#it only works if the recreations are Unhinged shit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hopeatermeetsgodzilla · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 21

“Uh, Serizawa?” Florès started, taking the opening of Graham being called elsewhere to attempt his question.

The older man turned toward him, the mechanic wincing as he saw the dark undereye circles. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one working ridiculous hours. “What is it?”

“Uh... weird things have been happening to Russellita, and I think it might be linked to the Titans?” He started, Serizawa frowning in confusion. “Nothing worrying, just... dreams. And she can actually hear what they’re saying.”

Serizawa’s eyes widened. “What!?”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Florès started dismissively. “She can only hear them if she’s here in person. She actually hears what everyone else hears in recordings, so I wasn’t really able to add a lot of soundbanks-”

“No, Florès, this isn’t about that-” Serizawa cut him off, carding his hands through his hairs. “マディソンは本当にアウグルになることができますか？...”

“... ¿Qué?”

“I- you should go ask Dr. Chen.” Serizawa started, turning back toward Florès, who tilted his head in confusion. “There is a myth of peculiar humans having a link with Titans, but she’s more knowledgeable about it than I am.”

“Alright. Where is she right now?”

“Her office, third floor, trying to figure out if there is something similar that happened to Mara in the past.”

“‘Kay, thanks.” Florès said before leaving the main room, waving the Serizawa as another scientist came to talk to him.

He entered the elevator, where Madison was waiting. “So?”

“We need to go talk to Dr Chen.” Florès started, pressing the button to the third floor. “She’s the one that made that PowerPoint on the Titans.”

“Oh!” The elevator started, rising rapidly. “Did you remember to tell Mr. Serizawa about Godzilla still being alive?”

“... He started panicking when I told him you could hear Titans, so I decided to save it for later.” Florès explained, deciding it had less of a chance of making Madison mock him then ‘No, I forgot’.

Luckily for him, the elevator door opened just after, and the two walked out, searching for the mythologist’s office. Finally, they found a door with a plaque that read ‘Ilene Chen’. Florès knocked on it. “Come in” a voice on the other side said, and the two entered.

The first thing that Madison noticed was how different Chen’s office was from Florès’. The walls were covered in bookcases, all filled to the brim, instead of the occasional article for living like a mini-fridge. There was also an actual desk she worked at, also covered in books, instead of a worktable with a computer and multiple tools laying around on it.

Chen raised her head. “Oh, Florès! And... Madison?” Madison nodded. “How can I help you two?”

“I... I think I might have powers.” Madison started, taking a few steps forward. “Powers linked to the Titans.”

Chen’s eyes widened, getting up from her seat. “What kind of powers?”

“I can hear them speak without any assistance, and I also have dreams about them.” She explained, Chen nodding as she started looking through folders stashed in a bookcase.

Florès raised an eyebrow. “Wait, there’s actually a myth about people being able to talk to Titans!?” Chne turned toward him momentarily to nod, before turning back toward the bookcase. “... Why do we need the ORCA, then?”

“1) Because it’s a myth.” Chen started, taking a folder and sitting back down. She opened it, showing the other two pictures of engraved walls and cave paintings. “We had no actual proof of it... until now, at least. 2) According to the myths, there can only be one Augur at a time.”

Florès and Madison frowned, looking at each other before turning their eyes toward Chen. “Uh... what’s an Augur in this context?”

“... Oh boy.” Chen sighed, flipping through the notes and photos in the file before closing it. She took a deep breath. “The Augur is, essentially, the link between humanity and Titans. They speak the will of the Titans to humans, and they explain humans’ actions to Titans. To do so, they are granted abilities, often when they are children. Amongst those abilities, being a spectator to Titan’s interacting through their dreams and understanding their language are usually the first ones that appear.”

“...Holy shit, Russellita, you actually do have magical powers!” Florès exclaimed, eyes wide.

Madison numbly nodded, staring at her hands. The link between humans and Titans... She frowned. “Why me? I’m nothing special, I’m just- I’m a regular girl, and being an Augur sounds like something great people should be doing.”

“You’re also part of the very rare category of people who neither worship, fear, or hate Titans. Your only wish is to understand them.” Chen explained. “Monarch and the T.L.F. falls in the first category-”

“Uh, didn’t expect you guys to be self-aware.”

“-albeit for different reasons,” Chen snapped, the mechanic raising his hands when she sent him a frustrated look. ”The military falls in the third category, and most civilians would fall in the second. The only other person I can think of that falls into your category is, well...” She tilted her head in Florès’ direction, who shrugged.

“Oh, I do fear them, don’t get me wrong.” He started. “Just not in the way one would fear God. More like one would fear an extremely unhinged neighbor who owns a flamethrower and keeps giving you the evil eye. And anyway, we only fear what we don’t understand, and I don’t like being scared. So understand them I’ll have to.” There was a pause. “Also, you guys are selling yourselves short. Isn’t the whole point of Monarch trying to understand the Titans?”

Chen snorted. “Would you look at that? You are capable of being nice!”

There was snickering, and then a pause. “Can we... wait until I’m ready to tell more people?” Madison asked. This was still a lot to process. “Or at least until we’re a 100 percent sure about the Augur thing? I mean, it could be just a fluke, or...”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“-and that’s pretty much all I can think of for basic sentences to use on your brothers.” Rodan finished, putting his hands on his knees as Ni nodded. “Now, repeat what I just did.”

Ni raised his hands, signing the sentences as he spoke. “This is for ‘thank you’ and that’s for ‘please’, this is for ‘stop doing that’, that’s for asking them to do something, that’s light-hearted ribbing, telling them to leave me alone, asking for affection, and finally, this for ‘I... I... lov... I lo...’ urgh. You know what it’s for.”

Rodan nodded. Apparently, Ni was unable to say ‘I love you’ out loud for some reason. When asked about it, he had snapped that neither could Ichi or San and that it wasn’t just him being bad with words. This was... worrying, especially since it was clear to anyone who had eyes that can see that the three of them cared about each other more than anything.

But his hands had recreated the sign to perfection, and that was enough for Rodan. He nodded, clapping his hands a bit in encouragement. “Yeah, that’s it!” Ni’s lips twitched up. “Do you want to stop here for today, or...?”

Ni nodded, getting back up and offering a hand to Rodan as he did so. The shorter one took it, not very keen on the idea of staying seated and letting Ghidorah look even taller to him. “I’m done for the day. Do you want to stay with us for a bit?”

Rodan nodded, following Ni to the beach. Ghidorah had pretty much claimed this part of the coast as their own, setting up a mock-nest there. Ichi and San were already there, Ichi listening calmly and occasionally offering something as San rambled on in a language he didn’t understand. The bird watched as Ni joined them, kneeling on the ground as his brothers turned toward him.

He also saw him lift his hands to sign something, unable to say what it was from the angle he stood at. But considering a strange warbling noise left San’s mouth before he jumped Ni, squealing happily, it was probably positive.

Rodan made his way to Ichi, carefully avoiding the Ghidorah pile were strange thrilling and chirping noises were rising from. Ichi was looking at said pile, a dumbstruck look on his face. Rodan hesitantly raised his hand. “Hi.”

Ichi snapped toward him, before avoiding his gaze toward what Rodan could only assume was a very interesting rock. “Fire bird. Do you know where Ni learned those... symbols?”

“Oh, it’s sign words.” Rodan explained, oblivious to Ichi’s discomfort. “Ni told me he wasn’t really good with words, so I’ve been teaching him.”

“And you thought it would be a good idea to to teach him how to say ‘I lo’-” Ichi suddenly gagged on nothing, catching the both of them off-guard. For a few seconds, the only sound filling the air was the continuous, soft growling noise coming from San a distance away.

“Uh. So you guys really can’t say ‘I love you’, uh?” Rodan noted, Ichi glaring at him.

“... Why would you teach him that?” He asked again, voice softer this time.

“Because I found it really sad and a bit worrying that you guys can’t say that you love each other out loud. Plus,” Rodan jerked his thumb toward Ni and San. They were now sitting up, San chirping happily and limbs wrapped around his brother as they cuddled. “your brothers seem pretty fine with it.”

Ichi groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Shut up...”

Rodan snorted at that, sitting down. “What, the ~Golden Demise~ can’t handle a bit of affection?” He taunted, Ichi sending him a look that could kill humans.

However, just as he opened his mouth, San jumped on him. Ichi yelped as the two fell to the ground, the strange growling chirps still leaving San as he rambled on in a manner that was just coherent enough for Rodan to realize it wasn’t just gibberish. The fact that Ichi was answering in the same non-sensical speech also helped.

Rodan barely noticed Ni as he came to sit down, his hands signing ‘thank you’ as he did so. “For showing me how to say it.” He then clarified.

Rodan nodded, shrugging. “It’s nothing, really. No need to make a big deal out of it.”

“I’m being honest.” Ni insisted. “And not just because I don’t like lying: being able to tell my brothers I... care... for them almost makes me want to dance in joy.”

“I wanna sing!” San suddenly exclaimed, getting off of Ichi who had apparently been content to lay on the ground as his brother attempted to cuddle him to death. He was onto Ni again, eyes shining with unbridled joy. “I wanna sing while you dance!!!”

Ni yelped, putting a hand on San’s shoulder and pushing him away. “Emphasis on almost, San!”

San pouted, sending a pleading at his brother, to no avail. Rodan looked off awkwardly to the side. “I... could dance?” He proposed, San snapping his head toward him with a big smile.

“Really!?”

“... yeah. I could.” Never mind that last time he danced, it was back when he was courting Quetzalcoatl. Was he so desperate for people that not only understood his anger, but supported him despite it that he was about to dance for the incarnations of Terra’s death? Was he really ready to sacrifice his integrity as a Guardian for Ghidorah’s possible support and affection-

Ichi must have sensed his hesitation, because he rose up, looking at Rodan with a neutral expression. “If you want, I could dance with you.”

This proposal made Rodan feel both better and worse for the exact same reason: the possibility that Ghidorah felt the same budding attraction. Nonetheless, he simply snorted, crossing his arms as he got up. “Wait, that’s how you invite someone to a dance? Thought you had more charm to you.”

Ichi laughed. Not the usual sinister giggle or mad cackle Ghidorah gave, but an actual, genuine laugh. “I’m sorry about that, let me try again.” He cleared his throat, before bending down, offering his hand to Rodan. “May I have this dance?~”

Oh, there’s no way this beautiful fucker isn’t doing it on purpose. He took a deep breath, taking of his sleeves in the process. “... You may.” Rodan accepted, putting his hand Ichi’s. He gasped as he was dragged closer, Ichi’s legs bent in such a way that Rodan was eye level with his collarbone.

He looked off to the side, feeling his cheeks warm up as a chuckle left Ichi. “Don’t get shy now, fire bird. I do prefer it when your bite matches your bark.”

Rodan raised an eyebrow at the challenge. “Oh, do you, Ichi?” He jerked his hand out of Ghidorah’s grasp, bringing both to Ichi’s waist before flipping their position. He used the new leverage to bend him down. He smirked at Ichi’s surprised expression. “You know, you should try getting on my level sometimes. Might get your head out of the clouds~”

Ichi’s expression changed to a grin at that, echoed by his brothers laughing a distance away. “Here’s that bite~” One of his hand came up, clawing at the back of Rodan’s head and using as leverage as he rose up a bit. “If you’re a good lead, I might just listen.” Their faces were dangerously close now, their lips almost brushing as he spoke- no, sang. “Show me what you’ve got, Rodan.”

Well, he didn’t have any reason to disobey that.

He lifted Ichi up, hands coming to hold his as he twisted him up, back against his front. Rodan moved his hands, coming to rest on Ichi’s crossed wrists instead. He barely registered the other shifting his hip, offering him a better view of what he was doing. An energetic but strange song started, courtesy of Ni and San.

He snapped his arms away, letting go of Ichi’s wrists in the process and making him spin. Rodan ran after him, fast and long strokes and light on his feet as he climbed up a rock. He grabbed Ichi by the shoulders as he reached the top, pulling him toward him. The music reached a crescendo as he used his grip to hoist himself up upside down onto Ichi’s shoulder, before letting himself fall.

As he reached the ground, he grabbed Ichi’s wrist. He pulled the taller one down as he did so, rising up and catching him in his arms as long-fingered hands came to wrap around the back of his neck. Rodan paused at that, looking down at him with a wolfish grin. “How’s that for a dance?”

Ichi’s light laugh filled the air again. “Not bad at all!” Ichi raised himself, his hands sliding down Rodan’s arms to hold his. “Alright, my turn to lead.”

The movements were much slower this time, Ichi almost gliding over the ground as he guided Rodan around in lazy circles. The tempo his brothers were providing them had slowed down accordingly, picking up each time Ichi put Rodan in a different position.

He picked him up, holding his companion to his side as he smiled. Rodan smiled back, letting Ichi puppet him around in a weirdly comforting manner. Terra, had he missed this kind of affection. He never wanted this dance to end, he wanted to stay here forever, he wanted... he...

He wanted to punch himself in the face.

No, I can’t let myself get attached. He had to remind himself as he and Ichi spun around, guided by San’s voice and Ni’s clapping as a calmer but still very strange song filled the air. They’re the reason Mara is dead.

They’re Ghidorah, and they came here to destroy our home.

Ichi took a hold of his waist, lifting him high in the air as easily as one would lift a twig.

They’re death bringers, all they’re good for is killing.

He was gently set back on the ground, his hand sliding down Ichi’s arm and intertwining their fingers.

Their storms wipe away everything under them. They...

Ichi started twisting his wrist as he held onto his hand, making Rodan spin around him in circles.

They...

A sudden jerking made him lose his balance, bringing him close to Ichi as he started falling. His hand let go.

They kill through storms.

Just as he was about to catch himself, Ichi bent down. Long fingers curled around his waist as the Ghidorah looked at him with an uncharacteristic soft expression, a few strands of long golden hair slipping over his shoulder.

The sky was clear when death came to my home.

As Rodan was raised back up, he swung his legs up, wrapping them around Ichi’s torso as his arms came to wrap around his shoulders. He distantly registered Ni and San stopping their improvised song.

Just this once, they’re innocent.

Ichi tilted his head in concern, gently prying Rodan off of him and setting him back on the ground.

Just what else are those three innocent of?

“Fire bird?” Rodan snapped his head up, eyes wide. Ichi was looking at him, a concerned frown on his face with both of his brothers peeking over his shoulders. “Is everything alright? You seem lost in thought.”

“I...” He separated himself from them, turning momentarily toward San when he moved toward him. “Yeah, I just... realized something-” He froze as San brought a hand to his face, brushing a few hair behind his hair.

The younger of the brothers had a calm look on his face, blinking slowly at him. “Don’t trouble yourself with anything unimportant, alright?”

The hand of another- Ni this time- came to hold his, dragging him toward the spot where the three usually slept. “Maybe stay with us tonight?” He then raised a hand, signing the word ‘please’.

Rodan numbly nodded, letting Ichi put a hand to his back to guide him. All four of them were unaware that it was at this precise moment that Ghidorah’s schemes both succeeded beyond measure, and fell apart in a million pieces.

#writing #My writing #Godzilla #godzilla gijinka #madison russel #oc #my oc #ilene chen #Rodan #ni ghidorah #ichi ghidorah #san ghidorah #ghidorah #King Ghidorah #kevin ghidorah #rodorah

10 notes · View notes

doing-all-write · 5 years ago

Text

don’t be a baby pt. 3

Pairing: Billy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader discovers that Billy isn’t actually dead. Which changes everything. But also, nothing at all.

Read part 1 HERE

Read part 2 HERE

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: SMUT (only 18+ interact PLZ), swearing, blood, explosions, fighting and some SOFT FEELINGS FOLKS OH BOY.

A/N: SURPRISE! Here’s part 3 of don’t be a baby! I hope you all love this ending, I’m so happy with how it ended so please enjoy!

💖💖As always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! 💖💖

“You bastard.”

The growl that came crawling out of her throat came from the basest, most animalistic part of her. Billy felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"You fucking prick." Finally wrenching her hand from his, she reached up, ripping his hood off, fully bringing Billy’s feature into the light.

Her jaw went slack, her complexion ghost white as Billy stood there. Knowing there was nothing he could say or do to make this situation better or less confusing.

"You-you-no. No. This is impossible. There was a coffin. We had a funeral. Billy. I mourned you. I am still mourning you. What the fuck-"

"One found me on the ground after that last mission. He offered me this chance and-"

She hadn't even been aware she’d been moving away from him until her back hit the wall and her legs gave out completely.

Sliding to the floor, she pulled her knees into her chest, bringing her head down to take deep gulps of air as Billy stood over her Clenching and unclenching his hands, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around her but not knowing if that would make things better or worse,

"I couldn't not take it love-(Y/N)" catching himself before he called her the old pet name, "It was the best option for me. I got a fresh start. I get to help people. It's steady work and I get to do what I love. Plus, you deserve someone better than me, it was only a matter of time before you realized it anyway..." His voice trailed off as she went stock still.

Watching the monitors, the rest of the team jockeyed around One for position as he relayed what was being said in the room like a sports commentator, "Ooo, he just went for the 'you deserve better than me so I faked my own death' route! That one never works folks. Trust me, I've tried." Five rolled her eyes as Seven snickered.

"DAMN!" Three exclaimed as the rest of the team broke out in screams as (Y/N) launched herself at Billy, fists flying and teeth bared.

He didn't think she wanted him? He hadn't even asked her what she wanted, they had never even talked about it but only because his selfish ass had gone and written the ending of their story before it had even had a chance to start. The shock drained away, to be replaced by anger. It rose through her blood stream, lighting her body up, until it reached her eyes. She knew that the look in her eyes was feral, bordering on unhinged so it brought her some small joy to see his face blanche at the sight as her (Y/E/C) eyes met his blue ones.

"You no good, lying, piece of shit, COWARD." She had tried her best to keep her voice calm but the last word scraped past her vocal cords in a roar as she launched her body at him.

The rational part of her brain knew she wasn’t thinking straight but the other part of her brain that had been wallowing in depression, hopelessness, anger and loss for 365 days was ready to fight.

"You promised. You said you would come back to me and you didn't. But you've been alive this whole goddamn time and now you're in front of me telling me that you didn't think I would want you? And instead of talking to me, you pretend to kill yourself?" Each word was punctuated by a well placed kick, punch or slap on Billy's person.

“I thought ghosting was bad but this takes it to a whole new LEVEL.” she shrieked as she aimed a left hook to Billy’s kidney.

Those boxing lessons paid off, she briefly thought to herself.

There was a part of Billy that had prepared himself for this kind of reaction. He wasn’t even trying to defend himself from her. He knew this was the least he deserved and honestly, he was glad she was even touching him at all.

Continuing her onslaught on Billy, she hoped she left bruises. A physical representation of the bruising he had caused on her heart over the past year. Growling, she kept up a running commentary of what exactly Billy was since he had left her behind.

Billy kept his eyes trained forward, as her fists kept up a steady rhythm on his body. Shoulders straight, hands loose at his sides, waiting for some kind of sign that she was slowing down. He risked a glance down and saw her cheeks glistening with tears.

His heart broke into a million pieces. He felt his throat tighten as the tears that he had tried to hold back, welled up in his own eyes.

She knew distantly that the wetness she felt wasn't sweat. She just prayed that Billy didn't notice them. She didn't want him to think she was weak. As that thought crossed her brain, she realized her punches were getting softer and softer. The rapid pattern she had been striking Billy with had slowed considerably.

"You son of a bitch. You promised." The last word came out in a ragged wisp as she felt the adrenaline leave her body and despondency begin to take its place.

"Don't you love me?" Billy's arms reached for her instinctually at those four words. Pulling her frame into his broad chest, he felt her crumble against him as her sobs echoed throughout the room.

"Shh, love, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know, rest now. I'm so sorry, my love." He whispered, letting his head drop down so his lips grazed her ear as he repeated his apology over and over again. She felt herself getting irritated with her own body when it gave an impulsive shudder at the nearness of him.

Distantly, she realized that the months of chasing the spark she had with Billy with other men had been pointless. There was no way to recreate it because Billy was the spark. There was no way to recreate what they had because there was no one else like Billy and she didn’t want anyone but Billy.

Feeling the cold concrete of the ground seeping through her leggings, she registered that she must have sunk to the ground as Billy kept his arms around her, both of them huddled on the floor as she sobbed and half heartedly struck Billy’s chest with a weak fist, whispering a few choice phrases such as "fuck you" or "bastard".

The last thing she remembered was Billy whispering the words ``I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over again as he rocked her back and forth as she felt herself drift into unconsciousness.

~~~

It was the first sleep she'd had where she didn't dream.

Eyelids fluttering open, she blinked the drowsiness away, forgetting about where she was and why she was on a cot with the desert sun piercing through the linen curtains over the window next to her.

Then it all came slamming back to her with such force that it pulled the air from her lungs. Crushing her knees into her chest she rolled into a ball, breathing into the cave she’d created for herself. Listening to her breath cycle through her body helped to ground her into the fucked up reality she’d woken up in.

After a few minutes, she lifted her head and took a deep breath in. Exhaling, she swung her legs over the edge of the cot and walked toward a door that she assumed was a bathroom.

Seeing that the door had been cracked open she hesitated, not wanting to barge in if someone was already in there. Leaning forward she tried to see who it was.

Her breath was ripped from her lungs for a second time as her eyes were met with the broad expanse of Billy's back. He was twisting in the mirror, trying to rub gel onto the bruise that was blooming on his side from her fists.

Guilt blossomed in her gut as she thought about how she had hurt him, then figured it was the least she could do to him considering he had caused her more pain and suffering than any one person should feel in their lifetime.

A whine interrupted her thought process as Billy pressed too hard on the bruise that had flowered by his rib cage. The guilt came crawling back and she gently knocked on the door, pushing it open.

"Do, uh, do you need help?" Feeling shy suddenly, she trained her eyes on Billy's feet which shuffled back and forth, as if trying to decide if he wanted to be closer to her or afraid she would hit him again.

“Yeah-yes. I need your help.” He cleared his throat, “I need you.”

Studiously avoiding eye contact, she reached for the gel he had been trying to apply. She took it from his hands and rubbed some onto her palms. Feeling his gaze burning into her, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

The scent of eucalyptus filled the air as she pressed her palms onto his skin. He couldn't fight the hiss that leaked out from between his teeth.

Her lips quirked up as she whispered, "Don't be a baby."

Their eyes met and he couldn't help what happened next, he kissed her.

Rising up to meet the harsh push of Billy's lips against her, lust roared to life in the pit of her stomach. Grasping Billy's biceps she leaped into the air, wrapping her legs around his waist. Billy's arms flew up to wrap around her as they both pressed their lips into each other, moaning as she clawed at his back. He deposited her on the sink counter as he reached a leg out to kick the bathroom door shut, praying that no one tried to open the door because fuck. He wasn't going to stop kissing her just to lock a damn door.

She pulled back, ripping a wimper from Billy. Smirking, she nipped at his bottom lip, then ran her tongue delicately over the red spot that was blooming there. Moaning, he thrusted his hips forward, trying to find something to help relieve the pressure building in his cock. Her moans mixed with his as she pressed her own hips forward.

Billy's hands gripped her waist as he stepped in between her legs, pumping his hips forward, meeting her needy thrusts with his own. Gasping at the feeling of Billy's length rubbing against her, Billy let out a groan as he wound a hand into her hair, pulling it to expose the line of her throat as he nipped down it, humming with each whine she let out.

Running her hands down his arms, she moved his hands to grasp at her tits, pushing them into his hands to drive home where she wanted him to touch her most. Chuckling, he ran his thumbs over her breasts, brushing the pad of his thumb over the peak her nipples made through her tank top.

Keening she reached forward, grasping the edge of his joggers, pulling him forward as she nudged them down, grasping his cock at the base, stroking it.

Billy growled at the action, grasping the waistband of her leggings, he wiggled them down her thighs till they pooled around her ankles. Kissing her deeply, he brushed the head of his cock against her folds, moaning when he felt the wetness gathering on the head.

Reaching down, he grasped her thighs, pulling them apart so he could finally, finally, dip his cock into the folds of her cunt. Throwing her head back she let out a stream of curses, Billy biting his lip as he rolled his hips forward, both of them falling into a familiar rhythm as she dug her nails into Billy's shoulders.

Fingertips sinking into the flesh around her hips, Billy growled into her mouth, causing her to clench the walls of her cunt around his cock. Whimpering, she moved her hand down to rub at her clit. Billy batted her hand out of the way, “Let me.” he whispered before pressing his mouth more desperately against hers, as he began drawing circles over the sensitive nub.

Moaning into his mouth, she felt her walls clenching even tighter as she rocked her hips sloppily against his own, knowing she was close.

Feeling her grip around his cock, Billy knew she was close and he thanked the gods she was because he was positive he wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Pumping faster, he dug his hands so hard into her hips she knew there would be bruises there.

Not that she minded.

Feeling the fire gnawing its way through her, she clung to Billy desperately as he gave a few last rocks, pressing against her clit in the most delicious way, she gave into the pleasure sweeping over her.

Her walls clamped around him, giving him the final nudge he needed to spill into her. Both of them groaned as the last few waves of pleasure swept over them. Her head came down to rest on Billy's shoulder. His hands still clamped on her hips, both of them breathing each other's scents as their fury wound down.

The silence was interrupted by the crackle of the intercom,

"Kinda pissed I wasn't the first one to get into those Nike leggings."

"Fuck off." came their simultaneous response. Locking eyes, they both broke into smiles as Billy gingerly pulled himself from her. Helping her down from the counter, he cleaned them both up, helping her step out of her leggings but leaving her underwear on. As he pulled his own joggers up, he gently pushed her into the room she had just left. Stumbling back into the room, she felt exhaustion wash over her again.

Collapsing once more into the bed, the last thing she remembered before dropping back into sleep was Billy padding into the room and her hand reaching out for him. Grasping for it so she could be sure he wouldn’t leave before she woke up.

~~~

Billy became suddenly aware there was a weight on his chest.

Stirring, he felt the mass curl into him further. Sniffing, he caught a whiff of the shampoo (Y/N) always used and knowing it was her curled into him was almost enough to have him break down into sobs.

Bringing a hesitant hand to her waves, he gently stroked them as her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Aware of the hand stroking her hair, she did her best to keep still so he wouldn't stop. She knew that when she woke they would need to have a serious conversation about...all of it. About Billy being alive. Them being on the same team. Would she be able to trust him again? There was a lot to discuss but right now she wanted to lay on his chest and pretend that it was the day after their first day together, the future ahead of them bright and unencumbered.

Feeling her arm start to fall asleep, she figured it was time to wake up and face Billy.

Feeling her stir, Billy's hand stilled on her waves, moving down to land on her hip as she shifted so she could shoot a sleepy smile up at him, "Morning" she croaked out and Billy thought he had never seen something so adorable in his entire life.

Smiling, he replied, "Morning," then frowned, "or afternoon. I have no bloody idea what time or day it is to be quite honest with you."

Letting out a wheezy laugh she brought her head back down to his chest as he wrapped an arm around her, bringing her closer to him, feeling more grounded already with her next to him.

He knew they should talk about what his being alive meant for them and for the future, but he wanted to be selfish and hold onto these few peaceful moments. He’d realized how greedy he was when it came to spending time with (Y/N) but he couldn't help it. Every second, every minute, he wasn't next to her felt like a moment wasted.

Sighing, she turned her face up to him, "I guess we should talk about...well...the fact that you're not dead." Bringing his other hand up to rub down his face, Billy let out a sigh, "Yeah, I s'pose we should."

"Don't sound too excited."

"You gonna hit me again?"

"You going to keep having that tone with me?"

Cowing immediately Billy ran his hand over her back, "No, 'course not (Y/N). Sorry."

Sniffing she nodded to show she'd acknowledged his apology. Her next question came out on a sigh, "Why, Billy?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do this?"

It was Billy's turn to heave a sigh as he chose his next words with care. He wanted, needed, her to understand why he did what he did. He needed her to understand it wasn’t because he didn’t love, it was because he loved her too much.

"Because...well...One's offer was too good to pass up. Truly. I could do all my Sky Walker stuff but also be able to help people. It was my chance to make a difference in the world, to do some massive good on a global scale."

Sniffing back tears, she nodded mutely as she absentmindedly drew circles over his torso. "I understand that Billy, but...why did you have to break your promise?"

The sharp intake of breath from Billy caused her to raise her head, shock flooding her veins as she saw tears start to leak out of the corner of his eyes. Raising her thumb up, she swiped them away.

"I didn't want to, (Y/N). But...I had to. One explained to me how dangerous this job was, is, and how people will do awful things to anyone connected to you. I...I couldn't bear the thought of you being caught in the crosshairs or having something happen to you because of me."

"Okay but, why didn't you talk to me about it? You just assumed I would be okay with it? That I would tell you One was right? That I wouldn't fight for you? For us? C'mon Billy. Give me a little credit."

"Yeah, because you took so well to my original job."

Her body stilled as she realized he was right. Not that she was happy about it. Sighing she tilted her head up to look into his eyes, "You're right. But that was before. This is...now. I'm different. I've changed."

Billy's eyes roamed over her face, memorizing every detail of it. He took stock of her eyes, how the light was boarded up tight, like they were the first few times he’d talked to her. When she smiled or laughed, he saw a flash of it peek through only for her to quickly shove it back down.

As she studied his own face, she desperately wanted to let her guard down. It would be so easy to slip into how it should have been but there was something that was holding her back. She couldn’t figure out what it was until it hit her like a freight train.

What if Billy really died?

Now that she knew his death had been a ruse and he was still alive, this time, if he did die in this life...there really was no coming back from that. Her heart tore in half at the thought.

"Love..." he hesitated to see how she would react to the pet name. When she didn't hit him or tell him not to use it, he continued, "Love, listen. This is totally your choice. If you think we can do this, then, I'm all in. This will be our new life together. But if there's even a shred of an issue, then you get to walk out that door. And you'll never hear from me again." His heart leaped when she wrapped her arm around his chest more securely at that admission.

"I don't want that. But...Billy...what happens...if...if...you die. Again. For real." Her voice was shaky as she nestled her face into Billy's side, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears threatening to overwhelm her.

Billy's breath left his lungs in a harsh whoosh as the full impact of that idea made his heart skip a beat. He hadn't even considered the possibility. Mainly because if he did, he would never do half the shit he did.

"I wish I had a good answer love but, I don't." Hearing her sniffle he turned on his side, cupping her chin in his hand as he tilted her face up so she would look at him and know how desperately he meant the next few words,

"I just, I have a feeling in my gut that I won't die though. The only reason I made it through half of these missions is because of the people around me and...you." Her eyes widened at this admission,

"Yes, love. You. The very idea of you when I was off doing things that James Bond could only dream of," she snorted as Billy grasped one of her hands in his own, "is what made me more convinced than ever that I needed to get back to you in one piece. And if you join the team? Love, you will be the only thing that's going through my head when we're on a job together. The promise of being able to come home to you at the end of the day, to have you patch me up, to give me endless shit. I wouldn't want to miss any more of it than I already have. So please, believe me when I tell you, if you join this team? I will never, ever leave you again. I promise, (Y/N)."

Raising her eyes to meet his blue ones, she felt her heart squeeze when she saw the tears streaming freely down his face. He had laid his heart bare for her and the love she felt for him in that moment made her glow with a warmth she hadn’t felt, well, since the last time they had been in a bed together. But part of her was still hesitant. She wanted to believe him but she couldn’t go through what she had already been through again.

Billy knew that she was doing her best to figure out if he truly meant it. Sensing her hesitation, he placed the hand he had been gripping over his heart, "Do you feel that?” She nodded, feeling grounded as his heart beat beneath her palm, “Every beat is for you. For you and you alone, love. You bring me into the light and make me feel as if I deserve to be there. Please, (Y/N), do what you think is right but just know, that I want you, and only you, for the rest of my life."

Crying freely, she nodded frantically as she curled herself into Billy's chest. Stroking her back, he let her cry as much as she needed to. After a while, she pulled back, mumbling an apology for getting snot on his shirt as he laughed. Lifting her head up she realized she was right in line with Billy's lips. They were so perfect, reaching a hesitant finger out, she traced them. Feeling her heart beat harder when Billy’s breath hitched at the movement.

Lowering her finger, she snuggled closer to Billy as she reached her lips up to press them against his own softly, tentatively, like she was asking a question more than providing an answer.

Billy sighed as he brought a hand up to cup her face. Stroking the planes, he made sure to remember exactly how her lips felt as he wiped the last of her tears from her face.

Deepening the kiss, she moaned softly into his mouth as he traced a line from her cheek, down her neck, down her side until his hand landed on her hip. Giving her a gentle nudge, she swung her leg over and straddled Billy as he adjusted himself underneath her. He looked up at her and was sure he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Clad in her black tank top and panties, no makeup, hair falling in her face, Billy's heart ached at the notion of being able to wake up to this sight every day of his life.

Resting her hands gently on the broad expanse of his chest, she gave a small thrust forward, testing to see how hard he was. Gasping when she felt his full length twitch, he cocked an eyebrow at her, "You okay there, love?"

"Shut it." She mumbled as she leaned down to capture his lips with hers.

"Make me" was his response as he kissed her back tenderly. Their movements were languid, the passion and tension that had gripped them last night burnt away only to leave the love, adoration and relief they both felt to be reunited with each other. Gently rubbing herself over his cock, he reached a hand down to nudge his pants out of the way.

When his cock sprang free, she reached a hand down into her panties, running two fingers over her own slick, lifting her hand up to lick the juices off her fingers as Billy stared at her, slack-jawed.

Giggling, she moved her underwear to the side as she shifted her hips, positioning herself over his length then slowly lowering herself until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

She gasped as his hands came up to caress the bruises he had left on her hips. His touches were feather light as she let herself adjust to the girth of Billy's cock. Both of them were making a conscious effort to not rush this time. They wanted to relish the feel of each others bodies.

They both treated their bodies as dispensable when they were on a job, but with each other they gave into the feeling of being admired, of being adored, of being touched delicately and being delicate in return.

As (Y/N) let herself enjoy how full she felt with Billy inside of her, Billy rubbed his thumbs over her hips, urging his own hips to stay still. He didn't want to rush this. He didn't want to rush her. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to make sure that she felt comfortable, that she could feel how much he loved and cared about her through his actions.

In the same vein, (Y/N) wanted to treat Billy with softness. To show that she trusted him, that she wanted to be with him always and would trust him with her life. That he deserved to be cherished. Slowly, she started rocking her hips back and forth, finding a soothing rhythm as her fingers fluttered down to rest on Billy's stomach.

Billy's hands caressed her thighs, brushing slow patterns, the roughness of his palms on her skin causing goosebumps to rise up as she started pumping her hips a little faster. Below her, Billy was making the most obscene noises she'd ever heard. Moans, whines and gasps, the whole time desperately searching for eye contact so he could watch her reaction to every movement of his body underneath hers.

Leaning down to kiss him, he grasped her shoulders and flipped them so he was on top of her, using his forearms to prop himself up, staring down at her, he smiled, "You're the most beautiful woman in the world." Blushing furiously, she rolled her eyes so she wouldn't have to make eye contact knowing that if she did, her heart would explode with how much love she had for him.

Leaning his head down, he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, inhaling the smell of her skin, the sweetness of her perfume, the slight tang of salt and something that was so unmistakably (Y/N). Pressing his lips into the curve where her neck sloped down to meet her shoulder, he heard her sigh and continued to nudge his hips forward.

When her moans grew louder, he let out a small growl that made her clench around his length. Thrusting her hips up, she whined needily in the back of her throat. Smirking, Billy started pumping his hips faster into her. Feeling the pit in her stomach grow hotter, she ran her fingers over his head, feeling the pricks of his stubble rub against her palms. As he pulled back to stare into her eyes, she brushed the errant strands that had fallen in front of his eyes. She wanted to drown in their blueness.

Continuing to thrust into her, Billy felt his orgasm building as he kept eye contact with her. Everything was quiet except for their breath. The sighs, the hitches, all of it was much hotter to Billy than any dirty talk could be.

Feeling her heart beat start to speed up, she knew she was getting close. Biting her lip, she peered at Billy through her eyelashes, "Billy...I'm going to cum."

Leaning down, she could feel the smile that was playing on his lips as he whispered in her ear, "Then cum for me, my love." With those words, the pit in her stomach expanded and swallowed her whole. Squeezing her eyes shut, she came with a sharp inhale and slow exhale as her hips rose up to meet Billy's as he pumped into her through her orgasm. Feeling her walls clench around him, watching her come undone below him, pushed him right over the edge. As the last vestiges of her orgasm left her, she felt Billy's hips pumping against her sloppily until with a final grunt, she felt him fill her up with his cum.

Panting, they looked into each others eyes and she giggled as he smiled at her, looking a little dazed. Carefully pulling out of her, he cleaned them up. After pulling his sweatpants back up, he laid down on the bed, pulling her to his chest.

Nuzzling her face into Billy she sighed. Feeling her body loosen and relax, Billy started to plant kisses all over the top of her head, moving down to pepper her cheeks with kisses, she giggled and squirmed away from him. Chuckling, he placed one last kiss to the tip of her nose, “C’mere love. We’ve been apart too long to have you so far away from me.”

“Billy, I’m like an inch away from you.”

“And that’s still too far.” he whined as he pulled her flush against him. Giggling, she flung her arm and leg over Billy’s form, attaching herself even closer to him, “Is this close enough?”

“Not really but, it’ll have to do.” he mumbled as his arms wound around her, hugging her tightly into him.

As they laid there, their breath evened out to match each other. And several hours later, when One was checking the surveillance cameras, that was how he found them. Entwined in each other, breathing in and out in synch, looking for all the world like pieces of a puzzle that had finally come together to create a whole picture.

~One Month Later~

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, of course I'm not. You gotta get out of here and this is the best way to do it. C'mon."

"Eight-" hearing her code name come out of Billy's mouth always made a shiver run down her spine. One time, he had growled it when they were having sex and the orgasm that’d ripped through her when it happened caused her to see God.

She had been lovely.

"Four. I believe in you." Billy pulled up short as he heard those four words crackle through his earpiece. Then,

"You two need to cut the foreplay and figure out a legitimate way of getting the fuck out of this building before it blows."

"Hey, One? Why do you need to cockblock us at every opportunity?" (Y/N) laughed.

"Shut it Eight or I'm going to let you explode in this building."

"You would miss my witty banter though. No one else can keep up with you like I can."

"Correction, no one wants to keep up with him like you do." Was Five's dry reply as she prepped the medical gear sitting in the getaway car. Shrugging, (Y/N) couldn't find fault with that statement. With a final ding, the files finished uploaded to the flash drive. Pulling it out, she gingerly stepped over the four guards that had rushed to greet her.

Slipping into the hallway and gently closing the door behind her, she rushed down the hallway, looking first right, then left to see if Billy was there. She heard a thud to her right and drew her gun as she turned to aim it at whoever was trying to sneak up on her.

"Gotta say, I'm afraid but also a little turned on."

It was Billy at the end of her barrel, holding his arms high.

Holstering her gun she rolled her eyes, "When aren't you feeling like that?"

"Good point, it's been my constant state since you joined the team."

Laughing, she grabbed his hand and started running down the hall of the home of the mobster they’d been infiltrating. He’d been a kingpin in one of the biggest sex trafficking rings in the world. But they had busted him, and it, wide open. (Y/N) had just leaked all of his documents to the FBI and to all major news sites, while downloading a copy for herself. The rest of the team had been making sure she had clear access to the computer and had been extracted awhile ago, it was just her and Billy left.

As they raced down the hallway, they felt a rumble, then,

BOOM.

An explosion rocked the building, bringing them up short, as they looked at where the staircase used to be.

"Well, fuck."

Feeling something tugging her arm, (Y/N) looked away from the inferno to Billy tugging her towards the window, "Trust me?"

"Always."

Smiling back at her, he gripped her hand tighter as they both took off for the window. As a second explosion racked the building, the glass erupted as they launched themselves through the window, body's rolled tight as they aimed for the bunting on the building across from them.

~~~

"FUCK does that hurt. Jesus Christ."

"You do this every time I have to patch you up. Why aren't you used to this? Better question, why do I still patch you up?"

"Because it's how we fell in love in the first place and you love taking care of me."

"Shut up" was her mumbled reply. Billy smiled smugly as he snuggled deeper into the chair he was seated in.

After they had landed on the bunting, rolling and thumping onto the street, they’d pushed themselves up and leaped into the getaway car as Two peeled out and away from the smoking wreckage.

They hadn't even noticed the scraps and cuts they’d acquired until the adrenaline had flowed out of their system and Five was yelling at them, telling them what fools they were and how dumb could they be.

Laughing, Billy drank in (Y/N)'s bright eyes, her mouth stretched into a smile as she hurled insults back at One and flirted shamelessly with Seven. He had slipped a hand onto her thigh with the first wink she’d aimed at Seven. Ignoring the weight of his hand on her thigh, she continued their banter. With every remark, wink or playful nudge, he moved his hand up her thigh until finally,

"Your hand is basically on her pussy can you two please get a room." Three groaned.

Two smacked him as (Y/N) blushed furiously, batting Billy's hand off her leg as Billy laughed, flicking his tongue over his lips.

Getting back to HQ, they tumbled out of the van. Voices overlapping and mixing with each other as they stumbled back to safety, everyone ready for a well deserved rest. (Y/N) was listening to Five explain the latest state of the art medical equipment they’d gotten when she felt the roughness of Billy's palm engulf her hand. Smiling, she squeezed his hand, feeling his palm press harder into her own and giving her butterflies all over again.

"That's even grosser than earlier." Seven snorted at One's comment but felt a tug in his heart at how easily they had slotted themselves back together.

They had emerged from the room they’d been in a few hours later, only to be met by whooping, pats on the back, congratulations being passed around and One loudly declaring how impressed he was with how they "banged it out."

Rolling her eyes she’d put her hands up, "Listen. Before this goes any further I just want to let you guys know what my decision is."

Billy's head had snapped up at that comment. Eyes widening he felt his stomach drop, she’d never specifically said what she had decided on. Feeling unsteady, he braced his hands on the back of a chair, sure he was going to snap it with his grip.

The air in the room became thick with anticipation. Everyone stilled to hear what her final verdict would be.

"I'm in. All in."

Her words were meant for everyone but her gaze stayed glued on Billy. The smile that broke across his face was enough to make her smile as his lips connected to hers, the rest of the room breaking into cheers and whoops and then disgusted groans as Billy deepened the kiss.

Since then, she had fit into the dynamic of the team like she’d always been a part of it. This had been their first official mission with her on board and they were all pleased with how it went. One even offered her a compliment on her competency during the debriefing.

(Alright, so it was a backhanded compliment but that was as good as it was going to get with One.)

Now, she and Billy were back at their shared airplane husk at HQ. Billy's favorite part of their place was the cross-stitch she had done that said "Husk Sweet Husk" with an airplane underneath. It warmed his heart every time he saw it.

Billy was in a chair as (Y/N) sat next to him on the same stool she had perched on the first time he arrived at her apartment. Five had taken care of the larger cuts but she still liked to patch him up whenever she could. It made her feel closer to him and it allowed them to come down from missions together.

"Would you stop squirming? I swear, you're worse than a toddler."

"I'm just trying to keep your skills sharp, love."

"You're about to meet the sharp end of my knife if you don't stop fucking moving."

"And there's that sharp tongue I fell in love with."

"Oh shut up." She smirked as a blush climbed up her cheeks, causing Billy to lean forward and pepper them with kisses as she threw cotton balls at him.

"I give up! You're impossible and on your own to patch yourself up."

"C'mon love, don't be a baby." He snickered as he grabbed her hand to pull her into his lap.

Tucking her head under his chin she pouted, "You know that always works on me, that's not fair."

"Who ever said anything in this relationship is fair?" He tickled her sides lightly until he heard a giggle leave her mouth. Smiling he pressed a kiss to her head as she snuggled deeper into his chest. Winding his arms around her, he squeezed her close. Their breaths synching up as they watched the last of the sun dip below the horizon.

Five minutes or an hour later, she wasn’t sure, she finally shifted with the intention of getting up when she heard Billy hiss.

Looking up at him with confusion, she furrowed her brows, "What?"

"You can't do that, love"

"Why not?" Shifting again she felt something poke her and let out a gasp, "Is that-?"

"It's definitely not my gun so yes. I am very happy to see you."

Laughing she unfolded herself from his arms, "Okay, sorry. I won't do that unless we're spooning and then I'll just 'accidentally' wriggle my butt around until you get hard again."

"It won't take long." The husky quality of Billy's voice caused her head to snap up. His eyes were hooded, boring into her own. The air between them thick with lust.

It had been like this ever since they’d been back together. Everything was a sexual innuendo or an excuse to touch each other. Seven thought it was because of how sexually frustrated Billy was after not getting laid for so long but they both knew it was because they needed the reminder.

Every caress, touch, kiss and sigh against each other's skin was a reminder that this was real, they were with each other. Every time Billy would grab her hand under the table during a meeting a jolt of electricity shot through her.

And every time (Y/N) brushed up against Billy or laid a hand on his back to move past him, his cheeks would flush, remembering that she was close enough to touch and he could touch her any time he wanted.

Neither of them took for granted the simplest things anymore. Passing touches, kisses on the cheek, hugging, holding hands, it all signified something bigger for them. That they could reach out and touch each other whenever they could. Every morning that they woke up, entwined in each others arms was another day that was going to be good, because they had woken up where they belonged.

(Y/N) broke their gaze first, cheeks burning as she shuffled back and forth, "Umm, Mark texted me by the way. He, Mary and Jean are going to FaceTime with us later so we better not get too heated."

"Why does your brother cockblock me at every possible time?"

"Because I'm his sister, it's practically his job."

It’d been tricky to navigate the after-math of the discovery of Billy's demise. She knew that no one knew if she was dead or alive but after negotiating with One, she talked him into taking Mark and Jean onto the team. Which hit another snag when they found out that Mark and Mary had started dating.

One had thrown his hands up when this knowledge came to his attention and cursed the day he brought this, "cluster fuck of a circus" into his group. Begrudgingly he had allowed Billy's mom, sister, Mark and Jean to come to HQ. As soon as they stepped foot in the plane, he had put the fear of God into them about this job, the dangers and how it was of mortal importance they keep their "fucking mouths shut." At which point, he had gone to the door, flung it open and walked out, "Oh and by the way, here's the problem that started this whole mess." he called over his shoulder as Billy walked into the room, sheepishly holding his hand up in a meek wave.

(Y/N) had let him have that moment alone. She figured that would muddy the waters and besides, everyone in there already knew she was alive and okay. They deserved to have time with just Billy. To process, to understand. It had killed her to wait for them to emerge from the room but it had been worth it when she saw Billy and his mother emerge from the room, their eyes red rimmed from crying, arms around each other.

Mark and Jean worked remotely most of the time. One would call them in for missions occasionally but they stuck to ground work and passed information off to One when need be.

Mary and Billy's mom kept quiet, still letting everyone believe that Billy was dead but buoyed by the fact that they could FaceTime him whenever they wanted. (Y/N) also knew that One sent updates to Billy's mom whenever he could and paid for her to come out to visit Billy at HQ when they were between missions. It warmed her heart and made his snarky comments easier to put up with.

Sighing, Billy hauled himself out of the chair, ambling towards the bathroom, "Well, come on then, better make the shower sex quick." He clamped his hands down around her waist as he nudged them towards the bathroom as her laugh rang out, bouncing over the sand dunes.

~~~

"FUCK. BILLY!"

With a final moan, Billy came inside (Y/N), both of them breathing heavily as they came down from their highs. After cleaning up, Billy collapsed into the bed, unfortunately landing right on top of her.

"OOF. Billy, c'mon." Shoving weakly at his form she knew it was a lost cause as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck.

"S'comfortable. You should just try to be less comfortable to lay on top of."

"How would that even work?"

"Get rid of your boobs."

Gasping, her hands flew up to her chest, "You know these are the money makers!"

"Of course I know that, love. Seven and Three know it as well."

Smacking his shoulder they both chuckled. As their breathing steadied, Billy rolled off her, bringing her into his chest where they snuggled deeper into the blanket they shared. Just as their eyes were closing,

BANG BANG BANG

"C'mon you two. Quit fucking for two seconds, One has a new mission for us."

Groaning, she buried her face into Billy's chest, "Tell One he can go fuck himself."

"You can yourself, darling. In about two seconds."

Dragging her body from the warm nest they had made, she stepped into the first pair of sweatpants she found on the ground, "Remind me again why I agreed to do this stupid job?"

Feeling Billy's hands on her shoulders, she twisted around only to be met with a deep lingering kiss from him, "Because I love you. And I can't do this life, or any life, without you being right next to me."

Pressing her forehead against his she smiled, inhaling deeply, "I love you."

"I love you, too. Also I'm so going to beat you to the control room."

Wha-?" her sentence was cut off as Billy raced from their husk, sprinting across the sand as best he could. An indignant snort left her as she took off after him, their laughter bouncing over the sand. Billy glanced back at her and didn’t know which was brighter, the full moon hanging above them or the warmth that radiated from (Y/N)’s laughing eyes as she raced to follow him to the ends of the world. Reaching a hand out, she grabbed his own as he tugged her forward into their next adventure.

~~~

Tag List: @itsabenthing @vroboat @mrhoemazzello @gwendolyns-stacy @alliwantfromyouistomakelovetome @desperatelytryingtosavemyself�� @jonesyaddiction @xtrashmammalstefx @radiob-l-a-hblah @fairestkillerqueenofall @acciodallas @peter-sue-the-management

167 notes · View notes

dippinginthe4door · 4 years ago

Text

Undead Unhinged Song Backstories - Undead

[off set]

J-Dog: “Undead”, it's probably our most known song. That song, that was like, I don't know, we never expected it to be as big as it was. It's like, when the band first, like, we did our first record, we were done, and we were working with Interscope, and Jimmy Iovine, who I think is a badass dude, but he was like “your record is not done.” This was before “Undead”, “Young”, and like “Sell Your Soul”, and a bunch of songs were written, and we were like “no, fuck you, our record is done!” He's like “no, your not done. I need to find you another producer.” And I think they found us Danny Lohner, who, in my opinion, really helped shape our band, and help us find our sound a lot better, you know. He brought a lot of that industrial edge to it, and the heaviness, that, like, we all love. Now, we did “Undead” with him, and it's funny cause Jimmy Iovine was right, I was like “shit man, if we didn't have 'Undead' and certain songs,” like, I don't think our record would have been nearly as good as it was, band wouldn't have been as popular.

So, it's kinda interesting when you're – as an artist, you hear shit like that, you're like, sometimes these guys are right, sometimes they're wrong. In that situation, Jimmy Iovine was right, but we were just, like, pissed off, we're like “dude, this record is never coming out.” We're literally sh – the record was done in our opinion, we got shelved for like a year. We're like, we're all working regular jobs, and our record's done, we blew our advance, it's like – we were just pissed off, we're like “dude this shit is like – the band's over. It was fun while it lasted,” so we're like “write a song, where we're just saying 'fuck you' to, like, everybody in the industry,” and which is how we felt at the time, and obviously we still feel that way sometimes. But that song, was really – came from, like, the gut, and, uh, I don't know. Something you can probably never recapture.

A lot of bands have that first song, or first break-through, and people are like “why don't you do that again?” I'm like “you can't really do that again. It just kinda, like, happens naturally, and you try to do it again, it just comes off as corny.” Too many bands, they, like, try to recreate the same song over and over and like, I think we've made that mistake in the past, and it's not something we're, like, gonna do anymore. It's like, I'm not gonna make the same song twice, cause it's never gonna have that magic it had the first time, you know.

Charlie Scene: “Undead” was when we already had our whole record done. “Swan Songs”, our first record was pretty much done, and then – I forget, it got held back or something, from the label. Johnny probably knows the story better than I. Uhm, but it got held back, so “Undead” was just like a “fuck you!” to the, the whole record industry, and the record label, and just a lot of anger in that song, and, yeah, it's our biggest song to date.

It was also an Ozzy riff, too, that we wish we would've changed. But instead we pay 85% of whatever we earn off that song to good ol' Sharon and Ozzy.

Johnny 3 Tears: So, “Undead” you know, uhm, that's probably that song that everybody knows that we made, and it's funny 'cause “Undead” was like the last song we wrote for “Swan Songs”. You know, when you get signed – you sign to like a major label, you think, you've made it, like, uh, y'know, you worked so hard, and you got good at doing this or that, and someone's finally acknowledging you, they give you some money, and you're like “alright, I'm not poor anymore,” all the stuff, uhm, that's kinda what you think of it. And then once we were in the system itself, we went, we worked on a record for six months. We turned it in, and they said “no. We don't – we don't care for this.” “Well what do we do?” “We don't care. You're shelved.” Indefinite hiatus basically.

So, you have this record, you can't go make another record, or sign with somebody else 'cause you're stuck on this deal. So, these people, and I'm not gonna name names, but, uhm, they, uh, they basically stuck us on a shelf and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. So, uhm, when you realize, you know, a lot of people talk about record industry people and stuff, and what they say about them is absolutely correct from my experiences, they're – it's – if you're selling records they're your friend, uhm, if you're doing well, if you're making them money, they are your friend. But they are very, very quick to forget you once that stops, so, we got to this point where they didn't see any value with Hollywood Undead, and we were pissed 'cause A. you kinda believe – you're young and naive, you think these guys are your homies, uhm, and all of a sudden they don't remember your phone number. And it was one of those things where we were so fucking pissed 'cause we'd worked so hard to get to this point, only to be told “sorry, this is the end of the line.”

So we went in, and I mean you – you have to do – if you have that kind of fuel, that kind of hatred, and energy, and stuff, the best thing you possibly do with it is use it. So we wrote “Undead”, and that was, uh, it kind of our – our magnum opus against the record industry, uhm, which has kind of committed suicide ever since anyway because they're – so much corruption, and, you know, gouging of artists and stuff, so, it's kinda nice watching it die, but at that time it was alive and well, and, uhm, yeah, it was just, uhm, basically saying “fuck you”, uhm, to – to everybody who worked in our, uh, record label, who worked in the record industry, uhm, and uh, we got the last laugh, bitch.

Undead Unhinged Song Backstories - Masterlist

#hollywood undead #unhinged #j-dog #charlie scene #johnny 3 tears #undead

2 notes · View notes

prettycottonmouthlamia · 5 years ago

Text

Tokiomi vs Rin: An Analysis

Something you’ve probably seen if you’ve been a strange person like myself and read through a lot of Nasu’s ramblings is this: Gilgamesh would have really good compatibility with Rin as a Servant/Master relationship. This is notable because Gilgamesh’s and Tokiomi’s relationship is arguably the flat worst in all of Fate. It is disastrously bad.

Let’s first talk about Gilgamesh for a minute here. Gilgamesh is often seen as a somewhat uncaring individual, but I’d probably argue the exact opposite. With every characterization of Gilgamesh, we see new pieces into his personality and ideals. Strange Fake has one of the biggest giveaways for what I think is a central tenant of Gilgamesh as a whole. Gambling isn’t fun to him, because his Golden Rule guarantees he’ll win every time. Fortune is a pretty one-note item, honestly. It’s great for those who don’t have it or can’t keep it, but for Gilgamesh, money, and fortune very likely lost all of its value to him pretty early on. If there is a material side to Gilgamesh, it is in the items he collects in his Gate of Babylon, but those are very specifically the works of man. This is also an important note to recognize the differences between Hero Gilgamesh and King Gilgamesh. Hero Gilgamesh is inherently selfish. He sees man as being worthy by the works man creates and by their individual value to him. It doesn’t mean he sees man as disposable per se, but it is very much a selfish point of view. King Gilgamesh has a much better view of his people and literally works himself to death for them in Babylonia. These aren’t actually contradictory to each other. Hero Gilgamesh did kill both the Humbaba and Gugalanna, both being powerful creatures who definitely threatened mankind. Hero Gilgamesh just threw himself into the fray and probably was in danger of getting killed at points. It’s a matter of perspective.

The most important point to draw is that, in my opinion, the most valuable thing to Gilgamesh is people. Even his bat shit crazy genocidal plan in UBW (worth remembering he’s somewhat unhinged because of the Grail mud at this point) has notes of this: he wants to right kind of people to survive. People are not one-note like money is: they constantly create and produce, live interesting and meaningful lives, and are more powerful together than the sum of their parts. Humans are an enigma, and for a man who denounced his own divinity because of how much the gods annoyed him, its high praise.

So now let’s discuss Tokiomi. Tokiomi really is the model magus of magi, in pretty much every way. This includes the extent to which he cares about human life, which is pretty much zero. He sends one of his daughters away to be violently sexually assaulted, doesn’t really know how to properly engage with his other daughter, and only sends his family away because they might get in danger. It’s not entirely sure whether this was out of genuine concern for them or concern for his chances if they were caught or killed, but it is worth noting that its Kariya that saves Rin in F/Z, not Tokiomi. But he’s also a magus, and it is pretty consistently noted that magi don’t really care if you use humans in your magecraft research, only if you’re caught.

This makes his entreaty to Gilgamesh make much more sense. Tokiomi really is concerned about actual, physical damage. A demon rampaging throughout Fuyuki would be pretty much impossible to cover up. It’s not about people being safe, it is about them not learning about magecraft. It is destroying Gilgamesh’s garden, but why should Gilgamesh care? Plants are replaceable, and there aren’t typically people in a garden. Defending a garden of plants is not the king’s duty. The king’s, and the hero’s duty, is protecting people.

Rin, on the other hand, is probably completely the opposite. She gets no formal magi training which means that even though she tries to emulate the perfect magi, she never gets close enough. She’s not like her father. Her first major game-changing act in the Holy Grail War is to use her immensely powerful pendant in order to completely recreate Shirou’s heart. A person who she did care about on some level, sure, but it really was because Shirou was just an innocent bystander who accidentally got into the deep end of the pool. It was a genuine concern for another person’s life. I don’t doubt if Gilgamesh had been her servant rather than Archer that Gilgamesh would have definitely chided her in the open, but he very likely would have respected her decision even a little. Tohsaka, in direct contrast to her father, isn’t the perfect magus and does care about people, a lot, lot more than she tries to let on.

End rant. lmao.

#fate series #Fate/stay night #fate/zero #gilgamesh #Tohsaka Rin #tohsaka tokiomi #fate/strange fake #these are just rambles for the most part to explain nasu rambles

43 notes · View notes

giannimaldonado · 5 years ago

Text

Album Of The Day: Satan Is Watching

When most people born after a certain period of time think of the genre that is “country”, and what it has morphed into in the context of this day and age, a lot of unpleasant images spring to mind. Pretty boy, clean cut, poser rednecks who’ve never seen a farm outside of their music videos, trying to pretend to be another “honest Joe” when they couldn’t be any further from such a thing, making trashy, twangy glam rock mixed with watered down trap music/EDM for white southerners who might have interesting views on those of different races, rolling around in million dollar sports cars while adopting the moniker of “working class”...is probably what your mind immediately begins to conjure up in that brain of yours.

I honestly can’t say that I blame you. Country, or, at least, MAINSTREAM country, has lost its way completely. Luke Bryan, Brad Paisley, Tim McGraw, and Blake Shelton polluted this once proud, grassroots, amazing genre with pandering, trite garbage aimed at making money off of dumb hicks in the bodies of frat boys whose trucks cost more than your own damn house. Gone are the days when country music was filled to the brim talent, creativity, passion, and heart. Now, this “jock country” has taken its place, having thoroughly fucked country up the ass a few too many times that it has lost its way. For good, perhaps.

Underground country’s usually no better. There’s some exceptions (we’ll get to those soon), but for the most part, it, too, has gone off the rails and destroyed itself completely. It’s often just indie folk or what have you with even more acoustic guitars, though perhaps with more twang, whiny vocals that are trying (and failing) to recreate a stereotypical southern accent, a reliance on cheap gimmicks, sarcasm, and irony to carry their trash because the excrement can’t do that itself, and a musical quality that tries SO hard to imitate the great Mr. Cash, but is little more than a cheap, pale imitation that folks who wear WAY too much flannel and wire rimmed glasses will eat up like it’s the second coming of Joy Division.

No matter how you look at it, country has been thoroughly gentrified for the most part, just like many genres that were previously for a much different variety of people. Like trap music, or blues, or hardcore punk, or black metal. All of the original meaning is gone, driven out by money hungry label executives, clueless and ignorant listeners, and musicians hellbent on half-assing their way to fame and fortune.

It’s a crying shame, it really is.

But fret not, dear reader! There is still a soft, seedy underbelly of the country genre that has taken the long dead (yet forever revered and loved) sound of “outlaw shit”, as Mr. Jennings would put it so eloquently, to its most logical extreme. One that would make Nelson, Cash, Haggard, Coe, and others that might’ve been at the top of their “underground”, “anti-mainstream” game seem rather...accessible. These aforementioned artists and their peers are still greats who, in their primes, were powerhouses that made some of the greatest works the genre would ever produce. But when compared to this particular sound...they just don’t hold up as well. The rawness, the grassroots nature, the down-to-Earth (and sometimes below the Earth) attitude, the simplicity, the honesty, the bluntness, the intimacy, the melancholy...all of it gets turned way up to eleven. It’s dark, it’s mischievous, it’s harsh, it’s gritty, it’s angry, it’s bitter, it’s darkly humorous, it’s lonesome, it’s ornery, and it’s damn sure pretty fucking mean.

Call it whatever you want. “Southern gothic”, “dark country”, “death country”, “gothic country”. It doesn’t matter what name you apply to it. All that matters is that it’s country. Real fucking country. Country meant for the guttersnipes, punks, street urchins, hobos, peasants, and forlorn drifters. This ain’t pretty boy music. This isn’t nice, Christian contemporary that you can play at your local uptight establishment. These aren’t harmless tunes your the posers can get drunk and go mudding to. This is country as it was meant to be. The eptiome of the term “outlaw shit”.

There’s a plethora of wonderful bands in this scene. Sons Of Perdition, Sixteen Horsepower, whatever project Jay Munly’s got going on this time around, The Dead South, the early days of The Devil Makes Three, The Builders And The Butchers, Wovenhand, Ghoultown, Coffinshakers, The Pine Box Boys, and, of course, everyone’s favorite descendant of the Williams family tree. The third one, that is.

But all of those fall short of that truly, truly, TRULY horrific honky-tonk, old-time, folksy, backwoods atmosphere that this duo produces. One that hails from the isolated, empty thickets that lie out in rural Wisconsin. A mentally disturbed pair of “prophets of the country doom”, as they have decided to label themselves. A fine example of those who have gone completely mad, completely sad, and doing so makes them feel very glad. They revel in their craziness, and while no album sounds the same, each one is marred by a couple of recurring themes: humanity is worthy of being sent straight to the fiery depths, these boys are depressed beyond your wildest comprehension, a rebellion against both God and Satan, and a desire to document the lifestyle of society’s forgotten ones, hated ones, and feared ones.

Let me introduce you to Those Poor Bastards.

Fitting name for a couple of enigmatic, largely unknown, extremely obscure pair of men known simply as Lonesome Wyatt (impassioned orations and guitar-based melodies) and The Minister (everything else).

The Minister is completely anonymous, with no one having even seen his face, while all that’s known about Lonesome Wyatt is that he’s from Wisconsin, (probably) lives alone, and is likely of an unsound state of mind.

Why is that all important? Well, go listen to their albums, and then you’ll find out why these little intricacies are vital to the dynamic duo’s imagery, music, and cult status.

While all of their material is quite good in my opinion, today we’re going to look at my favorite album from them, and possibly my favorite album from any country artists EVER! Everyone, please proceed to throw on “Satan Is Watching.”

What you’ll first be met with Lonesome Wyatt letting out a loud, wild, manic screech that almost doesn’t sound...human. It’s not even a word. Just an unhinged howl like Lonesome Wyatt’s been possessed by some sort of demon from the pits of Hell, having taken over the “doomsday preacher boy” to spread the wicked gospel. A hell of a start to an album of any kind, let alone a country album. It’s bold, but it lets you know right off the bat that they aren’t fucking around. This is going to be a rough ride from start to finish, and you’ll be left quaking in your seat once Those Poor Bastards has pierced your mind, heart, and soul with their fiendishly unholy sound. A truly nihilistic piece of art about how this world is foul and wretched, and deserves to burn to a cinder.

But that’s just the first song.

Things only manage to get worse from there. Everything from songs about how Lonesome Wyatt’s a degenerate who revels in just how much filth and squalor he lives in, to songs (well, more like suspiciously suicidal rants) about how life is fucked and there’s just no point in living it anymore, to various “take that!” pieces towards lovers who have wronged him in times that have long since passed, presumably. Typical topics for country artists, but contorted and warped to the point where they sound like miniature horror stories being yelled and hollered by a crazy, top-hat wearing yokel than the struggles and strife that are endured by the common man/downtrodden fellow. Hell, there’s even a Johnny Cash cover! A twisted, perverted, scummy, bone-chilling, haunting, eerie take on the previously wholesome, innocent love song The Man In Black made for June. I can’t exactly look at it the same way, what with these mysterious hooligans having thoroughly butchered it.

Instrumentation is minimalist and simple. Nothing too fancy or technical here. It’s quite self-explanatory. Despite how evil it is, the rhythms are still toe-tappingly catchy. The drums, being pounded upon by the fiery hands of The Minister, provide anything from a nice, plodding beat you can stomp your feet to, all the way to a rowdy raucous of a banger that’ll have you doing some sort of line dance with the living dead. Lonesome Wyatt beats upon his acoustic guitar like it owes him money. Not even really playing it. Just smashing the strings until weird, disgruntled, odd noises come out of it. He also seems to thoroughly shatter his ability to talk without a sore throat, pushing his voice to its very limits. The bass compliments everything very well, providing a creepy, fuzzy, dirge-like texture in the background to keep the menacing tone alive and well.

All in all, while this may not “experimental”, “avant-garde”, or even “progressive”, this is certainly an album that’ll give you the heebie-jeebies, and for a country album, it is most certainly “out there”. It takes the usual country tropes, and either turns them into something out of a David Lynch movie, or subverts/plays with them to fuck with the audience and make them contort their face with confusion...and excitement. A spooky bit of acoustic noise that’ll restore your faith in country music, and remind you that there is still a small resemblance of a spark left within the dying genre.

Please, I highly recommend you check this out.

This has been another installment of “Esoteric Warfare”, and remember...

NOISE, NOT MUSIC!

#gothic country #those poor bastards

14 notes · View notes

ratherashleigh · 6 years ago

Text

supergirl 418 stuff in a list

for an episode filled with so much cringe-inducing schlock, i sure did have a good time!

What to Do with Kara Danvers?

it’s only taken four seasons but finally FINALLY supergirl using kara to hide in plain sight. the larger arc there is really working for me; kara has this whole identity at her disposal that she never gets to use because for some fucking reason every damn person knows who she is. (seriously, kara and lillian should have been a whole thing, kara and colville? KARA AND MAGGIE. honestly.) but the entire premise of superman and supergirl is that they hide in plain sight! clark at least is one of the people, and for all kara’s differences and difficulties, she’s been back with kryptonians now and she chose to come back. last season we had an entire run of how supergirl wasn’t all that kara was good for, and this glimpse of how useful kara as a construct is to kara’s capacity to do her job as supergirl couldn’t be coming at a better moment in the build up to it being ripped away from her relationship with lena. seeing kara trembling on the floor in pain as kara and knowing that that persona was the only thing keeping her safe? 😗👌.

supergirl with steve vs kara with steve was just so much.

i love willie garson and he was criminally underused here

the way steve held his pal’s hand when they had to lie down!

but watching her encounter people afraid and distrusting over and over again was fucking heartbreaking.

i still appreciate the point they’re making, that people will believe anything if they’re fed the right combination of evidence, but the show hanging a lampshade on how many possible other explanations doesn’t make it any less hilarious that there are four separate canon-based possibilities for alternative supergirls - bizaaro, shapeshifter, hologram, image inducer - and that doesn’t count alternative universe and the actual answer of a clone. the fact that there’s a publicly available device on the market right now in-world that could do this and there isn’t even a debate outside of those who know kara? laughable.

speaking of laughable, why do people continue to think shooting her with regular ol’ guns and bullets is gonna do a damn thing?

Who the Hell is Lex Luthor?

having an unhinged megalomaniac as the puppetmaster in your relatively nuanced story about public discourse and the climate of hate is... actually classic supergirl, so idk why i thought maybe anything better would come of this. i don’t love that his motivation has been shifted away from having any genuine root in his feelings about aliens and they chose to make him an outright psychopath threatened by anyone who might be better than him in any way. that this shift has also come at the cost of any faith that lena wasn’t psychologically abused her entire like is just the icing on the ‘thanks, i hate it?’ cake.

BUT ALSO, LEX IS A FUCKING MUSTACHE TWIRLING NUTBAG

the romanov’s execution date on a note in the chess piece?

lena’s nickname as a child was after anastasia?

the checkmate pattern being a reference to both AND the combination to the chessboard lock?

WHAT IS THIS, AN ESCAPE ROOM???

AND THEN THE DIARIES.

on the one hand, everything about this is the saddest thing ever for lena.

on the other hand, LEX IS A ILLUSTRATIVE JOURNALER, AND NOT A VERY GOOD ONE.

oh my god.

who actually wrote those diaries, and can they never be employed ever again?

HOW DARE THEY INSINUATE LENA WAS A HORSE GIRL.

this was the peak of what boils down to me feeling that on paper in bullet points this episode was probably great but in execution this show is a fucking low budget soap opera with dialogue writers to match.

and then the button to open his secret door was in the Personally Significant Location built into some artwork?

also lex going with leutemann's hannibal crossing the alps and not turner’s? what a loser.

(leutemann is an illustrator and the print they recreated actually has all that really clean line work, so it makes sense. but still.)

I WAS DYING. THEY WENT SO HARD.

everything about this was terrible but it made me laugh so hard, so i’m not even sure i’m complaining.

A Super and a Luthor Go On a Field Trip

SO YEAH THAT HAPPENED.

I WILL NEVER GET OVER THAT HALLWAY WALK.

OR THE WAY THEY BOTH KEPT BUCKING EACH OTHER UP.

even if lena was being the lost princess of Drama™️, kara was giving her a run for her pennies.

god this was just. a;ksjhdjka. i can’t believe how much effort they’ve finally bothered to put into restoring this relationship, except i absolutely can because it’s all gonna go to shit real soon, weeeeeeeeee!

just a side note, but lena should really invest in making the kryptonite shield at least as strong as the kryptonian it’s supposed to be protecting.

Unrelated to Anything

the next day, lena is in a brand new dress and alex was still in the same shirt, and i keep trying to imagine how the rest of that night played out. did they all have a sleepover at lena’s one bedroom apartment next door, just lena, alex, and their acquaintance supergirl?

i’m glad they alluded to the fact that the day they went to the prison was the next day, too, because otherwise i was going to accuse lena of changing outfits for their field trip

james going to therapy: literally everything i’ve ever wanted from this show?

that conversation with kelly and alex was the worst case of needing to put two people in a room together for Other Reasons i’ve ever encountered.

brainy and nia... also... existed.

i’m sorry. i am. i enjoy them when they’re in front of my face, most of the time, but this show doesn’t actually need comedic interludes, and it’s jarring. it’s so jarring.

“i don’t trust the press. i always parachute into crises like this without any context for the larger systemic issues at play.”

this line was so funny it almost justified how god awful everything about otis is in this episode. why... just, why

what’s with the show making all the sketchy fence sitters queer? the dean at lockwood’s university, now the prison warden? unneccessary.

was genuinely expecting the part when kara finds the SECRET TUNNEL to play out as follows: “lena?!” supergirl calls out into the room (this actually happened). there’s a pause, and supergirl grows concerned. and then. “kara, is that you?” supergirl’s concern intensifies.

#stuff in a list by me #supergirl spoilers

9 notes · View notes

ecfandom · 7 years ago

Text

New HC!!

Rehab AU

Lexa is a famed Hollywood director who is known for her evocative and thought provoking films. But she’s also known to be a lose canon and a little unhinged. She comes from a lot of hardship and busted her ass to get to the top, but not without...baggage.

That baggage explodes all over the floor when Lexa’s highly public breakup with her actress girlfriend is blasted all over the media. Lexa, known to drink and partake in things less than recreational, spirals into an all out bender. The media frenzy is UGLY.

Lexa hits rock bottom and is told that if she wants to continue working with this particular studio, she has to check into rehab. And when she does, the media forgets about her and she feels...alone.

And she’s always felt alone but maybe didn’t really notice it before? Or maybe she didn’t know it was loneliness. Maybe she thought that gnawing ache at her heart was just a product of who she was. But when she gets home after 6 months or rehab to her huge, empty house...well maybe she’s finally figuring out what lonely feels like.

But a day later when there’s a knock at her beach side mansion, she thinks lonely—anything, really—would be better than the girl standing at her front door with two suitcases and a box.

Clarke, as she comes to learn, is her mandatory, studio-appointed live-in post-rehab sobriety coach.

“You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

“Afraid not,” Clarke says, her smile never fading. But Lexa didn’t spend decades training to not know when someone was faking it.

Not for the first time, Lexa is grateful her house is so big. It means she only has to see Clarke during her three mandatory, nutrient-packs meals and her two fitness sessions. As someone who was used to her own specifically crafted 6-day a week workout routine, the mandatory sessions with Clarke are maybe the worst part of her infringement on Lexa’s life.

Clarke, somehow, is always smiling no matter what vitriol Lexa spews at her. She’s resilient, Lexa will give her that. And it’s nice, sometimes, to not always be so alone. Clarke’s hands are soft on her sweaty forehead when she wakes up from nightmares. Her voice is pleasant as it coaxes her back to sleep. Somehow, in the mornings after, Clarke always knows what Lexa wants to eat.

The more Lexa tries to resist, the more Clarke is there, and eventually, Lexa is too tired to keep fighting. The first time Clarke makes her smile is at the gym.

“Why don’t you show me YOUR routine this time,” Clarke says after an hour of Lexa’s typical moaning and groaning.

Clarke lasts all of twenty minutes and has Lexa’s lips twitching as she desperately tries to do a pull-up.

“A valiant effort.”

“I won’t quite.”

“Then for both of our sakes, let me help.”

Clarke let’s her take her by the hips and hoist her upwards. Lexa tries to ignore how nice the skin of Clarke’s hip bones feel beneath her palms.

Lexa still struggles. There are nights she thinks her skin might literally turn inside out if she doesn’t have a drink. It’s one of those nights and Clarke is at the store. Lexa wants so badly to run down to the gas station for some cheap liquor. A cigarette. Anything. But she thinks of Clarke’s face, how it would fall in disappointment the way it always does when Lexa broke any of her rules.

Lexa runs straight for the pool and jumps in, clothes and all.

The cool water soothes the pain down to a tolerable, dull ache. Clarke finds her there pretty quickly. She squats down by the side of the pool, a beautiful grin on her face as Lexa wades over to her. Lexa can’t quite keep herself from leaning into Clarke’s touch when the life coach runs her hand over Lexa’s forehead, pushing back a mess of wet hair.

“Whatcha doin?” She asks, and Lexa nearly loses herself in that sweet smile.

Lexa loves the balcony at night. It’s why she bought the house. The stretch of private beach, the waves against the rocky cliff side, the seagulls, the smell of salt and fish, the warm breeze. It’s all collides into perfection for nights spent on the balcony.

Clarke is licking ice cream off her fingers, has gotten to her pinky, before Lexa realizes she’s staring at the pretty girl with rosy cheeks and beach crazy hair. There’s nothing white like beach hair on the sweet, persistent woman.

Lexa clears her throat and looks away, picking at the skin of her thumbs. Clark’s hasn’t caught this bad habit yet, but Lexa has faith she will soon enough.

“Whatcha thinkin about?”

When Lexa looks up, Clarke is looking over at her, the fairy lights strung above their heads glistening in her eyes.

Lexa shrugs. “Just wondering when this will get easier. When I’ll stop craving everything that wants to put me in the ground. I’m just wondering when I stop being an addict and get to be a good person.”

“You’ll never stop being an addict, Lexa.”

It’s not said with malice, but still, somehow it’s hurts and it’s not what she was expecting. Not from Clarke. Her sweet, always smiling, always encouraging Clarke.

“You just have to train yourself to be addicted to something good for you. But you’ll never stop being and addicted. Once and addict, always an addict...”

It rings too personal for Lexa to miss. She looks up but Clarke isn’t looking at her anymore. She’s looking off across the ocean and seems like she’s miles away.

“Are you...” Lexa starts to ask, but Clarke shakes her head.

“I loved an addict. And he died. For a while, I thought it’d kill me too.”

Lexa doesn’t know what to say. Not that she could if she did. Not with her heart in her throat. Clarke loved an addict once. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. Nodding, mostly to herself, Lexa excuses herself for the night and convinces herself that Clarke could never love her. It’s better that way.

If Clarke feels any differently about Lexa after their talk, she doesn’t show it. Lexa, however, can’t meet Clarke’s eyes.

It doesn’t take long for Lexa to remember what lonely feels like. Clarke is right there, but somehow, Lexa feels so alone.

Her therapy sessions are getting harder. She can tell Clarke senses it on their rides back. It’s on these rides in particular that Lexa wishes she could have her license back already.

Her therapist is ruthless and leaves no stone unturned.

“It’s time to talk about Aden, Lexa.”

Clarke sits there silent, for ten minutes, just staring out the window, challenging, refusing to talk.

“He was five when he died. You were?”

Lexa clenches her jaw.

“Fifteen, is that right?”

“I won’t talk to you about him. I won’t.”

“It was your birthday. You went to your family’s lake house. You didn’t know he had wondered down to the shore after dinner.”

“Stop.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Your parents, they shouldn’t have been drinking—“

“Enough!” Lexa doesn’t know she’s stood up until she finds her therapist looking up at her. She storms out, nearly breaking the front door as it slams open. Clarke jumps at the sight of her, jumping up to catch Lexa by the shoulders.

“Lex, hey, what’s—“

Lexa’s crying. She never cries, but she is. She’s crying and shaking her head and saying, “I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

“Okay, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Clarke soothes, her hands now on Lexa’s cheeks. “Let’s get you home.”

Lexa sleeps for nearly twenty four hours. When she wakes and wanders into the living room, Clarke is waiting for her with a plate of fruits and veggies and cheeses. She’s made Lexa’s favorite smoothie. Her hair is down and wet, her cheeks flushed from a warm shower she must have just finished. Her shirt is thin and airy and she looks so wonderfully soft. Lexa relaxes as soon as she sees her.

“I made your favorite.” Clarke holds up the glass with a sort of nervous hopefulness to her that makes Lexa smile.

“Thank you.” She takes it and sips from it. It’s perfect and it makes her laugh.

Things aren’t fixed, but they’re better. Lexa has nightmares every night for two weeks, but somehow it feels like detox. Like after all the pain, she will finally find some closure.

It comes, or starts to, one night on the balcony. Clarke is sipping on a coke, Lexa on her healthy, fruit infused water, courtesy of Clarke.

“Who’s Aden?”

Clarke says it with no warning and Lexa quite nearly chokes on her strawberry water.

“You say his name. In your nightmares.”

“Clarke—“

“You don’t have to tell me. I just thought...it might be nice to talk about it.”

“The way you talk about your addict?” Lexa bites back.

Clarke pales and Lexa immediately regrets it. She gives an inch. “If you can’t talk about your dead boyfriend, don’t ask me about my dead brother.”

Clarke looks up at her, some shade of surprise on her face. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“Your husband then.”

“My father.”

“Oh.” Lexa shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I thought.”

“That’s why you left.”

“What? I never—“

“Maybe not physically, but you did leave. We had something, and I was just getting around to beating myself up for the ethical dilemma of it all, but you fixed that for me when you woke up one day and acted like you couldn’t even stand the sight of me.”

“I—“ but Lexa doesn’t know what to say. She shakes her head, trying to put it all together. Clarke liked her? Clarke LIKED her. And Lexa...Lexa messed it up. “You liked me?”

“You didn’t know?”

Lexa shakes her head.

“I think I may have been falling for you.”

“What?”

“You’re surprised?” Clarke asks with a chuckle. “Look at you.”

Lexa does which only makes Clarke chuckle again.

They sit there quiet for a while. Lexa’s still processing when she says, “He was five when he died. He was my baby brother. He should be graduating high school this year. But I couldn’t save him.”

“Lexa--”

“I turned to the very thing that killed him. My parents were drunk, and I turned around and fell right into line. What kind of bullshit? I mean, come on. Talk about bottom of the barrel.”

Clarke’s hand falls to her knee and Lexa nearly startles at how soft and gentle it is wrapped around her thigh. “Tendencies towards addiction are often hereditary, Lexa. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I can.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“Clarke—“

Lexa’s eyes fill with tears as she shakes her head. “I could have saved him. I should have noticed sooner. I should have been watching him.”

“You couldn’t have known, Lexa. Oh, sweet Lexa.” She grips Lexas face in her hands and wipes at her tears. “You don’t deserve this kind of agony. You don’t.”

“He was just a baby.”

“And you were just a child. A child, Lexa.”

Lexa swallows, staring into Clarke’s now wet eyes. She’s never seen anyone so beautiful.

They fall asleep on the balcony together that night, Lexa’s head in Clarke’s lap, Clarke’s fingers in her hair.

It takes a two weeks for them to end up on the balcony at night together again. Clarke’s in the pool, Lexa at sitting on the edge with her feet in the water.

“I didn’t cheat on Costia,” she says suddenly.

“What?”

“My break up. The media. They said I cheated on her. I didn’t. I would never.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, frowning at her with a smile.

“I just needed you to know that.”

Clarke smiles again something small and sweet. “Okay.”

“Do you believe me.”

“I do. But does it really matter?”

“It does.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I was falling for you too.”

Clarke swallows, and wades over until she’s standing almost between Lexa’s legs. “And now?” She asks, her eyes cast down. Her eyelashes are sprinkled with water droplets and it makes Lexa’s breath catch.

“Now...I’m just hoping I don’t hit the ground before you catch me.”

Clarke laughs and it sounds like pure joy.

“Do you think...I could maybe kiss you?”

“Please,” Clarke breathes.

Lexa scoops her up under the arms and and hauls her into lap. The kiss isn’t great because neither of them can stop smiling, but it doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke chuckles, pulling back. “Can we do that again?”

Lexa grins and leans in, and this time, it’s perfect. When she pulls away to catch her breath, she can’t help but think back to Clarke’s words.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I can’t smile after kissing the most wonderful girl I’ve ever met?”

Clarke grins as she shakes her head.

“Alright. Well, I was just thinking.”

“What were you thinking?”

“That I could spend the rest of my life being addicted to you.”

#rehab au #clexa

270 notes · View notes

blarghsandblurbs · 2 years ago

Text

It’s too easy

To dream

Of a universal you

Body filled with stars

Do we only change when we no longer know who we are?

When we beat our heads against the wall

Bleeding from a cracked skull

Until the truth paints our visions red

Is that the key?

Why would the mind protect itself?

Ripping one layer off at a time

It’s a mental trap and prison

When we can’t face the reality of what we’re given

Let me crush the realities

Like leaves in the palm of my hand

It warped and twisted me indefinitely

I can feel a teardrop leaking down slowly

Was it an authentic gesture of what’s inside?

Or am I so tired I just cry?

Fading daylight passes into night

And the world breathes deep

Let me trail off aimlessly

Staring at the ceiling

Like a tilted shadow in the night

Wondering when I will live truly

Indefinitely being defined by an existential circumstance

Similar to twenty years ago

A triumphant return to my teens

Only now I don’t rip my throat open

I remember screaming so loud I spat up blood

And progress was swallowing it whole instead

I remembered being crazy

And that sharp perception turned into a weaponized intelligence full of sharp empathy

I see the sickness

So twisted

The only thing that saved my soul was a crippling conscience

A sense of duty and obligation to do “right”

And if I didn’t get it perfect I should die

Because the sins I create

Are just too enormous

That twisted cage of thorny vines

Crown me with them

And if I make one wrong move

Lacerate my flesh and tell me I don’t deserve life

Because if I did not

I would have crossed lines so deeply and untangling

There would have been no hope

But I can’t live this life

Give me the shears as I’ve shorn at my skin

Nails digging in and tear at my flesh

A relief to feel the burning sensation

There’s no going back

Dear one

Lust sex sin masturbation

I remember wanting it

Beat me bruise me punish me tear me down inside

Press your fingers to my lips that bite down

Call me whatever

I won’t go back

A bird free from a cage

Takes to a sky wild

I never cared if my wings were broken

I’ll flap them madly and reach new heights

Taste me taste you

How am I alive?

What is this cold rationale?

The desperation never ceased

It drove me wild

I’m untamable power

Self restraint is all I have

Shoot me in the foot and raise the gun and stare down the barrel

Shoot you between the eyes

I’ll never forgive you

It’s already done

There’s no hope now

It was done

I’m not going to

I’m remembering what occurred

Right

I blew up that life

Fragments blur together

A hellfire I blew up

I’m twisted and insane

Calculating to a fault

And that little voice inside screams

“Do no wrong!”

The disabling guilt shatters me to the floor and pushes me to pass out

Destructive creation

The primordial force

I know my problem now

As I look at it all unhinged and figure it out

It seems like a joke now

I can’t help but laugh somehow

As I cry out

I used t insanity like a perfect weapon

I could ask

“What is this shit?”

At least I’m aware now

Turn around

Pour gasoline and light it on fire

It’s useless now

What does it matter to understand it now?

It’s better as ashes

Do I sink into it or rip it out?

Neither method worked

I’m the queen of destroying myself to recreate myself

I’m too tired now

How many lifetimes and how many times

Does a queen have to rebuild an empire

To prosper

8.15.22

0 notes

secret-diary-of-an-fa · 6 years ago

Text

AHS: Cult Revisited (Spoiler Warning: It Sucked Then and It Sucks Now)

SOME CONTEXT: Since I discuss the politics of AHS: Cult in the following article, new readers should probably know that my own politics are leftist and generally liberal. As such, it’s worth bearing in mind that part of my annoyance with the series does stem from the fact that most of its liberal, left-leaning characters are inadvertently written as total bell-ends. Most of my annoyance, however, comes from the issues I’m about to discuss.

SPOILER WARNING: Lots of spoilers ahead.

I’ve been re-watching American Horror Story: Cult, despite the fact that it’s the absolutely worst season of the anthology series, because some family members wanted to see it and I wanted to sit in and crow about where it all went wrong. And you know what? I’d forgotten how deceptively good the first half of the series actually is. It’s funny, unsettling and camp in that way that only AHS can be, and it contains lots of satisfying moments where absolute bell-ends get punched in the fact or killed with gym equipment. When I reviewed it about a year ago, I kind of forgot that there was the root-system of a decent TV show buried under all the crap. Y’see, the thing about AHS: Cult is that it’s only a shitshow in retrospect. After you’ve chewed your way through the increasingly dumb and unsatisfying second half of the series, you reach a conclusion that renders 99% of what you’ve just seen completely pointless: a whole lot of sound and fury signifying fuck-all.

The core of the problem is Kai, the blue-haired cult-leader supervillain and psychotic clown enthusiast who serves as the series’ antagonist. The motivations that he pretends to have in the first half of the series are way more interesting than the real motives that he’s revealed to have in later episodes. You see, early-episodes Kai is deliciously complicated an apolitical. He doesn’t celebrate Trump’s election to president because he thinks a Cheetos-hued former gameshow host will actually make a good president, but because his presence in the White House will spread fear and chaos that Kai can use to his own ends. He’s like a less slapstick-y version of the Joker, revelling in chaos and collective national misery and only allying himself to one side or the other so far as it promotes those things. In some places, his ideology seems downright and actively non-partisan. There’s a bit where he talks to a downtrodden and much shat-upon news reporter about her anger as a black woman in Trump’s America and legitimates her rage- which feels like “wanting to be the last person alive on Earth- because then you got to watch every other motherfucker die first”. He recruits a buff gay guy by killing his homophobic boss. On the other hand, he also gets a disenfranchised prospective Trump-voter on side by reminding him how he’s been told he’s obsolete and irrelevant because he’s a working class white male. In the early series, Kai’s ideology doesn’t seem to have much to do with left and right: his message is more along the lines of ‘modern America is a worthless shithole that fucks everybody over, regardless of politics or demographic, so let’s burn the whole thing to the ground and put me in charge’. It’s genuinely compelling to watch... and then the second half of the series happens and it turns out Kai was basically lying about all this complex motivation. He’s actually just a misogynist who wants to hurt women. Well, fuck. And there was me thinking we were getting an interesting and nuanced character who walked the line between villain and sympathetic protagonist. Nope- apparently he’s just a jerk. That’s a pretty accurate portrayal of the way sociopathic cult leaders work in real life, but it’s not very narratively compelling.

Here’s the trouble. I know plenty of jerks in real life. I don’t find them fascinating. I don’t think they make interesting viewing. They’re not good TV: they’re just fucking morons in need of a good, hard slap. I get what AHS: Cult is doing- it’s making the point that cult leaders and far-right, regressive politicians can seem more complex and compelling than they really are in order to get what they want before they reveal their true colours. It’s an allegorical warning against charismatic, evil, morally-bankrupt politicians like Trump. And that’s a fine point to make, in an online article or a short story or... well, basically any media that doesn’t have to keep me entertained for 10-12 hour-long episodes. AHS: Cult chose to make a point instead of making a consistently good, watchable TV show. And that’s a problem.

Of course, Kai’s increasingly tedious and stupid character isn’t the only problem. AHS: Cult wants to be all feminist and get you to root for its oppressed, trod-up women. Which would be great, if its female characters weren’t mostly loathsome dipshits. There’s Ivy, who deliberately gaslights her lesbian wife and drives her mad. There’s Meadow, who more or less embodies the concept of vapid self-absorption, seems to start improving as a character, and then commits suicide before she can become genuinely sympathetic. There’s the reporter who starts off sympathetic but who ends up egging Kai on to greater feats of cruelty and chaos (when she finally turns against him, it’s not because she has a moral epiphany, it’s because he decides to consolidate power rather than go with her plan of causing as much random destruction as possible). Oh, and then Valerie Solanis and her ‘SCUM’ cult turns up and starts butchering men (and any woman who doesn’t hate them to a sufficient degree) while spouting grandiose horseshit. In fairness, the grandiose horseshit comes from her book, ‘The SCUM manifesto’, which is a real thing that actually exists... but bringing it up just serves to make Kai’s eventual adversaries seem as crazy as he is, just when the narrative needs them to seem like a heroic alternative. How so? Well, it was written by a literal schizophrenic just before she tried and failed to assassinate Andy Warhol.

After episode seven, AHS: Cult is increasingly framed as a struggle between Kai’s far-right misogynist cult and his former supporters’ self-justifying revenge-oriented cult-within-a-cult of revenge. Who are apparently preferable because... reasons maybe? Well, at least they’re not out for world domination and don’t give their recruits names like ‘Speed Ball’, which is something.

The final issue is Ally. Poor Ally. She starts off as a slightly pathetic, slightly pampered but basically decent person. She’s a left-wing liberal and broadly on the side of good, even if her many phobias do prevent her from getting her shit together. After wife Ivy steals their son from her using Kai’s cult, Ally goes through a pretty good character arc and learns to conquer her fears in order to save her son from Ivy’s increasingly unhinged grip. She’s basically the show’s happy ending waiting to happen... and then, in the very last fucking scene, she dons a green hooded robe and takes up the mantle of the leader of the deranged SCUM cult. Because of course she does. Because we couldn’t just have one likeable, uncorrupted character, could we? She reacts to the traumas she has survived by recreating a secret organisation that already demonstrated its impotence in changing the world and will definitely cause more trauma for other people down the line. For some reason, the show seems to think this is some kind of victory.

AHS: Cult has a lot of good ideas and interesting characters, which is why the first half of the series is so compelling. Unfortunately, it squanders them one by one, until we’re left with a left with a bunch of petty, simple-minded jerkoffs playing tug-of-war for the nebulous, symbolic prize of cultural dominance. Maybe that’s an accurate portrayal of our echo-chamber-fuelled, divisive, crude political landscape. Tragically, I fear that it is. But it isn’t good TV.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer #AHS: Cult is rubbish

1 note · View note

imadethisatage11 · 3 years ago

Text

Live-blogging my reaction to Spiral: from the book of saw

Spoilers under the cut

TL;DR: my overall review is that it was good but I’m going to go watch DPS to cleanse me

- ok so that woman got robbed and for what

- I had to pause to find out who this detective’s actor was Bc it was driving me nuts and it’s MCMURRAY FROM LETTERKENNY???

- love that they’re gonna fuck up this train conductors day lmao

- LOVE genuinely that we’re back to looking gritty and having an old tv play the video and having some rapid cut camera work early 2000’s vibes I embrace you

- why does the voice sound like that,, I wasn’t expecting John but why is it so non threatening now it’s literally just Some Guy™️

- I am glad I paid $15 to listen to Chris Rock talk about Forrest Gump. Worth my money and I mean it genuinely I love Chris Rock he’s great. Stream Everybody Hates Chris on Hulu

- “Z?” Zeke who just had his cover blown: this MF

- “do I look like a fucking Jamaican nanny?!” I- 😀🤚🏽

- ayo Max Minghella

- Chris Rock falling just short of being convincingly aggressively cynical Bc he is Chris Rock with the voice of Chris Rock

- it sounds like he’s setting up jokes that don’t have punchlines and instead they’re just like,, mediocre cynic cop dialogue

- while looking at some pretty fucking intact teeth: this bum is gonna be pretty hard to ID

- I mean I guess the homeless don’t have dental records but were you not even gonna try?

- I’m very pleased Chris Rock put on gloves before handling the strange package I love actually smart character choices that would make sense for them to make

- I.e. the cop knows how to properly handle unexpected unmarked packages delivered to the precinct

- “I thought the jigsaw killer was dead” “well if it’s another copy cat…” another wait is that referring to Logan (which Logan pinned on the other coincidentally crooked cop whose name I’ve forgotten) does that imply Logan only did like? The one trap? And hasn’t been active? Just waited ten years after John died recreates the one trap he was in and then stops?? I mean don’t get me wrong if movie wants to ignore Jigsaw (2017)’s existence I’m game but like what

- also why do the packages look like they’re wrapped in Tiffany boxes lmao

- oh yay they did run dental

- Chris Rock is an asshole but they should go with protocol if that’s what they’re doing

- ordering a man mid piss out of the men’s room to yell at Zeke

- does conflict of interest matter when the whole precinct knows the victim?

- uncomfortable stand-offs with your ex while at the home of a grieving friend

- Samuel L Jackson!

- “I could’ve killed you!” “What are you talking about, I have the gun!” *SLJ pulls a gun out* “I could’ve killed you”

- daddy issues

- “you think this is linked to John Kramer?” Bruh you think it’s NOT??

- ik this is SO far fetched but I rlly hope this movie tells us wtf happened to Dr Gordon. I’m sure it won’t but a girl can dream

- “should we tell Zeke?” “Fuck him” I get you guys don’t like to work w him Bc he’s an ass but like. You’re just not doing your jobs now you’re just proving he’s right that you’re untrustworthy

- splitting up and not telling ppl where you’re going is the number one way to get kidnapped or murdered but way to go cop instincts

- what is this Chinese finger trap ass shit

- love the blue tones tho very Saw

- all it needs is to become uncomfortably green

- fun fact I actually watched the first saw w my friend who is red green color blind and he said it looked AWFUL and I was like oh yeah everything is blue tinted like twilight blue tint and later it’s green just FYI (he thought that made significantly more sense than whatever shit ass color palette he was perceiving)

- being mad at your son for turning in a dirty cop Bc now you’ll have to mess with internal affairs

- and then assaulting someone??? SLJ is an even worse asshole lmao

- another Tiffany box bound in twine maybe it’ll be one of those cheesy diamond heart necklaces

- HELLO what is that ugly ass pig puppet

- also the voice is so stilted did the killer use fuckin text to speech so they couldn’t unscramble the voice like they did to Hoffman?

- cops finding dead pigs, a little on the nose

- oh so this dude has a history of “fuck it” ok well screw that guy then

- SLJ deserves to be pissed at that cop for letting Zeke get shot but like what an unhinged man he threatened to kill him and then actually assaulted him HOW did he EVER get in charge to begin with

- ok wait is Zeke actually the only decent cop (inc his dad but maybe excluding the newbie)

- that is a truly gruesome way to lose fingers tho I must say but he deserves that shit

- wait did the trap not go fast enough or was there a way for him to do that faster and I missed it

- like should he not have hesitated Bc there was a time limit or was it just rigged

- cuz the machine had to pull them off he couldn’t just cut them quickly

- so are they just gonna leave broken leg Dude there or

- also just now I tried to talk abt this movie (so far) vs Jigsaw (2017) to my mom and I got too excited and referenced some character names she didn’t know and she shut me down and said she didn’t care 😀

- live-blogging to my, like, five followers that compromise one one (1) person that knows me IRL, one (1) Sawtual, and a handful of ppl only here for my main DPS content to fill the void of emotional parental neglect. What a great website

- oh no did the rookie die :( he was actually sweet

- I feel like he was too important to kill offscreen tho

- like they’re TELLING us he .. was skinned.. but was he REALLY

- Chris Rock having a revelation: AH FUCK

- everyone else at the crime scene: ….

- favorite thing abt movies that were already gonna be rated R is when they’re like “well if we’re already at R we might as well say fuck”

- she has to SEVER HER SPINAL CORD? Why was she deemed the biggest asshole

- also how on earth was this trap portable it IS in their basement right

- transporting the hot wax is just what gets me

- Chris Rock rn: are you tired of being nice? Don’t you just wanna go apeshit?

- was this abt his dad the whole time???

- does it count as live blogging when I do one big post instead of several small ones lol I just want it to be avoidable for ppl who are just here for Dead Poets Society

- man’s fully abt to cut his arm off like barely even hesitated long enough to notice the bobby pin he could pick the lock with

- there’s a body here suspended

- not hanging mind you

- but covered and suspended

- and I bet it’s the newbie

- ah damn it’s Pete that’s disappointing

- it’s possible the trailers just made him seem more important than he was

- why are they punishing Zeke for reporting a dirty cop and having his career accordingly ruined like he did the right thing and already suffered for it? This killer doesn’t like crooked cops?? Why does Zeke have to be tortured by hearing this dude die like that’s what they want isn’t it?

- I think it’s too late pal

- the glass trap was pretty fucking cool though

- I KNEW HE WAS ALIVE

- I didn’t think he was a MURDERER but I KNEW he was alive

- OH SHIT THE DIRTY COP ZEKE TURNED IN KILLED NEWBIE’S DAD??

- I’m terrible at guessing endings but it makes viewing more fun

- honestly,, do it Chris Rock ACAB

- “you want me to kill cops?” “No, fuck no, just the bad ones”

- what a fun villain though

- I have no idea what the Ultimate Game Plan™️ is here though is he gonna make him kill his dad? I mean his dad does suck but making a dude KILL his DAD? That is a tall order Max Minghella

- ok but literally why wouldn’t you listen to him here shoot the target??

- ANGIE! It WaS aNgIe

- killing this man is not correct justice anyway Zeke

- shot the target! Good man

- groovy of them to play the Hello Zepp soundtrack rn

- oh shit what’s going on SLJ knows what it is

- oh.. w o w. Brutal way to go. Very heavy handed imagery

- and that’s all I guess who the fuck knows what’s up w Doctor Gordon

- and I guess Max Minghella is just gonna get away now but tbh Chris Rock only seemed truly mad at him for involving his dad

- nice rap remix to the OG Hello Zepp score very cool credits music

#spiral #spiral from the book of saw #live blogging #spiral 2021 #mini vent

1 note · View note

bakechochin · 6 years ago

Text

The Book Ramblings of June

In place of book reviews, I will be writing these ‘book ramblings’. A lot of the texts I’ve been reading (or plan to read) in recent times are well-known classics, meaning I can’t really write book reviews as I’m used to. I’m reading books that either have already been read by everyone else (and so any attempt to give novel or insightful criticisms would be a tad pointless), or are so convoluted and odd that they defy being analysed as I would do a simpler text. These ramblings are pretty unorganised and hardly anything revolutionary, but I felt the need to write something review-related this year. I’ll upload a rambling compiling all my read books on a monthly basis.

The Man Who Was Thursday - GK Chesterton I bought the Penguin English Library edition of this book mainly because of a tweet that I saw slagging off the cover, saying that the sticks of dynamite in the cover pattern looked like tampons and that 'this could have been avoided if only one woman had looked at the cover’; this irritated me a lot because I know for a fact that the cover was in fact designed by a woman (Coralie Bickford-Smith, to be precise, an artist whose similar works I am also a good fan of), and I wanted to own this edition simply so that I could prove to myself and others that this is the case. However, whilst the cover of this book is indeed very pretty, the texts published in the Penguin English Library collection do not possess the handy introductory chapter at the beginning that the Penguin Classics include, and thus with no frame of reference, I was at something of a loss to describe this book. It is certainly an interesting read insofar as it seemingly refuses to stay as one genre for the whole book. The blurb describes it as a ‘strange and haunting novel’, and at the beginning, this is very appropriate; it depicts a sensationalist image of villainous anarchists and zealous unhinged detectives that is incredibly compelling, and I hold that the character descriptions of the members of the Council of Days (as introduced in chapter five) make for some of the best writing that I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. By fuck is Chesterton great at characterising these dudes. The blurb describes the novel as a spy thriller, and all seemed to be going well on this front, with a melodramatic but consistent tone maintained for around the first half of the book, with some great twists scattered here and there for good measure. But then things start getting a tad daft, and I’m going to spoil a bit of the plot here because you need to understand how off the rails this shit gets. The adventure grows to involve much of the main cast of antagonists being revealed to be policemen in increasingly convoluted disguises, ridiculously overblown chases in different countries with the stakes being continuously raised in the stupidest and funniest ways, and the main antagonist, built up as a grand unknowable titan of crime and anarchy, escapes the protagonist by leaping over a balcony ‘like an orang-utan’, riding away on a rampaging elephant that he broke out of the zoo, and finally evading capture by flying away on a stolen hot air balloon. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of this sort of shit as a general rule, but by fuck does it seem incongruous in a novel such as this, that is so clever and so beautifully written and, whilst containing its few bits of sensational ridiculousness (as an overt parody of the genre or its tropes), generally quite a serious read. Similarly to The Heat’s On, if this book had just kept on the rails or channelled its madness into chaos that stayed within the genre’s boundaries, instead of just throwing its hands up into the air and screaming, ‘fuck it, put in an elephant chase scene!’, I’d have enjoyed it a lot more. As it is, it reminds me of the overblown nonsense of the 007 stories - this is a novel for dads, I reckon. After finishing this book I then found Beaumont’s introduction to the text, which describes the text as ‘antirealist’, and cites Chesterton’s description of ‘great works which mix up abstractions fit for an epic with fooleries not fit for a pantomime’. As a concept, I can fully get behind this - the juxtaposition of heroics and farcical nonsense puts me in mind of high burlesque, and I’ve always been fully against realism because fuck that noise. But you can’t stick with the idea of this book being wholly antirealist if it takes place in a world recognisable as our own and then suddenly changes to be ludicrous and laughable; that’s just inconsistent, and indeed mildly vexing when I was fully engrossed in the sensational spy thriller. Furthermore, attempting to justify this book’s content by saying that it is reminiscent of a ‘nightmare’ is a bullshit defence, because a) the word ‘nightmare’ could simply be used in reference to this book’s negative depiction of a world in which anarchists triumph in their nasty villainy, and b) it’s difficult to keep the idea of this book’s world supposedly being a dream forefront in one’s mind when it, as mentioned above, represents a view (albeit a sensational one) of reality, with dream nonsense hardly being a part of it at all. That is, of course, until the very end, when the book gives up all pretence of being a spy novel and instead wallows in metaphor and overt Christian imagery before ending abruptly. The ending is bullshit and I don't like it.

Dead Souls - Nikolai Gogol I’ve often cited Gogol as one of my favourite authors, but for the longest time I stayed clear of this book, somewhat daunted by whether what I loved about Gogol’s short stories would translate well to a novel form. This is a different beast to his short stories, but no less interesting to talk about, and indeed possessing many of the short story’s positive attributes, for all of the excellent writing, characterisation, and understanding of the fun nuances of society abounds here as it does in his shorter works. Apparently Gogol was attempting to recreate the structure and overall vibe of The Odyssey and other such Homeric epics in prose form, and although the overall setting and storyline does not reflect the grand awe-inspiring epics of the past, I’ll be buggered if the story’s writing and tone doesn’t somehow achieve it. This is not, despite what some critics have said, due to Gogol’s tendency to ramble on about unrelated digressions (a device apparently comparable to Homeric epics), or at least it didn’t stick out to me as such when I read it - that’s just kind of what Gogol does. No, it’s the writing and tone, as mentioned above, that seems to ape the Homeric tone, in such a way that you wouldn’t notice its explicit presence until after you’d been informed of it, and yet when you are aware of the Homeric influence you see it everywhere clear as day; I’d call it an ineffable concept but that’s just me trying to cover up for the fact that I can’t find the words, because I’m bad at writing these things. But I digress. Gogol’s excellent means of conveying character voices shines as always in this text, but I can’t feel like I’m missing the extent of it because I’m reading it in English. The introduction by Robert A Maguire describes Gogol’s extensive research into ‘all the prosaic rubbish of life, all the rags’, and makes efforts to incorporate such minor details as regional slang, official jargon, outdated terminology, etc. into his characters’ voices, but I fear that I’m missing some of the nuances of these techniques by my lack of knowledge in these fields or that some of the subtleties in language don’t translate as well as they ought to. Of course there are some characters which exemplify Gogol’s skill at diverse voices, such as some of the peasant muzhiks and one of my favourite characters Nozdryov (who draws from a wide array of sources for his dialogue with hilarious results), but there are some instances in which the character voices seem somewhat interchangeable, especially considering how a lot of individual personality is often subsumed by the necessity of upholding social decorum, and thus there are many characters who only speak in refined socially acceptable manners. The characters themselves are all bloody great, be they individual grotesque landowners or incredibly detailed and often brilliantly satirical descriptions of wider groups or demographics. Whilst the writing remains as excellent as ever, the characters in the second part of the book lack the grotesque simplicity of those in the first part - indeed, efforts are made by Gogol to give them complex fleshed-out characterisation - and subsequently these new characters are nowhere near as memorable as the fantastic personifications of negative traits that we got in the first part. Yeah, I forgot to mention, this book is technically made up of two parts, the first part highlighting the problems of society and the second part intended to delve into the resolution of some of these issues; of course, the second part does not exist in its entirety, because Gogol was a great fan of melodramatically burning his manuscripts, but it’s not a major issue because what does survive of the full text is amazing enough on its own (specifically the entirety of part one). Plus, I’ve delved into my thoughts of authors trying to ‘change the world’ through their works (in that I think that it’s a fool’s notion and only really serves to exemplify the author’s delusion), so I’m content with this text only portraying the detrimental aspects of society, as opposed to trying to fix them. I am quite fond of the narrator in this book. Similarly to his short stories, Gogol employs a narrative voice that exists almost as a character in of itself, and I don’t just mean that in the sense of ‘it’s got a lot of personality’. The narrative voice apologises for the story’s content and makes changes in an attempt to preserve decorum, it makes excuses for the story’s characters (especially the protagonist Chichikov), it often reveals information at the same rate as the characters within the setting discover things and have epiphanies, and it even establishes itself as a character with a physical voice as it only chooses to speak of Chichikov’s past when Chichikov himself is asleep, and apologises all the while lest he somehow slight the man. Bringing up this also gives me an opportunity to briefly mention the 2006 BBC radio adaptation for this, which establishes the narrator as a physical character in all scenes to humourous effect (and what’s more gave me yet more reason to love Mark Heap, who makes for a fucking excellent Chichikov). But I digress. Part two of the novel, as mentioned above, does not possess the same sort of wonderfully grotesque characters as part one, and considering that this is a novel defined mainly by its characters, this is somewhat problematic. The plot of part two is perhaps vaguely interesting, even though it seems to shunt the titular focus of dead souls to the side somewhat, but all in all I found it difficult to be too invested in this new story due to its lack of compelling characters. In addition, the Homeric epic tone of part one is somewhat absent, and without a distinctive narrative voice, the narrative suffers. I feel bad shitting on part two, since it was everyone else shitting on part two that catalysed Gogol to burn the manuscript (again) and possibly starve himself to death. Honestly, the first part is bloody amazing, so just read that and then be satisfied with the knowledge that your opinion of the book overall has not been tarnished by the shoddy second part. Sorry Gogol.

Complete Short Fiction - Oscar Wilde I’ve been vaguely aware of Wilde’s short fiction for a while now, having read a selection of his fairy tales and ‘Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime’ (a favourite of mine) for uni, so I decided to give his complete collection a shot. The Penguin Classics edition of his short fiction is separated into his different published collections, but can generally be categorised as either fairy tales or miscellaneous short stories. I’ve studied a shit load of fairy tale authors/compilers (Basile, Straparola, Perrault, the Brothers Grimm, Andersen, Wilde and whoever compiles the radical Russian fairy tales), and Wilde is certainly my favourite of the bunch. The specific blend of Wilde-esque traits incorporated into the fairy tale format make up my favourite fairy tales of any author - this is by no means all of Wilde’s fairy tales, but I’ll get into that. My favourite fairy tales of Wilde take place in a world vaguely recognisable as our own, or at least existing as an exaggerated facsimile of our own society, not just because the urban setting reminds me of Hoffmann’s ‘The Golden Pot’, but because such a setting allows for some heavy-handed but undeniably hilarious social commentary and satire. Such satire works especially well when juxtaposing the romanticised world of the fairy tale with the grimmer reality of Wilde’s society - the two tales that commence the collection, ‘The Happy Prince’ and ’The Nightingale and the Rose’, exemplify this excellently. Whilst I liked the satire attainable by setting the fairy tale in an urban society environment, similar levels of hilarity are obtained via Wilde’s satirical look at certain character archetypes (the titular character in ‘The Remarkable Rocket’ being my favourite example). The fairy tales obviously possess their morals and their teachings (though I was a fan of how this is subverted slightly by some characters actively avoiding, misinterpreting or arguing with the story’s moral), but the tropes that we’d expect to see in fairy tales - the morals from Perrault, the recurring overt ties to Christianity from Andersen, etc. - are not why I like Wilde’s fairy tales so much. The tales in the collection titled A House of Pomegranates are undeniably excellently written, and what’s more include some fantastic settings inspired by the Victorian obsession with the Orient that allow for phenomenal and evocative descriptive writing (the likes of which is not seen in any other of Wilde’s fairy tales), but they fail to capture my preferred positive attributes that the aforementioned tales possess. I cheekily skipped 'The Portrait of Mr W H' because I’d heard from a mate who had also read it that it was a long and dull read, and thus refrained from checking it out lest it tarnish my idealised view of Wilde. I’m sure I’ll live with myself knowing that I haven’t read Wilde’s entire body of works. Indeed, who gives half a toss about that when we’ve still got to talk about the last remaining collection contained within this publication: ‘Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime and Other Stories’, which is not made up of fairy tales but other ‘popular’ genres of writing. Taken at face value, the stories’ content of murder, ghosts, and mystery slot in nicely alongside the fairy tales, in that they can all be considered, at face value, writings intended to appeal to the low-brow interests of the masses. They are, of course, more than that, possessing some great subversions of genre tropes and Wilde’s typical social satire, which all comes together to make the short stories (in particular ‘Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime’ and ‘The Canterville Ghost’) hilarious and very enjoyable reads. The fact that these stories are written with the primary intentions of entertaining, rather than revolutionising the written form or making one think about grand philosophical themes, means that I can’t really offer anything about the stories other than that they’re fucking good and that you should go and read them.

Shit I read this month that I couldn’t be arsed to write about: A Short History of Drunkenness by Mark Forsyth (which I started back in December(?) last year, forgot about until now, and love immensely), and ‘The Penal Colony’ by Kafka (it was much more enjoyable than the other works by Kafka that I’ve read, but that isn’t really saying much).

#book reviews #book ramblings #the man who was thursday #gk chesterton #dead souls #nikolai gogol #oscar wilde #lord arthur savile's crime #the canterville ghost #the happy prince #the remarkable rocket #the nightingale and the rose

1 note · View note