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boonesfarmsangria · 6 months ago

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(Credits: Far Out / Kate Friend)

Orlando Weeks – ‘Loja’ album review: an artist stepping into the sunshine

THE SKINNY: For me, and likely many others my age, it’s very difficult not to see a bracket after reading Orlando Weeks‘ name that says “former Maccabees singer”. Weeks’ work with the indie darlings is impossibly connected to his life. Since then he has offered a string of superb, variated solo albums. However, with Loja, the songwriter must surely be seen most clearly in his own right.

During my teens, I had the pleasure of following The Maccabees for tens of gigs during their earliest moments. Trying to find the location of the venue that ended up looking like a disused school gym, travelling up and down motorways to see them support The Futureheads and travelling to the arse-end of middle England to scoot between their sets and that of Hot Club De Paris (ask your parents). However, even I can now happily attest that Orlando Weeks is far more than just the singer of that important band.

Loja is the sum of Weeks’ long and winding road. It captures not only the brilliance of The Gritterman, A Quickening and Hop Up, which each took massive strides forward for him as an artist, but also the journey Weeks has experienced as a man. No longer the shiny-faced young adult with a collar so tightened to the top one feared his head might pop off, Weeks is now creating records that act as maps to the landscape of his adult life.

Effortlessly blending electronic modernism with the rich organic crema that one can only find in the cafes of Lisbon, Weeks is clearly evolving beyond anything his audience may have imagined. There’s a dexterity to Loja that hasn’t been seen before, as he not only provides a sense of welcoming warmth but doesn’t ignore the chill of the shadows it can cast.

Similarly, it’s difficult not to see Loja – an ode to the new artist studio he resides in – as Week’s striding out of the shadow of his former work and enveloping himself in the blissful sunshine of a new chapter. It is a record that feels liberated enough to do what it pleases.

For fans of: The Maccabees, still, probably.

A concluding comment from my wife: “Why do you look so proud?”

Orlando Weeks – Loja track by track

‘Longing’: Opening with his enigmatic vocal is a smart way for Orlando Weeks to confirm his evolution away from “former Maccabees singer” into his own artistic presence. the fact that ‘Longing’ continues to sonically raise the listener’s spirit is a happy coincidence. [3.5/5]

‘Best Night’: There are two paths for an album to take. They can either undulate between genre and rhythm, delivering something that never stays still, or they can flow from river to sea with a simple grace. Weeks has brought out the latter, and ‘Best Night’ sees us floating down toward the ocean. [4/5]

‘Wake Up’: Weeks’ captivating lyrics and always cherishable vocals continue to provide solace in an otherwise lonesome soundscape on ‘Wake Up’. Ethereal as the morning dew dripping off a strange window before kicking into a chainsaw riff that provides a welcome dose of grit. [4/5]

‘Dig’: While the record is certainly blessed with a light touch and Weeks’ noted artistry, there is also a pulsing rhythm to the LP that many will overlook. ‘Dig’, complimented by Wet Leg’s Rhian Teasdale, is one of the album’s best visions of this, built out of the breathy tension of the two singers biting at one another. [4.5/5]

‘You & The Packhorse Blues’: It may feel easy to pick out this track as one of the lighter moments of the LP, but there’s a certain venom to the song that belies this idea. But the flow continues to take us through a new dusty landscape and towards the sea. [4/5]

‘Good To See You’: This is the first time Weeks moves away from the more organic sound that permeates the record and welcomes the electro wobble that has filtered into most of his post-Maccabees work. However, this time, it feels more easily placed than ever. A sense of warmth and welcoming overcomes the potentially cold introduction to produce smiles and swaying hips. [4.5/5]

‘My Love Is (Daylight Saving)’: Meanwhile, as electronic glitches become more prominent, balanced with a crunchy guitar, Weeks produces a slow-build beauty that has all the chops to completely captivate you. [4/5]

‘Please Hold’: As the river flows, there is always the chance of the odd rock and rapid capsizing you. ‘Please Hold’ is certainly the most heartbreaking track on the LP, as Weeks pleads to hold on: “It’s winter now, but the spring is coming,” he belts with a purpose. [4.5/5]

‘Sorry’: Weeks’ ability to blend electronic and organic sounds together has been a mainstay of his previous work, and ‘Sorry’ is so effortless it’s difficult to call the drum machine he uses anything other than an extension of his creativity. The duality allows every song to be both rich in pathos and gilded with a sense of hope. [4.5/5]

‘Tomorrow’: Almost home. The speed increases, and Weeks’ delivery takes heed, pushing the tempo and allowing the almost-choral breaks to be punctuated with a sense of purpose. It’s hard not to feel enlivened by such a moving track, add headphones to that concoction and you have something potentially life-changing. [5/5]

‘Beautiful Place’: The sweet embrace of the ocean. At the end of the 11-track journey, Weeks sees us out with something unstoppably tender and enveloping, pushing his prominent vocal to the fore and concluding a record worthy of his heavenly tone. [4/5]

#orlando weeks #LOJA #review #track by track #later #this is our tomorrow!#out

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the-irreverend · 2 years ago

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In Defence of Growth Spurt

Well, this has been quite the last quarter of the year…

As if we Undertale fans haven’t already been spoiled enough, the beginning of October blessed us with the triumphant return of one of the most beloved UT comics in the fandom. From the cold ashes of a long hiatus, Growth Spurt rose like a glorious Phoenix, treating us to 29 panels of vibrant colour schemes, sharp writing, and one of the most unique art styles this godforsaken site has ever known, an art style that this godforsaken artist has taken a lot of inspiration from.

But as great as this page was, it did leave me a bit stunned as it unveiled a shocking twist…

...that Alphys is not a good person.

*GASPS SOMEWHAT SARCASTICALLY*

Pardon my hyperbole and lousy humour, but I knew from the moment I read this that some were going to discuss how Alphys is depicted in this page, and I understand why.

I know how easy is to dismiss these kinds of viewpoints, especially since the excessive idolization and demonization of morally complex characters is a bit of a tradition here, and the Undertale fandom is no exception. Trust me, as a person who’s been part of the Chara fandom, I know from experience (who was also exceptionally well-written in this comic by the way).

I’m very glad I didn't talk about this immediately because it’s given me some time to think about this scene and you’ll be relieved to hear that I no longer have an issue with this page. But I still understand why people would take issue with this. Because hey, at one point so did I.

But to say that everyone who has a differing opinion is just a salty Alphys stan is nothing short of tasteless. That’s why I am going to explain the best I could criticisms that someone might (and that I used to) have, before explaining why I decided to abandon said criticisms.

To give a brief recap, the Matainence/Defect Arc centres around Alphys and Asriel, along with Frisk and Undyne as they attempt to fix the CORE which has suffered from, would you believe it, a defect. In addition to repairing the CORE, Alphys must also repair her relationship with Asriel, as she’s haunted by the creation of Flowey, and dreading what might result from it.

Wholesome family-friendly entertainment, am I right?

Fast forward to where we are now, where we see the CORE starting to break down completely, along with Alphys’ and Asriel’s emotional state. While starting to doubt if the meltdown can be stopped, she argues with Asriel that it may be better to just give up on their efforts, and when she’s confronted with the possibility of fatalities resulting from that course of action she says this:

As I read this panel, which did give me a bit of a shock, these were my first impressions, which I must re-emphasize are impressions that I NO LONGER HAVE.

There’s a difference between saying “we can’t save them all.” and “it’s just a few deaths.” It’s the same reason people were left reeling when Superman asks his dad if he should’ve let the kids die to protect his secret identity, to which he replies "Maybe." I understand the feelings behind what’s being said, but to articulate said feelings like that wouldn't sit well with some people.

But the real reason I had doubts about this scene's direction was not that it highlighted a flaw in Alphys’ character but that it, as it seemed to me, potentially undid Alphys’ progress in overcoming those flaws. Let me better explain.

It should go without saying that Alphys isn’t the greatest person in Undertale. I mean, no one is. This has more to do with just her checkered past with Amalgamates as she does possess personal qualities that… aren’t the best. Just look at her true motivations for helping Frisk get through the underground.

But while she’s not the greatest person, she did become a better one by the end of the Pacifist Run. Yes, she didn’t exactly get a complete redemption arc, but she’s in a better position than she was now. She did find the courage to release the amalgamates and confess to her former king and queen about her role in creating them, which gave her the honour of becoming the former royal scientist.

So for Alphys to be beside herself with regret about what she did to the Amalgamates AND Asriel only to later be seemingly unconcerned with the deaths of people (AS IF SHE WON'T REGRET IT LATER), while also reducing their demises to being “outliers” just didn’t click right with me… AT FIRST.

But eventually, after a little consideration, I eventually came to accept this scene, and realize that this panel in the Defect Arc is anything but a defect. All you have to do is look no further than to the panels that followed it.

You don’t need to express indignation about what she said because Asriel already did. Of course a well-deserved chastising should follow that line, but what makes Asriel’s lecture that much more impactful is not just because it’s just a well-deserved reprimand, but because of what it does for Asriel’s character development.

Keep in mind the previous page saw him asking Alphys not to call him by his title because he felt he didn’t do anything to deserve it. And yet one page later, he displays qualities that show that he does. But what makes this scene even more memorable for me is what came before the reprimand:

See? Right before he proceeds to humble the good doctor, he takes a moment to EMPATHIZE with Alphys plight and shows that he fully understands that this isn’t worth “taking at face value”. Though he still rakes her over the coals for her statement, he still takes a moment to show that he fully understands why she made it.

It’s while I was re-reading this scene that I realized something: if Asriel can learn to understand Alphys, then why the duck shouldn’t I?

This is what continues to draw me and many others back to Growth Spurt to this day. It’s more than just the comedic one-shots or sadistically revelling in Asriel’s teenage angst.

The story didn't need grand clashes, shadowy conspiracies, or inter-dimensional antics (not that there’s anything wrong with that). It’s just the main cast learning to confront their past. It’s so simple, yet so impactful, just like the art style.

I’m not concerned about what Alphys is like here because I know where she’s going to end up. Just look at what happened with Toriel!

Remember this scene where she completely attempts to shut down Asriel as he attempts to get her to talk with Asgore?

It’s not a good look for her if you just cherry-pick these panels, but look where this scene eventually led up to. Only perhaps my favourite story arc that I have ever seen out of any Undertale comic period, and one of my favourite comic scenes!

Seriously how can you not get teary-eyed looking at this?

I save the can't even-ing about this particular arc on another post, but for now, all I know after reading this comic is this: sometimes when a character’s progress takes a step back it’s because it’s about to take a bounding leap.

Because in the end, that’s what Growth Spurt is all about: GROWTH.

So don’t judge a book by its cover...

...and don’t judge a character arc before it’s finished.

Thank you for reading the incoherent nonsense I've typed here. I look forward to hearing your own insights.

Growth Spurt AU belongs to @potoobrigham // @potoo-reblogs

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monicashipsnickyjoe · 4 years ago

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soulmate/modern au

Nicky has a nervousness about him that he’s never been able to explain. He keeps feeling like something’s missing. Like he’s forgotten the name of an important thing and it’s sitting, impatient, at the tip of his tongue. He can’t recall. Or he doesn’t know. It’s all terribly confusing, and so, so frustrating.

He’ll walk down the street, see a family of duckings that makes him smile, and turn to his right to tell... someone. No one’s there.

Sometimes, when he’s tired, he’ll order two coffees at the shop on the corner, making one much sweeter than he likes it. Only when he walks away does he remember he’s alone.

When his friends encourage him, he goes to bars. He meets men, and occasionally he will let them touch his arm or his shoulder or his thigh from the bar stool beside his. Sometimes, he lets them kiss him. Never, is he able to ignore the feeling of wrong that prickles over his skin and twists in his stomach. Always, he leaves without them. If he has their number, he will delete it before he gets home.

Tonight, he cooks at the stove. He doesn’t realize he’s made any mistakes until, holding two plates, he thinks of something Booker said at work and turns, ready to share. There are two chairs at Nicky’s table. Both are empty. Nicky looks at his hands, and cursing, leaves one plate on the counter and takes the other into the living room. He sits on the couch, plate on his lap, and turns up the sound on the tv until he forgets that he’s forgotten.

The next morning, on his way to work, he sees a selection of sketchpads in an art store window. He buys one, and a set of charcoals. He carries the bag proudly until he gets to the office, to the cubicle he shares with Booker, and realizes with a deep sigh and heavy frown that he does not draw.

Booker looks at the bag, then at him. He lifts one lone brow. “You start taking art classes?”

Groaning, Nicky throws the bag under the desk and collapses into the chair. Whatever this is, it’s getting worse. What started as tri-monthly slip-ups are turning into daily routines. “Maybe I should see a doctor,” Nicky says.

“Maybe.” Booker scratches his chin. Behind him, on his computer screen, a game of solitaire is opened over the report he is supposed to be writing. “Or it could just be what it obviously is.”

“Don’t start.”

“Soulmates, Nicky,” Booker says.

Nicky rolls his eyes. “Be serious.”

Booker swivels his chair the whole way toward Nicky and leans forward. “I am serious.” He’s not smirking. That is his serious face.

But soulmates?

“I’d have better odds at the lottery,” Nicky says. He’s seen thousands of soulbonds... in movies. To find one in real life is a one in a billion chance. More, perhaps. Nicky is just a regular guy with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy he doesn’t use, a desk job that he hates, and a caffeine addiction. Normal. Boring. Not near special enough to catch the attention of another person’s soul.

“Maybe you should play the numbers, then.” Booker twists his chair back toward his desk.

“Soulmates,” Nicky huffs. He shucks off his coat and starts his computer. “Ridiculous.”

Across town, Joe has purchased two coffees, one much too bitter for him. When he realizes, he’s so excited, he nearly drops them both. He stops on the street, places both coffees on the ledge of a windowsill, and opens his phone.

“Nile,” he says before she even finishes saying, “Hello?”

“It happened again.” Joe can’t stop laughing. “That makes everyday this week!”

“That’s great, Joe.”

“Do you think I’ll meet him soon?” Joe bounces on his feet. “If it’s happening everyday, then surely -”

“Maybe? I mean, who knows? There’s not a lot of concrete info on this stuff,” Nile says. There’s a yawn in her voice. He woke her - again. They go to the same college - Nile for the first time, Joe for the second - but their shared classes aren’t until the afternoon. He feels a little bad about it now. It dampens his spirits somewhat. “Except movies, but who knows if those are right.”

Joe tries to reel in his excitement. “Right. Of course.”

Nile must be able to tell, because she immediately perks, brightening her voice. “But, Joe. If it takes a little time, it will be worth it, right? He’s out there. You just have to find him.”

“Thank you, Nile.” Joe’s smile presses his cheek tightly to his phone. “I am sorry I woke you.”

“Swing by, bring me that coffee, and we’ll call it even.”

“I promise.” Joe hangs up.

He thinks of the groceries that stock his cabinets at home. More pasta than he’s ever needed before.

He thinks of the book of Roman philosophers that he purchased that now sits on his coffee table, waiting.

He smiles at a family of ducklings he sees by a pond, and turns, ready to tell the person beside him. No one is there.

Yet.

“Soulmates,” Joe tells the ducks. “Amazing.”

The following day, it’s raining when Nicky leaves the office. He doesn’t have an umbrella, so with a lengthy sigh, he hunches his shoulders and presses forward. The rain is cold on the back of his neck and he shivers. But once you are wet, you can’t be more wet, so there is some comfort in that.

He makes it to the bus stop and sneezes.

“Bless you,” says the man already there, standing beside the soaked bench. He has a blue umbrella open, hiding his face, and another, this one green, closed, tucked under his arm.

“Grazie,” Nicky says and wipes his nose with his sleeve. It’s damp, but so is everything.

The blue umbrella shifts up a little. Nicky looks the other way, down the street, for the bus. Something nudges him in the side. He looks, and it’s the handle of the spare, green umbrella.

“May I tell you a story,” the man offering it says. Nicky looks up into a pair of warm brown eyes and with a wide, welcoming smile. Soft-looking curls cover his head, and a well-groomed beard rounds his face. He’s wearing a leather jacket with a t-shirt underneath. Paint splotches cover both, in a rainbow of colors.

Nicky, stunned by this man’s beauty, can only nod. The man moves the umbrella, poking him again, and Nicky takes it. He doesn’t open it, though, he can’t get his hands to cooperate.

“I saw the weather report this morning,” the man says, voice so bright and happy, it warms Nicky up from the inside out. “And I grabbed two umbrellas before I left the house. Two. I didn’t even think about it until I walked into the studio and my friend noticed.”

He’s looking at Nicky and Nicky should say something. He tries, “That’s interesting.”

The man looks at the umbrella in Nicky’s hands, at the way he’s clutching it and not opening it. He takes a step closer, so that his open blue umbrella covers them both.

This close, Nicky can only see freckles.

“I have a question to ask,” the man says, “and I really hope the answer is yes.”

Nicky swallows hard. He nods.

“Do you like bitter coffee, pasta, and philosophy?”

Nicky’s breath catches in his throat. It cannot be possible, but... if it is. And if it is this man... Nicky’s heart leaps out of his chest with hope.

He clears his throat, he must find words now. “Do you...” Nicky stops and tries again. “Are you an artist, do you like things too sweet, and do you notice the ducklings?”

If Nicky thought this man’s smile was bright before, he was mistaken. For now, it is a beaming sun, pushing back all the gray.

“I love the ducklings,” the man says.

Any moment now, Nicky will awake, having fallen asleep at his desk, and Booker will mock him.

Instead, the voice in Nicky’s heart whispers, This one, and he knows.

The man reaches out a hand and places it on Nicky’s chest. Nicky must look like hell, drenched in rain, but this man stares at him with open reverence like he can see the moon in his eyes.

“Hello, my heart,” the man says. “I have been looking for you.”

Nicky’s having trouble with full sentences again, so he takes a step closer instead.

“My shared soul,” the man continues, speaking for them both now. He knows the words Nicky’s heart whispers. “My light. My warmth.”

He motions to himself, then. “Joe.”

Nicky does the same. “Nicky.”

“Nicky,” Joe repeats, and it takes all Nicky has not to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk, ready to be washed away with the rain.

“Joe,” Nicky says, and it’s sudden relief. The word he could never quite remember right there on the tip of his tongue. He says it again, loving the feel of it in his mouth. “Joe.”

It’s perfect. It’s everything.

Later, Nicky will cook the pasta in Joe’s cabinets, and Joe will sketch Nicky with the charcoal.

For now, Nicky places his hand over Joe’s on his chest and knows he’s home.

#i wrote something nickyjoe #joe x nicky #kaysonova #nicky x joe #soulmate au #modern au #artist joe #finding each other :)#two halves of a whole #fluff #this is really only fluff lol #booker is here and so is nile

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theofficialuriel · 3 years ago

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Dokhyuk Moments: Part 36

(— means I skipped parts)

(420+)

I disappeared for a long time— tbh I was just too lazy to actually do anything, but I found out about how many good Dokhyuk moments were eradicated in the ebook version and so I decided to write more Dokhyuk moments in anger and rage.

There’s so many good things we won’t see in the Webtoon ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

The kkoma Yoo Joonghyuk number [999] polishing his [Heaven Shaking Sword] atop my shoulder grumbled softly. “Your driving sucks.”

I know it isn’t our Yoo Joonghyuk but still.

Right after I went past the Gate, I was greeted by the rainbow-coloured aura swirling around, followed by the guide message as well as an accompanying video.

Rainbow for the gays.

[Player 1-nim says that ‘It’s fine if it’s a Murim dumpling’.]

Is player 1-nim Yoo Joonghyuk…? I forgor.

“By the way, you must really like Murim dumplings?”

“Yes, I do.”

“…..An ahjussi I know also really likes them, too.”

I knew well who she was talking about there.

I may have skipped a few parts after this one because this has been sitting in my drafts for 77 days 💀.

A heavy-sounding tone of voice came out from inside the carrier. It seemed to contain this surprising power to change the mood of the surrounding atmosphere with just a single word.

I swallowed my saliva and walked up to the kids.

OooOooO

For sure, calling a face like that ‘Yogoe’ didn’t seem all that out of place. Because, well, it was inconceivable that a normal human would be blessed with such looks, after all. —?

Eyebrows seemingly drawn by a single, uninterrupted stroke of a famed artist’s brush; a nose and a chin shaped in perfect angles that defied attempts to measure them through mere devices of men; a pair of deep eyes seemingly carved out of a beautiful jewel containing all the misfortunes found in this world.

If someone saw those features and not get immediately drawn in by them, then there must be something wrong with that person.

Dokja, you have something to tell us?

“Shin Yoosung! What are standing around dazed for?! Quickly defeat this guy!!”

Lee Gilyoung, still dangling in the air, began to thrash about frantically.

Gilyoung is adorable.

“Zhu Bajie is not our enemy.”

Yi Gil-Yeong’s eyes went extra-round after he heard me. He even looked disappointed for some reason. “Whaaat? Dang it….”

Gilyoung’s constant antagonizing Yoo Joonghyuk reminds me of Louis and Sherlock from Moriarty the Patriot. It’s adorable.

Yoo Joonghyuk stepped forward and suddenly brandished the [Dark Heavenly Demon Sword] in my direction, then drew a very tiny circle on the ground around my feet.

“You do not step beyond this line.”

“Eh?”

“Move one step, and I’ll kill you.”

Bwhahaha

His sword technique on display was beautiful enough to entrance the viewers. His swordsmanship had taken yet another major leap forward when compared to before, making it impossible to imagine just how far he had to push himself to reach such a realm.

The fact that almost all of his new found strength came from training due to Dokja’s disappearance—

I ended up worrying about him and so, I had to say something. “Excuse me, Junior Brother. Why don’t you walk closer to us?”

“….And who’s your ‘junior’ now?”

That idiot glared back at me with incredibly intimidating eyes and I couldn’t say anything else.

“The idiot” awwww~

⸢In that moment, Kim Dokja

I think this said something important, but my dumbass deleted the rest of the text in accident ;-;

Yi Gil-Yeong wordlessly tossed a pebble inside the campfire, while Shin Yu-Seung nervously studied Yu Jung-Hyeok’s and my current moods, her fingers fidgeting around with the soil on the ground.

It was then we heard the sound of a stomach growling loudly. Yi Gil-Yeong frowned tearfully and rubbed his belly.

“I’m starving….”

I grinned slightly and pulled something out from my inner pocket. “Would you like some dumplings?”

When dad and dad are fighting but you’re hungry, so they stop their fight to feed you:

#kim dokja #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #omniscient reader #yoo joonghyuk #omniscient reader spoilers #lee gilyoung #shin yoosung #dokhyuk #joongdok #jongdok #dokhyuk moments #dokhyeok

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aminiatureworld · 4 years ago

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Time and Chance

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,028

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Confessions are tricky things. Sometimes it takes week, maybe months, maybe years of building up courage for one to happen. And sometimes life throws the oddest wrenches in our paths.

In which the reader confesses.

Author’s Note: I may or may not have decided to go full sappy this week, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you guys with my overbearing angst. Also I thought it was cute. Originally I wasn’t sure if I wanted the reader to be the one doing the confessing or whether it should be the character. I decided upon the reader on a whim essentially, with the idea that I could do the character later. We’ll see! The title today is reference to one of my favorite novels, written by Sharon Kay Penman. If anyone likes historical fiction I’d highly recommend it.

Today’s characters are Albedo, Childe, and Diluc. Tomorrow will be Kaeya, Xiao, and Zhongli. And maybe Keqing.

Like I said in my past post Happy Valentine’s Day! Although this time it’s Valentine’s Day proper.

Albedo

In your defense, who wouldn’t fall in love with Albedo?

The mysterious alchemist of Monstadt; sharp as a tack, insatiably curious, and blessed with an ethereal sort of beauty on top of it. Who wouldn’t fall in love with such a person?

And that was the problem. You’d sort of taken it for granted that everyone loved Albedo, and in that assumption you’d found a particularly distasteful discovery. That if everyone loved Albedo then you were hardly going to be the only one asking after his time. And, following that line of thought, you figured it’d be incredibly rude – not to mention supremely irritating for Albedo – for you to confess your feelings.

And it wasn’t as if you two were the closest in the world. Although you wouldn’t say you were total strangers either. You instead drifted in that odd in between; more than acquaintances, not quite friends. Or at least that’s how you interpreted it. Albedo didn’t seem to be the person with inclinations towards friendship in general, a not altogether untrue or wild assumption, so you remained content where you were, happy with the conversations you had, with the times he’d trust you with a piece of equipment or would explain to you in detail what he was working on. I mean, surely that was enough?

Absolutely not. Even in your state of perpetual irritation and fretting over your feelings, you knew that simply ignoring them was a ridiculous solution. When did that ever go well? Miscommunication was the relationship killer, no matter what type, and what could be more of a misunderstanding than this? You didn’t even know what he thought of you for Seven’s sake!

So you’d resolved yourself to telling him. Even if he’d be irritated surely he’d appreciate your honesty. And even if he didn’t you needed to tell him, for yourself if not for him.

It was with this in mind that you approached him one afternoon as he was working outside.

“Um, Albedo?” Your voice had taken on a slightly weak tone, as if you didn’t have enough air all of a sudden. It sounded weird, and you kind of wished you didn’t have to hear it. But that was par for the course when dealing something like this, although it didn’t make it any easier.

“Oh, sorry I didn’t notice you there.” Albedo turned around to look at you. You noticed that he’d swapped his regular tools for a paint set and an easel. Glancing at the painting you were struck by how he’d somehow managed to depict Cider Lake so accurately with so few brushstrokes. Never did you think about how the slight ripples that appeared in it could look a bit like circles. It was altogether impressive, and for a moment you forgot what you were doing, or perhaps you’d pushed it out of your mind.

“Was there something you wanted to ask?” Albedo’s voice pulled you out of your artistic musings. Evidently you weren’t going to be able to get out of it now. Come hell or high water, you were going to tell him.

“Well, so… you see, I… I really love you and your work!” The words came tumbling out, dropping like stones in the suddenly charged atmosphere. Almost immediately your nerves were replaced with a distinct sinking sense. “Uhm, rather. I mean –” you tried to begin again, but your voice had suddenly turned quite small, and you found yourself unable to continue.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Albedo’s voice was calm but not unkind, for a moment you felt your face grow warm. Was this actually going to happen? It’d be impressive considering how you’d botched it. “I’m so glad to hear there’s someone else interested in my work. I find that unfortunately a great many people take the world around them for granted. That you do not is commendable.”

You found you weren’t really sure what to say; admittedly the only thing going through your mind at the time was something along the lines of Holy shit. Holy shit I fucking blew it.

Okay, so maybe that was an absolute train wreck. Still, you’d gotten that far, and at this point you felt like it’d be harder to stop and deal with the memory of your botched pseudo-confession than to try again. So you steeled your courage and after a week or so you found yourself ready.

This time you tried for as he arrived at work. Originally you were going to wait for afterwards, but you found the anticipation was tearing you apart, and so decided for before. The anticipation, combined with your slight exhaustion, was nearly unbearable; and a not so small part of you kept telling yourself that this was a terrible idea, but you were too far gone.

“Fancy meeting you here at this time.” There was certainly surprise in Albedo’s voice, but he was smiling, and didn’t seem to mind at all when you stammered out that you wanted to ask him about something. He simply nodded, before unlocking his lab and gesturing for you to go in first.

You loved Albedo’s lab. Various pieces of equipment gleamed in the early morning light, everything properly labeled and put away; a stark contrast to the clutter of Albedo’s desk, filled with papers and the odd sample. The whole room was surprisingly nice in general, floors made of wood, painted over with a type of resin as to keep it from being properly damaged, multiple windows keeping the space surprisingly airy, and the smell of various herbs filling the air, though not so much as to be overpowering. You’d once mentioned to Albedo that the space seemed much to homey to be a proper lab. He’d merely laughed, replying that all homes should be comfortable, no matter how out of the ordinary.

Now you used said comfort and familiarity to ground yourself. This time you’d do it. This time for sure.

“So, um about my question?”

“Yes?” Albedo replied, dropping a few things on his desk. You took a breath, steadying yourself before pushing on ahead.

“Well… you know when I told you I liked you and your work?”

“Of course. I was very happy to hear it.” Albedo’s tone remained opaque, you had no idea how your words were registering.

“Well, you see, I wasn’t being completely clear. What I meant was more… well… well I like you, more than your work.” Seeing the look of confusion on his face you sped up slightly. “Not that I don’t like your work of course! It’s just, it’s just…” you were foundering again, feeling stupidly embarrassed. Becoming more and more frustrated with yourself you shook your head. “What I mean is I like you. Personally. And I like you a lot, more than just as acquaintances or as maybe friends. And I know that this is kind of out of the blue and kind of intrusive, and I’m sure there are a lot of people who like you. But I just wanted to tell you because, well I don’t know, just because.”

You took a deep breath, feeling as if you’d said altogether too many words. Glancing towards Albedo you saw a look of slight shock on his face. A feeling of dread was creeping up on you. Maybe it would’ve been better to say nothing.

“Well, I’m certainly flattered,” Albedo began, all your hopes beginning to sink. Urging yourself not to look away your nevertheless started picking at your fingernails, praying that at least the rejection would be over soon. “though I’m not really sure what you see in me. I’m hardly the ideal sort of person. And there certainly don’t seem to be many people who like me.” Albedo paused then; staring at him you found yourself in slight disbelief, sure that the sudden blush painting his cheeks was a figment of your imagination. “That being said, I cannot say that I don’t reciprocate your feelings. In truth I feel quite foolish now, only for assuming you were uninterested and refusing to try my hand at my own confession.”

“Really?” You didn’t mean for the tone of your voice to come out as so utterly disbelieving, but you couldn’t help yourself. Slightly light-headed you took a step forward, closing the space between you and the suddenly bashful alchemist in front of you. “You like me too?”

“Yes.” Albedo nodded slightly. “And, well, since you like me as well, might we…”

“Might we?”

“Might you do me the honor of becoming my partner?”

You found yourself giggling hysterically, half from the sudden release of nerves half from how ludicrous the situation had turned out to be. Seeing Albedo, looking for the first time uncertain and nervous, you stopped. Your face burst into a smile and you nodded.

“This is quite dramatic. But of course, of course I will.”

“I’m glad. But, might I say something?”

“Yes?”

“I wish you’d told me after work. If only because I’ll never be able to concentrate now.”

Childe

If you had to describe your crush on Childe in one word it would be: idiotic. If you had to describe it in a sentence it’d be; incredibly irritating but also impossible to ignore.

You liked Childe, you liked him a lot. And you couldn’t blame yourself. Childe was the ideal sort of partner; charismatic, athletic, with eyes that could make your heart skip a beat and hair that was asking for you to run your hands through it. Childe was attentive too, full of words that would make anyone swoon a bit, and always ready to listen, agreeing with you on every point and reacting just as you wished.

But that was the problem. Childe was a façade, his personality had been honed to be as sharp and as deadly as a knife. Of course he was understanding and charismatic and a perfect person to hold a conversation with, what else could one expect of a member of the Fatui?

At first you’d desperately tried to ignore your feelings, as if they were somehow embarrassing. You felt vaguely guilty for carrying a flame for Childe, as if you’d managed to fall into a trap you’d seen a ways away. It was an unpleasant feeling to be sure, and you tried to bury it as much as possible, sure it’d go away.

But it didn’t go away, instead your feelings somehow seemed to become more and more stubborn, as if insisting on leading you down the path that many fools who interacted with the Fatui had fallen down before. Childe was at the forefront of your mind.

You noticed when he passed by you, shooting you a blinding smile which always turned into a self-confident sort of smirk, no doubt a result of your inevitable blush. You noticed the way he always seemed to ask after your interests, but never failed to avoid more personal topics that might make you uncomfortable. You noticed how he laughed at your odd half-jokes and the way that his hand brushed your once, causing you to withdraw your own as if burned, stammering out a “nothing” when he asked what was wrong.

But still you refused to tell him. Surely that was what he wanted, another person who could be called upon to give information to the Fatui, or perhaps assist in their dirty work. That wouldn’t be you, that would never be you.

It was snowing on your way home, blocking out the normal sounds and casting the world in an eerie sort of beauty. You wished that it wasn’t so late, cursing yourself for once more forgetting how early the sun set. It didn’t help that it was blindingly cold, and that you were dressed for weather that was at least ten degrees warmer. Hurrying along you were thinking about the meal that you were going to have, unaware of the slick patch of ice lying in front of you.

“Whoah, be careful!” You were yanked out of your thoughts with alarm. Glancing around you quickened your pace, shoes slipping immediately on the ice. However instead of a hard fall on the street you found a pair of arms wrapped under yours. Glancing up you found your face only centimeters away from Childe’s.

“Sorry for causing that.” Childe’s voice was clear as a bell, marking the contrast between the two of you in your mind. Lifting you up he chuckled slightly. “I should’ve realized that a random voice yelling at you would be alarming. Nothing bruised I hope?”

“N-no.” You managed, face burning. You’d never gotten this close to Childe before, not really, and the experience was going straight to your head, as if you’d suddenly gotten very, very drunk. Shaking your head you shifted your glanced towards the ground. “Thank you.” You managed, although your voice was soft enough to be inaudible. You were still trying to process what was happening. One question kept replaying itself in your mind, why had he called out, why had he noticed you?

“I’m glad!” Childe’s voice was a beautiful thing, and you found you couldn’t really think when listening to it. “I was a bit worried I wasn’t in time.”

“Yeah…” you replied. Suddenly the situation dawned on you completely, and you found yourself looking at him with no little suspicion. “Why do you pay so much attention to me?” You blurted out.

“What do you mean?” The expression on Childe’s face was one of perfect confusion, but you could tell that he’d been somehow caught. The tone of his voice was suddenly muddied, as if you were hearing his uncertainty for the first time. This gave you courage to press forward.

“I mean it. Why, why do I always see you? I mean, why do you even pay attention to me? I’m not the kind of person to forget who you are, the fact that you’re a member of the Fatui. I won’t be roped into your schemes, no matter how much I like you.” Shit. That last part was supposed to be only in your head. For a moment you weren’t sure if you hadn’t actually hit your head somehow.

Childe looked frozen, his expression blank, filled with disbelief as well as… bashfulness? If that’s what it was it certainly didn’t fit the normal vision of Childe, still you found yourself somehow compelled by it. This was a part of the real Childe.

“I… didn’t realize you’d notice. Now I feel found out!” He chuckled again, but this time it was distinctly nervous, and he turned to the side slightly. Suddenly he paused, and his eyes snapped towards yours. “Wait, rewind. You like me?”

“…Yeah.” I mean what were you supposed to say?

“I can’t believe this.” The widest grin spread across Childe’s face, and he started bouncing on his toes slightly, it was very cute you could give him that.

“You’re ignoring the rest of my words. Personal feelings or not I still hate the Fatui, and I still don’t know why you’d target me anyways.”

“It’s cause I like you, can’t you tell?” Childe’s words rammed into you, utterly unexpected; seeing you shake your head he once more closed the space between you two. “No, I mean it. I like you. I just can’t believe that you like me back.” He let out another huff of laughter. “I can’t believe I’m this lucky, I’ve never been this lucky. Well, I’m sorry that I came off like I was some Fatui creep, I promise my occupation doesn’t include systematic wooing of civilians.”

“How can I trust you?” You were trying to stand your ground, but in reality you’d already fallen. The situation was too much, and what little resistance you’d managed to hold on in the past weeks was tearing to shreds before your own eyes.

“Because I wouldn’t lie about this.” Childe was suddenly still, his expression deadly serious. “I promise I wouldn’t lie about something like this. The fact is I like you, I like you a lot. I know my job is… unconventional to say the least; I also know that it’s entirely fair if you don’t want to associate with me because of it. But at least trust in my feelings being real, okay?”

What could you do? You nodded, a short “I trust you” falling from your lips. The feeling of happiness was surprisingly sedate, mixed with nerves, yet also somehow filled with contentment. It felt so good, it felt so good just to let go and accept what had happened. You liked Childe, you liked him so much, and he like you too. What more was there to say?

“May I ask you something?” Childe asked, voice slightly husky. Your faces were once more barely apart, and you found that you could stay like this for ages and ages.

“Yes?”

“May I hold your hand?”

You let out a laugh, smiling brightly as you slid your hand into his.

Diluc

You weren’t even sure how this one happened.

It wasn’t that Diluc wasn’t the perfect kind of guy, I mean if he wasn’t you probably wouldn’t be falling madly into one sided love with him. It was just that you two didn’t actually have much of a chance to interact with one another, what with him being the manager and part time bartender of a surprisingly vast winery, and with you being an adventurer and someone not likely to get plastered any time soon.

But the few times that you had interacted with him, usually something to do with guarding the alcohol he was exporting, had been enough to cement an intense infatuation in your mind. There was just something about him; whether it was his voice, his polite yet intense form of speech; his mannerisms, always perfectly on time with what he needed, something which helped you and the Guild immensely; or his general charm, okay look he had great hair; you’d simply gone mad for him.

And mad indeed you were. Though you weren’t about to become a stalker – besides being incredibly creepy on principle since when did that land a person in anything but jail – you’d taken to trying to find out a least a little more about him. Because if you were going to be infatuated with someone it should at least be for more than his organizational skills and the fact his hair would look great in a high ponytail.

And what you’d found out only built upon your crush. The fact that he found the Knights of Favonius lacking, though perhaps a bit unconventional, was ultimately reasonable, or at least justifiable. You liked also that he refrained from drinking, and not just because the idea of ending the night sick in the bathroom was something that haunted you a bit. The more you learned the more you wished that you were in a situation where your feelings could be reciprocated, or at least where you could become friends of some degree. Really you just wanted him to notice your existence, sure he could pick you out in the endless sea of adventurers.

So you planned on introducing yourself at some point, at least as his almost designated wine protector. The only problem was when. Diluc seemed to be busier and busier these days, and when he was around he seemed muted, as if he was carrying something. You couldn’t bring yourself to add to his burden your own baggage. So you said nothing, and as your crush grew so did your dejection.

It was a lovely summer evening and, seeing as your apartment had becoming stifling in the daytime, you’d taken a walk, snaking through the streets of Monstadt before exiting via the back gate, glad to see there were no guards around. Walking down towards the banks of the lake you slipped off your shoes and dipped your feet into the water. Letting out a sigh you sat down and tilted your head back, enjoying the slightly breeze on your face, trying to take your mind off of the past months of agony. The world faded into background noise, and you found yourself in a state of pseudo peace, glad to have it, if only for a moment.

“Watch out!” A familiar voice broke through your reverie. Turning your head towards the source of your disruption you saw a masked figure as well as a cryo abyss mage. The mage, having correctly decided you were going to be easier to deal with than the actively armed person, suddenly appeared right in front of you. Acting on instinct you pushed your hand in front of you, letting electricity bloom from your fingertips.

As the abyss mage lay stunned your felt an arm wrap around your waist, dragging you a ways away. “Wait here.” The person carrying you said, before running back to fight. Finally getting a good look at your savior it was all you could do not to gasp. Despite being the cold hard truth you still found it hard to believe, and for a second you wondered if you hadn’t passed out somewhere and were having a particularly fantastic dream.

Finally the fighting was over, lifting yourself up you jogged over to the man who could only be the Darknight Hero.

“Master Diluc?” The words flew out of your mouth.

“Just Diluc please.” Diluc shook his head. “Forgive me for being a bit rough. Cryo abyss mages and electro users rarely work well together.”

“It’s perfectly fine!” You replied eagerly. “Really, thank you!”

Diluc offered a smile in reply, one that immediately made your heart seize up. Suddenly you remembered who the person in front of you was. Seized at first with something akin to embarrassment you also came to a sudden realization. This might be the only chance.

“Diluc?”

“Yes?”

“Well, can I say something?”

“Of course you may.” Diluc relaxed his stance, leaning slightly forward. Your face was burning, you really weren’t expecting something like this to happen, but it was now or never.

“I realize this will be quite sudden, but I… I like you.” You felt the urge to add on something, some explanation or apology, but unfortunately, or perhaps thankfully, you found you couldn’t say anything more. Running your fingers through your hair you lowered your head slightly, not wanting to see the expression on his face.

“Can I say something?” Diluc’s voice was gentle, and you couldn’t help but look up at him. Though you wouldn’t say his stance had changed very much, he somehow seemed more relaxed, something you weren’t expecting.

“Of course! I realize what I said must really be a shock, I’m really sorry.” You let out a pathetic sort of laugh.

“Don’t be sorry. I realize what I’m about to say must be equally as shocking. But, the fact of the matter is I like you as well.”

“I didn’t realize you knew I existed!” You replied, still not ready to drop your defense mechanisms. Diluc stared at you, a perplexed expression on his face.

“I’m quite surprised by that, I thought that my request for you to be the guild member in charge of the Winery would’ve been an indicator. Forgive me, I didn’t realize that you were unaware.”

“I thought that was a decision by the Guild to make things easier.” You admitted. “Although I guess I just didn’t want to admit that you might be aware of my existence.”

“Why?”

“Because that would’ve been scary! I mean, what if you didn’t like me, not in that way, just… in general.”

“Well I like you a lot.” Diluc’s voice was soft and warm.

“I like you two.” You replied, voice barely above a whisper.

As he escorted you back to your home the two of you spoke about a myriad of things, some important and some quite mundane. You found that having your feeling reciprocated had truly opened up something in you. Suddenly everything seemed so much realer, made manifest by Diluc’s presence. You couldn’t believe it really. What had failed with months of planning had succeeded in a matter of moments.

And all because of an unsuspecting abyss mage.

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emilia3546 · 3 years ago

Text

The Rest of Our Lives - Nessian

Happy #nessianmonth guys! Thanks @illyrianet for organising!

Here we go with the first one: nessian’s mating ceremony, finally filling the gap that Sarah left us with at the end of ACOSF.

*****

The temple was absolutely beautiful, Rhys really had come through on this one, this was sure to be the most extravagant party Nesta had ever been to, and that was saying something. She glanced around, checking that everything was ready, nothing could go wrong, everything was perfect, all she needed now was to calm her nerves and get on with it.

"Nesta?" Nesta whirled at the sound of Feyre's voice behind her, "Do you want a hand getting dressed?" Right, because she was supposed to already be dressed, had told Emerie that she was, even while she'd just been staring at the dress, nerves racing through her. She nodded,

"Thank you,"

"Come on," Feyre squeezed her hand gently, "Let the guys finish off here, everything's perfect, okay?"

"Okay," Nesta squeezed her eyes shut when Feyre winnowed them back to the River House, to the room she'd slept in last night, "I don't get the tradition of not being allowed to see him before the ceremony," she muttered,

"Honestly, me neither, but we don't want one of you to chicken out and you guys to end up mating beforehand, then to go to the ceremony with you both riled up with a new mating bond," Feyre chuckled, "Rhys was bad enough, but I dread to think what you two will be like,"

"Oh hush," Nesta muttered, "We're not that violent,"

"Not usually, but you never know," Feyre teased, "Dress, c'mon," Nesta nodded, turning her gaze back to the dress waiting for her, she gingerly took it from its stand, stepping behind the curtain to slip it on, but stepped back out to let Feyre help her with the clasps and ties at the back. She almost didn't want to look at the mirror, if she did, her nerves would catch up to her again, but Feyre offered a little encouraging smile,

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Nesta laughed, "I don't even know why,"

"You look stunning," Feyre breathed, "And that feeling's normal, I think," her sister was right, no matter what anyone could say, Nesta was beautiful, with the fitted bodice rising just above her breasts, cinched in the back to accentuate her figure, whorls of silver thread forming Illyrian runes across the bodice. Runes for luck, prosperity, love, Cassian might not be much of an artist, but she knew full well that he'd helped Feyre designing the dress, especially with the occasional rune for witchcraft, or more violent things having slipped past her sister's notice,

"You can't read Illyrian, can you?"

"No, Rhys has tried to teach me, but his particular style of teaching doesn't work so well with the runes, I know some, but not many, did I get one wrong?"

"No," Nesta laughed, "I'd just be surprised that you'd let Cass call me a witch on my wedding dress," Feyre flushed bright red,

"He what?"

"This one, it means witch,"

"It does not, he said that it meant loyalty," Nesta stifled another laugh,

"He lied, aww you believed him, he definitely lied to you about a few of these runes then, you should know better than to take his word at face value,"

"I did check with Azriel,"

"Oh he was probably in on it, knowing them, the idiots," she chuckled again, spinning around in front of the mirror, "I love it, and I would never have suggested he help if I didn't want something a bit less formal, it's not like anyone will be able to read the runes, it's just for us,"

"Right, sit," Nesta just about managed to lift the skirts of her gown before Feyre tugged her across to the chair waiting for her, mountains of cosmetics beside it, "I asked Elain what she thought would work, then Mor, and they're both wrong,"

"Is that so?"

"Mhhm," Feyre was hardly listening as she dusted something along Nesta's cheekbones, the tang of magic filling the air, "I'm just setting it in place, not even Cass can fuck this up later," Nesta snorted at that, but Feyre held her head still, "Stop it, you're going to make me mess up," she hissed just as the door opened,

"You told me you were already dressed!"

"I lied,"

"Shush, I can't do this if you keep moving," Nesta did fall silent, but held Emerie's disapproving gaze while Feyre finished, twisting her hair up onto her head in a knot of intricate braids, setting gemstones through it, Nesta had no words when Feyre span the chair around for Nesta to see her handiwork, those jewels caught the light, making her hair shine and glimmer as she moved. She almost couldn't believe the person who was staring back at her, she'd changed so much over the last year, the person staring back at her was beautiful, confident, tears formed in her eyes, "Nesta,"

"I'm okay, I just, it feels like some stupid dream and I'll wake up any minute back in that apartment," Feyre threw an arm around her shoulders,

"It's real, I promise it's real, enjoy it, Nesta, you've earned it," she glanced back at the female in the mirror, the way her eyes sparkled with life, her cheeks glowing with health, especially with the rouge that Feyre had dusted onto them. Feyre had painted her lips red, an almost sinful color, and she blushed at the thought of exactly what Cassian would be thinking when he saw her,

"There we go," Emerie laughed, "Dirty mind, she's fine,"

"Oh shush," Nesta laughed, but didn't deny it, "You're just as bad as I am,"

"While that may be true, I'm not the one about to get married." Married. She was about to get married, shit. She didn't know what she was doing. What if she tripped? What if she forgot her vows? What if she panicked and froze up? What if she embarrassed herself, embarrassed Cassian? "Deep breath," this time it was Emerie, "Still your mind," she did, closing her eyes, deep breath, deep breath, she was the rock against which the surf crashes, she was a Valkyrie, and she could not be broken, not by the Blood Rite, not by marriage. "Drink this," Emerie handed her a foul-smelling tonic of some sort,

"What is it?"

"Just an anti-sickness tonic, for your nerves, but you'll fine once you get there," Nesta wasn't so sure of that and downed it in one, the effect almost instant,

"Are you drugging her, Em?" Nesta almost spat it out at the sound of another voice, "Everything's ready, you look beautiful, Nesta," Azriel smiled as he spoke, "Cass won't know what's hit him,"

"Thank you," Nesta ran through the ceremony again in her mind, automatically finding everything that could go wrong, "Em, I'm gonna fuck up,"

"No you're not,"

"Easy for you to say, you've never done this,"

"I have," Feyre said, squeezing Nesta's shoulder, and Nesta almost winced at the memory that she hadn't bee there when Feyre and Rhys had had a proper ceremony, being too lost to her fears to care or even notice, "You'll be fine, Nesta," It's okay that you weren't there, you're her with us now, Nesta started at Feyre's voice in her mind, and she nodded, still not quite believing her, but if Feyre forgave her, she could start to forgive herself for everything she'd missed this last year. "Just ignore everyone, focus on Cass, okay?"

"Okay,"

"Step-by-step, walk up to him, let him say his vows, say your vows, exchange rings, food, kiss him, and walk back, you can do that,"

"Yeah, yeah I can do that, thank you, I'll be fine," she shot a grateful glance at Azriel as he offered her an arm, but she still squeezed her eyes shut when he winnowed them back to the temple, just outside the door,

"Ready?" Nesta took in one last breath and squeezed Azriel's arm,

"Yeah, and thank you,"

"For what?"

"This. Walking me down the aisle," she refused to allow herself to tear up at the thought that her father should be the one doing that,

"I'm honestly honored that you asked me,"

"There would be no-one else I would want to," she mumbled,

"Oh, so I'm the last resort, I see," Nesta chuckled when he finally stepped forwards, and was still laughing when they crossed into the temple. Everyone was there, everyone was watching her, but she remembered Feyre's words, gripping Azriel's arm tighter as she lifted her gaze to the end of the aisle, to Cassian. The moment she locked eyes with him, Nesta forgot to be scared, forgot that she was nervous, excitement taking over, and she lessened the vice-like grip on Azriel's arm, earning a soft chuckle. Each step took her closer to that dais, to Cassian. Each step took her closer to the first day of the rest of her life. Each step brought her closer to finally stepping out of the shadow of the war. Each step brought her closer to her mate.

At the top of the dais Azriel released her arm, and Nesta almost swayed on her feet, a sort of dizzy feeling washing over her at the prospect of saying the proper words, words that she had been waiting for longer than she'd care to admit to say. She clasped Cassian's hands in her own, holding on tight, reassuring herself that this was all real, that he was real. She hardly noticed the movement beside her until Rhys spoke,

"Nesta, do you come to this place of your own free will, with love in your heart to wed this male?"

"Yes," she breathed, "I do," she was still staring at Cassian and hardly registered the same question being asked of him, until he gently squeezed her fingers and started to speak,

"I, Cassian, swear to love, to cherish, and to protect you, when you actually need it," he added with a smirk, and Nesta had to hold back a fit of giggles, "I swear to love you through the best and worst the world can throw at us." With the official words said, he continued to add his own, "I never knew what was coming that day I first met you, Nes, when we arrived to ask for help, and I didn't find just a human woman, but an Illyrian without her wings, honestly I think I started falling right then, and kept falling with everything since. It didn't take long for me to figure out what you were to me, but long before that, I'd already decided that I wanted you, just you, mate or not, and I cannot thank the Cauldron enough that it saw fit to bless us with that bond." Nesta blinked tears out of her eyes, losing track of the murmurs around them, "You, Nesta, are everything I could have possibly dreamed of, and more besides, your courage, your strength, I don't know what I would have done without you at this point, I knew full well that I loved you when you refused to back down, when you made sure to protect your family from anything you thought was a threat, even me," Nesta let out a little chuckle at that,

"You didn't exactly correct me," she laughed,

"I'm not finished, Nes, it's your turn in a minute," she snorted, but allowed him to finish, "I have loved you through everything, but I never once believed that you could return that love and I promise, Nesta, that I will continue to love you until my last breath and beyond." Nesta couldn't stop the tears now flooding down her face, and thanked the Mother for Feyre's shield to protect her make-up from ruination. When he finished, she took a few breaths before beginning her own vows,

"I, Nesta Archeron, swear to love, to cherish, and protect you, because gods know you do need it." Nesta grinned at the mutterings among the few Illyrians chosen to represent their people at her changed vows, never 'obey', not for them, never for them, protect, yes, but never obey. "I swear to love you though the best and worst the world can throw at us." She grinned again when Cassian laughed, "I knew I loved you when I feared I might lose you, and I was so scared that you wouldn't want my love, that I didn't deserve yours, but thank the Cauldron that you reached me, I really don't know what I would have done this past year without you, and I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. I promise to love you until my last breath and beyond, until this world is nothing but a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, until whatever end, I will love you."

Nesta's vision was still blurred as Emerie stepped to her side, handing her a ring, its partner in Cassian's hand as Azriel stepped back. She let her tears fall as Cassian slipped the ring onto her finger, a beautiful red stone capturing the light, surrounded by seven smaller silver ones, the reverse true of the one she placed on Cassian's finger.

"The red stone is hewn form my siphons," he murmured, "So that I'll always be by your side, I had them made specially," Nesta had no words as she held his gaze,

"Now, Lord and Lady Archeron, I declare you husband and wife now-" Nesta couldn't wait any longer, surging towards Cassian and showing him how she felt in the only way she really knew how. Rhys sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "Do that, I guess,"

"Sorry, Rhys," Cassian chuckled when he stepped back, keeping a hold of Nesta's right hand as they both turned to face Rhys, taking the twin biscuits offered by Feyre and Elain. Nesta had insisted on the biscuits, just for the look on Cassian's face when he realized what she'd made,

"Witch," he muttered,

"Brute," she responded, breaking off a bit of the biscuit to feed him, hoping desperately that it tasted alright, but relaxed when he fed her piece of the other one, it was okay, nothing like Elain's cooking, but it was hers, she'd made it, for him. Cassian held her gaze as Rhys cleared his throat, the black ribbon in his hands the final piece they needed, the last thing before they could be declared officially mated.

Nesta wasn't sure that her heart was beating as he tied it around their joined hands, grinning, even when he met Nesta's eyes. Her brother, that was what he was, even more now, and she smiled at him as Cassian swept her into his arms to carry her back down the aisle,

"I can walk," she laughed,

"I know, I want to carry you," he laughed,

"Oh really, husband,"

"Yes, wife, I wouldn't want you trip, it's bad luck you know," Nesta laughed again as Cassian stepped outside, the first day of the rest of their lives, that's exactly what this was, and she wasn't scared anymore.

#fanfic #fanfiction #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #nesta #nesta archeron #nessian #nesta x cassian #cassian #wedding #nessianmonth #nessian month

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girlactionfigure · 3 years ago

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Why I’m Leaving Mumford & Sons

I loved those first tours. Bouncing off a sweaty stage in an Edinburgh catacomb we then had to get to a gig in Camden by lunch the next day. We couldn’t fit all four of us and Ted’s double-bass into the VW Polo. I think it was Ben who drew the short-straw and had to follow by train with his keyboard. I remember blitzing it down the M6 through the night, the lads asleep beside me. We made it but my voice sadly didn’t, completely shot by exhaustion, I had to mime my harmonies. Being in Mumford & Sons was exhilarating.

Every gig was its own adventure. Every gig its own story. Be it odysseys through the Scottish Islands, or soapbox shows in Soho. Where would we sleep that night? Hostels in Fort William, pub floors in Ipswich, even the Travelodge in Carlisle maintains a sort of charm in my mind. We saw the country and then, as things miraculously grew, the world. All the while doing what we loved. Music. And not just any music. These songs meant something. They felt important to me. Songs with the message of hope and love. I was surrounded by three supremely talented song-writers and Marcus, our singer with a one-in-a-million voice. A voice that can compel both a field of 80,000 and the intimacy of a front room. Fast-forward ten years and we were playing those same songs every night in arenas, flying first-class, staying in luxury hotels and being paid handsomely to do so. I was a lucky boy.

On stage, to my left Ted, a roaring bear, with his double-bass flying high above him. To my right Ben, with his unparalleled passion for music, pounding at the keys. And Marcus leading us with all the might of a hurricane or all the tenderness of a breeze, depending on what the song demanded. What a blessing it was to be so close to such talent as theirs. It will be with immense pride that I look back at my time with Mumford & Sons. A legacy of songs that I believe will stand the test of ages. What we’ve achieved together has vastly exceeded the wildest fantasies of this shitkicker from Mortlake.

Who in their right mind would willingly walk away from this?

It turns out I would. And as you might imagine it’s been no easy decision.

At the beginning of March I tweeted to American journalist Andy Ngo, author of the New York Times Bestseller, Unmasked. “Congratulations @MrAndyNgo. Finally had the time to read your important book. You’re a brave man”. Posting about books had been a theme of my social-media throughout the pandemic. I believed this tweet to be as innocuous as the others. How wrong I turned out to be.

Over the course of 24 hours it was trending with tens of thousands of angry retweets and comments. I failed to foresee that my commenting on a book critical of the Far-Left could be interpreted as approval of the equally abhorrent Far-Right.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Thirteen members of my family were murdered in the concentration camps of the Holocaust. My Grandma, unlike her cousins, aunts and uncles, survived. She and I were close. My family knows the evils of fascism painfully well. To say the least. To call me “fascist” was ludicrous beyond belief.

I’ve had plenty of abuse over the years. I’m a banjo player after all. But this was another level. And, owing to our association, my friends, my bandmates, were getting it too. It took me more than a moment to understand how distressing this was for them.

Despite being four individuals we were, in the eyes of the public, a unity. Furthermore it’s our singer’s name on the tin. That name was being dragged through some pretty ugly accusations, as a result of my tweet. The distress brought to them and their families that weekend I regret very much. I remain sincerely sorry for that. Unintentionally, I had pulled them into a divisive and totemic issue.

Emotions were high. Despite pressure to nix me they invited me to continue with the band. That took courage, particularly in the age of so called “cancel culture”. I made an apology and agreed to take a temporary step back.

Rather predictably another viral mob came after me, this time for the sin of apologising. Then followed libellous articles calling me “right-wing” and such. Though there’s nothing wrong with being conservative, when forced to politically label myself I flutter between “centrist”, “liberal” or the more honest “bit this, bit that”. Being labeled erroneously just goes to show how binary political discourse has become. I had criticised the “Left”, so I must be the “Right”, or so their logic goes.

Why did I apologise?

“Rub your eyes and purify your heart — and prize above all else in the world those who love you and who wish you well.” — Aleksander Solzhenitsyn once wrote. In the mania of the moment I was desperate to protect my bandmates. The hornets’ nest that I had unwittingly hit had unleashed a black-hearted swarm on them and their families. I didn’t want them to suffer for my actions, they were my priority.

Secondly, I was sincerely open to the fact that maybe I did not know something about the author or his work. “Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak,” Churchill once said, “courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen”. And so I listened.

I have spent much time reflecting, reading and listening. The truth is that my commenting on a book that documents the extreme Far-Left and their activities is in no way an endorsement of the equally repugnant Far-Right. The truth is that reporting on extremism at the great risk of endangering oneself is unquestionably brave. I also feel that my previous apology in a small way participates in the lie that such extremism does not exist, or worse, is a force for good.

So why leave the band?

On the eve of his leaving to the West, Solzhenitsyn published an essay titled ‘Live Not By Lies’. I have read it many times now since the incident at the start of March. It still profoundly stirs me.

“And he who is not sufficiently courageous to defend his soul — don’t let him be proud of his ‘progressive’ views, and don’t let him boast that he is an academician or a people’s artist, a distinguished figure or a general. Let him say to himself: I am a part of the herd and a coward. It’s all the same to me as long as I’m fed and kept warm.”

For me to speak about what I’ve learnt to be such a controversial issue will inevitably bring my bandmates more trouble. My love, loyalty and accountability to them cannot permit that. I could remain and continue to self-censor but it will erode my sense of integrity. Gnaw my conscience. I’ve already felt that beginning.

The only way forward for me is to leave the band. I hope in distancing myself from them I am able to speak my mind without them suffering the consequences. I leave with love in my heart and I wish those three boys nothing but the best. I have no doubt that their stars will shine long into the future. I will continue my work with Hong Kong Link Up and I look forward to new creative projects as well as speaking and writing on a variety of issues, challenging as they may be.

Winston Marshall

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luxekook · 4 years ago

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cream | knj

❯ pairing: namjoon x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship au, pure smut

❯ summary: you thirst over the outline in the pants of kim namjoon’s iconic cream suit just one time too many, and he’s ready to make you pay for it

❯ word count: 1.8k

❯ warnings: 18+, pwp, basically 1.8k words about joon’s d, cursing, dirty talk, mentions of masturbation, dom!namjoon, sub!reader, oral (m receiving), dry humping, spanking, KIM NAMJOON’S CREAM SUIT PANTS

❯ dedication: this fic is for my darling lindy @ppersonna!!! happy (early) birthday! i hope you enjoy your brand hehe ily!

The outline of his cock will be the death of you. Despite already knowing what it looks like uncovered, the subtle tease of its hardness - its thickness - just does you in.

You’re alone, spread out on your shared king bed and scrolling through your top secret compilation that you tastefully dubbed “Namjoon’s Cock Outline Thirst Folder”. It hadn’t been your best work or your finest moment, but you had been distracted - and rightfully so.

Namjoon’s dick is a thing of beauty, a work of art. It’s a sculpture just waiting to be made, and you curse the gods every damn day that you are not blessed with artistic abilities because that thing deserves to be enshrined in multiple mediums.

Your boyfriend is currently out of the apartment, deep in preparation for the upcoming tour. In fact, Namjoon is gone more often than not lately, and you miss him. You miss his warmth, his dimpled smile, his gentle caress in the darkness of your bedroom. You miss his sweetness, his affection, his rambled 2AM thoughts.

You miss his cock.

Your fingers just aren’t cutting it anymore - even while you scroll through the various pictures of Namjoon’s beautiful crotch and the bounty of gifs of him bodyrolling in that goddamn cream suit.

As you fixate on the image of him looking like sin in his cream suit, you fail to hear the door to your apartment open, signalling Namjoon’s return home.

No, you’re too entranced by the undulations of your boyfriend’s body - the sensual nature of his movements, the fucking outline of his cock. A soft moan slips out of you as the gif replays over and over, taunting you.

You’re still too busy thirsting over Namjoon’s clothed dick to realize that he is now standing in the doorway to your bedroom with his eyebrows raised and an amused smirk gracing his full lips.

Your traitorous hand is still down your shorts as it continues to fail to substitute for what you really want.

“Having fun, baby?”

You let out an inhumane screech, chucking your phone clear across the room in some sort of attempt at self defense.

“Kim Namjoon, are you out of your mind?” You slap a hand to your heart, feeling its erratic pulse beneath your fingertips, “You need to wear a bell around your neck, I swear!”

While you’re still ranting, Namjoon picks up your thrown phone from where it lays face down on the floor by his feet. He begins to move towards you but then halts as he notices what you’ve been looking at on your screen.

“Baby,” he chuckles, interrupting your continued rant on how he should announce himself each time he enters a room. “What is this? Do you really have a folder full of pictures of me that you thirst over?”

Embarrassment washes over you. You had never meant for him to find out about your desperation. There is only one way for you to attempt to gain the upper hand. “For your information, I have thirst folders for all of the boys,” you sniff, crossing your arms across your chest.

The sad truth is that you’re not even entirely lying. You do have a group folder with pictures of the entire group that you drool over during stolen moments. Lately, your attention has strayed to Jimin and how good he looks in tight jeans…

Which brings you right back to how Namjoon looks in well-fitting pants. Damnit.

As your inner turmoil rages on, Namjoon’s face is darkening rapidly. “You’re thirsting over my friends, (y/n)?”

You gulp as he stalks towards you and sets your phone down on the bedside table. “Am I not satisfying you? Do I need to remind you who you belong to? Whose cock you’re desperate for?”

“N-no,” your voice cracks, totally betraying your attempt at being nonchalant.

Namjoon’s palms rest on the edge of the bed as he leans over you. “You know,” his deep voice washes over you, “I just don’t believe you, baby.”

Words fail you as he chuckles just once at your wide-eyed expression.

“I want you naked and kneeling on the ground facing the foot of the bed by the time I get back, (y/n). Don’t disappoint me.” Namjoon brushes a thumb across the seam of your lips, his dark eyes bore into your own. And then he’s gone, stalking across the room and into your shared walk-in closet.

You spring into motion, tugging your shirt off before you’re even fully standing. You don’t know what your boyfriend is up to, but you do know that there would be hell to pay if you don’t listen to his orders. And although sometimes you revel in being disobedient, you’re way too impatient for that right now.

Bad girls may get deliciously punished, but good girls get fucked.

Your knees barely hit the soft carpet before you hear Namjoon re-emerge into your bedroom. Silence envelops you as your ears strain to catch his movements, but all you can identify is the harsh staccato of your own breathing.

The lightest touch across your bare shoulders causes you to jolt. You’ve been so touch-starved that even the smallest brush of Namjoon’s fingers sends a rush of heat through your body.

“I’m surprised you listened, baby,” his words sound from right over your shoulder, but you dare not look. “Gave me so much attitude before… What happened?”

You don’t answer. He’s baiting you, and you know it.

Namjoon’s lips press into the nape of your neck, and you can feel the smile grow with each passing moment that you refuse to rise to his challenge.

“Fuck, baby,” his hands glide up your waist, stopping just below your breasts. “You really missed me this much? You don’t even want to talk back? Get spanked? Ride my thigh?”

A shiver rushes down your spine at the thought of riding him, and of course Namjoon catches it.

“Ah, that got your attention, didn’t it? You want to ride my thigh, baby?” His hands are cupping your breasts now, thumbs circling your nipples.

Your head shakes before you can stop yourself. And just like that, Namjoon’s touch is gone from your body.

“No?”

Your eyes widen as your boyfriend sounds more amused than annoyed with your refusal. The reasoning becomes clear as he continues, “My baby wants to ride something else, doesn’t she.”

The lack of questioning in that statement alerts you that you are so, so fucked.

That conclusion is confirmed when Namjoon steps in front of you, standing between you and the foot of the bed, in nothing but his goddamn cream suit pants.

A low whine bubbles up as you unconsciously sway forward; you’re unable to think as the shamelessly prominent outline of his cock is inches from your face. Your eyes shoot up to meet his for the first time since you knelt down.

He’s already looking down at you with pure hunger. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen and his hair is in disarray. The muscles of his arms and torso flex as his hands clench and unclench as if he’s trying to hold himself back from throwing you onto the bed and fucking you into next week. Not that you’d have a problem with that…

And so you decide to test the waters. “Sir, can I taste you? Please?”

You’re playing dirty by using that honorific. It’s Namjoon’s favorite after all.

But you’re a girl on a mission, and that mission is worship that cream covered cock in every way imaginable.

And your boyfriend knows it as he curses quietly before sliding a hand through your hair. “Yes, baby, you can— fuck!”

The only words you register are ‘yes, baby’, and you lunge forward, hands gripping the backs of Namjoon’s thick thighs as your mouth latches onto the head of his clothed cock. The heat of him is overwhelming despite the layer of linen in between you and his skin.

Your hand comes up to palm the base of his cock while your mouth continues to kiss and suck the tip. You’re not sure who’s moaning louder at this point - you or Namjoon.

He lets out a particularly low growl as your grip tightens. Your other hand travels down your own body to begin circling your clit. You don't even realize you’d done it, but Namjoon does.

Your boyfriend tugs you up onto shaky legs before he sits on the bed, legs spread wide. Your eyes fall onto the mess you’ve made of his pants and a surge of pride rushes through you.

Thwack. Your ass stings from the impact of Namjoon’s palm.

“Someone’s pleased with themselves, aren’t they?” He murmurs, his hand now kneading your ass before gripping it firmly. You nod, not even attempting to hide it.

How bad would he punish you if you just sat on his dick right now?

As if reading your thoughts, Namjoon chuckles lowly, “Hop on, baby.”

Well, he doesn't need to tell you twice. You straddle him instantly, using one hand to line up his barely clothed cock with your wet pussy. And when you sink down onto him, you almost come just by the sheer context of the situation.

How many times had you replayed the image of Namjoon in these pants and wished to be right where you are now?

Your hips roll once. Twice. Your pussy sliding over hardness of his cock feels fucking incredible, and it seems that your boyfriend agrees by how he grips your hips, thrusting up against you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby. I can feel you soaking through to me.” His forehead falls onto your shoulder as you continue to grind down onto him. With every shift of your hips, your clit rubs against him, pleasure building.

There barely feels like there’s a barrier in between you now. You can feel him throbbing beneath you, his fingers digging into your ass, lips pressed to your neck.

“Joon,” you moan, your movements becoming more and more urgent.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” Namjoon growls into your neck, and you nod frantically. Each roll of your hips brings you higher and higher. Your legs shake, your back arches, your eyes slam shut.

You barely register Namjoon telling you to come when you unravel completely, coming with a scream. You are lost in him, drowning in the sensation, the bliss of finally fulfilling your thirstiest dream. He’s whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you return to earth, panting.

Your limbs feel like liquid as he eases you off of him, setting you gently on the bed beside him. Namjoon stands, looks down, and laughs. Your eyes follow his gaze and you immediately groan, a sound that your boyfriend interprets as embarrassment but in reality is of mourning. His pants are ruined.

“It’s okay, baby,” Namjoon’s voice draws you to look back at his face. “I’ll just buy another pair.”

“No, buy at least three! No, four,” you immediately insist, “In different colors, too.”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to gape at you before his smile returns in full force. “You’re going to be the death of me, baby.”

“You love me,” you grin back at him as he looks at you like you hold his world in the palm of your hand.

“I really do.”

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smoulderingocean · 3 years ago

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Osblaine Week Day 2: Headcanons

My list is long (though far from exhaustive haha- I could really go on forever), so it's under the cut. May we be blessed with more details in the future so we don't have to keep headcanoning them.

Holly is left-handed, just like her Uncle Josh. Nick is deeply moved by this small connection they share, feeling as if Josh lives on in her.

Nick and Holly's birthdays are both in February and are just a few days apart, with Nick's birthday coming just three days after hers. To him she is the greatest possible gift that he could ever receive. And the closeness of their birthdays has a deeper meaning too- his Mum and Josh had August birthdays that were just a few days apart.

Nick's family couldn't always afford it because money was tight and it was hard to get time off of work, but every couple of years they tried to visit Mackinac Island for a week in August to celebrate those August birthdays. Those handful of summer visits are among Nick's most cherished memories because it was the only time that his family was truly happy.

Growing up Nick was really close to his Mum. She was a very gentle, kind, and sweet person, and raised Nick to be the same. She was the head and heart of their household. When she died the Blaine family fell apart. Nick's father and Josh both struggled to function, falling deep into a pit of depression and spiralling further after they were laid off. Seeing no other alternative, Nick, himself deeply depressed, stepped up and tried to fill her place. He never felt like he was enough, because no one could ever replace his Mum.

Because he took on the head of the household role at a very young age, Nick's natural caretaking personality grew stronger, something that follows him for the rest of his life and is part of why he is such a good partner and father.

June sleeps cold while Nick sleeps hot. One night, very early on into their relationship, Nick wakes and looks over at June. He can tell from her face that she is cold and not entirely able to relax enough to sleep more deeply and get enough rest. So Nick gets out of bed and gathers his spare blanket from his trunk, tucking it carefully around her. After a few minutes, he sees June relax and fall more deeply asleep. When she awakens a couple hours later, very well-rested, she is deeply moved by the simple gesture. A gesture that hadn't been given to her in years. From then on Nick has the extra blanket out for her wrap up in. It's unspoken, but to both of them that blanket belongs to her.

Nick is a night owl while June is a morning person. This dichotomy works really well within their relationship as it allows for balance. In the mornings June wakes up early and goes for her run, then gets the kids up and going while Nick makes breakfast. Then at night Nick puts the kids to bed and stays up later than June to read, listen to music, watch tv, or just sit on the balcony and relax.

June enjoys the mornings because they're a new start, while Nick has a harder time with them because getting everyone up and going and out to where they need to be means they'll be apart for most of the day. Meanwhile Nick enjoys nights more because it's a winding down- the family is together and able to spend some quality moments with each other. At night Nick is most able to take care of everyone; there are no burdens or expectations, just love. The nights are peaceful and calming for him. For June, the nights are challenging because she finds it difficult to wind down- she enjoys being busy and being on the go, and the nighttime family rituals are the opposite. Together, Nick and June manage to balance each other out- June's drive and energy get Nick going in the mornings while Nick's tenderness and unwavering support help June wind down and relax at night.

Together, they sleep really well because they feel safe and so their subconsciouses are able to let go and relax. Without the other they struggle to get enough rest.

Nick is the cuddler of the two and really craves those moments in their relationship. The quiet warmth and comfort means so much to him and it's what he really looks forward to each night because he feels safe and loved.

One of June's favourite things to do is to watch Nick read. She finds it -the glasses and the lips pursed in concentration and the emotions on his face- incredibly sexy and she often finds herself unable to resist temptation and ends up distracting him, which Nick enjoys immensely. Nick also knows that she finds the whole thing erotic and so he puts himself into situations where he knows June will notice just what he's doing.

When they were living at the Waterford house, Nick never had to say that June was welcome to read his books, the acknowledgement that she was free to choose went unspoken between them because Nick knew that she didn't need his permission and June knew that she didn't have to ask; it was a natural thing because his apartment is was close to a home that she had in Gilead (he's her home) and so those books were as much hers as they were his.

In the Boston Globe they finally got to spend a lot of real downtime together. There they found many books, dvds, and cds that had been long-banned, left forgotten in the hastily abandoned office tower. In their free hours together they got to be a normal couple. In those hours they found that they both had an unapologetic love for Harry Potter and they enjoyed getting into enthusiastic debates about the subject. (Also, they both agreed that Nick is a Hufflepuff and June is a Gryffindor.) June loves Friends, while Nick teases her that it was before his time and that he preferred Glee, which June hated because she thought the singing was terrible. Both share a love for boy bands, with Nick's music tastes being more varied than June's and he introduces her to many good songs. Both are avid readers, but June is especially and Nick reads each and every book she hands to him.

Together they learn all sorts of things that accompany a normal, happy relationship; June can't cook worth a damn while Nick is skilled at batch meals like soups, stews, and chili. Nick loves coffee and tea equally (he's especially fond of a good Hong Kong-style milk tea, the kind his mother use to make) while June is exclusively a coffee person. Nick's favourite chore to do is laundry and June is amazed to find out that he'd often take the laundry off of Rita's hands whenever he could as she despised it. Meanwhile June's preferred chore is doing the dishes, because she doesn't contribute by and so she likes to do her bit by washing up.

In the Boston Globe, Nick finds a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and reads it in its entirety, an action that makes June cry from emotion.

While in the Boston Globe, Nick does everything he can to fulfil June's pregnancy cravings, including trading his valuable illicit liquor for her beloved Twinkies. He loved being able to do that for her because it made her smile and Nick lived for those smiles.

Both Nick and June share a commonality of being bookworms as children, a trait that they pass down onto Holly. Their favourite weekend family activity is a trip to the library.

June was in the 'in' crowd in school while Nick was more of a loner and was very quiet. June ran track and was on the swim team, and was good enough to get a partial scholarship to a good school where she majored in English. Nick never played any sports (though like all good Detroit boys, was a big hockey fan and knows how to skate, and Nick's parents, especially his father, were such big fans that they gave their sons hockey-related middle names- Joshua Gordon [after Gordie Howe] and Nicholas Stanley [after the Stanley Cup]) but he excelled at English and social studies. He couldn't afford to go to university, something that broke his father's heart as he wanted to give Nick the chance to go that he never got. (Josh meanwhile, was very artistic and was particularly good at photography- one of Nick's prized possessions is a print of one of Josh's photos. Like Nick, he couldn't afford to go to school.)

After getting into Canada together after getting Hannah out of Gilead, June and Nick and their family move from Toronto to Kelowna, finding great comfort in the mountains and also appreciating that it helps Hannah recover from what she's lived through as the mountains are comforting and familiar to her.

My biggest crack headcanon is that Nick and June have the same blood type (O+) and it was Nick's blood that was donated to help June after her haemorrhage. Nick volunteered and this action was seen as so good and so 'godly' that it was a small element in pushing Nick further up the ladder. He knew this, but selflessly gave her his blood anyway, because it was the only way he could help.

#OsblaineWeek2021 #Nick x June #the handmaid's tale #nick blaine #june osborne #osblaine #anyway i could go on forever and forever because i have all these little details in my head #and so may be making an appearance in my current fic that i'm plodding along with #look- is the blood donation thing at all plausible? no. but is it so good? yes yes i think so #and so i accept nothing else because we all know nick would totally do such a thing

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onesweetdreampodcast · 3 years ago

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For fun, a micro episode! A reprise of RAM’s critical reception over time. Positive reviews referenced in the episode: Pitchfork “..Paul McCartney's Ram is a domestic-bliss album, one of the weirdest, earthiest, and most honest ever made. What 2012's ears can find is a rock icon inventing an approach to pop music that would eventually become someone else's indie pop.”

ALL MUSIC

“This made Ram an object of scorn and derision upon its release —and for years afterward in fact — but in retrospect it looks like nothing so much as the first indie pop album. Ram has a fuller production yet retained that ramshackle feel, sounding as if it were recorded in a shack out back, not far from the farm where the cover photo of Paulholding the ram by the horns was taken. It's filled with songs that feel tossed off, filled with songs that are cheerfully, incessantly melodic; it turns the monumental symphonic sweep of Abbey Road into a cheeky slice of whimsy on the two-part suite "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey.".All three of these are songs filled with good humor, and their foundation in old-time rock & roll makes it easy to overlook how inventive these productions are, ... These songs may not be self-styled major statements, but they are endearing and enduring, as is RAM itself, which seems like a more unique, exquisite pleasure with each passing year.”

LOUDER THAN WAR

“Cool is the most overrated component of rock roll. It blinds the fools and sends the insecure up grubby back alleys of music taste. ...Maybe it’s a measure of the times but what people ragged on about Paul at the time was the good bloke/family man/simple things in life/not very rock n roll personae that are now seen as assets and that brings us to Ram.At the time the album was buried by the media but now sounds forward thinking and full of that buoyant pop imagination that the supremely talented Macca seems to effortlessly ooze. With the luxury of history the album now sounds like a decades too early precursor to lo fi indie with all the post late sixties bombast stripped away.Of course this simplicity is deceptive. The precociously brilliant McCartney is playing many instruments and he’s great at anything he picks up, dealing out guitar licks, bass runs or pastoral acoustics with an ease for his perfect pop voice to fly over with those cascading and exquisite melodies.”

SUPER DELUXE EDITION

“Ram has McCartney’s DNA all over it. It is endlessly melodic … with a maze of musical ideas; vocal harmonies,...and, perhaps uncharacteristically, there is a steeliness of purpose evident.Ram works so well for many reasons. McCartney’s voice is at, or near, its peak – everything sounds completely effortless, including the performance on the throat-shredding ‘Monkberry Moon Delight’, and the whole thing just feels so real. Paul wasn’t struggling for things to write about, whether it be the seemingly constant backbiting with Lennon or his new-found love of family life and spending time with his new wife.” FAR OUT MAGAZINE

‘...You can trace everything from Britpop to pure jangle indie back to this record. What started as a piece of pure pop innovation would provide a sure footing for a host of other groups to spring from … there is no denying that Paul McCartney’s Ram is a seminal moment in musical history.’

50Thirdand3rd

“Paul McCartney has rarely sounded more exuberant than he does on Ram. With Linda’s emotional support, he found his way through the darkness occasioned by the collapse of The Beatles and shed all traces of depression and disorientation that marked his first solo effort. On Ram, he sounds positively thrilled to embark on a new, independent musical adventure, as is evident in the unbridled energy he displays throughout the record and the blessed return of his sense of humor. His melodic gifts remain intact, he sings as well as he ever did and he’s still one hell of a bass player.”

THE QUIETUS

It’s a record by a man and woman unburdened, enjoying the happiest days of their lives. It’s full of hope and honesty and goofing around. Unlike so much music from the era, it wasn’t trying to shift units or promote itself as ‘real’ music. In fact Paul McCartney probably doesn’t give a toss if you like it or not.”

SPECTRUM CULTURE

“...it’s clearer than ever that this is one of the great magical experiences in rock … The key to Ram’s power is the two equal and not-necessarily-distinct modes it toggles between. Domestic life between the album’s credited artists is portrayed with earthy whimsy; the instruments crack and splinter, content that the center will hold. Meanwhile, the material dealing with the meaning of the most coveted Beatle’s decision to settle down with the woman of his dreams is painted in the same grand, sweeping strokes as Sgt. Pepper, Magical Mystery Tour, and the Abbey Road medley: symphonic pop that pines for transcendence.”

RAM ALBUM CLUB:

“I listened properly the next morning, I sat in front of it and played it loud. My god, what a fool I’ve been, what a joy this record is. There’s hardly any of the 12 bar I was expecting and there isn’t a twee moment to be found. I adore the first bars of Too Many People, his beautiful tramp voice over those fab four chords into Pet Sounds snare hits. Honey to my bee. Lyrically he sounds like he’s kicking some demons around, eating apples, settling scores and having a ball doing it. Ram sounds like it was recorded at 9.12am amidst a sea of sunflowers under a hazy sun. It’s high as monkeys, full of itself and oh my, what a fool I’ve been. Ram On sounds like the whole of the Department of Eagles album In Ear Park (which I love) and Uncle Albert is fine as it is, all of it. I’m not that bothered about Eat At Home. The Back Seat Of My Car is like a track off the Beach Boys album Friends except better, much better. It’s one his best songs and I’ve never heard it. Third time, I take it downstairs. I light candles. I dress smart and bring gifts. I’m in love and o’ what a fool I’ve been. I’m uplifted, uploaded and upended. His singing is great, the musicians are right on the money and the sound is perfect (it is a truth that all records made in the early 1970s sound fantastic).”

#One Sweet Dream Podcast #RAM Extravaganza #Micro Episode #Current RAM reviews

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zet-sway · 3 years ago

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@the-wip-project day 35:

I don't know what today's question is but I gotta write a wall of text about what happened last night because holy shit

I was on the verge of falling asleep and, like I usually do, I decided to hunt for some spicy fanfics to read on my phone. I found one.

All my posts are long but this one is real fucking long. CW for touching on dub-con and injury mentioned in the type of context it probably shouldn't be.

It's time for me to admit that not only am I a oneshot writer, I'm also a oneshot reader. I am drawn to short fanfics. If I click on a chaptered fic, it's (usually) because it's rated E for smut and I'll go in with every intention of skimming it for the spicy bits. I'm not proud of this. I've avoided saying this for years because I don't want to disappoint people who work hard on their very long and well thought out chaptered stories. I have a short attention span, and I know what I want.

But anyway, last night I clicked on a fic with 5 chapters and some amount of words, around 30k? Long, by my standards, but I was tired and I just wanted something to read while I dozed off.

This particular fic hooked me in, though. I still skimmed it, but the writing was so unique in a way that made me writhe with writer's envy and admiration. Whoever wrote this had their own language - nothing borrowed - their own vision.

I guess I should tell the good people who read my posts (ya'll, seriously, thank you) that the fic in topic is called Fault Lines by Recidiva on AO3. I would link to it but uhhhh I may be using my work PC for "extracurricular purposes" right this moment ^^; so maybe when I get home I'll remember to add it.

I skimmed it - like I said above - for the spicy parts. It generally follows the plot of Bioware's canon. Thane begins as possessive and manipulative, likely uncomfortably close to dub-con for a lot of people. He kisses her and knows full well that his kiss will make her willing but intoxicated, and how he will use that to fulfil himself. But as the story progresses, he falls in love. Their relationship is what I'll call "edgy." Both of them are renegades. There's a scene where they get down in the shuttle after a fight and they're both still injured and it borders on downright unrealistic but fuck it, it's fanfic and I bought it. However their relationship develops a certain heart-wrenching tenderness. She asks him what Siha means over and over again, and eventually tells him she thinks "bitch" when he says it. But in that moment they have a playful banter, he knows full well she's probably already looked it up on the extranet, and they fall into bed together. The smut is mind-boggling.

By the time it gets to Shepard's arrest, he's taken up a place on Earth and visits her, breaks into her house arrest. There's a scene where they see each other for the first time in a while, she tells him how much she's missed his mouth and how it's not right how bad she wants him, and wants him bad enough to smother him with affection. She says something to the effect of "if you're looking to die, I'd volunteer to be the cause," implying that her lust is powerful enough to endanger his life. And it was at this moment I realized I fucked up.

It's established that I live in my own headcanon and I'm not burdened with considering the end of Thane's life as part of my fics. And the suspension of disbelief was such that I forgot he doesn't make it. So at this moment in the fic, chapter 4 out of 5, I realized "Oh shit this isn't going to have a happy ending." I skipped to the end right away, I wanted to confirm my fears.

In their final exchange, she asks him to lie to her - something that's repeated in other chapters of the story. I forget what he says, I was reading desperately, but he asks her in return to tell him something true. She kisses him and tells him she loves him, and he breathes his last breath with the lingering tingle of their kiss to carry him to the other side.

I was so entrenched in the depth of their relationship up to that point. The level of fathomless love the author conveyed, unlike anything I've ever managed to write before, but more realistic to my own understanding of love as I've experienced it. Not because they're renegades, but just the selflessness with which they feel, communicate, banter, and make love.

When I read that last paragraph, something inside me broke. That sounds dramatic but that's honestly how I would describe it. It felt like waking up from a night terror, when you bolt up in bed from a dream so bad you immediately get up even if it's 4am because nothing feels real and you're so terrified you have to get up and do something - literally anything to take your mind off it, to ease you back into reality. I put my phone down and stared into the darkness of my bedroom and told myself "it's just a fanfic, no need to get upset." And then I started to cry and I didn't stop for 30 minutes.

My husband was downstairs watching Bohemian Rhapsody and I went down there and wrapped myself around him so tight and cried. Bless this man, from the bottom of my heart - bless him - for his unfathomable kindness. I felt like a fucking fool because I was crying over fanfiction but he paused his movie and just listened while I tried to articulate how it wasn't exactly about the character death, or the characters at all, it was just the writing and how it wormed into my brain so convincingly. I felt the loss like it was my own loss. I am terrified of losing my husband. So many feelings coalesced and I realized one day I may be in that situation, kissing the man I love goodbye for the last time, never to hold him again. I'm at work right now and I'm tearing up because it's so hard.

I tip my hat to the author, but I genuinely wished I hadn't read that fanfic. And isn't it kind of funny after that grandstand I took yesterday about not wanting to write the pain of loss and grief, that I ended up reading it instead and probably fucking myself up just as badly, if not worse, than if I had tried to write it myself?

It gets worse, too. Because it got me thinking about my own writing, and how I could never hope to achieve what that author did. So I sat there crying out my painfeelings while simultaneously feeling like a shit writer and like nothing I put out matters. I got up from the couch, sat down at my PC and picked up where I left off in the Omega DLC in ME3 because video games are great for taking the mind off things. It didn't exactly help with the intensity I'd hoped for, but I managed to fall asleep, by 3am.

Fast forward to this morning. I dragged my sorry ass out of bed 4 hours later and drove to work. By some fucking miracle, no one is here right now except our field director. And I'm stewing in how this one fic really fucked me up bad, reconsidering everything. I feel like I've been put in my place.

So what changed?

Yesterday I posted about how I'm struggling to write a plotline. I know what happens, but I'm not interested in the little bits that tie it together. I want to write the romance. I think there's a way to write the plot and the romance at the same time, but it's damn hard.

I started doing this because I wanted to grow my skills as a writer, and I knew it might be more than I could chew. I'm at that moment now where I'm about ready to give up.

Even if I felt like a shit writer last night (and still kinda do this morning), I know that the stuff I've put out has value. We can't all write these epically tragic smut-romance-renegades-to-lovers tales, we'd all be sad all the damn time. There's a time and a place and - I would argue - even a need for lighterhearted fic out there. There are really no rules. I'm confident in what I know how to do.

But the plot. Fuck it, man. I think maybe I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not. I'm trying really hard to write like other people. I may have mentioned before that I saw a post about how many artists spend their time pining for the skills of others, thinking "wow, when I can draw like that, I'll have made it as an artist." That same post cautioned against this, basically saying you already have your own unique style, it's just harder to see through the lens of your own eyeballs. It's fine to challenge yourself but try to acknowledge what you do that sets you apart already. I feel like I have that something - maybe not to the extent that I wish, but I have something.

So what's the point of the plot? Why do I need to tell my readers how I cured Keprals? I'm asking myself important questions here. I like to think I've come up with ideas that no one else has, but as I said above, I don't read a lot of chaptered fics. I very well may have come to the same ideas as other writers and I'm not even aware of it. I don't know if my ideas are unique but I still arrived at them all by myself.

The challenge here - the thing I'm struggling so much with - is how to put them together with the same elegance of my fellow writers. I'm looking at you, shrios fam (yeah I'm calling you that, yall know who you are). I know I can write words, but it's like I have a bunch of pieces from completely different jigsaw puzzles and I'm struggling to make a new picture out of them. I struggle with the transitions between them.

The point here is I have to find my own way. And I have to stop taking myself so seriously. In fact this level of "seriousness" is one of the things that got me into so much angst over World of Warcraft over the last two years. At least I know how to recognize it.

I have to find my own way. I have my own things that are worth sharing. The author I read last night had a language all their own, and I have a language all my own too. Their wordplay was actually more choppy than I would ever write. I've talked before about how I'm scared of starting too many sentences with pronouns, how I maybe write too many run-on sentences, whatever. This author did that with reckless abandon. It worked for them. So if they can make that shit work, I can make my own shit work.

I have to find my own way.

My most current WIP is Thane and Shepard's first time. I've been working on it pretty nonchalantly because I hadn't intended to publish it until I built up to it. It takes place further into my timeline, and it would probably ruin the point of a slow burn if I put it out there now. There are some really memorably moments in this WIP, and there are other moments that need to be smoothed over as well. I never knew what I'd really imagined for their first time but I think I've mostly developed something that's unique in its own right, and I think will be fun for people to read.

I'm just so fucking torn over what to do with it. I feel guilty for working on it. I should be writing "other shit" leading up to it but I don't fucking want to. I actually wrote probably 2-3k words this weekend, which is a pretty staggering amount by my standards. Some of it was for this smutty WIP and some was for something I just threw together, Thane observing Shepard on Horizon and the emotional toll it takes on her. He's seeing her humanity. I don't know if it's worth it to continue but I wrote a lot of it and the words are more precise than usual for a draft, I don't know. I have so much fucking insecurity. Fuck dude. I want to write this longfic, but I don't want to write it. I want to skim to the spicy bits like I always do.

I am wracked with insecurity, of my own making. I know what I can do but I feel compelled to see this idea through. Somehow I have to find my own way.

TLDR I feel like if I don't publish something soon I'm going to burst and I don't even know what the fuck to work on first and fjslfjsojoiejrj

I would be really down for, like, a bunch of hugs and a bowl of ice cream shared over memes and fanservice.

#this post is EXTREMELY fucking long send help #ITT: i read something that probably changed my brain chemistry for a few hours and it's painful #zet vs 100days #i'm just glad to get this off my chest good lord #anyway if people want to send me links to their favorite shrios fluff i would welcome it

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andallthatmishigas · 3 years ago

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pls may i ask two for the fanfic ask? bc i am still stuck on them ♡♡♡

walking the wire & a new genesis ♡♡♡

(you have no idea how much your writing helps me through things and i feel weird leaving a comment every time but maybe i should start so you know)

Oh my goodness bless you. I love these questions, and I love those stories so so so so much. And you can comment 10000 times and I'll love it 10000+ times. Because I genuinely do go back and reread reviews all the time. It makes me so happy!

Anyway onto this. Walking the Wire and A New Genesis for each question:

2. What scene did you first put down?

WtW: I had the first scene written for a long time before I actually wrote anything more or even thought of any plot beyond that one moment. The idea of Lucien asking Jean out on a date and being all nervous about it and adorable. I had that saved in my notes and then the more I listened to the Imagine Dragons song (of the same name as the story), it sort of came together in my head.

ANG: First chapter. I had the plot and concept in my mind for a while and then sat down and just wrote that first chapter in one go while at my parents' house for some reason. In case it wasn't obvious, I am the kind of writer who starts at the beginning and goes from there. I can't skip around. I'm way too Type A for it lol.

4. What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

WtW:

Lucien continued, "And now, being here together, I can't help thinking that us being together, hopefully marrying one day soon…I know it won't be an easy road, Jean. For you much moreso than for me. But I just hope that if we can cling to each other, we can stay up here always. Holding each other and walk the wire together. There's no limit to how high we can go. And if anyone else has a problem with it, well…"

"Look out down below," she interjected softly.

ANG:

Lucien paused right in front of the altar table, placed his hands down flat on it, and leaned forward. Jean could not see is face, but from the tone of his voice she could hear him sneer, "What did I ever do to You? How did I offend You so brutally that You subject me to this? I was arrogant, I was oblivious, sometimes uncaring. I know that. I won't deny it. I've lived a far from perfect life. But wasn't the camp punishment enough? Wasn't losing my family in front of my eyes enough penance for my sins?" He pushed off the table and started shouting. "I have served you faithfully! I have led your flocks! Why have You tempted me with love and happiness that You have forbidden me to possess? Is it a test? Well, surely I've failed. Surely I would fail any test because of her."

11. What do you like best about this fic?

WtW: The first half, I think, is really good. It falters a bit towards the end. But I love the exploration I got to do with Jean's judgmental attitude towards Lucien and divorce and her lust and herself and how she overcomes all of that. I think that struggle is the thing I like best. I've got to reread this one soon.

ANG: This story combines one of my favorite things which is sexualizing and blaspheming the Catholic Church. Protestants? Nothing sexy there. Catholics? That's my shit. And I just get such a thrill over blasphemy tbh. Nice Jewish girl vibes, thank you very much. (The scene where Lucien fucks Jean on the altar in the church is what I was entirely building up for the whole entire story and I'm super proud of it.)

13. What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

WtW: So I was making playlists for each of my major stories for a little while, but I didn't start doing that until after I'd finished each of these two stories, BUT this story is 100% inspired by THIS SONG which I was just captivated by and needed to write something for it.

ANG: This was tough for me to answer. I don't think I have a specific song or artist or vibe for this one. I looked through my other story playlists for some Blake fics (Forever in Your Arms, Ivy) and the closest I could really think of to apply to this story was THIS SONG which is less blasphemy, my favorite theme of the story, and more the sort of obsessive sacrifice that Lucien goes through so I suppose it works.

#malfuria #I LOVED THIS THANK YOU

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sinceileftyoublog · 4 years ago

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30 (Technically 34) Albums We Loved That Happened To Come Out in 2020

So much has already been said and written about this cursed past year, but a few good things came out of it, including the music. Album-wise, like many before it and many to come, it was an embarrassment of riches. But even with so much time on our hands to devour new tunes, it was often old favorites, songs of comfort or familiarity that garnered the heaviest rotation. For many artists, too, it was a year ripe for revisiting or reissues of old material, looking at existing songs with fresh and new perspectives. Simply put, with so much to listen to, new and old, the prospect of ranking a finite number of albums felt not only daunting, but frankly a bit stupid. Maybe we were late to the game, but 2020 taught us that music should and can be appreciated in multiple contexts, not limited to but including when it first came out and when it was heard again and again, even if years later. The records below--listed in alphabetical order--happened to be released in some form in 2020, whether never-before-heard or heard before but in a different format. And the only thing I know is that we’ll be listening to them in 2021 and beyond.

Autechre - SIGN & PLUS (Warp)

The legendary British electronic music duo surprise released SIGN a mere month and a half after its announcement and then PLUS 12 days later. The former was a beatific collection of soundscapes that belied the band’s usual harsh noise, while PLUS embraced that noise right back, drawing you in with the clattering chaotic burbles of opener “DekDre Scap B” and lurching forward. -Jordan Mainzer

Against All Logic - 2017-2019 (Other People)

The perennially chill ambient house artist Nicolas Jaar had a busy 2020, as usual, releasing two albums under his name, Cenizas and Telas. But it was 2017-2019, the follow-up to the debut album from his Against All Logic moniker, that came first and throughout the year helped to illustrate Jaar’s penchant for combining inspired samples with club beats and tape hiss. Take the way the lovelorn vocals of “Fantasy” or soulful coos of “If Loving You Is Wrong” war skittering, scratchy percussion and cool arpeggios, respectively: Jaar is coming into his own as a masterful producer almost a decade after he released his first full-length. Oh, and bonus points for including none other than Lydia Lunch on a banger so blunt it would make Death Grips blush. - JM

Bartees Strange - Live Forever (Memory Music)

Like many, my introduction to Bartees Strange was through Say Goodbye to Pretty Boy, his EP of The National covers. Creativity and shifting perspectives shine through each song’s reimaging, like flipping the coarse, almost manic “Mr. November” into something softer, more meditative. It felt like a mere peek into what was to come on Live Forever. Bartees Strange is a world-builder. Each track on his debut unfolds and welcomes you to a wildly engaging tableau, a fully constructed vision. “Jealousy” opens with soft vocals and birdsong. “In a Cab” is the slick soundtrack to racing through a cityscape in the rain, seeing the blurred lights of the high-rises above as you pass by. “Kelly Rowland” warps wistful pop song feelings. “Flagey God” takes you into a dark, pulsing club while only a few songs later, “Fallen For You” wraps you in echoed vocals and romantic, raw acoustic guitar.

It’s an accomplishment to craft an album of individual songs that stand strongly on their own but still feel cohesive. 2020 wasn’t all bad. It gave us Live Forever, a declaration of an artist’s arrival. - Lauren Lederman

Charli XCX - how i’m feeling now (Atlantic)

Back in the spring, many of us wondered who would put out something great in 2020’s quarantine. It was hard to imagine that the intensity of a global pandemic would really allow for artists to embrace creativity. That thought carries the same eye-roll inducing feeling of “We’ll get some great punk music out of a Trump presidency,” but of course, Charli XCX delivered. Through live workshops with fans and longstanding collaborators, she delivered songs to dance alone to in your bubble. Charli embraces the unknown of the moment but clutches onto what’s familiar. Under the glitch-pop veneer of the album, she digs into the anxieties of not just this moment of time but of the bigger questions we all confront: trajectories of relationships with friends, romantic partners, ourselves. Album standouts “forever” and “i finally understand” embrace that feeling of both looking for control and accepting the lack of it. Charli is a master at balancing this. - LL

Christine and the Queens - La Vita Nuova (Because Music)

Named after a Latin text by Dante Alighieri about missing a woman who has died, Chris’ La Vita Nuova is not about mourning a death but instead about loneliness and isolation, post-relationship or otherwise. It doesn’t bang quite like her previous two albums, but it hits harder than ever.

Read our full review here.

Dogleg - Melee (Triple Crown)

Released on March 13th, right as the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Melee was supposed to be supported by three cancelled tours–SXSW, an opening slot for Microwave, and an opening slot for Joyce Manor–and an appearance at this year’s cancelled Pitchfork Music Festival. Listening to the songs on the record, you can only imagine how they translate: the jerky momentum of “Bueno”, build-up of “Prom Hell”, gang vocals of “Fox”, clear-vocal anthem of “Wrist”, and odd groove of “Ender”.

Read “Buckle Up, Motherfucker”, our interview with Dogleg.

Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia & Dua Lipa/The Blessed Madonna: Club Future Nostalgia (Warner)

Where Dua Lipa’s much-anticipated second album Future Nostalgia succeeded was in its disco anthems and retro, club-ready beats, so who better to bring out the best of the record than The Blessed Madonna? The turntablist masterfully curates a mix of heavy hitters of the charts and the underground that not only offers an essential complement to Future Nostalgia but transcends it. Sending the tracks out to various producers and singers for features and then adding her own samples on top, she invites you to peel back the layers, enter a YouTube rabbit hole of sample searching as much as bopping along.

Read our full review here.

Emma Ruth Rundle & Thou - May Our Chambers Be Full (Sacred Bones)

Roadburn Festival has long been on my bucket list, and since the pandemic showed me how much live music can be taken away in a flash, when it’s safe again to travel and go to a festival, I may just pull the trigger and go--especially considering it’s the springboard for such fruitful and inspired collaborations as the one between Louisville singer-songwriter Emma Ruth Rundle and Baton Rouge sludge dwellers Thou. Rundle embraces the heavier opportunities on the follow-up to her incredible 2018 record On Dark Horses with the ever-flexible Thou backing her up vocally and instrumentally. Slow-burning opener “Killing Floor” offers a familiar introduction to fans of both--sort of what a Rundle/Thou song would sound like--before grunge chugger “Monolith” introduces huge, catchy riffs and “Out of Existence” a True Widow-esque dirge, newfound inspirations for both artists bringing the best out of each other. - JM

Fiona Apple - Fetch the Bolt Cutters (Epic)

What makes Fetch the Bolt Cutters stand out among Apple’s catalog and music in general is the clarity with which Apple seethes at those who have wronged her, whether ex-boyfriends or patriarchal oppressors, and looks to her relationships with other women for peace of mind.

Read our full review here.

HAIM - Women in Music Pt. III (Columbia)

For HAIM, the title Women in Music Pt. III is suggestive that, more than their previous two records, their third centers around the experiences of being an all-female band in a historically white cis male-dominated scene, at least one that wouldn’t call catchy riffs written by a man “simple” or call attention to the faces a man makes while playing. What it doesn’t let on to is how deeply personal the record is, how, by unabashedly embracing genres and styles of music that they love, HAIM have made far and away their best album. Co-produced by the usual suspects, Danielle Haim, Ariel Rechtshaid, and ex-Vampire Weekender Rostam Batmanglij, it’s instrumentally and aesthetically dynamic and diverse, consistently earnest without devolving into cheese.

Read our full review here.

Irreversible Entanglements - Who Sent You? (International Anthem)

I’ve been captivated by Irreversible Entanglements ever since I first saw them at Pitchfork Music Festival 2018. The radical poetry of Camae Ayewa (aka Moor Mother) is the perfect front for a ramshackle mix of Luke Stewart’s spidery bass, Tcheser Holmes’ weighty drums, and a horn section that concocts tones that range from hopeful to desperate. At their best, Who Sent You? is a shining example of celebratory Afrofuturism and metaphysics that makes the urgency of Ayewa’s more concrete and political words all the more necessary. “No Más”, composed by Panamanian-born trumpeter Aquiles Navarro, is a declaration against imperialist oppression, while the stunning title track flips the switch like a Kara Walker painting, as Ayewa’s the one interrogating the police officer terrorizing her community. “Who sent you?” she repeats, never spiraling, grabbing a hold of the power and never letting go. - JM

Jeff Parker - Suite for Max Brown (International Anthem/Nonesuch)

It’s Jeff Parker’s mom’s turn. After 2016′s The New Breed ended up being a tribute to the guitarist’s father, who passed away during the making of it, Parker decided to pay tribute to Maxine while she was still alive. Suite for Max Brown (Brown is his mother’s maiden name; Max is what people call her) is a genre-bending collection of tracks inspired by Parker’s DJing, juxtapositions of sequenced beats with improvisation that certainly sound like the brainchild of one individual. Indeed, Parker plays the majority of the instruments on it and engineered most of it at home or during his 2018 Headlands Center residency in Sausalito, CA; though all of the players and the vocalist (Jeff’s daughter Ruby Parker) on The New Breed show up, plus a couple trumpeters (piccolo player Rob Mazurek and Nate Walcott of Bright Eyes) and cellist Katinka Kleijn, Suite for Max Brown is a distinctly Jeff Parker record.

Read our preview of Jeff Parker & The New Breed’s set at Dorian’s last year.

Jeff Rosenstock - NO DREAM (Polyvinyl)

Jeff Rosenstock throws us right into the spinning, manic energy of NO DREAM, his latest release from a seemingly endless well of music that never lacks urgency. It’s a reminder that though it’s been a strange year, the issues Rosenstock tackles here aren’t new. There’s no interest in making you feel comfortable here. On the album’s title track, Rosenstock sings, lulling you into a false sense of security, “They were separating families carelessly / Under the guise of protecting you and me.” But reality sets in, and the hazy guitars spin out as he spits, “It’s not a dream!” and, “Fuck violence!”

My image of Jeff Rosenstock in the year 2020 is masked up with “Black Lives Matter” scrawled across the fabric of his mask in Sharpie, performing album highlight “Scram!” on Late Night with Seth Meyers as high energy as ever. It felt like watching someone send out a beacon, both a distress signal and a call to arms. - LL

Jessie Ware - What’s Your Pleasure? (PMR/Friends Keep Secrets/Interscope)

I am not someone who goes to clubs. I don’t “go out dancing,” preferring to let loose in the privacy of my own home or a trusted friend’s house party. But Jessie Ware’s What’s Your Pleasure? makes me think I could embrace a night out like that, once the world opens up again, of course. The album is filled with syncopated disco beats that feel fresh and classic all at once. The abundant horns and strings on “Step Into My Life” are decadent, like light bouncing off sequins in a dark room. Ware’s voice is slinky and velvety one moment, windswept like her album cover the next. It’s songs like “Save a Kiss” that embrace both, allowing her to show off her range. - LL

Laura Marling - Song for Our Daughter (Partisan)

With sparse production, mostly from her but with additions from Ethan Johns and Dom Monks, Marling foregoes the comparative maximalism of the Blake Mills-produced Semper Femina, her last proper full-length, and 2018′s LUMP collaboration. The songs aren’t simple, but they’re succinct, and every element, from Marling’s finger-picked guitars, the occasional slide guitar, and that unmistakably calm voice, sometimes alone and sometimes layered, fits. It’s her most universal set of songs yet, centering around the times when we’re apart from one another but reflecting on when we were together and when we might be together again, with no guarantees.

Read the rest of our review here.

Les Amazones d’Afrique - Amazones Power (Real World Records)

The groovy pan-African collective expands upon their debut Republique Amazone and then some with Amazones Power, a tour-de-force statement of female empowerment in the face of oppression against women throughout the African diaspora. Indeed, the album is more than just songs boldly decrying FGM, though those demands ring heavily. Instead, the group goes further, delving into gender power structures in marriage on “Queens” and selectively finding strength in tradition on “Dreams”. And this time, they include men to stand alongside with them. “Together we must stand / Together we must end this,” sings Guinean musician/dancer/artist Niariu on opener “Heavy” in solidarity with features Douranne (Boy) Fall and Magueye Diouk (Jon Grace) of Paris band Nyoko Bokbae. But perhaps it’s her kiss-off on “Smile” that hits hardest: “I shut up for no one.” - JM

Lianne La Havas - Lianne La Havas (Nonesuch)

The British singer-songwriter’s much anticipated follow-up to 2015′s Blood was better than I could have ever imagined. A song cycle about life cycles--of nature, of lives, of a relationship--inspired by an actual breakup, Lianne La Havas is a contemporary neo soul masterpiece. Overview opener “Bittersweet” is an instant earworm, La Havas’ coo-turned-belt filling the space between classic and increasingly emotive slabs of piano and guitar. Funky, lovestruck strut “Read My Mind” is the soundtrack for the unbridled confidence of finding new love. Yes, the doubts begin to sow on the fingerpicked melancholy of “Green Papaya” and “Can’t Fight”, and where the album goes from a simple narrative perspective may be predictable: They break up, they don’t get back together, La Havas enjoys her independence. But the depth of the arrangements and assuredness of La Havas’ singing is a product of an artist starting to really show us what she can do. And how many people can pull off a Radiohead cover like that? - JM

Lomelda - Hannah (Double Double Whammy)

What does it mean to title an album after yourself? Lomelda’s latest album is centered around discovering more about yourself while not always having the answers. Despite the lyrical content, the album is self-assured. Hannah Read’s voice feels as steady as ever as it navigates these twisting questions, like the way the world can shift after a kiss. She finds power in softness and reflection throughout the album, like when she explores the mantra-like words of “Wonder” or through a reminder to do no harm in “Hannah Sun”. In a year that allowed for perhaps more reflection than usual, Hannah makes space for the questions that arise out of figuring yourself out, of making sense of the messiness of it all, wrapped in warm guitar, balanced vocals, and steady drums. - LL

Moses Sumney - Grae (Jagjaguwar)

“Am I vital / If my heart is idle? / Am I doomed?” Moses Sumney famously sang on his stunning 2017 debut Aromanticism, an album that saw him developing his acceptance of being alone. grae, his two-part 2nd full-length, and his first since officially moving from L.A. to the Appalachian Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, doubles down on themes of heartbreak, but instead of being sure in his seclusion, he embraces the unknown. The album teeters between interludes of platitudes about isolation and ruminations on failed human connection, and maximally arranged clutches of uncertainty. “When my mind’s clouded and filled with doubt / That’s when I feel the most alive,” Sumney coos over horns and piano on slinky soul song “Cut Me”; it’s an effective mantra for the album.

Read the rest of our review here.

Norah Jones - Pick Me Up Off The Floor (Blue Note)

At the time we previewed Norah Jones’ 7th studio album, she had only released a few tracks from it. Turns out the rest was just as powerful. From the blues stomp of “Flame Twin” to the rolling piano stylings of “Hurts to Be Alone”, Pick Me Up Off The Floor is an album full of jazzy orchestrations and soul and gospel-indebted arrangements, Jones’ silky, yearning voice tying together the simple, yet lush and deep instrumentation. And that other Tweedy feature, that closes the album? It’s a heartbreaking portrait of loneliness, one of many on a record that still manages to celebrate being alive all the while. - JM

Phoebe Bridgers - Punisher (Dead Oceans)

Phoebe Bridgers is a master of details. Her lyrics shine when they get specific. They range from the mundane to morbid: A superfan’s ghost-like wandering under a drugstore’s fluorescent lights, a skinhead likely buried under a blooming garden, reckoning with the you in “Moon Song”’s lines, “You are sick, and you’re married / And you might be dying.” Bridgers has always been able to set a scene meticulously, and Punisher arrived with 11 songs that expanded that skill, both lyrically and musically, with her dark humor intact and a fuller sound that includes her boygenuis collaborators’ harmonies. - LL

PJ Harvey - To Bring You My Love: The Demos & Dry - The Demos (Island)

Yes, revisiting Dry’s demos as a separate entity is still worthwhile. Harvey’s powerhouse vocal performance carries the acoustic strummed “Oh My Lover”, while the comparatively minimal arrangement of “Victory” highlights bluesy riffing, call-and-response harmonies, and layered guitar and vocals. The singles, the slinky and sharp “Dress” and propulsive anthem “Sheela-Na-Gig”, hold up to their ultimate studio versions, too. But it’s the To Bring You My Love material that provides novelty because it’s never been released and more so because it encompasses the greatest aesthetic contrast from the album. From the warbling hues and guitar lines of the title track to the tremolo haze of “Teclo” to the crisp snares of “Working With The Man”, the demos show a continuity and level of cohesiveness with the diversity of Dry and Rid of Me not shown on the studio version of Harvey’s more accessible commercial breakout. (Predictably, the album’s most well-known song, “Down by the Water”, is the closest to its eventual version.) “Long Snake Moan” is simultaneously more spacious and more noisy, its garage blues a total contrast to the lurking “I Think I’m A Mother” and swaying shanty “Send His Love To Me”. And “The Dancer” fully embraces its flamenco influences, hand claps and all.

Porridge Radio - Every Bad (Secretly Canadian)

Is there a better opening line than “I’m bored to death, let’s argue”? That kind of duality is found across all of Every Bad as it grapples with the frustrations and anxiety of trying to figure it all out, whatever that might mean for you. “Maybe I was born confused, but I’m not,” vocalist Dana Margolin repeats throughout the opening track, roping in listeners with the dizzying feeling of trying to make sense of yourself. The band’s guitar and synth sound coupled with Margolin’s howl makes for a dance party filled with dread, rendering Margolin’s already strong, repetitive lyrics even more spiraling. And yet, by the time we get to “Lilacs”, a glimmer of something else shines through as the music gets more manic and Margolin’s voice begins to soar: “I don’t want to get bitter / I want us to get better / I want us to be kinder / To ourselves and to each other.” - LL

Sault - Untitled (Rise) & Untitled (Black Is) (Forever Living Originals)

Yes, Black Is still pulls plenty of devastating punches. “Eternal Life”, a segue from the gospel boost of “US”, juxtaposes a deliberate drum beat with zooming synths, both ascending like a chorus of angels, as they sing, “I see sadness in your eye / ‘Cause I know you don’t wanna die,” presenting the oppression of Black life at the hands of white supremacy in inarguable terms. Ultimately, though, it’s the anthemic nature of the songs, resistant of platitudes, that shines through. “Nobody cared / This generation cares,” says Laurette Josiah on “This Generation”. Whether she’s talking about young people in general or the latest generation of young Black leaders, the sentiment is reflected on songs like “Black”, wherein over dynamic, sinewy instrumentation, the singers alternate between encouragement, support, and love of the self and others.

Read our full review here.

Shamir - Shamir (self-released)

Shamir’s voice is a bright beacon in a sea of conventional singers. Shamir captures the effervescence of pop music and weaves it together with elements of country, alt rock, and diary confessional lyrics all supported by the emotion and range of his vocals. There’s something for everyone across the album’s 11 shimmering tracks. Lead single and opener “On My Own” feels like a declaration of self and self-sufficiency, an anthem of a breakup song. The almost pop-punk bounce of “Pretty When I’m Sad”, paired perfectly with lines like the angst-ridden, “Let’s fuck around inside each other’s heads,” feels impossible to not bop along to. The twang of “Other Side” would put a country crooner to shame. That’s the power of Shamir. His voice has the ability to smoothly convey joy, resilience, and humor. He uses elements of several genres, not just the dance-pop of his debut, to build a unique album that gives listeners so much to sift through and, of course, dance to. - LL

Songhoy Blues - Optimisme (Fat Possum)

If Songhoy Blues’ second album Resistance lacked “the grit of its predecessor,” it’s clear from the hard rock stomp of the opening track of Malian band’s third album Optimisme that they rediscovered their mojo. More importantly, they couple this maximal brashness with tributes to those who make their world a better place: fighters for freedom, women, the young. It’s perhaps the first Songhoy Blues record to truly combine the celebratory nature of their desert blues with a balanced mixture of idealism and vigor. - JM

Spanish Love Songs - Brave Faces Everyone (Pure Noise)

How can you find hope in hopelessness, or optimism when every news story points to cruelty? Is it naïve to keep searching for light in the dark? I don’t think so, and I don’t think Spanish Love Songs does, either. I’d like to think we both believe that’s not naivety, but power. It’s the embers you need to really ignite a flame. After all, this is the band with a song titled “Optimism (As a Radical Life Choice)”. It’s a band whose crunching guitars and earnestness insist that despite death and depression and addiction, the instinct to survive shines brightly above all. That relentless hope resurfaces across Brave Faces Everyone’s 10 tracks even as it works through the bleakness of everyday life. - LL

Tashi Dorji - Stateless (Drag City)

The magnum opus from the Asheville-based picker is a group of evocatively titled, disorderly songs about the desolate hellscape of America for outsiders and immigrants. Enigmatic in its nature, not exactly narrative, Stateless combines Dorji’s urgent strumming with moody motifs, captured beautifully in a studio setting for maximum emotional wallop. - JM

Touche Amore - Lament (Epitaph)

Is this what an almost uplifting Touche Amore album sounds like? It’s cathartic in a newer way for the band, especially after the beautifully rendered grief of Stage Four. Lament loses none of the band’s aggression or urgency. “Come Heroine” thrusts listeners into that urgency and introduces a moment of warmth, Jeremy Bolm’s vocals still rasping and insistent: “You brought me in / You took to me / And reversed the atrophy.” The bounciness of “Reminders” may seem close to optimism, but a sharper look at the lyrics uncovers more than blindly looking to the things that bring joy. “I’ll Be Your Host” is reflective, a few years removed from Touche Amore’s previous album and the immediacy of loss, self-aware and growing, but still raw. The album closer, “A Forecast”, takes a turn, a lone voice and piano acting as a confessional before giving way to thrashing guitars and the realization that growth and reckoning with trauma doesn’t mean minimizing it. It means learning to keep moving forward and to stop for help when you may need it. - LL

Waxahatchee - Saint Cloud (Merge)

The best album yet from Katie Crutchfield is inspired by positive personal change (getting sober, dealing with codependency issues, her blossoming love with singer-songwriter Kevin Morby) and reflections on family and friends. Named after the suburb of Orlando where her father’s from, Saint Cloud is a genre-hopping collection of stories and feelings that doesn’t necessarily follow any semblance of narrative. On opener “Oxbow” and country-tinged ditty “Can’t Do Much”, Crutchfield’s increasingly aware of the need to pick your side and your battles, whether in the relationship between two people or between the allure of the bottle and the next-day hangover. Some of the best songs on the album see her finding commonalities with others as a means towards self-love. Gentle strummer “The Eye” refers to her natural creative relationships with Morby and her sister Allison. “War” she wrote for herself and best friend, who is also sober, the title a metaphor for one’s fight to remain substance-free. “Witches” is an ode to her best friends, including Allison and Snail Mail’s Lindsey Jordan, all equally frustrated by the toxic nature of the music industry and the world at large, ultimately lifting each other up because they simply have each other.

Read our full review here.

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mikasaessucasaa · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Flatlanders

Summary: After being forced to retire from singing, Sansa returns to Winterfell Ranch, a place she hasn’t called home in over ten years, and finds the man that she left behind all those years ago.

Part 1 .... Part 2

1991

King’s Landing, TX

Sansa’s hair was a frizzy mess. It wasn’t usually so humid this far inland, but of course the moment she came back was the same week that the summer storms started. It only ever rained once a year when she lived in LA.

And now she was trekking around town when the sky looked like it was about to open up. She needed to fix a broken fence that’s been neglected for weeks. And she needed to talk to the bank and get their finances sorted. What the hell has Arya been doing all this time?

Fence first. Bank later. And maybe she’ll get so busy getting wood that she might not even have to see Petyr.

And of course it started pouring as soon as she pulled up to the Night's Watch General Store. Damn. It better not be a flash flood. She should have listened when Mama told her to bring a damn umbrella. Bless Sansa’s heart.

Accepting her fate, she steeled herself and made a dash from the truck to the front door. Even the thirty seconds it took her to get inside was enough to make her look like a drowned rat. Forget frizzy hair, her auburn hair was soaked and limp.

She was greeted by a familiar face, but she couldn’t place his name, not having seen him in over a decade. He was scrawny and of average height with short cropped hair.

“Sansa! Woah, never thought I’d see you again in these neck of the woods.”

Honestly, neither did she.

She looked at his name badge. Ah. Pyp. One of Jon’s lackeys who used to follow him around high school. She thought it was adorable back then. She wondered if he still talked to Jon.

“Jon’s gonna be so happy to see you.” She doubted it, but she nodded and smiled. “How can I help ya today?”

“Got a whole section of my fence broken. I think from lightning a couple of weeks ago.”

Pyp showed her a couple of different options. She wanted to buy the cedar since it would last longer through the unpredictable Texas weather, but she saw their finances, and Mama definitely understated just how much trouble the ranch was in. She didn’t know how long her own cash was going to last with her singing voice now gone.

So she went with the pine instead. She’ll deal with it later.

“I’ll give you the friends and family discount,” Pyp said when he rung her up. As she was signing the check, he pulled out another piece of paper and asked, “Do you mind also signing this? My niece loves your music. She’s always jamming to your album on her little boombox.”

Sansa hadn't thought she was that popular. She had one or two songs played on the radio nationally, and produced a couple of songs for commercials. She bet it was her local celebrity fame that made her popular down here.

She gave her signature and hauled ass out of her store with her fence posts while the rain momentarily stopped. She covered her new purchase with a tarp and settled back into her truck.

She checked the time, and damn the bank was still open.

So she made her way over to the Eyrie Bank. Her parents had only ever gone to one bank their entire life because it was owned by a family friend. Papa had been good friends with Jon Arryn for a long time before he passed, and then Aunt Lysa remarried a childhood friend, Petyr Baelish.

To Sansa, Petyr had always been the creepy uncle, but if anyone could help her sort out the mess with the ranch, he could.

There weren’t many customers when she entered the bank, so of course they let Petyr know right away that she was there to see him.

He smiled that creepy smile that he always had, as if he wanted to devour her. It was the same look music producers always gave her when she entered the room. They always undressed her with their eyes first before they bothered listening to her demos.

And she smiled back, as he leaned forward and held her in a too intimate hug. Gross. “Sansa, my dear. It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much over these last twelve years.”

“Same here, Uncle Baelish.”

“I wish you had come to visit more often.”

“Well you know what it’s like for artists trying to break in.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to give up everything to chase your dreams. You’re so brave.” Liar. Everybody knew that Sansa was forced to leave.

Sansa smiled more. “Thank you Uncle.”

Baelish led them to his private office, and the way that he patted her shoulder after he closed the door made her uncomfortable, but she held it in as she watched him take a seat.

“So how can I help you, my sweetling?”

“I need you to walk me through the Winterfell finances.”

“Certainly, I’ll make it as easy as I can for you to follow.”

Sansa started tapping her finger against the arm rest.

She resented his insinuation. She didn’t finish high school, but she learned to manage her finances, learned how much the Lannisters stole from her, knew how much she willfully turned away from because she needed the Lannisters as much as she hated them.

Still he did make it easy for her to understand, all the while outlining all of the paperwork.

Mama had been behind on bank payments for a long time, even after being given extensions consistently. Eventually, even Petyr’s generosity, so he says, couldn’t save the ranch. So Robb took out a private loan to cover the bank payments.

“Another bank?” she asked.

“No more personal than that. I believe Robb was good friends with Rhaegar’s boy.” He probably wanted to say bastard, but knew better since he was Robb’s best friend.

But she couldn't believe that Robb would be stupid enough to take out a loan from the Valyrian Dragons. Maybe he had a death wish after all.

“And that’s what’s keeping the ranch afloat now? Do you know how much we owe?”

Petyr gave a number and it wasn’t absurd, but, “This interest rate is insane. We won’t ever be able to touch the principle.”

Petyr shrugged. “I did try to warn your dear brother. I told him that it would be better for the bank to repossess the ranch. We would have certainly allowed your family to manage it still.” But he would own it all. “But alas your brother couldn’t see sense.”

She couldn’t tell if Robb was a prideful fool, or smart not to fall into bed with Petyr.

She thanked Petyr for his time and headed to the Dragon’s clubhouse. She had dreaded this part of coming home. Sansa hadn’t seen Jon in twelve years, and she didn’t know what kind of man he grew up to be. He had always been kind and sweet as a child, but kind and sweet men don’t join the Valyrian Dragons.

But she had to know if Robb had a plan all along, or if he was dumb enough to leave his family and the ranch at the mercy of the Dragons.

The clubhouse didn’t know if it wanted to be an auto shop or a bar or a boarding house, just the kind of trashy place that you would find in the south, because what else could it be?

She never thought she’d actually step in this place.

When she was still in school, the girls used to whisper about how they dreamed they would lose their virginities to one of the Dragons’ members. Egg would be ideal, with his pretty boy charm and silver hair, but Jon would do — he may have been shy back then, but the girls all took it as mysterious and dangerous. She wondered if the girls’ assumptions became true in his adulthood.

She assumed Egg must have been successful in popping a lot of cherries, but in her loneliness she sometimes liked to think that she was the only one for Jon, that she was somehow special, despite the mess she left.

There were a couple of pretty girlies loitering in the bar area of the clubhouse when she entered. They teetered around on high heels and tight skirts and tops, and suddenly Sansa wished she had the foresight to dress for battle. Instead she was wearing her stupid ripped jeans, work boots, and a white tee with a flannel shirt.

The girlies turned to look at her and their excited chatter died down. She’s guessing the red hair gave her away, or she really was more popular than she thought.

Out of the crowd of girlies, a silver haired woman emerged in black stilettos, leather pants and a black corset top. Shit, who could wear leather pants in this weather except for Daenerys Stormborn?

“So it’s true, the prodigal Stark daughter returns,” Dany said sweetly, but Sansa knew there was nothing sweet about the woman. She was all fire and ash. Dany probably thrived on the club wars.

Sansa shrugged. “Everyone’s gotta come home sometime.”

“Only when they’re incapable of surviving the world out there.”

“But at least I went out into the world.” Instead of being trapped in this hellhole.

“Only goes to show that you don’t belong here.”

“Winterfell is my home.” Even Sansa would have rolled her eyes at herself if she heard her speak.

“But the clubhouse isn’t. What do you want?”

“I need to speak to Jon.”

“No. You left him a mess all those years ago, and you think you can come waltzing in here years later and just talk to him? Wake up honey. He won’t want to talk to you.” Dany crossed her arms. “Whatever you want to say to Jon, you can tell to his girl.”

Dany had always wanted to claw her way into the Targaryens, maybe she finally did.

“It’s got nothing to do with you Dany.”

Dany waved her hand, flashing an engagement ring. “See this here? Says it’s got everything to do with me, missy.”

Sansa’s heart started pounding uncomfortably in her chest and she felt nauseous and lightheaded. Shit. Of all the damn times to have an anxiety attack.

She stumbled backwards into something solid.

“Sansa.”

The low, broken sound snapped her towards the man.

“Jon,” Sansa said, equally as broken.

Part 3

#Flatlanders #jonsa #retired singer sansa #rancher sansa #mc jon snow #motorcycle club jon snow #Title is from the Texas country band FYI #also what am I doing #someone tell me to write TGW instead

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