#like Astounded at how good severance was. deeply surprised

[cinnamnt]

you know you really wouldn’t expect a company like fucking apple to put out good content but they’re kinda crushing the tv game rn

[test-tube]

Dawn at the Winery

Author’s Note: Apologies!! School took up a lot of time and I also just couldn’t carry the plot- (pspspsps @starfell-traveler​​ come here you simp) Pairings: Crepus x GN!Reader Word Count: 1533 (I’m ashamed)  TW: death

You took a deep breath, excited for your new job. You were sure working at the Dawn Winery wouldn’t be too difficult, right? Right? It’ll be perfectly fine, you assured yourself. You opened the doors and were greeted by the sound of children cheering.

“I gotcha!”

“AHH- “

A blue haired child fell onto a chaise, then started squirming. “I’ve been hit! R…remember mE!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the two. They looked about 6 maximum.

The redheaded child turned to you. “Oh, who’re you?”

“I’m Y/N, your-“You paused. You shouldn’t make any rash assumptions. “Master Crepus hired me. Is he here?”

“Papa’s upstairs in his office. But he did leave us this.” The child handed you a paper, outlining your tasks for the day.

“I guess I’ve got to take care of you two. So,” You bent over to his height and ruffled his soft hair. “What do you want to do?”

“We were playing pirates...but if you can take us outside…” The kid’s eyes were wide with pleading. The infamous puppy dog eyes. You crumbled.

“All right, all right. What’re your names first?”

The child with blue hair stood up and dashed over. “I’m Captain Kaeya!”

“No, you’re not.”

“Shush Diluc.”

“Kaeya and Diluc then.” You smiled at the two.

“Actually, it’s Diluc and Kaeya.” Diluc corrected. “I’m older.”

“Diluc and Kaeya,” You amended. “Shall we go outside?”

“Woohoo!!” The two boys ran outside quickly, you chuckled and followed them.

  They played for hours upon hours. Would they ever run out of energy? The sun had started to set, you ordered them back inside. You were met with a taller man with red hair similar to Diluc’s. His foot was tapping against the floor, his arms were crossed.

Diluc and Kaeya stopped short. Their heads hung low. “Sorry Papa.” They said in unison.

(Y/N: 😀😀 I’ve been lied to)

“I’ll ask this one time. Who let you two out?” The man ordered.

You gulped and met the eyes of the man. “I did sir. I deeply apologize.”

His eyes met your and his expression softened in a way. Maybe it was due to how sheepish you looked?

“A common mistake. These two can easily win people over.” He emitted a warm atmosphere now, and he walked over and ruffled the hair of his sons. “But it won’t happen again. Not without permission.”

“Yes sir, of course.” You nodded. You were incredibly relieved of Master Crepus’ easy-going nature. You had a feeling working here would be fun.

Everyday was a new adventure, caring for the Ragnvindr boys. You played pirates, attended parties, watched over their lessons. You smiled and listened and watched over these boys like they were your own, in some way you felt like a parent yourself. You loved this feeling and wanted to cherish it.

You had held your occupation for over a year now and you have never been so fond of the household. Crepus tells the boys such wonderful stories at night, shifting his tone for each characters to make the audience giggle. Taking tour along the winery, pointing out all the wildlife.

While it’s true Crepus does spend a majority of his time working, when he comes out it’s like the sun peeking from behind clouds, a rare, warm event.

“Mx. Y/N, Mx. Y/N!” called Kaeya. He clutched several letters in hand. “You got something in the mail! I’m not sure why it came here though…”

“No matter, thanks for the delivery.” You ruffled the kid’s hair like you always did.

He giggled and ran off, leaving you to address the letter privately.

  Dearest Y/N,

I looked upon you on a moonlit night, astounded by your beauty

I see you each day, blown away by your kindness

I’ve come to the terms of my own feelings, but I am unsure of yours

Please accompany me to Windrise, a picnic awaits

  You felt increasingly flustered the longer you held the parchment. It wasn’t signed, no, but you planned to accept. What’s the harm if you did? You would probably need to request time off from Master Crepus…

You knocked on the door to his office, out rang a gruff voice. “Come in.”

“Master Crepus?” You peeked through the doorframe.

His expression softened at the sight of you. “Yes Y/N?”

“I received a letter earlier, inviting me to go to a picnic. I was planning on accepting, may I request time off?”

He pondered this for a second. “Yes, of course.. Take the rest of the day off, actually.”

“Really? I couldn’t do that Master Crepus, I really couldn’t.”

“Nonsense. You deserve a break.”

You looked hesitantly at your boss but gave in. “Alright. But tomorrow I’ll arrive early.”

“If you insist.”

You nodded and stepped outside of the office to inform the boys you were leaving and that they were expected to behave themselves for the hours you were gone.

The wind blew lazily in your hair as you walked to the roots of the Windrise tree. A small blanket was set up with a basket and candles. You sat carefully on one side, promising yourself to not look just yet. You heard a slight shift and peeked at your suitor. You gasped at the familiar face.

“Y/N-“

He looked extremely worried and hesitant, which was honestly fair. You erupted into a small smile. “Did you mean all of those things? In the letter?”

“Of course. All of that and more.”

You felt blush creep onto your cheeks. You looked down at the blanket. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.”

His voice reassured you easily, like how his stories could lull Kaeya and Diluc to sleep.

You scooted closer to him and muttered something about eating the food. The two of you dined together while Crepus occasionally told stories and jokes to make you feel more at ease. It was nice, seeing Master Crepus able to relax. It made you feel all warm and fuzzy how he’d want to spend his time with you.

The veil of night spread over the sky. You bid Crepus farewell.

“You could stay at the winery if you wish.” He offered.

It was rather far from home. You lived alone anyways, it would be quite lonely, sitting in a silent home. You nodded and turned towards the manor. He silently asked permission to grab you by the waist, after your confirmation he snugly held you in a sort of half hug.

The two of you arrived and he hesitated outside of the guest room.

“Thank you for accompanying me.”

“Thank you for the invitation.” You reply with a smile. He kissed your hand softly and walked over to the master bedroom, disappearing for the night.

You awoke with a smile, remembering the acts of last night. You hummed contentedly as you got dressed and walked through the manor. Diluc and Kaeya were both already awake, reading in the family room. When Kaeya caught sight of you he looked excited.

“How did it go?”

Both you and Diluc replied “How did what go?”

“Oh, come on~” Kaeya set down his book and walked over to you. “You know what I’m talking about. Papa was very excited that you went, he put extra effort in his story last night.”

You became flushed and tried to hide the pink on your cheeks. “That? Oh, it was wonderful. But it’s between me and your papa, alright?” You booped Kaeya on the nose and he giggled. “Don’t you two have classes to get to?”

The two boys nodded and dashed off, though you caught a hint of Kaeya whispering something. Couldn’t stop him from gossiping. As usual.

Crepus walked into the family room. “Ah, I was just about to get them.”

“Good morning Master Crepus.” You said meekly.

“Let’s not bother with formalities.” He smiled and gave you another kiss on the hand before carefully grabbing it and pulling you into a dance. Music drafted from somewhere nearby. You had no time to regain your composure, so you just focused on the steps. 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4.

Kaeya and Diluc peeked from a doorframe, giggling. You caught their eye and you smiled as their expressions became surprised and the duo dashed away.

“Is something wrong?” Crepus asked.

“No, no of course not.” You looked back at the man and smiled as his gentle expression.

Each day there was something new. He made you breakfast. Bought you gifts. Wrote you letters. Called you “my fawn” or “sweet flower”. You were totally and indefinitely entranced.

You remembered these days with a bittersweet heart as the rain dripped down from your umbrella onto your hands encased with black silk.

You remembered these days during your silent grieving with Kaeya.

You remembered these days when you saw that little velvet box on Crepus’ desk and broke down in sobs. Diluc had found you that day and comforted you, but you could hardly hear him over your throbbing heart.

You looked at the two older boys, turned away from each other. Their world had been torn apart. Your world had been torn apart.

“Can we go play pirates?” You ask with a sob.

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 13

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language, allusion to NSFW content

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

Drop of a hat she's as willing as Playful as a pussy cat Then momentarily out of action Temporarily out of gas To absolutely drive you wild, wild She's out to get you

~ Queen - Killer Queen ~

After Lizzie had left on that day back in August, Orion hadn’t been sure whether her words would follow action and there would actually be a next time, nor had he been entirely sure he wanted there to be one.

Not because the night he had spent with Lizzie hadn’t been fantastic, or either of them was feeling uncomfortable with it; but she had been his close friend and colleague for so many years now and Orion valued her presence in his life deeply. Changing a pattern that worked smoothly seldomly proved to be a good idea.

He had been glad nothing seemed to have changed between them when they saw each other next; Lizzie had acted just the same as always, focused on their music, laughing with him during breaks, maybe a little flirtatious, but then again, that was just her way.

Orion’s resolve to consider the fling with her done and dusted lasted about a week. He had walked her home from the dinner they’d had with the rest of the band; when they’d reached her flat in Chelsea, she’d waited in the door to the house, looking back at him over her shoulder with an amused expression.

“What now? Are you coming or not?”

He had to admit, the second time round, this time with their senses all together, the sex had been even better than the first time. His concerns about what it might do to their friendship were melting away with every kiss Lizzie left on his body, setting his skin aflame and shutting off his mind with that deliciously wicked smile of hers.

When they’d found themselves in his flat for a third time, he felt the need to stop her wandering hands while he still could.

“Wait a minute, we should really talk about what we’re doing here.”

Lizzie looked up at him incredulously, her fingers hooking on the seam of his trousers, her fingernails grazing his sensitive skin. “What, right now?”

Orion tried to ignore his urgent wish for her to continue where she’d left off and sat up. “Yes, right now.”

“Fine,” she answered briefly and removed her hands from his body, but not without running her hand over him one last time, sending a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t deny how much his body yearned for her but he pushed the heat inside his chest aside and forced his thoughts to focus on what was on his mind.

“If we want this to continue we need to talk about where it’s going,” he managed to say a lot calmer than he felt as he watched Lizzie slowly taking in his undressed body, a salacious smirk on her lips.

“I can perfectly tell you where this is going right now,” she chuckled but Orion didn’t let himself get distracted.

“I’m serious, Liz. As fun as this is, we’re actively breaking the rules here. We are part of a greater thing; the whole unity that is Equinox is more important than every one of us on our own. I don’t want to do anything that could harm the band.”

With a sigh, Lizzie sat up straighter, her expression serious. “Neither of us would ever do anything to put the band at risk. This here is not a relationship, Orion; we can stop this any time.”

She shuffled closer to him on the bed and put a hand on his arm. Her smile was now nothing but warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, this is just fun, no strings attached.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, however. “Things like this end in disaster more often than not.“

“If it makes you feel better, let’s make a deal,” Lizzie suggested. “We’ll do this as long as it’s fun and we both want it. In the case that things change for either one of us, we’ll just stop and go back to how things were before. How does that sound?”

Orion sighed deeply. “Do you really think it will work just like that?”

“Just like that,” she smiled, her hand wandering from his arm onto his chest, giving him a slight push so he fell over on his back.

“You’re thinking too much,” she purred as her lips trailed down his chest and over his stomach, coming to rest where hands had let off earlier. “Let me help you relax.”

And just like that, what had begun as a simple drunk one-night stand had developed into something that wasn’t just a friendship, but was far from a relationship either.

Even when their tour had started, they hadn’t stopped meeting in the dead of the night, the risk of being discovered adding an additional thrill, which Orion would have never guessed he’d find himself enjoying. Working off the adrenaline a successful show set off in their bodies soon became his favourite way of winding down. It wasn’t long before he’d actually started showing signs of impatience - something that used to be completely foreign to him - when Lizzie took her time before leaving the backstage area, joking around with Skye or Charlie, deliberately teasing him.

The curves of her body became as familiar to Orion as the neck of his guitar, and he knew exactly how to play both to coax the sweetest sounds from them. Lizzie began to learn every story behind his many tattoos, her fingers tracing the delicate lines as he told her all about them.

The harmony that had existed between them from the get go solidified, unexpected but not unsurprising; it felt like a natural extension to their friendship, raising their connection and understanding to a higher level.

Now, almost ten months since their first night together, he couldn’t even remember what it had been like before.

Orion was violently broken out of his musings by Skye snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.

“Earth calling Orion, you still with us, mate?”

She eyed him critically as his eyes snapped back into focus. “What’ve you been daydreaming about?”

He slowly pulled her hand away from his face. “I have been reminded of something and indulged in the call of the past for a moment,” he answered serenely.

“The way you’re looking it must have been a good memory,” Lizzie said innocently. Her eyes were sparkling as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking about.

He inclined his head, hoping his face wouldn’t give him away. “A favourite.”

Skye shrugged. “Whatever, let’s get those damn pictures taken and get outta here, I’m hungry. You’d better focus on the job.” She stopped, looking thoroughly bewildered. “Can’t believe I need to say this to you of all people.”

Still shaking her head, she grabbed Lizzie by the arm and pulled her towards the set that had been prepared on the far side of the room. The photographer was already instructing Merula on where to stand, Everett looking on from the sidelines.

It took them ages to get all of the pictures Rita’s magazine wanted done. After all of them had their portraits taken, they continued with group shots in various combinations.

When it was the girls’ turn, Orion joined Everett on the sides. The mood between the two guitarists had improved a little since Everett felt he got the recognition he deserved, but still, the atmosphere lacked the carefree camaraderie of the past. Orion struggled to find something to talk about with him these days, not wanting to provoke any of Everett’s bad moods.

As it turned out, their frontman had no desire to talk to him anyway. He was watching Skye, Lizzie and Merula pose in front of the camera intently. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a small grin forming on his face.

“You can say what you want, but our girls are quite a sight to see, aren’t they?”

Orion didn’t answer, only raising his eyebrows slightly. Everett took his silence as a sign to go on. “I mean, look at them.” His grin widened, taking on a wolfish touch. “Look at Lizzie, for fuck’s sake. Shame she’s always running ‘round all plain and simple, what a waste.”

Orion had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Beauty comes from the inside, from embracing our nature as it is and carrying it to the outside. Lizzie is in tune with herself and that is showing. The way she prefers to keep it simple doesn’t dim her light, it enhances it.”

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to her glammed up like that, is all I’m saying,” Everett snorted.

Orion wasn’t surprised by Everett’s take on things, but he was astounded at how much his words were grating on him. Everett had been a flirt for as long as Orion could remember, but he had never objectified women the way he did these days. Ever since they had started their way to the top, the pressure they were constantly feeling had steadily increased. Everett was treating the girls admiring him just the same as he did anything else taking his mind off things; as a meaningless, replaceable means to an end.

He didn’t like hearing Everett talk about anyone like that, but especially not Lizzie.

However, Orion couldn’t deny that he had a point. As per usual, Andre had worked his magic on her for the shoot, creating a maximum effect with simple but well chosen measures. Lizzie’s light brown hair fell around her face in a heap of messy curls, her dark makeup accentuating her blue eyes.

The shiny leather leggings she was wearing were clinging tightly to her legs that were elongated by a pair of black heeled boots. A loose black shirt with the familiar logo of the Rolling Stones gave her the effortlessly nonchalant vibe that was so inherently her. She had tied it in a knot at the sides to shorten it, showing just the tiniest bit of her belly.

Yes, as much as he hated to admit it, Everett was right; Lizzie was a sight to see. Their eyes met briefly as Merula and Lizzie switched positions. Orion could see the smirk starting to form on her lips, like it always did when she caught him watching her.

She quickly regained control over her expression, flipping her hair out of her face and concentrating again. But her attention kept wandering back to him, a mischievous glitter in her eyes that Orion knew all too well.

When it was time for pictures of the whole group, he and Everett joined the girls in front of the camera again. To get a more compact looking picture of them all together, the photographer wanted him and Everett to sit on one of the sofas they had used for the interview, the girls grouped behind them, all trying their best to look as casual as possible.

Orion was sitting directly in front of Lizzie; he almost jumped when he suddenly felt her hand on his back, hidden from the others by her body that was very close to his. Her fingers tiptoed higher up until they found the exposed skin of his neck. Her nails were grazing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind at the unexpected sensation. Orion could feel the intense energy radiating off her and had to fight the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of her expression.

Looking at her camera, the photographer, a beautiful young woman in a blue headscarf, frowned and shook her head. “This doesn’t look right yet. I’m missing the energy, the spirit of your connection.

She contemplated for a moment before her fine features lit up. “I know; Merula, could you sit between the guys? The other girls, one on each arm of the sofa, please.”

They changed as she had asked them to, Skye perching on the back of the sofa next to Everett and Lizzie now sitting closer to Orion than before. But still, their photographer wasn’t satisfied.

“Lizzie, could you lean in a little?”

“Sure,” Lizzie smiled innocently, leaning closer to Orion until their bodies were almost touching. He could smell her perfume and the sharp scent of hairspray. When he felt her hand on his back yet again, conveniently out of sight of the camera, he shifted his position a little, ever so slightly leaning into her touch.

Encouraged by him playing along, the corners of her mouth twitched, masked by a little tilt of her head for the camera. Her hand traveled down his spine to the base of his shirt where she lost no time to slip it underneath the seam, her cool fingers brushing across the bare skin of his back.

Orion exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh at the light sensation of her fingertips. Lizzie knew that he was ticklish in that particular spot. She was trying to play him, testing his control over himself, just as she had done after their first show in London.

He couldn’t believe the risk she was taking; touching him like that in a dark nightclub under a table was one thing, but during a photoshoot, with all eyes on them? He’d never thought she would be so bold.

Her ridiculous recklessness was intriguing, however; just like everything about Lizzie it was playing with fire and the reward of being close to a blazing flame never came without danger.

A movement at the edge of his vision drew Orion’s attention away from her touch. His eyes flicked over to the other side of the sofa and he thought he could see Skye looking over to them. His heart suddenly racing, Orion leaned against the back of the sofa, effectively forcing Lizzie to withdraw her hand.

He glanced over to Skye again, but she was looking straight at the camera, her moody rockstar expression edged onto her face. She paid him or Lizzie no mind whatsoever, and for a moment Orion wondered whether that frown on her face had been nothing but a trick of his mind.

[natromanxoff]

How prog were Queen?

By Dave Everley

On 9 January, 1971, Kevin Ayers and Genesis played a show together at the Ewell Technical College near Epsom in Surrey. Ayers was 18 months out of Soft Machine, and making a name for himself as a psychedelically-inclined art-folk rake. Genesis had released their second album, Trespass, a few months earlier, and were carving out a place in the vanguard of the burgeoning progressive rock movement.

There was a third band propping up the bill that night, a bunch of transplanted Londoners calling themselves Queen. In contrast to the wilfully artful approach of the headliners, their music was more straightforward: a heavy, if ornate blend of Led Zeppelin’s earthiness and the flights of fancy of Yes.

Not everyone in the small crowd watching them was impressed, but they caught the attention of one person. After the show, Genesis frontman Peter Gabriel pulled Queen’s blond-bombshell drummer Roger Taylor to one side. Gabriel’s band were about to dismiss their own drummer, John Mayhew, and were looking for a replacement. Was Taylor interested in joining Genesis? The reply was instant: thanks but no thanks. Taylor was utterly dedicated to Queen – there were gigs to play, places to go, and many musical adventures to embark on.

Had Taylor accepted the offer, the course of music – and specifically prog – would have been very different. Genesis would have flourished with Gabriel upfront, though whether they would have survived and prospered as they did without a Phil Collins to step into the breach after their talismanic singer’s departure was another matter.

The knock-on effect on Queen would have been greater. Taylor was an essential part of their carefully balanced four-way chemistry; a chemistry that would go on to throw up some of the most ambitious and game-changing music ever recorded. While Queen weren’t a capital ‘P’ prog band, they were infused with the spirit of the movement, combining its forward-looking values with its absolute disregard for the existing rules. Taking their cues from the likes of Yes, Genesis, Van der Graaf Generator and even Pink Floyd, their flamboyantly cavalier approach would go on to inspire such modern masters as Dream Theater, Queensrÿche and Muse. And, in Bohemian Rhapsody, they ensured that one of the biggest-selling singles in history was, at heart, a prog song. Forget the luxuriant moustaches and sawn-off mike-stands that would come to define them: if the prog ethos meant avoiding the expected, then Queen were definitely a prog band.

“Diversity was probably their greatest asset,” says former Dream Theater drummer and confirmed Queen devotee Mike Portnoy. “From song to song, they could be so different. You could have something that was folk followed by something that was rockabilly followed by something that was metal. And that’s one of the biggest things about prog, having that open-mindedness.”

Queen’s schooling in prog came early on. Brian May’s very first band, 1984, played a 4am slot supporting Pink Floyd at the Christmas On Earth Continued all-nighter in 1967. A year later, his next outfit, Smile – also featuring Roger Taylor – played with Floyd again, this time at London’s Imperial College. By the time of their gig opening for Kevin Ayers, Smile had changed their name to Queen and recruited Freddie Mercury. Collectively, they admired Yes, Van der Graaf Generator and especially Genesis. “Foxtrot is a prog rock classic,” Roger Taylor later wrote in the sleevenotes to Genesis box set 1970-1975. “Arrangements were highly complex in these early days, setting a benchmark for the style of the times.”

When it came to finding someone to produce their debut album, Queen’s first choice was John Anthony, who had worked with both Genesis and Van der Graaf. With Anthony and co-producer Roy Thomas Baker behind the desk, the eponymous album trod heavily in Led Zeppelin’s footsteps. But there was another, altogether more visionary band straining to spread their wings: My Fairy King was a filigreed slice of flamboyant rock’n’roll, while Liar metamorphosised through several different time changes and timings.

Those wings were fully unfurled on the follow-up, 1974’s Queen II. The title was the most prosaic thing about the record: the music inside was as fevered and baroque as rock gets, informed equally by Zeppelin, Yes and crazed Victorian artist Richard Dadd, whose 1864 painting The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke inspired one of the album’s most prog-leaning tracks. It may have been rooted in the heavy rock of the times, but its cavalier approach and sheer sense of scale pegged Queen as a defiantly progressive proposition.

“Queen weren’t like Yes, who had a dualistic role of guitar and keyboards, where both shared the terrain,” says Yes guitarist Steve Howe, supported by Queen at Kingston Poly in early 1971. “Brian had the terrain to himself. The remarkable thing was that he was the front and the back man. It required him to come up with more than guitar solos… He had to come up with a semi-thematic approach to play the guitar. And what he did was keep colouring.”

Queen’s prog inclinations would be deeply woven into the fabric of their early albums, from the audacious multi-part theatrics of Queen II’s March Of The Black Queen to the schizophrenic attack of the two-part Lap Of The Gods from 1974’s Sheer Heart Attack. Even in their more commercial moments, they marched to the beat of their own drum. What other band would have dared serve up something so unusual as Killer Queen?

“It was their diversity,” says Mike Portnoy, who first heard Queen as an eight-year-old in the mid-70s and covered many Queen songs while in Dream Theater. “Their albums took the prototype that The Beatles laid down with the White Album, where you had four different artists bringing in very different styles. Every song was so diverse. You get to A Night At The Opera, and you had this giant multi-layered epic like Bohemian Rhapsody next to something like Seaside Rendezvous or Love Of My Life.”

A Night At The Opera was Queen’s grand artistic statement and their most unashamedly prog album. Pitched around the epic twin tentpoles of The Prophet’s Song and Bohemian Rhapsody, it married their far-reaching vision to a distinctly British barminess. Taken on its own, the eight-minute The Prophets Song, with its incredible ornate a cappella middle section, would be enough to grant Queen access to the Prog Hall Of Fame. But even that sits in the inescapable shadow of Bohemian Rhapsody. Time and success might have lessened its impact, but that song remains the most dazzlingly unique piece of music ever to sell five million copies.

“There are epic things that come along every so often,” says Steve Howe. “There’s Sgt Pepper, there’s Bridge Over Troubled Water. And there’s Bohemian Rhapsody. I don’t know when I first heard it, but once it was there, it was such a formidable thing. You’re thinking: ‘How many tracks did they need to do those vocals? How did they write it? Who invented it? It really was astounding.”

Bohemian Rhapsody encapsulated one of the key things that gave Queen such a distinct identity. Like The Beatles and Beach Boys before them, they used the studio as an instrument – not least when it came to their vocals. And Bohemian Rhapsody raised the bar about as high as it could go.

“They sang each of those parts and triple-stacked them,” says Mike Portnoy. “You heard all three of their voices singing in all three vocal ranges. That’s what made the depth of their music so complex. It wasn’t the instrumentation, it was the vocals. That’s unusual for prog music. When I think of my favourite prog music, it’s always the musicianship that draws me. But with Queen, it was the vocals. It was so deep.”

For all its success, A Night At The Opera would be Queen’s grand kiss-off to their prog roots. Later albums streamlined their sound into a more conventional format. Much like Genesis, the 80s found them swapping experimentalism for chart rock.

It wasn’t until the end of their career as an active band that Queen would again sound so adventurous. During 1989 and 1990, the band began work on their penultimate album, Innuendo, in London and Montreux. In the summer of 1990, Yes guitarist Steve Howe paid a flying visit to the Swiss city, where a chance encounter with a former guitar tech found him being invited to Queen’s studio to hear the album as a work-in-progress.

“Inside, there’s Freddie, Brian and Roger all sitting together. They go: ‘Let’s play you the album,’” says Howe. “Of course, I’m hearing it for the first time: I Can’t Live Without You, I’m Going Slightly Mad. And they saved Innuendo itself until last. They played it and I was fucking blown away.”

If that was surprising, then what happened next was utterly out-of-the-blue. The members of Queen asked if Howe wanted to play on the title track. The Yes man politely suggested they’d lost their minds. It took the combined weight of Mercury, May and Taylor to persuade him.

“They all chimed in: ‘We want some crazy Spanish guitar flying around over the top. Improvise!’” recalls Howe. “I started noodling around on the guitar, and it was pretty tough. After a couple of hours, I thought: ‘I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.’ I had to learn a bit of the structure, work out the chordal roots were, where you had to fall if you did a mad run in the distance; you have to know where you’re going. But it got towards evening, and we’d doodled and I’d noodled, and it turned out to be really good fun. We have this beautiful dinner, we go back to the studio and have a listen. And they go: ‘That’s great. That’s what we wanted.”

Released as a single in January 1991, Innuendo gave Queen their third Number One single. Like Bohemian Rhapsody 25 years before it, it was as unlikely as hit singles get: a six-and-a-half minute musical jigsaw, complete with flamenco runs, classically-inclined orchestral overloads and maverick 5/4 timing. Queensrÿche covered the song on 2007’s Take Cover album, while you can hear its echo in Radiohead’s Paranoid Android and Muse’s more elaborate sci-fi epics.

“In the world of rock, Queen stands out as a good example of the clash between guitar and piano in songwriting,” Muse’s Matt Bellamy has said. “I think that’s where you stumble across those more unusual arrangements and chord structures.”

Today, Queen have left a bi-polar legacy. They’re arguably best known for their pop hits – Radio Gaga, I Want To Break Free and of course, Bohemian Rhapsody, that ultimate prog Trojan Horse. But their spirit of adventure remains unmatched by all but the boldest of their peers.

“There was no rulebook for Queen,” says Mike Portnoy. “They broke most of the rules that existed, and then they wrote a new set.”

[genderbinaryisforlosers]

everyone on the carte blanche for the ask meme

everyone? oh boy this is gonna get long ajfhdsf

JUNO

First impression: i, like a lot of people who get into the podcast without knowing a great deal about it, was expecting at most an ambiguously bisexual angst machine with a closely-guarded heart of gold. juno being an explicitly bisexual genderqueer angst machine is perhaps the most pleasant surprise of my life. the angst machine heart of gold characters were kind of my type at the time, so i loved him right away

Impression now: every time i think about juno’s arc from depressed mess held together by bad coping mechanisms, safety pins, and a few good strong puns into someone who can talk about his feelings, feel comfortable about being happy, and recognise when he needs to change, i want to cry about it a little bit. the depth of my love for juno steel has only grown along with him

Favourite moment: juno has a lot of great one-liners and i’m still a big fan of the “on the other hand i wasn’t wearing a watch” bit and who can forget such classics as juno finally deciding to stop moping over nureyev and move on only for him to open the door to his apartment and find nureyev sitting in the dark dramatically, but honestly nothing will ever hit me harder than his sudden, pissed-off declaration of “i can’t die yet, i still have shit to do!” in promised land. god.

Idea for a story: oh i have so many and i want to write most of them so no spoilers, but juno accidentally kidnaps a baby during a carte blanche heist and shenanigans ensue

Unpopular opinion: obviously we all know he’s dummy thicc but i feel like a lot of people forget he’s an actual genius, like the stuff he notices and how he strings it together is sometimes so obscure and he’s almost always right. oh, also juno is not skinny and i will not be taking criticism on that

Favourite relationship: this is so tough because every dynamic is so good, but i think it has to be juno and rita. those two are so good! the best best friends in the world!! i’m really a sucker for any dynamic that’s ridiculously in-sync so i loved these two as soon as juno saw rita’s notes in prince of mars and went “makes perfect sense to me” (which it probably didn’t, because rita, but he trusted that she knew what she was doing which is the important part)

Favourite headcanon: this isn’t really a headcanon but i still think about how juno is (was?) deathly afraid of heights but when he heard rex glass coming he still attempted to climb out of the window. either his aversion to working with dark matters/other people in general was so strong is overrided his fear, or his office was actually on the ground floor. not sure which of these is funnier.

NUREYEV

First impression: we’ve all seen the memes about nureyev knowing juno steel for one (1) day and deciding to Risk It All by leaving him with his name, look at this Hopeless Romantic, this utter DISASTER of a homosexual. the fact the very next time we hear from nureyev (at least directly) he’s patiently waiting in juno’s dark apartment to surprise him with a heist definitely supports this image.

Impression now: even after literally being inside peter’s head, i feel like we didn’t get a real sense of who he is until man in glass, where we find out he aggressively compartmentalises everything that causes him stress. he’s also distinctly someone who’s had his heart broken before, i think, which makes those first appearances of his very strange. but it does remind me of what juno says about diamond, and how he decided to provide the trust first and wait for the trustworthiness to grow in (only to get severely hurt), and i think that’s exactly what nureyev did. i am also... very uneasy with how suspicious he’s behaving this season because obviously i want to believe he’ll sort it all out and not betray the crew but... oof

Favourite moment: the beginning of what lies beyond pt1 where he’s affectionately bullying juno into taking care of himself? cleared my crops watered my skin etc etc etc

Idea for a story: i’d love to hear more about his past as a young thief idolising buddy and vespa (i can’t actually remember if that’s canon or fanon but anyway i wanna read it!)

Unpopular opinion: i think people often cling to an image of him that more resembles his first impressions in season 1 instead of seeing the depth that we’ve been given about his character in season 3

Favourite relationship: him and juno but honestly it’s a close call between them and his budding friendship with rita. even though she learned it by accident, his name is still a point of intimacy and it’s one less secret to keep around her which has to be a weight off his shoulders, at least a little? they seem like they could be really good friends once ultrabots is out of the way. juno steel love (and also bullying) zone activates whenever they’re together

Favourite headcanon: i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again - nureyev has never done a household chore in his goddamn life. he doesn’t know the water needs to be hot when you wash dishes.

RITA

First impression: honestly i’m not sure? i don’t remember having a big awareness of her in murderous mask but i remember loving her “note-taking” in prince of mars, i thought she sounded really fun and cute

Impression now: rita is really fun and cute, she’s also an extremely hardworking and dedicated woman who had the guts to throw in with a detective fired from the force and then invest all of her time and money into helping him help people.

Favourite moment: Rita Gets A Knife. enough said

Idea for a story: i don’t know honestly! i really struggle to write rita because her thought processes are so wild and i don’t think any story i could come up with would match mega ultrabots of cyberjustice.

Unpopular opinion: this shouldn’t be unpopular because juno steel himself shares this opinion but all future-jupeter headcanons are incomplete without rita also being a huge part of their lives

Favourite relationship: rita + franny 4ever obviously.. jk it’s juno & rita have you heard rita minute 3 they’re too adorable for this world. im still Soft over their conversation at the end of soul of the people when he said he couldn’t stay in hyperion anymore but he wouldn’t leave with the carte blanche if rita wasn’t coming because he was done leaving her behind, and she threw out all her hesitations on the spot and said call the big guy. speaking of, rita & jet are a close second. instant best friends i love them.

Favourite headcanon: i think this is basically canon now but rita being literally half the height of jet is so good

JET

First impression: “haha lorge funny man puts juno in the trash”

Impression now: jet sikuliaq is one of the dearest characters to me out of anything ever. he is a huge, menacing, polite, kind, sincere man who i would very much like to give me a hug. he’s the best aro ace in outer space and while being generally very levelheaded and straightforward, also takes every opportunity to fuck with juno because it’s very easy and very hilarious to him personally. he is everything my autistic acearo ass needed and i’m so glad to have him

Favourite moment: all of them every single one. him putting juno in the trash is of course a classic and every moment jet chooses to be funny makes my heart happy, but also every piece of genuine advice he gives. i’m a particular fan though of buddy recounting her years in the lighthouse and him saying he became concerned when she didn’t come downstairs at the usual time. “you took the door off its hinges.” “i was deeply concerned.” king of understatement

Idea for a story: again no spoilers for you but..... tools of rust time loop au

Unpopular opinion: this isn’t “unpopular” as much as it is unknown but jet is buddy’s queerplatonic partner and i will keep saying it until everyone believes it

Favourite relationship: jet and buddy,,, just everything about them. the way he suspects when she’s lying, the way she makes tea for him when she expects him to drop by. the fact he comes to check on her when she is 41 seconds late to the family meeting because it’s unlike her to be late and the last time she was late for something her brain was turning to radiation soup. but most especially the way she snaps at him to stay out of her business and he said he could not because he made her promise eight years ago to never stay out of the business of her health, no matter how many times she asked. they r literally in a qpr

Favourite headcanon: i don’t think this is true but i still think it would be funny if the ruby-7 used to be painted red but when jet got it he had it painted green because he Just Really Likes Green (as evidenced by his hovercycle). it’s very funny to me.

BUDDY

First impression: it’s been a minute since i relistened to time gone by but i’m pretty sure the first thing she ever says in the podcast is sliding up to depressed accidental whiskey thief juno and say “that’ll be ten million creds,” scaring the shit out of him, so needless to say i was in love instantly.

Impression now: my love for buddy aurinko has only grown and if it sounds like i already said that in this post it’s because i did about juno and it’s appropriate because the parallels are astounding. the heart of it all gave us such depth to buddy’s internal monologue and why she always sounds like she knows exactly what to say and what that’s like and honestly will i ever be over the heart of it all as an episode? unlikely. i think i’m gonna have a little piece of it in MY heart forever.

Favourite moment: everything she’s ever said is iconic as hell i especially like “in an impressive fit of hubris i’ve decided not to prepare my words for this vow” which made me laugh out loud but once again i must give it up for her iconic “I WANT TO LIVE” moment. honourable mentions to her taking rita out for ice cream and giving juno shooting lessons while she’s in her actual wedding gown. i love her

Idea for a story: buddy and vespa as sun/moon dieties.... that’s all

Unpopular opinion: stop drawing her with a fancy high-tech eye like the theia!! it canonically looks like garbage and it’s described in detail, please, i’m dying, also don’t minimise her scars you bastards

Favourite relationship: buddy and vespa invented romantic love and the entire carte blanche crew’s relationship to her is great but you know by now i’m a slut for buddy & jet out-of-this-world queerplatonic partners. the way she checks in on him during tools of rust to make sure he’s not relapsing and he comes to find her when she is 41 seconds late in the heart of it all to make sure she’s not having a heart problem!! it’s the trust,, the devotion,, the mortifying ordeal of being known

Favourite headcanon: she can sing. absolutely tears it up at karaoke. i’m right

VESPA

First impression: knife lesbian goes STAB. she will heal your wounds but she will be threatening to give you more the whole time

Impression now: she is extremely strong, heart-rendingly tender, and despite being in the older half of the carte blanche crew somehow has unmistakable little sister energy which makes her downright hilarious. i’m so glad she got to marry buddy and they’re official space wives now they’re so good for each other

Favourite moment: both from shadows in the ship, either “GUN!!” “KNIFE?!” (iconic) or when she clocks the dark matters drone pretending to be juno because it called her crazy and juno wouldn’t call her crazy. i’m always a sucker for “shapeshifter fails to fool mark because they Know Each Other Too Well” and it was just *chefs kiss* so good

Idea for a story: i really want to write something about when she was first staying at the lighthouse with buddy post-reunion, and getting to know jet and stuff. i think it would be cute

Unpopular opinion: i know vespa doesn’t canonically have lots of scarring but people who don’t draw her with scarring? cowards.

Favourite relationship: once again, although buddy and vespa invented romantic love, i just love the dynamic between vespa and juno so much. they’ve come so far with each other and their weird sibling dynamic gives me life. at the end of what lies beyond when juno says “we’re not gonna kill her, vespa” and instead of sounding full of Rage and Suspicion she’s like “whyyy notttt?” and he’s like “because i said so!” and that’s just good enough for her even if she’s a bit grumpy about it. i love it.

this took.. a hot minute to do! jshkfjsdgsa thank you dyl ily <3

[panvani]

So far what do you think on the relationship between Vanitas & Misha compared to Gil & Vincent

Not especially comparable aside from the general deuteragonist elder brother/supporting antagonist younger brother dynamic. The way Mochizuki writes sibling relationships when they’re biological (as in Vincent and Gil’s case) vs when they’re through adoption/choice (as in Vanitas and Misha’s case) is very different. Nearly every example of a sibling relationship without a biological component (Oz and Alice, Oz and Ada, Sharon and Break, Jeanne and Chloé, etc.) have been far more healthy and warm than relationships that are based on blood relation (Vincent and Gil, Lacie and Oswald, Domi and her siblings). There are exceptions, of course (Noise and Vincent have a sibling relationship with no blood relation, and their interactions are for much of the story built around making each other as miserable as possible) but Mochizuki’s stories, in line with the general theme that one’s birth does not make you who you are, tend to portray familial relationships formed by choice rather than by birth as more healthy. In fact, Vincent and Gil are the only biological sibling pairing to appear in Pandora Hearts that are not directly or indirectly responsible for each other’s deaths.

That said, Mochizuki’s stories tend to prioritize sibling relationships as the most important form of love. I know that’s a bit controversial, but considering that Mochizuki is the youngest of four, has specifically attributed her choice to become a mangaka to her older sister, frequently thanks her older siblings (especially her eldest brother and his wife) in her afterwords, and has at several points made self deprecating remarks regarding her lack of marriage/romance... it’s not surprising that her stories would favor relationships between siblings, even though romance is a prominent element. Pandora Hearts is primarily driven by sibling relationships- it’s the point in establishing that the Child of Ill Omen is most frequently the younger sibling of Glen while establishing these are the two most influential forces in the progression of the narrative. It’s why Oz and Alice ultimately had a sibling relationship instead of a romance, because the narrative as a whole considers sibling love to be more powerful than romance. So far the biggest acts of love in Vanitas have been Jeanne’s attempts to save Chloé, who she regarded as an elder sister, and Vanitas’s childhood attempts to save Misha, who he regarded as a younger brother.

My reason in comparing Vincent and Gil’s relationship to Vanitas and Misha’s despite not really seeing them as all that similar is because Vincent and Gil’s relationship fucking sucks. Exactly how unhealthy their relationship was (and it was deeply, deeply unhealthy) is something I’d have to explain over SEVERAL posts, but they are deliberately set up as the sibling relationship most likely to fail. Like I said before, every single biological sibling pair in PH ended with one sibling directly or indirectly killing the other with Vincent and Gil as the sole exception. They in particular are astounding because the nature of he Glen/Ill Omened dynamic is to set up a power structure that inevitably results in the elder sibling killing the younger. Gil’s narration directly admits to using Vincent, to making him into a scapegoat for Gil’s own bad behavior, he ends up telling Vincent directly he doesn’t care at all what Vincent does so long as it doesn’t affect Gil, and Vincent wants to be treated that way, because being treated terribly by Gil is conducive to the circumstances necessary for Vincent’s suicide.

Compared to that? Vanitas and Misha have it pretty good, actually. Throughout the story Vanitas has been characterized as invariably selfish-- even when he does give things to others, it’s to establish power over them or further his own goals. This is because of Vanitas’s own inability to accept kindness, but it’s what he does nonetheless. Though he’s incredibly self destructive and masochistic, Vanitas is not in any way selfless or kind. That he do what he did for Misha in Mémoire 48 is major, because Vanitas, clearly terrified, sacrifices his own well being for Misha’s sake in a way that would have no benefit to him aside from being spared the sight of Misha’s suffering. Vanitas loved Misha very, very deeply and it’s clear he still does in the immense guilt he has surrounding him as an adult. Similarly, Misha wants Vanitas’s affection, takes genuine pleasure in his presence and approval. He identifies Vanitas as something warm and deliberately seeks him out just because he feels safe around him.

Vincent and Gil never had that. There wasn’t ever any warmth between them. What they had was out of necessity, as neither had anywhere else to go. In Retrace LXXXIX Gil says that as a child he had hated Vincent so much it made him want to die, and in the way Vincent narrates their early childhood and his subsequent obsession with controlling Gil’s feelings it’s obvious he had understood this. It’s a major problem I have with a lot of people’s depictions of their relationship, actually- Vincent didn’t want what he wanted because he felt he had lost Gil’s affection. Vincent wanted what he wanted because he didn’t believe Gil had ever loved him to begin with. The problems didn’t start with Sablier, they just reached a boiling point there. Vincent understood himself as something that Gil used, and believed the problem was not a wrong turn in their relationship but that Vincent had been born at all.

So, yeah, in short: if Gil and Vincent, who had absolutely nothing going for them at any point in the story and everything going against them, were able to make up... then Vanitas and Misha, who clearly did really love each other and want for each other’s presence, will definitely be able to do the same.

[antilagardelle]

My Conversion To Catholicism

Given the nature of this piece I will largely stay my usual impulse to abide by strict writing formalities. I will likewise employ a great deal more pathos than usual, albeit still less than most people, especially with respects to something as profoundly epiphanic as a conversion. That said, I reckon the best point of commencement for my story is at the beginning. I was raised Catholic from the cradle, but around the age of fourteen I fell away from the faith. Now I never became an atheist, although I did have a phase where I believed that God was evil and he created us as his guinea pigs for the mere purpose of torturing us. This belief was largely reflective of my domestic situation at the time. 

As far as God’s existence goes--a subject which I do not have time to cover in this piece beyond a cursory review of thomist apologetics--I had always felt that these arguments, to which I was exposed at an early age, were essentially irrefragable: that a belief in any cause and effect without an uncaused cause at its outset was effectively an open rebellion against arithmetic, as was any belief in motion without an unmoved mover at its outset. Over the years I debated many atheists, all of whom advanced countless counterarguments to these undeniable verities. Yet not one of these rebuttals ever proved to be substantial argumentation, but rather clever forms of intellectual obstinacy; nay, that they never once posed an argument that both delegitimized these truths, and did not in so doing, delegitimize epistemology on the whole. So I was always convinced of the existence of a sentient uncaused cause: aseitas. 

Now it occurred a couple years after I graduated high school in February of 2018 that I was quite spontaneously driven to look into the controversy of whether or not Jesus actually existed. I found that there were in fact extra-biblical references to Christ from trusted historians such as Tacitus and Josephus. And upon reading these references, and further finding that all attempts to repudiate their veracity, or even to argue that they were insignificant to prove that Jesus existed, were eristically facile. And it was upon this realization that I then knew that Jesus was a historical figure. When I was younger my stance on the story of the crucifixion would have been that the story accurately reflected the human tendency to hate that which is righteous. To hate that which is good, and love that which is evil. But as to the historicity of the texts I would have taken a neutral stance: I didn’t know. But after researching the matter, I now knew. The thing that I had been raised to believe, happened to be objectively true regardless of my having been raised to believe it. The values I was raised to believe were objectively true. And this was somewhat astounding to me. It was as if I no longer believed... I knew. 

A couple months later, when Good Friday rolled around, I watched Mel Gibson’s The Passion Of The Christ. I had watched the film before, but this was the first time I watched it knowing beyond the shadow of a reasonable doubt, that the events depicted were verifiably historical. It was real. What I was watching really happened. And as such, I was so profoundly impacted by what Christ voluntarily underwent, and that through it all, he deigned not to provoke or to strike back, but instead to simply say “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” An innocent man, who did absolutely nothing, chose to undergo this torture anyway, without complaint. I was so deeply impacted by watching all this that I cried quite profusely. And I can remember thinking to myself that I wanted to be part of that man’s church. Whoever this man was, and whatever church he instituted I wanted to follow. And how could I not? The thought was burning through my mind, that if I had lived and seen what this man did, there was no way conceivable that I could choose not to follow him. And precepts such as saving sex for marriage, and going to mass every sunday were a small price to pay in comparison to how profound it felt to be numbered among this man’s followers.   

Moreover, I recall the thought that I could not get out of my head for several months thereafter, was just how incredible the scriptures really were. In other words, the story of Christ was a story that on all accounts should have been a fairytale. I mean you’re telling me that the son of God came to earth and turned water into wine and he was crucified and the temple split down the middle and the vail rent from the top down upon his death, and the earth shook, and on the third day he rose again from the dead and is seated at the right hand of the father and he will come again to judge the living and the dead? But that’s just it... it was true. It was all real. It was as real as my own two hands. This story which on all accounts should have been the biggest fairytale of human history, just so happened to be objectively true regardless how surreal or mystical it was. Far from dismissing the scriptures from reality as some outlandish fairytale, it elevated the status of reality to that of a fairytale. This was my realization: reality was a fairytale. And it is no surprise then that the marked trait of reality is its need for fairy tales to express it. The modern idea that everything can be reduced under a “rational” system devoid of all numinous or esoteric qualities is flat out irrational. In fact anyone who impartially observes nature and the universe sees esoteric qualities all over the place: namely the Fibonacci Sequence, the fact that the moon wanes and waxes in 28 day cycles mirroring the menstrual cycle by sheer chance, the perfect transition of the four seasons(four being a symbol of wholeness). Now what’s the immediate conclusion of all these occurrences? The most immediate answer, if I am to forego relating these mystical realities to intelligent design for the sake of argument, is that the world is inherently esoteric. If your version of reality does not include ineffable, mystical, numinous doctrines, it isn’t reality at all. This was the conclusion that my conversion brought me to. And I distinctly recall thinking, “the things that are true, the things that are true, you wouldn’t believe the things that are true.”

It was not until late December of 2019 that I began to shift from a sort of vague unitarian Protestantism to Catholicism. My heart was no longer hardened. It had softened at this point in time, due largely I believe to the fact I had just moved out of my Parents’ house. My conversion to Catholicism from Protestantism was based on two principle truths that I had long known, but suppressed or ignored out of a fear of coming back to Catholicism. That fear was now removed. The two primary truths were as follows:

1. That Protestantism is merely moral relativism with a Christian flavor. As bluntly phrased as that is, it’s true. The scriptures on their own cannot adequately constitute morality without a central magisterium to interpret them. Without a magisterium, stoning gay men, raping women, and flogging would all be justified. And many Christian movements have done such things which were made excusable by the mere fact that they had no papal authority to condemn them. The magisterium mediates the meanings of the biblical passages.  Discussion about infallibility is for another occasion. 

2. That biblical canon is an unattainable standard where there is no central church to delineate between those books which are doctrinally adequate and those which are not: namely The Gospel Of Judas, The Gospel Of Thomas, The Book Of Enoch, etc... Without a central authority, the very notion of a uniform bible vanishes completely. One of the attacks on the bible made constantly by atheists, is just how various and contradictory the literature is that claims to chronicle the life of Christ, and of the individuals and events in the old testament. That these chronicles are so varied and contradictory that there can be no canon. This argument holds sway as long as one refuses to believe that there was an actual central church that went through all these varied accounts and pulled out only those that were coherent, and in line with the Church’s doctrine, and I had to accept this in order to properly defend the truth against the assault of atheists.

I have now been Catholic for over a year. I recall it started as an inkling. In late December of 2019 I felt like I was being pulled that direction, but I still didn’t consider myself Catholic for certain. I started going to mass every now and then. This eventually became every sunday. I went to confession so I could start receiving the eucharist. Month by month, week by week, day by day, I became increasingly more devoted to being Catholic. I went from saying that I thought I wanted to come back to Catholicism but was hesitant to call myself Catholic, to boldly considering myself Catholic. I hope this piece has been informative, helpful, or enlightening to fellow Catholics, as well as others of all creeds and philosophical beliefs. God bless all who chose to read this!  

[searchingforenadi]

writing a will is standard procedure

although it’s terribly misleading, the power of a name like ‘bloody bakery’ is too strong to ignore, so that’s exactly what we’re going to keep it as :O

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

a brief summary: Your customers won’t stop bleeding in your shop. You realize this might be a problem. (second person!OC, TYL).

xxvi.

You spend a few more days reevaluating your life choices. 

Perhaps, you think, hands clasped firmly in front of you, you’ve gotten a little greedy with your  new source of revenue. 

On the other hand, another voice in your head argues, it’s not like you could’ve refused them. Paying customers are the same wherever you go. What kind of business owner would you be if you turned away every customer wearing a fancy suit?

You stare into the empty space of your store, the quiet ticks of a clock ringing in your ears. 

The fallacy of mankind, you think solemnly, is wanting nice things. 

Is this how it always begins? You used to find it ridiculous whenever the media reported sensational news about a company’s descent into corruption. Now, however, it occurs to you that perhaps you’re the one facing that same downfall as well.

Should I write a will? You stare even more deeply at the tiled floor. 

The thought has never crossed your mind before. It’s something you had planned to do when you turn old and grey, but since it looks like your chances of meeting an early demise have skyrocketed in the past few months, maybe you should.

The entrance to your door swings open. 

“Welcome,” you say, already on autopilot. It won’t do to ignore any potential customers right when you’re on the precipice of cutting off your very dangerous, very generous regulars. “How can I - ”

Yamamoto waves a hand. By his side, Gokudera remains silent, his hands inside the pockets of his pants. 

“ - help you?” you finish smoothly. It’s only through a decade of customer service that you’re able to keep a polite smile on your face. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Yamamoto says, eyes creasing with a smile. Gokudera, in the meantime, lets out a grunt. 

“The usual then?” you ask, keeping your eyes trained on their faces. You’ve spent too long pointedly avoiding Yamamoto’s sword to start staring now. 

Yamamoto’s smile doesn’t waver. “That would be great!” 

You get started on the coffee and, while the water is slowly boiling, you pull out your usual tiramisu cake. 

“So,” Yamamoto says, leaning casually on the counter by your register. “Anything interesting happened lately?”

Yes, you immediately want to blurt out. I saw your friends handling illegal weapons outside my shop. 

“Not really,” you say instead, the picture-perfect image of a clueless baker. “I’ll be shopping at a new place this weekend. Very exciting.”

“I’m sure it is,” Yamamoto says, and it sounds like he means it. You turn back around and pass him the usual box of cake. 

In your other hand is the usual cup of coffee and, right as you’re handing it off to Gokudera’s outreached hand, you quickly glance down. 

His legs, thankfully, are free of any knives. 

Gokudera snatches the cup from your hand. To the side, Yamamoto slaps a hand to his own mouth.

“You - ” Gokudera starts with a snarl, eyes flashing. 

“And that’s our cue to go,” Yamamoto cuts in, stopping a potential crime scene from occurring within your shop. He slaps down a wad of cash and wraps an arm around Gokudera’s neck.

“Let me go, you little - !”

“Keep the change,” Yamamoto says, eyes creasing and shoulders slightly shaking. They leave right after, as Gokudera sends you silent death threats while struggling to escape from Yamamoto’s grasp. 

You stare down at the pile of money on your counter. The fact that you’ve narrowly missed an early meeting with your late grandpa seems to pale in comparison to the stack of bills in front of you.

No, a voice that sounds awfully like your conscience whispers, you shouldn’t. Just take the right amount and return the rest! That way, the government has no proof when they knock on your door - 

You very delicately pick up the money and slide it into the register. 

“I’m human too,” you say out loud, to the utter silence in your shop. “We all have our flaws.”

The absence of any response should’ve been telling enough.

xxvii.

The next day, during the late morning, you fiddle through several documents. 

You have enough to finally buy that mixer and now, your days of suffering are over. No longer will you have to hand mix your dough whenever your rusty, old mixer gives up on you. No longer will you weep over its struggle to handle your heavier mixtures - 

The front door opens, sending a warm breeze through the shop. 

“Welcome!” you call out, closing your notebook shut. If everything goes as planned, you should be able to order it by the end of the weekend. “How can I help you?”

You stop. There, standing in all his teenage glory, stands Lambo - your well-paying regular and possible juvenile delinquent.

Lambo grins. “Hi!”

“Hi,” you say, for lack of better words. It doesn’t seem like an appropriate time to mention your eye-witness account of his crimes. “You’re here early today.”

You can’t remember ever seeing Lambo coming into the shop earlier than the afternoon. 

He shrugs, before plastering his face into your glass display. “School’s cancelled today.”

“School,” you repeat, somehow astounded by the news. It shouldn’t surprise you - Lambo is still a teenager and those types of people should still be in school. It certainly explains the fancy uniform he’s always wearing. 

“I didn’t know the local school here required uniforms,” you think aloud, pushing a finger against Lambo’s forehead to remove him from the display. It’s enough of a sanitary hazard that you’re willing to risk getting shot for it. 

Lambo laughs, a little too loudly for the quiet shop. He rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, I, uh, go to school somewhere else. Outside town.”

“Outside the town?” you blink slowly. So a private school? It fits the image you have, considering how much money Lambo throws your way. 

Lambo laughs even more, and it is the most awkward sound you’ve heard this week. You take this as a sign to leave the subject matter alone and instead say, “I have some candied fruits, if you’re interested.”

“Yes!” Lambo blurts out, his demeanor shifting immediately into something bright. “I want that.”

You wait for a moment.

“Please,” he adds belatedly, before sending you a winning smile. 

An answering smile finds its way onto your face and you move to pack a jar or two. You pull out your usual stash of dango and stick it into the take-out bag as well.

“Make sure you share some with Tsuna,” you tell him, taking his cash and trying not to scan his clothes for any suspicious lumps that would hide a weapon. 

Lambo makes a face. “But you gave him some last time!”

Your smile widens. “I’m not making you share if you don’t want to.”

He droops instantly. 

“Fine,” he says petulantly. “I’ll think about it, I guess.”

You lean onto your display, resting your head on a hand. “If you stop by next week, I might have some mochi for you to try, if you know what it is.”

Lambo perks up, so quickly you wonder if he’s ever gotten whiplash from his constantly changing emotions. “Mochi? Of course I do! I used to eat them all the time in Japan.”

You pause at this new information. “You used to live in Japan?”

“For a few years,” Lambo says, waving a hand flippantly in the air. “It was nice.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, unsure as to why this reveal bothers you so much. “Well, you’re welcome to try some if you’re here.”

Lambo gives you a strange look. “But I’m here almost every day.”

You sigh. “But you shouldn’t. Spend some time somewhere else, Lambo.”

Lambo slowly grins, in a way that tells you he hasn’t even bothered to consider your words, before waving a hand goodbye. 

You run a hand through your hair - sometimes, you wonder why you even bother.

xxviii.

That night, you set your alarm and settle into bed, closing your eyes firmly shut. Tomorrow morning, you will be getting that anko, one way or another. 

If the marketplace doesn’t have any, you already have an order form for azuki beans filled out and ready to go. At this point, price or time doesn’t matter - your desire for anko has transcended all logical thought and has become a primal need.

Just you wait, you think, turning over to one side and pulling your blankets up to your face. 

The next morning, your eyes shoot open the moment your alarm goes off. You slap a hand to your phone and sit straight up, blinking blearily into your dark bedroom.

It takes a short while to feel human again. A cup of coffee in hand and thirty minutes later, you stare out of your window, to the dusty, light blue sky. 

Outside, where the sun has yet to hit your apartment, you inhale deeply, feeling the cool, sharp air in your lungs. 

You’ve already mapped out the way to the new marketplace last night. After a few wrong turns and a five minute break to consider if you’ve perhaps lost all common sense, you eventually find a blocked off plaza full of different sized stalls.

The sun now resting on the back of your neck, you trudge through the plaza, shuffling past a crowd of people huddled around a fruit stall. Staring out into the bustling market, you decide it’s a travesty it’s taken you this long to find out about it. 

You continue wandering down the road, eyes peeled for any hint of your sought after anko. Tsuna had given a general area but it’s up to you to narrow down your search.

The sun rises higher as you awkwardly move around another small crowd of elderly women. Your crane your neck to squint at a particularly promising stall and - 

And promptly walk into a wall. 

Not a wall, you then think, hissing in pain as your hand flies to your smarting nose. Walls don’t feel like fabric and smell like smoke.

“Sorry,” you say, eyes blinking rapidly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going - ”

You pause. Through your watering eyes, your head slowly rises higher and, under a crown of silver hair, Gokudera scowls. 

What are the chances, you think distantly, absentmindedly rubbing your nose. This isn’t the first time you’ve come across a customer outside the shop, but you prefer keeping your business and private life separate. 

“Of course you weren’t,” Gokudera says, rolling his eyes. It might have been more intimidating if he had been wearing his suit, but for the very first time, he’s wearing more casual clothes - a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. 

“Right,” you say, a smile almost making its way on your face. A local marketplace is the last place you would ever expect to see Gokudera, but there’s something about it - the bustle of people, the laughter of children, the scent of fruit and spices - that almost makes him seem approachable. “Nice to see you too.”

Gokudera scoffs, shoving his free hand into his pockets. He tightens his grip on several plastic bags, before turning around and walking away. 

You imagine this is the closest thing to a peaceful exit you’ll ever get from someone like Gokudera. 

WIth a shrug, you resume your search, scanning the stalls and making sure to keep an extra eye on the road in front of you. Strangely enough, Gokudera is still only a few paces ahead of you, with hunched shoulders and trudging feet. 

It doesn’t take long for a set of somewhat familiar characters to catch your eye. You squint immediately, feet stopping in place. 

Like paper clips to a magnet, you walk up to the stall - already, you recognize several snacks you used to horde back when you went shopping at the Japanese market with your mom in the States. 

Your lips curve up into a smile.

A commotion on the other side grabs your attention. There’s an older woman, face flushed red and a package in her hands, speaking loudly to the owner of the stall, an elderly Japanese woman with gray hair tied tightly into a bun. 

All too familiar with irate customers, you send a silent prayer of sympathy to the old lady and look back down. Those same snacks are now somehow in your hands. 

The power of nostalgia, you think, clutching the snacks closer to your chest, is a terrifying thing.

You turn around - and nearly drop everything when you come face-to-face with Gokudera once again.

He narrows his eyes.

“You again?” he mutters, a perplexed look on his face, as if he can’t decide if he should stab you or leave the subject matter alone.

You fix a smile on your face. Maybe you should’ve written that will after all.

But no, you’ve risked too much to leave now. After a second of deliberation, you decide that you’d rather get shanked than miss your chance at finding some anko.

“This is the new place I was hoping to check out,” you tell him, as a reminder that, despite his intimidating appearance, you’re the one providing the goods in this business relationship.

And, because you still value your life (despite your previous resolve), you add, “Tsuna recommended it to me.”

(You actually don’t have a single clue about the sort of relationship Gokudera and Tsuna might have, since you’ve never seen the two together.

But you’re hoping it won’t hurt to bring in some familiar names, just in case, to keep Gokudera accountable.)

Gokudera pauses, his eyebrows furrowing.

Then, with a click of his tongue, he runs a hand through his silver hair and says, “Yeah, whatever.”

You give Gokudera a wide amount of space and he walks around you, grumbling under his breath.

Disaster averted, you continue your (rather limited) shopping spree, walking around to the tune of a woman’s yells. 

A few minutes pass and suddenly, after finding yourself staring blankly at a series of foreign words, it finally hits you. 

You can’t read a single speck of Japanese beyond your own name.

The despair that follows nearly cripples you. It only lasts for several moments, thankfully, because your parents haven’t raised a fool.

You pull out your phone and look up the kanji for anko. Like a makeshift metal detector, you continue walking around, appraising anything that might look like red bean paste. 

The search goes on for a short while before it leaves you completely empty-handed. You let out a long sigh, shifting slightly to accommodate the number of snacks in your arms.

You drag your feet to the register, already calculating the days it’ll take to have azuki beans delivered to your doorstep.

If I pay more, I can get it next week, you think, folding your fingers to keep track of your numbers. It would’ve been a problem a few months ago, spending an exorbitant amount of money for azuki beans, but your strange and well-dressed regulars have solved it for you with their… generosity.

You check the time on your phone. The same woman from before is still at the register, and you’re a little impressed at how she’s gone for ten minutes without taking a single breath.

It’s bothersome enough that you consider dumping the snacks and leaving altogether. From the almost blank look on the stall owner’s face, you can only imagine this will continue for a while.

Except, by sheer coincidence, your eyes focus on the package in the woman’s hands. The kanji looks vaguely familiar, which is impossible, because you only know - 

You quickly pull out your phone and almost drop your snacks in your haste. 

“There’s no way,” you say to yourself, staring at the matching kanji on your phone. 

The stars aligning themselves to dangle anko in your face isn’t the most terrifying part. Rather, you can’t believe you’re actually considering, actually thinking about taking the anko, without knowing where it’s been, or where it came from - 

A rustle of noise grabs your attention, dragging you away from your horrifying, unsanitary thoughts. You look back and, surprise surprise, it’s Gokudera, lining up behind you. 

His lips twist into a scowl as he watches the one-sided argument. It’s a look so foul, you can almost see him planning a premeditated murder. 

Which, he wouldn’t do, of course, because this is a very open space, in a very public area. 

… Right?

He wouldn’t, you think, a little less confidently. 

An ominous creak fills the air when Gokudera digs his fingers deep into the plastic packages in his hands. 

You swiftly walk up to the register, because you’re not particularly eager to witness a crime on a Saturday morning. It’s the grandest act of community service you’ve done since high school and you hope it’ll be the last.

“Excuse me,” you say, plastering on your best customer service smile. “That anko - is there a problem with it?”

The woman stops her tirade to give you a dirty look.

“The problem is that I was tricked!” she snaps, gesturing to the packaged anko. From a glance, it doesn’t look opened. “I asked for regular beans and this old lady gave me this!”

“Regular beans,” you repeat, before slowly looking back at the anko. You’re sorely tempted to ask how red bean paste could ever be mistaken for actual beans, but you swallow the words down.

“That must have been confusing,” you say instead, keeping that smile on your face because you’re a professional. “How much did you pay for it?”

“Ten euros,” the woman says, crossing her arms. “And I’m not leaving until I get a full refund for it!”

You put your snacks down on the counter, pull out your wallet, and hand over the right amount. “Great! Consider it paid for.”

The woman stares at the bills in her hand. “What?”

“Your refund,” you say, taking the anko from her loosened grip. “You can leave now, right?”

It doesn’t take long before the woman leaves in a huff, face still flushed and a hand clutching the cash tight. 

You turn to the stall owner, who still doesn’t look particularly invested in the commotion before her. She studies you for a moment and slowly, a smile appears on her lips.

“---?” she asks you in Japanese, dark eyes gleaming. “--- is okay, but ---”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” you say, only able to catch a few words. Heat flares briefly on your cheeks. “I don’t really understand.”

(For the briefest of moments, you suddenly wish you had taken your mom’s efforts to teach you Japanese a little more seriously. If you had, would you even be in this situation right now?)

The elderly woman’s smile widens. 

“No problem,” she says, switching to Italian with a heavy accent. The creases around her eyes deepen as she points to the snacks on the counter. “You take this?”

“Uh, yes,” you say, a little startled at the topic change. The stall owner hums, ringing up your snacks and calling out something else in Japanese.

You’re left slightly bewildered when she waves a hand, until moments later, someone else joins your side.

With a slightly resigned expression, Gokudera sets down his own purchases, and answers back in Japanese. 

In completely fluent, native Japanese.

This, you think, blinking rapidly, shouldn’t bother you. Gokudera is clearly, at least, partially Japanese, and why wouldn’t someone like that know how to speak it?

(This time, however, you can’t stop the flash of envy that spikes through your chest.)

You shake away your thoughts when the stall owner passes back your snacks in a bag.

“Thank you,” you say, accepting the bag and adding your newly acquired anko inside as well. “How much should I…?”

The stall owner smiles warmly before saying something to Gokudera again.

Gokudera, in the meantime, lets out an aggravated sigh.

“She says don’t worry about it,” he tells you, looking as if he’d rather be doing anything else than translate an old woman’s words for a random baker. 

You look down at your snacks in surprise. “Wait, really?”

The stall owner says a few more words. 

“‘It’s payment for getting rid of that annoying fucker,’ is what she says,” Gokudera lazily adds.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

You open your mouth, and close it again. 

“Is that,” you finally begin, after another pause. “Is that what she really said?”

Gokudera shrugs, which you find is a far worse response than a simple yes or no. 

You turn back to the old woman, who still has a serene smile on her face. Your head spinning, you say hesitantly, “Um, thank you then.”

Then, because you’re fairly certain you’ve somehow entered the twilight zone, you give a returning smile and slowly back away.

At this point, Gokudera’s purchases have also been bagged and, a little dazed,  you follow him back into the plaza. 

“Well, I’ll see you around then,” you say, a heartbeat too late, but really - who can blame you? “Thanks for translating.”

You’re not sure if you actually mean it, but you imagine Gokudera could’ve ditched at any point, so props to him for helping out the elderly.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, his free hand once again stuffed into his pocket. It’s strange how harmless it makes him look for once. “Next time, figure it out by yourself.”

“I’ll do what I can,” you say, after coming to the conclusion that, despite the roller coaster of events, you’re more than willing to return if you can find more of this anko. “I’m used to language barriers.”

The both of you reach the plaza entrance and, with piercing green eyes, Gokudera looks at you like you’re the slowest person on the planet.

“That’s stupid,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Why would you be used to it? Just learn the damn language.”

Something clenches in your chest.

“I,” you falter, the heat returning to your cheeks. “Do you think I haven’t thought about that?”

Gokudera snorts. “If you’ve thought about it, but haven’t tried it, does it actually count?”

It’s tempting to give into the acid that burns your throat. Gokudera doesn’t know anything about you and, frankly, it was a terrible idea to continue talking with someone who’s just a regular from your shop.

What’s even worse, you realize, is that he’s completely right.

(When have you ever really put in the effort to learn your mom’s home language? If it bothers you that much, why haven’t you tried picking it up again?)

Gokudera quickly runs a hand through his hair. 

“Look,” he finally says, after the silence stretches for a moment too long. “Forget I said anything.”

But he isn’t wrong. 

“No, that’s not it,” you quickly say, suddenly hit with the awareness that Gokudera, despite his abrasive personality, probably isn’t out to get you. “I… I get what you’re saying.”

If something bothers you, shouldn’t you at least try to go after it? Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all along with the anko in your hands?

You offer a weak smile. “I haven’t thought about it that way. So I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gokudera eyes you, lips twisting into that same perplexed expression from before.

“Right,” he says slowly. “You do that then.”

And without another word, Gokudera turns and walks away. You stare after his slouched shoulders for a brief moment, before glancing down at the bags in your hand.

Your smile falls and, with a heavy sigh, you rub the back of your neck.

As it turns out, it looks like you have some serious thinking to do.

-o-o-o-o-o-

what? you’re telling me that one of Gokudera’s weaknesses being old ladies isn’t canon? 

i actually had a lighter, more comedic plot point to end this chapter with, but it felt like that would diminish the importance of this final scene too much. heritage is something that matters more to some than others, but when you have different cultural backgrounds, it’s not easy to keep them all equal in your life - i hope this evolving struggle for our MC is clear to the people reading it!

there’s so much i want to say about my thoughts on this chapter, but to keep it short - this is the first time we see MC out of the shop and with it, a new set of experiences and facets of their personality. stepping out of their comfort zone (the shop) and being challenged through it - i imagine that Gokudera is the only one capable of doing it intentionally, at this time.

i know this started of as a ‘shitpost’ for giggles, but i do hope this brings some sort of enjoyment even when it digs deeper beyond the humor. it’s been exhausting to do many things lately, but i’m always grateful for how much love has been sent to this little, silly fic. please stay safe and healthy and aware out there!

[dustedmagazine]

Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

[undertaker1827]

Hi how are you? It is me again, as I loved the last writing you done. Can I request a fic where the Phantonville's mansion's inhabitants reacts to Undertaker's girlfriend that is sky, small but really intelligent please? Thank you for the attention.

Thank you!! Yes of course! I added in a bit at the end that you didn’t exactly ask for in this, but I felt it fit in. Hope you don’t mind!

-

Undertaker transferred the reins of his horse-drawn hearse into his left hand, curling the other arm around your small shoulders. He could practically taste your nervousness.

“It’ll be fine love, you’ll see.” You just nodded. You were sure it would be; they all seemed like lovely people from what Undertaker had told you, it was just that your shyness got the better of you sometimes.

When the hearse turned into the driveway of the Phantomhive manor, you were shocked at just how massive the building was. It dominated the landscape for miles around and you had to crane your head back just to see the top. Undertaker just gave his customary unsettling grin in response to your astonishment and gently guided the horses to the front door which opened moments before your arrival. You glanced over to your right to see a tall man clad in black with eyes just a little too unsettling to be brown. That must be Sebastian. You knew who he was from the many times your boyfriend had repeated his jokes.

Sebastian’s sharp eyes took in every detail of the newcomers and their transport before he bowed deeply and approached the hearse. The butler extended a hand to you to assist your steps down and whilst you accepted, you didn’t miss Undertaker’s watchful gaze boring through his bangs and over your shoulders. You kept this to yourself, however, and gave a pleasant smile and quiet word of thanks.

“Good morning, my lady,” was his smooth reply.

“Butler,” Undertaker greeted perhaps more coarsely than you expected. The man in question inclined his head.

“Good morning. I am terribly sorry, but I do not believe we were expecting you to bring any company,” he noted duly, no doubt already making plans to account for your appearance.

“Oh? Did I not mention I’d be bringing someone? Could’ve sworn I did .. Oh well.” The mortician returned a comforting arm to your shoulders, giving a slight squeeze when you turned into the contact. As he intended, this did not go unnoticed by the butler.

“Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” He inquired, “So that I might inform the young master.” After a short pause, you replied.

“Umm, F/N L/N.” You gave a small smile alongside the statement.

“Well, Miss L/N, I am delighted to meet you.” He bowed deeply once more, then turned towards the manor’s doors. “Please, both of you do come in.”

As soon as you stepped through the doors, the three of you were barraged with three other servants, two of whom were crying for Sebastian and the third of which was sheepishly glancing away and fiddling with his cigarette.

“Mey-rin. Finny. Baldroy ... We have guests. What on Earth could be the matter?” As it turned out, Baldroy had burnt the lunch that Sebastian had prepared for the young master, Finny had shattered several garden statues whilst trying to move them and Mey-rin had broken the crockery necessary for the lord’s meal. The butler’s eyebrow twitched as he launched into dishing out more menial tasks to occupy them whilst he managed to fix their messes in the meantime, but before he could finish doing so and dismiss them, Finny noticed that Undertaker had another person with him.

“Hi Mister Undertaker!” He chirped brightly, “Who’s this?” Mey-rin was next to follow Finny’s gaze.

“She’s very pretty, yes she is!” The maid contributed, offering a wide smile from behind her cracked glasses.

“Yeah, you’re right...” Baldroy mumbled from behind them both, still slightly more concerned with Sebastian’s latest task than the stranger. In reply to all three, Undertaker grinned.

“Glad you all think so highly of her. She’s my girlfriend, F/N L/N.” That certainly drew everyone’s attention to you more closely than it had been before. Mey-rin and Finny began exclaiming about how wonderful it was that you were together, wanting to know all about how you met and everything else they could think of in the moment. Sebastian and Baldroy stayed more quiet, but while Baldroy offered his congratulations, Sebastian made a mental note to inform the young lord, in case this development had or would make any difference to their professional relationship. During this time, you had subconsciously moved towards the mortician until you were all but using him as a shield to hide from the attention. It was about then that a commanding voice cut through the ruckus.

“What is all this about?” Snapped the exasperated voice of Ciel himself. Whilst undertaker had never told you much about Ciel specifically, he mentioned Vincent enough that you were able to recognise the earl in front of you as his son. “Oh. Undertaker, you’re early.” You were quite surprised at how sharply he spoke, but said nothing of it. You were really just relieved that everyone’s attention was not on you for a minute. It wasn’t to last, though, as Ciel’s eyes flickered to you almost immediately. “And you brought someone with you. I don’t recall you mentioning you were going to do that.” Undertaker provided Ciel with the same vague explanation he had given the butler.

“She’s his girlfriend, yes she is!” Mey-rin couldn’t contain her excitement any longer. The Earl of Phantomhive blinked several times in succession.

“His girl- wait. You mean as in his betrothed?!” His single eye widened with this statement as his gaze flicked between you both. Your own eyebrow raised as you looked back at Undertaker, who had apparently abandoned helping you in favour of having a laughing fit. You bit your lip then looked back at Ciel.

“I’m not his betrothed. We uh ... we’re just,” you struggled for the right word. “Together.” The earl’s stare didn’t waver.

“I see.”

The conversation seemed to move on fairly normally from there, to the point where you had hardly noticed the time passing before the business meeting was over and you two were leaving again. It wasn’t until you were sitting in the hearse next to Undertaker and had almost reached the bottom of the drive that you turned back to see the butler closing the doors to the mansion.

“See? Told you they were alright.” You hummed in agreement.

“Just one thing though.” Undertaker inclined his head for you to continue. “The butler. He’s not human, is he?”

“Oh?” He asked, “How do you suppose that?” You retuned your gaze to the road.

“The eyes. They’re red.” The mortician’s teeth glinted with a smile.

“Astounding perception for a human not knowingly exposed to anything supernatural. Does that mean you’ve realised something about me too?” You nodded in reply. “Retired reaper, if you were still unsure.” You had in fact worked that out a while ago, but had come to the conclusion that if and when he wanted you to know, he would tell you. “Any ideas as to what the butler is?” Undertaker waited patiently while you thought through the options.

“My best guess would be demon,” you continued after the mortician’s encouraging nod, “And under contract with Ciel?” You were met with a delighted chuckle.

“Well noticed, Y/N, well noticed.”

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Eidolon 7 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:  AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr

7. First Confrontations

It had been about two weeks since Danny had decided to visit the cemetery on his own. As he traveled the familiar paths, he constantly checked his surroundings for a sign of another's presence. Although he wasn't exactly, happy he felt that there was a need to check, it was better to play it safe. That creature had been there once after all, so who was to say that it would not appear again?

Without even realizing he had been aiming for it, he soon reached his favorite part of the grounds. A small stone terrace decorated with a couple benches sat neatly out of the way of both graves and the normal path. Since it was surrounded by trees, it was often easy to miss by visitors, assuring he would be able to think in peace for a while.

Words and images manufactured from hours of speculation kept swimming around his head. He tried to make sense of everything, but it just seemed to make his confusion worse. The puzzle of both his past and his parents' was not only vast, but complicated. It was likely it was possible to solve it; however he was pretty sure that there were several pieces that he still didn't have.

The new information about his unknown parents seemed to take precedence over any other thoughts. They had disappeared after being attacked, yet Winston had never actually said if they were still alive. Maybe his guardian withheld the information because of concern, or perhaps he didn't even know for sure. So, was it possible that they could still be out there somewhere? Wouldn't that be nice? But, he knew that it was incredibly unlikely just because of how much time had passed. Besides, he'd have absolutely no idea what he would say to them.

There was also the issue of the guy that had attacked his parents… Plasmius, or something like that. Winston seemed very hesitant to talk about him and had even danced around the subject once he had gotten a chance to ask him for details. Although he couldn't say for sure, it felt as if something big was being left out of the story, even if he had no idea what it could be. Was this Plasmius just an unorthodox researcher with some frightening ideas? Or was there more to it? Tucker had suggested that he could be some type of crazy arms dealer (though he personally didn't understand how weapons and paranormal science could mix).

Danny took a moment to both rest his mind and to attempt to figure out how to make his hand visible again. Shortly after his conversation with Winston, different parts of his body had seemingly begun to randomly disappear. The first time it happened, he had been trying to wash his face the one morning, only to realize that the wash cloth was seemingly floating in mid air. Although his hand reappeared only a few moments later, he was absolutely amazed that none of the neighbors called the police because of his regrettably very unmanly scream.

Since that initial incident, he was still no closer to understanding why it happened. It was possible that it was somehow related to the incidents where he fell through a solid object. However, he was currently unable to rationalize how that was possible. The only thing he could say was he was absolutely terrified of what it might be doing to his body, and what his friends might think if they happened to be unlucky enough to ever get to see it. That was why he had not contacted them in over a week.

He ran his hand through his hair as he sighed. No matter how much he tried to wrap his head around it, there was just too much he didn't know which prevented him from piecing everything together. Although he was definitely hesitant about contacting them, his friends, but talking to them over the phone would definitely help calm the chaotic storm in his mind, even if they couldn't contribute anything thing.

After glancing at his watch, he realized that Winston was probably going to be expecting him back home soon. As he got up off the bench, he inadvertently shuddered after a strange, almost breeze-like chill caressed his body which was almost immediately replaced by the feeling of being watched. "H-hello…?" he stammered, hoping that it was just his imagination. The last thing he needed at the moment was a repeat of what happened the last time he experienced this feeling.

"Okay… You're losing it," he told himself when nothing answered him. "There's nothing here except you and some dead people… Nothing to worry about… unless Amity Park has suddenly become Pittsburgh…"

"Zombies… How amusing. It always astounds me how the mind of a teenager can jump to such things."

Danny felt himself grow rigid as a sick sort of recognition ran through him. There was no way he could forget the sound of that voice, not after the terror he felt the last time he heard it. The chilling yet oddly sophisticated tone told him that whatever was speaking was definitely the very same creature he had encountered last time.

"W-who… what are you…?" he asked it, hoping he could possibly keep it occupied long enough for him to magically figure out a way to make an escape. The only problem was that he had this sinking suspicion it was smarter than him.

A strange and unnerving chuckle answered him. "I take it that you've heard of ghosts before, my boy?"

"So… you're telling me that you're a ghost…?" he asked slowly while he tried to figure out what was creepier: a disembodied voice talking about ghosts or it calling him 'my boy'.

"And you got it right on the first guess. I must say that I'm impressed."

His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out where it might be. Sure he was definitely scared of it, but currently the anger at it actually questioning his intelligence was currently overriding his fear. "Are you just here to annoy me?" he snapped. "If so, you're really doing a good job."

"Oh, I assure you that I have more important things to do than to wound the pride of an adolescent," it told him with a flourish before its tone became one of hunger. "I'm here to take you away from this world."

He slowly began to back up. Its voice had originally had sounded like it was coming from terrace boundary, now seemed like it was coming from right in front of him. And, it definitely felt as if something was standing only a few feet away from him, even if he couldn't see it.

"Are you afraid?" it asked him it an amused tone. "You really shouldn't be. Daniel, you don't belong in this world. You never have."

"Wh-what do you mean?" The fear was present in his voice now, and there was nothing that he could do to attempt to hide it. He backed up until he felt tree bark pressing into his skin. Whatever this thing was, it had managed to corner him.

He glanced around desperately, hoping there was something he could do. However, his attempts stopped when he realized a figure was slowly starting to materialize out of the air. He could tell it was humanoid in shape, but the features were still too burry to make out.

Once again, the voice, which seemed to be coming from the slowly emerging figure, chuckled. "Oh come now Daniel, haven't you realized that you feel more comfortable among the dead than the living?" Apparently, it took the confused look on his face as a confirmation as it continued. "I've watched you for a while now. I know that you come here because it seems to call to you. It's the only place where you can connect with the other side, whether you realize it or not."

His focus turned away from the conversation as he noticed that the figure appeared to be reaching out for him. He batted the hand away, surprised when he felt the resistance of another person. With the realization there was something physical there, he tried to further push himself away from it, but instead of finding the resistance of the tree, it felt like he was suddenly stumbling through a wall of water. The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground facing the opposite side of the tree.

"Good… It looks like your powers are developing quite nicely." The creature's voice now seemed to contain a dark interest as it again moved closer, undeterred by what had happened. It's form, though still hazy, was now visible enough for Danny to clearly identify it as having more of a male build. "Though, they're still tied to your emotions, which won't do you much good at the moment."

"P-powers?" he almost choked as he tried scooting away from it, ignoring the fact that he now had a chance to run. "What are you talking about?"

"So Winston really hasn't told you anything. It's such a shame." For a moment it appeared that it would say something else, but tilted its head as if it was listening to something. "Your friends have remarkable timing," it told him in a tone that clearly expressed that it was not happy about the intrusion.

He had no idea what it meant until he heard a faint voice calling his name. "Sam?" he shouted back in a surprised terror. "Don't come closer! Get out of here!"

"DANNY?" Her voice sounded closer.

The creature chucked yet again. "Oh, don't worry, I can wait a little longer before I claim you. Just be prepared." The voice seemed to fade away along with the pale outline of whatever it really was.

As soon as he felt like the creature was truly gone, he breathed deeply in relief only to jump at the sounds of Sam finally reaching him. He had just enough time to look up at her before one of his arms decided that it no longer cared for the rigidity of the ground and sank right through it before getting stuck.

…

"So… where's Tucker…?" he asked in an attempt to strike up a conversation after he and Sam rather awkwardly started back towards the entrance. It was definitely a risk for him to speak as his stomach started to turn against him, which apparently was going to happen every time something weird happened. But, knowing that he had frightened one of his only friends was enough to get him to try.

She was silent for a moment before she spoke, making sure that she did not glance at him. "He's waiting near the entrance… He said that he was too frightened to go any further than that."

"Oh…"

He bit his lip as he tried to figure out something else to say. Sam had managed to handle seeing him try to free his foot from a floor quite well, but apparently watching how it had happened was a little too much for her. He wished that there was something that he could say that would help, but what could he say when he didn't even understand what was happening?

"Um… Danny…" He glanced over at her only to realize that she had stopped a few feet behind him. She was uncharacteristically playing with the hem of her skirt before she looked up at him with blazing eyes. "What's going on? Now I'm all for the weird and freaky, but even this is starting to get too weird, even for me!"

"Sam…" Before he could really say anything, she interrupted him.

"If you want me and Tucker to continue to be your friends, you've got to start explaining things! This is the second time that I've seen some part of your body get stuck into something solid. That's not normal no matter how you look at it! What are you? What was that thing? What's going on?"

"Do you think I know?" he snapped at her, causing her to stop her rant and stare at him. "If I knew what is happening to me, don't you think I would have said something after Tucker fainted?" Getting irritated was definitely not the best idea since his stomach decided to forcefully remind him that it was already upset with him. In an attempt to keep everything under control, he sat on the ground while resting his head on his knees. This illness thing was really starting to get on his nerves.

A hesitant touch caused him to glance up. Although it was very clear that she still felt uncomfortable, Sam had decided to come over and gently run his back in a somewhat apologetic attempt to make him feel better. "I'll wait until we get out of here before I ask anything else. You need time to feel better, and Tucker'll mentally need to prepare himself. I swear he can be so cowardly sometimes."

…

As he watched his friend try to find ways to rationalize what he was told of what had occurred in the graveyard, he grimly decided he would rather deal with attempting to escape from that creature… or ghost, if that's what it really was, than dealing with Tucker's spastic response to his fears. After meeting up with him at the entrance of the graveyard, they had relocated to Tucker's house to talk things over.

"So, you're telling me that this thing told you that not only do you not belong in 'this world' but that it was going to take you away too?" Tucker asked as he adjusted his glasses. "What's to say that it's not going to come after you while we're around?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," he sighed, for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "From what I understand, it could have very easily have taken me away earlier today, but instead it decided to leave when Sam appeared. It doesn't make much sense to me either, but I guess it would rather take me when there was no one around to watch…"

"But why?" Sam's tone made it clear that she held a great deal of skepticism about the motives of the creature. "I mean… I was the only other person around earlier, and it had plenty of time to take you and run, or fly, or whatever… you know what I mean… before I even managed to get a good look at either of you. There's just something that doesn't feel right about it."

Although Danny hadn't thought about it before, she had made a very valid point. That thing could have done anything it wanted with him, yet it decided to leave him alone again. There really seemed to be no logical reason for it. Well, no logical reason that he could come up with. For some reason, it just felt like it was somehow playing a game with him.

"Wait a minute, Sam! You actually saw this thing?" Tucker demanded, completely ignoring everything else that she had said. "What did it look like?"

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow for a moment before she spoke. "Why do you want to know? I thought that you were afraid of this thing…"

"I am, but I'd like to know what my doom looks like so that I have a better chance to be prepared."

"Tucker, we're dealing with something that's calling itself a ghost, meaning that it can become invisible. How is that going to help?"

For a second, he thought that the word 'ghost' was going to cause Tucker to go into another set of hysterics, but instead he smile rather broadly. "Well, if that's the case, than I guess I don't need to worry all that much."

"Wait a minute, you've been scared of this thing for two weeks and now it's suddenly fine? What's going on?" Danny asked after he shared a very confused glance with Sam.

Tucker gave them a rather surprised look before he started to look up something on his PDA. After mere seconds, he shoved it towards them so that they could get a glance at the article he pulled up. "I'm actually surprised that you haven't heard about this Sam, especially because of how interested you are in all things dark and creepy, but if that thing really is a ghost, then it's not going to leave its haunt."

"Wait, that's right!" Sam exclaimed after handing the PDA back to Tucker. "Ghosts tend to haunt places that have some sort of significance to them, and they're never seen anywhere else. So if that thing's haunt is the cemetery, then…"

"It's going to stay there…?" Danny asked with a little bit of uncertainty.

"EXACTLY!" Tucker nodded to himself, pleased that everyone now seemed to be on the same page. "That means that I don't have to worry about it. But… just in case… what did it look like?"

He just shook his head. "I… I'm not entirely sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

"Um… well, it was almost like it was slowly coming into focus the whole time it was talking to me, and I was more focused on trying to escape than anything else…."

"You had to have seen something?"

The desperation in Tucker's voice made him try to revisit the encounter to see if anything in particular decided to stick out at him. "It… was about the size of a normal man," he said slowly after a moment, "and was wearing black gloves."

"And it had a cape," Sam added.

"It had a cape?" both he and Tucker asked rather incredulously.

She nodded. "That's really the only thing that I know I saw."

"Wait, you're telling me that this thing thinks that it's some sort of demonic superhero?" Tucker practically demanded.

"How should I know what it thinks? And what makes you say that?"

After that simple question, the three of them managed to somehow get into a rather complicated debate about the various superhero universes. Although it was completely off topic, it was definitely a very welcome distraction from the earlier events of the day.

Although he kept trying to push it from his mind, there was something that nagging him about the encounter. Sure, Tucker might be convinced that the self-proclaimed-ghost would not appear anywhere else other than the cemetery, but he wasn't as sure. All of the ghost stories he had heard had taught him that ghosts were not able to hurt the living, yet he was absolutely certain that if it had wanted to, it could have easily have killed him or Sam. Assuming that it had that sort of power made him wonder if it could throw the other 'rules' out of the window too.

The only problem was that he didn't have the necessary information about it though. Hopefully, he would never get a chance to learn it, but something told him that he wouldn't be that lucky. The only thing he could do was wait and see what happened in the upcoming days.

=================================================================== Okay, there's a few notes for this chapter:

1) Story timeline rundown: Ch.1 Sat Ch.2 Sat night Ch. 3 Sun Ch. 4 Wed afternoon Ch. 5 Wed afternoon Ch. 6 Wed night Ch. 7 Sun (two weeks after chapter 3)

The story starts in the 2nd week of September (the year is rather unnecessary to know). The reason is that this is what came to mind when I first started working on this, and that I have absolutely no idea when Danny's actual birth date (if there is an official one) really is.

If you don't get the Pittsburgh reference, it's okay. Pittsburgh's often called the zombie capital of the world because of how many zombie films have been made there.

[paintingraves]

The Witcher Sing!AU

just watched Sing and I’m feeling pretty inspired so please imagine a Witcher band AU in which they all participate in a singing contest. In the end it all comes down to two very different finalists: 

one if a band called The Witchers. we’ve got Yennefer as lead singer, Geralt as lead singer + guitarist, Eskel as drummer, Lambert on the bass, Aiden as cellist and Cohen as keyboardist (or something along those lines.) Geralt knows Regis, who’s a music manager under the big name label Vampire Records (Detlaff owns the company and the label organized this whole thing hoping to find some new talent.) 

Now The Witchers are good, they’re better than good, and they know they’re good, but alas they suffered several major setbacks that prevented them from ever breaking through in the industry; including, like, Geralt getting a child surprise, Yennefer and him going through a bad breakup once, and Eskel getting in a very bad car accident (he’s got the scars to show for it.) But today they’re here and they look amazing. They’re going to set fire to that damn stage and get signed under Vampire Records if it kills them. 

And the other finalist? Why he’s a strapping, loud and very flamboyant young man who plays, between other things, the lute. He’s got an amazing voice and an amazing presence on stage, and at his disposition a whole variety of instruments that he has mastered - he switches between the lute, the guitar, the piano and even at some point a goddamn hang drum seemingly effortlessly. And it sounds gorgeous, damn it. 

Geralt has to admit it - the kid is good, he’s really good. Depending on what Vampire Records are looking for he might just be who they choose. But it doesn’t mean The Witchers won’t go down without a fight. Each of them wants this more than Julian - stage name Jaskier, buttercup - can possibly imagine. 

Jaskier does grate on Geralt’s nerves at first but then Eskel, kind Eskel invites him to get a drink after rehearsals and Jaskier beams at them and readily agrees. As time goes by and despite the fact they’re competing against one another they all become fast friends with Jaskier - it’s hard not to, charisma practically oozes off the guy in waves and it feels like he could charm the pants off of anyone if he just smiled at them like they’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

He stares at Yen like that. 

And Geralt. 

And Eskel, who is utterly puzzled by it. 

And Lambert, a tad, but then Aiden growls at Jaskier who prompty moves on. 

(Seriously, it’s like the bard falls in love with everyone he meets.) 

Regis and Detlaff pay them a surprise visit the final day of rehearsal and, à propos of nothing, Regis tells him Emyr var Emreis himself might just be there to see the performance -- just because Detlaff knows him and apparently the emperor made time in his schedule to see this as a way to relax. 

Jaskier chokes on his bottle of water and repeats the words the emperor???? the fucking emperor?????! for the next fifteen minutes until Lambert cuffs him on the back of his head. 

The last day of competition arrives. The winner gets to sign under Vampire Records and the second place goes home with a 10,000 $ price, which is a fair consolation prize. Geralt is nervous, but they’re all in a good mood, in top shape, Yennefer is gorgeous as ever, they’ve all donned their ‘armor’ and they’re ready to make the audience lose their minds. 

Jaskier is silent for once. He’s wearing a shiny blue thing à la Freddie Mercury that sparkles in the light; his hair is carefully tousled and his eyes are lined with knol (artfully done by Yennefer herself, who’s grown quite fond of the little bard.) 

Lambert is talking to Aiden in a corner, their hands touching; Geralt is pretty sure that, whether they win or lose, Aiden’s gonna ask for Lambert’s hand in marriage tonight and they’ll party till dawn. 

His daughter Ciri is in the audience, of course, with a few friends. She can’t wait to see her dad kill the stage. His heart tightens in his chest. He’ll be the best he can for her. 

He doesn’t know if the emperor is actually here, and tells himself he doesn’t really care. they’ve done this hundreds of times. they’re ready as they’ll ever be. 

Jaskier goes first, for once. His manic energy fills up the entire stage and he’s got the public eating out the palm of his hand after the first song. Geralt watches him from backstage, mesmerized, just like Yennefer and anyone else looking at Jaskier right now. When his set ends he is sweating, his cheeks flushed, but the audience roars their approval and calling for encores and he bows deeply and flirts as he makes his way out of the stage under a thunder of applause. He’s smiling brightly and Geralt doesn’t say it but he knows Jaskier is thinking the same thing - that was incredible and he’s won. 

Doesn’t mean people shall leave this place without remembering performance of The Witchers, because they’re damned good. The audience is going to see two very different genres of music and two very different performances tonight and Jaskier will appeal to some and The Witchers to some others. The public also gets a vote. 

It’s the matter of a few minutes to set the stage and then it’s their turn. The atmosphere immediately grows darker, the lights fading out. Eskel and Lambert start the first song, Ignite, with the drums and bass and then Yennefer’s melodious voice gradually joins in like the veil of an angel cast from the shadows. The lyrics are Geralt’s and Eskel’s work (Eskel just has a way with words, must be all that poetry he reads) and talk about resilience and the ability to ‘come back to life’ when one has lost everything. 

It’s a heavy subject but the beat is good, Geralt and Yen’s voices powerful, and the whole room is electrified. They have fans here, old and new, who shout at the top of their lungs the lyrics as they sing and Geralt briefly spots Ciri in the crowd, dancing along and grinning up at her father with stars in her eyes. 

After that comes Aard, with an incredible solo by Lambert, and then Yrden -- Yennefer’s time to shine. The performance goes very well, and the multiple light and fire effects on stage add to the wow effect of it all. 

When they’re almost done the crowd goes absolutely wild, screaming and shouting and applauding. Some are even crying. Yennefer gets close to the edge of the stage and touches a few outstretched hands as she holds that final note, and Geralt grins at Lambert, who nods and they both take off their shirts (Eskel rolls his eyes) and throw them in the public to screams and whistles. Yennefer throws her empty water bottle to a lucky guy who holds it like it’s the holy grail, awed and struck dumb. 

They perform one last song, a bit calmer and quieter but no less remarkable, and then finally bow and leave as the curtain closes. 

Jaskier grins at them and hands out a new water bottle to Geralt. “That was amazing,” he says sincerely. “I got goosebumps all over, I’m still shaking.” 

They can hear the showman telling people to vote while the jury deliberates and, after fifteen good minutes, they are all called back onstage. Geralt puts on another t-shirt. Lambert doesn’t and walks out there with a feral grin. 

The tension is high and near unbearable as they wait for the final deliberations. 

Finally the presenter calls Regis and Detlaff onstage. Regis holds a single golden enveloppe in his hand. They wave to the crowd, thank them for coming here tonight, say it was difficult to make a choice, yada yada. Yennefer’s biting her lips, Lambert is standing ramrod straight, and Jaskier is flexing his hand. 

“And the winner is... Jaskier!” 

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier says aloud, and then, “Wait, what? No!” 

And Geralt knew but it still hurts, it feels like he’s failed his band again -- 

The crowd is wild but Regis holds up a hand. “If you’d let me finish,” he says calmly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Yes, Jaskier, congratulations for winning this competition. You have a lot of potential, and I think everyone here saw that. However...”

“... However,” he continues, “I believe everyone will agree with me here when I say The Witchers more than deserve to win.” There are screams of agreement. “Your performance here tonight was astounding, Geralt, everyone -- you blew us all away. Even the emperor, who yes, dear audience, is with us tonight. Up there.” A stagehand shines a spotlight to where Regis is pointing. There indeed sits emperor Emyr var Emreis, who stands up and waves under a new thunder of applause. He meets Geralt’s eyes and gives a nod, smiling. Geralt feels like he’s dreaming. 

“Which is why...” Regis has to raise his voice even with a mic. “Which is why The Witchers will still get signed under ampire Records; and as for you, Jaskier, we offer Oxenfurt Records on a silver platter. I am good friends with the CEO and she has noticed you. Countess de Stael, if you please? 

As a gorgeous blond woman rises from the high seats and makes her way down, the world suddenly comes into focus around Geralt. 

The noise is deafening. Regis is smiling smugly as if he knew this was how it would go the whole time. Lambert is cheering and hugging Eskel and Cohen is repeating well fuck me on a loop, and then Aiden is grabbing Lambert by the scruff of his neck and bringing him center stage and getting down on one knee in front of him and oh my god. 

“Oh my god,” Jaskier echoes, and he’s crying. 

It’s all so much. 

Geralt might be crying too. 

And Ciri. 

And Yen, though she’d never admit it. 

And everything is fine. 

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

In the Grocery Store on Valentine’s Day

Summary: Tommy and Charlie try to get through a shopping trip without a tantrum. That doesn’t go so well. But things unexpectedly change when they run into Alfie Solomons 

            Tommy did not like going to the grocery store. As someone who was indifferent to food and crowds, it wasn’t a fun trip for him. Usually, Grace went. Then, after her death, the nanny went. But Tommy let Ally take the weekend off because her boyfriend surprised her with a short Valentine’s trip. And Tommy wasn’t a monster so he couldn’t tell her she couldn’t have the time off.

            Unfortunately, it meant that he would have to endure the task of taking his toddler to the grocery store. As if shopping weren’t difficult enough, Charlie had been fussy all day and didn’t show any signs of stopping.

            It frustrated Tommy because he knew his son much preferred Ally’s company. The young woman was always around, unlike Tommy who was always working. Why should his son be comfortable around him? Frustration led to guilt which led to grief.

            Overall, both Shelby boys were in a bad mood throughout the entire store. Charlie whined from his seat in the carriage and Tommy did his best to speed through the process. He didn’t know that Ally took her time, letting Charlie take in the environment, letting the little boy hold the items and place them in the cart. She made it into a little learning game. But Tommy was oblivious to this routine and how upset Charlie was that they weren’t doing it Ally’s way. He figured the faster they got to the check-out line, the better.

            Of course, once they were there, Charlie lost his cool because everything about the trip was wrong, in his little toddler brain. The child began to cry and scream until he was red-faced.

            Tommy hated the looks he got from the people around him. Some looked sympathetic and the rest looked annoyed. He didn’t want sympathy and he didn’t want people looking at him like he was a bad father. Disgruntled, Tommy picked Charlie up and tried to soothe him, resting him against his shoulder while patting his back.

            A few moments after picking him up, Charlie began to settle down. Tommy was a little surprised. Once his son was wound up, it was near impossible to get him to calm down that quickly. Then, Charlie began to giggle.

            Curious, Tommy turned around and saw a man in line behind him. “Alfie?” He raised an eyebrow. The Jewish man with tattoos crawling up his arms, a full beard, and a good amount of gold always on his person, was a business associate. The two had butted heads several times before but their alliance was mutually beneficial.

            “Oh, Tommy, mate, I didn’t know that were you.” Alfie looked thrown off guard. Damned if he ever thought he’d see Tommy Shelby carrying his kid in the grocery store. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d seen the man when he wasn’t wearing a three-piece suit. But there he was in jeans and a t-shirt.  

            Charlie giggled and reached out toward Alfie’s beard. The man smiled. “Sorry, playing a bit of peek-a-boo to help calm him down.” He explained.

            Tommy was astounded and as such, couldn’t exactly find the words. “Uh…thank you.”

            “No worries.” Alfie shrugged. He was considerably calmer when they weren’t in the middle of negotiating. “How old did’ya say he was now?” Tommy had mentioned his son before in passing. Probably when Grace was pregnant or had just given birth.

            “Ten months.” He answered.

            “Right…well, looks like you don’t he?”

            No, Tommy thought, Charlie looked like Grace. But he was trying to dig for his wallet and couldn’t answer his associate.

            “Here, mate, let me take him.” Alfie offered.

            He hesitated but noticed the growing line behind him. “Erm, alright, sure.” He handed Charlie over so he could find his wallet and pay.

            The boy seemed entranced by Alfie’s beard, it reminded him of his uncle’s mustache.

            Tommy couldn’t help but overhear as he paid.

            “What’d you think then, yeah? Oh, you like me beard?” Alfie chuckled as Charlie patted his cheeks. “Your dad don’t have one, do he? Yeah, I’m a bit more like a bear huh?” He teased. Charlie squealed and babbled on happily. “Oh is that right? Yeah, mate, yeah, I hear ya.” Alfie laughed and shook his head.

            Tommy finished paying and cleared his throat. “Thank you. Would’ve been a nightmare to go through this without you to distract him.”

            Alfie returned Charlie to Tommy’s arms. “Don’t mention it.”

            In a moment of vulnerability, Tommy sighed. “He’s never happy with me.”

            “Aw, now I’m sure that ain’t true.” Alfie shook his head and finished placing his shopping on the belt. “You two are going through a tough time, yeah, so there’ll be some adjustment time.”

            Tommy wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the man so comforting. For a while, he assumed Alfie was always a smartass. Clever, but a smartass. Handsome too.

            Wait.

            Tommy swallowed. “Well, thank you again.” He mumbled, suddenly on edge because of his wild thought.

            “I’ll see you around. Oh and Shelby, Happy Valentine’s day.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Tommy hadn’t an inkling that just six years later, he would wake up in bed with Alfie. The two married and deeply in love.

            Charlie came charging into the room. “Daddy, papa!” He leaped onto the bed. “I made Valentine’s.” The almost seven-year-old dished out construction paper hearts.

            Tommy yawned and sat up. Alfie was already awake and taking a bit of quiet time to read the news on his phone.

            “Oh well, those are very nicely made.” Alfie put his phone aside. “Look at that, perfect penmanship, exquisite use of colors, and oh my look at that. Look at that picture, now that, right, should be hanging in a museum.”

            Charlie laughed and pressed his heels together. He adored Alfie but also loved Tommy. The two had bonded despite the unfortunate circumstances after they lost Grace. It was sad that Charlie didn’t remember anything of his mother, but they kept photographs of her around just so he knew.

            Tommy smiled as he read the card.

            Daddy, I love you very much. Love, Charlie.

            “Thank you, Charlie, it’s lovely.” He kissed his son’s forehead.

            Cyril came trotting in and rested his chin on the edge of the bed. Alfie smiled. “Looks like someone’s ready for breakfast. Right, let’s make a Valentine’s breakfast.” He got up and threw Charlie onto his shoulders. The boy shrieked with laughter.         

            Tommy gathered the Valentine’s and got up to stick them to the ‘fridge. He couldn’t believe they were there. Married to Alfie Solomons, raising Charlie together, having Cyril around. But he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​

Masterlist

[altarflame]

Let me give you this real country music breakdown.

Keeping in mind that 2019 involved lots of gut wrenching transition, including divorce and selling my home of 11 years (the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere). Moving away from the tropics, to a place where the ocean is usually too far and my plants can’t live outside through the winter. I had a kid move out and away, for the first time.   My oldest friend also died last August, after a scant 3 month long battle with cancer. It was a real plague upon my proverbial dog, wife, and pickup truck. And, of course, I’m living through a pandemic, and a long overdue but very emotional racial justice uprising, with the rest of you, now. Anyway. OTHER than those things, my 2020 has been like...My sister’s gradually, gut wrenchingly cut off all contact with me over the past couple of years, culminating in the last couple of months, whenst we no longer speaketh at all. I’ve fought hard for this to be different and it’s still very sharp. I don’t think I’ll ever give up hope, or stop making a fool of myself about it. A new friend I was starting to really care about hung herself in April. I’ve tried to be there for her husband and 5 year old daughter when and how I can, which is honestly not much. I’ve taken several people who were scared to go alone, to her grave.  I felt forced to break up with the person I thought was my soul mate, these past 3 years, and wanted to be with forever, and I have grieved it hard over the last couple of months. I’m still processing this. I’m gonna be processing this for awhile. My threshold for being anywhere near him without overwhelming sobbing is apparently approximately 45 seconds. In the beginning we were scrambled together, mixed in a celestial bowl and hand fluffed with a feather. And the tears of bliss were not amiss - it was a good day.  But the story nears the present time Of restlessness and wake up calls Wake up! Years have flown fast but then who's counting The wars have been won but there's few left standing between us And the shadows of Christmas past... Critically acclaimed but sadly underrated - Fortune definitely favored us, but no one celebrated. Our wits were splitting at their ends... We gazed upon the city lights We each laughed aloud one final time and agreed: This is one thing we'll miss... On his way out, he sabotaged my part time foster child’s mom’s tenuous, fragile relationship with me, so I no longer have the ability to connect with or help that child who he brought into my life. Who I love and wonder about and periodically hear horror stories about via mutual friends. I bent over backwards, I burned calories straining for that trust between the mom and myself.  

It’s so terrible sometimes. It hurts so bad. Jean-Paul. LAURA.   *MILLS*  . Coralye. FUCK. This post brought to you with plenty of hard crying, and no shortage of echoing painful music. I’m physically sick about this shit semi often.  I don’t normally let go of anybody, guys. But certainly not my fucking nearest and dearest.  I have a lot. I have SO MUCH. I know this. I feel good a lot of the time.  I have all 5 of my kids under this roof while the pandemic rages on, and they’re all healthy and beautiful and they all love me and talk with me. It’s mostly all cake these days with them, Elise telling me where she is in her own solitary reading for pleasure, Ananda cracking me up, Jake biking to the grocery store for treats to share, Aaron showing me something amazing in the yard, Isaac washing dishes and giving me weirdly helpful and totally unanticipated advice. They’re almost no work now, it’s all return on investment and I have tons of privacy and I use the fuck out of it.  I’m deeply in love with somebody these past 7 months. Being deeply in new love AND devastated-heartbroken about lost love at the same time is honestly dizzying, I spent a first destitute day thinking maybe I can’t do polyamory anymore, period. Maybe this is too fucking much and I’m gonna be alone and focus on my career and my goddamned plants. (<--not fucking really, obv I am not gonna let the pain win and go full hermit. Brief compelling temptation, though.) My career and my plants are great, btw, thanks for asking. I’ve got basically my dream job, it’s flexible and lackadaisical AND meaningful and challenging, it’s salaried with bonuses and hella benefits and amazing job security. It’s the whole thing, the culmination of 6 years in school and unpaid internships and volunteering. I even have a spare PRN position elsewhere that I mostly hang on to because it’s fun when they want me to come make $200 for a shift, to mix it up a little.  And I have solo projects, writing and web and mental health, all in the works, and they’re good.  I have seedlings sprouting. I have a yard that is pure magic, revealing new secrets each day.  I’ve got some of my oldest people, like Jess. I’ve got some exciting new people, like Jill.  The love, did I mention it? Holy shit. I’ve got Sterling, and that is a whole other story. That it’s been this good while things are this bad is pretty astounding. His own drama quotient has been off the charts, too. I almost can’t imagine how wonderful it would be if we weren’t constantly adrift in a sea of bullshit, though I also strongly suspect we both need a certain staggering minimum quota of bullshit. It’s no accident that we met mutually chasing along after the wake of the same madman’s chaos. We’re nursing some deep wounds in each other, waking up some old old hurts and soothing them back down smaller and smaller. Anytime we’re touching it’s either syrupy soma sweet, blazing inferno hot, or a staggering blend of the two - and then we pull apart to try to actually speak with whole brains, and inevitably take turns being baffled, just hilariously relieved, at how easy it is to communicate. We alternate coming at each other on tiptoe, braced, and then feeling confused and just.... amused? Skeptical? that the other is totally able to empathize with what was just said and is accepting it gently.  We don’t have a ton of objective stuff in common, on paper. We’re both very wordy and linguistic, we’re analyzers, we draw unusual people who will feel safe telling us insane things. We’re both hypersexual perverts, chronic pickers, we both wear too much black. It doesn’t go a lot further than that at a glance. We both have PTSD and ironclad outward facing coping skills, nostalgia for the Florida Keys, scientific skepticism mixed with some faith in magic.... we were both brilliant children who felt pretty isolated. But I haven’t ever really felt like anyone is loving me the way I love people, before. I’ve never even felt like anyone else received my love, the same way I intended it, or at least not all of it. It’s like the intensity of what I’m conveying and meaning when I kiss somebody’s cheek, I dunno man, he experiences it. The goofy flowing sense I have, of holding hands, he comments on it all the time. I’m not just like.... alone, in my overwhelm with being touched, or my enthusiasm for sensations, and that is honestly pretty new to me. Sterling is not tolerating my affection for my sake, and I’m still gradually adapting to that with periodic backsliding into hesitance, and unneeded apologies. It’s like we’re totally fluent in the precise same love language, so nothing gets lost, and the feedback loop is instantaneous.  He’s dark inside, but dark like Nine Inch Nail’s A Warm Place. Dark like the womb.  So as I was saying. I have so much. Including a candle that’s about Mills, and is burning behind me, giving me this slipping sense that I need to blow it out, I need to reserve it, it’s gonna be gone soon. This one spans so many feelings, it’s been positive, some new candle would be what, voodoo? Meddling? I don’t know. This one’s been in a drawer, with our ring buried in it (my dragon). What will I do with that ring? What will I do with all this love?  How can I contain so much, anyway? Why can’t anything ever replace anything else? It’s like infinite space, and the empty places just keep throbbing, and it’s like I sprout new spots for new fullness and the cavities pulse on.  I’m deeply grateful for a certain self-completeness I’ve come to understand that I have, and that not everyone does. I am resiliant A-motherfucking-F (<--meta vulgar!). AND YET. OW OW OW.  I’m sitting here trying to exposure therapy my way through my Mills playlist, as I write this, so Spotify can’t surprise me into sads anymore. I’ve gotten already to a place where sometimes i remember positive things purely positively, and laugh and tell a story and it’s ok. I’m bitter as all hell that I can’t even talk to my sister about this breakup, after she had so many stupid goddamned feelings about the relationship itself, about polyamory in general, about ever knowing him (which might have allowed her to help me grieve at all).  Sigh. I love the internet, maybe feel free to send me a message if you’re still reading, whoever the fuck you are <3

[skyrimaddiction]

Different Characters meeting my OC Syan Part 2

See Part 1 here: https://skyrimaddiction.tumblr.com/post/613971069135716352/different-characters-meeting-my-oc-syan-part-1

Part 3: https://skyrimaddiction.tumblr.com/post/615307555752771584/different-characters-meeting-my-oc-syan-part-3

Kodlak: He was in the basement of Jorrvaskr listening to Vilkas talk of his struggles with the beastblood, when he heard the door open. A new scent filled the air, and Vilkas and him both silenced their conversation so that the newcomer wouldn’t overhear them. They both turned to look at the newcomer. Kodlak instantly recognized her. He was filled with surprise, and then joy, trust, and familiarity. It was a woman, and not just any woman, but the woman from his dreams that will stand beside him in the afterlife and fight Lord Hircine to save the other trapped souls from his hunting grounds. He knew her as a trustworthy and formidable ally. One he called friend, and he knew he could trust the future of the Companions with. He would name her Harbinger when the time was right. The red-headed high elf approached him and they spoke for the first time. Kodlak knew that she would still have to prove herself to the others and gain their respect and trust. He asked Vilkas to test her skills in the yard. Vilkas begrudgingly agreed and lead her towards the yard. Kodlak watched as they walked away, and he smiled to himself contently. He was glad that she had finally arrived. He knew she had arrived in Whiterun a few nights ago, as everyone kept re-telling the story of how she leaped onto a Giant’s back and blinded it with daggers. He knew Farkas was fond of her, Aela was impressed by her, Skjor had no opinion yet, and Vilkas didn’t believe the tale. None the less, she was already making waves in Jorrvaskr. Kodlak might not know how things will turn out during her time in with The Companions, but he knew the end result. The friendship and trust he had for Syan might only exist now in his dreams, but he knew in time they would come to fruition.

Brynjolf: He got word from one of the guards that a newcomer had seen right through the visitor's tax scheme at the front gate. Most people didn’t bother to even question it and just paid. Odd that a newcomer saw it right off the bat. He wanted to see just who this person was. He knows every face that resides in and around Riften, and he laid eyes on her right away. It’s a woman, a red-head like him, except she is an Elf, an Altmer. Her long red hair flowed gracefully in the gentle breeze. The fall color foliage only amplified her beauty. He noticed right away from her armor and weapons that she too, must get by on less than honorable means. Scavenging and looting most likely. He approached her and mentioned how she’s never earned all that coin doing honest work. She only raised an eyebrow at him, looked him up and down, and said: “Alright, what am I doing and how much are you paying?” She was sharp this one. He told her the plan to steal a ring from Madesi’s StrongBox and plant it inside Brand-Shei’s pocket. He drew everyone’s attention in the market, and as soon as the crowd gathered, he lost eyes on her. He had never lost eyes on anyone before, this surprised him, and also confirmed that she was exactly the fresh blood the guild needed. Not even two minutes pass by, and she’s in his eyesight near Brand-Shei, giving him the signal that the job was done. Impressive, and nothing went wrong. He mentioned that there was more work and coin for her if she was interested. She said, “You’re with the Guild.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. This lass was proving to be quite something else. “Yes lass, if you are interested in joining, make your way down to the Ragged Flagon.” She nodded and walked away, heading to all the vendors to sell all her looted goods. She had all the male merchants wrapped around her fingers, and all the women envied her. When she talked to Grelka, she was a hard bargainer, squeezing out every Septim she could. This lass was going places. good places. He knew he needed her in the Guild, and maybe, just maybe, she will help them turn things around and get them back up on their feet again.

Ancano: He had heard that a new student had arrived at the college, and he made it his business to see to it that he learned as much about her as possible. When he saw the high-elf woman for the first time, he was suspicious. The Thalmor keep track on every high-elf in Skyrim, and he was not notified of any high-elfs being sent to or heading towards the college. Mirabelle was giving her the tour, and Ancano trailed behind them at a distance, eavesdropping on them. Apparently, she had come to learn more about destruction magic. He could sense an air of danger around her, and he knew that he must keep a watchful eye on her. He continued to trail her, as she had her first class with Tolfdir. He asked her to wield a ward spell to block his magic attack. She claimed she had never used a ward spell before, but her instant mastery of the spell was astounding. Ancano only grew more suspicious. Either she was lying, or she had great magical instincts. If that was the case, he would need to be very wary of her. Ancano considered himself to be the most powerful mage in the college, and any new threat he must address swiftly and discreetly. He knew she was dangerous. The class was dismissed and told to meet up at the old ruins of Saarthal. He stepped in her path, blocking her from leaving. “Pardon my intrusion, I am Ancano, the Thalmor Advisor here at the college. It is my business to know everyone and everything relating to this college, yet I know nothing of you, please state your business here so that I may get back to my work.” Syan’s eyes met his, and he could sense the seething hatred for him, and a creeping sense of dread drenched through his bones and into his core. He stilled with fear. Syan replied, “Who I am and my business here is none of your concern, not get out of my way, or I will make you.” Her threat was laced with so much venom, Ancano felt his throat close up, and he couldn’t speak a single word., let alone breath. He quickly side-stepped out of her way, and watched as she walked away, throwing a menacing glare over her shoulder back at him. He finally was able to breathe once the college doors closed behind her. That woman would be the death of him. He knew it, so he had to make sure he disposed of her before she came after him. This woman was more dangerous than anyone knew, and Ancano knew that most would not be able to see it. Dread filled his body once more. This was not going to end well.

  Astrid: She was pissed to find out that someone had stolen a contract that should have been the Dark brotherhood’s. Someone got to the old crone at the Riften Orphanage before they did. Whoever this person was Astrid was dead serious about finding out. She spoke with all her contacts in Riften, yet no one knew a damn thing. She finally had to speak with the children of the Orphanage as a last resort. She had slipped a sleeping potion into the other worker’s drink, so she slept soundly. The children all sat in their beds, with looks of fear and uncertainty on their faces. Astrid pulled up a chair. “Do not be alarmed, I am only here to see if you are happy with our…..services.” She said calmly. The children eased and nodded enthusiastically. They all took turns replying “She was the best!” “She slit Grelad’s throat and blood was everywhere!” “We miss the pretty elf lady! I wish my hair was red like hers!” “Her eyes were pretty too, like sunshine!” Astrid had enough information to go on by her appearance at least, but now it was time to figure out who and where she was. Alas, the children didn’t know, so she had to continue gathering information elsewhere. She spent weeks contacting all her sources trying to get any information about her. Ironically, the information she already had, from a few previous contracts, and a new contract that came in. A few people had already placed contracts for Syan’s death, and Astrid had sent out new recruits to take care of her, except the assassins failed and were killed by this woman. The Thalmor then approached Astrid as a last resort, as their previous attempts to kill her were unsuccessful, so they were willing to pay to have someone else deal with her. That contract too had failed. When Astrid realized that the few failed contracts she had were all for the same woman, she was able to piece the puzzle together. The woman was a red-haired high elf by the name of Syan. She had a primary residence in Whiterun, and was with The Companions, Thieves Guild, and the College. She was rarely in one place for any length of time. Constantly wandering about Skyrim on various missions and jobs. You would think that someone who was deeply involved in various parts of Skyrim would be easy to find and track down, but it made it increasingly more difficult. Astrid would need an exact itinerary of all the jobs this woman was on, and try to best guess when and where she would be, which was impossible. Astrid bribed one of Whiterun’s guards to send her letter by horse once Syan had returned to Whiterun. This would at least give her a few hours to be able to dispose of her. Finally one day a courier on horseback arrived with a letter for Astrid, it was from the guard in Whiterun. Syan had returned. Astrid immediately set off on Shadowmere towards Whiterun, pushing Shadowmere to run as fast as she could. Astrid arrived a few hours after nightfall. The guard told her that Syan was still in town, and was currently in her house. Astrid snuck in and slowly made her way up to Syan’s bedroom. At this point, Astrid needed to and wanted to slaughter her, the brotherhood was already in bad shape, and these several failed contracts were only making matters worse. She crept closer and closer to Syan’s bed until she was right at the foot of it. Syan appeared to be sleeping soundly. Astrid drew her dagger when a swift kick sent her flying backward. Astrid clumsily fell into the table and chair in the corner of the room. Syan rose from the bed, wielding two daggers. “Only a coward strikes when one sleeps.” She said venomously. She then lunged at Astrid, delivering swift kicks and slashes. Astrid barely managed to block her attacks and was losing ground quickly. Syan moved in a way Astrid had never seen before. Astrid grabbed her dagger and began to counter-attack, only to miss as Syan dodged her swings effortlessly. Syan grabbed one of the rafters in the ceiling and swung a fierce kick into Astrid, who went stumbling down the stairs and onto the kitchen floor. Syan swiftly landed in a crouch on top of Astrid and brought the twin daggers to Astrid’s throat. “Who sent you?” Syan inquired fiercely. Astrid laughed, “Who hasn’t? I’ve had multiple contracts placed on your head, and you’ve killed every one of the assassins I sent after you. Most impressive. However, you stole a contract that was rightfully ours, and we do not tolerate that. So, you owe us a contract, a life for a life. I have three individuals in an abandoned shack in the swamps outside of Morthal. There is a contract for one of them. You have to guess which.” Syan’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I would even consider that?!” Astrid raised an eyebrow, “Because you would have already sliced my throat open if you had no intention of listening to what I had to say. Perhaps, you would like to join us, get your hands a little….bloody yourself. Earn some gold, settle a few vendettas. All in the name of Sithis and the Dark Brotherhood. Interested?” Syan slowly lowered her daggers before sheathing them. “It would help to know who wants me dead so that I can except more threats from them in the future.” She said. Astrid replied, “If you were a part of the brotherhood, these contracts would be null and void, and no one would dare put a contract on your head again.” Syan contemplated before agreeing to meet Astrid at the abandoned shack. Astrid left swiftly and returned to the sanctuary. Syan was dangerous, very dangerous. No one had EVER gotten the drop on Astrid before. Astrid would have to tread carefully, who knows what this woman could do, as the saying goes, keep your friends close, your enemies closer.

[imasimpforstevengrant]

I can see you

Author's note:

First, I never thought I would write a fic after almost two years later. I had this idea after watching a fanmade video about Arthur and Harleen falling for each other. I had fun while writing this, since Arthur is a completely new character (not following the comics). Please note that this is written purely for amusement and I don't profit from it.

Second, sorry for any typos. English is not my first language (Chilean Spanish for the win, everybody!). I hope you like it.

_________________________________________

Warnings: angst, self hatred, a bit of swearing, sexual themes and stalking.

Words: 1.730

Summary: Arthur Fleck doesn't live. He barely manages to exist, devoid of any bond. Until one day, a woman reminds him of how much of a human he is.

_________________________________________

He had seen her several times, but he never had the courage to talk to her. He usually avoided her when she was too close to him.

Arthur knew himself too well to know what would happen: his hated laughing fits. Therefore, he preferred to love her from distance, without her noting his existence. It was better this way.

The first time Arthur saw this young woman was in the hallway. She was going down the stairs to the seventh floor of the building. He cherished every move she did. This stranger danced while listening to music, thinking no one would notice her. She shook her figure as she mouthed passionately the lyrics of whatever song was listening. Arthur hid near the wall that divided the halls, and thus, the apartments.

He glared at her like a predator. His mouth watery caused by the hunger she woke within him. Arthur swore he could feel her in his arms, dancing vehemently to a song. He wondered during long periods of time how it would feel to touch her skin.

His lust was a loud, thundering storm that kept troubling his already cursed mind. But in the outside, the silence suggested indifference.

It kept like this for months. Arthur had also yearned for innocent things, such as a smile or even a kind word from her. He constantly fantasized about her and the guilt and regret fought after the lustful desires roamed through his fractured psyche. This was too much for him to bear. He wrote about the woman in his journal, dedicating pages of misspelled but honest thoughts. Arthur found a new way to cope with insomnia.

It was a rainy day when his feelings took another radical turn. Arthur returned to his flat after another shitty day of work. He headed towards the elevator, pressing the button to open it. He waited patiently. The bell rang and the sliding door opened.

"Fuck!", he hissed lowly when he saw her. She was carrying a bag and had her hair done in buns. Arthur thought she couldn't be more beautiful.

"Hi" she chirped, grinning at him.

"Hi" was all Arthur could reply after his failed attempt to keep his gaze in the ground. Was she actually talking to him? The beloved stranger noticed a trace of blood in his lips and sweetly asked:

"Are you alright?"

He remained silent for a few seconds, studying her expression. It was so kind and sincere.

"Yes".

"Are you sure you're okay?" Her question echoed through his mind. Even her voice turned out to be as smooth as her appearance. Arthur inhaled deeply.

"I am, miss. Thanks for asking" he replied puzzled, trying to figure out why would she even care.

The door opened and she politely waved goodbye to him and wishing him well. Arthur didn't give a verbal answer but he certainly waved back to her.

Arthur smirked. And his gesture did not disappear until he arrived home.

He built a routine in his free time. If he couldn't be with her, he was satisfied enough to watch her. At night, he usually followed her to the now empty playground. The woman was swinging in a rope made out of clothes stretched and extended in what seemed a big, dome-shaped cage like. The blonde had the habit to exercise there, not bothered by some bystanders (mostly men) who whistled at her.

Despite the jealousy that grew within him, Arthur understood it wasn't strange. He surely wasn't the only one after her affections.

He took a liking to this new scene: watching her move as if she was practising a gymnastic routine was fantastic. Her movements were so delicate, yet sensual. She seemed to go along with the air, soaring with it.

But she didn't notice, obviously. The girl would probably had gone running and screaming for help if she had discovered him.

Arthur was wrong. He was so wrong.

One day, he sneaked around wearing his yellow hoodie to preserve his identity. He was outside the building, hiding in the shadows. There she was again: beautiful and unreachable. Her long, platinum blonde hair fell like a waterfall. Arthur was amazed. She moved her arms in a graceful way once again, to flow through it in a twirl that swinged her back and forth. The girl seemed to smile before the risky move, congratulating herself in silence on this apparent progress.

Arthur laughed out loud, amazed. But he soon clasped a hand in his mouth. She turned around immediately to his direction. Arthur felt the panic and tried to run.

She called him. Not berating him but genuinely interested. There was no violence in her voice. Arthur argued with himself over and over about if this was a good idea from the beginning. The man was walking around like a disoriented dog while grasping his curly locks, out of fear and guilt. He stood still for a while, without saying a word.

He then realized the woman kept calling him.

Arthur tightened his eyelids, fighting the urge to run away. He kept still during long seconds until he finally decided to face her. It was now or never. Little did he know that she was just a few feet away from him.

Once Arthur turned around, he almost tripped taking a step away from her. He stared at the young woman: she showed no signs of fear or disgust. In fact, she seemed curious about him. She clawed at the fence that separated the playground from the building and dead end alleys. He imitated the action, staring directly at her eyes, blue like summer sky. She smiled at him, her perfect teeth shining like pearls. And it was in this moment when Arthur could pay more attention to her attributes. The girl in question was the owner of an astounding beauty: expressive blue eyes, pink full lips which formed a sweet smile. And that was only her face. Arthur was infatuated. Her face lit up once her lips curved into such expression. Was she hypnotizing him?

He wouldn’t mind, of course.

Arthur stared at her mouth, and wonders how it would feel against his own cracked, dry lips.

But her body was another wonder. She wore a white, long, sleeveless shirt adjusted to her body shape, leaving nothing to imagination. God, if he only could trace his fingers down her hips he'd die happily.

He continued his private appreciation watching the grey shorts that left her most of her thighs uncovered. He then darted his eyes up to her hair. Her long, slightly wavy strands of hair were dyed in two different colours: the right side was strawberry pink from the half down. Same with the left side, except the colour was a electric blue. It added a dreamy touch to her.

Arthur pictured himself playing with her hair, doing little curls with it. It looked so silky.

"You've been enjoying my show, have you?"

Arthur looked up to her again.

"Yeah" he muttered, ashamed.

"Why the long face, babe? It's not like I'm upset", the woman said.

Arthur stared at her again, but out of confusion.

"Are you not upset?"

"At all" she quickly replied, "I like when people see me, actually".

Arthur felt a cold shudder in his back. It was in this moment he sensed something in his chest. He perceived it as the natural reaction to the first conversation he held with someone else without the other significant being weirded out of him. This common trait was enough to give him hope of a new, happy chapter on his mirthless life.

"Yeah... You know, I like when people see me too".

The woman nodded and leaned her face into the fence. Arthur took a deep breath and it didn't take too long to emulate the pose. She was bold enough to let him come closer to her as if she wanted him to kiss her.

"What's your name?" He hummed against her face.

"Harleen Quinzel", she answered "and you are...?"

"Arthur" he rushed to give his reply, "my name is Arthur Fleck--".

A chuckle escaped his throat.

'Oh, no. Not now, not now please', Arthur silently begged as his loving expression fade away so shame would take its place.

His brain of course showed no mercy.

The laughing fit lasted almost ten minutes. It was the first time in years that he truly believed he was going to die of suffocation. He struggled with choking more than two times every minute. Arthur wasn't completely drawn into his fit. He looked for a fraction of seconds at the girl. Harleen shocked at first. After a few moments, she joined him believing innocently he was laughing out of amusement.

"You know, you can tell me the joke so we can laugh together".

Arthur wasn't able to silence his noisy curse. He only covered his mouth, shaking his head trying to make her see the desperation in his eyes. Harleen's facial expressions morphed from fun to actual worry when Arthur's hand reached his throat in an useless attempt to breathe, still clawing at the fence with the one that left free. Her eyes widened in horror. Arthur felt too powerless to even show her the card explaining his fucking condition. It was alright if she wanted to run away. He already accepted his shameful defeat.

However, to his surprise, she nimbly climbed up the fence to help him. The stalker was too weak to keep standing but when he was crumbling into the ground, Harleen helped him to stand up.

She spoke to him, reassuringly. And she spoke so many things he couldn't process while taking him to a bench to contain him. So far she was a few seconds ago and now she stood with him throughout the painful laughter.

"I'm sorry--" Arthur tried to hide his face in his arm but Harleen seemed to understand... Or at least took pity on him.

The laughing fit finally ended and Arthur got a card from his pocket. He remained silent, disgusted with himself. The blonde took it and read it carefully. Her serene gaze towards the object comforted Arthur slowly. Once she finished reading it, she returned it to his owner. Harleen seemed truly surprised... Or maybe scared. He didn't know and felt too embarrassed to even talk to her. One thing was for sure:

Arthur Fleck never felt uglier in his life.