#lyrics present in the first image are from a roar song

[aggravatedartist]

some messy sketches from the last few days or so

[littlefreya]

Santa Baby

Summary: For over a decade, detective Walter Marshall kept a dirty little secret, thinking no one would ever find out about his past. Sadly for him, you are somewhat of a detective yourself.

Challenge prompt: the song Santa Baby.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Some sexy themes but mostly fluffy floof fluff.

A/N: This is for @toomanystoriessolittletime​​ Christmas challenge, which I am sadly a day late with. Remind me to never sign up to challenges. I stumbled upon erotic book covers that looked a lot like Walter (this and this) so decided it’s a funny idea. I never read these books, so I am not mocking it or the artist who drew it. Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for helping me out. Not beta’d, I own my mistakes.

Please feedback, comment, reblog if you enjoyed reading. 💖

Title: Santa Baby

It’s not that Detective Marshall was the Grinch or anything, it’s just that he couldn’t afford to be merry. With crime levels peaking during that time of the year, and sunlight being scarce, his body ran strictly on caffeine and stale doughnuts. 

The temptation to spend Christmas eve sprawled on the worn-out leather sofa in his office was quite strong tonight. But even big hulking bears had their weaknesses, and as exhausted as he was, he dreaded every morning he woke up without your warm body curled up beside him. 

With his energy level blinking red, he finally decided to call it a night and drive home. Heavy growling and thundering drums roared within his truck, the extreme Scandinavian black-metal he listened to served as a complete contrast to the soft snow that fell from the sky and quietly piled up on the sides of the road. Pausing at the street-light, he watched the little crystals striving to form on his windshield and melting just as quickly against the heat of the car. 

For a single moment, all the terrors of the night diminished by the little flame that was the reminiscent of you - his little firefly who led him through the darkness, tender as snow and wild as fire. Accelerating just a tad, he imagined you’d be asleep by the time he’d get there, and if not, Walter hoped to at least be in your good graces. 

Luckily, ther warm orange hues beaming through the windows assured him that you were still very much awake, and he couldn’t help but spare one of his rare smiles.

Muffled tunes of a familiar song played beyond the door, the bass vibrating through the polished wooden flooring and the walls. Slow and sensual like honey rolling off one’s finger, the jazzy beats filled the spacious house along with the sweetest scent of crushed peppercorn and red berries. Smiling wider, he held onto the doorframe and kicked off his heavy boots.

“Pet?” he called and followed into the living room, hearing you humming along with the lyrics.

“Santa baby, just slip a Sable under the tree for me.”

Oh, he was indeed in your good graces. 

Sitting on your knees with your ankles hunched below your ass, you wore a velvety Santa hat and a sheer, red nighty finished by fake white fur that outlined your breasts. Your hands held a shiny green present over your thighs, and you gave him one of those coy looks that made him want to fall before you and pledge himself as your servant.

Instead, he crooked an eyebrow and unzipped his thick winter coat, carelessly discarding it on the floor and making his way toward you.

“Have you been an awful good girl?” 

Sleeves rolled up; he crossed his muscular arms together while towering over you. His cobalt eyes drank in your sight, trying to decide what to do with you first. The scent of musky sweat mingled with dark cologne wafted over you within seconds, making your chest rise and sink in a primal instinct. 

“Oh, I’m definitely going down your chimney tonight,” he growled upon your reaction to his presence and sucked in his bottom lip with growing hunger.

“At least three times,” you dared him in return and then casually lowered your gaze to the box perched on your lap. 

The large man caught on the hint and carefully knelt before you. One of his hands reached to stroke his beard while his mind rummaged to figure out what surprise hid behind the shiny package. 

“Got something for me over there?” he wondered with a playful beam, “I thought we’re not doing presents until tomorrow morning.”

“Just a little teaser,” you answered. Your eyes shone brighter than the large decorated tree that stood at the corner of the living room. 

Being a detective, Walter could practically smell the mischief that drenched every teeny hair on your body. As usual, his naughty vixen was up to no good. It always made him laugh how bad you were in trying to surprise him, which worked in his favour. Walter hated surprises. 

Intrigued, he snatched the gift from your hands and shook it against his ear for shy second before beginning to unwrap it. His eyes briefly scrutinised yours, darkening, smokey with lust while he tore at the chrome paper and absentmindedly threw pieces of green wrapping all over the living room. 

You watched carefully, your cheeks rounding and filling, your teeth flashing with wickedness upon seeing the colour drain from his rugged face.

“Where…”

Walter paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. Fingers oily with sweat and knuckles turning white, dug into the object held in his hand.

“How did you find this?!”

The snort you’ve been trying to hold back for the last couple of minutes finally made its way out, followed by a fit of uncontrollable giggles that made you fall to your back with your hand held over your torso. 

Walter, on the other hand, was anything but amused. He always feared the day someone would dig up his dirtiest secret.

It was more than a decade ago when he was struggling to pay his tuition to the police academy that Walter found an easy and quick way to make money. As a British immigrant who barely had friends and blended with the crowd, he made the mistake of thinking no one will ever know about his short-lived modelling career for cheesy erotic novels. 

He should have known better. He might have been a professional police detective, but you had a skill for uncovering the truth.

“Where did you find this?” Walter repeated with a frown, clenching his jaw and waving the colorful book in the air.

Pausing your giggles merely for a second, you took a gander at the cover, focusing on the image of your dear husband’s open white shirt. There he was, the man you knew as a brooding, black-sweater wearing grump, lost in some green meadow with a half-naked chick. A deep dramatic gaze crisped his younger face, his nose inhaling the scent of her hair, and his hand laid flat upon her juicy rump. 

Oh the drama!

You tried to speak, but all that came out of your mouth was an uncontrollable peal of chuckles. The corny title of the book didn’t help either; his fiery love rod.

Walter sulked and suddenly shuffled to hover above you, one hand snapped at your wrist before the other discarded the book onto your sternum and joined in restraining your other arm. Led purely by instinct, your legs spread to straddle his wide waist and wrapped around his muscular ass.

Staring at your strong, intimidating husband, the laughter rolling from your lips slowly died down, yet the smile was still smeared between your cheeks, especially once you felt his groin pressing into yours.

“Woman!” the big bear growled at you, “I am not going to ask you more than once, where on earth did you bloody find this?”

“The second-hand bookstore,” you answered and glanced at the book lying upon your chest, “was looking for something raunchy to read when suddenly I noticed a familiar face.” You explained and then swallowed the dryness in your throat. 

“At first I thought I was hallucinating with all them Christmas carols eating into my brain, but then when I took a closer peek, I recognised my husband’s ‘fuck me’ stare.” 

Walter felt a burn rising in his throat and swerving to tingle at his bristly cheeks. If there ever was a moment when he regretted a life decision, that moment was now. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from you. You were dauntless and unyielding as the ocean, one of the reasons why he was utterly in love with you. 

Nostrils flaring, he tightened the grasp around your wrists and rolled his hips into yours, eliciting a small moan from your quivering lips. The thick bulge in his groin hardened at the calling of the hot, wet patch in your panties.

“Name your terms, woman.”

“You are going to read it to me,” you answered without even overthinking and gestured toward the book with your chin. “Every. night. before. bedtime. I want you to hold me in your big strong arms and read me a chapter from ‘his fiery love rod’, or else…”

“Or else?...” 

The fire from the mental suddenly illuminated your face, causing dark shadows to form over your irises and the hollows below your brows. “Your friends at the MPD are going to find out about this one,” you paused, “and the 12 others that you made.”

Taken back by your words, Walter gulped, his fingers became moist around your wrists as sheer horror seeped into his mind.

“You... you know about the others?”

You nodded at him and then snaked your legs around the back of his thighs to cage him in your grasp like a fickle dryad growing her roots around a helpless wanderer. With his attention faltering, you twisted your hips and rolled the two of you so you were on top. Fingers lacing into his, you pinned him down and leered over him with cascading triumph.

“12 books, all under our Christmas tree, detective, so you better be good to me tonight and satisfy all my needs.”

Adam apple bobbing up and down, Walter watched you with a mixture of awe and agitation. There was nothing he hated more than losing control, but damn if he didn’t adore his wicked queen, especially when you were in a joyous mood, which, as he found, tended to be contagious. The moments in which the grouchy detective felt at peace were rare to non-existent. It was only in the embrace of your thighs that he thought that for a minute, everything is going to be okay.

Noticing the muscles of his jaw somewhat relax, you reached for the Christmas hat and slipped it off your head, placing it atop of his curly mess instead. Your hands held firmly onto Walter’s shoulders, and with a careful twist, you flipped the two of you over once again and shoved him down your torso while blissfully chanting.

“Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight, hurry down the chimney tonight, hurry toniiiiiiiiiiight.”

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Disclaimer: I don’t own Night Hunter/Nomis or Walter Marshall

[alicemitch09writes]

last love

pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

summary: Nothing was the same anymore, that much was clear. But it is really? Is it really too late for it all?

author’s notes: This is the final part to the first love trilogy. Please go read the first one, then its sequel - skinny love, before this, otherwise you’ll be confused.

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

He wakes up with a start – sweating all over, heart pounding against his chest, sleep slowly washes over before realizing where he was and the humid heat that was summer gracing his room. He let out a relieved sigh, falling back into his sheets.

“Tetsuroo, wake up already!” came his mother’s voice, which resounded through the house.

The teen waited until his heart calmed to finally get out of bed, still drenched in sweat. A mirror stood across him, revealing his image – still the same gangly guy with serious bed hair, but his eyes still looked tired, even though his bags had lessened.

Grabbing a towel, he takes a quick shower.

He pretends to not have seen the look on his mother’s face when he wolfs on his breakfast, giving her a quick sloppy kiss on the cheek, before grabbing his bag and leaves.

His phone rings – a text message, he flips his phone and sees a text from his sister, quickly typing a reply before going to the music app. Plugging on his earphones, he begins to walk down a familiar path.

Leaning his head back, clear blue skies greet him. It was too much of a good day today.

Closing his eyes, he soaked up on the light, warming his face. When he opened them, the train station was in clear sight, his steps quickened.

Four stops and twelve blocks later, and he was walking down a place he’s grown familiar with the past few months. The grass was still greener, the flowers were much brighter, and the trees were tall as ever – maybe because it was summer. But the paint job was still terrible, even though they had maintenance work on them.

Upon entering the hospital, he nods at the nurses and staff – all of which, were used to his presence for the past months, adjusting the weight of his right arm, carrying his bag.

Kuroo Tetsturou fell into a routine – he woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, made small talk with his parents or sister, and went to the hospital. It’s been that way for months.

He stood in front of the door, about to knock when he heard her – a soft strumming and singing.

“I love this place, but it’s haunted without you…”

He felt the familiar skip of his heart at the sound of her voice. Carefully pushing it open, he finds (Name), playing her ukulele, pen, and notebook on her lap.

“My tired heart is beating so slow,” A thoughtful look crosses her face as she sings as if testing the lyrics. She quickly sketches down on her notebook – chords, and lyrics, falling into her element. Picking her ukulele, she strummed slowly, trying the new lyrics – “Our hearts sing less than we wanted, we wanted, our hearts sing ‘cause we do not know, we do not know” –  a small smile gracing her lips when they came out.

Without even knowing, his body moved on its own accord, stepping inside and towards her.

The song had a light melody to it, repetitive on the notes, yet strangely melancholic and full of longing. Yet somehow, unfinished. She stopped for a moment, stumped, before going over it again. Despite her minor slip up, she smiled through it and went over the song again – she was a perfectionist like that.

The sound of the door clicking broke the moment, (Name) looking up to find Kuroo standing in front of him, surprise written all over her face.

“H-Hey, (Name).” Kuroo says, lifting a hand in greeting.

She gives him a nod, awkwardly glances at him, then back to her notes.

“How’s your song going?”

She fiddles with the page, chewing on her bottom lip. “It’s coming.”

“I see.” He nods, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “By the way, I got something for you.” Putting his bag on the foot of her bed, he unzips it and takes out a pink package. “Sis bought some stuff for you, says you’ll be needing it once you get into college.”

Slowly, a smile forms on her face as she reached for it, Kuroo careful as to not let their fingers touch. “That’s nice of her.”

Sitting himself on the couch, he looked at the clutter of papers on the table – university brochures. “Have you decided on where to go? Or are you still bent on getting to where uncle is teaching?” he asked teasingly, especially on the last question, an attempt to lighten the mood.

Her lip curled by a fraction, hugging her instrument close. “…well, it is my dream school and all.”

Kuroo nods at that. “Well, knowing you, you’ll make it – with or without the influence of your dad.” She smiled at that, playing with the ends of her short hair. His eyes followed her fingers tangle in those (hair color) locks, remembering how strange it was to see her usual locks chopped off, of combing them when she was still unconscious.

A tense silence fills in – both teens staring at anything but each other, unsure of what to say next.

“How about you?”

Kuroo made a questioning hum.

“Keiji told me you’re yet to enroll into college,” there was her ever-present concerned tone, (eye color) eyes soft, yet, basing on her tone, there was no mistaking how carefully she had asked.

Peering up to her through his fringe, Kuroo contemplated on his next words. “I haven’t decided on a course yet.” He lied, shrugging offhandedly. “No worries, though, I’ve been working part-time.” That was half a lie, he had just started working at a small grocery store. A small distraction outside the four corners of his own home and the hospital.

Her brows furrowed slightly with worry before it eased away when a knock came from the door. Her doctor – a small middle-aged man named Dr. Ishioka peeked in, beaming at the sight of her.

“Good morning, (Last name)-chan.” Noticing she was not alone, he gave Kuroo a short nod. “And to you, too, Kuroo-kun.”

Kuroo returned the gesture, having been a familiar face in the hospital for the past few months.

“How are we today?”

 “Good,” she smiled, still hugging her ukulele, forgetting her stationary in front of her. When her doctor noticed, he merely gave it a glance. Having finally noticed at what he was looking at, she started looking sheepish. “A-Ah, I was just writing my song!”

The doctor smiled kindly. “And how is it?”

“I-It’s coming,” she replied, using the same answer she gave Kuroo earlier. “I get stuck on words, and things are a little fuzzy to figure out.”

The man nods, hands buried deep in his pocket. “That’s good, getting some brainwork done. However, don’t stress yourself, okay? You’ve been asleep for six months, and it’ll still take some time for your body to get used to moving.”

“She won’t,” Kuroo says aloud, (Name) and Dr. Ishioka turns to him. “I’ll make sure of it.”

(Name) nods dutifully, finally putting down her instrument.

In his professional eyes, there clearly was an underlying tension between the two. Instead of pushing into it, he knew where his limits were.

“Well, that’s good to hear then. You’re in good hands, (Last name)-chan.”

The girl looks up to the doctor, who gives her a kind smile before leaving her a few instructions, which Kuroo was quick to take note of, before leaving.

Just as the door closed behind him, he heaved a sigh, wishing the best for the two.

“(Last name)-saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!” a loud, jolly voice erupted in the room, making a dash for the girl. Barely a step in, Yaku kicked him in the back, grabbing the tall teen by the collar and pulling him back. “Geh- “

“Lev, control yourself! This is a hospital, not a playground! Geez, it’s like taking care of a giant baby.” Meeting her gaze, he lifted a hand. “Yo, (Last name), you look well.”

She laughed, eyes soft at the sight of the Nekoma team filling her room. Kenma, sitting beside her, had his eyes stuck to his console per usual.

“(Last name),” Noboyuki nods, holding out a fruit basket. “we brought you fruits.”

Her smile grew, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Kai!”

Kenma puts away his console and takes the fruit basket from the taller lad, putting it on a nearby table. He plucks an orange and disappears into the washroom, momentarily leaving (Name) with the Nekoma team.

“(Last Name)-san, your hair!” Inuoka pointed out. “It’s grown so much!”

She laughed at his comment, touching her hair consciously. “Yes, it has. My head feels lighter, actually.”

“Then, you’re keeping it short?”

She hums, tapping her finger to her chin in thought. “Who knows?”

“It looks good, actually,” Yaku commented. “Then again, it’s your hair, so it’s your choice.”

After the short pleasantries, the boys headed towards the couch and sat down, Fukunaga flipping through the channels. Kenma emerges from the washroom, sitting in his spot next to her.

“Ah, it’s your mom’s turn to watch you, right?” Noboyuki asked, sitting on the couch.

She hummed, nodding, Kenma placing the oranges on a table in front of her as he plumped and propped some pillows behind her, making sure that she was comfortable. When he was done, he sat down and began to unpeel his orange, (Name) mimicking him.

“Although" she broke into a sigh, breaking off pieces of the orange "I just wish I could get out of here, it’s so stuffy in here. Not to mention, it gets kind of scary at night.” She shuddered, blaming it on the time when the boys from Fukurodani visited and Bokuto, who had been channel surfing, stopped upon a horror film – particularly on a very scary scene. Lest to say, she didn’t sleep well that night and Bokuto was nearly banned from visiting her again.

“That’s understandable, hospitals tend to be scary,” Noboyuki says kindly.

“You can say that again!” roared Yamamoto.

“Yamamoto, shut up.” Yaku reprimands the loud-mouthed boy.

“Lev, how’s your read block training going?” as soon as the question was asked, the Russian tensed, beginning to sweat profusely.

“A-Ah, it’s going great!”

“He still sucks at it,” Kenma says, munching on a slice of orange with his eyes glued to his game console. “And no amount of practice seems to work, it’s like he’s meant for failure.”

“You can say that again,” says Yamamoto, arms folded against his chest. “he’s a hopeless cause.”

“H-Hey, I’ve been practicing!”

“Bless Nekomata-sensei for ever thinking you had a chance.”

“Yaku-san, not you, too!”

“Time to scoot, little newt!”

“Goddamn it, Fukunaga!”

(Name) couldn’t help but laugh, missing her rowdy boys.

A month of being holed in here was enough to drive anyone insane – everything was too gray, too cold and too dull. It meant so much to her whenever someone came to visit, bringing color to her room and warmth to her heart. Even as they all ganged up on Lev, she knew they really cared. And as far as Kenma’s told him – being vice-captain and all, Lev’s actually not bad. Though, he is quite clumsy with executing his offense and defense. She missed this, she really did.

But the thing was, it just wasn’t the same anymore.

It was hard to be around him anymore, that was a fact.

When she woke up, it looked like she had emerged from a different world. Kuroo quickly called the doctors, happy tears slipping down his face. Too happy to know that she finally woke up – after six months! – he almost forgot to ring her parents of her recovery.

A few hours later, when she slowly came to, he walked back in the room. Happy tears filled the room, the happy parents engulfing their finally awakened sleeping beauty.

But at the sight of him, she suddenly shook and cried – Kuroo quickly ran out of the room before anyone told him to, for her sake. All his worst fears came to life.

The doctors had assured him that it was just the effects of being unconscious for so long – it was difficult to adjust to her surroundings and the people she cared about. Her mind might still be subjected to her previous mindset, long before she went into a coma. So, when she woke up, there was a lot to take in for her. But with the help of doctors, her family, and friends, she was able to come through.

In a span of two weeks, (Name) was showing progress with her recovery. She was still subjected to strains when she overworked herself, especially when it came to brain exercise. But overall, she was doing well, her energy revitalized with the support of her family and friends. And ever since she woke up, there’s not a day when a friend – from Nekoma or Fukurodani – would drop by and visit.

In fact, the only time she ever seemed comfortable was when he wasn’t in the scene. She was much more comfortable with being in the presence of others than with his. And that hurt.

Things just weren’t the same anymore.

She knew that.

He knew that.

And it was all because of that one mistake of his. Just the thought of it made his gut churn, his hands balled into fists, his anger to rise, geared towards him.

There was no questioning of her newfound fear of him, after all, it was also his fault. Kuroo accepted his fate wholeheartedly, even though it killed him.

He could hear his thoughts twisting: of the reason that he stayed, was to ease himself of the guilt, to make him feel better about himself.

So, he came up with a decision, once she’s done with her rehab, when she finally gets discharged, he’ll leave her alone. As much as it pained him, he knew it was for the best.

After all, who was he in her life anymore?

“To light the night, to help us grow…” she mumbled, jolting down her notebook. “It is not said I always know…” Her nose scrunches, having hit a block. Frustrated, she throws her hand in the air, looking around her quiet room. Everything looked too dull, too gray. Instinctively, her hands reached to her right, where her ukulele usually lay, only to find it sitting on the chair across her – her father, had visited earlier and played her a song in an attempt to cheer her up.

(Name) sat up, turns to her side to lower the rail before sliding her feet off the bed. The cold tingle on her toes was a sensation she never knew she’d want to feel again, having been bedridden for months. Taking deep breaths, she lifted her feet off, remembering to bear the weight – feeling like a toddler walking for the first time.

Just as she reached her ukulele, a harsh voice called out. “Didn’t the doctor say you aren’t supposed to strain yourself?”

She looked up, meeting Kuroo’s furious gaze, seeing her out of bed.

Technically, according to the doctor, she could walk quite well now and advised her to do some exercise when she can. Kuroo couldn’t help but overreact.

“B-But…” without a word, he gently helped her back to her bed. She didn’t argue, her mission to grab her ukulele forgotten.

He sighed, pulling up a chair. “You do want to get out, right?” She nods, slowly, withdrawing her fingers away.

“D-Dr. Ishioka says I’m good to walk now.”

“Is that so?” she nods, like a petulant child. Kuroo sighs, eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry for overreacting.”

“It’s okay.” Relaxing, she offered him a gentle smile, which lasted for a minute before realizing the bags under his eyes, how bloodshot his eyes were. “You seem tired.”

“Hm,” he yawned, massaging his throbbing temples. “shitty customer, don’t worry about it.”

“You should sleep.” she offered.

“I’ll be fine,” he calls off, turning his back to look for something to do, anything to avoid her eyes.

“Kuroo Tetsuroo,” she called, using her tone – one he and Kenma were fairly familiar with, even the team. It pleased her to see him tense, slowly facing her. A triumphant smile was ready to break into her face, but concern about his welfare won over.

His shoulders slumped, surrendering. That made her smile, a tiny bit triumphant, before patting on her side. Instead, Kuroo resigned to sitting on a chair next to her bedside, leaning forward to rest his head on his folded arms.

“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?” she offered, clearly displeased.

“I’m fine like this,” he tells her softly. I got used to it.

She looked like she wanted to argue but quickly closed her mouth shut. She moved closer so that he was laying on her lap. “Tetsuroo?”

“Hmm?”

“I-I wanna go to the gardens tomorrow, to stretch my legs.”

“All day?”

She nodded shyly, determined.

“Okay then, walking all day it is. By the way, how’s the song coming?”

Her shoulders fell, dejected. “It’s coming…I’m just stuck…”

Kuroo laughed, muffled by the sheets. And then he broke into a yawn, his head heavy, throbbing, eyelids drooping close but he fought to stay awake. Thin fingers soothingly ran through his hair, like they usually did, easing the tension from his head and replacing it with the sense of calmness.

“Hey, (Name)?” She leaned close, face illuminated by the moonlight. How he wanted to touch her face. “Sing me a song?

Smoothing her fingers through his hair, a soft smile crept its way to his lips, especially when she began to sing. His heart tugged, slowly beating faster – he always loved hearing her sing with or without an instrument. In one exhale, his subconscious slipping, the last thing he heard was her sweet voice and the beating of his heart.

“Hey, (Name).”

“Hm?”

“Why have you been avoiding Kuroo?”

She froze, slowly turning her head to blond-dyed teen beside her, hands folded against his chest and console free. He watched her from the corner of his eye, golden eyes inquisitive, waiting.

“Of course, you knew.” She smiled, leaning into his shoulder. “It’s not that I’m avoiding him…it’s just,” she lifted her hands, making gestures before letting them fall. “I-I don’t know how to talk to him...I’m not sure I want to. Just…being around him makes me feel like a black hole if that even makes sense.” The blank TV screen in front of her bed reflected the two, lying side by side on her bed, but she could also see the view outside her window – a dark blanket of night, the moon obscured by clouds.

“Hey, Kenma?” There was a question she was dying to ask, gnawing her the moment she woke up. She wasn’t even sure if she was ready for the answer, regardless of what it was. “My mind’s a bit fuzzy, and I was unconscious and all, but I do remember voices in the dark.” Swallowing thickly, she says. “A-And I swore I heard Tetsuroo.”

Kenma’s eyes noticeable widened, his shoulders heavy from bearing weights of two sides. In his head, he was debating whether he should tell her or not – he was obligated to, after all.

“Yeah, that was him.” He exhaled, recalling the past six months. “Kuroo didn’t leave your side since he found out you were admitted.”

She let out a weak gasp, the dam breaking. Alarmed, the blonde turned to his friend. “Why are you crying? Are you happy? Sad?”

“Both.” She sobbed, crying against his shoulder. But also, she felt incredibly guilty.

Kenma sighed, really, these two were a handful. When they talked, they both had to be careful of the other, as if they threaded on thin ice. He’s had enough of bearing their secrets, especially when it concerned the other – it made him the third wheel.

But as frustrating as they were, they were still his friends and he cared about them.

A few months into (Name) under coma, Kuroo Tetsuroo received word that he had been qualified for the colleges he applied for, one, in particular, was in the United Kingdom. Driven by guilt, he had to turn down their offers of scholarships for her, too broken to even take a step forward.

A day after she woke up, he called the admissions, asking if he was still qualified. To his luck, he still was.

Although the semester wouldn’t be until next month, Kuroo’s things were all packed. He didn’t bother saying a word to anyone, it was for the best.

It was a dick move, but then again, he was a dick.

This was the biggest leap of faith in his life, the opportunity of a lifetime, he had to take it. Yet, as much as his heart yearned for it, it felt like he was taking the easy way out.

He’ll miss Tokyo, his home, his family, his friends.

But what he’ll miss the most was her.

It’ll be alright, he thought to himself. After all, she’ll be off to college, her dream school, where she can start anew.

And as much as he hated the thought of it, he knew that she’ll meet someone else, someone who’ll treasure her in ways he failed to.

It felt surreal to be outside again, to have the sun and the wind kiss her skin. Hands instinctively flew to her hair as the wind picked up, remembering that it was still growing and it was cropped short.

What’s more surreal was the audition she got for her dream school, which was in a week’s time, having considered her situation. Nekoma was going to have a practice match soon with Karasuno, a mini-reunion was planned by the two schools. She was finally going to meet Kenma’s special someone he met at a Game Expo. It was almost too much for her heart to take.

But something was missing in all this fanfare – Kuroo.

For days, she hasn’t heard a word from him, hasn’t seen from him since. If she traced it back, it started just a day before she was released. She missed him. She really did. Her heart ached just to see a familiar hide of messy black hair, his gangly form, his easy smile.

And then she received a call from Bokuto, frantically telling her that Kuroo was at the hospital.

Apparently, he was out drinking with a few friends and suddenly got into a fight. Although he started it, he didn’t fight back, allowing the guy to beat him to a pulp. Had Bokuto not been there and Kuroo’d be critical.

Without a word, she ran out of her house, thoughts flying to Kuroo.

Upon arrival, her heart broke at the sight of him, hating that his arm was bandaged, the bruises and stitches on his face. She had the exact look of heartbreak when he saw her, all the guilt washed over her as she rushed to his side.

“What happened to you, Tetsurou?” he smelled of blood, dirt, sweat, and alcohol, but she didn’t care. “I know you’re one to pick fights, but I never thought you’d go this far.”

He turned away, avoiding her in eyes. That hurt. Kenma’s words surfaced, making her heart twinge.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked Bokuto angrily, completely ignoring her presence. She flinched at his tone, mind flashing to a certain memory.

“She was the best person to call,” Akaashi answered calmly, appearing next to the grey-haired teen. “Kuroo-san, go home. And more importantly, you and (Last name)-san need to talk.”

“Eh? But Akaashi, don’t you think Kuroo’s out of it?”

“I’m very much sober, thank you very much.” Kuroo threw a glare at the raven-haired setter, ignoring Bokuto’s concern, or (Name)’s.

After being given painkillers, Kuroo was good to go. And before anyone could stop him, he walked out of the hospital.

(Name) looked at the two teens worriedly before chasing after him, calling after his retreating form. But he didn’t look back, not even once. She didn’t stop chasing after him either.

Finally, he stopped by the riverside next to the bridge – the same one she found he and Kenma some years ago. Although puzzled, she followed him down the steps. Knowing that she was behind him, that she wouldn’t leave him alone, Kuroo sighed – ignoring the pain from his chest. He sat down, she took it as an invitation, sitting a step above him.

The silence between them was thick with a heavy weight of guilt wrought by the past few months, hearts burdened heavily. It was almost unbearable to even breathe, running away was the perfect option, yet the two stayed, another option weighing heavier.

They remain like that for at least an hour, the night growing older with every second. Two teenagers too afraid to tell the other what they wanted to say, fear holding them back.

Finally, for what seemed like forever, Kuroo exhaled through his nose, a heavy sigh. That was never a good sign. “I’m going to Cambridge.”

Her head whipped to him, he worried she’d get a whiplash. But she didn’t, her world just stopped. “W-What…?”

Sighing again, he pressed his forehead to his palms, unable to meet her eyes. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but this was for the best.

“The next semester won’t start until next month, but in a few days or weeks, I was called to take a test and offered a scholarship. So, I leave sometime this month.”

She could feel her heart twisting with every word he said, and she hated it – hated the way he talked to her, hated how he seemed to avoid her. Then again, she pretty much did the same thing when she woke up. She missed him, she really did.

Brought by the pent-up emotions she’s been feeling, she called out, in a shaky tone. “Hey, Tetsu, won’t you listen to my song?”

Song? He peeked up at her. So, she finally got to finish her song.

Swallowing hard, she reached for her ukulele – the sight of the band-aid sent a sharp pain in his heart, a painful reminder – fingers positioned over the strings, shaking just by a fraction. Before he could stop her, she glanced up at him and began singing.

  I love this place

But haunted without you

My tired heart is beating so slow

Our hearts sing less than we wanted

We wanted

Our hearts sing cause

We do not know

We do not know

 Her singing was as gentle as her music, enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He was reminded of the many times she’d sing to him, in times when he was at his lowest. To cheer him up, all it took was a few comforting words, a gentle smile, a warm hug, or her offering a song. It was cheesy, but he loved it, especially because when she sang to him, it would be only him and just him alone, making it very personal for him. He was selfish like that, especially with her.

  To light the night

To help us grow

To help us grow

It is not said I always know

 Of course, you don’t, he thought laughingly.

He could feel the longing in her voice, the loneliness – it made her seem like she was a princess locked up in a tower. Its lyrics tugged at him, knowing the feeling so well.

When their eyes met, he saw the young woman he fell in love with when they were 8, the young woman who held his heart now.

  You can catch me

Don't you run

Don't you run

If you live another day in this happy little house

The fire’s here to stay

 The emotion in her eyes made his throat dry, tugging his heart – did she just?

  To light the night

To help us grow

To help us grow

It is not said I always know

 His heart was hammering wildly against his chest, a rush of emotions burning inside, igniting his veins. The words were at the tip of his tongue, heart ready to burst out of his chest to tell her.

But not just yet, he didn’t want to jinx it, couldn’t bring himself to, he wanted to hear more.

  Please don't make a fuss

It won't go away

The wonder of it all the wonder that I made

I am here to stay

I am here to stay

Stay

  Overwhelmed by her emotions, by the pent-up emotions she’s withheld for so long, tears began streaming down her face uncontrollably. Alarmed, Kuroo quickly took her ukulele aside and enveloped her in his arms.

At his touch, everything she’s been holding in surfaced - missing him, loving him. “I’m sorry!” she cried, returning the hug, tightening her hold on him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“No, don’t say you’re sorry.” He pulls back to plant a kiss to her forehead, thumbs brushing her tears away. “Don’t you ever feel sorry, (Name).” He whispered against her skin.

Kenma’s neutral look of displeasure came to mind. He felt like an idiot. How could he be so stupid to have dismissed her feelings over his?

(Name) couldn't stop crying, her heart was so full of emotions that it seemed like it would burst anytime. She felt loved, so loved in Kuroo's arms - from the boy she's loved for so long. And somehow, his embrace made everything better, everything was forgiven, forgotten – yet, it made things worse at the same time.

“Tetsurou, please don’t go…” glossy (eye color) eyes begging, his heart aching. She couldn't take not having him by her side, couldn't take the thought of losing him. “Don’t go, please.” Gentle hands reached up to cup his face, tears continuing to stream down. “Stay, please.”

Oh, those (eye color) eyes, she had no idea of its effect on him.

“Stay?”

Placing his larger hands in hers, he leaned his forehead with hers, their noses bumping.

“Always.”

[kerra-and-company]

For Kerra’s 1st Birthday

So. You know how sometimes we imagine animatics in our heads that we never make? I did that, but I was picturing it in such detail that I wrote it down. I still don’t have the skills to animate or draw it, but I figured it might be a good birthday present for Kerra. :)

I’m a couple weeks or so late (very sorry, Ker!), but I’m counting it as her first birthday present. I’ve been playing this game for over a year now, which isn’t long compared to a lot of you, but I’ve definitely fallen in love with it, and I appreciate the community here on Tumblr, no matter how big it might or might not be. Thanks for a great first year, everyone. Love you guys, seriously <3

(I don’t know if this is going to be something other people are super interested in reading or not, but if you are, go for it--it’s under the cut! :) The song is Dirt Around The Tree by Candi Carpenter, and you can listen to it here or on Spotify if you want. Thanks again, folks. I appreciate you a lot.)

[Introductory music plays over brief intro text. Just before the beginning of the song, the text fades to dense clouds.]

I was born in the fall

 [The clouds clear, revealing Caledon. The camera/POV swoops through quickly in the direction of the Grove, with various recognizable places there visible as it does so.]

The season when everything is dying

 [Camera continues its swoop. If we look closely, we can see that it’s winter, or at least sometime cool, in Caledon. There’s no snow, but there’s frost, and many trees are missing leaves. Farms and gardens are bare.]

We must know what we're in for

 [Camera enters the Grove, skirting past the trunk of the Pale Tree and slowing down by pods of not-yet-awakened sylvari. It settles on one.]

That's why we come into this world crying

 [The pod splits open, and Kerra falls out. Nearby sylvari try to help her up, but she scrambles in an uncoordinated fashion to her feet, calling out Caithe’s name.]

 My mother always told me life's not fair

 [The Pale Tree in the Omphalos Chamber, arms open wide, eyes closed. On the word “life”, the camera cuts to Kerra in “Beneath a Cold Moon”, fighting Tiachren. On “not”, the camera cuts to Kerra standing over bodies, next to Caithe and various Wardens. One of the bodies is Tiachren’s. On “fair”, the camera cuts back to the Omphalos Chamber, but this time to Kerra alone. Caithe and Aife are just barely in the image (their shoulders at most), but the focus is on Kerra’s face—troubled and grieving but not quite crying.]

That's probably why I ran away

 [The camera spins back around so that we see Kerra looking at the Pale Tree. This time, she’s flanked by the three sylvari order reps, and Cai—the rep from the Order of Whispers—is holding her hand out. Kerra looks down at it. On “why”, the camera cuts to just their hands, clasped in a handshake. On “ran,” the camera cuts to Kerra and Tybalt on the mission to rescue Demmi. They’ve just opened the door to the room where Demmi was locked up, and Kerra’s holding her hand out to Demmi.]

I don't think that I felt safe at home

 [Camera zooms in on Kerra’s hand, going to brush her hair-leaves back. When it zooms back out, we see Kerra sitting next to Rel. They’re on the beaches of the Weeping Isle, and her mouth is open, like she’s saying the song lyrics. She’s more in silhouette here than a clear picture, and the focus is on Rel’s face. His forehead is furrowed as if in concern.]

And I don't think that's ever gonna change…

 [Kerra’s face comes into clearer focus, still mouthing the words, but this time she looks straight into the camera for a second. As the camera pans around her head, the landscape behind her changes to an airship. She starts to turn away from the camera on the word “ever”, and by “change”, she’s facing away, and we can see her standing at the front of an airship alongside Destiny’s Edge, flying to confront Zhaitan. Kerra’s wearing a long coat now, brown with just-visible green embroidery, and it flaps in the breeze.]

 Tell me, what's at the root of all my guilt and anger?

 [The image blurs as the camera zooms towards the ground and under it. We see roots, twisting and shifting, twining together.]

What's in the dirt around the tree?

 [The camera pans up, more slowly this time so the image is clear. We exit the ground, passing through the levels of the Grove, ending on the plaza in the center where the Pale Tree’s leaves spiral up towards the Omphalos Chamber.]

Heartbreak runs in the family

 [Three images. The first is the Pale Tree, eyes down and half-closed. She looks pained. On “runs”, the image shifts to Caithe, with shiny eyes and a shadowy Faolain behind her, side by side with Trahearne, who’s holding Caladbolg with a gaze that’s both tired and far away. On “family”, the image shifts to Kerra, still in the same outfit from the airship, but with a dark background. Her eyes are wide and unsure.]

That's why I'm still running from me.

 [The camera zooms out to show two Kerras, now, separated by just enough distance that they’d have to move closer to touch (so maybe a couple meters or so). The first is Kerra as a sapling, in her sylvari armor, and the second is Kerra in her airship outfit. They each look at the camera. On the word “running”, they turn to each other. On “me”, the second Kerra turns away and takes a step away from the first.]

 [On the instrumentals, Kerra steps from the black void into the snow, her bow on her back and Felix beside her. She looks worn and tired, her coat torn. She walks from there into a house with Nisha (with a stack of letters), and she smiles. When she leaves the house, her wardrobe changes from brown to blue, and she walks into Southsun, facing Canach and then meeting with him in his cell after. Other images flow after, briefly—her and Dragon’s Watch facing Scarlet, then the party with the nobles, then facing Aerin. Finally, it settles on them all together before the summit, waiting below the Omphalos Chamber for the dignitaries to arrive.]

 I read that trauma is genetic

 [The camera pans up to the Omphalos Chamber, which is under attack by the Shadow of the Dragon. We focus on the Shadow first as it roars (on the word “trauma”) and bares its teeth, and then we pan to Kerra’s face on “genetic”. She’s terrified—but she’s terrified of what the Shadow means, not that she can’t defeat it.]

Who was the first to hand it down?

 [Brief flashes of scenes again. Kerra briefly trying to help her Mother as menders run towards them on “Who”, Kerra-as-Caithe (and Nisha alongside her) watching Wynne’s confession on “first”, Trahearne giving the order to fire on “hand”, and airships falling over Maguuma on “down”.]

Was it my grandpa or his father?

 [Kerra, wearing her HoT clothes, standing beside Canach and Caithe to face Mordremoth, the camera fully focusing on him as of the word “grandpa” and leaving them as silhouettes with weapons at his feet.]

You can't ask someone who ain't around

 [Kerra running to Trahearne while he’s trapped in Mordremoth’s vines and hanging above the ground, grabbing his hand in hers. On “someone”, the image melts into Kerra holding Caladbolg out in Mordremoth’s mindscape, alone. She’s pointing it at a large seed, and Trahearne’s silhouette is behind her. She’s protecting him. On “ain’t”, Kerra begins to glow purple, and the image fades to brightness and then Mordremoth’s power exploding through the jungle, like the cutscene in canon, implying his death.]

 Tell me, what's at the root of all my guilt and anger?

 [Again, like before in the first iteration of the chorus, the camera blurs as we zoom down to roots, shifting and intertwining, but this time we can see clearly that they’re growing, too.]

What's in the dirt around the tree?

 [Again, we pan through the levels of the Grove to reach the centerpoint with the spiral branches and leaves of the Pale Tree.]

Heartbreak runs in the family

 [And again, we have the three sets of images, but they’re slightly different. The Pale Tree is dimmer, clearly wounded and in pain even if the wounds themselves are not visible. The shadow of Faolain looks like the Mordrem version of her, and Caladbolg is shattered. Kerra’s in her HoT outfit now, with nicks in a few of her leaves. She’s not much different physically, but something in her expression makes her look older.]

That's why I'm still running from me.

 [And last but not least for repeats, we enter the blank void again, but there are three Kerras this time—sapling-Kerra, Zhaitan-Kerra, and HoT-Kerra. They all start off looking at the camera. On “running”, sapling-Kerra and Zhaitan-Kerra look at HoT-Kerra, and she looks back at them. On “me”, she turns and takes a step away from them.]

 [Instrumentals follow, and the steps turn into a full-on run as she crashes into Canach and Nisha’s arms, laughing. Her outfit switches to her LWS3 one as she swings from their arms to Tarir, watching Aurene hatch and pulling her close. Caithe is in that image too, awe and faint affection on her face. As the deeper strings are overrun with lighter notes, a few scenes flicker by—Lazarus awakening, the battle with Caudecus, Balthazar’s reveal. The strings reach a high note as Kerra is shown on the airship to Elona, her clothes changing again to those she wears in PoF. Vlast’s death is shown, a bright light and Balthazar and crystals, followed by Kerra in Kesho and then a flash of her traversing the desert on her raptor. The notes begin to downswing into the bridge as the battle on the mountaintop comes into focus, Kerra fighting Balthazar hand-to-hand with Caladbolg, and on the final few notes, we see him slash down at her where she’s lying, barely breathing, on the ground. There’s darkness, and on the last note, she opens her eyes in the Domain of the Lost. They’re red.]

 I wanna be more than a lost little girl

 [Spirit-Kerra takes a step forward. She picks her bow up off the ground on “be”, meeting Nenah’s eyes as her guide gestures towards a hill. Glowing blue silhouettes of memories are visible in the distance, but only just barely. On “lost”, we see the full image of Kerra looking towards the hill, determined.]

I'm gonna grow up someday

 [The camera shows Kerra climbing the mountain, past various memory images. Some we’ve seen in the video, some we haven’t. In the last image, right on/after the word “someday”, we can see Caladbolg at Kerra’s side.]

Maybe I'll plant another family tree

 [Kerra pauses at a memory of her with her partners. It’s not one we’ve seen before, but they’re all smiling at something or someone the memory doesn’t show. Canach’s arm is around Kerra’s waist, Nisha’s is around her shoulder, and she’s holding them both. On “another”, she reaches out as if to touch it but stops just before she does.]

Somewhere far, far away

 [Kerra continues and reaches the top of the mountain. The memory there is Aurene, still very much a baby, desperately trying to protect Kerra, and then being wrapped in chains. She looks at the image for a few seconds, blue light giving her face an eerie cast, before grasping Caladbolg’s hilt and nearly leaping down the mountain on “away”.]

 [As the music upswings to the final chorus/verse, Kerra bows to the Judge, slashes through the Eater of Souls, and rushes past a very irritated Joko into the portal back to Tyria.]

 Far from the root of all my guilt and anger

 [The light from the portal fades into a cloudless sky and a vast desert. On “guilt”, the camera pans over to the mountain where Kerra fought Balthazar. Wisps of smoke still come from it, but they’re faint. We can see figures on the mountain, but not well enough to determine features (though if you’ve played PoF you could guess who most of them are).]

Blood in the dirt and on the leaves

 [The words describe what we’re seeing. Kerra’s blood is on the sandy dirt of the mountaintop, and it’s splattered in specks on her hair-leaves and face.]

Tell me, what's at the root of all my guilt and anger?

 [On “Tell”, Kerra opens her eyes wide. They’re faint purple, as they should be. On “me” she sits up straight, gasping. As the rest of the phrase plays out, we see what she is seeing as her gaze tracks across her friends. Kasmeer, Rytlock…Canach and Nisha. Kasmeer has a tentative but disbelieving smile on her face. Rytlock looks very much like “what the fuck”.]

Am I who I'm supposed to be?

 [There’s a beat while Kerra stares at Canach and Nisha and they stare back at her, but on “supposed”, her partners reach their hands out to her. She looks back at them, wide-eyed, like she’s about to cry.]

Heartbreak runs in the family

 [On the musical downswing, the image fades into current Kerra in the blank void. Just her, no one else. She’s sitting on the ground, in clothing that’s damaged and burned, with too-bright eyes.]

That's why I'm still running from me.

 [There’s six Kerras in total now, in a line as they’ve been in the previous choruses, but all but the first and the last fade into the background on “me”, leaving just sapling-Kerra and PoF-Kerra to stare at each other across the distance of the blank void. Both sitting, both very different. The distance is much larger than a meter.]

Heartbreak runs in the family

 [The three picture sets flash, but this time they’re interspersed with Canach and Nisha moving towards Kerra, and they’re different now. On “Heart-”, the image of the Pale Tree is of her with the Menders, giving them a faint smile. On “break”, we see Canach and Nisha taking a step forward. On “runs”, we see Caithe holding a tiny Aurene in her arms, and they both look overjoyed. Trahearne no longer has Caladbolg and his face is scarred to look half-Mordrem, but he’s standing next to Rel, who’s laughing as he kisses the back of Trahearne’s hand. On “the”, we fully fade back to the mountaintop, and Canach and Nisha take another step forward before throwing Kerra into their arms. At the end of this line, we see Kerra crying and holding them tight, with Kas wiping her own tears away and Rytlock starting to laugh with unexpected relief.]

Why am I still running from me?

 [Slowly, the image fades back into sapling-Kerra and PoF-Kerra in the void, staring at each other. PoF-Kerra is still crying, but on “me”, she smiles, too.]

 [As the final instrumentals play out, both of them stand up. They run toward each other, and they meet in the middle with a tight hug, burying their faces in each other’s shoulder.]

 [THE END]

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 8

8/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, some fluff | currently: s2, ep 12, Aubrey | T (for now?) | 2.3k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic

Scully deals with the trauma of her nightmare when she and Mulder meet BJ in the park; a migraine leads Scully to breakdown to her sister.

[this is an especially angsty part...TW for mild implication of rape]

------------------

The rest of their breakfast passes without fanfare. After their conversation about love languages, neither feels like diving into particularly deep topics. Mulder spends their meal providing commentary on the songs other customers picked off the jukebox, turning Scully into a captive audience who occasionally nods, chuckles, or otherwise utters a phrase of approval. It’s not that they’re bored of each other, but that they feel they should preserve their energy for the taxing conversations sure to come along with the case. The electricity between them lingers in the air, waiting for a match to spark it. When the waitress asks if they want to split the bill, Mulder gallantly insists that he will take care of it, then pulls out the Bureau credit card with a wink his partner’s way. To Scully, his wink feels like a lighter flaring into flame. A brief moment of blaze, there and then gone again. One day, she swears to herself, one day she will let him ignite her heart. 

Back in the car, they buckle up and reacclimate themselves with 1994. The local country music station hums in the background, too low to make out any lyrics. It’s just a few stoplights to the park, not even long enough to get through an entire song.

They find BJ at a picnic table nestled among Aubrey’s fall colors. She notices them first, waves them over. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Mulder says as he and Scully take a seat across from the detective.

Scully is struck by reality’s intrusion on the version of BJ she met in her nightmare. BJ is not heavily pregnant; she does not even show. She’s not covered in blood either, but looking polished in a pantsuit. Yet the sight of her conjures up vivid images from the dream, ones that Scully hoped would stay hidden in her psyche forever. The resolute darkness of Duane Barry’s eyes, like his soul had been sucked out of him. The way droplets of blood splattered when he pulled BJ by the collar. And the image of her own body, how it had been desecrated and she hadn’t felt a thing. She felt nothing.

“How are you, BJ?” she asks, her voice stiffer than intended.

BJ rests her hands on the wooden table. “I’m okay.” Then-- “I’ve made some decisions.”

Scully nods, not wanting to pry. The three of them sit with the silence. Sometimes this is all you can do. Her courage gathered, BJ looks to Mulder. 

“I don’t know if Agent Scully told you, but I’m pregnant. It’s Tilman’s. It’s made things...complicated.”

“I’m sure,” Mulder replies, not particularly moved by this announcement. 

“I don’t think it will impact the case in any way, but I wanted to be open with you. Staying quiet about it was only making the situation tougher.”

“Well, thanks for sharing.”

Scully shoots Mulder a look, as if to chastise his blase attitude toward BJ’s courage. He doesn’t see it, which makes her feel oddly guilty, like she had talked about him behind his back. 

Across the park, a little girl plays with her dog. They run through a pile of leaves together, and she takes a tumble. 

“Ow!” the girl exclaims loud enough to be heard throughout the park. BJ stands up, her gaze snapping toward the sound. Scully turns, fighting the urge to join BJ. The girl’s mother bends to check the girl for injury and seeing that she’s okay, sets her on her feet. BJ exhales, joins the agents back at the table.

“The mothering instinct,” BJ monologues. “I've been feeling it a lot lately. I used to hate it when my mother hovered over me. I swore I'd never be like her.”

Scully’s throat tightens. She felt the gravitational pull too. I mean, she’s always liked kids, but she’s not sure she would be a good mother and so she’s tried not to think much about it. Certainly her situation is unfavorable for motherhood. What kind of life would it be for a kid to have their mother gone all the time? She knows what it’s like to tuck herself into bed without a goodnight kiss and a bedtime story...to feel like an afterthought in a parent’s life. It made her push herself harder, trying to shed the inadequacy her father must have seen in her. And still she fell short. Is it all in her head, this fledgling maternal instinct? Or is it a sign of changing brain chemistry?

“I think we all feel that way at some point or another,” Mulder says. For a moment, Scully thinks he’s read her mind. She’s about to ask him whether there’s such thing as a paternal instinct when BJ continues on--

“My father was a cop. A good cop. That's all I ever wanted to be. He'd say what we're doing here is nonsense. That you can't solve a crime from a dream.”

Scully is somewhat relieved to know that she’s not alone in failing to measure up to a father’s expectations. This is not the point of the conversation, but this is what her mind latches on to. Her own father felt that the X-Files was a waste of time,, and she could never put into words why the work was so fulfilling to her. It’s not medicine; the results aren’t as obvious. Yet she can’t help but feel like she and Mulder are tuning into a rarely heard frequency, listening to its message, and passing it on. Little by little that will change the world, won’t it?

“Well, I've often felt that dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask,” Mulder offers, rising to meet the gravity of the moment. Scully wonders what question her nightmare was answering. She shudders at the thought.

---------

Her skull feels like it’s being cut in half with a chainsaw, there is no other way to put it. She’s lying stretched out on her motel bed, a washcloth over her eyes, praying the pain away. Migraines aren’t a common occurrence for her, but she recalls all the times her mother would turn off the television, pull the curtains, and lay flush in her recliner in an attempt to ward off the pain. As little as she was, Scully would pull a step stool over to grab a glass from the cabinet, then fill it with water and bring it to her mother like a dog itching for a treat. She’d get a ‘thank you’ from her mom’s quiet, steady voice and sometimes a pat on the head, but nothing she could subsist on. She always wished for a little more to fill the deficit in herself. Now she understood. Pain chips away at your capacity for love.

What had started as a dull roar now felt more like the scream of a banshee. It came on suddenly around 4 while she and Mulder were reviewing the evidence of the 1942 murders. Their day had been pretty slow, one of paperwork and manila folders and bureaucracy. Not a lot of progress on the case. It’s as if her brain weren’t working hard enough, and so decided to punish her by making work impossible. She let on nothing of her plight until the way back to the motel when she leaned her head against the window and Mulder asked if she was okay. She responded nonchalantly, saying it was just a headache, and he in his savior complex offered to stop for Aspirin, but she insisted she had some in her suitcase. She did--a bottle with only two left--and she took them both. So far they’ve done nothing to combat the pain. 

It occurs to her that her ardent desire to avoid coming off as a damsel in distress doesn’t exactly mesh with Mulder’s tendency to be the hero. What is she to make of that? Nothing, not in her current state of mind.

She lies there, wonders if it’s reached a late enough hour to change into her pajamas. She can’t deal with the monotony of the shower tonight, not even if Mulder’s on the other side. She turns, glances at the digital alarm clock. 8:09pm. Certainly that’s appropriate pajama time, right? She can never be sure that Mulder won’t come knocking on her door with a new interpretation of the evidence for her to shoot down or a theory somehow more outlandish than his original. She likes that they keep each other on their toes, but tonight that’s not where she wants to be.

Her head berates her for sitting up. She figures that if that’s wishful thinking, changing clothes will be too, so she lays right back down. She has gotten very used to ending up back where she started.

Seeing as modern medicine is failing her, she decides to try meditation. Missy swears by it, but Scully doesn’t see the benefit of willingly turning off your brain. She can hear her sister now: “It’s not about turning off your brain, it’s about transcending your thoughts and being present with the world.” Since when am I not present with the world, she always wants to reply. She can’t afford not to be present with the world.

But the older sister always has some semblance of sway over the younger one, so Scully closes her eyes and listens to the nothingness of the room around her. Well, it’s not exactly nothing, but nearly so. The mini-fridge, which she doesn’t dare touch even if the bill isn’t her responsibility, hums like it has something to prove. The remaining leaves on the trees in the parking lot rustle with the wind. In the adjacent room, Mulder’s TV is on. She can hear the droning chitter-chatter of sports commentators. Baseball, probably. That’s played in the fall, right?

She slips out of active listening and into mindless musing on her lack of sports expertise. Her father was never a sports junkie himself, but her brothers were. She was often made the referee of their wrestling matches or t-ball games, having been deemed more impartial than Melissa. And yet her understanding of plays and pitches and batting averages never progressed from there. She could name all 206 bones in the body in alphabetical order, but she couldn’t tell you what 3rd down meant. Usually she doesn’t care, but at the moment, this is making her indescribably sad.

Overcome by her isolation, she grabs the phone off hook, dials her own number. Melissa picks up right before it stops ringing.

“Hello?”

“Missy…” she doesn’t know it’s going to happen until she opens her mouth and tears fling themselves down her face.

“Dana, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you safe?” Missy’s voice is concerned but controlled, like a 911 operator. 

“I-I’m okay,” Scully manages, in probably the least convincing delivery ever.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the motel. Mulder and I are safe, we’re okay,” she stammers. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Melissa says with utter calm. 

“My head is pounding, Missy, and I know mom used to get migraines, but I’ve never felt anything like this before--” Her voice catches, a sob slips out. “And I’m scared, Missy. Something’s wrong with me.”

“It sounds like you need medical attention, honey.” Melissa always knows when to slip in a term of endearment. “Can Mulder take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” She squeezes her eyes shut, sees stars. She hopes Mulder can’t hear her crying. The embarrassment of hurting is almost worse than the hurt itself. She pulls the bed sheet over her head like some over-dramatic teenager. She wouldn’t be able to look Mulder in the eye if he heard this next part. 

She sniffles. “I’m six days late, and I’m never late, and I can’t be pregnant unless…” She wonders what would happen if she just stopped the sentence there and never spoke of it again. Could she do that? Would Melissa mind? 

She lets the bottom drop out from under her. “...unless they did something to me.” The words are barely audible, she hates to have them on her tongue. Worse still, she’s not even the subject in her own sentence. She’s the object, of course. 

She hears Missy take what she’s deemed “a cleansing breath.” Then--”Can you come home? Tonight, tomorrow morning?”

“I...What would I tell Mulder?” Her tears have stopped flowing, but her brokenness still lives in her voice. 

“Anything. That I locked myself out of the apartment, that it’s mom’s birthday, maybe the truth. That man will listen to whatever you say. He’s not gonna stop you.”

“Well, I have to tell the FBI something.” 

“Say you have a family emergency. Or that you’re experiencing trauma from work-related events. You don’t owe them anything, Dana.”

Scully knows this, but could never operate as if she actually believed it. The FBI is her job, her duty, her choice. How can she be up in arms about something she wished upon herself? 

She takes as deep a breath as the pain in her head will allow. “I’ll fly out tomorrow morning.”

“Call me with the deets before you take off. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay.” Scully feels a rush of safety, of being held & supported. “Thank you,” she breathes. Missy has saved her from herself.

“You’re welcome. And Dana…?”

“Yes?”

“We’re gonna figure this out. Whatever it is, we’re gonna figure it out.”

Scully flutters her eyelids shut, feels the temptation of tears at the back of them. “I know...Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Missy echoes. “Get some rest, and try not to worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Scully wonders what gene her sister has that gives her such a distinct ability to say the right thing every time. She wishes she hadn't missed that boat. How much easier would life be? 

She notices that Missy has refused to hang up first. “Goodnight, Missy,” she says into the phone.

“Goodnight, Dana. Sleep well.” Her words are a balm to the soul. 

Scully puts the phone back on the hook, feeling like Missy just put hope back in her vocabulary. Hope or belief? Which is stronger?

[pinknerdpanda]

Dead Sea

Word Count: 4,317

Characters: Modern AU!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff

SSB Square Filled: “Why the long face?” (Bolded and Italicized below)

Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul - what would I do without you?!

A/N: Alright, here it is. My first attempt at MCU Fanfic and hopefully the first of more to come. I really love Bucky’s character and the ways parts of him can be expounded upon. This particular piece was written for @heli0s-writes 2K Challenge. My prompt was the song “Dead Sea” by the Lumineers. I kinda picked it apart and used bits of lyrics within the fic, which are highlighted. This is also the first fic for my @star-spangled-bingo card. Hope you enjoy! I’d love to hear your feedback!

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, send me an ask!

X

Dead Sea

“Why the long face?”

Four words, spoken with casual naivete and a breath of gentle teasing. Bucky froze, the unlit cigarette, now forgotten, dangling between his lips as he looked around for the source of his distraction. His gaze landed on her as she flicked her lighter, bringing the flame to her own cigarette and taking a drag. Her hair itself was like fire, brilliant red and vivid orange dancing around her face in the breeze. She smiled, smoke billowing in delicate tendrils from her nose and mouth as she held the lighter out. 

Bucky blinked, glancing around once again. Surely she was addressing someone else? His eyes narrowed as his search came back empty and he looked at her again.

She wiggled the lighter in his direction and chuckled, the sound electrifying every nerve in his body and making the hair on his arms stand on end. A sound that pure and beautiful should be reserved for...well, anything or anyone except him. Bucky knew he should turn around and go back inside - leave her alone and untainted by his mere existence.

And yet as she watched him patiently, the sun overhead making her eyes and hair sparkle, he silently nodded his thanks and accepted the proffered item. It took a few failed attempts before he successfully ignited the tip of his cigarette and inhaled the bitter smoke, returning the lighter in silence.

“I’m y/n,” she offered, tucking it away again.

Dumbstruck.

It’s not a word Bucky would have used to describe himself in recent years. As a naive, fresh-faced kid 20 years ago? Sure. But a former soldier and recently retired enforcer for a powerful mob back East? Hell no.

And yet, there was no other word to describe it.

Bucky Barnes was dumbstruck.

He took a long drag and exhaled, hoping the cloud of smoke would provide some sort of camouflage as he spoke.

“‘M’name’s Bucky,” he mumbled.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” her tone brightening around her widening smile. “I haven’t seen you before. You new?”

Bucky nodded, hiding again behind his antiquated bad habit.

“I work just there,” she gestured behind her, cigarette carefully poised between two fingers. “At the salon. I’m a stylist.”

Bucky jerked his thumb to the door a few places down from where she’d pointed. 

“I just started at the pawn shop.” 

Y/n nodded, taking another drag. 

“You said something. Earlier.” Bucky cleared his throat, his continued socialization a surprise to himself. “What did you say?”

Y/n grinned, sheepishly, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it with the toe of her worn Converse.

“I asked ‘Why the long face?’” Y/n pulled her jacket around her, shielding herself from the chilly gusts of late winter air. “It’s just...well. You looked kinda sad.”

Bucky chuckled, flicking his cigarette away deftly. “I’ve been told that’s just my face.”

Y/n pressed her lips together and narrowed her gaze at him, nodding thoughtfully.

“I appreciate the concern, though.” One side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up, the ghost of the charming ladies-man he’d once been playing over his features.

“I’ll see you around, Bucky.” She laughed to herself once more before ducking her head and retreating toward her shop, the door closing behind her.

I hope so. Bucky thought to himself. I really hope so.

----

The next few weeks passed in much the same way; smoke breaks shared behind the strip mall, shy smiles and quiet comfort found in the low murmuring between them. 

“But why did you leave New York for bumfuck Ohio?” She pressed gently one day, flicking ash into the wind. “This place is just so...boring.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, having dreaded this question from the moment he put the Empire State in his rearview mirror. The dread compounding even more as the thought of telling her the truth flashed through his mind.

Bucky took another drag before tossing the butt on the ground and stomping it out mercilessly.

“New York lied to me. I needed the truth.” Bucky smirked in self-contempt, the irony heavy on his tongue. It wasn’t entirely false, but it wasn’t the honesty he wished he could give her, either. “Besides, boring isn’t so bad.”

He chanced a look in her direction and found her, nodding thoughtfully as she often did, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. To Bucky, that one gesture felt as though she saw through him, though the feeling wasn’t raw and exposed as he kept anticipating. It felt...reassuring, somehow. Like she saw him as someone he wasn’t even certain he was, and was just biding her time until she could reflect the image back to him. 

“Well, whatever brought you here, Bucky,” she smiled, brushing the neon green and pink hair from her eyes. “I’m really thankful it did.”

Bucky cleared his throat, refusing to look at his watch, as though doing so would deplete their time together faster. 

“What about you? If it’s so boring here, why do you stay?” His tone bordered on teasing, but as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them.

Y/n blinked rapidly, the edges of her smile crumbling visibly. He could practically see her forcing her facial muscles to keep it place.

“It’s my dad,” her voice was barely a whisper. “He’s sick. Cancer. My mom left ages ago and I’m all he’s got.”

She shrugged, leaving him with more questions than answers. Bucky knew better than most not to press the matter. She never did with him, so he allowed her the same respect.

“I’m sorry.” 

Y/n nodded, a silent acceptance of his sincerity. She took a small step forward - her warmth and vitality crowding his space in all the best ways - and, leaning up, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Blood roared in Bucky’s ears and his heart thudded against his ribs almost violently. The feel of her chapped lips on his skin lingered as she stepped back.

“Have a good afternoon, Bucky.” She started to walk back inside, but turned to face him again. “You oughta come by sometime, let me get my fingers in that hair of yours.”

Feigning offense, Bucky scoffed, and pushed some of the long strands back over his ears. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Y/n smiled, a renewed joy in the curve of her lips. “Nothing.”

Bucky watched as she retreated back through the door of the salon, finding himself, once again, dumbstruck.

----

“What about - ” she drew the word out, finger outstretched as she settled on the one she wanted, “that one?”

Bucky chuckled. Of course she would pick that one.

“That one is Vega.”

Bucky turned his head, finding her profile highlighted by the glow of the heavens above. He found her joy intoxicating.

He’d been nervous when he asked if she wanted to do something after work earlier in the day. Nervous and more than a little clumsy, having already convinced himself that she’d turn him down. But she hadn’t. In fact, Bucky thought she almost looked relieved. Though whether it was because she’d hoped he’d ask or because she simply needed a brief reprieve from the responsibility of caring for an ailing father, he wasn’t sure. 

All he knew for certain was that sitting there, blanketed by an inky black sky dotted with shimmering stars next to her was the only place he wanted to be. He felt a bone-deep peacefulness he’d never experienced in his life and it had everything to do with the pastel blue-haired girl who’d agreed to go stargazing with him. 

"You know," he began, swallowing thickly when she turned to face him. "They say that Vega was a goddess who fell in love with a farmer. She descended the heavens to be with him and promised to bring him back with her. Her father became so enraged with them, he banished them both to the sky, but far apart from one another."

"That's so sad," she whispered, her face scrunched. 

Bucky nodded.

"But," he began, desperate to wipe the frown from her lips, "once a year - on the seventh day of the seventh month - a bridge of magpies forms across the milky way so the lovers can be reunited once more."

It worked.

Y/n's eyes glittered brightly with excitement again and at once Bucky's breath was stolen from his lungs. In that moment, Bucky would have lassoed the moon and brought it to earth if it meant being cocooned in her mirth for a few more seconds. 

"That's so romantic, in a horribly tragic kind of way." She laughed, the sound knitting together pieces of himself he'd long assumed irreparable. "Thank you for this, Bucky. I needed some fresh air."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

The voice in his head bellowed that the blush gracing her cheeks was a figment of his imagination. But, as her hand linked with his, the roar of doubt and fear subsided for a moment. He closed his eyes briefly, meticulously cataloging the feel of her palm in his own. 

"What are you thinking?" Her melodic voice vibrated through the night air.

"Sometimes," he started, unsure how to put his chaotic thoughts into words. "Sometimes I feel like I'm sinking and I can't seem to catch my breath."

Her thumb soothed gentle circles over his knuckles, sending a shiver down his spine. 

"But for some reason - when I'm with you - I feel like I can't help but float." Bucky cringed. As often as he'd considered expressing his budding feelings for her, he had done a piss-poor job when the moment presented itself.

And yet...

Her lips were warm against the rough skin of his hand and it shot little jolts of electricity up his arm and throughout his body. 

"I'll be your Dead Sea, Bucky," her breath tickled the hair on the back of his hand as she pressed another kiss there. "You'll never sink when you're with me."

----

“You’re insane.”

Y/n giggled merrily as the rhythmic swells of Latin beats carried on the breeze from the Puerto Rican restaurant a few doors away.

Bucky grinned. "Probably."

"It's raining!" Y/n protested, a whine lacing her words.

Bucky tipped his head to one side, his hand held out feeling the gentle patter of rain against his skin. 

"’S’not raining, it's sprinkling. I know you're sweet, but I promise ya won't melt." His words were flat, but his lips betrayed the attempt at a deadpan retort.

Y/n simply narrowed her gaze at him, crossing her arms over her chest, though her smile muted the effect of her challenge.

“Aw, cah’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky drawled, Brooklyn accent thick and charming. “No one’s gonna see us.”

“I don’t know how!” 

Y/n glanced nervously from Bucky’s outstretched palm to his face and back. 

“Well, lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.” Bucky quirked an eyebrow as his lips drew up in an inviting grin.

Reluctantly - but only just -  she released the air from her lungs in a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands in the air.

“Fine. But it’s only because you’re cute.”

Bucky’s smile widened as his pulse quickened, a rush of warmth heating his cheeks as she placed her right hand in his. He draped her other on his shoulder before planting his right hand against her back.

“It’s easy, just remember one, two, three. One, two, three.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly. “Now, when I step forward you step back. Just mirror my steps and follow my lead. One, two, three. One, two, three.”

Slowly, carefully, Bucky moved them both in a less-than-graceful rendition of a Salsa dance. He didn’t care when she stepped on his toes and cursed under her breath. All that mattered to him was the feel of her in his arms and the sparkle in her eyes as their steps became somewhat synchronized. 

"So," Bucky mused, taking advantage of her gaze averted in favor of their feet. "Cute, huh?"

Y/n's steps faltered, her left foot landing hard against Bucky's right and her head connecting with his chin as she tried to jerk her eyes up to his. Bucky yelped in pain and y/n stumbled backward, her feet tangling with his as they both crumpled to the ground in a heap.

"Oh my God, Bucky!" Y/n gasped, hands scrambling for purchase as she tried to untangle herself. "I'm so sorry! Are you ok?!"

Bucky's deep laughter halted her efforts to climb off him. She laughed then too - high, slightly embarrassed giggles that she tried to cover with her palm. Her eyes widened as his arms tightened around her waist, drawing her in closer.

Bucky swept the faded purple hair from her face, brushing his thumb against her jaw as their laughter died. It was as if time stopped and the only thing that existed in that moment was the two of them. Her breath caught gently when he hooked his fingers behind her neck and began to pull her face to his.

Whether it was poor timing or just another way for the universe to screw him over, he couldn't be sure. But before their lips met, the skies opened up and large, cold raindrops pelted them, instantly drenching them both and ruining whatever moment it might have been. 

Y/n squealed, jumping to her feet and ducking under the shelter of the awning. Defeated, frustrated and wet, Bucky slowly ambled up and joined her a few moments later. Bucky groaned running his fingers through his soaking hair and trying in vain to wring the water out. Y/n grinned, her cheeks and nose dusted a light pink that he was sure hadn't been there before he'd asked her to dance. 

"Y/n," Bucky started but froze when he realized his voice was one of two calling her name in the same moment.

"Mrs. Perry's timer just went off!"

"I'll be right in!" She called back cheerfully, though her eyes shone with reluctance as Bucky stared into them. "Shit. I'm sorry, Bucky. I uh," she pressed her palms together and dropped her gaze briefly. "Thank you for the dance lesson and sorry for...ya know...being about as graceful as a baby moose."

Before he could protest her self-deprecating remark, she leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek and turned to go back inside. Bucky stared after her, his cheek warm despite the chill the rain had tried burying inside his bones.

----

Bucky’s thumb drummed nervously against the wooden surface of the reception desk as he did yet another visual sweep of the room. It was more quiet than he’d expected, though to be honest, he had little to base his assumptions on. 

A few agonizing moments later, a tall, raven haired woman with blood red lips and a ring through her eyebrow approached. She smiled warmly at him, wiping her palms on the front of her black apron.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Bucky swallowed, his nerves making him jittery. “Yeah, I’m looking for y/n.”

“I’m sorry, did you have an appointment?” The woman frowned, a deep crease marring her heavily made-up face. “Judith was supposed to call all of her appointments last night.”

Fear prickled at the back of his neck and a shiver ran down his spine. 

“I didn’t have an appointment. I’m Bucky. From next door? Is she okay?”

“Oh of course. Bucky.” The woman smiled and then sighed. “Her father passed away yesterday afternoon. I know she’d been expecting it eventually, but I don’t think anyone is really ever ready.”

His heart broke for her. He wished he’d known or that there was something he could have done. He’d make the earth spin backwards if it would make her happy.

“Do you know where she lives?” Bucky cringed knowing how stalker-y that sounded. “I just, I’m worried about her.”

The woman pursed her lips, her eyes roaming over his face, studying him. Whatever she’d found there must have been enough because she pulled out a pen and a slip of paper.

“If anything happens to her, Bucky From Next Door, I will not hesitate to kill you. I know where you work and I know that boss of yours better than you do.” She scribbled something on the paper before pushing it towards him. Her expression softened, then, a small smirk playing at the edge of her lips. “Besides, I think she could use a friend right now. If that’s what you’re calling yourselves these days.”

Bucky blushed, but nodded. He mumbled his thanks as he hurried out the door.

----

Bucky paused, his fist poised to knock on the bright yellow door as he sucked in a steadying breath. The setting sun stole the warmth of spring from the air and he found himself shivering. Just when he calmed his nerves, the door opened suddenly, startling him and forcing him to take a step backward. Y/n’s face was pale and her wide eyes were rimmed with red, but the visible signs of sorrow did nothing to lessen her beauty. 

“Bucky?” She gasped a second before she lunged for him, wrapping him in a fierce hug. 

He held her as she shuddered against him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. The sound of her broken sobs made his stomach churn and he rubbed small, comforting circles against her back. 

She pulled back suddenly, rubbing her eyes violently and huffing a frustrated laugh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blubber all over - “

“No,” Bucky cut her off. “Sweetheart, don’t apologize. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Sniffling, she tried smiling, though it was little more than a faint upturn of her lips. 

"You are, aren't you." Her nose scrunched in thought. "How did you know?"

Bucky ran a shaking hand through his hair, eyes focused in his scuffed boots.

"I, uh," he cleared his throat. "I stopped by to see if I could get a haircut. They told me about...what happened." He looked at her then. "I'm so sorry, y/n." 

She nodded, arms wrapping around herself. 

"I knew it was coming soon, I just," she took a deep breath and released it. She continued, voice soft. "I thought I would have more time, ya know?"

Bucky hummed in understanding. 

"You want to come in? I just made some coffee." She laughed. "I don't even know why I came out here. I think I'm a little out of it."

Bucky followed her inside, shutting the door behind him. She led him through the small entryway and into the kitchen, dodging a small pile of suitcases stacked near the doorway. Glasses rattled as she searched for a pair of mismatched mugs and set them on the counter beside the coffee pot.

"You goin' somewhere?" Bucky tipped his head toward the bags when she looked at him. 

Her eyes flashed with something Bucky didn't understand before she turned back to her task. The scent of black coffee was comforting as she handed him a mug. A frowning panda glared up at him from the surface of the cup below the words "I hate mornings." It made Bucky smile. 

Y/n cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. She faced him, hip resting against the edge of the counter. 

"He had been sick for so long, I started to think that this was all my life would ever be. I figured I'd stay, take care of him, maybe get a few cats." Cradling her own mug in one hand, she ran her fingers through uncharacteristically messy orange hair. "But, now that he's...gone…" her voice trembled on the words, but she continued. "I don't know. I think domestic life never really suited me. I kind of want to live for myself, for a change."

Bucky nodded, forcing down the lump in his throat before taking a sip of coffee. 

Y/n smoothed her hands along the sides of her mug, her brow furrowed as she stared at the black liquid. 

"His funeral is Tuesday," she sniffed. "I didn't really have any expenses here, so I've got some money saved. I thought, why not just get away for awhile, ya know?"

Bucky set his cup down and took a step toward her. Her breath hitched, though she didn't look at him. Carefully he tugged the mug from her hands and placed it beside his.

"Well, I'm glad," he smirked, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently. "Cause you and cats? That's just not right."

Y/n giggled, the sound oddly strangled around the sudden resurgence of tears. 

"C'mere," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head under his chin. She breathed deeply, hugging him closer and fisting her hands in the back of his shirt. 

This time when she pulled back, she kept hold of him, but her face twisted in confusion.

"Wait, did you say you wanted a haircut?!" Her voice bordered on incredulous. 

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. "Thought it might be time for a change. 'Sides, you said you wanted to get your hands on it." 

Y/n gaped at him and reached up to run her fingers through his chestnut locks. The feel of her nails against his scalp forced his eyes closed and he hummed lightly.

She tugged on one strand, not enough to hurt but enough to get his attention. When his eyes opened again, the soft look on her face startled him. Her hand dropped to the curve of his jaw, her thumb brushing gently against the bristles peppering his cheek.

"Maybe a trim, but there's no way I could deprive the world of this hair, Buck. That would be a travesty." She blushed. "I only wanted an excuse to run my fingers through it."

Without giving himself a chance to back out, Bucky dipped his head and kissed her. Her lips were warm and she sighed, pressing herself closer to him. His tongue licked across her lip as his nose brushed hers. He pulled back, tugging her bottom lip gently between his before sucking in a steadying breath. 

She smiled, pressing her forehead against his. "About time."

Bucky chuckled, pecking her lips twice as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Come with me."

Her voice was so low, he wondered for a moment if he'd imagined it, but her gaze was pleading. 

"Y/n," he sighed. "I don't know if that's a good idea." 

Defeat, exhaustion, embarrassment and rejection played across her face as she nodded, her hands dropping at her sides.

"Sorry," she breathed, turning away from him. 

Bucky caught her elbow and turned her back to face him. 

"It's not because I don't want to, because God knows I do," he bit down on his lip, clenching his eyes shut in preparation for what came next. "There's just things about me that you don't know. Things I don't want you to know, because seeing disappointment in your eyes might actually kill me."

Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the edge of his mouth before gently tugging his lip from between his teeth. His eyes found hers again and his heart stammered at the tenderness there.

"Bucky, I don't have to know everything about who you used to be to know you are a good man. I could never be disappointed in you."

Her words lifted a small part of the weight he'd carried from the East coast, though he figured the bulk of it would likely remain with him forever. 

"When I left New York, I didn't know exactly where I was going. I just headed west, kept moving, until I got here. This just felt right, somehow. I don't know why I stopped here, y/n. I needed someone I could trust, but it felt impossible. I felt like all I would ever do was sink under the weight of what I left behind." He smoothed a hand through her hair, watching the way the light danced over the brightly colored strands. "But then I met you and, I know I don't deserve it, and I'll never be worthy enough, but you make me want to try. Try to be better, try to be a good man."

She frowned at him then, and confusion jumbled his thoughts and burned his eyes. 

"You don't have to try, Bucky. You are." She smiled. "And I already told you. You'll never sink when you're with me."

Bucky kissed her, this time with a fierceness. Her tongue meet his eagerly and once again he found himself sinking, but this time in all the best ways. 

He pulled back, his lips swollen and his lungs aching for air. 

"Come with me, Bucky." She plead again, her voice was rough and he knew he'd lost any willpower he'd once had to her. 

He nodded and she rewarded him with the sweetest smile he'd ever known. Once again he found himself dumbstruck.

Curling her fingers with his, she tugged him out of the kitchen - away their already forgotten mismatched mugs half-full of warm coffee - and led him to the sofa. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap and resting his chin against her hair. 

A comfortable silence fell between them as he stroked her back and breathed in the scent of her. If he could bottle up a moment in time to save forever, this would be it. He'd never felt such peace and while he struggled to accept his worthiness of such a feeling, knowing she trusted him meant the world. 

She sniffed, pulling back to look into his eyes, and the sorrow he saw etched into her face was palpable.

"Would you stay the night?" Her lip quivered as she tried and failed to blink back tears. "I - uh- I don't want to be alone."

Bucky pecked her lips, brushing away the wetness trailing her cheeks. "Sweetheart, you don't have to be alone, ever again."

----

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My Forever Tags - Stay weird. I love y’all: @wheresthekillswitch @pretty-fortune @arryn-nyxx @emlostinwonderland @becs-bunker @cookie-dough-lova @impandagrl @maddieburcham1 @trexrambling @beachballsizeladyballs @hannahindie @rosie-winchester @winchesterprincessbride @that-writer-one @fandomismyspirit @angelsandwinchesters @cfordwrites @charliebradbury1104 @mogaruke @luulaachops @supernaturaldean67  @barbedwireandbubblegum @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @muliermalefici @galaxy-jellyfish-queen @canadianjelly @kathaswings @feelmyroarrrr​ @bethbabybaby​ @myfanficlibrarium​ @akshi8278​ @emoryhemsworth​ @boxywrites​ @atc74​ @anticipate1003​ @super100012​ @lovesj2m​ @masksandtruths​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @growningupgeek​ @there-must-be-a-lock​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @amanda-teaches​ @cassieraider​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @its-my-perky-nipples​ @squirrel-moose-winchester​ @sandlee44​ @paintrider13-blog​ @arses21434​ @petra-arkanian-1497​ @sasbb23​ @princessmisery666​

MCU Tags (I’m still deciding how I’ll be tagging MCU vs SPN in the future so this is subject to change):

@jamielea81​ @arrowsandmixtapes​ @panicfob​ @yourewelcomeforbeingmyfriend​

[ezrinsprose-edda]

The Sound of the Great Prose Edda

1. Erst was the age when nothing was: nor sand nor sea, nor chilling stream waves; Earth was not found, nor Ether-Heaven, -

A Yawning Gap, but grass was none (Sturluson 16).

What do you see? It is the endless black void, the absence of existence. In the beginning, there was the Yawning Void, otherwise known as the Ginnungagap in Old Norse. The song chosen for the start of the film is light and airy, yet empty as it has no lyrics. Only the sound of synth music and white noise fills your ears as you stare into the nothingness.

White Noiz - Akira Yamaoka

2. Out of the Ice-waves issued venom-drops, waxing until a giant was; Thence all our kindred come all together, -

So it is they are savage forever (Sturluson 18).

The foul race of Rime-Giants are born of venom and ice. Disdained by the gods, they are evil creatures. Now so powerful in their brute strength and numbers, their chaos will soon come to an end. The song chosen for the birth of the giants may sound as if it were from the perspective of the giants themselves as the chorus says, 'You see I cannot be forsaken because I am not the only one. We walk amongst you feeding, must we hide from everyone?' They gloat in their newfound power and use it to wreak havoc.

Forsaken - David Draiman

3. Untold ages ere earth was shapen, then was Bergelmir born; That first I recall -

How the famous wise giant on the deck of the ship was laid down (Sturluson 19).

The sons of the first man Borr slay Ymir the giant. Similar to the following song's title, Ymir's blood drowns the entire race of the Rime-Giants. The flood's only survivor is Begelmir, who boards a boat with his wife and continues the bloodline of the Rime-Giants. However, Ymir's violent death becomes the birth of a new universe. The following song's chorus is 'Bleed me an ocean, let me lie beneath the sky.' Just as Ymir lost his mortal form, his corpse becomes the foundation for the earth and heavens like the song's lyrics: 'I was sexless in clouds again, I was chasing a cold, cold wind. I've become bored with flesh and bone again.'

Bleed Me an Ocean - Acid Bath

4. Of Ymir's flesh, the earth was fashioned, of his sweat the sea; crags of his bones, trees of his hair -

And of his skull the sky (Sturluson 21).

The sons of Borr fashion Ymir's corpse into the earth, his skin into the land, and his skull into the heavens. As evil as the giant was in life, he still serves a purpose for the greater good in death. The earth and sky are now his monument, like in the following lyrics: 'Who felt entitled to hold a place on the earth as a grave for their remains. But no monument for me, please I am not one of them. I didn't need it in life, I won't need it in death. Kiss my ashes goodbye.' This song includes many shifts of tone and speed throughout its 11-minute runtime, from sullen and pessimistic to more hopeful. Ymir's downfall to the creation of the universe has similar tonal shifts.

Kiss My Ashes (Goodbye) - Woods of Ypres

5. How does he govern the course

Of the sun or of the moon? (Sturluson 23)

The children of Mundilfari, Mani and Sol (Moon and Sun) are put into the heavens by the gods. Though they may seem contradicting, they lead the sun and moon across the sky with their chariots. Mani determines the moon's waxing and waning. Sol bestows her warmth on the earth. However, the brother and sister hasten their pace and live in fear of the wolves who vow to seize them one day. On that day, it would mark the beginning of the end, the beginning of Ragnarok. The song chosen for the introduction of Mani and Sol is a tranquil acoustic song with a gentle rhythm that emulates the softness of the sun and moon's light. The artist speaks of the morning sun as a saving grace as well as the anxiety of feeling watched or followed for many years: 'I'd see the light in the shade of the morning sun, my morning sun is the drug that brings me near to the childhood I lost replaced by fear.' There is a darker tonal shift later in the song that parallels the siblings' fear of the wolves and their impending doom: 'That's the price that we all pay, our valued destiny comes to nothing.'

True Faith - Lotte Kestner

6. The moon's taker in troll's likeness. He is filled with flesh of fey men. Reddens the gods' seats with ruddy blood-gouts;

Swart becomes sunshine in summers after (Sturluson 24).

The wolves who prey upon Sol and Mani are Skoll and Hati Hróðvitnisson. Skoll wishes to overpower Sol, and Hati runs after Mani. The wolves were born of an old troll-woman in the forest of Ironwood. The strongest of the wolf race is Moon-Hound, who vows to devour the moon and rain blood upon the heavens. On that day, the sun will lose her light and the roaring winds will be ceaseless. The following song focuses on the predatory pact between the cruel Skoll and Hati as they pursue Sol and Mani until the end of time: 'We fought the daylight, any battle, any war, the call for blood worth dying for. We prayed for twilight, side by side, we stood as pack.'

Where the Wild Wolves Have Gone - Powerwolf

7. The gods made a bridge from heaven and earth

Called Bifröst (Sturluson 24).

There is a bridge that connects heaven and earth called Bifröst. It is made of the strongest material of magical craftsmanship and is multi-colored like a rainbow. However, as seemingly indestructible as the bridge may be, it is destined to be destroyed by the sons of Múspell when they trample Bifröst with their devastating mighty horses. The following song focuses on the bridge's colorful build and the pathway into paradise: 'Take me to the sun, I feel I'm chasing rainbows. Now into your lonely paradise! Are we just dreaming in the city that never sleeps? 'Cause I can't be seeing what my eyes tell me.'

Chasing Rainbows - Bring Me the Horizon

8. What did Allfather then do

When Asgard was made? (Sturluson 25)

Asgard, or Ásgarðr in Old Norse, is the dwelling place of the Norse gods. Allfather allowed the gods to gather and hold counsel there. The town where they dwell is called Ida-field. The house they built is called Gladsheim, and it is entirely made of gold. The house of the goddesses is called Vingólf. In this land, all is made of gold. Here, the gods are seated in their thrones and grant judgement to all. The song chosen for the introduction of the renowned gods is the equally legendary song "Stairway to Heaven," where the lyrics speak of a beautiful place in the heavens where an alluring woman resides, resembling the beauty and light of a goddess. The lyrics say: 'There walks a lady we all know who shines white light and wants to show how everything still turns to gold.'

Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin

9. Then strode all the mighty to the seats of judgement, the gods most holy, and together held counsel -

Who should of dwarves shape the peoples (Sturluson 26).

After establishing their town and council, dwarves begin form underneath the earth like 'maggots in the flesh' (Sturluson 26). The gods decreed that the dwarves will be 'shaped in man's likeness.' From Ymir's flesh, the dwarves were created from maggots of the earth to intelligent humanlike beings. The dwarves now assist and build weapons for the gods, hailed for the brute strength and warrior skills. For the introduction of the mighty dwarves, the song chosen is a heavier rhythm with a faster pace and overpowering guitars and vocals. The following lyrics have to do with the dwarves' perspective of being given new life and owing their lives to the gods that pulled them from the earth as maggots, now in man's image: 'We are the new diabolic, we are the bitter bucolic. If I have to give my life, you can have it, we are the pulse of the maggots!'

Pulse of the Maggots - Slipknot

10. The Ash is greatest of all trees and best:

Its limbs spread out over all the world and stand above heaven (Sturluson 27).

Regarded as 'the holy place of the gods,' the Ash of Yggdrasil is the tree of life (Sturluson 27). Its roots reach different parts of the Nordic universe, such as the land of the Rime-Giants, Niflheim, and Æsir. The Ash is the origin of the universe's wisdom, knowledge, and life force. The following song has a gentle, hopeful tune with a fully orchestrated band and choir-like singing. The lyrics speak of knowing all of the past, present, and future and inner-workings of the world but being unable to change them: 'All the balances are clear. Now that our time is here. In our perfect present tense, through our wide rose tinted lens, when the words have all been spent, will we still have learnt it?'

Season Song - Blue States

11. All know I, Odin, where the eye thou hiddest,

In the wide-renowned well of Mímir (Sturluson 27).

It is fabled that underneath the root that leads to the land of the Rime-Giants is the legendary Mímir's Well. The well and its keeper Mímir hold the universe's wisdom and knowledge. The Norse god Odin craved this wisdom, but it would be given to him not without a sacrifice. He gave up his eye to drink from the well. It is a tale of forbidden wisdom. With all this newfound knowledge, Odin may have felt overwhelmed by this drastic change in his power: 'I watched a change in you. It's like you never had wings. Now, you feel so alive, I've watched you change.'

Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones

12. He convulses so violently that the whole earth shakes – it is what is known as an earthquake.

He will lie bound there until Ragnarök (Sturluson).

The God of Mischief Loki is taken into a cave and tied underneath a large poisonous serpent for his crimes. The snake drips his venom onto Loki's face, causing the earthquakes whenever he writhes in pain. He will bound to the cave until the beginning of the Norse apocalypse Ragnarök. Ragnarök, or the 'Doom of the Gods' in Old Norse, is a series of battles that take place between demons, gods, and giants. This is the end of reign of the gods and the life of man on earth. Gods will die like mortals and the sky will vanish. With it, the sun and stars will be swallowed by darkness and the earth will plunge into the sea. From this destruction, will come a new age. A new earth will be born from the despair. The day that the wolves Skoll and Hati catch Mani and Sol will mark the beginning of Ragnarök. The blood of the sun and moon will stain the sky and the hungry wolves will rejoice in their killing. The final song that concludes this film is a haunting dark industrial melody with dooming lyrics. As if it were from the perspective of the wolves themselves as threatening towards Mani and Sol: 'You're still up in the air and loving your wings. What's gonna happen when you come down?'

Clown - Switchblade Symphony

[loseyoutoloveme]

can you do a rundown/review of every song on folklore like you've done for selena? and what your current top 5 are??

considering this is officially one of my top 3 favourite albums ever i’m v happy to 😌! warning, absolutely every single song will be ranked 10/10

thank for wanting to know my thoughts :( i can’t believe anybody would volunteer to read this JDNSKSDJKDS

first of all, my top 5 is probbbbably gonna change (maybe not tho bc my lover top 5 hasn’t really changed a lot), but for now, i think it’s: august > seven > mad woman > illicit affairs > mirrorball

THE 1:

ngl my very first thought was that it reminded me of same love by macklemore skdjdskjdskjsd but not in a bad way!

literally some of the prettiest lyrics, i knew just from this song that this would top red as her best lyrically (best album in general)

honestly just rly sad and sweet and one of those songs that has such a universal sound i feel?

also the simplest song of the album lyrically (also not in a bad way, just like objectively this is the easiest subject matter on the album with the least opaque lyrics), so a really good opener

best lyrics: “we never painted by the numbers baby but we were making it count/you know the greatest loves of all time are over now” and “we were something don’t you think so/roaring twenties tossing pennies in the pool/and it my wishes came true it would’ve been you”

a cute girl, 10/10

CARDIGAN:

i was surprised by the darkish sound of this one

idk what that like clanking sound in the background is but i find it a lil distracting in the first half of the song - but if i ever find out what it is and it has some symbolic meaning/purpose for being there (i assume it does) i’ll accept it sdjknsd

i love the nostalgia that is so present in like almost every song on this album :(

also the music video is stunning and frames the entire album in the most interesting way, metaphor-wise

best lyrics: “i knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss/knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs/the smell of smoke would hang around this long/cause i knew everything when i was young/i knew i’d curse you for the longest time/chasin’ shadows in the grocery line/i knew you’d miss me when the thrill expired/and you’d be standing in my front porch light/and i knew you’d come back to me”

10/10

THE LAST GREAT AMERICAN DYNASTY:

love this one bc it’s like a nice lil exhale in an album filled with angst, like it’s cute and boppy without being aggressive

i’m suddenly absolutely obsessed with rebekah harkness, particularly the “bitch pack” thing and her dyeing someone’s dog green

i love taylor’s storytelling and i love how that’s always been a big part of her approach to songwriting. this is taylor at her best narration, like starlight but so much better. this is a type of songwriting that is so underused these days, esp by mainstream artists and i love so much that she has always used it and been so invested in it

the pronoun change made me screech. sooo goooood

taylor’s obv a deeply autobiographical artist which is why it’s so incredible to hear her tell OTHER people’s stories and somehow make them so her own. like i think it’s mostly the english major in me that just gets so emotional over that...... the way that other people’s stories became our own through the way we tell them......

this song is def the one that is most explicit about the album’s theme of telling stories but ones that tell something about her (and about her listeners too), by switching to personal pronouns at the end. it sets up a pattern for the rest of the album, where each song is about one thing (the actual story she’s telling) but also about a bunch of other things.

a good example of why she’s the greatest songwriter of this generation

best lyrics: “there goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen/she had a marvelous time ruining everything”

10/10

EXILE:

bon iver’s voice was a full shock to the system the first time i listened and idk why sdkjnds it is just so deep and i was not at all expecting it esp after the cuteness of tlgad

anyway these lyrics are GORGEOUS

i love a duet where the 2 singers’ lyrics are meant to be directed at each other. is there a word for that type of duet idk but it always makes a duet infinitely better

the miscommunication exemplified in the bridge...... chef’s kiss heartbreaking

out of all the songs this is the one that makes me feel the most like i am in the middle of a forest in winter. i can already picture myself listening to this song in december with the sound of a crackling fire in the background mmmmmmmm my exact vibe

best lyrics: “you’re not my homeland anymore/so who am i defending now?/you were my town, now i’m in exile seeing you out” and “i’m not your problem anymore/so who am i offending now?”

10/10

MY TEARS RICOCHET:

this chorus BRRROOOOKE ME

writing songs presumably about the masters situation and framing them as breakup songs was absolutely galaxy brain

i feel like the image of tears ricocheting has like a million layers to it and is just suuuuch a smart metaphor

also just such a visually rich song ? so is every song on the album but the metaphors of this song are all just so visual

best lyrics: “i didn’t have it in myself to go with grace/and you’re the hero flying around saving face/and if i’m dead to you why are you at the wake?” and “i can go anywhere i want/anywhere i want, just not home”

10/10

MIRRORBALL:

ok so i did like this one on first listen, i loved absolutely everything on first listen, but it didn’t hit my top 5 until like 8 listens later, so it’s def a big grower and i think could be a huge fan fav by next year

the self-awareness in her writing will never fail to amaze me

the way that life is just performing...... yeah

but it’s crazy to me that a person could be like “i’m a compulsive people pleaser and performer and i’ll do anything to get ppl to like me” and that leads to “i am a disco ball” like ???? her brain is so big. it’s such a gorgeous metaphor.... and the circus imagery AHHHHH

best lyrics: “i’m still on that tightrope/i’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me/i’m still a believer but i don’t know why/i’ve never been a natural, all i do is try try try/i’m still on that trapeze/i’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me” and “i can change everything about me to fit in”

10000/10

SEVEN:

this one simply rips my heart out

at first i was like oh this is so weird and then the chorus just would not leave my head

for me personally, nostalgia is literally 90% of my personality and just for so many personal reasons the thought of childhood ending and all of the growing pains that come along with that have been at the forefront of my psyche for the past year. so it just kills me whenever i find a song like this one and it kills me that taylor specifically has several songs about this topic and this is 100000% the best of them all. like it’s the most beautiful experience to have your thoughts and feelings and fears expressed so perfectly by a total stranger, and that’s rly what art is about and i love taylor for doing that for me and millions of other people

i just feel like this song brings up so many vivid beautiful memories of childhood for so many people, like being outside in the summer and screaming and being free. ugh

the pause after “i hit my peak at seven” before completing the phrase........ OOOOOOOOOF IT HITS TOO HARD

and sound-wise, just so off-beat and cool and unique

best lyrics: “i hit my peek at seven/feet in the swing across the creek” and “are there still beautiful things?” and “love you to the moon and to saturn/passed down like folk songs/the love lasts so long” and “before i learned civility/i used to scream ferociously/any time i wanted”

100000000000/10

AUGUST:

i knew immediately that this would be my favourite tbh like i could sense it the second it began

i wrote my first impression thoughts in my journal and you can tell the exact moment i got to the bridge bc i just started screaming sdnjksdkjsdn

i would 100% get a tattoo that said “to live for the hope of it all”

everything about this song is LITERALLY flawless like i have.......no notes......no thoughts.......it’s just an absolutely perfect song

best lyrics: “back when we were still changing for the better/wanting for was enough/for me it was enough/to live for the hope of it all" and “august sipped away like a bottle of wine/cause you were never mine”

100000000000000000000000000/10

THIS IS ME TRYING:

this song is rly good but i keep forgetting it exists omg :/ once i learn all of the lyrics i’ll appreciate her more

the strings are gorgeous

i was rly surprised that this one was done with jack instead of aaron just bc the bridge of this sounds SOOOO the national

these lyrics could be interpreted in so many different ways depending on the listener’s experiences and that’s beautiful

best lyrics: “i was so ahead of the curve/the curve became a sphere/fell behind all my classmates and i ended up here” and “it’s hard to be at a party when i feel like an open wound/it’s hard to be anywhere these days when all i want is you/you’re a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town”

10/10

ILLICIT AFFAIRS:

that soft high note on “down,” “stop,” etc is sooooo nice

i don’t have many thoughts on it, it’s just so soft, SOOOOOO gorgeous instrumentally and lyrically

best lyrics: “it’s born from just one single glance/but it dies and it dies and it dies/a million little times” and “don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby/look at this godforsaken mess that you made me/you showed me colours you know i can’t see with anyone else” and “you taught me a secret language i can’t speak with anyone else/and you know damn well/for you i would ruin myself/a million little times”

100000/10

INVISIBLE STRING:

like i said about tlgad, this is a nice little break from all the angst and pain and anger sdnjksdnskjsd just a sweet little break to remind u there are good things in the world too. so placed really well in the tracklist imo

super super super super cute chorus

so many pretty melodies

absolutely an autumn song btw

best lyrics: “time, mystical time/cutting me open, then healing me fine”

10/10

MAD WOMAN:

i literally lost my mind listening to this for the first time

i have such a thing for scorned women anthems like i will immediately love it whatever it is

the pure rage when she says “cause you took everything from me” gives me full body chills

it is just so eerie and haunting and perfect

best lyrics: “women like hunting witches too/doing your dirtiest work for you/it’s obvious that wanting me dead/has really brought you two together” and “every time you call me crazy i get more crazy/what about that?” and “good wives always know/she should be mad, should be scathing like me/but no one like a man woman”

1000000/10

EPIPHANY:

i find this one so hard to listen to but it’s absolutely beautiful and devastating and so heavily relevant for i think the whole world rn

the heart monitor and the trumpets tying both of the topics in together is so genius and so heartbreaking

i think will be the sygb of folklore where it makes everybody cry so much that it becomes a skip despite being a beautiful song

best lyrics: “something med school did not cover/someone’s daughter, someone’s mother” and “some things you just can’t speak about”

10/10

BETTY:

first of all THE HARMONICA

this made me so happy bc it’s just so debut and so fearless and it made me SOOOOO nostalgic on my first listen, because it really felt to me like i was getting to listen to a song from debut or fearless for the very first time again

it’s just so sweet and cute and simple and yet another very self-aware moment of looking back to her past material/subject matter

best lyrics: “would you have me? would you want me?/would you tell me to go fuck myself/or lead me to the garden?” and “i’m only seventeen, i don’t know anything/but i know i miss you”

10/10

PEACE:

the bass at the beginning is soooooo nice

this miiiiiight be the strongest song on the album lyrics-wise but idk yet

not much to say, it’s just so gorgeous

best lyrics: “i’m a fire and i’ll keep your brittle heart warm/if your cascade ocean wave blues come/all these people think love’s for show/but i would die for you in secret” and “would it be enough if i could never give you peace?” and “i talk shit with my friends, it’s like i’m wasting your honour”

10/10

HOAX:

i have a feeling this one will be underrated/underappreciated bc it’s just simple and dark and the last song, but this is....... a lyrical masterpiece

i feel like i need to be playing this on vinyl with all of the lights off and just a candle burning yknow, like there’s just something so dark and ancient about it

best lyrics: “my winless fight/this has frozen my ground” and “your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in/don’t want no other shade of blue but you/no other sadness in the world would do” and “you knew it still hurt underneath my scars/from when they pulled me apart/but what you did was just as dark/darling this was just as hard”

10/10

OVERALL: 10000000000/10 literally one of the best albums i have ever heard and (while i wouldn’t put it past her to top it) absolutely the best work of her career. so complex and layered and emotional and painful and genuine and different. not to get ahead of myself but this is/should be considered her blue, her rumours, her abbey road....... god. can’t wait to listen to this album for the rest of my life and play it for my future children and just watch it live on as the greatest work of one of the most important artists of the 21st century

[templeofulchtar]

On Connecting with Starscream

So, true story:

The first time I tried to perform a ritual for Ghost Season, I had no idea what I was doing. None. Which makes sense, since I may have been the first person ever to attempt such a thing. I set up an altar on my apartment balcony using various things that felt “Starscreamian” to me, and when the night of August 22 arrived, I nervously cast my circle. I invited Starscream to enter into the circle, and… waited.

And waited.

For what, you might ask? Well, I have always had a sense of what his presence ‘feels’ like. It’s a little hard to describe, but I’ve made an attempt in the section below, titled Sensing Starscream’s Presence. I’ve included comments from a couple of other people who work with him so you can compare your experiences to ours and, perhaps, have some idea of what to expect.

In any case, I was getting nothing. Not a tingle, not a flicker, not a mental image; nothing. I began to feel ridiculous. Why was I sitting here in the dark waiting for a cartoon robot to speak to me? I’m pretty sure that’s not something normal people do. Not that I’ve ever aspired to be normal, but… well. It wasn’t working. I packed up and went to bed, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. As I burrowed under the covers, though, a car roared past outside with an old AC/DC song blasting out the windows:

You told me to come, but I was already there.

For those who know that song, yes, I do realize that’s a slight misquote. But that’s how I heard the lyrics in that moment, and their message couldn’t have been clearer:

I am always with you. You don’t have to summon me.

For this message to have been delivered in a voice that’s always reminded me of Starscream’s made it seem incredibly personal and real. And yes, it’s wrapped up a double entendre. If you work with Starscream, you’ll likely discover his ribald sense of humor for yourself.

Why am I telling you this?

Because if you turned to this post wondering how to establish a connection with Starscream, this might be your answer. If you love him, he’s probably already with you. If you feel drawn to Starscream, admire him and would love a deeper connection, there's an excellent chance that he'd be open to working with you as well. If you've been having dreams about him or finding that he, or things you associate with him are ‘coincidentally’ popping up in your life, he may be reaching out to you.

If you’re still not sure, though, you can try this exercise:

Connection Excercise

Open your journal to a fresh page and give some thought to the questions below. You don’t have to answer all of them. Pick the ones that resonate, and write down whatever comes up:

★ Does Starscream provoke strong emotions in you (positive or negative)?

★ Does he show up in your dreams?

★ Do you daydream about him?

★ Are you inspired to create works that feature him, such as fanfic, fanart, cosplay, and so on?

★ Are there certain songs that remind you of Starscream?

★ Do you have favorite quotes by or about Starscream?

★ Do you, at times, catch yourself ‘talking’ to him in your inner dialogue?

★ Do you ever wish you could talk to him?

★ Do you identify with Starscream and see yourself in him? In what way(s)?

★ Have you taken on new interests because of him? (Example: jets.)

★ Do you imagine yourself as Starscream in some way, either physically (eg. Having null-rays, ability to fly), or in terms of your personality or life situation?

★ If you were part of the TF Universe, would you want to know him personally and be part of his life in some way?

★ Has he inspired your life in some way?

★ Have you changed how you dress (say, by wearing more red) because of him?

Those are just a few examples of the ways Starscream could be showing up in your life. You might think of others. If you do, note those down as well. Now, you might be thinking these are simply examples of fannish obsession. You may even have found some of the questions embarrassing. That’s very natural. These questions touch on some very intimate, sensitive aspects of being a fan, and there’s good reason for that.

These questions are embarrassing because they bring up feelings of vulnerability. When we love something, we open ourselves to being hurt. The mockery that’s so often aimed at fans is motivated by people’s desire not to feel vulnerable themselves. They try make themselves feel safe by ridiculing others, but in doing so, they cut themselves off from the source of their own magick.

Yes, you read that right. Your magick, and your spiritual connection to Starscream, flows from that intimate space within. It’s that vulnerable, awkward, geeky place where you innocently, unabashedly adore a character and are totally obsessed with them. Treasure that place. It’s your inner temple. Guard it with care, because it’s where your magick resides.

But, you might be asking, are the ‘symptoms’ on this list actually signs of a spiritual connection? I’m going to say yes. I believe they are, and if you’re open to the possibility of deepening that connection, you can begin to make it a two-way street. Starscream is many things, but ‘shy’ is not one of them. He will show up if you make space for him, and the place where he’ll meet you is within the heart of your magick; your inner temple.

Sensing Starscream’s Presence

So what can you expect? What does Starscream’s presence feel like? It’s hard to give a definite answer, since everyone is different. Your experience will be your own, and in many ways incomparable to anyone else’s. In case it helps, though, I’ve included commentaries by three different people who work with Starscream, including yours truly, to give you an idea of what you might experience...

Starshadow writes:

I think I first became aware of [Starscream] as such while I was in high school. I was initially drawn to his character on the animated show, and at first that was all he was. But I quickly became intensely invested in his story, especially when I started to follow him in other media (comics, etc) as well. He became more to me, and began to transcend the stories and art presented. He literally seemed to take on a life of his own. I started to feel (and sometimes see) him in my dreams encouraging me and telling me to be strong.

His presence is distinctly strong. It sometimes borders on aggressive, but it is not threatening to me. I think he just has a particularly powerful presence. It's very fiery and passionate, which makes it distinct from other entities I sense which are more calm and protective. I will often "see" in my mind's eye his red eyes and wings as well when I feel he is near.

Occasionally [he communicates through] dreams, but much more often I will "hear" his "voice" in my mind, often giving advice and emotional input. As I mentioned before, he has from time to time actually yelled (screamed? ;)) at me, but only at times when I really needed it. Sometimes his colors will show up in combination and songs I associate with him will be played out of nowhere when he is taking a more subtle approach.

[My sense of his presence has] waned at times. For a while it seems like he is just hovering on the fringes, but he never completely goes away. His means of communication hasn't changed much though.

He has made me braver than I probably would have been. He is still working on my self-confidence, though. He's been back again recently encouraging me with that. He has also definitely influenced my creativity and aspirations. He has helped me be driven enough to pursue my desires for so long and explore creative work beyond the "traditional female" expectations.

He [also] does sometimes seem to share aspects with other entities I've communed with, like my [wolf guides]. He will almost seem to "combine" with them, or share their energy, and sometimes they with him. I haven't quite figured out why this happens or for what purpose yet, but I am very curious!

Dark Star of Chaos writes:

It’s no exaggeration to say I spent my whole life looking for Starscream. If you want to get technical I first “met” him as a kid watching Transformers Armada, but though he became my favorite character, that was all he was to me then: A character. I loved him, but what I really wanted at that time was an imaginary friend. Not a real one; an imaginary one. The catch was, I didn’t want to invent one. That, in my mind, was not how it worked. The imaginary friends in cartoons all interacted with their humans as though they were real, and that was what I wanted. I didn’t see how a thing invented from my own head could ever take on that kind of life.

When I was older - after Starscream had slipped off my radar - I came across a book called “The Fire Within”, about an aspiring author and his clay dragon Muse. That book, and those which followed, completely redefined what I was after. I wanted to be a part of this world of dragons and shamans, where words held magic and transdimensional aliens “commingled” (merged consciousnesses) with Earth creatures. And I wanted a Muse of my own; always just a thought away, and always ready with some flash of inspiration to offer.

Looking back on it, I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Starscream reappeared in my life within a few months of that series ending. Our reintroduction came via the original cartoon, and after only a few episodes - specifically, by the end of “Fire in the Sky” - I had already decided I had to write about him. I couldn’t say exactly when I began to perceive him as an entity separate from his cartoon portrayal, but when the idea was suggested to me, it didn’t sound strange or crazy. It sounded right.

Starscream’s energy has always been subtle for me. I’ve never had much luck “feeling” his presence, though I’ve come to trust that he’s there. I only have to talk to him to get proof of that, because he always replies. Sometimes there are words, but more often it’s emotions and concepts, and it can take a while for me to figure out what he means. He also appears in my dreams rather frequently, and we’ve had more than one “face-to-face” meeting that way.

His influence on my life, on the other hand, has been anything but subtle. In addition to inspiring me creatively, he helped me overcome embarrassment about sex, played a role in my moving from a small desert town to a big city, and most recently, he’s come down on me about my abysmal self-care habits. He can be pushy sometimes, but it’s never harsh, and I always end up happier for having listened to him.

In short, Starscream is the friend and Muse I’d been searching for all those years, and I’m endlessly grateful for his presence in my life. After all, how many people get to make dreams of magick a reality?

Grayseeker writes:

I first became aware of Starscream’s presence when I got a call from work asking me to come in, even though it was my night off. The idea of going in made me sick, but I felt I had to. It wasn’t just that I was afraid of getting fired; I also had a strong impulse to obey authority figures. I didn’t know how to say no. But on that particular night, a voice spoke inside my mind:

You don't have to do anything you don't want to.

It was a voice I recognized, and the words were accompanied by what I can only describe as a ‘feeling image’ of myself as a sovereign being with full authority over my own life. I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to, and I didn’t go in to work that night. I told my supervisor I’d had some drinks (untrue, but effective) and after that, they stopped calling me on my nights off. Maybe they sensed that something in me had changed. It had.

I believe Starscream has always been with me, but that incident, over three decades ago, is the moment I became consciously aware of his presence. My sense of him has remained pretty consistent over time. I still ‘hear’ him as a voice inside my head. Usually it’s just a few words, but they’re always imbued with a sense of meaning that goes beyond the words themselves. I also get physical sensations, such as warmth or tingling, emotional communication (which is hard to describe!), dreams and synchronicities, usually involving numbers, colors, and/or song lyrics.

To me, Starscream’s presence feels warm, welcoming, comforting, affectionate, and… amused. His communications with me are typically laced with a certain wry humor, and the observations he makes are often phrased in sardonic, even sarcastic terms, though they’re somehow never hurtful. I always feel the warmth behind them, and they make me feel loved. I always feel like he’s on my side, even when he’s pointing out ways that I could improve.

On very rare occasions, he will get serious. That’s when I know to pay extra attention, because it usually means there’s some danger to me, or that I’m venturing into territory that isn’t healthy. I’ve learned (the hard way!) that he’s always right. He’s immensely wise, and I’ve learned to listen when he says ‘no.’ He doesn’t say it often, and he always has a good reason.

Starscream has influenced my life in countless ways. He’s my creative Muse, and has been the impetus for my desire to write. He’s also my main guide, my teacher and spiritual awakener. I think of him as more a friend, and more than family. I love, trust and respect him, and feel that I receive the same in return. I hope these words will find their way to someone who is starting on the same path, or a similar one. If I can offer any reassurance or inspiration, perhaps it’s just to say trust you heart. I’m glad I trusted mine.

I know he’s sad because he couldn’t blow up the Earth, but kinda want to hug him anyway...

A Few Last Thoughts

You might be wondering how to make sense of all this. In particular, you may wonder how to distinguish what’s real from what’s a product of your imagination. And what am I trying to say, anyway? Am I, in fact, suggesting that Starscream is real?

Why yes, I am. Now before you decide that I'm nuts and walk away, let me explain what I mean. I am not necessarily implying that Starscream is a physical entity. I'm not saying that if you were to hop into a really fast spaceship and fly far enough and in the right direction, you would arrive at a metallic world named Cybertron, populated by living robots who are able to transform into various types of vehicles and other machines, and that among those Cybertronian entities you would find an individual named Starscream.

Of course, I'm not ruling that out, either. Our universe is too vast and strange to rule out much of anything. But what I am saying, based on several decades of personal experience, is that there is a real, non-physical entity named Starscream, with whom it's possible to communicate and have real interactions.

Can I prove this? Nope! There is no tangible, objective phenomenon I could point to as "proof" of his existence, but for me, that's beside the point. I feel Starscream as a constant presence in my life. He is my guide, teacher, healer and dearest friend, and his impact on my life has been very real indeed. I hope that the personal examples given above will provide a starting point for you to begin having your own experiences, if you desire them, and that your relationship with Starscream will be as rewarding as mine has always been.

Blessed be, Grayseeker

[lgcdanbi]

every day

                          in your heart,                           in your bones, no matter how silly you know it is, you feel that                           everything has been leading to this, all the secret arrows were                           pointing here, the universe and time itself crafted this long                           ago, and you are now realizing it, you are just now arriving                           at the place you were always meant to be.                                                                                                              d. levithan

she’s forgotten what it’s like to feel.

numb, succinctly put, she is as she wanders, from audition to lesson to opportunity to—every glance into the mirror, with that dreaded reflection staring back, she struggles. to recognize, to remember, to feel. a hollow shell of herself, she can’t bear to put the name to the face: geum danbi, she’s aware, but hesitant to place.

it’s only been a couple of days—seven, as a matter of fact—since the airing of the future dreams finale: a moment she’s been preparing for several months, in excitement and anticipation, for it to only to be done and over with within a matter of a couple of hours (every time she thinks back, her heart breaks a little bit more and more). and with barely a second to rest, they’re shuffled into that godforsaken office of kim hyuncheol, tasked with yet another television show, another competition, another pipe dream.

and though the faces of her colleagues express enthusiasm—smile lines of optimism, and laughs laced with elation—danbi’s sat there, muted, with a tight-lipped grin: a forcibly tug of the corners of her lips, teeth unconsciously biting down on the tip of tongue. she tastes blood.

the buzz doesn’t die down, though, and with every body that passes by, a percentage of her life force is stolen away: body heat decreases, and energy drains—until she’s empty, struggling to fill the gapes and holes with everything, anything (it’s full speed ahead, and she’s running on fumes).

she doesn’t dare spare a second to process, for after the meeting, she hustles to the nearest practice room to re-memorize the lyrics that were first presented to her in february: an audition, one she shouldn’t really qualify for, to feature on seo haneul’s new album. two months ago recounts a different her, a her that’s beaming at the chance to shed light on different colors of a canvas; a blank space that’s consistently painted with the red of passion, the blue of disappointment, but never the pink of bittersweetness.

but now, as she stands there—patiently in line, fingers naturally crumpling the sheet of lyrics—all she can see is black and white, blurred and darkened and dreary.

and when her name’s called, when she opens her mouth: she can feel the vibrations, can sense every breath that’s taken—but she swears her body is not her own. and she’s floating, on an invisible cloud, to stare down at the husk of herself that plainly stands before such an infamous trio.

a scene of monochrome, she can barely make out the grimaces on each of their faces, a saddened appearance of displeasure due to unmet high expectations—and then a fade to black.

with a blink, she’s returned to her senses, a considerable amount of time having had passed as she’s reached the end of the audition. they ask, as a formality, why she thinks she deserves to be chosen (albeit, she really doesn’t think she does).

a defeated laugh as she stares straight ahead—at what, she’s not sure, but her eyes do not waver, nor does her voice. “i think.. this is a song that’s better expressed with time, with age—with experience.

there’s something about wanting something so bad, and for so long. every word, every action comes so naturally in your head, for you’ve imagined it that many times: the perfect dream, you just know that it’ll come true one day.” a pause, a falter in confidence. “—but then it doesn’t. and you wait: for days, months, years, until your doodles are drawn to perfection, as close to reality as humanly possible.

but that’s all it’ll ever be, isn’t it? a drawing. an image. and you’re so close: you can see it, you can touch it—right there, on the tip of your pencil. but the lines never close, the scribbles never jump off the page, and no matter how much you think it’s it, it’s not. because it’s not real, and sometimes—” she swallows. “you think it’ll never be real.”

the men’s eyes widen at her unexpected response, darting at each other as they share looks of equal surprise and appreciation. and before they can speak, she finishes, “i’m not a power vocalist. i can’t hit extremely high notes, nor can do outrageous vocal runs. but i think this song, at its core, is about longing, and there’s no other trainee at this company who can embody that emotion better than me.”

eventually, she’s dismissed, with the next trainee scurrying into her previous place without a moment’s hesitation, and her feet unconsciously lead her to the restroom. heavy hands slowly turning the faucet on, the rush of water drowning out the noises outside. and as the water streams out, she notices droplets on the other side of porcelain, meeting in the middle to swirl down the drain.

the tears she’s held back all this time: during the finale, when she realizes she’s forgotten by both judges and fans alike. amongst the bright lights, the confetti, the roaring applause, the internal sobs she chains down, into a cage filled with woes and wails: it’s then, when they’re not victorious, but worse, not even considered. a moment of mourning she’s long forbidden herself to indulge in, she relents and, finally, breaks down.

and then it hits her.

ah, it hurts.

[jackshithere]

Till and Schneider in an interview with the "Stern"

source

They sing about child abuse, incest, necrophilia. In a video they show excerpts from Leni Riefenstahl's body-cult Olympia movie. And when singer Till Lindemann rolls the R, it roars out of the speakers as it once did from the Volksempfänger. The Wall Street Journal stated, "Woah, that's German!" Rammstein, a german band. A [politically] right band? Since its founding in early 1994, the six musicians from Schwerin and East Berlin are suspected of doing right-wing rock.

In fact, the lyrics with their portrayals of sex and violence are often close to censorship - but fascism is not even between the lines. Now Rammstein, with around three million albums sold, the internationally most successful German-language band since Kraftwerk end of the 70s, a new CD on the market: "Mutter" is by pre-orders even before the release on 2 April for the top 3 of the German charts written down.

The 'Stern' spoke with singer Till Lindemann and drummer Christoph Schneider about their youth in the GDR, Rammstein as a therapy - and provocation as a stylistic device.

On your new album you have underlined the title "Left 234" with the sound of marching boots. That sounds like the newsreel 60 years ago.

Schneider: The piece was the first attempt by Rammstein to deal artistically with the eternal reproach that we are a right-wing band. It's almost funny that this will cause some discussion again.

But you could have omitted the marching sound. Would not the message that your heart seems to be "leftist" be less clear then?

Till: That's the intention. One lets something march and then answers.

Schneider: We hate to express ourselves clearly. Rammstein always has room for interpretation.

That makes for misunderstandings.

Till: That was right from the start. We all grew up in the GDR, come from the punk scene. If we wanted to perform there, we had to present our repertoire before the so-called rating commission. Of course, you had to think very carefully about what you say, what you sing and sometimes how you play. Any criticism of the system was prohibited. So you had to try and make a loop. That's probably why it's still within us that we like to respond ambiguously.

Schneider: When you look at lyrics from GDR bands, you can see how good they are in part when they rewrite a subject with lyrical means. This past is closely connected with us. We can not get away from it. That was our youth. If we came from the west, Rammstein would not exist. At any rate, we would not be so violent.

Why not?

Till: What do you want to do to get you to play in front of more than ten people? You start using provocative means and being extreme. There we were certainly more courageous than East Germans. It started when we sang that kind of hard music in German. And then something has also unloaded what had accumulated in our GDR youth, because we have reacted abreacted. Finally we were allowed to say everything, do everything. Basically it was quite simple: look into your stomach, look into your soul, and start making music.

Out of your seemingly very dark soul came out lines like:

 "My black blood and your white flesh / I'm getting hornier from your shrieks". [Mein schwarzes Blut und dein weißes Fleisch ich werd immer geiler von deinem Gekreisch] 

Was that more than a provocation? 

Schneider: The provocation is exhausted at some point. There are only a few topics that are good for it. We used them up.

Till: What's the use of writing the same kids fuck song for the third time?

Schneider: We started with the tank at that time, regardless of left or right or losses, and we broke through. We have been heard. Now we're going to deal with the pieces left over. And start to realize what we really are - a German metal band. With the new album we often asked ourselves: Is that still Rammstein? Are we starting to make only beautiful music? So far, the new record is no longer provocative. That's certainly mainstream. But good mainstream.

The provocation of Rammstein is not only based on the ambiguous texts, but also on the aesthetics of the band and their show. Military headlights [basically Batman signal thingy] shining in the sky are evoking images of Nazi Nazi party rallies; Lindemann's throaty chant reminds us of the rolled-up R Nazi sizes. Does it have to be that way?

Till: The R comes on its own. When I sing so deeply and expressively, my vocal cord flutters, and then it just rolls. By the way: Peter Maffay's vocal cord reacts similarly, but also rolls the R. And the light dome, which looks good, right? It's not about more. Just because it's associated with those twelve crappy years, should not that be allowed anymore? Then tear down the Olympic Stadium and all the other Nazi buildings in Berlin! This is twelve years that this idiot named Hitler has on his conscience, and again and again one comes back to it. It's about art. There is no relationship between one and the other.

Schneider: This discussion shows that there seems to be no coping with the past in society. You can say: Okay, there is the light dome, I think that's good, and there's the Reich Party Rally, I think that's shit. You can separate that, everyone for yourself. Only in this way can one find the way to one's own history. I can not always think, oh, it's all so loaded, I can not talk about it, and the others could think ... No, open dispute! The task of Rammstein is also the search for an independent music, a German music. Of course, we come across our story and get all these allegations. But I see that rather positively: We try to find our own identity, which many musicians or artists in Germany have given up long ago.

This also means that you show no emotion on stage and Lindemann beats his head bloody with the microphone?

Till: We're actors on stage, that's show. You do not notice the pain when you hit the same spot every night on the head. Schneider has even received a broken neon tube in the shoulder. Paul, our guitarist, burned my ear in Australia now.

Schneider: It's probably like this: Rammstein is like a self-help group for us. Like a therapy.

When did you first learn about the era of National Socialism?

Till: We grew up with Auschwitz. With us was the everyday life: group travel with the school to the camps, see Buchenwald, flowers lie down at monuments, join the concentration camp march through Mecklenburg, to Güstrow along the highway. There are such monuments on every corner.

Schneider: In the GDR civics and history lessons were strongly antifascist-colored. Everything except communism was evil: fascism, West Germany, capitalism. These were all taboos. I think that's why we now have this pronounced right-wing extremism in the East: I'm shit, and I want to draw attention to myself. So I use the worst of what I know - and become a neo-Nazi.

Why do not you participate in concerts like "Rock against right-wing violence"?

Schneider: We do not want to be tense with these carts. That would be ridiculous. Then it is said that we used it only to become even more popular. Besides, what's the use? The right ones are there. They are part of our population. We have to accept this problem and finally accept that there are these tendencies in Germany. It does not help to always exclude the right. We have to talk to those who solve their problems.

Rammstein reaches the Far right scene.

Till: We reach many, including the advertisers in Hamburg. And as far as the right is concerned, for me the state is too soft-spoken about the problem. You have a black half-dead, and there are construction hours as punishment. We used to beat ourselves with skins even before the turnaround in Schwerin - why do not you go through harder today? I grew up with a girl who is a mulatto. She still visits Mecklenburg every summer. She is afraid of people and does not dare to go to certain places. I'm just ashamed of that.

Nevertheless, you play with a Germany image that evokes certain memories.

Schneider:DRammstein is not a concept. We've come together to do this music and show, and we work like a support group. We do what we like well, nothing more. Maybe that's why our fans think we are authentic. Following the motto: Rammstein do their thing and are not like the others. This may also explain our success in the US. But with that our critics get a problem again: They fear that the American kids will not associate with Germany any more than Rammstein. The Americans are really only on our artistic skills. This is politically overrated.

Till: One does not ask Ricky Martin which political attitude he has. You listen to a song, find it good or bad. That's all.

[dawdl-ing]

Open Mic Night

(I was in a writing mood yesterday, and typed up this lil’ diddy! My Fallout 4 Sole Survivor can sing and I wanted to give her some time in the limelight. Hope you enjoy!)

Tonight -for the first time ever- it was Open Mic Night at the Third Rail, and the town of Goodneighbor was abuzz with curiosity. Word got around that anyone, synth, ghoul, or drifter, could get up in front of the night club to sing their favorite tune, free of charge!

Carol‘s eyes drifted around the room. The nightclub was fuller than usual that night, everyone wanting to see if any new talents could be discovered, or ready to have some bloody good fun. They chattered and bubbled with excitement amongst each other, creating a low hum throughout. Singers (and artists in general) were hard to come by in the barren Commonwealth, so what if they heard someone other than Magnolia who was actually decent?

Carol tentatively sat on a leather couch, taking small sips of water to distract herself from her anxiety. She frowned at the marks her red lipstick made on the glass, and set it down on the table in front of her. She wasn’t used to dolling herself up this much, despite having a regular beauty routine she kept up as one of her many coping mechanisms for the Wasteland.

The minute she heard about Open Mic Night, she knew she just had to sign up. None of her post war loved ones had heard her sing before, so they were there with her, for moral support, and for their own curiosity. Nick Valentine, Piper Wright, Robert Joseph MacCready, Mayor Hancock, the infamous Lone Wanderer and her boyfriend Butch coming to visit among them. All but Piper and Nick scattered about the place, having already given her their best wishes.

Carol loved performing with all of her heart, but her nerves still got the best of her at the thought of getting up in front of people. She twiddled her thumbs nervously.

Piper noticed her tense expression. She reached over and squeezed Carol’s hand comfortingly. “You’re gonna do great, doll. I know it.”, she encouraged, warmly. Carol smiled at her lover and squeezed her hand right back. “Thanks Pipes.” She said. Nick, who was standing to her right gave her a reassuring nod in agreement. “Yeah kid, you’re gonna be fantastic.”

Their conversation ended with Magnolia drifting onto the stage, commencing for Open Mic Night to finally begin. Everyone whooped and hollered, the night of fun finally starting.

After a decently long round of songs and Hancock’s unnecessarily vulgar (yet very entertaining) rendition of “60 Minute Man” by Billy Ward and The Dominoes, Magnolia, feeling that the Sole Survivor needed a “proper introduction”, summoned Carol to the stage.

As Carol joined her, Magnolia stepped down from her usual perch, kissing the young woman on the cheek for good luck as she went.

After finding her place in front of the microphone, Carol signaled the band to her right with a confidant nod, and they began the intro. A beautiful, jazzy tune soared into the air, a saxophone taking the lead in the measure. The song was one of Carol’s favorites from before the war: “Lullaby in Birdland” by Ella Fitzgerald. The sheet music the band was using was a very lucky find indeed, Carol and Piper coming across it during their adventures in Vault 81. It was located in the small classroom where the kids practiced their studies.

The Vault’s schoolteacher, Katy, gladly allowed them to borrow it as payment for telling her students stories about the Minutemen and the Commonwealth. The song was unknown of among some of patrons, them used to the jazzy tunes of Magnolia and the repetitive round of tunes on the radio. The Pre-War ghouls present however, appreciated the choice, some humming along, nostalgia and longing in the air.

Taking a reassuring breath, Carol began to sing at her cue. Everyone listened, invested. Carol’s performance was starting to be a welcome change in atmosphere for the usually seedy, smoky nightclub. Her voice was different than Magnolia’s, though not to anyone’s chagrin. It was higher, heavier, and full of theatricality.

The song floated through the club, bathing the patrons in its rich sound and maturity from years of passion and practice.

Piper’s eyes did not leave the stage, a wide, idiotic smile growing on her face. During the song, Carol made an effort to keep eye contact with Piper on the especially tender lyrics, making Piper grin even bigger in embarrassment and affection.

If Nick could tear up, he would. The image of his good friend onstage in her best dress brought back a wave of nostalgia from the old Nick’s memories. One of he and Jenny enjoying each other’s company in a local club, while a lounge singer wailed about her man leaving her. He smiled as well, quietly taking a drink from his glass of bourbon.

Carol decided to end the song with a very powerful belt that almost made the sitters closest to her watery eyed. After her big finish, there was a moment of silence. Everyone rose to their feet, giving her a standing ovation. The club was roaring in approval, Hancock being the most enthusiastic, given his tipsy state. When the crowd’s applause started dying, Magnolia joined Carol again on the stage, announcing that they would take a “little break”. She turned to Carol, a wry grin on her face. “Looks like I’ve got myself some competition, huh?” She said with a wink.

Both of them made their way off the stage, the lights getting a bit brighter to signal the brief intermission.

Piper was the first to greet Carol, showering her enthusiastically with kisses. “CAROL! HOLY SHIT!!” She exclaimed in awe, “I didn’t know you could sing like that!!” Carol giggled, hugging Piper tightly. “Thank you, Piper.” She replied, breathlessly. She in turn gave her a peck on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick print were her lips had been. They both giggled like school girls at the sight.

Nick greeted them, touching Carol’s shoulder gently. “Doll, you were glowing up there.”, he complimented, “I really, really enjoyed it.” Carol beamed, “Thank you so much, Nick.” She smiled appreciatively.

Piper wrapped her arm around Carol’s waist, bringing her close. “Let’s go get some victory drinks and enjoy the rest of the night, eh?” She said, maneuvering them toward the bar to join the rest of their group. “Yes, let’s.” Carol happily agreed, a skip in her step.

[happymetalgirl]

Disturbed - Evolution

This is a tough one.

Not to write, well kind of.

Like a sucker punch to the gut after trying to quell a bar fight.

Disturbed were one of the big reasons I got into heavy music in my adolescence, and even looking back, I still enjoy a lot of my favorite deep cuts from albums like Believe and, my personal favorite, Indestructible. For a long time, Disturbed has been the bane of frustrated criticism from much of the metal community for having a rather homogeneous and formulaic writing style, which they do to some degree. But for a long time I stood my ground in my appreciation of what they did with the style they transitioned to immediately after their nu metal debut album put them on the map. Even though they did largely abide by a common formula, their music didn’t really FEEL formulaic. The band played with what seemed to be a pretty convincing vigor, with David Draiman’s strong and well-controlled singing voice a major factor of it, and the rest of the band’s crunchy riffs and respectable solos providing a certainly adequate backing to such a strong vocal presence. The band were assertive. They nailed five #1 albums in a row and they played like they had to prove they deserved it out of all the other groups in the alternative metal field in the 2000′s.

I was a little shaky when the band came back from hiatus with 2015′s Immortalized, for which they recruited Five Finger Death Punch producer Kevin Churko to manage the soundboard, and he basically copied and pasted the same bland production from Got Your Six to Disturbed’s sound. Aside from the unflattering, squeaky clean preset production, the band sounded much more micromanaged in their writing. The band were able to squeeze out a few bangers that hearkened back to albums like Ten Thousand Fists, but combined with what seemed like a bit less fire under their ass after their hiatus, Immortalized sounded like Disturbed sterilized, super clean, super textbook, no surprises... well, one surprise. What Immortalized eventually brought Disturbed was a hit cover: Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence”. The band had done a lot of well-received cover songs across their catalog before “The Sound of Silence”: “Shout” by Tears for Fears, “Land of Confusion” by Genesis, “Midlife Crisis” by Faith No More, “Living After Midnight” by Judas Priest, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” by U2, and even a live rendition of Pantera’s “Walk”. But nothing brought them quite the resurgence in popularity after hiatus that “The Sound of Silence” was able to. But that clearly came with a price that the band would have to pay later, and that time is now.

Immortalized felt like executives and radio analysts had a bit too much hold on the band in the creative process, and on Evolution, it really feels like they have taken the reins completely to ensure that the band they invested in, the band that gave them their hit Simon and Garfunkel cover, would yield a similar return. And good God is it a catastrophic shame! Reshaping Disturbed’s approach and image all the way down to the album cover, the first to not feature their iconic mascot (The Guy) since his inception on the Ten Thousand Fists cover, Evolution is quite a painfully fitting title for this stifled, programmed album. For the first time, Disturbed really sound like something their longtime fans didn’t ever want them to be and everything their worst critics had always said they were. I don’t know how much of a fight the band members put up to prevent the album from sounding this way (if they even did) but they sound defeated and puppeteered. The curious part of me even wonders if Draiman’s oddly publicized decision to take out his chin piercings came as the result of label pressure to clean up the band’s image for radio/YouTube or something (if so, I’m sure they’re also trying to find a way to change that super offensive, not-radio-Disney band name without losing the recognition it comes with).

Cynicism about the context of the album aside, Evolution is a tough pill to swallow. Producer Kevin Churko is back to fuck up a good thing and choke the band’s otherwise lion-like roar into the wheeze of an asthmatic cat (appreciate the Sufjan Stevens reference). The album kicks off with the fan-chosen lead single, “Are You Ready”, an adequate, but still kind of safe channeling of classic Disturbed. On any other album from them, this would be an enjoyable, but lower-tier track in the bag. The fact that it’s a highlight here speaks to the tremendous drop in quality on this album. Things go south quickly with the second track, “No More”. The song builds its foundation on a butt rock drum beat throughout the verses and minimal riffage. The chorus is a bit better, but those verses are just unbearable. And then we get the first of several of the album’s soulless, transparently label-pushed ballads: “A Reason to Fight”. The lyrically vague, overproduced acoustic piece is such an obvious attempt at a semi-“The Sound of Silence” original that the label wouldn’t have to split royalties for. And this applies pretty much exactly to the nauseatingly cheesy inspiration of “Hold on to Memories”, the artificially orchestral “Lift You Up”, and the melodramatic acoustic closer, “Already Gone”.

As for the more rock-oriented material, the kids-on-their-damn-phones anthem “In Another Time” sounds again like an overproduced Asylum-esque banger that would almost definitely have sounded better on that album’s production (and with less surface-y topical lyrics). The chuggy, mid-paced guitar riff on “Stronger on Your Own” also really highlights how shitty the production on this album is, with Dan Donegan sounding like he’s playing through a fucking practice amp. Again, it sounds like something that could have had potential to be passable in an earlier studio session, but instead got snuffed out here. “Savior of Nothing” features some refreshingly present cool guitar harmonics, even though Donegan is still far too muffled in the mix. The chorus is pretty lifeless, however, and the momentarily exciting drum fills at the bridge are quickly ruined by a corny electronic dubstep-ish drop, in current year, after all the failed experimentation we saw with dubstep in the early 2010's! God, just give me the cancer now. Perhaps the laziest display of the band’s usual hard rock and alternative metal blend comes in the elementary schooler swearing technique on the drama-critique of “The Best Ones Lie”, which just sounds awkward and forced.

The bonus tracks on the “deluxe” version of the album features a recycled suspiciously titled original alt. metal cut called “This Venom”...like that shit movie needs more shitty music commissioned for it to stain this year. And of course, there’s another acoustic ballad with Draiman seriously crooning in falsetto at some points like a fucking wannabe Adam Levine.

The band expressed that they wanted this album to be like their “black album” and represent a stylistic evolution for them, which is such an odd thing to hear from a band that has clearly taken so much influence from the “black album” they’re referring to. And I feel like a broken record this year with bands stating they want to “evolve” or “progress” as an excuse for an unwelcome diverting into the fleeting promises of career revival and job security that radio-friendliness advertises, but Disturbed’s case is different. They aren’t some B-list group from the 2000′s metalcore movement jumping aboard the Oli Sykes bandwagon. Disturbed are big, and they didn’t need to sell their souls to maintain their status after the success of “The Sound of Silence”, which is why I get the feeling that this was the product of too many hands of boardroom members on the creative wheel. Although, it’s still entirely possible that this really was the direction Disturbed wanted to go. They said they were inspired by the classic rock of their youth, which could be an excuse to appeal to that hotbed of radio boredom, but I can believe it given the more rock-oriented cuts on this album.

Either way, this is bay far Disturbed’s worst album to date, and one that ended their five-record streak of #1 albums. Not that I would revel in a band’s failure (besides, it debuted at #4, which is undoubtedly still a win for the band, and moreso a symbolic stumble for the label), but I hope that such a “slump” either helps guide the band back on track to doing what they have done well, or gives them leverage to get their label the fuck off their backs so that they can get back to doing what they do well without the hindrance of outside influence only seeking to pimp their artistry, seeing that the label probably isn’t going to be getting a hit like the “The Sound of Silence” this time around anyway.

In the end, perhaps the album cover (as boring as it is) without The Guy is better. It certainly represents something. If The Guy is the spirit of the band and their hunger, then it’s fitting that he’s not here on Evolution's cover. Replaced by the image of electrified DNA bases with chains serving as the sugar-phosphate backbone, the Guy-less cover kind of does express the chaining of the band’s fiery nature across this album, something I hope they can break free from on their next project.

[patternsintraffic]

Inside “Right”

Direction by Patterns in Traffic

Hello, friends! Can you believe that Direction is already two months old? In some ways it feels like it was released just yesterday, and in some ways it seems like it’s been much longer. After a short break, I’m back to continue giving some insight into the songs on my recent EP.

“Right” is a unique case in that it’s more of a social commentary, whereas my songs usually focus on interpersonal relationships. Without getting too far into the weeds on the meaning, I tried to tackle the issue of marketing (personal or professional) and surface-level image through the lenses of an evil corporation and a self-obsessed Patrick Bateman-type protagonist.

When I first started working on the EP, there was a different song altogether that was going to be “Right.” In fact, I got so far as to have a full, completed demo for that song (which will appear on my next release, but let’s focus on the here and now). During the demoing process for the EP, I heard a song by another artist and had a moment where I could anticipate exactly where the chorus was going to go before I heard it. I was pleasantly surprised when the band took the chorus in an entirely different (but also awesome) direction. However, I really liked the “anticipated” chorus that I came up with and I decided to use it as inspiration for a song of my own. I quickly came up with the chorus lyrics that are still present in the final version of the track, which repeat the word “right” three times. I knew that this new song had to be “Right,” as it fit the Direction motif a bit better than the song I had been demoing. I wavered a bit because of the extra time and energy it would take to demo a new song from scratch, but I ended up taking the time to make sure that I wouldn’t have any regrets about the final EP.

Musically, I had fun trying to get that heavy, hard-rock guitar tone on this song. I was going for a Muse type of sound, though I have no delusions that I achieved any such thing. It is also probably my most extensive use of lead guitars, with lead guitar riffs trading off with the vocals in the verses and an extended solo in the bridge. Speaking of the bridge, it is different from any other bridge I’ve written in that it has three distinct sections. The first section builds in intensity up to the line “We’ll make you undeniable,” which contains probably the highest note I had to hit on this EP (and maybe in any of my recordings so far). My voice was pretty raw after recording that part. The second bridge section is the guitar solo, which was something I really wanted to fit into this very guitar-centric track. It is the only true guitar solo on Direction. Finally, there is a section with a kind of bluesy progression which leads back into the final chorus. When I first wrote the song, this section was a prechorus and it repeated before each instance of the chorus. As I assembled the demo for the song, I realized that this part was a bit long to repeat three times, and the chorus worked well coming right out of the verse. I ended up finding a home for it as a transitional part between the guitar solo and the final chorus.

One other notable aspect of “Right” is the “fake ending.” I always thought it was a cool trick when a song sounded like it was coming to an end before coming roaring back from the dead. I wanted to use that technique in one of my recordings at some point, and this one fit the bill. I ended the final chorus with a dissonant note on the lead guitar, leaving the final guitar riff unresolved. This gave me an excuse to bring back the intro riff and chords from the beginning of the song, which I really like, as the surprise “return” of the track after it seems to be fading out. After coming in hard for one more cycle of the verse progression, the song finally comes to a resolute conclusion.

Thanks for reading a bit more about the inspiration behind and the creation of “Right”! This song represents a different sound for me and I am really excited that it is out there now for everyone to hear.

[lunapaper]

The year was 2010. Emo was just starting to die out (long live the scene). I was studying to become a secondary school teacher, and Katy Perry was shooting whipped cream out of her boobs...

Second albums, more often than not, fail to live up to the hype. And yet, Teenage Dream has somehow endured.

While Perry’s 2008 debut, One of the Boys, launched her into the mainstream, it really hasn’t aged all that well. On tracks like ‘Self Inflicted’ and ‘Fingerprints,’ she tries way too hard to emulate Paramore’s bold pop punk. On others, she attempts to rebel against her gospel roots by turning the bawdiness up to 10.

It can also come off pretty juvenile at times. The singer was almost 25 when she sang on the title track: ‘So over the summer, something changed/I started reading Seventeen and shaving my legs/And I studied Lolita religiously/And I walked right in to school and caught you staring at me.’

But let’s be honest: Even though it’s been declared ~problematic~, you still jam out to ‘I Kissed A Girl’ when you hear it, don’t you? I hadn’t listened to ‘Ur So Gay’ before this, either, but its slinky, jazz-infused vibe absolutely slaps.

Like Teenage Dream is also a product of its time, presenting pop at its most sugary, hook-laden and bombastic. It managed to spawn 5 No.1 singles, the second album in history to do so after Michael Jackson’s Bad, as well as a documentary, Part of Me. There’s even a deluxe edition, cleverly titled The Complete Confection. It was Perry at her peak.

You know the title track, of course. Evoking images of cherry red lipstick, tight denim and driving down an empty highway in summer, Perry desperately clings to the memory of young love, breathlessly pleading ‘don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back.’

‘The One That Got Away,’ meanwhile, is its bittersweet sequel, Perry's lovesick nostalgia now tinged with regret. Yet, the only thing I really remember about the song is the video starring Cassian Andor himself, Diego Luna, as Perry’s past love, the beautifully dishevelled and tortured artist of my dreams (Dear God, that penetrating stare...) He’s also the only reason why anyone bothered to watch Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, if it wasn’t already obvious.

First single ‘California Gurls,’ on the other hand, is pure pop exuberance at its most campy and carefree, indicative of a more innocent time when it wasn’t driven by algorithms or social media. ‘Firework’ is still a go-to empowerment anthem for just about every kind of montage imaginable. ‘ET’ (featuring a pre-’presidential’ Kanye) is heavily-synthesised cyber pop that doesn’t get nearly enough love.

But Teenage Dream, in retrospect, has quite a few misses. ‘Peacock’ is just one big, long, glitchy dick joke. ‘Not Like The Movies’ is big ballad schmaltz. The brassy soft rock of ‘Hummingbird Heartbeat,’ meanwhile, opens with a hell of a line: ‘You make me feel like I'm losing my virginity/The first time, every time when you're touching me.’ And I’m pretty sure ‘What Am I Living For?’ is partly plagiarised from Justin Timberlake’s ‘My Love.’ Even Pitchfork awarded Teenage Dream a rather tame 6.8 in their recent retrospective review.

By the time Perry released Prism in 2013 – her ‘darker, moodier’ record - she had shifted further into ‘inspirational anthems.’ There was the inescapable mega-hit ‘Roar,’ the saccharine power ballad ‘Unconditionally’ and the Eastern-tinged ‘Legendary Lovers,’ complete with wellness and spiritual motifs.

But it wasn’t without its bangers: ‘Dark Horse’ (featuring Juicy J) jumped onto the trap pop bandwagon just in time with its subterranean bass and eerie, otherworldly synths. Even the slick, 90s-indebted ‘This Is How We Do’ has a certain charm.

Prism also marked the point where Perry’s invincibility began to wear off. Where the masses once lapped up her candy-coated antics, they were now calling her out for wearing braids in the video for ‘This Is How We Do’ and dressing up as a geisha during a performance at the American Music Awards.

And they would only get louder during her era of ‘purposeful pop.’ Released in the aftermath of the 2016 US election, Witness was meant to cement Perry as ‘Artist. Activist. Conscious’ - as her Twitter bio read at the time. She had joined Hillary Clinton on the campaign trail. On Instagram, she was quoting the likes of Socrates and Plato. She was Woke now, and she was telling anyone who’d listen.

Yet you’d be hard pressed to find much trace of this ‘purposeful pop’ on Witness, bar the first single, ‘Chained to the Rhythm.’ Written with Sia and Max Martin, the singer implores listeners to ‘put your rose-coloured glasses on and party on’ amid whirling, colourful synths.

The rest of the record, however, is made up of either soppy, overly sentimental ballads (‘Save As Draft,’ ‘Pendulum,’ ‘Into Me You See’), awkward lyrical turns and CHVRCHES/Purity Ring knock-offs (‘Hey Hey Hey,’ ‘Roulette,’ ‘Deja Vu’).

Funnily enough, Purity Ring’s Corin Roddick produced some of Witness’ better tracks: ‘Mind Maze’ and the soaring ballad ‘Miss You More, along with ‘Bigger Than Me.’

Final track ‘Act My Age,’ meanwhile, feels like a pre-emptive strike against the criticism Witness would inevitably receive (‘They say that I might lose my Midas touch/They also say I may become irrelevant/But who the fuck are they anyway?’).

Then there’s the godawful ‘Bon Appetit’ (featuring Migos) with its food-related double entendres. It was ‘Yummy’ before ‘Yummy’ existed. Seriously, I just wanna see Orlando Bloom say he likes this song with a straight face...

But I will still defend ‘Swish Swish’ to the death. Do the lyrics suck? Yeah, but Perry’s never been the strongest lyricist. But its pulsing 90s house beat does a lot of the heavy lifting, along with Nicki Minaj’s spitfire verse.

The promotional rollout for Witness, meanwhile, proved just as messy. Among the most infamous was a 72-hour livestream, where voyeurs got to witness Perry sleep, meditate, do yoga and welcome a random assortment of guests, including Gordon Ramsey and activist DeRay McKesson. Then there was the meme-laden video for ‘Swish Swish. She literally served herself up on a platter in the clip for ‘Bon Appetit.’ She tried reigniting her feud with Taylor Swift on James Corden’s Carpool Karaoke. Needless to say, it reeked of desperation.

Looking back, though, you can’t help but feel a little bad for Perry, trying so hard to please only for it to blow up spectacularly in her face. So devastated, it sent her to the Hoffman Institute, which offers an abridged version of therapy. As she later told the Guardian:

‘I think the universe was like, ‘OK, all right, let’s have some humble pie here […] My negative thoughts were not great. They didn’t want to plan for a future. I also felt like I could control it by saying, ‘I’ll have the last word if I hurt myself or do something stupid and I’ll show you’ — but really, who was I showing?’

But although Witness lacked the perkiness of Teenage Dream or the cartoonish charm of One of the Boys, it shines best on its darker moments.

‘Dance With The Devil’ has the kind of smoky allure that wouldn’t look too out of place on a BANKS album, while ‘Power’ is a revelation. Produced by Jack Garrett, what could’ve been yet another dull empowerment ballad is turned into a gritty, groaning slab of vaporwave pop, with sultry sax riffs that sample, of all things, Smokey Robinson’s ‘Being With You.’ It’s electric as fuck. You believe it when Perry sings: ‘’Cause I'm a goddess and you know it/Some respect, you better show it/I'm done with you siphoning my power.’

If the singer had just done away with the whole ‘purposeful pop’ concept and stuck with Garrett, Roddick and Terror Jr’s Felix Snow as her core producing group, Witness probably wouldn’t have been half the failure it was. It could’ve had a chance to grow on people, the kind of slow burn Perry could’ve gotten away with at this point in her career. The cyberpop dystopian feel also could’ve gone hand in hand with her newfound wokeness, echoing people’s fear and anger in the aftermath of Trump’s win. But alas, we’ll never know...

While the rollout for Witness over the top, Smile’s was lacklustre and wildly inconsistent.

First single ‘Never Really Over’ came out a whole 15 months before the release of Smile to little fanfare, along with a hippie-inspired video to match. ‘Harleys in Hawaii’ later followed, which also stuck with the flower power aesthetic. Other singles - ‘Daisies’ and the title track – seemingly came and went without a trace.

So how did Katy Perry get to this point? And is there any chance of coming back?

It’s hard to say. A lot of artists go through a rough patch or two:   Miley's twerking antics divided audiences when she released 2013’s Bangerz. Taylor Swift’s reputation divided audiences. Only in recent years has Lady Gaga’s ARTPOP been vindicated. Such is the nature of music and pop culture in general. It’s fickle, just one vicious cycle after another; an endless quest for trend-bait that'll never end.

Right now, disco pop is going through a renaissance, while hyperpop reigns supreme. Dua Lip and Charli XCX are basically untouchable at the moment. TikTok has taken over from Top 40 radio when it comes to breaking hits, while the gap between album releases has also grown shorter and shorter. Even the nature of fandom has changed, shifting from old-school elitism to the bloodsport that is ‘stanning,’ along with an unhealthy amount of ‘endless simping’ (to quote a close friend of mine).

Perry, meanwhile, has failed to keep up, choosing to play it safe in order to avoid further scrutiny. But in doing so, she strips away the humour, the mischief and other idiosyncrasies that fans fell in love with in the first place.

But what choice did she have? As Junkee’s Sam Murphy notes in his own piece about Perry’s rise and fall:

‘At that point, you have two choices as a popstar — hunt for relevancy or make what comes naturally to you. Perry chose the former and came unstuck. She inserted vague wokeness into her songs as cancel culture infiltrated pop, tacked on rap features as hip-hop became the dominant commercial genre, and worked with producers who may have been able to find her credibility.’

(Full disclosure: I started writing my piece on Perry back in December 2020, so the timing of Murphy’s piece and mine is purely coincidental).

Even if you don’t believe in cancel culture, no one actually wants to be cancelled. It’s just not good for PR, especially for someone with an image as glossy and as carefully put-together as Perry’s. Even now, she continues to atone for Witness, telling the LA Times: ‘Having more awareness and consciousness, I no longer can just be a blissful, ignorant idealist who sings about love and relationships […] Even my travels have afforded me a new perspective on cultures, class systems and the inequality around the world, not just in the United States,’ though she carefully avoids the subject of politics on Smile.

But redemption is possible. Swift – Perry's one-time nemesis - was a total pariah back in 2016, mocked for her Girl Squad, for diddling the Hiddles while on the rebound from Calvin Harris and criticised for remaining coy on her political leanings. Now she’s earning indie cred with two of 2020’s biggest albums, folklore and evermore, and has thrown her support behind a number of social causes.

The devil works hard, but Swift’s PR team work harder. I might not be her biggest fan, but Taylor works Kris Jenner levels of mastery when it comes to rebuilding public sentiment. Thanks to her newfound indie cred, you’ve almost forgotten about the pastel atrocity ‘Me!,’ her 2019 duet with that insufferable drama kid cliché, Brendon Urie. Shifting her songs away from petty grievances to more original storytelling was also a smart move.

But while Swift has managed to move on, Perry seems to have fallen into the same adult contemporary trap as Gwen Stefani, Kelly Clarkson, Christina Aguilera and Pink, one that ensnares many female artists over 30 (Though many have also managed to escape – Gaga, Taylor, Beyonce, Rihanna, Kesha, Robyn...)

As ‘woke’ as the industry and fans at large might think themselves to be, they’re still pretty ageist. There's still an expectation to ‘mature’ your sound as you age, to become more ‘serious.’ No more fun, no more experimenting, boomer. But when you do end up filing away the edges, you’re called dull, generic and past your prime. Perry said as much on the aforementioned ‘Act My Age. You just. can't. win.

And yet, many female artists over 30 have created some of their best work yet in just the past year or so: Hayley Williams made the dramatic shift from pop rock to low-key, Radiohead-inspired tunes on her solo debut, Petals For Armor. Fiona Apple’s Fetch the Bolt Cutters was hailed by critics as her most bold, urgent and visceral. Jessie Ware’s What’s Your Pleasure? was a cut of understated disco pop elegance. Carly Rae Jepsen, meanwhile, released an equally stellar companion to 2019’s Dedicated.

At this point in her career, Perry could afford to follow a similar path to that of the Canadian singer. Once the meme value of ‘Call Me Maybe’ wore off, along with her mainstream appeal, Jepsen finally had a chance to discover real creative freedom, pushing her sound to greater heights and earning critical acclaim, all without having to compromise her love for catchy hooks and bold synth pop arrangements.

A couple of years ago, a Reddit user made a post about participating in a focus group held by Perry’s label to discuss why she’s ‘no longer one of the[ir] most notable female pop artists,’ and ‘what can [they] do with her image or marketing to make you care about her again?’

It’s depressing to think that an artist as accomplished as her needs a focus group to help solve her identity crisis. There really is no easy answer. Hopefully, Perry will be able to return more vibrant and assured than ever, on her own terms...

-Bianca B.

[thebandcampdiaries]

Vary Suite is back on the scene with a brand new release: A.I.

February 2021 - Vary Suite is a band with a focus on alternative rock music. Their sound is incredibly broad and diverse, borrowing from genres as diverse as post-hardcore, emo, post-punk, and pretty much everything in between. There is also somewhat of a lush, textural quality to the band’s music, which’s often about balancing aggressive moments with understated and personal soundscapes. The band’s most recent EP release, A.I., is actually a great example of what I am talking about. The EP’s lyrical content is all about going deeper into some personal issues that affect the band members directly but that are also quite easy to relate to, especially in these trying times. We can all connect with the feeling of feeling stuck and go through life without following a direction. Mental health struggles are like open questions that are so often overlooked, and it’s hard to understand whether you’re stuck in your own head or whether other people can actually connect with what you are feeling. This record is particularly meaningful because it is here to remind the listeners that - yes - they’re not alone in feeling anxiety and confusion. These are normal parts of being human, and it’s all about reacting. Speaking of, “reactionary” is really a word that comes to mind when listening to these tracks. These songs aren’t a feeble thump, but a loud roar, a bold statement of self and individuality that defines the sound of the band, and even ties in conceptually with the themes explored in the songwriting.

The track-list features six songs, including the opening number, “Catch-25.” Right off the bat, the production is incredibly clean and impressive, with massive down-tuned guitars, punchy drums, and vocals that are melodic and present but never harsh, cutting through the mix with ease. The second song, “Pretender,” has a lush introduction that leads to one of the best verses on this release. The vocal parts actually make me think of some mid-2000s bands like Funeral For A Friend, Anberlin, or Saosin, but there is a bit of a more modern approach to this release. The following tune, “A Glitch In The System,” reveals the band’s songwriting flexibility and their ability to write music that’s as edgy as much as it is catchy. The idea of starting the song with a catchy vocal hook is awesome, as it keeps the listener’s attention span glued to the music. The vocal melody reprises in the verse, and it eventually leads to a heavier chorus, with some incredible guitar parts, alternating palm muting with some great chords, and synth layers in the background to add more space. The next track, “Full Dive,” is one of the hardest, most aggressive songs on the album. The riffs are like thunders destroying forest trees, while the electronic effects popping in here and there have a flavor that makes me think of some earlier Linkin Park or even Slipknot. “Re: Invent” brings back a more melodic approach, and this song almost makes me think of Pop-Punk in the introduction. However, the verses have a bit of an ambient approach, with electric guitar stabs alternating some dreamy soundscapes for the vocals to unfold perfectly.

Last but certainly not least, the final song is titled “Grey Matter,” and it is a great way to get the audience to scream for more!

Ultimately, this EP is just as varied and kaleidoscopic as the artwork image, and each song has something special to offer!

I love the sound of this EP release, which is so punchy yet incredibly diverse. For this reason, I would definitely recommend listening to this release if you do enjoy the sound of bands such as Pierce The Veil, Circa Survive, Dead Rituals, Anberlin, or Silverstein, only to mention but a few. This EP is something special, and I, for one, can’t wait to hear more from this talented group.

Find out more about Vary Suite, and listen to A.I., which is now available on the web.

twitter.com/VarySuite

instagram.com/VarySuite

facebook.com/VarySuite

https://open.spotify.com/album/67lMuDNZSOE8v5MCAhWrsg?si=iY2KPEE_Srea6AftrvnunQ

We also had the chance to ask the artists a few questions:

I love how you manage to render your tracks so personal and organic. Does the melody come first, or do you focus on the beat the most?

Answer: Melody is definitely important. Sometimes, I start with lyrics and sometimes with a chord progression. I almost always have a concept in mind before anything, and that effects the sounds I choose and how I write the lyrics.

Do you perform live? If so, do you feel more comfortable on a stage or within the walls of the recording studio?

Answer: As of right now Vary Suite is a studio project. I used to play shows in  bands  but I realized I liked writing, recording and producing more than performing. There’s no limit to what you can create in the studio and that becomes even more flexible when you don’t have to worry about recreating it for a live environment.

If you could only pick one song to make a “first impression” on a new listener, which song would you pick and why?

Answer: A Glitch in the System. We chose it for the single because it kind of has a little bit of everything I wanted to implement into A.I. Thick coal harmonies, robotic synths, screaming guitars, screaming vocals and it’s very strong in demonstrating the over arching theme as well.

What does it take to be “innovative” in music?

Answer: I don’t really know. There’s a an endless amount of ways to write a song. The thing I like to do is combine my favorite things from different places and make something that might not necessarily be “new” but I always feel is interesting. I’ve also loved the idea of a song being simple enough at it’s core that you can play it on an acoustic guitar or the piano but at the same time the Studio Version it has all these moving parts that make it special and colorful.

Any upcoming release or tour your way?

Answer: A.I. would be the big release right now. But I’m always working on music. One thing that my favorite artists have in common is they’ll have 2 or 3 small releases in a year rather than 1 big one. So I’m hoping that I’ll have some more music coming out again in 2021.

Anywhere online where curious fans can listen to your music and find out more about you?

Answer: My youtube channel is the best place to check out my music and what I’m up to as I’ve gained most of my following from there doing covers.

If anyone is interested in some extra update I have a news letter where I’ll make announcements and sometimes share behind the scenes stuff. http://eepurl.com/hoZB_9