in shock. Wait, did he hear you correctly? You climbed onto his lap and squeezed him again.

He must’ve. Otherwise, why would you be sitting on him? "--I'll still be mad at you for it, but at least it wasn't for nothing—!"

He returned the embrace slowly, still unable to fathom what you were saying. "Woah, woah, woah. What are you talking about? What's up?" Nevertheless, he found himself lighting up at your tone of voice. You were overjoyed, and the euphoria seemed to be targeted at him. Combined with the hug you gave him that only grew tighter and tighter, his melancholy was soon no more.

"The eggs, you idiot!" You pulled away to gleam at him. "The police found them! They must've cracked them down when you explained why you were undocumented in America!"

It finally clicked, as evident in his change in expression. "Ha! We did it, we did it!" Mathias's nostrils flared as he stood up with you in his arms. "I told you not to worry! This was always a matter for the police, kæreste," While he spun you around with great enthusiasm, you laughed at his hypocrisy. A matter for the police, he said. His stupidity never failed to amaze you. For once, it was a good kind of amazement.

"You're just lucky, Mat. I don't know why God keeps smiling at you. Just never do that again." In the heat of the moment, you kissed his cheek. Mathias widened his eyes, and after some hesitation, he leaned in to kiss your forehead. Allen looked away. This was so hard to watch. The Dane was back to murmuring something in your ear, something he couldn't pick up, but whatever it was, you didn't like it.

You were set back on the ground again. You had the choice to move away, and yet, you didn't, and instead, stayed put with your face in his chest. He coiled his arms around your form. And he was smiling, wistfully.

Allen had no idea what was going on in Mathias's head. Whether he was really the person you thought he was, he had you wrapped around his finger. He wanted to help you. He really did. But what if this was for the best? If you couldn't stay away from him, there must've been something about the guy that made him so worth forgiving.

Or was it just his insecurity talking?

Seeing you so infatuated got him rethinking what kind of person he was himself. Mathias had his life together. A successful scientist, and now, a hero. That goof was on the right side of the law. He wasn't. He was a nobody. After this sentence, he was back to job-skipping around Ibiza. And if that didn't check out, nothing was stopping him from living up to the name Mathias insisted on him.

A criminal. A bum.

So what the hell was he thinking, trying to save you from something you didn't need saving from? He was the one who needed to get his shit together. Not Mathias, not you.

The night called for celebration. With Allen's speedy progress and Mathias's lucky break, you were getting a taste of the exuberance yourself. Your work was only getting better and better. You've never felt this on track with your responsibilities. The same couldn't be said for other aspects of your life, however.

You had no idea how to act around Mathias anymore. So what did you do? You avoided him at all costs. After spending the first twenty minutes at the back of a rave, you took Allen's hand and pulled him away. When he shot you a weird look, you offered him a sheepish smile. "Just trust me. I know a better place to be!" He could barely hear your shouts over the pandemonium of EDM and a screaming crowd.

While you led him to the inside of the club, which already looked like the aftermath of a wild night, deserted and strewn with trash, he let out a low chuckle. "What's a better place to be than a party like that? This dump?" He grinned, earning a heated glare from you.

"Quit being such a smartass and follow me."

You both appeared in a separate pool room. While he skidded to a stop, he was prepared to object. "Don't have to do that when you're—" Allen trailed off as he took in his surroundings. "—dragging me." His tanned complexion took on a bright blue glow from the heated pool. Next to the huge body of water was a minibar. Behind the counter was a lone bartender, scrubbing away at a glass.

"And I thought I liked to party." He remarked in awe, turning to you with a scoff. "This is one of the coolest spots I've ever been to."

"You'd be surprised. This is the party island, after all." Allen wiped his hand down your smug face as if to smear invisible dirt all over it. "Eugh--I didn't take you to be a bad sport, Al." The man shrugged off your annoyance with a playful smirk of his own. Of course, the animosity was short-lived on your end, and you were back to pulling him around. This time, to the minibar he set his sights on.

"Just didn't think you'd be the type to... You know. Be like me. Self-indulge. I'm good at that." He took a seat on one of the stools while you ordered a round of drinks. Allen blinked. It only felt like yesterday that you chewed him out for trying to get in some beer at the fundraising party. "... But I guess everyone needs an escape."

You flashed him a tight smile. The bartender rocked his mixer back and forth, filling the backdrop with the rattling of ice and booze. "What do you know? I didn't think you'd be one to be so philosophical." He wanted to get hot-headed. But that wasn't quite right—he only thought he would. He always had a bad temperament, a bad attitude, even. Antonio could agree with him on that.

And yet, it was almost as if he didn't have an angry bone in his body. Not here he didn't. Not when you were the one giving him the jabs.

You craned your head to the side thoughtfully. "I was wrong about you, Allen." He froze up. Nevertheless, he darted his wary eyes to your tender expression to watch you speak. In that space in time, the same thought occurred between you both. Why are you looking at me like that? Why he seemed so worried all of a sudden, and why—

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked with a shake of the head. "Don't." Your tender gaze was no more. It was replaced by dejection. "I'm not doing this with you, doll."

You scoffed at him, defeated. "Do what? I was just trying to say I'm proud of you, Allen. You've changed. You're not so much of a—"

Allen rose a brow. "—a bum?" He cut in. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. I really am. But you were right about me all along." He took a long sip of whatever you ordered him. While you could only watch him do as he pleased, helplessly, he downed every last drop before slamming down the glass with a wince. "Once this is all over, I'm going back to who I used to be."

"And what's that?" You exasperated, eyes wide with grief. Before the heat blurring your vision could turn into tears, you blinked it away. "A criminal? You aren't a criminal, Al. You aren't the same as you used to be! Why the hell would I even be so close to you if you were? Use your brain, you idiot. You're just as stupid as Mathias, sometimes," His lips separated ajar at that. He was at a loss for words.

Out of all the things you could cry about, you were crying about him.

"Yeah, so my point exactly. He may be stupid, but at least he's got his shit together!" Allen sighed sharply. "And I'm probably just stupid like you said. There's nothing great about me."

Your face fell. His head was turned away, and he was showing a bitter glower. This was why he blew up? The feelings of inadequacy were always there, and it came back to haunt him like a ghost now that his sentence was drawing to an end. No wonder he was so closed off in the afternoon. He wanted to stop thinking about his own life. With you around, he was hard-working, playful, and sensitive.

But by himself, he was nothing. Without this community service, which was more of a getaway than anything, a ruse, even, he had nothing to try for. So he had everything to lose himself in. Drinking, partying, and getting handsy with random chicks, whatever it needed to feel alive.

"If there's nothing great about you, why am I here?" You began in a faint murmur. "I wanted to hang out with you, Al."

Allen hung his head. "Don't start with me. Don't do this to me."

Now, he wasn't exactly a poet, but what he really meant to say was this—don't give me hope. Don't make me try to be a better person. It was so much easier to stay where he was, here at the bottom of the world, all because he couldn't get any lower.

You shook your head stubbornly. "I do what I want. I pick my own friends. If I like you, then that's my business."

"Well, that's the problem, doll. I don't think you just like me." He admitted, fully expecting mortification on your end. Much to his surprise, your steely gaze on him remained unfaltering. Hell, it even looked like you were beckoning him to continue. "If I could, I'd snatch your pretty little ass away from that Danish douchebag the second I had the chance."

Okay, now that got your face lighting up. All until it looked like Christmas at the Vatican. The blush was setting in, and it seemed like you had your ears peeled for what was next. "Then why don't you? I'm right here." It was Allen's turn to get flustered, but the feeling was short-lived when he saw how you looked at him. There was untold sadness behind your eyes. Even tiredness. Dread.

He finally understood why you were so on board with him. Why you liked him so much, and why you wanted him to see himself the way you saw him.

"I can't keep doing this. With Mathias. One of these days, I'm gonna make a mistake I'll really regret." You urged, reaching out to squeeze his wrist. "I need you to help me get him out of my house. I can't think with him around." That was right. He'd been drawing you in again, just like every other time you had an argument and decided to shut him out. But this had to stop, at least for a little while.

"Promise me you'll do that before you leave."

Allen nodded, albeit reluctantly. He didn't know what you were planning, but at least it didn't exactly involve him. "Sure. But what's the plan after that, boss? You're not gonna bootycall me the second he goes, are you? I hope you don't."

You shot him a heated glare. "No, you dingus. I just need some time to think."

He closed his eyes contentedly. This conversation ended on a happier note than he expected. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say." Allen laughed when you slapped his shoulder. He then opened his eyes to stare at you through his eyebrows. "But I'm still not taking it back. I'm a criminal, dollface. It's a mindset, not a state of being. I don't have money. I don't have shit. So one of these days, I could get desperate."

He leaned in forebodingly. "I could steal stuff. Rob a bank. Who the fuck knows. So keep that in mind when you do your thinking. I'm not good enough for you, babe. He is."

You were fuming through your nostrils at this point. Humoring him on his fragile self-esteem was one thing, but once it involved you, the line had to be drawn. Especially when he was talking about Mathias like the Mr. Right he very much wasn't. "Take that back." He turned away to ignore you. "Fuck you, Al. I thought you of all people would know how he can be. But I guess you're not done brooding about yourself."

Reaching out to your untouched glass, you gulped down the contents knowing damn well you couldn't handle your alcohol. You slammed it down when you were done, alerting Allen to spin your way. Well, I'll be damned, he thought. You had some attitude yourself. "You're a better person than you think you are. You're everything I could ask for in someone I could trust."

He couldn't believe it, but he was letting you get to him. Allen swore an oath he'd try everything he could to keep that asshat in check. It was the least he could do as a friend. That determination waxed and waned for a while, but it was finally coming back as he listened to you speak.

"You're everything he isn't."

That also begged the question—why did you hate the idea of getting back with Mathias so much? Besides his persistence, entitlement, and everything in between, something major must've gone down.

And Allen had a feeling he was about to find out what.

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doriwrites · 4 years ago

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continuation of the continuation, third and last excerpt of this particular... draft? idk. once again, if you don’t read the two other excerpts you WILL be lost... yes this a threat (find them under the tag # where stories go to die)

A few weeks later, he tells her he has to go (“A few days. Maybe more.”) and that he knows just the right babysitter (“Hey!”). The town is lively but she finds it less of a hassle with the cane and the pillowcase and the weird friendship thread. He introduces her to pink threads and says it’s Chinonso! when they say call me Chino! Over tea, they explain how they met Nasar so long ago you weren’t even an idea yet and how they bonded over their dislike for a man named Al. They tell her embarrassing stories and she laughs so loud that she chokes. When she asks if they’re a boy or a girl and they say maybe with ominous pink, she thinks so cool and vows to learn everything they can teach her.

When Nasar goes in the morning the new thread stays. It stays when Chino says I heard you had a thing for swords and throws one at her (“What about a wooden one,” she asks. “Wooden swords are for pussies,” they say. “I don’t think cats need—”). It stays when Chino says hold it up until you can’t and she can’t eight seconds later (“Holler when you’re at eight minutes! We’ll talk!”). It stays when she’s sweaty and shaking and— and maybe she’s crying a little, too. It stays when Chino says you’re hella good at this, kid and she smiles so cheesy and sweet she gets a toothache. It stays even when soon has passed and he’s not back.

“Don’t worry about him,” Chino says, “he’s always been good at what he does. Even being late,” and their threads show a glint of steel and it reminds her of Little Death and a teacher. They’re pink and it reminds her of festivals and eyelids and sunrises or sunsets or both and she can’t remember whi— It reminds her of both the beginning of a day and its end. They’re pink and it reminds her of flowers and how sometimes they’re so thorny they won’t let you pick their petals.

The thread stays and she stops worrying.

When she can hold the sword up for eight minutes (“Eight minutes!”) Chino says good and sheathes it to her back. They walk her to a field where the grass reaches her knees. The wind is in her face and Chino says I’ll do your hair if you find the bells and throws said bells far, far away from her. They say I’ll be back and pink disappears just like green does. It takes a long time and she tries really hard to focus on the sound of tinkling in the breeze. She lets her threads reach out and it reminds her of a time they went up, up, up a leg— She lets her threads reach out and she feels them slither against the soil. It’s damp and it sticks a bit but she can feel a snail and doesn’t care much. She falls on her butt sidestepping the biggest slug ever and she cackles like mad. It takes a long time but she finds them. She finds them and dances a little before she realizes she has to find her way out.

For half a minute, she’s scared because. Because she’s all alone with the bells and the crickets and the wind bites a punishing cold against her skin— What if she wandered so far, far away in the field Chino never finds her— and what if she never sees the other end of the funny looking thread— What if she has to fight and the orange threads crushcrushcrushcru— feel like blood for days and. What if she has to fight and they don’t.

For half a minute she’s scared, but there’s something like a sunset or a sunrise or both— yes, both. There’s something like the sun and how it feels on your skin on a summer morning. There’s pink threads and it reminds her of how a book sometimes needs a bittersweet end. She grabs a bunch when they’re within reach and wraps, wraps, wraps from her neck until it covers her ears. She’s shaking and thinking of oddly specific scenarios and how they always end with deathdeathdeath— “Kid,” she hears the sun, and she wants to say yes, I think I am one, “Bendis."

Hands are so heavy on her shoulders that she wonders if the world feels the same on Chino's, "Did you know," they say, "that there's a festival for the moon, here?"

"Wha—," she chokes around a breath, "why."

"The founder of this place— this village. It's not that old, and he's still alive and if you— ah! if you ever were to meet him! Would tell you all about how the moon guides lost souls here, just like it did him. It's a charming story. And so many people have corroborated it now that it became fact."

"Did— did it guide you?"

"... I think so. Yeah. It guided Nasar and I here, so long ago. Dragged us, even. Yeah," the pink threads feel both fond and mourning. "But. The point. Nasar will always, always find a way here and—"

"But! But I won't! There's no moon here," she hits her chest clumsily, harshly, "only colors who don't look like ones and— and emotions too big for me!"

"Ah...Do you want to talk about it?"

She does. She talks and talks and talks. She says she's scared sometimes when candles and fires have gone out. She says it's stupid ("I don't even see the difference.") and Chino agrees ("Fear of the dark transcends us all," they say. "Why?" They shrug, "We've all lost things to the night." "...what does transcends mea—".) She talks about the threads. She says she's scared sometimes. When they're here and when they're not. When they feel louder than words and when they're not-even-a-color white— and when they don't. She says she's scared sometimes when they kill.

In a small voice, she talks about the new thread. She tells them how it’s always warm ("This one… is kind.") and how it feels like both Nasar and her (“Like— like everything is safe and I’m brave again.”). She tells them how it feels selfish (“Because it’s ours.”) and quiet (“Because it’s us.”). Chino says it can be your moon and she tells them I think it already is.

But, "what if—", what if it goes. What if the blade leaves and the orange loses its edges. What if it turns to dustdustdustdeath— "What if— when. What when it's not here anymore?"

"Ah, kid," Chino sighs and their threads soften, "you're breaking my heart." They sigh again, deeper, longer, shakier, "Listen. The moon— its metaphors, it’s all just that. Made up things people say to describe a feeling, yeah? Because the moon doesn't need to be seen, Bendis. It demands to be felt. And you— my cute little student, above all, know how that goes… The festival? It’s not a celebration about beauty. The moon is a fucking rock, yeah? But, it’s a celebration for bonds. The bonds people made here, in this village, where the moon led them. Let them, maybe. I— what I’m trying to say— yeah, believe me, I am— I am trying to say something. This thread thing going on? It’s all about bonds. And, yeah, Nasar and you have this disgustingly adorable one and— if you want to make it your moon, go right ahead. Your moon, your home, your— I don’t know, this little something that will always be above everything else? Go ahead, make it that. And the day it’ll be gone. That day… that day the bond won’t. The bond, its love, its light— it stays with you. I can’t believe I’m saying that but— yeah. Shit, symbolism works better in small sentences…”

She realizes she’s not afraid anymore. Instead, she thinks about Paprika and Miss Cynn. She thinks about a boy and his wolf. She thinks about Nasar and Chino and a man she’ll never meet. She thinks about the moon and its threads. “Should I make more?”

“More what?”

“More… bonds.”

“I mean… yeah. Yes. Make them. And— and nurture them. You water them like a damn plant. And when it roots into your chest, that’s it. It’s yours now. Can never be undone.”

She realizes she’s not afraid anymore. Instead, she thinks about bonds. She thinks about Paprika and wonders where in her orange she is. She thinks about Miss Cynn and wonders what colors are her threads. She thinks about the wolf. Remus. She thinks about him and wonders if he’s a moon, too, for the boy who’s like a tree. She thinks about Valko— about green and not-even-a-color white and institutes. She thinks about him and regrets. She thinks about Nasar and Chino and a teacher named Ringo. She thinks about them and the metaphorical moon who led them— let them, here. She thinks about pink and its glint of steel. About silver and its sharp softness. She wonders if they’re Ringo.

“...was that a Good Adult Talk?”

The next day, Chino does her hair. They're on the porch and Chino's humming along the song that plays inside. The street’s facing them and the people are loud— their threads even more so. For the first time, she finds it all more intriguing than scary. The pink wrapped around her feels so… casual. It hums, too, along the song of Chino. With a sort of comfort one truly ever finds in thunderstorms or crackling fires. When you let the world move you. When you let yourself be. And she melts against it.

She thinks of when Miss Cynn did her hair and told her just how untamed they were. She remembers how she agreed every time. But now, she isn’t so sure. Because Chino says, “Nah. They just need loving,” and she believes them. There's a lot of oil and water and time. It takes so long her bum feels numb. But she watches threads without the fear. Because she focuses on Chino’s voice(s) until she hears nothing else. She wraps herself in the voices-threads-Chino— she wraps herself in them until she knows nothing else. The hands in her hair are like an anchor. She’s swayed by the waves of colors— so much of it. Oh, yes, she is swaying still. But there’s a song in her ears and a pillowcase over her nose and she’s okay.

She thinks about how she can’t see the moon but the bonds instead. She thinks about the bonds and hesitantly reaches out. But. Maybe it’s a mistake because she’s only known Chino for a couple of weeks and— and yet. Yet it feels safe to reach out. Comfortable, even, and she knows— this won’t hurt me.

"You feel like a ship," they say quietly. And she thinks she understands.

The next day, there's a new thread. It hums with a song of hair and home. When she touches it, the pieces that make Chino-and-Bendis leave her with the feeling of sunlight on her skin. They leave her with a melody of curls and care. They leave her pink.

Her head is now full of braids and she likes it. They're big and short and she wonders if it looks great with the color she remembers being somewhat like the orange of her threads. Darker, maybe. Miss Cynn had taken to twist it into a knot at the top of her head for lack of known alternative. When she met Nasar, she had let it loose and felt better about everything. Now, Chino had taken care of it like— like it was important. And even if she liked it natural, she loved it like that, too.

She spends ten minutes of every hour shaking her head really fast. She gets a mouthful of braids each time and laughs for reasons she couldn't name. She laughs, too, when Chino sends the bells so far she can't even hear them land. She laughs when Chino says well, kid, we don't have all day and pink threads stay for all of it anyway. She laughs when she finds the bells— so loud and so free she doesn’t even notice him.

But Nasar— his threads (the sword) are there. And she runs so fast she falls twice. She doesn’t care. She throws herself at him and he stumbles a few steps. His arms close around her and she might be crying a little but still, she laughs. Loud, free, and happy about everything. She wishes she could put more of him in her arms and her threads oblige. She lets them. When they wrap around his shoulders and his middle and his legs. She lets them when they wrap around his soul again.

They don't let go when she does. Just a bit. Her tiny hands are on his face and she notices the beard first. It's longer than usual and she wants to braid it like her hair. Then, his mouth. The corners are up but not enough for her taste. She puts two fingers there and pushes until she's sure his teeth are showing. She reaches his crooked nose and kisses the bump.

Nasar brings a hand on her head— the one that could have crushed her but didn't, so long ago— until their foreheads are touching. She laughs again and squishes his cheeks. He huffs but the silver buzzes with warmth. She feels his I missed you and hopes he can feel hers.

She wants to keep clinging. And so she does. Chino gets their hug with her squashed in the middle. She doesn’t let go— they go back to the house, they eat and they laugh some more, but she doesn’t let go. When it's time for bed, she trades Nasar for his threads and wraps, wraps, wraps until there’s nothing left of her.

The next morning, a second thread starts from her chest and ends in his and it feels like a happy place. Nasar is a little bruised and Chino says —tells him, really— that he should rest for a while. When he stays in bed all day, she is right here with him, little hands all over his face because he’s real and she missed him. She missed him so much she cries a little when he tells them about his journey (“There were some… things to work out.”). How close he came to death (“A healer found me… yeah… a good one, too.”) Chino is in the bed with them and they listen, stroking her hair when everything seems like too much. Pink, silver and orange intertwine and she’s so very happy to be here that she cries again.

The next day, and the day after that, Chino attaches garlic to the bells. They put a second sword on her back and she can’t help but feel like Nasar’s delay caused some worry. Like it had made the unstoppable force turn into the immovable object. Or like— like it had made the unstoppable object turn into the immovable force. She remembers learning the word baffling not so long ago, and Chino’s behavior is it.

She doesn’t complain because she’s learning something. Chino says focus on the smell and she does. She sits on her butt a long time, trying to smell garlic and hear bells. There’s a headache around her eyes and she decides she hates garlic. The swords are heavy on her back when she finally stands and she decides she won’t rest until she can run at her swordless pace with them on.

When she doesn’t train, she sits next to a bedridden Nasar. They talk about anything and everything until she remembers the book he gifted her on her birthday. About bloodlines. Magical ones. She gets pink in the cheeks when she tells him she forgot about it ("You were gone and Chino turned me into a sword wielding warrior and I was worried and busy and—", "Hey, it's fine.") and hurries out the room without the cane nor the threads to guide her (“Watch out for the door!”, “I know! I’ve been living here a whole month!”).

She opens the door without running into it, walks a dozen steps, takes a sharp right, five more steps, opens the door Chino said was green, walks in, sidesteps a lot of things she put on the floor (she only stumbles over a shoe thrown haphazardly in a sleep deprived state), reaches the mattress, lifts it and grabs for the book. She makes it back to Nasar’s room in under forty-six seconds and both of them are very smug about it (“That was fast,” he says, and she preens over it for two days).

They read. They read and when she has questions he answers as best as he can. There’s some kind of bitterness when he talks about magic. Like it did him wrong. Like it might have been a friend once. They read and she has a lot of questions. Is it like these genetics thing-y Valko talked about and am I one of them are the first ones. Nasar says yes and we all are.

“What do you mean?”

“How many family names are in that book?”

“Hum… about forty.”

“Right. They are… for lack of a better word, they are the original families. Those whose ancestors were the first to awaken. Ever.” He sighs, “The common belief is that they were the first people. That we all are their descendants.”

“Are… we?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Thing is, all those of us who don’t have a last name… Well, we don’t mean much for those families now. We… all we could ever offer them are batarsied versions of their magic.”

“But— they do marry out of the family, right? Miss K always said it was nonsensical to marry a brother to a sister and that it was disgusting and—”

He laughs a little, “No. No, they don’t do marriage between brother and sister anymore… There was a time when… they tried. Thinking it would make the magic… purer. But it was defective. Every single time.” He sighs a little, “They do marry cousins. Fourth and up, though. They don’t want a repeat, right? And they do marry out of the family. They— they estimate, I don’t know, magical… affinities? Between two people. Overpowered babies are a must in these parts.”

She nods because she thinks she gets it. She understands her threads are the result of a genetic mix. She understands she will never know which. Because she doesn’t have blood relatives. Because none of the forty-something families wield anything resembling her threads. There’s something like a fist in her throat. Because she gets it. She understands how she will always be made to feel inferior to them. Because no one sees the way she does. Because no one feels the way she does.

“Some… some people, like you, who’ve gone and awakened something— something useful,” he says and his threads quaver, “They… they take an interest in. It’s not rare, per say. More like, we don’t hear about those few until they… do something really— really fucking grand,” there’s a laugh there, too, but. It’s sad. “like, like saving the world and dying. But nobody cares about them if they just die…” he pauses and she hears his head hit the wall, “And yet. Yet, every time they make a mistake… they’re made an example. And when they’re doing just well enough they— they’re kept in a, uh, frontliner kind of thing, you know? Always the sacrificial lambs.”

She understands. She understands and cocoons in silver. She understands more than his words and lets orange wrap up, up, up one finger, three, five. It wraps up his palm. Up his wrist. It squeezes a I’m here.

She has more questions. About the spells ranked above the letter A. About the families whose magic is called soft. And about families whose magic is called hard. She wants to ask questions but his threads wobble like a lip. Instead, she settles her back against his ribs, hugs the arm around her with one hand. The other is running its fingers on the page.

Inferis. They’re in the intermediate magic section of the book. It says they master illusions. It says their spells are ranked from C to AAA (she knows it’s the highest rank). The current Head is Vog’n Inferis and he has three sons from a mother whose maiden name was Erebus (she remembers reading about how they master darkness and thinking what the hell. She remembers Nasar saying shadows, night, black holes… who knows). It says he has six grandchildren already. It says all of them master spells ranked B and above. All of them but one.

Alekto Inferis is the youngest of three. Her brother, Nim, is the oldest and the only one on the page to have a little… star? Right beside his triple A (she scans the page again. At the bottom, beside another star, is written go to page ten. She finds two pages on Crafters. It says they are the one who make spells. It says they’re rare. These days, an awakening often bears similar magic. She reads new mutations and rare again.) The other one is named Sandor. Spells rank from B to A. But. Alekto Inferis.

Their mother’s maiden name was Papillon.

It says Alekto’s spells don’t go higher than a C. It says she didn’t inherit anything from her father’s side. It says she has soft magic… And it reminds her of a boy with green threads. (It reminds her of how quick and quiet their skimming of the Bel family page had been. Shifters. None of them said anything when they didn’t read Valko’s name on the Head’s family tree. None of them said anything when they read hard magic at the top of the page. None of them said anything when she turned the page before finishing it.)

She lays awake for a long time, wondering if she's like Alekto Inferis and Valko or if they’re like her.

The next day, and the day after that, she trains. She searches the field while Nasar’s reclining on a rocking chair and Chino’s spread out on the ground. She searches for bells and garlic with two heavy swords on her back.

She trains. She trains even if she’s sweaty and shaking and crying. She trains even if it hurts. She trains so well Chino says okay, level up! and they give her a third sword. She’s lamenting about having to carry one more and how it’s unfair and ugh because— There’s something sharp under her chin. Something very, very sharp and— “Focus.”

Chino teaches her how to fight. They teach her how to evade and faint, how to defend and— It’s hard. Because she needs to focus on the sound of Chino’s sword and their footsteps all at once. They teach her to block and attack. They teach her even if she’s a bit bloody and scratched and nicked. They teach her for days. And she starts using her threads on the fifth.

They wrap around Chino’s sword. She doesn’t— she doesn’t really want to wrap them anywhere else. But the world’s moving along the sword. It spins. It feels like she’s always about to trip. She doesn’t really want to wrap them anywhere else. Not while fighting, even if— if it's training. The last time she did… Two lives. Two lives for three. But she needs to get better. Way better. Better as in the alternative is probably dying or worse like Nasar dying and you can’t— She needs to be good.

So, uncertain but cautious, her threads edge along open shoes (“I’m about to wrap my soul around your toes.”). They wrap up, up, up an ankle and two (“Are you doing it?”) and settle around them with a squeeze (“Holy shit— you’re doing it!”).

The world has an axis again. And the sound, a provenance.

She doesn’t see Chino move. She feels them. She feels them in such a way that she mirrors them instinctively. She feels them in such a way that she thinks they might mirror her… Which is— impossible. But she feels their feet and their steps and— She remembers meeting a ma-ri-o-ne-tti-st once, who made wooden dolls come alive with strings. Is that how it feels like? she wants to ask now (because— because she just has to pull—). But now, she feels like both the puppet and the puppeteer at once.

When Chino takes a step forward, she takes one back. When Chino takes a step back, she takes one forward. She finds herself moving along the song of Chino once more. She doesn’t grab at pink threads because her hands are full of sword but. She feels them, too. She feels them curious and intrigued and wondering. She feels them watching.

That day, Chino doesn’t attack. They feint and twirl and sidestep and— and it’s like they’re dancing. Bendis follows along. She synchronizes. And she finally hears. She hears Chino’s steps and how they’re different from hers. Louder. Surer. She hears the swords’ quiet cry when they touch. Quick. Sharp. She hears Chino’s breathing— she hears it because of how different it is from her own. Slower and calmer. She hears the rustle of a fabric she knows is not her sweater’s wool.

That day, she learns to hear again. First, she realizes, I need to know the noises that make me. Because— because sometimes she forgets about bodies. About her own, most of all. She thinks maybe she needs to hear herself to hear others. So, she listens to all the sounds she doesn’t make.

One night, when she’s in the room with the green door, she hears Chino and Nasar talking. He’s been out of bed for a few days but his pro-sthe-tic bothers him. He knows where to go to get it fixed, but… he seems unwilling. And she doesn’t need to hear the “...it’s too dangerous,” to know it’s because of her. They speak of the free cities and a market. They speak of debts and hotels and secrets. They speak of books and— they speak of magic.

She hears a what if they find out and the answering they won't. "A simple ID check— it's all it takes. It could lead to— to a registration and it's not what she needs. Ever."

"But—"

"And what if she crosses paths with someone— someone who wants to hurt."

"Listen—"

"There's no telling how her magic will react around so many others—"

"Nasar," the scream is whispered and the following sigh swallowed. "Your leg hurts, we can tell. The mechanic can't make it? We go to them. And— we'll be there for the kid. There’s two of us, remember? And people we can trust to look out for her."

There's a long pause and a long sigh, "...I guess we could introduce to the Librarian and—"

In the room with the green door, she combusts, "I want to go!"

And they’re going the day after.

#dori writes #well...#oc: bendis #oc: nasar #oc: chinonso #oc: alekto #...maybe #where stories go to die

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catchester · 5 years ago

Text

12 Days of Christmas

Title: Ten Lords a Leaping

Authors: @evieplease and @catchester

Which character: Actor!Tom and OFC Rocky

Genre: Humour/Explicit

Fic Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom’s Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!

Rating: Mature

Previous Chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390/chapters/40304798

Chapter 13 - 10 Lords a Leaping

Knowing that the Ten Lords a Leaping was looming, I’d spent ages wracking my brain to come up with something for Tom’s Tenth Day of Christmas present. Why did I ever agree to this mad scheme? But after his Nine Ladies Dancing I needed to raise the bar. Wait. Oh dear. If I couldn’t get Lords to Leap, maybe Tom and I could do the Leaping? From barre to bar? There are loads of pubs with Lords and Royalty in their names in the greater London metropolitan area!

An hour with google maps and Bob’s yer uncle! I had a list of pubs and a walking map. There were some really terrible pub names out there! I mean, The Royal Flush? Really? They’d better have excellent plumbing!

However, I found the best, most wonderful name of all. The Queen’s Scepter!! I can’t even think of it without laughing out loud! Though it sounds like it ought to be the name of a sex shoppe where one can buy really quality dildoes.

I arranged our pub ‘leaping’ so that all our stops were within walking distance. We’ll take a cab to the first one, because it’s The Queen’s Scepter, (snicker!) which was farthest away, walk from pub to pub, and take a cab back from the last one, as we’ll probably be legless by then.

I checked I had all my ‘leaping’ gear. I needed to be comfortable and warm for a long day in and out of doors. I wore the red wool peacoat that Tom had given me for Christmas of course, a rather deep cut v-neck black jumper, and my good jeans, the ones that cup my arse just right. I bounced on the toes of my old comfy black trainers, eager to get to our adventures.

A beaming Tom met me on the stoop, pulling me indoors, wrapping his arms around me and bending me back to kiss me as if he hadn’t kissed me in months, instead of just this morning.

Naturally, I gave as good as I got, my tongue dancing with his, my hands in his hair and my leg winding around his thigh. Finally he let me up for air and grinned down at me.

“Now will you tell me what you have planned for today?”

I grinned slyly back. The only clue I’d given him was to wear comfortable shoes. He’d taken it a little far, if you ask me, he looked more like he was going hiking, but that wax jacket with a hoodie underneath did suit him, and he was in those lovely old, soft, black jeans so I wasn't about to ask him to change! I kind of liked the tan Caterpillar boots, they gave his posh image a working man’s edge, which oddly suited him. I realised I’d been staring at him for longer than was perhaps appropriate.

“Um, right.” I surreptitiously checked for drool in the guise of fixing my lipstick. That might have been more suave if it hadn’t been lip balm.

“This was a tricky one! I mean, short of setting Parliament on fire, where the hell am I going to get Ten Lords a Leaping?! And anyway the lazy sods aren’t even in session!” I waved my arms about in exasperation.

Tom looked faintly alarmed. “Well, not to mention that it is Christmas, and you’re not Guy Fawkes, after all!”

“And aren’t you glad I’m not!” I wriggled my bum and batted my eyelashes at him, just to remind him how lucky he is. “So, while I wouldn’t mind doing something that would shift that lot off their arses, I can hardly wait to see what you’ve laid on for Eleven Pipers Piping, and I don’t want to be languishing at Her Majesty’s pleasure for it! Plus, your Nine Ladies Dancing was so brilliant! I needed to raise the barre, so to speak… And anyway, they say that ten out of Ten Lords proof-er drinking in the daytime!”

Tom glanced out the window at the chilly, grey day. “So we’re going to a pub...?” He frowned. “What does that have to do with Lords a Leaping?”

I crossed my arms and shook my head in mock disapproval at his slowness.

“Well, I figured that if the lazy bastards won’t leap to it, it’ll have to be our job! And there are loads of pubs named after Lords and other Royalty, so we’re going on a Ten Lords Pub Leaping!”

Tom choked “Good Lord! That’s…so bad, it’s actually good!”

“Why thank you,” I curtsied. “So you approve, then?”

“Certainly! It sounds marvelous fun!”

“Well, I’m glad I won’t have to gin up any excitement, because I’ve been tankering with the list of pubs and maps all morning!”

“And will we have to order particular drinks at each of these noble establishments?”

“Nah. Let’s just play it by beer.”

“ Well, you’ve done an excellent job, as far as I can see.”

“It’s ale in a days work!”

Pulling up to the Queen’s Sceptre, Tom stepped from the cab onto the kerb and gallantly offered me a hand out. I stifled a snicker. If my Posh Idiot wants to treat me like a grand lady, am I going to object?

Besides, his hand was warm when I slid my cold fingers into his palm, and when he tugged me onto my feet he met me with a kiss. I shivered in the cool damp air and he bundled me into the pub.

The Queen’s Sceptre was a traditional olde worlde pub with dark beams overhead and a quiet fire in the fireplace, immediately warming us.

Tom helped me off with my coat. “Thank you again for my pretty wool coat, Tom.” I stroked the sleeve. Tom smiled, pleased. “It’s totally baa-aa-d-ass!”

Now he groaned and rolled his eyes. “You know, when I was shopping for your gift, I had a conversation with myself…” he trailed off expectantly. Ok, I’ll play.

“Oh yes? Do tell!” I raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“It’s a coat, I said to myself. What could possibly go wrong with a coat, I asked myself. I totally forgot to check for puns!”

I stood on my toes and kissed the end of his nose. “Now you know! It’s good to learn something new each day, right? You should write it up as a life-hack!”

“What, and give some runny nosed kid online the opportunity to say ‘Ok, boomer’ to me? I think snot.” Tom raised an offended eyebrow and I snickered. I’d like to see some kid try to get away with calling Tom old!

After we ordered our drinks at the bar, I plopped down on the bench and looked around the scarred old place. There were cracks in the plaster, probably left over from the London bombings during the war. The rough wood floor had probably never been polished, the tabletops were gouged and scratched, and the mullioned windows were filled with wavy, bubbled old glass. There were only a couple of other drinkers there. But the place was perfect. It carried the rich, warm, smell of good ale, and the scent of the logs burning on the fire.

“Your sheep impersonation needs some work, by the way,” he told me. “That ‘baa’ sound needs to come from the throat,” he rubbed his hand suggestively along his throat, tracing a finger around his adam’s apple. “You need to practice until you can literally feel the vibration and-”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open. Was he seriously trying to give me an acting lesson here to improve my sheep bleating?? I’m supposed to be the weird one in this relationship, not him!

“Then with a little-” he stopped and burst out laughing. “I’m sorry... your face!” he said between guffaws.

I could feel my blush rising but hopefully he’d think it was still from the cold outside. He’d got me, but there was no way I was going to admit that!

Fortunately the barman interrupted for our drinks order. I went for a lager, and Tom asked for a glass of wine, whee aren’t we adventurous?

Soon we were sitting at a table in the window of the nearly empty pub, looking out at the grey day.

“I have to say, I’m impressed by your choice of a pub crawl,” Tom grinned at me over his wine, his eyes twinkling merrily. “This ought to be interesting, since you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Can too!” I drew myself up indignantly.

“Darling,” he drawled, “you were three sheets to the wind the first time you met my mother! Your first words to her were, if I remember correctly, to stumble over calling her ‘Mum’, ‘Hiddleston’ and ‘Mrs. Posh Idiot’! You were squiffy!

“How long are you going to bludgeon me with that one for?” I teased. “But, that’s fair,” I nodded judiciously. “Of course I’d had nearly half a bottle of scotch on my own, and it was all your fault!”

“My fault?! How was you turning up trolleyed my fault?”

“She was your mother!”

Tom blinked, confused. “Well yes, she was. I mean, she still is.” He shook his head. “What’s your point?”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, I’d never have got drunk in front of your mother if you hadn’t insisted on introducing me! It stands to riesling.”

“You’re treading a vine line, there.” He snorted and looked skeptical, but he had to concede my logic. Reluctantly.

“Now let’s have a look at this list of Lordly pubs of yours.”

I pulled the list and map from my bag and set them in front of Tom with a flourish:

The Queens Sceptre

Sir Vesa’s

The Lord Lucan

The Royal Flush

The Barons Bollocks

The Duchess and Tipple

Down for the Count

The Bloody Queen Mary

The Earls Whiskers

The Laird of Scotch

The Princes Licker

The Rummy Lord

The Fresh Prince

The Dukes Drunk Ducks

The Kings Cocktail

Tom ran a finger down the list and laughed. “You’ve got fifteen pubs listed here, love, not ten!

“Hey, it’s not my fault that London publicans have an over fondness for kissing Royal arse!” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, some of them are too far away for our walking programme. I only included the ten in walking distance of each other. Check the map. See?”

Tom flipped the list over and looked at our proposed ‘leaping’ route.

Tom laughed, pointing at The Prince’s Licker.

“Is that really what it’s called? The Prince’s Licker??”

I grinned. “Well no, it’s spelled Liquor. But I like my spelling better, as in ‘Candy is dandy, but lick-her is quicker to her heart’!”

Tom pulled me closer and nuzzled behind my ear. “It certainly is with you.”

I nuzzled back. “And you have a very good licker…” I trailed off suggestively.

Tom promptly licked a broad, very wet stripe up my cheek as I squealed and ducked away. “Guess I deserved that,” I said ruefully, scrubbing at my face with the sleeve of my jumper. Tom innocently drank from his glass, returning his attention to the list.

“The Lord Lucan.” he mused. “Isn't he the one who murdered his nanny, tried to murder his wife, and then disappeared, never to be seen again?”

“Yes,” I said with a grin. The macabre nature of the pub’s namesake had played a little into my choice. “You order your drinks at the bar, then they hide them and you have to find them before you can drink.”

“Are you serious?”

“No,” I laughed. “But it is said that only 50% of customers are ever seen again.”

He wasn't falling for it this time, no matter how deadpan my delivery.

“And the staff all carry pokers to bludgeon rude customers?” he suggested.

“Not far off,” I grinned and explained. “They stage murder mystery nights once a month, so if we like it here, we could try one sometime.”

“That sounds perfectly gruesome. We should go some evening.”

“I’ll check their schedule.” I promised. “You can’t get near it at Halloween, but it should be ok at any other time of the year.”

Tom looked back at our list. He grimaced at the next one.

“The Royal Flush? What is that?”

“I know, right? I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a pub, a gambling hell, or a shop that sells gold toilets!“

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t have high hops for a pub that has the word Flush right in its name.”

“Yeah, I think urine trouble if they can’t come up with a better name for a pub! It’s out of our walking zone, so we’re spared that one, anyway. What about the next one?”

“The Barons Bollocks?” Tom narrowed his eyes at me. “Did you spell that one wrong as well?”

I laughed. “Maybe? It used to be called the Barons Bullock, but some wag went and painted over the original letters on the sign. Every time the landlord fixed it, someone would come round and change it back. Eventually the landlord just gave up and left it that way. I hear their drinks are strong enough to put hair on your chest, and further south!”

“But darling, I like your chest just the way it is!” Tom traced a finger along the neckline of my jumper.

I glanced down. Oops. There was a bit too much of the girls on display for the public. I gave my jumper a tug and Tom sat back looking disappointed.

“Too bad.” I consoled him in mock sorrow. “But I wouldn’t want to get a chest cold.”

“Or a cold chest, I suppose.” Tom brightened and nuzzled my ear. “But I’d be happy to warm them up for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” I said dryly. I shook the pub list at him to get his attention off my boobs.

“The Duchess and Tipple is supposed to have quite a good wine cellar. And they have 2 for 1 House wine at happy hour!”

“Well, that’s an offer we decant refuse!

We finished our drinks at the Queen’s Sceptre and pulled on our coats. I grabbed Tom’s hand, tugging him out the door.

“Come on, Sir Vesa’s is only hops, skip and a jump from here!” I did my best to hop, skip and jump, but it’s not as easy as it sounds.

“Come on!” I urged Tom, who was laughing as he watched me. “Live a little!”

“How far is this pub?” he asked.

“According to the map, we’re only a quarter of a mile away.” I gave him my best side eye. “Yeah, you’re probably too old to skip for that long.”

His eyes narrowed. I was going to pay for that quip later. I couldn't wait!

“Fine.”

And so we ended up going this weird sort of flailing hop scotch dance down the pavement. Do you know how hard it is to hop, skip, and jump while laughing and dodging other, more sedate walkers? For a miracle nobody grumbled at our cavorting like ninnies, some even laughed and joined us for a hop or two! It must be the season.

Laughing and breathless from leaping about playing silly buggers down the pavement, I saw my chance. A narrow space between buildings was dark, a street light shining faintly through at the end of the gap, showing that the space was deserted. It was just the thing!

I tugged his hand and pulled him into the dark, turning and slinging my arm around his neck, reaching up on my toes to lick my way into his mouth.

Fingers ran over my cheek and down my neck, moving around my nape to dig into my hair and return the favour.

Tom braced himself with a hand on the bricks beside my head, brushing his lips teasingly across mine, but I wasn’t having it. I wanted his body against mine, and wrapped my hands in his jacket, pulling to grind against him. Tom chuckled into my mouth.

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea…”

The warm wool of my coat cushioned me against the frigid brick wall at my back, but I could still feel the chill seeping through. It was bloody cold out there! Tom, however, was warming my front nicely, his body pressing into mine as he took over the kiss, heating me up from the inside. I wanted to put my hands in his hair, but my damned gloves…

Tom lifted his head, searching my face for something. I was about to pull him down for another kiss just to see if he really could make me burst into flames, when he startled and his head whipped toward the entrance of our dark little niche.

I’d been so lost in his kisses that I hadn’t even noticed the chattering and noise of passersby until that moment. A loud burst of laughter echoed around us as a group of men walked past, joking and pushing each other as they passed only a couple of meters from us.

Tom took a step back with a shake of his head and a regretful sigh. Yeah, that place was too public, and I didn’t fancy getting caught doing Tom Hiddleston in a dark alley! I’m not into exhibitionism anyway, and the reminder that we were nearly in public cooled me right off.

I shrugged and grinned ruefully at Tom, standing on my toes for a quick brushing kiss over his lips.

“Baby, it’s cold outside…” I sang. Tom chuckled.

“Then let us repair to somewhere warmer. Perhaps to yon public house?” Tom made a grand sweeping gesture and offered me his arm with a bow.

“Delighted, good Sir!” I laughingly tucked my hand in his elbow and he drew me back onto the busy pavement, nonchalantly merging us into the bustling foot traffic without a ripple. We were only a couple of doors from our destination.

Sir Vesa’s turned out to be surprisingly posh, with menus at the tables and waitstaff to take your order. My tummy rumbled. I immediately determined that I hadn’t had enough chips in my life.

“Oh look! I pointed at the drinks menu. They have Budweiser on tap! I’ve never had any, have you?

Tom made an adorable moue of disgust. “I have. Listen to me well when I tell you, Bud you’d be wieser to choose something else.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like watered down goat piss!” Tom muttered quietly.

I choked. Eugh! I flipped the menu over, glancing down the list. “Oh, do they have that here?” i feigned innocence.

Tom looked at the menu over my shoulder, pretending to be serious. “Doesn’t look like it. Nope, no goat’s piss. Only the Budweiser.”

“You mean they don’t have real goat’s piss on offer, they only have the artificial stuff in a Budweiser can?? Well, all I can say is that’s a bitter pils to swallow!” I made my most outraged face and looked ‘round for the barman.

Tom slid an arm over my shoulders, holding me firmly in my seat, obviously not trusting me not to leap up and give the barman a piece of my mind on his lack of authentic goat’s piss. Wise man, our Tom.

“Now darling, you mustn’t harass the barman over his stock. You wouldn’t want to booze his ego, would you?”

“Who said anything about egos?” I eyed the man behind the bar. “He looks a stout young man, but I bet I could take ‘im…”

“Darling, I forbid you to take the poor man anywhere!! I’ll nip this in the bud!” And then Tom used his patented distraction technique, snogging me until I forgot what I was saying.

“Mmmm.” I blinked my eyes open and tried to stop my knees wobbling. Well, that was… refreshing. “Um. What was I saying?”

“We were perusing the menu,” Tom said with a sly smile, and I turned my attention back to the menu in my hand. Luckily while page one was the tried and not-so-true international brands, page two made this beer bar worth the visit. Of course the cervesa pun didn’t hurt, either! I don’t think you could have kept us out once we heard that name.

The various beers were described like a posh wine menu that had been turned into beer porn.

For example, Vienna Pale was described as “Based on the classic Vienna Lager style (though technically an ale), and annoyer of a certain type of beer geek, Vienna Pale is a sweet, malty drinking pint, with plenty of Saaz, Citra and Cascade dry-hopping to keep things interesting”.

I giggled over the menu. It might have been a little pretentious, if someone hadn’t come along and dirtied up the prose, but what the hell.

In the end, I chose a Pilot Bucks Peach, of which the menu said ‘Pilot is a Leith microbrewery that specialises in kick-arse brews. Lovingly handcrafted by braw men in kilts, it’ll lay you out with a smile on your face!’

Apparently it came in flavours! I didn’t fancy the mochachino flavoured one, which seemed more like a breakfast beer, if there is such a thing, but the Buck’s Peach sounded good.

Tom opted for one called, with devastating originality, An IPA.

I knew that meant an India Pale Ale. It was described as “An interpretation of the challenge ‘Create a New Scotland IPA’. A mix of malted oats and barley, then dry hopped both during active fermentation, then once fermentation is complete. A juicy, orgasmic starburst of a beer.”

“Tom, you know that it’s just beer, right? I mean it’s a bit much to expect the earth to move from a beer..” I cautioned him, shaking my head at the over-the-top description.

Tom’s lips twitched.. “But I have such high hops for it!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I hope it moves you to cheers!” I patted his hand. “If the earth doesn’t move, I’ll move it for you when we get home, dear.”

The beer turned out to be pretty good, but nowhere good enough to move anyone’s earth. Eh, the chips were much better, golden crisp on the outside, lovely, hot, and mealy in the center. With lashings of salt and malt vinegar they were the orgasmic item on the menu!

Tom took the last chip on my plate as I was swallowing the last of my Bucks Peach, which was a good lager, but not peachy at all. My other hand came down on his wrist, pinning it to the table. I carefully set my glass down and narrowed my eyes at him.

The fucker gave me those big puppy dog eyes and I lost all desire to fight him for it. I let go his wrist and gently took the chip from him, brushing his lips tantalizingly with it.

Tom delicately took it between his teeth and nibbled it down to my fingertips, licking the last of the salt away.

I sighed. “The sacrifries I make for you…” and shook my head. Tom chuckled.

“Darling, I always pay my debts.” His hand slid around to the nape of my neck and he leaned in to take my lips in a searing kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes.

“That’s only the down payment, you’ll get the balance when we get home,” he murmured against my lips. I tried not to whimper too loudly when he sat up.

“Right. Get off your heineken, it’s time to go. What’s next?” Suddenly Tom is all business. I blinked, and after a moment to gather myself, got the list from my bag.

“It says here The Lairds Scotch. And it’s only three doors down.”

A quick dash into the cold and we were there.

Tom took my coat, and when he came back I nodded at the bar, turning innocent eyes up at him.

“If you ask the barman to help you find the good scotch does that make him your spirit-guide?”

“Dear god, I hope so,” he groaned. “I’m going to need all the spiritual help I can get after that clanker!”

“Oh look,” I pointed to an upright piano next to the opposite wall to change the subject. I could just imagine people having a sing-song around it in the old days. “You should give us a tune,” I cajoled as we stepped up to the bar.

Tom ordered a Laphroig, but I couldn’t face any more scotch after my last go round. I asked for a G&T.

“It doesn't look like it’s been tuned since the war,” Tom deflected.

“They play it every Sat’de,” an elderly gentleman at the next table interrupted. “Owner’s son is studying music and he or one o’ ‘is friends play for us every weekend.” He nodded judiciously. “They’re not bad.”

Tom did not look thrilled by this news, but I’d seen his eyes linger longingly on the old piano.

“There you go,” I smiled smugly as I sipped my G and T.

“If I’m playing, you’re singing,” he challenged.

Ooh! Things just got interesting. Well, whatever my reluctance to be caught singing in public, if he wanted this, then I would give it to him. But I’d make him work for it!

“Is that right?”

“Of course, the only song I know is Little Drummer Boy,” he said as if that settled it. Bloody hell, I hate that song!

“No,” I shook my head. “There will be no pa-rum-pa-pums! Besides,” I sassed, “Drummers are the twelfth day of Christmas! And I definitely remember your Mum saying something about how you’d regale them with Christmas carols every year until you left for Uni!”

“My darling,” He affected a world weary air. “Do you have any idea how long ago university was for me?”

“Sure, grandpa,” I teased. “But you don’t play something for that many years and just forget it.”

I polished off my G&T, and went to order another from the barman. I’d need more booze to get me up to the piano. Either I sing better when I’ve had a good belt, or I only think I do. But it’s all in the mind, right? Let’s hear is for Dutch Courage!

I brought another scotch for Tom as well, even though he doesn’t actually need any Dutch Courage to perform. He’s in his element. But fair is fair, right? If I need to get tipsy to sing in public, well, he’s just going to have to keep up!

“I’ll tell you one I do remember.” The twinkle in his eye had an evil slant.

“Hmm?” I was cautious. God knows what he’d come up with

“I’ll be Home for Christmas.”

I smiled smugly. He thought he’d stump me? Ha! I know that song. By heart, even. I love that old tune. Dad had a bunch of old LP’s, and an honest-to-god turntable, and he loved to play the old songs at Christmas time. His favourites, and mine as well, were Nat King Cole, and Bing Crosby.

But I decided to be difficult. Anyway, if he thinks I don’t know the tune, he’s in for a surprise! And there’s nothing I like better than surprising Tom.

“Sorry, I don’t know the lyrics.”

“And you say I’m the old one,” He laughed. “Google them on your phone, you numpty!” Tom rolled his eyes and shook his head despairingly.

Yeah, I was sort of hoping he wouldn’t think of that. What the hell, I’d made him work hard enough for it. I relented. Besides, he has to pay for that ‘numpty’ crack!

“Bring it.” I tossed my hair behind my back and straightened my jumper, giving it a little tug downward to distract him.

It’s a song written from the perspective of a soldier in World War II, to his girl back home.”

His eyes closed and I could see him relax, his shoulders went down and his head fell forward, drawing a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. His long fingers carefully picked out the tune as if reminding himself how it went.

His fingers danced over the keys as he launched into the slow, romantic song. It did have a world war two vibe to it. I swear he could have been one of those old fashioned crooners as he began to sing in his smooth baritone. I shouldn’t have been surprised, he’s an amazing mimic, and I saw I Saw the Light.

“I'll be home for Christmas...You can plan on me… Please have snow, and mistletoe...and presents by the tree…”

Tom lifted his chin at me, commanding me to sing with him. I smiled and purposely set my mobile down on the piano, joining in with my alto voice.

“Christmas Eve will find you...Where the love light gleams...I'll be home for Christmas...If only in my dreams…”

The old gent and his friends, as well as the barman joined in and sang the rest with us. They clapped when we’d finished, encouraging Tom to play more.

One of the old gents waved his pint glass at us. “Can you give us Oh Holy Night, lad?

Tom nodded. “If you don’t mind the odd stumble, I might just manage it, “ Tom said modestly. Then he launched into the old church music, the old men singing along with us. Dad had always dragged us to Christmas services, so I was able to keep up.

Where I didn’t remember the verse, I sipped at my G&T and enjoyed the men’s voices winding together. They weren’t half bad! Everybody clapped happily at the end, egging Tom on to play another.

Tom laughingly agreed, sliding me a sly challenging look. He was a picture, his face flushed with exhilaration and happiness. It’s a good look on him. And it melts my knickers!

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” There went that challenging eyebrow. I wrinkled my nose at him and joined in.

“Jack Frost nipping at your toes...Yuletide carols being sung by a choir...And folks dressed up like Eskimos…”

The old gents were silent, not knowing the lyrics, I suppose. So we gave them a duet. Dad would have been proud.

When we’d finished and the last lingering note faded the gents applauded and called compliments, offering us another round, which we both declined. But we gave them Auld Lang Syne for an encore, and they all joined in. Tom laughingly refused requests for more.

“I’d better get back to my date, or there won’t be any kisses for me tonight!” he kidded. “And she’s ever so much better looking than you lot! Thanks for letting me play your piano!”

I tend to forget that Tom is such a born performer until moments like that. Watching him perform for an audience is like watching a rose bloom on fast forward; all that is hidden quietly away burst into full colour, and everyone nearby just basks in it.

When we went to finish our drinks back at our table, I slid into his lap, nuzzling his hair and wrapping my arms around him wordlessly. He is so precious to me, and I’m not making a Lord of the Rings joke.

At the Duchess and Tipple Tom made me drink a big glass of water after I called it the Duchess and Nipple, and couldn’t stop giggling. We agreed it was time for dinner.

“How about the Dukes Drunk Ducks? That’s not too far from here.”

“The what?”

“Dukes Drunk Ducks. It’s an old legend. It used to be called The Dukes Duck. One day the landlady came down to find all her ducks dead. Being a practical sort, she shrugged and put duck on the menu for that night. But as she was preparing them to cook, they woke up! Apparently they were only drunk and passed out after drinking from a leaking barrel of ale, not dead, and the name kind of stuck.”

“Yeah, okay, they sound like ducks I’d want to know.”

“I haven't been there for a few years but they used to do good food too.”

I checked my watch. “We do need something to soak up the alcohol,” I agreed. That and the mile long walk there should help sober us up enough to finish the crawl, I mean ‘Leap’, without being totally blotto. A good night out is no fun if you can’t remember it the next day!

“We’d best have a pee before we leave,” Tom cautioned.

“Good idea.” Yeah, a mile long walk with crossed legs didn't sound like much fun.

***

The Drunk Duck took its name and theme very seriously. Every wall was adorned with pictures of ducks, including duck portraits of ducks in Victorian clothing, some in military uniforms with high ranking titles.

Mr Firequacker, Sir Quacks a Lot, and Admiral Moby Duck were among my favorite names, although the fanged duck in a black cape titled Count Quackula topped my fav list.

“I’m surprised they don’t have duck a l'orange,” I said.

“You don’t kill your namesake,” Tom said with mock shock, clutching his chest.

“I don’t care how much I like this place, I am not giving up crispy duck pancakes with hoisin sauce. Not even if I can never look another duck in the eye again.”

Tom Laughed as the waiter set our plates in front of us, wished us bon appetit, and bustled off. I smiled at Tom over my Shepherds Pie and he smiled fondly back, and we both took a bite.

“It’s pretty good stuff, this.” I scooped a bit more onto the back of my fork.

“Not as good as yours, though.”

“Well, cheers!” I lifted my glass of wine and tilted my glass to him.

“Mm. Pudding was even better, as I recall.” Tom purred, sending shivers down my spine. My brow furrowed. I didn’t remember any pudding.

“What pudding ? We drank beer and watched Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen destroy some poor sod’s house!”

Tom wiped his mouth with his serviette and grinned wickedly.

“Oh yes! I distinctly remember I had a couple of lovely frozen bombes with cherries on top.” Tom’s eyes fell to the v-neck of my jumper, and I felt my face warm.

“Uh huh. Icy what you did there.”

We each nursed only one glass of wine during the meal, but we ordered water too and stayed for desert. I was feeling almost sober as we left, but I could do with the walk to the next bar to help the food digest.

“Where to?” Tom asked as we stepped out the door.

“Oh, um…” I felt my pockets but couldn’t find the list. “The Bloody Bits of Barons or something?”

“Do you mean The Barron’s Bollocks?”

“That’s the one. But I think my name is better.”

“Definitely more memorable, darling,” Tom piped up. “And rather bloodthirsty. If I ever become a publican I shall definitely call my establishment The Baron’s Bollocks.” He discretely hid a belch behind his hand.

God, I adored that cut glass accent of his. He could say absolutely ridiculous things like that and still sound like a sexy toff. It wasn't fair! I was about 50% sure I was drooling by now, and I’m absolutely certain that my mascara has migrated south since I put it on before we left. Tom meanwhile just had that sexy, tousled look about him. All he needs is some lipstick. Which I was happy to provide! I grabbed his chin and snogged him hard. Leaning back, I surveyed him. Damn, that shade looks as good on him as it does on me.

I eventually found my list in a pocket I was sure I’d checked three times already.

I slipped my arm through Tom’s and leaned my head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly as we strolled along.

“You seem happy.” Tom noted.

“Mmm,” I wrapped my other arm around his too.

“If I’d known feeding you was all it took to tame the beast, I’d have tried it months ago,” he laughed.

The idea of having been tamed made me giggle. Okay, maybe I wasn't quite as sober as I felt, but I was feeling very happy right now, even if I was freezing my metaphorical bollocks off.

“Feeding’s not the only thing that tames me,” I purred, but the effect was rather ruined when I slipped on a patch of ice. Luckily Tom was there to catch me up. I might have hammed it up a bit.

“We still have three more pubs to get to!” Tom groaned, scrubbing at his face to wake himself up

“No, two more!” I corrected.

“Three!”

“Look, mister, this is my day and if you keep arguing, it’ll be four.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. We’d been arguing about whether it was Ten or Eleven Lords a Leaping all evening. Tom liked the alliteration, the drunk posh idiot. Alliteration! I ask you!

“But, that’s brewtal! I’m sure-”

“Five.”

“Alright! Okay, you win! Please don't make me go to five more pubs! We’ll be drunk as Lords until Easter!”

“Now see how much easier it is when you agree with me?” I smiled my victory and batted my eyelashes.

“Well the alliteration is still better with Eleven Lords a Leaping,” he grumbled, “but if you make us go to 13 pubs neither of us will be having much fun after! So, what’s it going to be?

“Fine, we can skip the Duke of Marlborough. Never liked his ciggies anyway.” I drew a rather drunken line through the name, and Tom took it from me, stuffing it in his pocket.

Tom grinned, pleased to have won. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh yes you will!! What’s next?” I patted my pockets again. Wait. Now Tom had my list as well! But he had an excellent memory. Well, he did when he wasn't drunk. I reached for his pocket to retrieve the list of pubs, but he wasn’t having it. After tussling with him for a minute I gave up and tried for a stern expression.

“Hang on, this is my game! I make the rules.” I tilted my head, thinking hard. “It is my game, right?”

Tom snickered into his pint of cider. “You, my darling, are drunk.”

“You wouldn't exactly pass a breathalyser either, buddy! Better still, I’d like to see you do those American tests, where you walk heel to toe and touch your finger to your nose!” I swayed as I made my point. What was it again?

“I’d rather touch your nose,” Tom smouldered as he leaned in close, his nose inches from mine.

I shook my head as if shaking off a stupor. “Hey, no fair using The Smoulder to distract me!” I paused, trying to puzzle out where I was going with this. “Um, what were you distracting me from, anyway?”

“Hell if I know.”

“My good sir, you are snockered!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Not!”

“Too!”

“That’s the way to do it,” the barman said with a chuckle as he wiped down the neighbouring table.

“Sorry?” Tom asked.

“Am not, are too?” he imitated them. “I thought you were doing pantomime. ‘Tis the season, right?”

“‘That’s the way to do it’ is Punch and Judy,” I corrected him.

“Oh no it isn’t,” the barman teased.

“Oh yes it is!”

“This could go on for a while and I need to pee.” Tom drained the rest of his cider before he stood up and headed for the toilets. “Behave yourself!” he shot over his shoulder as he ambled away.

“Right, onward to the next bacchanalia! The Bloody Queen Mary was it?”

I pulled the list from my pocket and unfolded it. “Yes.”

We staggered out into the cold night air. I breathed deeply, letting it sober me up a little.

Not that I was roaring drunk. Not quite. Not yet. This next one was our second to last pub of the night though, and we were only having one each. Two more couldn't hurt too much, right?

Down for the Count was our final pub of the night and I held up my glass of sherry and giggled. I was definitely getting tiddly. And naughty. “Here’s to every Tom’s Dick and Sherry!”

“That, my dear, was a toastament to bad puns! And who’s this Sherry bird, anyway?” Tom squinted at me. “You aren’t setting up a threesome are you?”

“No fear,” I snickered, “I don’t think Tom’s dick would be up to the job after all this!” I waved my glass around, spilling it over the rim.

Tom grinned. “Apparently Sherry is sloshed as well!”

I snickered and made a small noise of annoyance at the sherry trailing down my wrist, glancing around for something to wipe it off, but there were only glasses and coasters on the small table.

Tom tisked, taking my glass from me and lifting my hand to his mouth. “May I?” The fucking smoulder was back.

“Be my guest.” My voice had gone all breathy, and I swallowed hard as his tongue came out and delicately licked the trickle of sherry from my wrist to my fingers.

Hot blue eyes stared into mine as he sucked a finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one to clean the sticky sherry from my fingers.

I breathed out hard, squirming in my seat to ease the need building below as he left a kiss in my palm.

“Mmm. Sherry tastes sweet, but you taste sweeter…”

“I’ll call us a cab,”

It started to snow on our way home in the cab, just light flurries at first, and then big, fat flakes drifting down out of the sky just as we were climbing out of the cab in front of Tom’s.

The cab left, and Tom wrapped his arms around me, turning my back to his front, and setting his cheek next to mine. We stood on his top step, tranquilly watching the snow fall , peacefully muffling the city noises all around us, listening to each other’s breathing as it fogged in the cold air.

Tom was warm at my back and I leaned against him, wrapping my own arms over his, and just simply enjoying the quiet moments.

Eventually I realised that I needed to pee. With that came the awareness that my feet were freezing in their trainers, and a headache was beginning to bloom behind my eyes.

I turned my head back and up, kissing Tom’s cool lips for a long luxurious moment.

I whispered in his ear, “I really need to pee.”

He didn’t laugh, he simply nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket and let us in. Tom took my coat as I kicked my trainers off and padded through the dark house to the loo.

I gasped when I flipped the switch, light stabbing through my eyes and waking my incipient headache. I quickly flipped the light off, deciding that there were some things that I was perfectly capable of doing in the dark.

I did what I needed to do and had a quick wash before I opened the door and found Tom leaning on the wall opposite, with two bottles of water and a bottle of paracetamol crooked in his elbow against his chest.

He took my hand and quietly drew me up the stairs, undressed me, and sat me on the bed. Setting down his burden, he twisted the cap off a bottle of cold water and handed it to me, quickly doing the same for himself.

“One more drink, darling. What shall we drink to?”

“Don’t know, don’t care!”

“That’s good enough!”

He tapped his water bottle against mine and we both drank thirstily. I moaned at the cool liquid sliding down my throat, it felt so good.

“Nothing like copious amounts of alcohol to dry you out.” Tom set his half empty bottle down and opened the paracetamol, tapping two out on his palm and offering them to me.

I’m nobody’s fool, I took the damn pills even though I detest swallowing them. If I didn’t I knew I’d be sorry in the morning.

I fell back on the bed with a groan. Tom settled me under the blankets, chuckling and ignoring my uncoordinated attempt to do it. I gave up and let him man handle me because I really was tired.

Stripping off as he made his way a little carefully into the ensuite, I listened drowsily to the homey sound of Tom humming to himself as he did whatever. I think it might have been a bit of the Nutcracker. My eyes were drifting shut on the slightly swaying bed, feeling warm and sleepy.

Tom lifted the blankets and slid in next to me, wrapping around me and dropping a kiss below my ear.

I woke some time before dawn with Tom’s warm body spooned around me from behind, and my bloody phone ringing far too loudly.

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aurora-daily · 6 years ago

Text

AURORA.

Interview by Daniel Megarry for Gay Times Magazine’s issue #497 (July 1st, 2019).

Norway’s euphoric-pop connoisseur on fighting climate change through music and why bigots will always lose in the fight against love.

There really is no other artist quite like Aurora. When we meet the 22-year-old Norweigan on a rainy day in London, one of the first things she (quite gleefully) tells us is that she styles and trims her own hair with a pizza cutter. It’s exactly the kind of quirky, DIY approach to life we’ve come to expect from Aurora, who simultaneously exudes a childlike sense of wonder and a wisdom well beyond her years. Much like listening to her music, chatting to Aurora is a calming experience, but one that also provokes thought and stays with you long after the record’s stopped spinning. Right now, she’s preoccupied with the state of the environment, stressing that our generation is the one that has the power to destroy or save the earth, a message that penetrates the listener’s mind on A Different Kind Of Human, the cinematic second ‘step’ (or half) of her new album. While Step One was introspective, Step Two sees Aurora looking outwards, making noise and questioning how we can fix things before it’s too late.

“People are so afraid of being political, especially in pop music,” she muses, “and that’s why I want to make good, intellectual, emotional pop music that can reach out to people and speak about something important, and remind us of something other than all this stuff we don’t really care about.” She’s also passionate about Pride, being part of the LGBTQ community – although like many young people, she prefers not to put labels on herself – and encouraging love, which she says will “save us all” one day. As her new record continues to win over fans and critics, we sat down with Aurora to find out how being at one with nature shaped her unique outlook on life and music, why it’s “not even worth listening” to homophobes, and how her track Queendom is an anthem for all the queers of the world.

Congratulations on the album release. How are you feeling now it’s out in the world?

Well the day it was released, I actually cried a bit at midnight...

Happy crying though, right?

Yeah, happy crying. But also relief that you can truly let a little part of your life go, and then you have so much space the next morning, it’s ridiculous how big a difference it is for me. Step One was very sensitive, whereas Step Two is much more powerful, and so I wanted to split this album into two parts because of the very distinctive moods and perspectives. I had one emotional journey I wanted to bring people through, but it was very clear which songs belonged to which step. Step Two is me thinking, ‘What can I do for you? What can I do for everyone else?’ It’s about really acknowledging that we’re coexisting together with the people around us and with nature.

Nature is a big theme for this album, especially the damage that we’re doing to the planet. Is this something that worries you?

I think about it a lot, especially now that we know so much. We are inventing new, much more environmentally-friendly ways of doing things all the time, and we already have a good replacement for plastic water bottles. We have the tools, but people refuse to use them, which really frustrates me. We have no excuses anymore because we have the knowledge, the intelligence, the money, the power. We have everything except for the will, maybe, or the energy to do it.

I think some people find it hard to think that far into the future. If it’s not an immediate threat, they don’t care. But it will come eventually.

It will come, and maybe within our lifetime, because things are already happening, and we are really damaging the planet. I think in general, our natural way is to be empathic and to care, because I believe we are good. That’s what I have to believe. But to give extra meaning and extra perspective to your life, and to be a part of something bitter than yourself – that will change us. It makes us happy, I think, to be a part of something bitter than us, to realise we are part of a team. It’s this beautiful thing that happens when we fight for something that should be important to us all. We have a choice now: Will we be the generation that destroyed the world, or will we be the generation that saved it? That’s what I care about right now.

You clearly have a really strong connection with nature – why do you think that is?

Well, I didn’t like school, I always knew I was different, I didn’t know where I fit in – all of that shit. I found a lot of comfort in myself and I was my best friend, but people didn’t understand me and I felt like it was my fault – and for all the people out there who feel the same, the world is so much bitter than what you think, and one day you’ll go out and you’ll be able to give the world something special that hasn’t been given before, that’s why people like us are made. So I didn’t know where I belonged, but I knew when I was in nature. When I was there I felt like I was given time to be a philosopher, I discovered the power of my own mind, and I figured out my problems. I realised what I could change and what I couldn’t change, and it really made me a better and happier human. I’m very inspired by that, because what nature has given to me, I want to give to people who don’t have nature on their doorstep as I had. I think that’s the biggest inspiration I want my music to offer people, that sanctuary and the feeling of being safe and at home. Safety is such an important emotion that isn’t obvious to a lot of people.

Do you find it quite di cult to navigate things like social media and streaming, which are obviously so important for artists to embrace now?

Yeah, I do. I find it really overwhelming, actually. It’s hard to have access to everything all the time, because then everything loses some of its value, it just becomes noise, and it becomes hard to define what’s precious. I don’t really use lots of streaming services, because I don’t like having everything available. I like buying what I want and I listen to that again and again. I often take long periods off, which I think is healthy. There was a time in the beginning where my fans, or my supporters – the word fan is such a weird word, because we’re all just people who love music – they would make social media pages, and they would write things like, ‘Sorry I haven’t been active lately, I have so much to do’, and it just broke my heart. Why would you say sorry? Who cares? It’s lovely that you want to share things, and you have things to say, but don’t feel guilty. So I also try to spread that to myself and others, that it’s important to take time away. Even if you have art to share, it becomes better if you’ve been outside and gotten the input that will help you do something amazing. You need that time off. It’s really important.

You’ve spoken about having a girlfriend in the past. Do you identify as part of the LGBTQ community?

I haven’t really thought about it before, but yeah, I guess I have to say that I do. I knew that it was my right to love whoever I wanted to love, and I’m very passionate about that. I’m very sensitive to reading the news, I find it very difficult, and sometimes they try to fool us and make us think that the world is such a horrible, dangerous place because people like to read about awful things, but it’s not. The world is really good. Humankind is such a complicated and awful and beautiful creation, and it just blows my mind some times... and then I remember that we have love. Sometimes you fall into a hole, and you question everything that’s going on, but every time I remember we have love, and that’s going to save us all one day. Everyone who brings hate towards the LGBTQ community, they will die, but love will not die. So it’s almost not even worth listening to them. They try to pick a fight against love, which is quite ridiculous, because they will never win. As long as people have love in them, love will exist.

We’re moving towards a world where labels don’t matter as much anymore, and people can just be themselves. I feel like that ties in very well with you as an artist.

I think so too. But also I think if people want to define themselves because it strengthens their sense of community or belonging, that’s fine. There can be many reasons why people want to define themselves, or define something undefinable. If someone wants to define me or put me in a box, that’s fine, because you can have feet in all the boxes. But I don’t feel like I have to define anything about myself, and it’s so gorgeous the way we are moving towards that freedom. I think if you go back a long, long time ago in the ages of gods and monsters, we were even more open. We’ve been there before, where sex was sex, and love was love, and everything was just about feeling good, because that’s quite simple really. It’s very beautiful and it allows people to truly become fantastic, because people are given no roles, they are just free, and then truly amazing things can happen.

Your song Queendom is very much about female empowerment, but it also seems like a queer anthem...

Oh absolutely, that was the seed of the flower, it was the main inspiration behind it. I don’t think we can save the world before we know our value, and it’s hard to know your value when someone is trying to tell you that what you are is not right – that’s so destructive and so pointless! So it’s very important for me that people know their worth, and their potential. When people feel accepted they become so good. I’m really passionate about Pride, it’s very important to me, because it’s such an obvious battle. It’s very obvious for me to know that I’m on the right side of history, and it’s so easy to be passionate about it when I know that we are right.

You’re already working on your next album. Will that be Step Three, or something entirely different?

I will release a Step Three at some point, one day. I haven’t told anyone that before! I’m very excited. But for what I will do next, I’ve told you a lot about it already in track eight, A Different Kind Of Human. That tells you quite a lot about where I will be going, and I’ve hidden some hints here and there. I know the title, I have the order already, I know the concept – and I’ve already started. I actually started in January. I feel like I can’t rest, I can’t sleep. Sometimes I find it hard to fall asleep because I have ideas, and I get adrenaline from the thought of making new songs. I just want to make music, and I’m really making sure that I have the time now that I’m so hungry for it. One day, a time will come where I don’t want to make music, I’ll want to do something else, but for now I’m really grabbing the chance. It’s very fun.

#aurora #aurora aksnes #interviews #step 2

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shriekbackmusic · 6 years ago

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‘Contaminated Pop’ - Lyrics Barry Andrews’ 2019 Solo Album

PUT ME TO WORK

I’ve been a groom I‘ve worked the room I’ve wrapped myself around a broom back in my prime

I fixed the stats

I shaved the rats

Brought litter for the Thundercats

- so many times

(I’ve been a jerk)

PUT ME TO WORK!

O mighty plume! O suffering moon! O weasles in the drawing room! (please make it fast) enklastify my words right now unruly gods will show me how I’ll get the mule before the plough until the last I will not shirk PUT ME TO WORK!

I’ll get the weight upon on my back I’ll eat my body weight in thrak I’ll holler by the railway track (and holler loud!) This Plasma-shift i cannot stop Tumescence intra bellytop Merch is flying out the shop. and in the crowd, are many perks...

PUT ME TO WORK!

O master fruit so tried and true O solemn plague-rat kangaroo Something to get my teeth into is all I pray now linear ducks have just arrived the bullshit has metastasized i am intensely exercised O mood display! Let’s go beserk...

PUT ME TO WORK!

SHIT-PIXIE Don’t you feel in the spring the sickening overkill of everything? can’t help it it’s all hard-wired now All these earthly delights Looking as silly as a bag of lights Ah come on now It’s gotta feel real tired now…

Hey Mary! Get Lairy! You’re still off with the fairies But you know what the whizz and the gelignite can do.. Don’t tangle, just jangle Bring on the crimes and the scandals I’m the Shit Pixie - I’m gonna dance for you.

Nothing real will impinge on the fierce exertions of your perma-binge. Working for you? Got it in hand now? But you won’t draw the sting with your classical allusions and your broken wing. I’m gonna draw you a line in the sand now

So shabby! Gabby! Get yourself back to the abbey you can tell the enqiuiry what and when you knew They concluded what you did was totally scuppered and scoobied I’m the Shit Pixie and I’m gonna tell you true

All the gears grind for you but the light still shines on Column 32 It’s an idea (might make it worse now) Nothing glows in the night and you feel sexy as an ammonite all your virtues are a kind of curse now

Ah Mimi! It’s dreamy! if you shut your eyes you can see me I’m a horse of a different colour boiled to glue. Ignore it; just floor it. It’s so shot-away-in-the-war it’s just the Shit Pixie who’s got a thing for you..

Virgin of the Ladder

I really dig your chiaroscuro it gives me something I can misconstrue these sickly martyrs make me feel alright: they give me something I can live up to

I guess this is where the magic happens: an epiphany of stone and light? Blue-collar… of the Madonna to bring in something from the building site.

O my Virgin of the Ladder will you be with me when I start to climb? Gravity I’m overcoming Nothing doing when it comes to Time

in this year without a summer when I lost everything I thought was mine all the pain and the sheeting rain and I’m sorry baby that was the last of the wine

and I know I can change but there’s only so much a ladder will do D’you want an acolyte that is so scared of heights? rung by rung I’m climbing up to you O virgin of the ladder grant me only that I do not fall towards the centre of the earth Ah keep that ladder up against the wall Oh Virgin of the Ladder what a pretty gal you are maybe a slow climbdown into the squalid town Light a candle on the way to the bar

it’s laboured as an image overused as a metaphor for spiritual ascension (Blake and Jacob did it long before)

but you are Mother of the Word Incarnate but what good are words when you want deeds? - you need practical KIT when you’re deep in the shit and that ladder’s gonna meet my needs O my Virgin of the Ladder will you be with me when I start to climb? Gravity I’m overcoming Nothing doing when it comes to Time

ABDOMEN JONES she will never understand all the tragic flaws of man and has not the slightest sympathy for anyone who can she disdains all protocol (she finds much distainable) still she has nothing in the quiver she’s unable to deliver

Calling Abdomen Jones I love Abdomen Jones and her animus is tidal Paging Abdomen Jones - with her 3 mobile phones - she says: ‘work is the blackmail of survival’

Honey badger isn’t fussed he has transcended disgust ….and it’s known that Jones atones for anything she must Doesn’t claim to be profound never takes the Higher Ground She is fully hypostatic - you should hear her in the attic…

Calling Abdomen Jones Strength to Abdomen Jones! with all her subtle modulations Paging Abdomen Jones with her libido made of chrome she says: ‘pain is a kind of information’

And in any case she sees she is queen of all the bees (as she has some fun and stuns us with her fluent Javanese). And who tunes the concert grand? who will now conduct the band? Her case is prima facie (takes the Beethoven quite pacy)

Calling Abdomen Jones Lovely Abdomen Jones she makes the sound of steam escaping Paging Abdomen Jones she does just fine on her own says: ‘caresses are a form of scraping..’

LOLLIPOP BOMB

Darling monster, sweety-pie.. my mind is wandering sadly I must walk into the reeds` terribly corroded and the saints have crumbled into sand they will not intercede

And I carress the velvet hand grenade my part is played and yes- the windows are steamy so no-one can see me

I lick the Lollipop Bomb I lick the Lollipop Bomb

hark the hot valkyries cry their flaxen hair and crazy eyes they come at last for me honey angel baby lamb I am not what you think I am and i will never be

and I will dally in the sullen glade I’m not afraid of al that I will be streaming at twilight’s last gleaming

I lick the Lollipop Bomb I lick the Lollipop Bomb

tho I was galloping along I read all the portents wrong the Golden Age could never last that long

we are not brave we are not free and yet somehow, remarkably, are able to apall this thinning crowd here in this place the baffled looks upon their faces really says it all

and I will freak out when the time arrives it’s very clear to me that life is a long song and I sang the wrong one

I lick the Lollipop Bomb I lick the Lollipop Bomb

FILTHY WONDERLAND

Come with me if you will - my imaginary friends - I have a tale to tell of phosphors and vapour. Upon a tiny screen i saw a magic realm though i was overwhelmed I got it down on paper.

there’s a scenario: a woman and a wasp not everybody’s thing but no doubt it’s someone’s tumescent butterflies are spurting everywhere: to get the full effect you can even become one

there is a land of wonders and a lot are for hire where all pay homage to the glories of the gland. Do it with Dumbo’s mummy if that is your desire there’s nothing you can’t do in Filthy Wonderland

Some legendary beasts preposterously endowed throw down a fairy girl with wings and tiara. The hobbit looking on is visibly aroused to see these monsters ride the lovely Titania

…and Things with tentacles - that penetrate the bum, A massive squirrel with a fearsome erection the whole environment inclusive as they come, pushing the envelope of natural selection…

There is a brave new vision that machines have designed (the old pornographers will never understand) such complicated pleasures for the liberal mind this is the way of things in Filthy Wonderland

a rampant unicorn; a goblin in a thong: sexual complexity well beyond triangular little Red Riding Hood encountering the wolf in ways (you have to say) are specifically glandular

Phantasmagoria: the Japanese Depraved My Little Pony is away on a hack there. Some mythic masterplan - the lion fellates the lamb - (I need to think this through before I go back there)

There’s an enchanted garden with a final frontier: a blessed Shangri-La to greet with your left hand. they put the magic in you in a new ecosphere a brave and weird new worldc in Filthy Wonderland

There is a land of wonders (and a lot you can buy) where all pay homage to the glories of the gland. Make it with all the cast and crew of Family Guy nothing’s denied to you in Filthy Wonderland..

CONSOLATION

Christ, here comes the storm again that lacerates the heart: the savage wind of ‘really nothing doing’. Pray for us the blighted: all the failed in love and art, who question everything they were pursuing. When the black dogs come for you well, what else can you do, but downwardly revise your expectations? Just kiss the sickly little rose and hold her steady as she goes as you light out for those lands of Consolation

All the aching moments when it didn’t go your way (we saw it all and none of it was pretty) Now you hear their voices in the gruesome light of day, with the wheezing, cheap harmonium of self pity. And there’s some sad things known to man - and quite a few are sadder than the sodden Paggliacci’s ruminations - but still you’d have a heart of stone to leave the poor clown on his own with half a bottle left of Consolation.

When you’ve failed to consummate the wedding of the soul or any other union you may yearn for Let the baby demons come and stretch you on the coals There’s nothing else you’d really care to burn for. Well it really isn’t fun and it comes for everyone it hauls you off despite your protestations. But all the Saints of Legoland; the Poundshop Martyrs hand in hand Will wash you in the seas of Consolation.

Satan in a monster truck Jesus on a bike all these things are sent to test your mettle Half-mast flags in Whitehall or your head upon a spike? Depends on where the dust is when it settles. All the things you struggled for you can check em at the door get ready for a dubious sedation. It’s all designed to reassure: the bingo and the talking cure, as they walk you round the grounds of Consolation

Feel the Need (lyric by Abrim Tilmon - Detroit Emeralds)

See how I’m walking See how I'm talking Notice everything in me Feel the need, oh Feel, feel the need in me

I need you by my side To be my guide Can't you see my arms Are open wide? Feel the need, oh Feel, feel the need in me

Every day, I need every day, I want, without your sweet Sweet love, I'd rather die

I need it constantly your love takes care of me your love is better To me than apple/cherry pie

Your love is tuff and I can't get enough Girl, your love is So important to me Feel the need, feel the need in me

Just put your hand in mine Love me all the time The proof you will Plainly see, Feel the need, oh Feel, feel the need in me

I need you on the case To keep my heart in place You make me what I need to be Feel the need, Feel the need in me

I need you by my side To be my guide Can't you see my arms Are open wide? Feel the need, oh Feel it, feel the need in me

#shriekbackmusic #xtc band #britpop #technomusic #electronica

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wardog-of-whimsy · 7 years ago

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Wardog’s Fic Masterpost

You can find nearly all fics through my AO3 account, but here’s a list of links!

The Old Guard

Immortal Husbands- Nicolo di Genova x Yusuf al-Kaysani

A Hunting (We Will Go); Part of Moonrise In The Hallows

Halloween Oneshot (Within a Larger Verse); Teen & Up- The Guard is a Shifter Pack, led by the fierce wolf Andy. Her fellow wolves Sebastian & Nile, along with the hyenas Lykon and Yusuf are fierce and far-ranging. To say nothing of the vampire, Nico, that is somehow one of them. When their youngest wolf goes missing, the Guard hunts down those responsible and will terminate them without hesitation. The fact that there's another prisoner being held in the basement probably isn't important...

Reluctantly Making Art

Ongoing; Teen & Up- While Yusuf al-Kaysani would prefer to be a hermit in his apartment and get over his recently ended bad relationship (and subsequently worse breakup), he has friends that have decided that is not his decision to make. He might ignore them, except for the fact that they're his best friends AND the most terrifying women he's ever met, so he doesn't have much choice. He goes to breakfast, he goes to art class, and he falls head over heels for the beautiful Italian man sitting as the model. Because of course, he does; that was the plan all along. (Joe has to admit... it's a pretty good plan.)

MARVEL

IronStrange- Tony Stark x Stephen Strange

Wishes (Better Left Ungranted)

Complete; General Audiences- Tony makes a few wishes, but some are better left ungranted.

‘Till Then

Complete; Mature- Stephen Strange is trying to work at Kamar-Taj when his boyfriend texts him... from his Malibu bed. Stephen opens a portal to talk to him about it and they wind up, not really talking about it. ( Tony Stark Bingo Explicit Card A4 KINK: Masturbation)

The Theory of Magic

Ongoing- Open for Expansion; General Audiences- A get together series in which Stephen Strange has a crush and actually makes a movie. Stories are Complete but the Series is Ongoing, available for expansion via prompts when open.

Remind Me

Study and Practice

Burden of Proof

Absence Makes the Heart

Time Heals All

Ongoing- Open for Expansion; General Audiences- Stephen Strange and Tony Stark are married. A little Team Cap antagonistic. Part 3 is a little Dark!IronStrange.

What the Doctor Ordered

Cloak and Dagger

Break Rules (Not Oaths)

IronPanther- Tony Stark x T’Challa

Hot Chocolate

Complete; General Audiences- (Fluff and Flirting)- So a combination of a prompt and a ship. From jacarandabanyan "Hot Chocolate" and bash-it-all's "IronPanther".

WinterHawk- James Barnes x Clint Barton

Well-Armed (To Hold)

Complete; Teen Audiences- Tumblr Prompt: "Would you ever write WinterHawk? <3"

A Meddling Affection

Complete One Shot; General Audiences- A belated Birthday ficlet for the lovely Ru! Combined with Tumblr Prompt: All Avengers, clock, poking (Heading toward WinterIronHawk)

WinterIron- James Barnes x Tony Stark

Children of Light

Ongoing Series; General to Teen- Slowbuild to WinterIron. Deals with the Death of JARVIS, the first activation of FRIDAY, and JARVIS’s eventual resurrection. (Note that J is the “Major Character Death” referenced.) This is angsty because I have FEELINGS about the loss of JARVIS and the fact that we never mourned him in MCU. Stories and Series ongoing.

Son of Stark

To Lose a Child

A Child’s Initiative

I Will Always Find You

Complete; General Audiences- Tony as Snow White, Bucky as Prince Charming in an AU snippet of OUAT.

Collision With a Dream

Complete; General Audiences- Bucky's walking along arguing about Russian Lit when he literally runs over his dream guy. Tasha does what she usually does, she makes it worse. That's alright, Tony's apparently the forgiving sort.

(You Wanna) Date My Dad

Complete; General Audiences- Featuring Harley Keener! "Would you ever write a fic where Bucky meets Harley?"

To Cure a Hangover (You Need Espresso and a Date)

Ongoing; General Audiences- Prompt: "Would you ever write: WinterIron with age difference? Like teacher!Bucky with Student!Tony? :P"

I Was Promised a Flying Car

Complete; General Audiences- Prompt: Would you ever write a fic where Tony and Bucky is bonding over being nerds/loving science? (And doing all kinds of wacky, mythbuster-esque experiments that Tony whips up any time Bucky begins a sentence with "I wonder what would happen if...?")So it's not "science" driven, but science nerd Bucky did spend his last night before deployment at the Stark Expo, staring at a flying car...

Mechanics, Millionaires, Models & More

Ongoing Series; General Audiences- Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne are friends from childhood. When Tony as a single dad catches the eye of the model James Barnes, there’s some mutual Instagram-Stalking and a lot of flirting.

Tony’s First Friend

Coping for An Age

(Walk Walk) Fashion Baby

Milkshakes and Motorcycles

Ongoing; Teen Audiences- Bucky, second to the Captain for the Howling Commandos, hears a scuffle around the corner and finds himself with an armful of just about the prettiest little lost lamb he's ever seen. Since Tony don't seem too keen on his now-ex, Bucky's gonna buy him a milkshake, wrap him in a leather jacket, and hopefully show him a good time.

California Dreamin’ A Beach Bums Verse

Ongoing; Teen Audiences- Note: A Special Collaboration Series! This is a WinterIron get together with puns, angst, fluff and more! Make sure to read my partner maevee’s stories!

Don’t Tell (Secrets)

(Everyday Is A) Winding Road

Mai Tai (Offer You A Drink)

When You Wish Upon A Stark -Maevee!

We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Bucky -Maevee!

Adorato

Ongoing; James Barnes, the Winter Soldier, has been out of the ice and Hydra’s hands for a month the first time he hears a familiar voice. (A SoulMate AU)

True, Strong and Brave

Ongoing; Teen- Bucky Barnes moves into the tower and receives help from an otherwise elusive Iron Man. But when the team gets called out and things go wrong, Steve gets a reality check as to what has been done in his name. Bucky steps up, he's one of the few who can. (Team Cap Critical; Anti-Wanda)

Tired

Complete; General Audiences- From a Prompt on Tumblr: Random Sentence- “I’ll do it for you.”

(Were) Whisperer

Ongoing; Mature- In a world where Aliens rain destruction from portals through space, ancient Gods arrive on beams of light, and a certain Billionaire Philanthropist darts around the world in a metal suit: there really is a very high bar for what is considered "weird". Shapeshifters hardly register, having been long known. You’re either a Human, a Were, or a Whisperer. Most people can prove whether they’re the first or the second, a few will lie about being the third. Alternately, there's Tony. Tony Stark is one of the few people pretending the first and burying the third, and he’s more or less in the clear with it until Steve Rogers catches up with the Winter Soldier, and brings him home to Avengers Tower. Tony doesn’t have to say a word, the Wolf knows differently.

An Attraction

Complete; Jurassic World AU- Write... a crossover/au of the last non-marvel movie you saw and marvel (if ships, winteriron?). Essentially Jurassic World & Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom Snippets with WinterIron. Originally Posted on Tumblr: Expansion Pack for AO3!

The Continental

Teen- From the Prompt: “ Would you ever write: Winteriron as a John Wick!AU?” James "Winter" Barnes has been accepted into The Continental Hotel's exclusive clientele. While preparing for a job he visits the Hotel Lounge and meets the gorgeous singer, Tony Stark. The Owner's Son, the New Manager... Maybe the love of his life.

Impressions

Ongoing; General Audiences- So my adorable FandomNiece made me a beautiful Moodboard for True, Strong and Brave. I offered a gratitude fic for her pairing and trope of choice! This is a WinterIron Identity Porn story!

New Hire

Complete One Shot; General Audiences- In reaction to the Prompt: "Actually totally WinterIron and Peteypie, with...sitter or teacher Bucky???" (And things got out of control as they do, I guess.)Essentially: Pepper hires a Bodyguard/Babysitter for Peter out of SHIELD's ranks. Tony is spiky about it, at least until he gets a look at the guy. (Yeah, he wants to climb that like a tree.)

(Let’s Go) Dancing

Complete One Shot; General Audiences- This is a Marvel Universe-Center Stage Fusion AU that no one asked for and everyone is getting anyway. Tony dances for the American Ballet Company as their featured ballerino, performing under the name Antonio Carbonell. James and Steve are two of the ABC's newest students, and James gets a chance to meet his crush on his first day. Just his luck, Tony is even better in person. (Natalia may have been setting them up all along.)

Next Year Will Be Better

Complete One Shot; General Audiences- Just a quick story for Tony's birthday. Pre-Slash Tony Stark/James Barnes, and Tony acting as IronDad to the Spider Son and his Potato Gun Son.

The Most Powerful (Pillowfight)

Complete One Shot; General Audiences- In which Carol and Tony (aggressively) support each other and then do battle (with pillows) for their honor. Or each other's honor? It's unclear, things got out of control. (James Rhodes loves these idiots way too much.) This is a fill for the TSB 2019 Square: T2: A BATTLE/FIGHT/CONFRONTATION

Coffee, Curses, Kisses

Complete; General Audiences- Tony Stark drags himself out of his workshop on a regular Thursday morning. Well, mostly a regular morning. Except for Clint Barton lying on the breakfast bar in themed underwear. The theme is new, the rest is depressingly familiar. Ok, so maybe the rose petals are new too. (What the hell, Clint?) It's enough to make a billionaire grateful for the Avengers Alarm. Wait a minute, magic too? Fuck, this is just not Tony's day. (Until it really, really is.)This is a Fill for Tony Stark Bingo 2019 S4: FIRST KISS

Riding Roughshod

Ongoing; Teen & Up- The Heroic Captain America wakes up in a world that is integrated far beyond what he would have dreamed of when he went into the ice, though he never expected to be a part of it. A pioneer of mixed-race teams back in his own day, the last thing he expects is to be called upon to do so once again, this time gathering a group of heroes from some rather unlikely places. If that weren't enough to worry about, there's a wild-card Soldier with a familiar fighting style making trouble at top-security bases all over the world... and a shiny red and gold suit that doesn't seem to answer to anyone. That's to say nothing of the kid genius that's supposedly behind it.This is a Fill for Tony Stark Bingo 2019 R4: CentaursThis is a Fill for Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019 K3: Tony Stark/ Iron Man

Love Like Knives

Complete One Shot; Mature- Winter wakes up Tony when he wants someone to play rough with.This is a Bingo Fill for Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019. U4: [Image: Winter Soldier holding a knife.]

(I Will Try) To Fix You

Complete One Shot; General Audiences- Dark Fic; An Extremis-modified Tony Stark decides he could run the world better than those currently in power, but he needs his pliable boyfriend James to go away and the Winter Soldier to come back...

WinterIron Week 2019

Day 1. The B Team First Meeting/“Are we really gonna do this here?”

Day 2. Done “You done yet?”

Day 3. A Second Take, A First Impression Bed Sharing / “I’m not drunk enough for this.” / Soulmates

Day 5. Hunting For (You) Celebration / “Bad timing?” / Prosthetic Arms

Day 6. Give It Away Identity Porn / “You should shut up now.” / Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart

WinterWidow/RussianRoulette- James Barnes x Natasha Romaova

No Fics Currently

Stony- Steve Rogers x Tony Stark

A Guardian of Light

Ongoing; Teen- a.k.a. that time Steve sank the Valkyrie in the Arctic and became a spirit-walking wolf to guide Tony, at Frigga’s suggestion.

Shield Studios Ltd.

Complete- Open for Expansion; General Audiences- All the Avengers in a non-powered voice-acting AU for an animated show called "Assemble" staring their Marvel counterparts. Tony/Steve have a mutual admiration/crush but it's not actually romantic and can be read as gen.

Assemble!

Phil’s Failed Plan

You’re Welcome to Try

The Vague & The Unmistakable

Complete; General Audiences- Looking back on it, there are several things that should have tipped Steve off that today was his Birthday. (Starting with the fact that it's suddenly clear Tony engineered every one of them.)

Stucky- Steve Rogers x James Barnes

No Fics Currently

Stuckony- Steve Rogers x James Barnes x Tony Stark

On The Wing

Complete- Open for Expansion; Teen- A Wing AU for Stuckony. Stories are Complete but the Series is Ongoing, available for expansion via prompts when open.

Fluttering

Turtledove

(I’ll) Be Good

Complete; Mature- So when the tumblr prompt "Would you ever write...ABO winterironshield with alpha Tony?" meets my Kink Card S2 Square "Alpha/Beta/Omega Society" this is where we end up.

Allergic to Coddling

Complete (But Possibly Ongoing); From the Prompt: "Would you ever write Tony Stark having an allergic reaction to something and the rest of the Avengers babying him to the point of ridiculousness because they just love him so much?" Sort of Stuckony, sort of Everyone is Poly Because Avengers? Your choice.

Poly Avengers- Everyone Loves Everyone

Everybody Loves Me

Ongoing; From the Prompt: "Would you ever write a TonyXEveyone fic? Not exactly everyoneXeveryone, but everyone *in love* with Tony only?" Note this is a Partial Fill which may be expanded on later. Featuring Tales of Suspense Hawkeye/Comic Clint Barton, aka deaf and a dumpster kid until the end.

Non Romantic- No Shipping

Shut UP, Bucky!

Complete; Teen- From the hellscape of Discord Discussions I bring you: QueenWuppy: "During World War II condoms were not only distributed to male U.S. military members, but enlisted men were also subject to significant contraception propaganda in the form of films, posters, and lectures. A number of slogans were coined by the military, with one film exhorting "Don't forget — put it on before you put it in." "guys i was doing research and and steve and bucky were subjected to this". AKA Bucky makes SO MANY COMMENTS about Super Soldier Sized Protection. So many.

We Can’t Plot Murder All The Time

Complete; General Audiences- From the Prompt: "Would you ever write Deadpool/Tony (IronPool? DeadMan? IronDead? Dunno their ship name :b)" AN: I don’t ship them so this is a non-romantic.

Video Games and Phoenix Metaphors

Complete; General Audiences- Pepper plays Pokemon GO for SI Employee Morale... But she thinks the boss should be in on it too, and the best way to get Tony to do something is to get Rhodey to do something, and then clue Tony in. (Hint: It works.)

(The Upgrade) You’re Missing

Complete One Shot; General Audiences- Riri Williams is having a bad day, and though her AI TONY can't fix it, he can call in reinforcements.

The Losers

A Touch of Grace

Ongoing Series; Gen to Teen- Cougar has a bad feeling right before the Fadhil operation, and he admonishes Jake to be careful. Jake mostly pays attention, but Cougs is pretty distracting. (Slight D/s tones and Subspace.)

If I Touch You, Will You Listen? (Cougar’s POV)

If I Listen, Will You Touch Me? (Jensen’s POV)

You and Tequila (Make Me Crazy)

Ongoing; Teen & Up- Fortalvarez Tequila is a family business that's been in operation for a hundred and fifty years. Currently, under the management of the family matriarch Constanza, the business will soon be passed to her beloved grandson Carlos. The problem is, Constanza does not care for modern technology or the fact that all of her grandbabies (but especially her favorite) are single. Her solution is a single advertisement for a new Social Media Expert, which is about to be answered by the very handsome (and rather impulsive) Jake Jensen.From the Prompt: "Cougar's family runs a tequila distillery in Mexico. A luxury one. But his abuelita is getting too old to run the place with the firm hand that's required and someone has to take over. Jensen? Jensen is GREAT at social media management. SOMEONE WRITE IT SO I DON'T HAVE TO."

Tag (You’re It)

Complete One Shot; Teen & Up- Jake hacks a new system for the express purpose of getting the Losers prank dog tags printed and delivered. Mostly because his Unit is full of people that make bad decisions, himself included. And also? To flirt with Cougar. Jake is willing to do stupid, stupid things in order to flirt with Cougar.

#wakandan wardog #Wardog Writes Stuff #My Fic Post #Fic Masterlist #Stucky #Stony #WinterIron #WinterHawk #IronStrange #Stuckony #Poly Avengers #The Old Guard #Yusuf x Nicolo #TOG Fanfic #MARVEL Fanfic #The Losers Fanfic

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billvsamerica · 6 years ago

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Christmas in Florida

The white powder lashed the windscreen in huge blobs making it impossible to see. We grinded to a halt as the white spray from above covered the car like a foam. Finally, the area started to heat up and the car was practically completely dry. What kind of voodoo was this? Had I fallen asleep while driving again? No, because I wasn't driving and I also wasn't asleep. A snowstorm in Florida, you might be thinking, no way! And you'd be right. I just made you think it was one through vivid descriptive language. We were actually in a car wash readying the car for seeing Shelby's dad, ex-world champion drag racer, Steve Cohen, or as I like to call him (and he secretly likes, but outwardly dislikes), Stevie C or Big Steve. We were sure to be berated if the car’s cleanliness wasn’t up to his standards. And that's what Christmas is all about. Ho, ho, ho everybody!

Their eyes remained on me the whole journey, like I was a sausage in human form

Last year, we spent Christmas apart. This year, to save me from tears, I spent the Christmas with Shelby (Shelby, Shelby...). A very important person was born on Christmas day many years ago. He was Jewish and had very recognizable facial hair. Some call him the savior (of drag racing). And that somebody is Big Steve. He shares his birthday with the big man himself, Ricky Martin and, of course, duh, Lemmy from Motorhead. My own father often complains about his birthday being on January 6th. “Oh, it's too close to Christmas - nobody bothers with it. Oh, I should get a gift for both Christmas and my Birthday. Oh, will you please come and visit me in the home soon, Bill? it gets very lonely in here and I think the nurse is stealing from me.” And to all of those, I simply laugh and say no chance! (He's not really in a home... yet).

It's a strange phenomenon spending Christmas at a destination so close to the equator. Not as weird as spending it within the earth's crust on the actual equator though, which provides me with some solace. We were taking a friend back to her house in Florida, so I volunteered to spend the eight hour journey in the back of the car with a dog with anxiety problems and a weak bladder and a giant dog who thinks he's a chihuahua. Once we arrived, we had thirty minutes to shower off the piss and hair and get ourselves festive for the first family function.

When I think of Christmas in England, I think of roasting chestnuts on an open fire, long walks on the Malvern Hills in the snow, and stopping for a swift pint of ale in a country pub. We walked into the garage of Shelby's uncle's house where he was pointing a handgun at a boat. He was fitting a new sight to the top of the gun.

"Doesn't that make it a bit easy?" I said.

"Not with my shaky hands it doesn't." Shelby's uncle replied.

I queried this in my own head, but thought against arguing. The hosts had kindly accommodated us by preparing a number of vegetarian dishes and the food was delicious.

"You don't eat fish?"

"No, I'm a vegetarian."

"So, no shrimp then?"

They didn't quite understand the commitment I have made to all living things with my abstinence from scranning their dead bodies. Still, as with Christmas gatherings across the globe, somebody had a Chinese puzzle and we all spent a couple of hours trying to figure it out. Dogs and babies created the rest of the entertainment (the party wasn't a front for some sort of underground dog vs babies fight club though, which in some ways, is a disappointment. Note to self: pitch this idea to Vince McMahon or Dana White, failing that pitch to that dodgy guy you met on a train to Aberystwyth once who said he had invented a spoon crossed with a ladle).

As the evening was coming to an end, we handed Mary, Shelby's 94 year old grandma, her gift. It was an Ancestry DNA kit. One of the family members entered the room and walked up to her.

"I just had to see her face when she opened it," he said.

Not sure why - her face was absolutely baffled by it.

The phenomenon that is Mary, the 94-year-old world traveler with a penchant for corgis

For two weeks over Christmas, most people become functioning alcoholics - rising from their slumber to eat leftovers that soak up the alcohol from the night before, which is what I did the next day. That evening, we were heading to Ralph's in Dade City. I've been to some dive bars where I've felt the atmosphere change as I walk in - an instant feeling of not belonging or a high probability of getting my head kicked in. Mainly in Scotland. But few of these, if any, have left me feeling like I may be abducted and used as some sort of sex slave for a closeted hick with family money. That was, of course, until I got to Ralph's.

This is the vibe I got from Ralph's, but as soon as I walked through the doors, my mood changed. I was told by Shelby that Ralph's was a bit "Out of business up the front, party in the back," and she was right. There was a band on that night playing some rock and roll classics, a huge fire with various people gathered around, and a giant 21 year old man with bruised knuckles who I befriended named Eric. Eric didn't seem to know anybody. He claimed that he had a party at his house earlier but everybody left, so he had walked to Ralph's to keep drinking before he met his supermodel girlfriend. I like a good character, and Eric was certainly that. Although he kept nudging me in the stomach with his big hand and putting his arm around me, which I didn't like. I volunteered to walk to the shop with him so he could buy a packet of cigarettes, and when it came to pay I half expected him to ask me for some money. Instead, he pulled out a wad of ten 100 dollar bills and counted them. I thought this was probably not a wise thing to do at the Dollar General next to Ralph's in Dade City, Florida, but didn't want to say anything, again, because of the big hands. I was worried that I would have to keep him company all night, but a few minutes later his supermodel girlfriend actually did turn up and I was left confused. After that, I went inside to play pool. Didn't pot a single ball and then potted the black by mistake, which is how I knew it was time for me to make a dash for the exit through the line dancers and sex offenders at Ralph's, where everybody knows your name (because you're probably the owner's cousin).

Christmas day was fast approaching and on Christmas eve we hosted Shelby's friends and their baby. As they walked in, they told us that the baby was sick. Bit annoying, but unlike adults, it's hard to explain to a baby to keep at least three meters away from me at all times or I will invoke the use of force, but I did keep my distance. The last thing I wanted was a baby cold ruining my festive fun. Like the wisemen in the story of Christ, I led them to the door when they decided it was time to head home. Mary and Joseph (not their actual names) used their truck as a makeshift donkey, their headlights as the north star, and their house as the barn to lay the baby down in. Although technically Jesus wouldn't have been born until the next day, but whatever, I'm trying to get into the festive spirit.

In the morning, we all rose to gather around the tree and exchange gifts. I had already received my main gift, a guitar, from Shelby the month before, but I was stoked to open a leafblower (my first middle aged gift ever) from my in-laws and a number of other treats, including a jar of Branston Pickle. I handed Shelby her main gift. She shook it excitedly and opened it up. I had bought her a robot vaccuum cleaner. Now, granted, she hadn't asked for one, and was a bit surprised less in a "Wow, cool!" way and more in a "What the hell's this?" tone, but I knew she would like it simply for the fact that it could keep the dog company when he was home alone. She lated admitted that she thought I had bought her a pair of Dr Marten boots, which I didn't.

This photo is blurry and Bagel is staring at something and it creeps me out

That afternoon, we were heading for our second family engagement of the holiday period, with the family I did choose, sort of. While milling about eating little puff pastry things and trying not to look at anybody the wrong way, I bumped into Shelby's step second cousin (possibly that is their relation), a tentative link, but one all the same. He told me that he used to live near where we now live and was actually one of the first employees of the World's Largest Dog-friendly Travel Website, BringFido, where I now work. What are the bloody chances of that? Apparently, he left the company disgrace without telling them he wouldn't be returning. Nice bloke, though.

Outside, I bumped into one of Shelby's cousins, who was wearing his favourite shirt for the occasion. He'd gone all out with this one - It read "Guns, God, Trump, Family" in big letters. I took the word “Trump” to mean the British word, to fart out of one's bum bum, making the shirt much more entertaining. I sat down with the men, most of whom had their t-shirts tucked into their trousers, and immediately fit in - not at all coming across as a lanky, camp, British, randomer... The man next to me sat back in his chair and breathed out heavily.

"I was on a forum online,"

Where was this going, I thought as I considered dialling Dateline.

"About guns,” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“And I got into it with these people. I said to them, Do you even like guns unless you own over a hundred?"

I like donuts, but that doesn't mean I - actually, I take that back.

"I mean, I only have 82, and I'd say I was an enthusiast, but the real enthusiasts - they have over 100."

"What guns do you have?” somebody asked.

"Got a grenade launcher."

"What's the practical use of that?" I said, for some reason.

"Scaring birds off your crops"

While literally blowing up everything you've grown in the process and leaving shrapnel in your cabbage, I thought.

"I've got a machine gun, that sort of thing. They're mainly good for the zombie apocalypse."

If I ever become a zombie, remind me not to go to his house.

My new year's resolution is to update my blog more and release a podcast recounting my adventures in China, mainly because I just got a mic stand and I need to use it. Happy New Year to one and all! (Except those who've wronged me. You know who you are. I hope irritating things happen to you all year round, like flat tires and having to spend a fortune to replace your guttering).

An unrelated photo of me and Bagel taken after Christmas

#christmasinflorida #christmas #lol #comedy #funny #blog #bagel #dog #vacation #britabroad

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sci-fantasy · 7 years ago

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The Annotated “Playback”

Tomorrow, Friday October 20, begins OVFF 33, the annual Ohio Valley Filk Fest, the biggest filk convention (certainly in stature; probably in people too?).

I am thus pleased to announce that after months of on-again-off-again work, and the assistance of several friends including @animatedamerican and @jchance4d4, I have finished the project envisioned here, and annotated all of the references in Andrew Ross’s “Playback.”

(Well, as much as I could. One or two were not identifiable fully.)

A lot of people commented approving of this idea when @seananmcguire reblogged this, so I hope you see the fruits of our labor.

Song above the cut; references below.

“Playback” to the tune of Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire” filk lyrics by Andrew Ross

Mary Shelley, HG Wells, people meeting at hotels Rudyard Kipling, people singing ditties at the bar Gilbert, Sullivan, rounds of Young Man Mulligan Poul and Karen Anderson, songs in Key of R Martha Keller, Tolkein, songs of worlds as yet unseen TH White’s Arthurians, Frederick Pohl’s Futurians Tom Lehrer, Mondegreens, Slan Shacks, fanzines Music circles, Reprints, Jacobs has a misprint! We shouted “MacIntyre!” It’s our cry of battle for the Old Dun Cattle We shouted “MacIntyre!” And we haven’t parted since the circle started Amazing Stories Annuals, Pelz’s Filksong Manuals Dr. Demento tunes, Callahan’s Crosstime Saloons Hope Eyrie, Leslie Fish, bounced potatoes off the dish Robert Aspirin, Gwen Zak, Dawson’s Christian, Captain Jack Off Centaur, Teri Lee, making love in zero-G Filthy Pierre, Longcor, black market Tullamore Juanita Coulson, Red Lions, badges marked with Dandelions Dorsai have a Fan Club! Jello in the bathtub! Don’t set the cat on fire It will only fight it if you try to light it Don’t set the cat on fire And we haven’t parted since the circle started Peter Beagle, Consonance, chili cursed with sentience HOPSFA, NESFA, ConChord, and the Pegasus Award PFNEN, Ose, Amway, Talk Like a Pirate Day Dandelion Digitals, Julia Ecklar and the gulls Bob Laurent, Asimov, Jeff and Maya Bohnhoff Rocky Horror Muppet Shows, Frank Hayes feeling indisposed Bill Sutton DIY, Marischiello goodbye Challenger! Final tour! What else must we all endure? We saw the sky on fire While the world was staring, we were Jordin Karing We saw the sky on fire And we haven’t parted since the circle started Kathy Mar, Next Gen, Tullamore is back again Steve Macdonald, Elfquest, Interfilk funds a guest Tom Smith, 307 Ale, Lee Gold, Heather Dale Phoenyx, Keepers of the Flame, Filkontario’s Hall of Fame Echo’s Children, Bab-5, need a fool to feed the drive Hamlet done by John Woo, Marilisa Valtazanou GaFilk, Urban Tapestry, lives rich in fantasy Airwalls down at Orycon! Firebells at Baycon! We didn’t start a fire We were all but deafened, and began Kanefin’ We didn’t start a fire And we haven’t parted since the circle started Blake Hodgetts, Proteins, Vixy, Tony, Thirteen Stone Dragons, Moxie, Zander, Heather into Alexander Bill and Gretchen, dead mouse, alligators in the house ConFlikt, Judi Filksign, Tragedy at East Hill Mine Mary Crowell, Faerieworlds, brony boys and Wicked Girls Britain’s Talis Kimberly, Seanan’s Kellis-Amberlee Doubleclicks! Browncoats! Cats! FuMP! Toy Boat! Release the Cello! Sasquon! Thor! Pass another Tullamore! We didn’t start the choir It’s been so cathartic for the longest bardic We didn’t start the choir But when our turns have gone, it will still go on and on until the dawn…

Mary Shelley: As in, the writer of the first science fiction novel, Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus.

HG Wells: Wrote The Time Machine and War of the Worlds and, along with Jules Verne, is considered one of the fathers of science fiction by people who don’t count Mary. (Jules pioneered “hard” SF, where he justified as much as he could with science; HG was busy making social metaphors.)

People meeting at hotels: AKA “conventions.” The first SF con was (debatably) Philcon in 1936, when ten people from the New York SF club went down to Philly to meet those guys. They called it a convention because the Democratic and Republican National Conventions had both been in Philly earlier that year, so it was a joke, see. The first World Science Fiction Convention was in New York in 1939.

Rudyard Kipling: English poet and journalist, famously a representation of British imperialism, but a lot of his stuff got set to music by Leslie Fish (for whom see more later).

People singing ditties at the bar: AKA filk. Or karaoke. Or any other sort of thing that happens when people who sing are near people who sing.

Gilbert, Sullivan: Light operettists famous for patter. They get refilked a lot.

Rounds of Young Man Mulligan: "Old Man Mulligan” was a 1940 story from Astounding Science Fiction by P. Schuyler Miller; as far as I can tell it was a pretty standard adventure story but it featured the titular Old Man who’d been around forever. “Young Man Mulligan” is an SFnal version of "The Great Historical Bum” (aka “I Was Born About Ten Thousand Years Ago” or “The Bragging Song”; lyrics here); it opens “I was born about ten thousand years from now,” so you can see how it’ll go from that. It was one of the original “everybody keeps writing new verses” songs; Bruce Pelz published almost 70 in an early filkbook and many many more have been written since. (The Pelz lyrics do not appear to be available online.)

Poul and Karen Anderson: Poul was a Golden Age writing legend, one of the Grand Masters of SFWA, maybe one rung down from Asimov and Heinlein (maybe). Karen, his widow and sometimes co-writer, is among many other significant things the first person to deliberately use the term “filk music” in print. They both wrote their fair share of filk, and were inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2003.

Songs in the Key of R: Another way to say “off key.” See this folk song (lyrics here) of...disputed provenance (I have found a few different claims of authorship).

Martha Keller: Poet and balladeer, born 1902, died 1971. A number of her poems from Brady’s Bend and Other Ballads were put to music by Juanita Coulson (see below) in 1984 on “Rifles & Rhymes” by Off Centaur Publications (see below).

Tolkien: Do I really need to? Fine. Wrote The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings and basically created the modern fantasy genre on accident while he was busy with constructed languages and mythologies.

Songs of worlds as yet unseen: AKA “filk.” See also “Folk Songs for Folk Who Ain’t Even Been Yet,” by Leslie Fish (see below), which was the first commercially published filk album.

TH White’s Arthurians: White’s The Once and Future King is a distillation and to some extent modernization of the King Arthur legend; the first part was The Sword in the Stone and yes, that’s what the Disney movie was adapted from. And yes, there have been plenty of Arthurian filk songs over the years.

Frederick Pohl’s Futurians: An early group of SF fans, specifically New York area fans (several of them were part of the 1936 Philcon mentioned above). Famously, several politically-minded Futurians were arguably-banned (whether it was really a “ban” still gets debated today) from the first Worldcon in ‘39 for handing out political flyers; Pohl was one of those.

Tom Lehrer: He’s a retired mathematics professor who “hangs out” at UC Santa Cruz, but in the ‘50s-’60s he was an active mathematics professor and also a fairly popular political satirist. Despite having no love for folk music (see his songs “The Folk Song Army,” lyrics here, and even moreso “The Irish Ballad,” lyrics here, wherein he calls the folk song “the particular form of permissible idiocy of the intellectual fringe”), his stuff gets sung a lot in filk circles.

Mondegreens: Misheard lyrics, like the famous “‘Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” (for “Kiss the Sky,” by Jimi Hendrix). Named by Sylvia Wright in 1954 after her own mishearing of the ballad “The Bonnie Earl o’Moray; the line was “They hae slain the Earl o' Moray/And laid him on the green,” and she heard “and Lady Mondegreen.” The term caught on, and it and/or some individual mondegreens have been the inspiration for no small number of filk songs and at least one filk band.

Slan Shacks: Early term for an SF clubhouse or house filled with fans; named for A.E. van Vogt’s 1940 novel Slan which was an early version of the persecuted-superior-race-of-beings story (think X-Men). Fans in the ‘40s-50s picked up the phrase “Fans are Slans” in yet another example of the weird ostracism/superiority cycle that pervades fandom to this day.

Fanzines: The internet before the internet. When fans wanted to communicate over long distances and all they had was printed paper, they printed papers. They made little bound fan-made magazines (hence, fanzines, or just zines) of their songs, stories, jokes, and opinions and mailed them to each other. A lot of early filk was in the pages of fanzines.

Music circles: How filk typically happens--people sit in a circle and sing. They usually take turns. See below for “bardic” and “chaos.”

Reprints: Printings again. A lot of filk didn’t necessarily get them, but some did, including some early albums, some early filkbooks like the NESFA Hymnal, see below, or the Westerfilk Collection.

Jacobs has a misprint!: While Karen Anderson (see above) was the first person to deliberately use the word “filk” in print, the first use of the word at all was a typo in Lee Jacobs’s essay, which ended up being called “The Influence of Science Fiction on Modern American Filk Music.” It spread in conversation as a funny typo for a while before Karen fixed it in a tangible medium of expression.

We shouted “MacIntyre!” (and the rest of that chorus): “When the Old Dun Cow Caught Fire” or “The Old Dun Cow” or “Macintyre!” is a very classic music hall song (written 1893) that gets performed by basically every folk or filk group that aims for that “British Isles drinking song” feel. See here for pedigree, lyrics, and recording.

Amazing Stories Annuals: In 1927, Hugo Gernsback published Amazing Stories Annual, a pulp magazine of “scientifiction” (the term “science fiction” hadn’t been coined yet). It sold so well he made it quarterly almost immediately; he lost the rights a few years later and the magazine ended up falling to the 800-pound gorilla that was Astounding Science Fiction. But it was arguably where all this started.

Pelz’s Filksong Manuals: Bruce Pelz, a legend of California fandom, was among other things one of the first creators of bound, organized, and published filkbooks (complete with sheet music!), which were titled the Filksong Manuals. (He’s mentioned under the “Young Man Mulligan” entry; it was one of the Manuals that had those 70ish verses to “Mulligan.”) Pelz was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame posthumously in 2007.

Dr. Demento tunes: Barry Hansen, AKA “Dr. Demento,” was a DJ in 1970 when he realized that “novelty” tunes lit up the phone banks more than rock and roll, and created the “Dr. Demento” persona for a syndicated radio show of novelty, comedy, and otherwise unusual music. It was on the radio weekly until 2010 and is now produced weekly online. He’s played a fair amount of filk over the years, reintroduced Stan Freberg, Tom Lehrer, and Spike Jones to a grateful world, and both inspired and launched “Weird Al” Yankovic’s career.

Callahan’s Crosstime Saloons: Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon by Spider Robinson and the various “Callahan’s Place” stories that followed had more than a few filk songs among the lyrics (Robinson is a songwriter himself), and at one point a couple of filkers (Jordin and Mary Kay Kare, see below) appear as characters to sing their filk song about Callahan’s.

Hope Eyrie: Listen here. Considered by many to be the “anthem” of filk, or possibly of science fiction fandom (inasmuch as it’s possible). Written by…

Leslie Fish: One of the most significant filkers in history; not only did she write “Hope Eyrie,” she also wrote the infamous-beyond-infamy “Banned from Argo,” created the subgenre of “Kipplefish” by setting Rudyard Kipling’s (see above) poetry to music, had the first commercial filk album (see above), helped to popularize filk music, wrote some of the earliest Kirk/Spock slash fiction...she’s pretty important, is what I’m saying. When the Filk Hall of Fame was founded in 1995, she was one of the first three inductees.

Bounced potatoes off the dish: At Westercon XIX in San Diego in 1966, the hotel was legendarily bad. Most notably, the Guest of Honor banquet featured completely inedible food, prompting Poul Anderson (see above) to set a filk to the tune of “Waltzing Matilda,” entitled “Bouncing Potatoes.”

Robert Aspirin: SF writer active from the late 70s until his death in 2008, Bob was also the founder of the Dorsai Irregulars (see below), and one of the people who brought early filk from private hotel rooms into public spaces, by (among others) holding a bit all-night filksing in celebration of the Irregulars’ formation in 1974. He was another of the first Filk Hall of Fame inductees in 1995.

Gwen Zak: One of the more spiritually-focused filkers, Gwen is a Pegasus Award (see below) winner for “Circles” and nominee for “I Am Lord” (cowritten with Leslie Fish).

Dawson’s Christian: A filksong by Duane Elms, written 1987, about a ghost ship. It’s been refilked more than a few times itself, including “Dawson’s Concom” (where it’s about ghost...convention runners).

Captain Jack: Not Pirates (probably), not Torchwood (probably), but the titular character of Meg Davis’s 1975 song “Captain Jack and the Mermaid.”

Off Centaur: The first filk music publishing house, Off Centaur Publications produced much of the early commercially-released filk albums, thus making filk available outside of a convention/fandom setting for the first time. They were the third of the three initial 1995 inductees into the Filk Hall of Fame. OCP was founded by Jordin Kare, Catherine Cook, and...

Teri Lee: Who went on to found Firebird Arts & Music, one of the more active filk publishers working today.

Making love in zero-G: A recurring topic in filk songs, including “Home on LaGrange,” and most notably, “A Reconsideration Of Anatomical Docking Maneuvers In A Zero-Gravity Environment, or The Zero-G Sex Song,” the latter being the most direct reference given its first line.

Filthy Pierre: Erwin “Filthy Pierre” Strauss was one of the prime movers in early filk on the East Coast of the US in the 1970s, creating some of the first songbooks, lists of top songs to know, and a lot of filk evangelism. To this day his melodica is a recurring feature at larger East Coast and world-level conventions. Pierre was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1998.

Longcor: Michael “Moonwulf” Longcor has been a major figure in Midwestern filk since the 1970s; he has no fewer than ten published music albums, was twice King of the Middle Kingdom of the SCA, and was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2014.

Black market Tullamore: Tullamore Dew, a brand of Irish whiskey, was Bob Asprin’s preferred drink (because it was cheap, or so the story goes), a preference that he passed on to the Dorsai Irregulars and filk community both. “Tully” is a commonly mentioned in songs about the DI, about filk itself, or about alcohol.

Juanita Coulson: Filker since the 1950s and still going strong, Juanita was one of the earliest filk encouragers, welcoming and encouraging new people to filk circles. She had several early OCP albums, brought Martha Keller’s (see above) poetry to the attention of many filkers, and was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1996.

Red Lions: Red Lion Hotels (now bought and owned by Doubletree) were the sites of many filk conventions, especially in the Pacific Northwest.

Badges marked with Dandelions: Kathy Mar (see below) and Lindy Sears founded the “Dandelion Conspiracy” to encourage general SF conventions to be filk-friendly and to push back against the somewhat unsavory reputation of filkers among conrunners. In Kathy’s words: “In taking the dandelion as the filker's symbol, I hope to convey, as gently as the flower-power movement did, that filk is almost impossible to root out. If disturbed, it tends to proliferate. It can be beneficial at times, and it can even be beautiful in spite of its weedy reputation.”

Dorsai have a Fan Club!: At the Worldcon in Toronto in 1973, various security-type duties were the purview of local rent-a-cops, who...did not mesh well with fan culture, and more critically, did not understand fan valuation. This especially manifested in their Art Show duties; a very valuable Kelly Freas painting was swiped from the show because the rent-a-cop checking receipts didn’t know enough about the painting to realize that the receipt he was being shown did not nearly cover the value of the painting the thief was claiming to have bought. Bob Aspirin (see above) decided that Something Must Be Done, and formed an organization by fans, for fans, and of fans to do various convention-running duties on a by-contract basis. He named them the Dorsai Irregulars, a reference to the Childe Cycle of boks by Gordon R. Dickson about a planet of mercenaries, the Dorsai. (The joke being, if the “regular” Dorsai were off fighting in battles, doing con security was definitely a job for the “Irregular” Dorsai.) As mentioned above, the celebration of the Dorsai’s establishment was a watershed moment for filk, and to this day many Dorsai veterans are Midwestern filkers and vice versa.

Jello in the bathtub!: At the 1974 Worldcon in DC, Joe Haldeman (presumably, hopefully, jokingly) remarked that his ultimate sexual fantasy involved a bathtub full of green jello. By the end of the con, his bathtub had been jello-ed, with a couple of naked girls for, ahem, flavor. (Or perhaps texture.) The incident got inevitably filked about, though not many of those appear to be available online.

Don’t set the cat on fire (and the rest of the chorus): A four-line version of Frank Hayes’s (see below) “Never Set the Cat on Fire” (lyrics here).

Peter Beagle: Writer of The Last Unicorn (novel and screenplay) and numerous other works; also a filker himself, with an album (cassette, of course) of his live performance at Baycon 1986.

Consonance: Bay Area filk convention since at least 1992, probably longer.

Chili cursed with sentience: Beware of the Sentient Chili by Chris Weber (lyrics here).

HOPSFA: The Johns Hopkins SF club. They put out a filkbook, the HOPSFA Hymnal, in the 70s.

NESFA: The New England Science Fiction Association. They put out the NESFA Hymnal in the 70s, too.

ConChord: A filk convention held in the LA area starting in the early 80s, and closing its doors in the 2010s due to low attendance.

The Pegasus Award: The main community award (think the Hugo Award equivalent) for filkers, given out annually at the Ohio Valley Filk Fest (OVFF) every fall since the late ‘80s.

PFNEN: A fanzine (see above) called Philk-Fee-Nom-Ee-Nom, published by Paul Willett in the ‘80s. It was nominated for a Hugo in 1984.

Ose: A common musical style of filk, for sad, depressing stuff. The joke being it’s “ose, ose, and more ose!” (As in, “morose.”) Since a lot of the folk music tradition is similarly depressing, it was inevitable.

Amway: OK, I’ll admit, I’m not 100% on this one. I suspect it’s how “Amway salesman” could be considered one of the most mundane of mundanities, as in Roberta Rogow’s song “A Use for ‘Argo,’” but that’s all I got.

Talk Like a Pirate Day: The “holiday” on September 19 every year, wherein people, well, talk like pirates. Tom Smith, see below, wrote the official Talk Like a Pirate Day Song in 2003 see here.

Dandelion Digitals: Since the Dandelion Conspiracy (see above) was a thing, it’s no shock that a label called Dandelion Digital would spring up. They put out some of the first filk CDs in the ‘90s.

Julia Ecklar and the gulls: Julia Ecklar is a very well-known filker, one of Off Centaur’s (see above) most prolific artists; she has nine Pegasus Awards (see above) and also won the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer in 1991. By all accounts, she has a fondness for birds--if I’m reading this right she works at the National Aviary in Pittsburgh. Beyond that, I’m not sure about the gulls.

Bob Laurent: Californian filker and fan; he founded Wail Songs in the ‘80s to distribute tapes of live convention recordings, and also founded Consonance (see above) and Interfilk (see below). He was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1996.

Asimov: Isaac Asimov, to be precise, one of the Golden Age of Science Fiction’s most famous writers. He didn’t coin the word “robot” but you’d believe he had. He also, inevitably, wrote a couple of filksongs himself back in the day.

Jeff and Maya Bohnhoff: Californian musicians and filkers with a half dozen albums (see here), a recording setup to help other filkers record quality albums, a couple of Pegasus Awards--and Maya’s an SF writer in her own right with an impressively long bibliography.

Rocky Horror Muppet Shows: There really are no words. Just a link. Written by Tom Smith (see below) and performed a couple of time, originally in 1987 and twice more in the 2010s

Frank Hayes feeling indisposed: Frank Hayes is yet another leading light of filk. He wrote the infectiously upbeat “Never Set the Cat on Fire” (see above) as well as many other songs, but he’s most known for Frank Hayes Disease: that is, forgetting his words. And causing other filkers to forget theirs. (It’s been known to happen that someone will borrow his guitar and suddenly forget lyrics they’ve had cold for decades.) Frank was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2009 and is married to Teri Lee (see above).

Bill Sutton DIY: Bill Sutton is a filker from Indiana; he and his wife Brenda have a couple of albums. Bill’s most famous song is “Do It Yourself,” which he describes as “a vintage song about vintage computing.” (“You can build a mainframe from the things you find at home,” it proclaims.)

Marischiello goodbye: Bill Marischiello was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1996...but had died in 1986. (I’m sure it’s this because this is chronological, as see…)

Challenger!: Space Shuttle Challenger, as you’re probably aware, broke apart on liftoff in January 1986. The song “Fire in the Sky” by Jordin Kare (see below) is largely about that and the other successes and failures of the Space Program.

Final tour! What else must we all endure?: This reads like fluff that rhymes, to me.

We saw the sky on fire (and the rest of the chorus): As mentioned above, this is all based on Jordin Kare’s “Fire in the Sky.” (Link is to the version on the album To Touch the Stars.)

Kathy Mar: Cofounder of the Dandelion Conspiracy (see above), part of the second annual induction into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1996, winner of seven Pegasus Awards, and yet another of Those Names.

Next Gen: As established, this is chronological, so we’re into the late ‘80s. Star Trek: The Next Generation premiered in 1987.

Tullamore is back again: I can’t find confirmation of this, but I seem to recall hearing that Tully was hard to find for a few years in the ‘80s thanks to the Troubles.

Steve Macdonald: “Smac,” as he is affectionately known, is a member of the Dorsai Irregulars (see above), a 2006 inductee in the Filk Hall of Fame, winner of six Pegasus Awards, once administrator of the same to great effect, and is known as Gallamor the Bard at Renaissance Faires.

Elfquest: The legendary long-running comic book fantasy epic is one of those properties that filkers seem to really be fond of. There’s been an album of Elfquest filk, a songbook of filk about Elfquest, and, well, see for yourself.

Interfilk funds a guest: Interfilk, founded in 1992, is an organization dedicated to the cross-pollenation of filk, by paying to send filkers to conventions in other regions. They are a registered nonprofit, and most filk cons do an auction of donated goods (rare music, songbooks, knick-knacks, food, drink…) to raise money.

Tom Smith: The World’s Fastest Filker, fourteen-time Pegasus Award winner (and 34-time nominee), 2005 inductee into the Filk Hall of Fame. Along with “Rocket Ride,” his paean to the Golden Age of Science Fiction, his most famous song is...

307 Ale: ...the story of a few MIT geeks who managed to brew beer inside of a tesseract and got a liquid that’s 153.5% alcohol--that is, it has a proof of 307. (He saw 307 ALE on a license plate and ran with it.)

Lee Gold: California SF fandom, publisher of the filk zine (see above) Xenofilkia since 1988 (and still going). Inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1997 and publisher of several posthumous filk collections (that is, collections of deceased filkers’ work; she’s still alive).

Heather Dale: Filk by way of the SCA, officially a Celtic bard-style performer with something like 20 albums to her name. She’s been at numerous filk conventions, won four Pegasus Awards, been nominated for another four.

Phoenyx, Keepers of the Flame: Celtic fusion rock band Phoenyx, founded by Heather Alexander (see below), had one album, “Keepers of the Flame.” Long out of print.

Filkontario’s Hall of Fame: The Filk Hall of Fame, mentioned extensively here; inductions happen at FilkOntario (FKO), an annual filk con--guess where.

Echo’s Children: Filk duo Echo’s Children, Cat Faber and Callie Hills, four-time nominees for Pegasus Awards for performance; Cat won seven times for writing/composing or individual songs. In addition to several songs about various tabletop RPGs they were in, and a few about other media, a lot of their songs are about…

Bab-5: Babylon 5, the TV show created by J. Michael Straczynski, which was doing long-form arc storytelling in the mid-90s in syndication. Besides Echo’s Children, a few other filkers have done songs about it; Tom Smith (see above) did a whole-show summary to the tune of Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week.”

Need a fool to feed the drive: “Fool to Feed the Drive” by Jordin Kare (see above) is a refilk of “Fuel to Feed the Drive” by Cynthia McQuillin--McQuillin being a multiple-Pegasus award winner herself and 1998 Filk Hall of Fame inductee. “Fuel,” the original, is a sad elegy about a spaceship that runs out of fuel in deep space, doomed. “Fool” points out that fusion drives use water, and humans are mostly water…

Hamlet done by John Woo: Oh, Andrew...this is a bit of self-promotion from the writer of this song, Andrew Ross. Andrew was nominated for a 2011 Pegasus Award for his song “Crispy Danish,” which is, well, a retelling of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark as a John Woo film, set to “Sheep Marketing Ploy” by Tom Smith (see above).

Marilisa Valtazanou: Oh, that’s why--he needed something to rhyme! Marilisa has been nominated for over a dozen Pegasus awards, alone or as part of a group, and helps run the annual UK Filk Convention.

GaFilk: The start of the filking New Year, GAFilk is held the first full weekend of the year in Atlanta, GA (hence the name). One of the more well established filk cons.

Urban Tapestry: Canadian filk trio of Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Allison Durno, and Jodi Krangle; they’ve won two Pegasus Awards and released three albums, and were inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2011.

Lives rich in fantasy: “Rich Fantasy Lives,” by Tom Smith (see above) and Rob Balder, is in contention for “Filk anthem” with “Hope Eyrie” (see above) and its ilk. It celebrates the joy of having more worlds than one to visit on occasion. Best sung in a crowd.

Airwalls down at Orycon!: OK, this one I can only go off of what @jenroses said: “The Airwalls at Orycon was one of those legendary disasters that ended up sparking the best filk circle I’ve ever been at.”

Firebells at Baycon!: This one got filked by Bob Kanefsky (see below): it’s the mostly-true story of a massive problem at Baycon in 2002. The fire alarms kept going off. Every five minutes or so.

All night.

We didn’t start a fire (and the rest of that chorus): See above. “Kanefin’” refers to Bob Kanefsky, considered one of the grandmasters of the refilk. 2007 Pegasus Award winner for Writer/Composer and nominee for specific songs, Bob has a legendary habit of taking one song by a singer, and rewriting the lyrics (often to make it another song by that same singer)...and then convincing the original singer to sing the filk--he got verbed. To Kanef is to sing your mashup-filk parody of a specific filker’s work at said filker. He has several albums of just that. One of the greatest parodists in filk.

Blake Hodgetts, Proteins: Filker Blake Hodgetts, two-time Pegasus Award nominee for writing, has a song called “Proteins” which is a sci-fi version of one of those cowboy ballads about a cowboy who meets a Mexican girl, they get together briefly, share no language, spend the night, then they part...in his version, it’s an alien, and our lonely singer remembers too late that biochemistry mismatches can lead to anaphylactic shock...

Vixy, Tony, Thirteen: Filk duo Vixy and Tony from the Pacific Northwest, two-time Pegasus winners; their first album was “Thirteen,” and at time of writing was their only album. (Their second came out in 2016.)

Stone Dragons: Canadian filk duo of Tom and Sue Jeffers. Tom was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2012.

Moxie: Play it with Moxie is the nine-member “house band” at GAFilk (see above), which plays the annual GAFilk Banquet.

NOTE: These next two pieces discuss trans individuals, and use their “deadnames”--the names they went by before transition. In both cases, the individuals are public about their transitions and former names, so I am given to understand that this is not considered a breach of etiquette.

If it is, I apologize and will edit the post.

Zander: Zanda Myrande describes herself as “still recovering from the trauma of being Zander Nyrond for several decades,” but still gives “ house room to Zander and the rest of the deadbeats who populate her head.” Zanda is a UK filker, two-time Pegasus Award winner, and writer of the song that UK filk has claimed as their own anthem, “Sam’s Song.”

Heather into Alexander: Celtic musician and filker Alexander James Adams, the Faerie Tale Minstrel, describes himself as “the Heir to Heather Alexander,” who went to the lands of Faerie (thus invoking the “Changeling Child” tale). He has a handful of Pegasus Awards, and wrote the archetypal song of battle, “March of Cambreadth.”

Bill and Gretchen, dead mouse: Bill and Gretchen Roper, filkers from the Midwest, literally own the domain filker.com. Bill has three Pegasus Awards, one with Gretchen; that one is for “My Husband, the Filker,” and includes a snippet about a dead mouse to the tune of “Our House” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

Alligators in the house: Filk about exactly what it sounds like. Written by Betsy Tinney (see below) and performed by Betsy, Alexander James Adams (see above), and S.J. Tucker as Tricky Pixie.

ConFlikt: A relatively new filk convention in the Pacific Northwest, foudned 2007.

Judi Filksign: Judi Miller is a talented filker, singer, and musician in her own right, but is primarily known in filk as an ASL translator. Many filk concerts see her at the side of the stage, signing the songs. She won the Pegasus Award for Best Performer in 2006 and was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2007.

Tragedy at East Hill Mine: “The Wreck of the Crash of the Easthill Mining Disaster” by Brooke Abbey (formerly Brooke Lunderville), a Canadian pharmacist and filker.

Mary Crowell: That’s Dr. Mary Crowell to you, punk! Dr. Crowell is a piano, composition, music theory, and music appreciation professor from Alabama, a four-time Pegasus winner (including once with Play It with Moxie, see above) with another dozen-plus nominations, has two albums and major parts on several more, and is one of filk’s roving accompanists; she can provide a piano backing on the fly.

Faerieworlds: A music festival in Oregon, which has featured a number of filk musicians, including S.J. Tucker and Alexander James Adams (see above) both individually and as Tricky Pixie (also see above).

Brony boys: A lot of fandom subcultures develop their own filk; Harry Potter has Wizard Rock, Doctor Who has Time Lord Rock, and yes, My Little Pony has its own filk. (Note: This was written before “Brony” stopped being considered anything except a warning sign of the Sad Puppies and the like. Look that one up yourself if you want, this is long enough as is.)

Wicked Girls: The fourth album of filker and author Seanan McGuire, six-time Pegasus Award winner. Wicked Girls was the first single-artist filk album to be nominated for a Hugo Award (To Touch the Stars, see above, did it earlier but was multi-artist), for Best Related Work in 2012. “Wicked Girls Saving Ourselves,” shortened to “Wicked Girls,” is also the central track of the album.

Britain’s Talis Kimberley: Talis Kimberley, UK filker and activist, has been nominated for 32 Pegasus Awards and won 9, released over a dozen albums, and was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2014.

Seanan’s Kellis-Amberlee: Under her open pseudonym of Mira Grant, Seanan McGuire (see above) wrote the Newsflesh series, in which a manmade virus called Kellis-Amberlee causes zombification upon death. (The similarity to the sound of Talis’s name is a coincidence.)

Doubleclicks: A nerd-rock duo--they they don’t self-identify as filkers, but they’re well regarded and friends with many Pacific Northwest filkers.

Browncoats: The organized fandom for Firefly, densely populated with filkers.

Cats: One of the most common subjects of filksongs that aren’t actually about fantasy or science fiction.

FuMP: The Funny Music Project, a loose affiliation of comedy musicians that has considerable overlap with the filk community (including Tom Smith and the Great Luke Ski, among others).

Toy Boat: Toyboat, a hard-rock filk band from the Midwest.

Release the Cello: An album by filker and cellist Betsy Tinney (see above).

Sasquon: Sasquan, the 2015 World Science Fiction Convention, which was the current con when this song was written.

Thor: The God of Thunder, Mighty Thor! This probably refers more to the Leslie Fish song, though--she was doing that sort of thing before the Marvel Cinematic Universe made that version a household name.

Pass another Tullamore: Tullamore Dew (see above).

for the longest bardic: At filksings, “bardic” refers to a style of turn-taking in which the opportunity to sing and/or play (or, in some variations, request a song of someone else) progresses around the circle in order. This contrasts with “chaotic”, a style in which there are no set turns and anybody can request to perform next.

#filk

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sparklyfanlover-blog · 7 years ago

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Duck face and other new words added to

Duck face and other new words added to OxfordDictionaries.com

Try not to be jel, but some xlnt new words have gone into OxfordDictionaries.com in December’s mahoosive update. Whether you’re a shiny bum reading this while eating al desko or taking a break while you respawn, don’t be a keyboard warrior or say IDC – just sit back and enjoy the new words. Simples.

Slang and abbreviations

As usual, popular culture and slang have seen plenty of new additions in the Oxford Dictionaries update, including duck face, simples, choon, fone, handsy, xlnt, and Canadian tuxedo.

Want to describe how attractive you think someone is? This update sees the inclusion of the antonyms hawt (an informal respelling of hot). That person may even be your man crush (a ‘typically non-sexual liking or admiration felt by one man for another’) or someone who is your catnip; the word has long been another name for the catmint, but its effect on cats has led to the figurative sense ‘someone or something that is very attractive or appealing to a particular person or group’.

Several abbreviations have also been added, with their popularity growing partly due to the space-saving demands of social media. These include tomoz (‘tomorrow’), jel (‘jealous’), IDC (I don’t care), PMSL (p–ing myself laughing), WRT (with reference to), PMQs (Prime Minister’s Questions), and MAMIL (middle-aged man in Lycra, said of certain keen road cyclists). On the other hand, the term mahoosive offers an aptly longer version of the existing word massive, perhaps blended with a phonetic respelling of the first letters of huge.

The language of food is always a fruitful area for vocabulary, and additions include arancini, cavatelli, cappellacci, trofie, parm, queso, guanciale, izakaya, and food diary.

Of more interest to students everywhere, there is now an entry in OxfordDictionaries.com for the five-second rule: ‘a notional rule stating that food which has been dropped on the ground will still be uncontaminated with bacteria and therefore safe to eat if it is retrieved within five seconds’. Sadly the operative word in that definition is notional (‘existing as or based on a suggestion, estimate, or theory; not existing in reality’). A caution worth heeding is demonstrated by another addition: food-borne. The adjective is used of a disease, meaning ‘carried by or transmitted through contaminated food’.

More pleasantly, the term al desko has also been added – a play on al fresco (for food eaten outside, literally ‘in the fresh (air)’ in Italian), it is an adjective and adverb denoting food eaten ‘while working at one’s desk in an office’.

Games and technology

The world of technology has, unsurprisingly, provided new vocabulary for this quarter’s update – including camel case, SD card, soft key, digital footprint, keyboard warrior, and a new sense of fire hose (or firehose): no longer simply a hosepipe used to extinguish fires, this word also refers (in computing) to ‘an unfiltered, real-time stream of data produced by a social media website or other online service’.

Outdoor, indoor, and virtual games have all contributed terms to this update. Tiki-taka, total football, and pickleball have taken their place in OxfordDictionaries.com, as have respawn (of a character in a video game, ‘reappear after having been killed’), and permadeath (‘a situation in which a character in a video game cannot reappear after having been killed’). Then there’s park the bus in football (that is, soccer), meaning to ‘play in a very defensive way’. It is typically said of an away team, and comes from the metaphor of parking the team bus in front of the goal.

Perhaps the most amusing addition, and one indicative of the spirit of certain parts of the Internet, is lolcat (or LOLcat): ‘a photograph of a cat accompanied by a humorous caption written typically in a misspelled and grammatically incorrect version of English’ – from a combination of lol (‘laugh out loud’ or ‘laughing out loud’) and cat.

The opinions and other information contained in OxfordWords blog posts and comments do not necessarily reflect the opinions or positions of Oxford University Press.

December 3 / 2014

What do we love about new words?

The lexicographers at Oxford Dictionaries keep watch on our collective .

The Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2014 is ‘vape’

As 2014 draws to a close, it’s time to announce the Oxford .

You are far to quick to include words that you consider to be the latest ‘buzzwords’.

These will come and go and when they have gone you will look foolish.

The man on the ‘Clapham omnibus’ isn’t using them and hasn’t even heard of them.

You are simply clogging up the language with rubbish.

We can all get along by using basic simple English.

It’s time that we had an Academy like the French and Spanish to protect our language and prevent dross creeping in.

I agree; we really need to get back to basics. Let’s start with learning the difference between to, too and two.

All I can say is how thankful I am that Oxford Dictionaries waited until we had a mature, responsible, disciplined, perceptive, open-minded, and understanding population before what would otherwise be a cheap attempt to gain relevance among young, naive, reckless, irresponsible, self-absorbed and arrogant young people who may not grow to adulthood until well into their thirties (sadly, they think this is automatic at age 18, but this only has legal significance regarding what is expected; a well-known expression with a slight tweak does a good job showing the difference: if you call a child an adult, does that make him so? I’ll mention the chair, too: A chair has four legs. A dog has four legs. If I call a chair a dog, does that make it a dog? Similarly, if nation chooses a person to be president, but this person chooses to symbolically urinate on the document that defines this country, its government, and is the sole source of a president’s authority, thereby choosing to NOT fulfill the role of president, which is well-defined should any of this country’s “as long as I get what I want, who cares how” believers learn to read – and hopefully NOT using a dictionary from Oxford Dictionaries that has been amended with non-sensical words that, should these people use them in, say, a rational debate as opposed to an hysterical frenzy of insecurity, would be cause to postpone the debate until the group that cannot effectively communicate can find a representative who would likely teach this group new words like specious, spurious, and self-centered before telling the group that what it’s feeling is called humiliation, which can be avoided by the process named by another new word, thinking (specifically, of others, of one’s nation, of why a nation, a government should be made weaker or irrelevant and almost half of its population sentenced to 8 years of being ignored, insulted, and taunted by the person who was elected to be president but, since a president does not do the things this person does and – more importantly, this person deliberately or carelessly does not do the things that are defined as the duties and responsibilities of any person who is president

That’s just some brilliant satire right there.

Way to assist in the dumbing down of America. I weep for the future.

I wonder if Oxford Dictionaries has an entry for “drama queen.”

To stellabystarlite. It was just a hasty typo.(too hasty)

Looking at the other two posts, it would appear that the opinion was well received.

What a bag of weirdness. I read and use the Internet a lot and I’ve never even run across 2/3rds of these. I’m guessing that many of these are ephemera used in tweeting or similar special, informal use. And shabby chic is a trademark.

Scientists have asserted that there is some actual truth to the five-second rule that Oxford calls “notional”: Wikipedia mentions a 2006 study that showed that minute-long contact between food and floor increased contamination over a five-scond contact, about tenfold with tile and carpet surfaces (only).

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callunavulgari · 8 years ago

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Year-In-Fic

Total fics written this year?

Another Love (The Flash; Barry/E2Wells, Barry/Thawne; 4,586 words) “I want you,” Barry confesses unhappily, a charming pucker between his brows. His eyes dart back up, not shying away for once, to meet Eobard’s. A little bit of steel creeps into his expression again, and Eobard wants to applaud him all over again. What a beautiful creature he’s created.

time in a bottle (The Flash; Eobarry; 2,961 words) “If I didn’t exist,” Thawne says, quietly, moving to slide his fingers up Barry’s jaw; they leave goosebumps in their wake. “Then neither would you. And if you didn’t exist… well. We won’t get into that mess. So the universe — the, hah, Speed Force — sent me here. A paradox, clinging to the cracks between time. Just… waiting.”

nothing's gonna harm you (not while i'm around) (SW; Gen, Reylo; 1,167 words) Ben and Rey Organa are born ten years and five hundred parsecs apart, but Ben can feel it in the Force the moment she comes into being. He can feel her every second of her way home, a bright star that outshines even the familiar intensity of his parents.

we dream in the dark (for the most part) (DA; Gen; 806 words) “Will it go away?” Bethany asks, her voice quiet as a whisper.

Ramble On (The Flash; Eobarry; 2,695 words) Thawne playfully hums a few bars of something vaguely familiar. Barry looks back at him, and when Thawne sees him looking, he smiles wider and gleefully stomps his way through a puddle. Sings, “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do…”

D.C. al Coda (The Flash; Barrison; Harrison edges closer, until Barry is close enough to touch, and reaches out to take Barry’s jaw in hand. It’s tacky and cool against his palm, from sweat, tears, or both. He tilts Barry’s chin up in a testing sort of way, willing him to open his eyes. “Barry,” he says, gently. “Look at me.”)

it began with stones (DA; Fenhawke; Everyone knows that the blight started in Ferelden.)

darling, you gotta let me know (Stranger Things; Nancy/Steve/Jonathan; 6,120 words) Jonathan’s room is messy the same way that Steve’s is. There are dirty socks and shirts and underwear strewn across the floor. Cassette tapes litter the desk like miniature landmines. There’s a notebook open on his bed, a textbook and a pencil beside it. He must have been studying when Steve knocked.

Binary Sunset (SW; Reylo; 1,747 words) Center stage, Rey holds herself as still as a statue. Spine straight, toes pointed, already in first position. They’ve done something to her eyelashes, softened all her hard edges, from the jut of her jaw to the point of her nose. She glitters, from her feathered bodice to her flowing skirts, a bright glint of white in the dark.He doesn’t think that anyone else has noticed that she’s trembling.

Nine fics. I don’t even want to know how many words.

Best story I wrote this year: darling, you gotta let me know. It was the first fic that I was proud of from the get go this year.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. Ramble On. It had all of the weird dreaminess of Time In a Bottle without the Inception feel. I ended up rereading it on the plane back to Ohio and liked it so much more than I did when I was writing it.

Okay, NOW your most popular story. darling, you gotta let me know, hands down. It’s the first fic to get over a 1000 kudos since I stopped writing Teen Wolf. I mean, of the nine fics that I wrote this year pretty much every one of them is from a smaller fandom. I think the only reason this one got as popular as it did was because I published it right after Stranger Things got big and I was one of the three people who had written for the pairing. Story of mine most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: it began with stones, probably? I usually have a definite answer for this question, but this one was strange as it is. Dragon Age/In the Flesh fusion with Hawke as a zombie? Kinda weird. I don’t mind that it got a small reception, but it fits the most.

Most fun story to write: Another Love. I had a ton of fun playing with that whole concept. Barry going back in time to when Eobard was playing at being Wells was a fucking gift.

Story that could have been better? All of them? Technically? I’m still not entirely pleased with how time in a bottle turned out, but I ramped that one up in my head for so long that I’ll probably never be satisfied with it.

Story I wrote to fix things: Pretty much all of my Flash fics were written to make something better. Ramble On and time in a bottle were both written to satisfy my need for there to be a current-timeline paradox Thawne still out there, tucked away in the speedforce, just biding his time. Hell, all of the God Complex series were written because I wanted to rewrite or add bits to an episode to suit my shipper heart.

Oddest story: it began with stones. In the Flesh. Dragon Age. Kind of weird. But my brain went, what would Jen like for her birthday? Okay, she likes Dragon Age. And she likes zombies. How can I write zombies in a way that I haven’t written them yet? Oh, I know! Hardest story to do: Okay, so it isn’t on here, but the Sabriel AU is what I’ve really been suffering through. I hit a point and wasn’t able to overcome it, which is why it still isn’t done. I’m hoping to read Goldenhand and the rest of the Like Young Gods series sometime this month and we’ll see if it inspires anything. Easiest story to write? I struggled with pretty much everything I wrote this year except for Another Love. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it just so happens to be the only fic I wrote before I gave up smoking.

Most mining of your own history in one story: Pretty much none of them. D.C. al Coda has a lot of my experiences with grief, but that’s about it.

Themes, or absence thereof: Pretty much ‘heroes and villains make out’. Or in the case of Hawke and Fenris... rivalmancy. Where did you publish/archive your stories? Ao3, as per usual. Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to: I have nixed pretty much all of my Teen Wolf projects. I would like to say that at some point I’ll finish the Bioshock Infinite AU and the Carmilla one, just because I have so much written of it already, but I don’t know. I do know that I want to finish the Sabriel AU and I currently have a weirdly one-sided Julian/Barry fic, a Prompto/Noctis pining fic, and several Stargate Atlantis fics that I want to finish. Oh, and maybe the Yuri on Ice soulmate AU if I can make the idea hang around long enough to get to.

Sexiest moment (excerpt): He slides the palms of his hands up her sides, ghosting them up and over her ribs, framing them, feeling where the softness of skin and muscle gives way to hard bone where her rib cage starts, how each breath she takes pushes her body more firmly into his hands. She makes a noise when he reaches her breasts, shuddering when he cups them, even through the fabric.

“Please,” she breathes, and Jonathan hesitates, unsure of what she wants.

“Here,” Steve murmurs, taking hold of Jonathan’s hands once more. He guides them to the buttons of Nancy’s blouse and pauses, waiting, as Jonathan undoes them himself, his touch sliding down Jonathan’s forearms then back up again.

Jonathan pushes the blouse from Nancy’s shoulders, watching the blush that blooms under his eyes, going from her throat clear to her navel. Her cheeks are flushed too, her eyes black and wanting.

Steve lets go of him, maybe realizing that Jonathan won’t be of much help at this moment, and his hands vanish around Nancy’s sides, quick and darting. It isn’t until he’s helping her pull her bra loose that Jonathan even realizes what he’s done.

Steve’s hands go back to his, guiding them to Nancy’s breasts. The skin is firm and supple, and so very warm. Her nipples pull tight when his hand brushes them. Steve leans close to Jonathan’s ear, and whispers, “Touch her.”

Crackiest moment (excerpt): Outside, it’s raining. The air is heavy with humidity, heat pressing down on his back like something alive. Barry walks down the street, feet bare against the wet asphalt. Thunder rumbles threateningly in the distance. A bird sings, and a street over, another joins it. Everything is green and damp. It smells real. Would a dream smell real?

Halfway down the street, a second pair of feet join his. The person they belong to is silent, doggedly following him down the road. Barry doesn’t have to turn to know who his newest phantom is.

“Are you going to sing at me too?”

“Do you want me to sing to you?” Thawne asks.

Barry glances at him, frowning unhappily. He’s wearing Wells’ face again, a familiar little half-smile playing around his lips. His suit is wet. It isn’t the suit — not the yellow one — just a regular one. Plain. Black. The fabric clings to his shoulders and his hair is dripping in his eyes. His feet are bare too, and somehow it feels wrong to see them, the fine slender bones gleaming wetly. Too intimate.

Barry swallows and looks away, but even when he concentrates, it refuses to change. Figures, that even in a dream Thawne would cause him grief. When Barry doesn’t reply, Thawne playfully hums a few bars of something vaguely familiar.

Barry looks back at him, and when Thawne sees him looking, he smiles wider and gleefully stomps his way through a puddle. Sings, “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do…”

Favorite dialogue (excerpt): “At least,” Eobard interrupts, thoughtfully tapping his finger against his lips. Slowly, he starts to grin. “Not everything. So, Mr. Allen, I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”

The answer is written all over Barry’s face. There’s a story there, behind the pain, the grief, the hopeless lust, and it’s one that Eobard knows he’ll get to live out himself over the course of the next year. He wonders just how many times he fucked this boy before the truth came out. The boy — his Barry — already loves him. Not like this, of course, not yet, but a hero worshiping kind that he’s had since day one.

“Well?” He coaxes, eyes widening. “I’m waiting.”

Barry wets his lips convulsively and swallows, his adam’s apple working. He tugs on the cuff, halfheartedly, mouth turned downwards. He didn’t expect this. Maybe he’d expected closure. Or maybe he’d convinced himself that all he really needed was the formula. But he wants this. And Eobard’s going to make him say it.

“I want you,” he confesses unhappily, a charming pucker between his brows. His eyes dart back up, not shying away for once, to meet Eobard’s. A little bit of steel creeps into his expression again, and Eobard wants to applaud him all over again. What a beautiful creature he’s created.

“Just you,” he adds, just as quiet and unhappy, but with a dawning comprehension. “Eobard Thawne.”

A shiver crawls down his spine, dick twitching in his pants. God, it’s good to hear that name again. “Oh, Mr. Allen,” he breathes. “Say it again, won’t you?”

Favorite lines (excerpt):

Jonathan had known that they’d done this before. After all, he was sort of a witness to it. But up close it’s something else, it’s poetry in motion, the way that Nancy’s head tips back, the bead of sweat that slides down the tip of Steve’s nose, how her legs wrap around his waist, her small feet locking at the dip of Steve’s spine.

It’s beautiful, and his fingers itch for his camera, so he fumbles around beside him, stretching his arm out to his desk until he catches the strap and can tug it into his hands. He watches them through the lens of his camera for a moment before he gets up the courage to touch, tapping Steve with his foot and then gesturing with the camera, head cocked.

Can I?

Steve’s entire face transforms when he laughs, going bright with emotion. He nudges Nancy until she glances over and then she’s laughing too, and they’re both nodding.

He catches them both mid laugh, naked limbs flung around each other. And then he catches the moment that the laughter turns to something else, mouths half-parted in breathless pleasure. He catches the curve of Nancy’s breast and the freckle behind Steve’s ear, and then he waits, breathless, for the right moment.

He waits and waits, and the moment that they both go still, bodies shaking with pleasure, mouth caught on soundless moans-

Click.

He swallows, lowering the camera as it spits the picture out with a hiss, and holds it in his hand, watching them. Their eyes are closed, breathless little smiles across their faces, sweat on their brows. Steve hasn’t even pulled out of her.

Click.

Fic goals: Finish Sabriel AU. That’s it. My only other writing-related goal is to get out of this funk, write something big (which will hopefully be the Sabriel AU) and something original. Fingers crossed.

#heather writes #new year's memes #heather says what

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