#please give us more content like this richard mille

[shining-glowstick]

My favorite crossover is at it again ✨

One of my oldest obsessions Johannes with my newest Charles 🙏🏻

[jade4813]

Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 10

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Though John would never consider time spent with Margaret wasted – nor would he ever regret a single second of it – it did make the subsequent days longer as he strove to find a solution to his financial problem. The debt owed to the bank was a few hundred pounds – a paltry amount compared to what was owed him for orders that his workers had rushed through. He hoped each day for a miracle, that he would receive sufficient outstanding payments to satisfy the bank loan and secure his workers’ payroll, but he waited in vain. The bank’s deadline drew ever nearer, his coffers dwindled, and no miracle loomed on the horizon.

Had he been foolish to refuse Watson’s proposed speculation? If it succeeded, the profit from the venture would clear his debt and secure payroll for months to come. If it failed, however, what little funds he had to pay his people would be lost, with no hope of recovery. He would have left his workers destitute, and he felt he owed them more than to gamble with their livelihoods.

But if it succeeded…

He’d never before understood the siren’s song of speculation, which had led his own father to his death. In the aftermath of the elder Thornton’s self-inflicted demise, John had been forced into a life of poverty and self-deprivation, leaving school to care for his mother and sister and sparing as much money as he could each week to pay his father’s creditors, long after they’d given up any hope of satisfaction.

He’d worked hard, and in the secret recesses of his heart, he’d judged his father harshly for throwing away their fortunes on what amounted to little more than a game of chance. He’d never spoken of his recrimination or his shame aloud, out of consideration for his remaining family’s feelings – though his mother had never been one to mince words when it came to her own judgment, and Fanny had been too young and lacked the sentimental disposition required to be overly protective of either her affection for or her memory of the father she’d lost.

Now, however, he understood the temptation that had lured his father to his ruin, though his own sense of honor and the duty he owed those in his charge had caused him to shy away from the risky venture, no matter how high the potential reward. His refusal had angered Fanny, who had sworn that reward was certain and promised to be considerable, but John knew better than most that speculation was merely that, and not even the wisest of men could guarantee a positive result.

And yet, if it succeeded…

If he’d gambled his mill’s future on the speculation and it turned a profit, his business would be clear of debt. His workers would be paid. He could continue to care for his mother in the manner he had for most of his adult life. He could provide Margaret with the life she deserved, if not the life she’d wanted. And nobody would ever have to know how bad things had been.

John shook his head, running his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration and despair. No, there was no use in thinking about what might have been. He’d rejected Watson’s offer. He’d refused to engage in speculation, not when the cost of one ill-judged gamble could ruin so many lives. If he’d thrown his hat into the ring and the speculation failed, he’d lose the mill. The house. His workers would be out of jobs and left to starve, if they were unable to find work elsewhere. His mother’s situation would fall to what it had once been, after many years spent in comfort and security. And his wife…

If he’d speculated with his workers’ livelihoods and lost, recklessly subjecting them possible starvation, to the poverty from which he’d once uplifted himself, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror without feeling shame. A man who could be so inattentive to his responsibility to others could never hope to deserve Margaret or the love he still wished in his heart might one day be his.

So he applied himself to work, each day seeming longer than the last. His beloved Margaret never chided him for his absence or his neglect, though she always seemed to anticipate the point at which reason was driven to the edge by exhaustion, as she would come to him on those evenings and silently draw him home with her, to sleep by her side. He could not fully confess his fears to her, but neither could he resist her, and his love for her sustained him every bit as much as her tender consideration brought him comfort.

But as the days passed, a nagging sense of doubt grew in his mind, a quiet whisper that warned that Margaret might not be as content as he would wish. Even as his financial apprehensions eclipsed other concerns vying for his attention, he noticed her increasingly troubled expression when she thought him unaware, though the worry lines smoothed from her countenance each time he turned her way. But she never spoke of her concerns, and he – weak, lovesick fool that he was – couldn’t summon the courage to ask, for fear that her preoccupation lay elsewhere. If her distress stemmed from regret, perhaps exacerbated by increasing concerns that he would fail to live up to his promise to provide her comfort and security, his heart would break anew.

Desiring to reassure her of the fidelity of his promise, John was determined to redouble the attention he paid his wife. To that end, he returned home one evening earlier than he typically had of late – the lure of Margaret’s company being far greater than that of the paperwork on his desk – to find her father in their drawing room, the other man having stopped by for a visit. Although slightly disappointed that his more amorous intentions would by necessity be delayed, John always enjoyed Richard Hale’s company and was pleased his calendar was free enough to appreciate it.

His pleasure was only heightened when he saw Margaret’s cheerfulness at the visit. “Mr Bell has invited Father to visit him in Oxford, and I’m encouraging him to go. Don’t you think it’s an excellent idea?” she explained, before turning her attention back to their guest. “It’s been so long since you’ve been to visit, and the weather’s turning warmer, so the roads will be a little easier.”

Mr Hale seemed encouraged by her enthusiasm. “I might go,” he acknowledged. Nodding, as much to himself as to her, he murmured, “Yes, yes. I think I might.”

With that decision seemingly fixed, their conversation turned to other matters for a while, until Richard stood to leave. “I think I will go to Oxford,” he declared, the idea clearly breaking him much joy. John and Margaret wished him well – the latter admonishing him to dress warmly, as there was still a chill in the air – and then he was on his way with their blessings.

Had John known it would be the last time Margaret would share his company, he would have begged the man to stay a while longer. Sadly, prescience was not among his accomplishments.

Although Margaret tried to find contentment in her present circumstances, the things left unsaid between husband and wife preyed upon her thoughts, seemingly increasing her anxiety by the hour. She loved John – more ardently than she ever would have ever supposed – and her silence on that score felt suffocating. She wanted to tell him of her feelings, but questions plagued her mind, sapping away both her contentment and her courage.

She had no illusions that John had come to trust her before taking her hand in marriage. Did he still doubt her integrity? Did he question her faithfulness? Would his opinion of her, once tarnished in his mind, forever carry a shadow of his distrust, even once the truth was known?

Even if she were to put her fears behind her, she couldn’t find the words to share her confession. It seemed impossible to do so without broaching the subject of the scene he had witnessed on the train platform, which had caused him such disgust and brought her so much pain. With so much weighing on his heart already, was it fair of her to upset whatever peace he’d managed to find thus far in their marital harmony?

What if he didn’t believe her? What if he was hurt she hadn’t spoken up before? His anger gave her no cause for alarm, but she couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting additional pain upon him. She would never wish to exact injury upon anyone, him least of all. Not her husband. Not the man she loved. And certainly not now, when his troubles were otherwise so great.

As the weeks passed immediately following her self-revelation, Margaret often found herself on the brink of confessing all to her husband. On each occasion, fear and inconvenient timing silenced her tongue. When the time was right, she promised herself that she would broach the topic of his suspicion and determine whether the trust she so needed to find true happiness in marriage had been regained. If so, she would tell him the truth. And confess to him her love.

In the meantime, she strove to provide him with such contentment, peace, and comfort as was within her power to give. She gave such assistance at the mill as she was able during the day and let her love wash over him at night, her body betraying the secrets of her heart, even if her lips could not. She felt his overwhelming weariness when they made love, pressing her mouth against the deep lines in his brow and offered him her strength when he sagged against her, his cheek pressed against her shoulder. In the aftermath of their coupling, he would fall asleep in her arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest and rhythmic beat of his heart soothing her own cares.

They had been married long enough for Margaret to grow accustomed to the idea but not long enough to overcome the full measure of her shyness – engrained in her from the time she was a child – at her husband viewing her nakedness when she awoke early one morning to see John standing before the fire, preparing his ablutions for the day ahead. He was stripped to the waist, his skin gleaming in the faint light. The fire in the grate was newly lit, its illumination weak and almost begrudging, but it was bright enough for her to see the ripple of muscles beneath his skin as he bent to splash cold water upon his face. She found herself entranced by the solid cord of muscle in his stomach and arms, the play of light and shadow against his upon his bare skin.

Though she doubted he would consider it a compliment, looking at him like this, she could only think how beautiful he was to her. How cherished. He stole her heart and took her breath away.

The sight of him drew her out of bed, the floor cold beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room, resting her hand gently upon his lower back as he straightened. He turned to face her, beads of moisture trailing down his face, and she placed her hand over his, gently tugging the towel from his grasp. He watched in silence as she tossed it aside and didn’t protest when she pressed her free hand against his chest and gave it a firm push, leading him into a nearby chair.

John didn’t say a word as he lowered himself into the seat, but his gaze missed nothing as she cast a critical eye upon the implements he’d laid out beside his washbowl. The shaving razor was open, its blade gleaming, already sharpened upon the strop in preparation for the task at hand. His soap had also already been prepared, the applicator brush resting nearby.

Margaret picking up the brush and mug of shaving soap, working up a lather as she turned back to her husband. His gaze had fallen to her hips, and she realized with a start that, standing before the fire as she was, the outline of her body would be visible through the thin fabric of her nightgown. The thought made her flush, but she feigned ignorance of the view she presented, even as she showed her body off to its best advantage, bending over him to lather his cheeks and chin.

John reached for her, bracing her hips in his palms. His hands were still damp from his morning wash, moistening the fabric of her dress. She shivered, biting back a soft moan of longing, when he pulled her forward until she straddled his chair, her thighs brushing the coarse fabric of his trousers. Unwilling to allow him to distract her from her purpose, she forced her attention to the task at hand, casting a critical eye upon his face to ensure the lather was sufficiently distributed. Then she reached for the razor, her hand trembling slightly as she lifted it to his cheek.

What had seemed like a good idea when she’d started was much more daunting now, when she held the sharpened razor in her hand and prepared to apply it to his bare skin. What if she made a mistake? What if she slipped and injured him? She hesitated, preparing to draw away, but he reached up and wrapped his hand around her own. His eyes were trusting, his gaze warm, as he drew the razor toward his cheek, adjusting the exact angle of the blade before pressing it gently against his skin. Then he dropped his hand, putting his fate entirely in her hands.

Margaret sucked in a sharp breath and narrowed her eyes, focusing the entirety of her attention upon the blade as she scraped it gently against his skin, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief when she managed her first pass without causing injury. Feeling more confident, she applied the blade again, her motions slow and cautious. As she worked, the back of her neck grew damp from the warmth of her fire, and the caress of John’s breath fanned her face as she leaned forward, intent upon her task. She could feel his gaze upon her, but it wasn’t distrust in his eyes. It was desire. Her answering need nearly overwhelmed her, and she required a moment to recollect her composure before she could continue.

With one side completed, John adjusted the angle of his head so  that she could complete the job. Her heart pounded when she felt his hands slide under the hem of her nightdress, teasing the soft, sensitive skin of her thighs, and she sucked in an unsteady breath.

As she pulled the razor away, he slipped his fingers inside her, stroking her gently. Her head fell back with a moan, but she strove to gather her wits and regain control. Bracing her free hand on his shoulder, she cast an accusatory glance at his face, only to receive an unrepentant smile in return. However, the consciousness of his own well-being  was such that he returned his hands to her hip when she wiped the lather off the blade, lifting it to continue her task.

Margaret’s heart pounded as she slid the razor along the curve of his jaw, and he tilted his head back to allow her greater access to his neck. Her efforts were perhaps not as clean as his would have been, but he didn’t seem to mind. When she finished her last pass, she grabbed a damp towel to wipe away the rest of the lather, but John gently tugged the blade from her hand, letting it fall to the floor. Then his mouth was upon her, teasing the bare flesh above the neck of her nightgown.

She opened her mouth to sigh his name, but the sound was captured by his lips as he pulled her firmly against him, pressing her against his hardness. Grabbing the bottom of her nightgown, he lifted it over her head and tossed it aside, and even in the increasing warmth of the room, she shuddered as she was bared before him. John didn’t seem to find anything amiss, however, as his attention was captivated by her smooth perfection.

Lifting his hand to cup her breast, Margaret found herself enthralled as she always was by his caress. The calluses on his palms were rough against her sensitive skin, but his touch was far from unpleasant. Her head fell back, exposing the curve of her neck, as he brushed a thumb against her aureole until her nipple beaded under his palm.

Her hands had fallen on his shoulders, and she gave in to the temptation to trail her fingertips down his chest, tracing the curve of muscle and bone. She felt first the rapid beat of his heart, then the muscles of his stomach shudder as he sucked in a sharp breath, and knew he wasn’t unaffected by her touch. In the light cast by the fire and the soft sunrise, his eyes were dark and filled with need. She wove her fingers into his hair, pressing him to her, as he bowed his head and sucked her breast into his mouth, teasing her with his tongue. She could feel the strength in his hands when he grasped her hips, guiding her motions as she rocked against him.

Only one layer of fabric separated their bodies, causing Margaret no end of frustration. Pressing her hands against his chest, she lifted off him far enough to reach for the buttons of his trousers. In her haste and her desire, her fingers were clumsy and awkward. Their hands tangled together when he attempted to assist her, causing her to laugh, the sound soft and strained.

She had only just managed to pull him free when he grabbed her thighs and pulled her into his lap once more, pausing only long enough to carefully guide himself inside of her. Margaret gasped as she sank onto him, her response inspired as much by the ominous creaking of the chair beneath them as the sudden fullness of his thrust. Anxious about the unsteadiness of their perch, she tightened her thighs around him and wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly rolling her hips against his.

John tucked his head against the curve of her neck, tickling her with the faint traces of stubble she’d overlooked in her earlier ministrations. His mouth scraped against her skin, eliciting a soft moan, while his hands explored her body, lingering in every spot which had previously brought her pleasure. He kissed the curve of her ear, her cheek, her chin, and Margaret rewarded his efforts with another slow roll of her hips.

Once again, she wrestled with the temptation to speak of her feelings, but this was hardly the time to do so. Her confession – or, rather, confessions, as she believed she had identified a multitude that must be made by now – deserved more consideration than a rashly uttered declaration in the midst of lovemaking. They also required more deliberation than to be hastily blurted over breakfast, or on the way out the door to attend to more pressing concerns and outstanding appointments.

Still, her secret feelings nearly overwhelmed her, swelling within her breast until she couldn't speak for love of him. Leaning back slightly, she wrapped one hand behind his neck to hold him in place as her gaze swept over the face that had engraved itself upon her heart. Their eyes met, and she found she couldn’t tear her gaze away, entranced as she was by the play of emotions upon his face and in his eyes…

Once again, she marveled that she ever could have thought him to be cold and cruel, that she ever could have mistaken his hardness for lack of feeling. Though his features were under his command, frequently schooled into either an impassive mask or a glower of disdain, his eyes betrayed him. Even when he had accused her of impropriety, when he’d told her his passion for her had ended, the chill of his words hadn’t wounded her half so much as that which lay behind those blue eyes, which revealed much, but also saw more than she wished.

Margaret was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of fear at what he might comprehend of her own feelings. In an act of self-preservation, she tore her gaze away, pressing her cheek against the curve of his shoulder as he lifted his hips, plunging inside her.

As she met each powerful thrust with a roll of her hips, Margaret clung to her husband, wishing for nothing more than to prolong this interlude. She felt the muscles beneath her tense and knew he was nearing completion, so she increased the rhythm of her hips, pressing her mouth against his neck to taste the saltiness of his skin as his muscles grew taut and he poured himself inside her. The momentarily respite didn’t last long, however, as he cupped one hand behind her head, holding her against him as he slid the other between her legs, stroking her deftly until wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her and she found her own release.

She collapsed against him, spent and unwilling to let him go, although she knew she couldn’t hold him in this moment forever. The harsh rasp of their breathing filled her ears, but as their hearts slowed and breathing steadied, the room grew quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the grate. When she could put off the inevitable no longer, she lifted her head off John’s shoulder, though she wasn’t yet able to meet his eyes, still uncertain of what her own would reveal.

“Margaret?” His voice was soft and uncertain, and her heart wrenched at the aching vulnerability it betrayed. She was unequal to the task of giving voice to her inner turmoil, so she stared at his lips as she stroked her fingers along the side of his face. Cupped his cheeks in her palms, pressed her mouth against his, drawing his tongue inside her parted lips. In unspoken reassurance, she deepened the embrace until she felt his lingering tension ebb away. When the kiss ended, she drew back to meet his eyes, confident that her own would no longer divulge her secrets.

Climbing off his lap, Margaret rushed to retrieve her nightgown from the floor, quickly pulling it on before turning her attention back to her husband. In the early morning light, Margaret was forced to acknowledge that she made for an imperfect barber, more than one small patch of stubble having escaped her blade, but John issued no complaint. Instead, he used a towel to wipe away what remnants of shaving soap remained, though Margaret noticed that a fair amount had transferred to her person.

Once he had dried his face with a towel, he began to toss it beside the bowl when Margaret grabbed his hand, staying his motion. There, on the bright white fabric, was a small red stain, a sign she had not been as careful with the razor as she had wished. Stretching onto her toes, she examined his skin and noticed the tiniest nick just below his right ear.

“I’m sorry,” she said, speaking as much for her continued silence as the injury she had inflicted upon him.

Touching a finger to the wound, he shook his head. “It’s not deep. It’ll heal soon enough.” He cast a glance at the window, and Margaret knew his mind was turning toward the mill, to the work left undone and the hours that lay ahead of him. Longing to steal just a few more precious moments with him, she helped him to dress, asserting the privilege of such intimacy that only a wife could claim.

The hour was growing late, and Margaret knew her husband was eager to begin his day, but still he hesitated, brushing a lock of hair off her cheek once she had finished straightening his cravat. “Margaret—” he began, a line of worry creasing the skin between his brows, “Forgive me for pressing, but you seem troubled. If something is bothering you, you can confide in me.”

Her heart twisted at the understanding that he had seen more than she’d wished, recognizing the fact of her preoccupation, although he did not yet understand the cause. Pulling him to her, she pressed a kiss against that telltale evidence of his concern. “It’s nothing,” she attempted, though she didn’t need to see his face to anticipate his answering skepticism. Taking his hands in hers, she remarked, “It’s getting late, and work is more important. I don’t want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

John wasn’t willing to be so easily deterred, tightening his hold on her hands. “My work may be necessary, but there is nothing in the world more important to me than you.”

His words gave her hope, and she smiled at him with all the sweetness she felt in her heart. “Very well, but it’s not – I’m not troubled, precisely, but – do you think we could steal some time alone together this evening? There are some matters we should discuss.”

With obvious reluctance at the delay, he agreed, capturing her lips in one more kiss before heading out the door. Little did either of them know that a visit from Mr Bell later that same day would bring news that would drive all other concerns from her mind. For a while, at least.

[magistralucis]

Rammstein @ Stadium MK, 06 July 2019 [Review]

Just over a week ago, I saw one of the greatest shows in my life.

I dedicate lengthy reviews to most concerts I’ve been to. R+ most definitely merit one, and I like to think this one turned out very nice and long, with plenty of images in between. Nevertheless, I omitted a lot more details this time than I usually do, because:

My pre-show adventures were abnormally long (12+ hours wait).

I made irl queue buddies whose identities aren’t up to me to release.

I’ve talked to people who plan to attend future tour dates and do not want to be spoiled on what R+ has planned. I usually put my reviews below a cut to prevent spoilers, but it doesn’t work on mobile as well.

So, a compromise: I commented on every song on the setlist, but I kept to general comments for new content. There are things R+ brought out this year that you really need to see with your own eyes. But I can’t completely refuse to talk about new things, otherwise that’s only half a review. Those who are wary of all spoilers, please, read at your own risk.

Read on for more. Mobile users, be warned this is a very long post.

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The Journey (+ Queue Adventures)

This show wasn’t in London. You won’t read about London commutes or opinions about the London Underground in this section for once. Too bad the journey to Milton Keynes fucking sucked. It wasn’t commuting back and forth between Rammstein and my hotel that was the problem. In fact, going back home from Milton Keynes was very simple. But getting there? My God. Only a few things went pear-shaped, and I have nobody but myself to blame for the things that went wrong, but I was not prepared for the discrepancy between MK and the areas surrounding it. Future me, book your hotels and transport in Central Milton Keynes next time.

I will never put myself in the mercy of so many taxis in my life again. Well, I mean, two. Still two too many.

A quick note about Milton Keynes for non-UK residents. It’s probably the most organized city in this country. Milton Keynes is modern and grid-planned, unlike most other cities here which have grown organically and have alleys and hills and cobblestones all over the place. All the roads in MK are in straight lines or clear roundabouts, buildings/facilities are in logical places, and it’s widely considered to be a very easy place to navigate. It’d have been nice to experience literally any of that during most of my journey, because dumbass booked a hotel in the villages around Milton Keynes rather than the city itself. The villages are serene and calming, but they absofuckinglutely do not adhere to any such thing as a grid plan and getting around them was difficult. This was not helped by the fact that the very first leg of the journey, Brighton to London, was delayed for an hour due to an accident on the motorway. I missed the connection to Milton Keynes as a result.

Fuckign.

That was one inconvenience which was not in any way my fault whatsoever, and I’m still bitter that it nearly ruined my entire journey. At least trains between London to Milton Keynes are very common, and it’s only half an hour. So ultimately, after an extra fifteen quid, I arrived right on time. Commuting to the hotel was much harder, because it was a very hot day, and the trains to these villages come by more infrequently. But at least they were there, I hadn’t packed a very heavy load, and when I finally reached the hotel I was given a cottage room all to myself which was cool and comfortably out of the way. There was a huge bathtub. Some nice free toiletries. Complimentary brandy. Oh, hotel, why couldn’t you have been a little closer to the city centre?

But, whatever. I got there. I took the Ls I deserved, and I didn’t pay too high a price for the one I didn’t deserve. I’d brought more than enough money to cover it, because I’d known I would need to shell out extra for transport on the day of the concert. That thought process is universal among concertgoers; I think I handled that as well I could have. I ate dinner, packed a bag, and fell asleep.

That was Friday. Saturday the 6th I will cover in bullet points, from waking up to front row, because most of my Saturday consisted of nothing but waiting for Rammstein. I’m usually more detailed about my preshow life, but there’s a line between an entertaining diary entry and making people slog through fifteen hours of Rammstein-not-happening. Let’s go.

4am. Up nice and early. I force down breakfast. I have a small bag packed with necessities, and a plastic bag intended to be disposed of at the concert: the latter contains energy bars, satsumas (for hydration), some dried salami, and two bottles of water. That is all I’m going to be eating for the rest of the day.

5:45am. Taxi to Stadium MK. It costs exactly a tenner. I decide that when I’m heading back from the concert, I’m willing to pay up to double this amount. A higher price surge will mean I’ll have to wait.

6am. Queuing adventures begin. There are already four people ahead of me; the people at the very front have been waiting since 3am. I’m at Gate 5, closest to front row out of all the other available gates in the stadium. There are three queue lines already formed with metal barriers, separated by standing, seats, and accessible/disabled, but there is a taller barricade in front of it which prevents us from going in there. We are too early even for that.

Stadium doors open at five, R+ comes on at eight. This is going to be a ridiculous haul.

7am. Up to ten people in the queue. The first six of us in the queue begin talking. These people are the aforementioned queue buddies who will subsequently keep my place in line during bathroom breaks, give me much concert wisdom, and preserve our places for front row. The human capacity to spontaneously begin caring for one another at concerts is what I like best about concert culture, especially metalhead culture. Ain’t no other home I’ve found like with fellow metalheads.

9:30am. I am really tired. The people right behind me have homebrewed a sunshade out of plastic picnic mats across the barriers. Half of us are collapsed on the asphalt, sleeping.

10:13am. Bathroom break. Me and one other girl leave the queue to the 24h McDonalds to make use of theirs. I will revisit this McDonalds roughly 14 hours from now, this time to contribute actual business.

12pm. People in queue are significantly more alert because security guys have started milling around. The barricades for the main queue lines will be removed around 3pm.

1:30pm. One last bathroom break. We visit the nearby Asda, because it’s becoming evident the area is flooded with R+ fans and the restaurants are demanding they engage with actual business before using their bathrooms. Asda has no such issue.

3pm. Barricades finally open and I make it to the front of the line once more. We’re allowed a single 500ml bottle of water with us but then they FUCKING HIT US AGAIN WITH THE NO BOTTLE CAP BULLSHIT. Seriously it’s more of a hazard to have open bottles spilling water everywhere for the love of God just let us keep our bottle caps. I discard my original cap, but what I didn’t tell security was that I had a sports cap from a separate bottle from earlier hidden in the depths of my jacket. Once I’m in, I just screw that on, and I am fine and dandy.

5PM FUCKING DOORS ARE OPEN GO GO GO-

-STAIRS? S T A   IR S??? AIN’T NOBODY FUCKING TELL ME ABOUT STAIRS ? 1!?@?3@?@/2?3?#

After a wild scramble I score front row nonetheless. Last time I was front row for Rammstein, I was in front of Richard; this time I choose Paul’s side.

Around 6pm it begins to rain. In the stadium.

6:30pm. I am really cold. I am shivering despite the thousands of people rubbing shoulders beside and all around me, and it’s still 1hrs 30mins until R+ show up. They cannot come on fast enough. I have never wanted so much to be toasted like a marshmallow.

7pm. The opener comes on - Jatekok, a classical pianist duo who covered most of Sehnsucht over a half-hour period. They are all the way over at the B-stage however, and while I can hear them, being a short woman at front row essentially means I forfeit anything that happens on the B-stage. It’s too far back, and there are too many people between me and the stage for me to see anything.

Rammstein came on at 8pm to a multi-language announcement asking the audience not to film the performance. The abundance of full-length videos on youtube depicting exactly that is proof that this request was not kept, but I digress. I’m assuming most people reading this review are Rammstein fans, or or know how each song’s ‘performance’ goes, so a minute-by-minute play will be unnecessary. My comments are general, but hopefully insightful.

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01. Was ich liebe (Rammstein)

Check this shit out!

This screen will continue to be relevant throughout the concert. Half the time it’s displaying the logo, and half the time... well, you’ll have to see 😂 R+ have opted for a relatively calm start in this tour. The bandmates appear one by one to the intro, lingering at the front of the stage (save for Schneider) until Till appears.

All the bandmates’ outfits. So far a theme is uncertain. Or maybe it’s just that Flake is the odd one out. He sparkles most golden throughout the entire concert. He still has the treadmill arrangement going. If anything he’s gotten more stage-confident and hilarious since the last time I saw him.

Till’s outfit goes hot and serious and heavy. He will only keep the coat on for ‘Was ich liebe’, which is perfectly reasonable; it’s stopped raining by this time and the venue is warm-ish, though clouded. As for ‘Was ich liebe’ as a song, I’m fond of it. I am, however, surprised to see that it’s the opener. This is not a complaint: in retrospect, R+ paced out the songs from their recent album very cleverly throughout the concert, alternating between their older hits and building up to the major climaxes in the middle (songs 7-14). It was just a bit of a surprise at the time.

I see the most of this cheerful lil��� bastard through the show. Paul will feature heavily in my images of this night.

02. Links 2-3-4 (Mutter)

Storytime. Kinda. I had never watched the music video of ‘Links 2-3-4′ until the day of this concert. I’ve always known one existed, I just didn’t watch it because it’s full of ants and insects are my number one phobia. I haven’t willingly sought out things with insects in it for years, and I wasn’t going to start any time soon. This self-imposed ban on watching the video was broken in Stadium MK because while we were waiting, they were marathoning every single R+ music video on a large screen off to the side of the stage. I watched the whole thing then because I might as well; what the hell else was I gonna do, leave the front row?

It was actually a pretty good video once I got past the CGI bugs ick factor of it. This has nothing to do with the actual live version of the song. Why the hell have I written so much about this? Till removes his heavy coat almost as soon as the song begins. Paul starts properly fucking around with his mic. I’m seeing the virtues of being on Paul’s side very early on, and I finally get what people mean by having ‘met Paul’s eyes’ during the concert. It’s not that he’s focused on the one person, at least not as far as he outwardly presents himself, but he does seem to have a specific zone in which he regards the audience. He takes time to meet eyes with various people, smile, and acknowledge particular situations.

03. Tattoo (Rammstein)

Till is now dressed suitably for the Tillhammer to come out in full force. I’m not huge on ‘Tattoo’ as a song, but this is where Till really starts to gravitate towards either side of the stage, rather than at dead center. After shenanigans with Paul, as seen above, he comes over to Paul’s side (where I am) and stays for the first verse and the first ‘zeig mir deins, ich zeig' mir deins’ chorus.

I like to think we make eye contact, but there are thousands of people behind me and he’s not an eye contact person. Just a fleeting thought.

Also I just went to look at one of the aforementioned full-length videos of this concert and someone was bouncing around an inflatable shark (?) behind me. How did they get that in? Hide it deflated in one’s clothes then inflate it while in the stadium?

04. Sehnsucht (Sehnsucht)

The last strands of ‘Tattoo’ fade immediately into ‘Sehnsucht’ with no time for a break. Till removes another layer of outerwear. Fireworks burst out at every beat leading up to the main part of the song. In retrospect, discounting their fiery entrance, ‘Sehnsucht’ is really the point where you can tell they’re warming up the pyrotechnics. I don’t remember any particular interaction between Till or the guitarists, as from what I can remember Till was busy Tillhammering at the center stage; he will move around more freely later. My memories of this song are loving but blurred, because I got into headbanging with the girls beside me and their hair was grazing my arms something awful. I have similar length hair, however, so I’m sure I was doing the same to them.

God ‘Sehnsucht’ is so good. I always think of the Live Aus Berlin performance where Till was bashing the mic against his forehead when I hear this song. Hits me right in the spot every time.

Also: bonus Richard.

05. Zeig dich (Rammstein)

*sick guitar riffs* ‘Zeig! Dich!’

Fuck yeah. The heat from those firebursts are brief but incredible. Now I feel most comfortable and toasted. Black smoke drifts into the sky.

Also significant ymmv based on location, but this is only about the people around and behind me: come on guys, seriously? You don’t know the lyrics! This is the third song from Rammstein already and you’ve been quiet all three times! I however give them credit for being so well behaved through the show. People further to the right of me were getting dragged out all over the place.

06. Mein Herz brennt (Mutter)

Till trolls us with the first instance of ‘mein Herz brennt’, as the main riff doesn’t immediately begin after these words in this performance. He has a laugh about this. Other than that, the performance is as you’d expect, complete with heart pyrotechnics towards the end.

Olli comes very close to me at the halfway point. I'm starting to worry he’s going to spend the entire concert dressed like this, though the concern is unwarranted. It seems such a hot thing to be wearing.

07. Puppe (Rammstein)

ich rEISS' DER PUPPE den KOPF! AB!

ja, ich REISS' DER PUPPE den KOPF! AB!

UND DANN BEISS’ ICH DER PUPPE DEN H̷AL҉S̕ ĄA̡AA͟B̵!

E̷҉S̀͡͞ ҉̶ĢE͞͝H̷͡T͘ ̢́M͜҉I̵͜R ́͠͝N̷̴Í̷C͟͡͞H̸̀T̛̀ G̡̕U̡҉̀U̵̕U͡͠U҉UU̢U͡T̷̨̛

Make sure you see this performance live, preferably up close. It’s beyond words.

08. Heirate mich (Herzeleid)

When I was in the queue I struck up a conversation with one of my queue buddies about what songs might be on the setlist. She had been front row for the concert in Berlin prior to this, so she already knew what we were getting into. I requested no spoilers in advance, which she kept to - but then our conversation moved to the Herzeleid-Sehnsucht era and I mentioned how I’d love to see a live performance of ‘Heirate mich’ again. It was always a wistful sadness of mine that I was born too damned early to see Till doing this.

Not that I said outright Tillchard was the reason I liked this song.

In retrospect, she had a twinkle in her eye when I said this, because she knew that this song was on the setlist. I did not see it coming. I kept myself spoiler-free from day one of buying tickets to the actual concert itself, so it was a genuine surprise when the intro to ‘Heirate mich’ started playing. Surprise and confusion with a heaping side of mother fucking excuse me when I recognized what it was.

Oh I went hog wild, guys.

Till does not do the dragging himself onto his knees thing in the current tour, which I think is understandable. His knees weren’t amazing twenty years ago and they are presumably even less so now. It’s a very straightforward performance, winding down to prepare for the real showstoppers - but my old wish was finally granted, Till sounded wonderful in both song and narrative, and I came away most satisfied. 11/10 would listen again.

09. Diamant (Rammstein)

Half the band takes a break here. Flake comes down from the keyboards to sit on the stage and Olli sits beside him, providing the bass for this short beautiful little ballad. There are no fancy pyrotechnics here, nor much stage movement; it’s a sequence to make the audience aware of the overheard screen, imo, in case ‘Puppe’ didn’t do a good enough job of it. The entire performance is broadcast on that screen with the camera turning between Olli, Till, and Flake.

Till’s voice is beautiful. It’s the most legitimately serene Rammstein performance I’ve ever seen live. They have their share of ballads - ‘Ohne dich’ will also feature later in the concert - but ‘Diamant’ is probably the most low-key of them all.

10. Deutschland (Richard Z. Kruspe Remix) / Deutschland (Rammstein)

I...

???

?????

?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!

I have no words. Like ‘Puppe’, you really need to see this entire sequence live. I can say three things, however, and two are about Richard: 1) ‘Deutschland’ comes in two flavours in the tour, the second one being the glorious full version in the main album, 2) Richard avoids sounding devilish in his backing vocals (‘du hast, du hast, du hast, du hast... so heiß, so heiß, so heiß, so heiß’ etc), though I cannot guarantee he will always be as tuneful in future performances, and 3) he will not go of that coat until ‘Du hast’. DJ Kruspe is in the house and only the unrelenting flow of time can part him from his swaggity swag fluffcoat.

But I... well, I keep remembering Till’s pink shrug every time I look at it. Remember back when we fawned over that as the brand new Rammstein outfit?

Oh my God I’ve gotten so old.

11. Radio (Rammstein)

This is probably my second favourite song of the new album and they deliver. Because ‘Deutschland’ was, well, ‘Deutschland’, it comes across as relatively low-key compared to what came before (and will after), but I like it like that. During the bridge ‘Ra-di-o... radio’ part, Paul and Richard come out with their own small synths to recreate that sound. It’s so peppy.

Paul does another small dance. Why did I neglect being on Paul’s side until now? This is great.

12. Mein Teil (Reise, Reise)

I’m half ashamed to say I spent this entire performance filming it instead of rocking out. I wanted to save it that much. It was that good.

No, it’s not fundamentally different to other performances of ‘Mein Teil’. Till keeps his usual outfit, Flake’s in the pot, there is a pot, etc. However, the pyrotechnics have changed significantly, and let’s just say that Flake endures a hell of a lot more than previous incarnations.

And comes out of it more sprightly than before, somehow.

Marry me.

Also a bonus consequence of being front row: after this song, Till comes down the stage and walks along the barrier shaking/slapping hands with people. In his murderchef outfit. I was one of many who managed to touch his hand. It really is a very quick walk, so you’ll have to be ready with hand already out and in reaching distance (difficult if you’re short) if you want to partake in this encounter, but it does happen. Future concertgoers watch out for something like this maybe.

13. Du hast (Sehnsucht)

Can you really call it a live performance of ‘Du hast’ if the audience isn’t singing at least 50% of it in Till’s stead? But then, when else do we have that opportunity. Milton Keynes audience does not disappoint.

Also Till shoots some excellent fireworks that travels across the length of the stadium and back before crashing back onstage. I still hear their whistles in my mind. Night is beginning to fall for real, and it’s a fantastic time to be ramping up the fireworks. Evidently R+ think the same, because...

14. Sonne (Mutter)

Daaaaaaaaammnn!!!

I have a video of this performance, but honestly it is not that useful for assessing what’s happening onstage. There is just too much fire. The video whites out continuously from all the flames mere feet away from us. ‘Sonne’ has always been a facemelting showstopper for Rammstein during live shows, but they’ve really gone above and beyond this year: the arena truly lights up like the sun for the full duration of the song. I highly recommend getting front row for this, right in front of where you can see the pyrotechnics are installed in the above gif. (Between main speakers, essentially.) Your face will burn off even more than it usually burns off during a R+ concert, and you will enjoy every minute of it.

15. Ohne dich (Reise, Reise)

Till’s in very good condition tonight. How he pulls off the slow ballads is how I tend to gauge his voice is from night to night, and he doesn’t let us down here either. The entire front row slow waves to this song, which is something I’m proud of being a part of. The girl to the left of me is weeping. The seriousness of this song still does not prevent Flake fucking around. It wouldn’t do R+ performances justice if he wasn’t like this.

‘Ohne dich’ is considered the first ‘ending’ of the concert, meaning in reality the band’s first departure from the main stage. All six members take an initial bow before moving to the B-stage. They will return to the main stage shortly afterwards for further encores.

16. Engel (Sehnsucht)

Pros: The opening act return in their gorgeous outfits and pianos, and act as the piano instrumental for this performance.

Cons: It’s on the B-stage. I sure heard this song but didn’t see anything. God damnit I hate being five feet four.

They provide a karaoke for people exactly in my situation, though. That’s at least something 😂

17. Ausländer (Rammstein)

You thought one R+ boat ride was awesome? HOW ABOUT THREE.

I am going to cry. Look at it. It’s literally a Welcome sign. The sentiment of the music video to ‘Ausländer’ is perfectly retained as they surf across the audience from the B-stage.

Also bonus ~✨👀 unintentional Tillchard moment 👀✨~ as Richard has a little slip on his way out of the boat. He was not hurt and was back onstage quickly. All this before the song even begins. I may need to upload the video of this moment.

‘Ausländer’ itself I have slightly more mixed feelings for. The song is fantastic and I have no complaints about the album version, and hearing Till cry out ‘я люблю тебя’ is always a plus. The problem with the live version is simply that the drums are too loud during the chorus: instead of a clearly enunciated ‘Ich bin Aus-län-der!’ with a drumbeat on each syllable, one hears ‘*THUD* *THUD* Aus-län-*THUD*!’. I was wearing earplugs which might have affected the quality somewhat, but people who weren’t wearing any were talking about this after the show as well, and after watching videos of the Milton Keynes performance I’m sure the drums were too loud. Your mileage may vary on whether this is a desirable effect - it lets the audience fills in the ‘ich bin’ part, I suppose - but I feel Till was unnecessarily drowned out.

18. Du riechst so gut (Herzeleid)

For me, the highlight of this song in the live version is always, always, always Richard’s evil scream-growl ‘DU RIECHST SO GUUUUUUUUUUUT’ (example here for reference). He delivers yet again.

19. Pussy (Liebe Ist Für Alle Da)

On the whole, this performance is largely unaltered from how it usually goes. Till gestures for the audience to sing the first couple of lines, there is a dick cannon that shoots something at the audience, and Till mans the dick cannon. Last time I saw them from front row, we were all covered in a very thick white foam; this time it was bubbles, followed by a shower of white confetti. The combination was less clinging than the foam, somehow, much more pleasant to be showered with.

Only Rammstein could make me write such a sentence about dick cannons.

Speaking of the dick cannon, though, I engaged in some discussion about it while I was waiting for the performance. This cannon has had a troubled existence, as R+ fans would know: sometimes it straight up hasn’t worked, and it’s been redesigned several times, ranging from a disturbingly realistic look to a flesh-coloured polygonal creation. This current version is the least realistic of all the dick cannons R+ have ever used. It’s just like, metal. Visibly. They haven’t gone to the extra trouble of painting it flesh-coloured. My guess is that this is because it fits with their current chrome/dark aesthetics better, R+ aren’t a band to neglect that kind of detail. As long as it works and the audience is aptly showered, what’s the problem? Let’s do it quick! 😀 And now this is entirely too many words about dick cannons, so I’ll move on.

20. Rammstein (Herzeleid)

‘Ramm-stein!’

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. It is past ten o’clock and the skies have gotten dark, though not so dark you can’t see the black smoke spiraling into the air with each burst of fire. A plane flies by far above into the distance and I appreciate the poetic irony. I think I would have been happy enough if they’d ended the performance on this note, but there’s one last song left.

21. Ich will (Mutter)

I can’t think of a better finale.

This song is exactly what you’d expect, with an additional sprinkle of fireworks punctuating every pause in the lines ‘Seht ihr mich? / Versteht ihr mich? / Fühlt ihr mich? / Hört ihr mich?’. Like always, audience participation is mandatory, as is the audience showing off their hands. It is the perfect way to end the show: it’s a classic favourite, it’s neither too bright nor too grim (avoids ending on a downer note), and it’s a song exclusively written to highlight a togetherness between band and audience. ‘Ich will’ could end every R+ concert it features in, in my opinion, regardless of theme or era... and it will always be appropriate.

The concert really ends after that. It helps that Till addresses his farewell to us as ‘fucking Milton Keynes’ (in a wholly fond way) before they depart. I won’t speak about the details of how they leave, because that’s almost a small show of its own, but trust me when I say I was in tears.

I say that like that didn’t happen at least three times during the concert.

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

After it’s all over, I... don’t get to go back to my hotel and sleep. Not after a lot of waiting, anyway. Over 30,000 people are trying to leave this stadium all at once, the traffic congestion is awful and there are pretty much no taxis/uber rides available in the couple of hours following the concert. I eventually end up sitting in the McDonalds (only 24hr restaurant nearby) with queue buddies until roughly 1am until the surge goes down and I can pay the amount I promised myself for my uber.

I could have gone back earlier. I budgeted over a hundred pounds to see myself through the price surge, in case it didn’t go down as quickly as I hoped, or if I urgently needed to get myself out of danger. It was just that the predictor was showing something like fifty to eighty quid for a ten-minute ride back to my hotel and, like. Fuck that. There’s being able to ‘afford’ it, and then being able to afford it, and I can think of better ways to spend fifty pounds.

And to be honest, after over a half day of hunger, even McDonalds was one of those better places. I had a meal and a Sprite before I could get out of there. It was probably the first time I’d had something resembling a legit meal in two days and if I hadn’t been so ecstatic I think I’d have been depressed. Then I got back to my hotel. Made myself a hot chocolate with brandy. Passed out on my bed around 3am, then got back up around 7am to enjoy a nice morning bath and get myself back home. It was around 5pm on Sunday when I returned to Brighton, ears still ringing, feeling on cloud nine.

So that’s me. Future concertgoers, take as many opportunities as possible to go see Rammstein’s current tour live. Front row may be near impossible if you aren’t a LIFAD member and/or get pre-releases for the Feuer Zone (although Milton Keynes didn’t have that) but try to get as close as possible, anyway. It is not an experience to be missed.

Though also bring an umbrella, maybe. If your stadium allows it. It was a fucking trip surviving 12+ hours in the great outdoors and then immediately being rained on while on front row 😰

[ernestlysinclaire]

Ernest Sinclaire / Do You Remember?

Request: Ernest and MC moving into Ledford Park together and imagining their future. 

MC’s name is Sadia Mills

“Do you remember when we first met?” It was an intriguing question his love had posed, thought Ernest, posed on the day she was moving into Ledford Park as his wife. He did remember their first encounter very well indeed, because he recalled thinking that he had never quite had met a woman like Lady Sadia Mills. Forward, yet thoughtful, he remembered their conversation had left him at a loss – and he hadn’t known if that was a good or bad thing. It turned out - her hand enveloped in his own, as he led her inside the manor, servants and helpers rushing about to place boxes of items and clothes away into their rightful place - it was a very, very good thing. 

“I do,” he answered, unsure where this was leading, “do you?” 

“Of course,” she scoffed, giving him a sly grin, “I did nearly die. Do you think I would forget, Mr. Sinclaire? Or were you hoping I would?” 

Ah, he thought, she was referring to their initial meeting, the one in which he nearly ran over while riding along a path, “I don’t think you could, Lady Sadia,” he replied with a grin of his own, “you bring it up far too often for you to forget.” 

Mouth wide open in mock disbelief, she finally sighed, “I was asking because I dreamt of you, of us, last night.” 

He tilted his head, he led her into his private drawing room, leaving the door only slightly ajar, “And what about us did you dream?” 

“I dreamt,” she said, “that you had stopped after nearly injuring me,” he suppressed a smile, he would have to spend the rest of his life atoning for that one, and he was perfectly fine with that, if it meant he could spend his life beside you, “and you had spent the afternoon with me and Briar in Grovershire.” 

He smiled, drawing thoughtless patterns in the palm of her hand, “I envy my dream self. If I could have even a minute more with you, I would give anything.”  

She turned to him, “As would I,” she leaned close, her breath again his lips, “but do not envy a dream,” she pressed her lips to his gently, and he could feel her smile, “kisses dream of lips like yours, and no figment could match yours, Ernest.” 

“Sadia,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek, as he met her lips again, and again, until his lips traveled downwards, “and nothing, no dream, no reality, comes close to the one that exists only when I am with you.” 

Her fingers traced over his jawline, pressing a kiss where her finger had just been, “I cannot believe we are finally together. After everything – my entrance into society, my father’s passing, Duke Richards-” he frowned upon hearing that cad’s name, heart flinching remembering their time part, time they could have spent celebrating, but she slowly smiled, “and I just want so desperately to hold onto this feeling. I just fear it’s going to be ripped away.” 

“Sadia, I will never let anyone take you away from me,” his fingers traced her cheek, pulling her close so that their foreheads touched, “never again, as long you promise the same to me.” 

“I promise, my dear husband,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, before his lips began to travel again, “I cannot believe I can finally call you husband,” she admitted, before gasping as he nipped at her jumping pulse, delighting in the ways he could now please his wife. His hands trailed downwards as well, memorizing every curve and divot of her body, as she sighed, “Mr. Sinclaire.”  

“Call me Ernest, my dear, beautiful wife,” he whispered to her, continuing to fill her ears with sweet nothings, as his hands preoccupied themselves with sinful deeds. 

There was a knock, they jumped apart, only a moment to straighten their appearance, as Mr. Marlcaster as well as Mrs. Marlcaster entered. 

“There you two are,” Briar gave you a knowing grin, as Mr. Marlcaster coughed, elbowing his wife, “we wanted to be the first to tell you that all of your things have been properly stored and put away, my lady.” 

“Briar, you don’t have to be so formal,” you chided, rising from beside Ernest, taking her hands, “you are now my sister in relation as well in friendship, are you not?” 

Briar blushed, looking to Mr. Marlcaster for guidance, “She is right, my dear.” “Well, give me some leave,” she mumbled, red coloring her cheeks, “it will take me some time to adjust accordingly.” 

After some conversation, the two left, leaving the newlywed couple finally alone in their home for the first time in too long, Ernest thought, as he shut the bedroom door behind them. 

“Ernest?” 

“Yes, my wife?” he answered, spotting her grin at his reply in the mirror of her vanity, where she now sat,  “what may I do for you, my darling?” 

She seemed to consider it, “This is my first night in Ledford Park, as the lady of the house,” she began. 

“Yes,” he said, strolling over, as his arms wrapped around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “what would you like to do?” 

“I’m sure in a house such as this, there are secret passages or rooms,” her grin grew wider, “I was wondering if you would be so inclined to lead me on an adventure of sorts,” She turned to face him, interlocking their fingers, “will you?” 

“You do know I cannot say no you,” he took her hand, and led her, giggling, from the room. The doors shut softly behind them, as he turned and pressed a finger to his lips, “we mustn’t be loud. The staff will come rushing about if we make even a sound.” 

“I don’t think it’s me that you must worry about, husband,” she said, eyes twinkling with mischief, “now please, lead on.” 

And so he did, leading her forward, enjoying the weight of her hand in his. It was simple really. A simple freedom to hold his wife’s hand wherever he pleased. It was something so simple, yet so precious to him to be able to lay his head on hers, press a chaste kiss to her forehead, and be able to call her his home. He had to admit, since his family passed, Ledford had never been much of a home, more like a duty – one he couldn’t shirk or neglect. But now, he spared a glance at Sadia, he realized home wasn’t a place, but a person. 

Her voice roused him from his reverie, “Where exactly are you taking me, Mr. Sinclaire?” 

“Be patient, my love,” he said, turning to smile at her, spotting her pursed lips and wrinkled nose in mock annoyance, “we’re almost to our first destination.” He pulled her into a room, a small library – books lining the walls, some modest, others rare. She looked around in awe, covering her mouth, before running her fingers over the spines, “I always had wanted a room like this.” 

“I know,” he said, his arms coming to wrap around her waist, “I had some our staff set it up. Mr. and Mrs. Marlcaster saw over the whole thing.” 

“Ernest, I can’t believe-“ she turned and pressed a fervent kiss to his lips, “I love it, I do, but…you should know that all I desire is you, my love. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Ernest lifted her hands to his lips, “And I you, my wife,” before stepping away, “but that is not all.” He pulled on one of the books, Pride and Prejudice, as he thought it fitting. One of the bookshelves gave way, a small crack appearing between the two shelves, and revealing a private room, hidden away from the world, “for when we truly want to be the only two in the world.” 

She stepped slowly toward the room, before taking his hand, and sitting beside him, spotting a larger book on a small shelf inside the room, “And what is this?” His ears burned, and he was sure she spotted the red across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, “That is a family album, for both of our families. I had our family crest embedded in the cover, and collected old pictures, letters, and mementos.” 

She flipped through, chuckling, her eyes glassy, before discovering the back, “There are blank pages.” 

He cleared his throat, placing his hand over her’s, “For our family. Whenever we choose to start it.” 

“Ernest,” 

“The last thing I would want to do is pressure you,” he began, shifting to face her. 

“Ernest-“ 

“And all I want is to be with you, my love. These last few weeks have been trying, with the Duke, the engagement, and the conspiracy. I thought I would lose you, forever-“ 

She finally pressed a kiss to his lips, mouth insistent on stealing his words from him, and he knew she would be successful, as she always was. She could steal everything from him, as long as she did not steal away from him. Her hand still remained, as she parted from him, their breaths in soft pants, “I do want a family with you, Ernest. Of course I do.” 

“Sadia, are you sure?” she pressed a kiss to his forehead, before placing his hands carefully on her stomach. 

“Ernest, do you want a boy or a girl?” she whispered, as if her words were precious, to be carefully heard by him, and only him. 

“I do not care, as long as they are healthy,” he said, meeting her gaze, “but if we do have a child, I would love it if he or she looked like you.” 

“And I would want the child to look like you,” she hummed, moving closer to lay her head on his chest, “I suppose we are at an impasse.” 

“I suppose,” he said in her tone, with a small smile, “all we can do is try, and I know one thing is certain,” he rested his chin on her head, never remembering a moment that he was more content, “I will always remember this moment.”

Tags: @the-writerly-night-owl

[swanqueeneverafter]

What Dreams May Come, Pt.13

Storybrooke. Charmings' House. (Hook and David are trying to use magic.) Hook: "Well, according to the spell, this should show us where the coin was the day your father died." David: (Reading from the potion book:) "Okay, it says, 'turn counterclockwise.' Do you think they mean the beaker, or do we have to turn?" Hook: "It's better to be safe." David: "Yeah. Right. (Both David and Hook turn in a counterclockwise circle:) All right." Hook: "Well, that seems right. (David pours the beaker's contents into another glass while Hook adds more ingredients:) Careful. If you turn us into raccoons, driving that truck will be a challenge." (Chuckles.) David: (Concentrating on the potion:) "Fumes. I think we got it." (Both sniff the potion and gag.) Hook: "That's, um... (Unfurls a map on the table:) Right, the whole of the Enchanted Forest at your fingertips." David: (Dips the coin into the potion:) "Okay. Let's find out where my father was before he died." (David places the coin on the map and it begins moving on its own.) Hook: "It's working." David: (When the coin lands on its target:) "An island." Hook: "I know this isle from many nautical charts. It had dealings with Neverland. I've never been myself." David: "What is this place? Why would he be there?" Hook: "A terrible, dark place it is. It's called Pleasure Island." Pleasure Island. Past. (The music of the circus plays. It’s a carnival atmosphere with fire breathers, rides, gambling, games and other activities taking place. Robert, his bag still over his shoulder, walks through the throng of people. Walking past a bar, he is offered a drink by a painted man.) Robert: "No, thank you. I'm looking for my son. (Sitting down on a bench, Robert is taken by surprise by a little wooden boy grabbing his arm:) Oooh! Sweet holy-" Pinocchio: (Looking at the coin around Robert's wrist:) "Is this worth something?" Robert: "Aye, the world, but only to me. It's a gift from my boy, David." Pinocchio: "Oh, let me guess. He ran away, and you're looking for him. Try the sugar pit." Robert: "I'm actually looking for my other boy, James. Have any of the boys talked of being a prince?" Pinocchio: (Chuckling:) "A prince? Do I look like I was carved yesterday? You don't look like a king." Robert: "He was my son before he was a prince. Have you talked to him?” Pinocchio: “Nope. Not me." (Pinocchio's nose grows.) Robert: "What the... (Pinocchio chuckles weakly:) What does that mean?" Pinocchio: "Nothing." (It grows again.) Robert: "Does that mean you're lying to me?" Pinocchio: "No." (And again.) Robert: "You know where my boy is. (Grabbing the wooden boy:) Tell me right now. (Shaking him:) Tell me!" (Passed out behind a carnival game with a chocolate bar in his hand, is James.) Robert: (Approaching him:) "James? (The boy awakens:) I've come to bring you home." James: "I don't want to go! My father wants me to be a knight. I don't want to." Robert: "James..." James: "I don't want to kill things." Robert: "What if I bring you to my home? It's green and nice there, and you'll have a brother to play with and grow up with." James: "A brother?" Robert: "Yes, James. I'm also your father. Come on. Let's go home." James: "O-Okay." Robert: (To Pinocchio:) "Thank you." Pinocchio: "Glad I could help." Painted Man: "Hey, there!" (Suddenly several painted men chase after Robert.) Pinocchio: "Get out of here! Run!" (Robert and James run quickly from the scene.)

Emma's Dreamscape. Camelot. Merlin's Tower. Regina: “Merlin's tower. There must be something in here to help get him out of the tree.” Emma: “Never do that to me again.” Regina: “Oh, now you're talking to me.” Emma: “I don't know... Am I allowed to?” Regina: (Sighs, pulling the Dark One dagger from her jacket:) “You gave this to me.” Emma: “To protect me, not use against me.” Regina: “I saved your life.” Emma: “By pretending to be me?” Regina: “Oh, shut up and listen. (Emma tries to speak and finds she can't:) Oh. I can get used to this. (Shakes her head, coming back to the present:) What are we doing here? Is this... (Smiles:) Do you want me to control you?” Emma: (Almost shyly:) “I-I need to let go for a little while.” Regina: “All right. (Her demeanor serious, holds up the dagger:) But not with this. We are never going to put ourselves in a situation where one of us surrenders control completely. Even in a dream. Understood? (Emma looks away and nods almost imperceptibly:) Look at me, Emma. I’m not angry at you, I just need you to realise that this... (Waves the dagger:) isn’t the right way to get what you want. (Vanishes the dagger with a wave of her hand:) There is a much more fun way for both of us to get what we desire.” (Regina waves her hand again and they both disappear from the tower.)

Camelot. Bed Chamber. (Reappearing in the bed chamber they shared in Camelot, Emma finds herself stood provocatively in front of a mirror. With her hands on the back of a chair, Emma looks at herself in the mirror to see that she is wearing very high heels and an intricately designed body stocking.) Emma: (Staring, her mouth agape:) “I have never worn anything like this in my life.” Evil Queen: (Smiling as she moves toward her prey:) “Yet another benefit of shared dreaming.” Emma: (Turning at the sound of her voice:) "Regina, what-" (The slap to her backside silences Emma immediately.) Evil Queen: "You will refer to me as 'Your Majesty' or 'My Queen' is that understood?" (When Emma merely nods, she receives another slap.) Emma: "Y-yes My Queen." Evil Queen: "Good. Now, keep your hands on the chair at all times and push your bottom out. (Regina slowly circles the woman as she adjusts her position:) Excellent. (While running her fingers along a deliciously exposed shoulder blade, softly:) How many? (Regina waits patiently for an answer, frowning slightly when it does not come:) How does ten sound?" Emma: (Shakes her head:) "More... My Queen." Evil Queen: "Very well then, twenty?" Emma: "More, please, Your Majesty." Evil Queen: (Hesitates:) "Are you sure? (Moves around to face Emma, raising the blonde’s chin to look into her eyes:) We've never done more than that." Emma: "Please, My Queen." Evil Queen: (Sensing something amiss, but deciding to take her cue from the unmistakable desire reflected in Emma's eyes:) "Do you remember your safe word?" Emma: (Nods:) “WAKE UP” Regina: (Taken aback:) “What?” Emma: (Her eyes wide:) “That wasn’t me.” Regina: “Then who- WAKE UP” Emma: (Panicked:) “What’s going on?” Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. Living Room. (Slowly coming to their senses, Regina and Emma find themselves laying in each others arms on the couch. They gaze at each other for the briefest of moments before the cause of their disrupted dream bellows once more.) Zelena: "Get up, you idiots!" Emma: "Zelena, what the hell?!" Zelena: "Robin Hood's run off somewhere." Regina: (Sitting up:) "Calm down-" Zelena: "No I won't calm down! The man has his way with me, then scarpered!" Emma: "Wait, you slept with him?" Zelena: "Oh don't give me that judgemental look, Sheriff. If you two could keep it in your pants, none of this would've happened in the first place. Now come on, we need to split up and find him before my daughter does!"

Henry's Dreamscape. Kingdom of Valencia. Dungeons. (Henry sits pondering his escape plans when Ella walks over to talk to him.) Ella: "Hey. So, um, last night, a lot of things were almost, kind of said. We hinted at some budding feelings, sang a song, our faces got unusually close..." Henry: "I'm really sorry. I can't talk. I'm in hero mode... planning our big escape. Don't worry, Ella. I'm gonna save us. (To the rest of the prisoners:) Friends, listen up: ♪ I've waited all my lifetime for one moment to arrive ♪ ♪ The moment I was destined for at birth ♪ ♪ The moment I would show the world the reason I'm alive ♪ ♪ And prove to one and all what I am worth ♪ ♪ And now that moment's here ♪ ♪ It's calling loud and clear ♪ ♪ My time, at last, has come ♪ ♪ This is my moment in the sun ♪ ♪ This is my... ♪ (A guard enters, rattling the gate.) Guard: “Up to the throne room, now! All of ya!” Henry: (Deflated:) “Ruined it. Thanks.” Throne Room. (Stood upon the dais, Queen Madelena addresses the prisoners.) Queen Madelena: “Prisoners... I've called you up here to catch up my brother-in-law/ future husband.” (Chuckles.) King Richard: “You know I can hear you, right?” Queen Madelena: (Ignoring him, for Kingsley’s benefit:) “So, that's the princess of Valencia... she annoys me... and that's-” Henry: (Stepping forward:) “I am Henry, and so help me, God, I will...” Kingsley: “Shut up, pretty boy.” Queen Madelena: (Continuing:) “My former boy toy, Jester. He was cuter pre-dungeon. And, of course, you know my current husband, your brother... Richard.” King Richard: “I'm sorry... you would actually go for him over me? I mean, he's really, really, really, really old.” Kingsley: “If you're so confident about being tougher than me, we could settle this with a duel.” King Richard: “Oh. Oh... oh, you want to go there?” Kingsley: “I'm there.” King Richard: “Okay, fine. This is a long time coming, brother... a duel to the death! (Turning to the prisoners:) And now, like every great king to come before us, we shall choose a champion to fight in our stead while we watch from a safe distance while sloppily eating oversized turkey legs. And for my champion, I choose...” Kingsley: “Gareth will fight for me.” King Richard: “No, t-that's not fair. I was gonna choose him. (Whining:) Gareth.” Gareth: “I don't have a choice, my lord.” Kingsley: “Your move, little Dicky.” (Chuckles.)

King Richard: “Well, who's going to fight for me? Anyone? Anyone here good with a sword?” (Suddenly, Henry grabs Gareth’s sword, knocking down Gareth and several guards before walking toward the dais.) Henry: “I'll fight for you, Richard. But when I win, you'll release my friends. Agreed?” King Richard: “Totally cool with that. Henry fights for me!” Henry: “Well, that's good, because it just so happens... ♪ This is my moment in the sun ♪ ♪ This is my... ♪ (Kingsley grabs Henry from behind, smothering him with a cloth, knocking him unconscious.) Kingsley: “Sorry. That was annoying.” Queen Madelena: (Arms folded:) “So annoying.” Kingsley: (Stepping down off the dais and over Henry:) “I'm hungry.” Enchanted Forest. Xanax’s Laboratory. (The younger Henry awakens with a jolt, taking in his surroundings.) Henry: “Damnit!” Storybrooke. Marco & August's Home. (August stands examining the coin as David & Hook stand watching him.) August: "Yeah, this is definitely the coin, and it was the last I saw of him when he left with the boy. And, honestly, I never put you with him, David.” David: “He went after James. I thought he was just a drunk who fell prey to his temptations. He was trying to fix our family.” August: “He was stone-cold sober. David, a few years ago, I took some pages out of Henry's book, and, uh I never put them back. Pleasure Island is a part of my story that I'm... I'm not exactly proud of. But I could look for them, and we could see if, uh, there's anything more about your father.” David: “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Storybrooke. Library. (Alice and Robin enter the library as part of their 'day date'.) Robin: "The library. Really?" Alice: "Mmhmm. And this isn't even the best part. (Taking Robin's hand, they run over to a particular row of books:) This is one of my favorite spots in all the united realms." Robin: (Glancing up at the 'Travel' section:) "Why's that?" Alice: "Because from here you can go anywhere in the world without ever taking a step. See?" Robin: "Huh. That is the is the best description of a bookshelf I have ever heard." Alice: "Yeah, well, when your world is small, you do anything you can to make it bigger. Books did that for me when I was in the tower. Probably sounds crazy now that we can actually go and see things." Robin: "Not at all. I think it's incredibly sweet. In fact, I think we may have found our ideal place to meet for our lunch breaks." Alice: (Smiles:) "Yeah, then we can plan our next trip by reading one of these books." Robin: "That, and it does seem like an excellent make-out spot." (Just as Robin is about to lean in for a kiss, there is a groaning sound coming from elsewhere in the library. Moving toward the noise, they soon find the culprit, slumped against a bookshelf.) Alice: "Will! (Rushing over to her brother:) Will, what happened?" Will: (Groans as they help him into a seated position:) "Bloody attacked, wasn't I?" Robin: "Did you see who did this to you?" Will: (Grimacing:) "Oh, aye. Couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him. I ran over, and he belted me." Alice: "Who?" Will: (Muttering to himself:) "He got a few stiff kicks in for good measure too. All I did was say hello and try to hug the bugger." Robin: (Shaking him:) "Who attacked you, Will?" Will: (Staring directly at her:) "Y-your dad. Robin Hood." (Shocked by this, Robin stands and looks to Alice, who rubs her temple. A guilty expression on her face.) Storybrooke. Woods. (Alone in the woods, Robin Hood sits on a tree stump and opens the silver box from Regina's vault. Taking out a bottle, he inspects it before hearing a twig snap underfoot. Replacing the bottle and hiding the box, Robin gets to his feet, drawing his bow.)

Robin Hood: "Not another step! (Seeing Regina and Emma walking towards him:) How did you find me?" Regina: "Believe it or not, this is where the other Robin used to come to think." Robin Hood: "I thought we already established I'm not that man." Regina: "Yes, I-I know, which is why we're here. We came to apologise. We may have put pressure on you to be someone you're not. We're sorry." Robin Hood: (Laughs mirthlessly:) "That's what you want to apologise to me for? Really? I read that storybook, Your Majesty. I know what kind of monster you are, the lives you've ruined." (With his attention focused on Regina, Emma is able to pull her gun on him.) Emma: "Drop the weapon, now!" Robin Hood: (Scoffs:) “It must be a thing with all sheriffs. Protecting those who don't need it, while the rest of us are cast aside, forced to steal to survive. Well I say no more. Maybe this is the reason I was brought here: to put an arrow through your blackened heart." Emma: "Hood, I swear to God, if you do not drop your weapon, I will drop you!" Robin Hood: "You do what you think is right, Sheriff. And so will I." Emma: (Yelling:) "Stop pointing that arrow at my wife!" (Robin releases the arrow and Emma returns fire. However, the outlaw vanishes in a cloud of green smoke before Emma's bullet can hit him, while Regina catches the arrow effortlessly in her hand.) Storybrooke. The Town Line. (Zelena stands waiting as Robin Hood reappears at the town line.) Zelena: "You know, for a moment there, I was actually willing to give this a chance." Robin Hood: "Zelena, I can explain." Zelena: (Scoffs:) "This should be good. Go on then." Robin Hood: "You really should be flattered. Where I'm from, I'm a legend. Robin Hood, the legendary swordsman, has many a fair maiden lining up for his affections. You see, once I choose one and have my way with her, I set her free. No complications, no hard feelings." Zelena: "Well, where I come from, you mess with the Wicked Witch and I set you on fire." Robin Hood: (Backing away as a fireball forms in Zelena's hand:) "Now, let's talk about this." Zelena: "No, I don't think so. Wherever you came from, you're not even half the man the real Robin was. Kissing you was like kissing a photograph. It was nothing, and I'm betting that's exactly what you'll become once you cross this town line. Goodbye, thief. The pleasure was all yours." Robin Hood: "Wait!" (Zelena blasts Robin with the fireball, knocking him backwards into the town line. As suspected, the instant he crosses over, Robin dissolves into nothingness. Sighing with relief, Zelena is about to transport herself back into town when she hears a noise in the trees.) Zelena: "Hello? Who's out there? Show yourself!" (After a moment, coming stumbling out of the woods is a very disheveled-looking Greg Mendell.)

[taronfanfic]

The Rebound

A/N: Hello new (but also old) terriroty. I know this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea so I’ve approached with caution. There’s always scope for more in every single sense so if you do like it, let me know. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Taron slurred as Richard caught his falling hat that tumbled down after catching the roof of the taxi as he climbed inside.

“Absolutely nothing, mate. It’s luck of the draw isn’t it?” Richard slid in next to Taron and was quick to place his hat back on his head. “Shit, that’s backwards.” He laughed as he tried to spin it around without taking it off again.

“Get off.” Taron’s hands batted Richard’s away playfully as he ducked and then fell to the side as the taxi turned a corner sharply, leaving him a giggling mess across the back seats. “Some bodyguard you are, I could have died just then!”

“Such a dickhead.” Richard replied to himself.

“Seriously though, I take the world’s most handsome man out with me as a wingman and still end up without a girl. How is that even possible? They don’t even want me in a long-shot attempt to get to you!”

“Taron.” Richard sighed. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m only the world’s second most handsome man.”

“Go on, say it. Behind me. You know you want to.” Taron’s grin widened.

“Behind… Jamie Dornan.”

“The bastard.” Taron replies.

“The bastard.” Richard copied and nodded in agreement. “But to get back to your point, I think we just got too drunk.”

“Are we unattractive drunks?”

“Nooo, I’d still kiss you.” Richard declared with a sly grin.

“So would I…” Taron started to lean in closer to Richard, his drunken eyes doing their best to focus on Richard’s before he made his move and lowered his gaze to his lips. Their faces were just centimetres apart before Taron lost his nerve and jumped back from Richard with a loud giggle. “Shit, I thought you’d crack!”

“I knew you’d go first.” Richard replied smugly. “You always did on set.”

“It was my first time, man! I was nervous as fuck.”

“It’s a good job it was me on the receiving end and not a drop-dead gorgeous naked woman instead. It’s hard to keep your eyes up sometimes!”

“How do you know I didn’t have that struggle anyway? Maybe hairy chests are my thing.” Taron winked and yet more giggles filled the back of the taxi.

“So this was your plan all along? Get me drunk on the premise of being after a woman but then seduce me in the taxi on the way home so I can take you to bed again?”

“You’ve rumbled me!”

“Might still be down for it.” Richard was the one to wink this time. “As long as you’ve brought your hot pants.”

“Brought them? I’m already wearing them! Never leave the house without them on.” Taron patted the tops of his thighs teasingly.

“Brilliant… These women don’t know what they’re missing out on!”

“Where are we even going?” Taron broke away from the flirting for a second as he looked out the window with mild confusion.

“My place. I got given an expensive looking bottle of whisky last week and I knew just the guy I wanted to share it with.”

“The one with the broken heart?” Taron placed his hand over his chest as the genuine sadness filled his eyes.

“That’s the one. Come here, man.” He reached out and placed his arm around Taron’s shoulders, pulling him in gently to lean against his side. “It’s really shit, isn’t it?”

“Y’know you’re the only one who’s said that to me? Everyone else has been full of bullshit advice about keeping busy and looking after yourself. Eat healthy, go to the gym, get plenty of sleep. It’s all crap. Give me a new best mate who tells it how it is and gets me drunk on whisky any day of the week!”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Richard smiled to himself at Taron’s affection.

“And he does it all whilst wearing the softest cashmere scarf. That’s a true man, right there.” Taron lifted the end of Richard’s scarf and placed it against his cheek.

“You can wipe away your tears, but no blowing your nose into it.” The taxi pulled up at the side of the road and Richard climbed out and paid the driver.

“Who said anything about crying? I’m so fucking done with the crying now.”  Taron milled around in his own little world, mumbling drunkenly to himself as he waited for Richard and then followed him down the short path to his front door and stepped straight inside as Richard held the door open for him.

“I would apologise for the mess, but I don’t think your place would be any tidier. Find somewhere to sit and I’ll get the whisky. Do you want it over ice?”

“My life is messier than your house right now, and I’ll take the whisky however it comes. Even drink it from your bellybutton if it meant I wouldn’t have to sober up.” The longest, loudest, laugh could be heard from Richard as he found himself bent over double in the kitchen at Taron’s comment.

“Stranger things have happened between us!” He called out in reply as he continued to laugh.

“Should I take that as a yes?” Taron called back, but Richard walked through into his living room with two glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other.

“God, you’ve not managed to shake the last remanence of Elton from your mind yet, have you?”

“I’m not entirely sure I want to…” Taron’s gaze lingered longingly on Richard as he accepted the glass of whisky and waited for Richard to drink. As he did, Taron knocked his straight back and then relaxed down into Richard’s sofa. “I don’t want to be me right now.”

“What are you finding the hardest?”

“Just being on my own. Yeah I can talk to people, call my family and mates, but it’s not the same as that one on one chilled time.”

“Where you can just kick back and put your feet up?” Richard did exactly that, sat back against the arm of his sofa and stretched his legs across and into Taron’s lap. It was a simple move but the small smile it put on Taron’s face let Richard know that he was making progress.

“That shouldn’t even be possible… how has that made me feel so much better?”

“Great whisky.” Richard joked and drew another small smile out of Taron. “It’s just being able to feel totally relaxed with someone. So much so that you can invade their personal space and know it’s only going to please them.” Taron placed his hand to Richard’s leg as he sat forward and helped himself to another drink, savouring it this time with a contented sigh.

“I think you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“It’s like the lack of physical contact is a shock to the system. Like a sudden withdrawal of affection.” As Taron thought aloud his fingers traced up and down Richard’s lower leg.

“They say love is a drug.”

“Does this mean I’m in rehab?” He turned his head in search of an honest answer.

“No, you just need a good rebound shag.”

“You have given me all the right answers tonight, Madden. Told me exactly what I’ve wanted to hear; Thank you, mate.” The wider smile that graced Taron’s face transferred straight across to Richard’s as the feelings of happiness flooded his body.

“Shame I couldn’t get you a girl to complete your night.”

“Already feels complete with you here.” Taron slid Richard’s legs off his lap and moved up the sofa so he could wrap his arms tightly around his shoulders. “I mean it. You’ve made me feel so much better.” He added as he let his head rest gently against Richard’s.

“I’m really glad, T. It’s good to see a genuine smile back on your face.”

“It’s good to hug someone properly again.” Taron finally let go but didn’t move completely away. He was all but sat in Richard’s lap, one arm resting outstretched along the back of the sofa and the other absentmindedly playing with the lower button of Richard’s shirt. “So. What now?” He asked quietly as he looked down to his fingers.

“What do you want to happen now?” Richard replied before his nerves had reached his stomach. He wasn’t sure he’d have said that out loud if he’d felt his nerves first, but it was too late to take it back. There was a sudden heat that hit his chest as Taron’s eyes flicked back up to his, the green colour seeming deeper than he’d remembered from the last time they were this close together.

“I don’t know if I should answer that.”

There was a longer silence that fell between them as they couldn’t stop looking at each other, desperately hoping that the other one would either take the lead or find a good reason why they shouldn’t.

“We’ve both had a lot to drink.” Richard’s voice was just above a whisper.

“And we’ve both had time to think this over. It’s not rash.” Taron replied, being the first to drop his sight and feel a pain of disappointment.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t.” Richard added, desperate to see the hope come back to Taron’s face. “It’s nothing we haven’t done already, what difference would it make?”

That was all Taron needed to hear. He lunged forward quickly and placed his lips to Richard’s in a hurried kiss, feeling the comfort and intimacy that he’d been craving wash over his body and relax him almost instantly as Richard started to kiss him back. 

[nalufever]

Queen of Gin

A Shalily fic ~ Shagotte x Pantherlily, Fairy Tail fandom - written for @shalilyqueenwrites A small xmas fic gift!

Summary: Dubbed the Queen of Gin by her customers, Shagotte runs her speakeasy during daylight hours as a questionable poetry parlour. Investigated by a stalwart G-man who's got his own secret demons, Shagotte learns to love and trust, saving herself and her new love.

"Why would I look the other way, Miss Shagotte?" Lily rolled his eyes, grimacing as the suspected gin runner fluttered her eyelashes. "Somehow, every night, your gatherings are full of people."

"We're poetry enthusiasts." Shagotte grinned and winked at the irritated face of the attractive G-man. "Arts enrich the soul, doncha know."

"And yet your patrons see fit to enrich your pockets. All from reading poems? I think not." The tall and thickly muscled man shook his head. "You're wetting their lips with hooch, I can't prove it now, but I will soon."

"Dear heart, don't be such a tragic downer!"

"Excuse me?"

Shagotte crossed her arms, a tempting smile on her lips. "Would you prefer I call you sweetheart?"

"I'll have my numbers men nose out your accounts, and then you won't be so chipper." Lily straightened his hat and smoothed the lapels of his double-breasted suit. "Good day, Miss Shagotte."

"Always a pleasure." Shagotte leaned in close to her opponent. "You should smile more, makes you much more attractive." She smirked as Mr. D'Pantheur marched out of her salon in a snit. He was tasty, but the money she earned from selling gin illegally was more important than romancing some uptight government stooge.

><><><><

Miss Shagotte welcomed Friday night's guests with a smile and specially printed poetry booklets. Tonight she'd been given ideas from a certain G-man - and the lyrical poetry was very fresh - and very original.

Shagotte greeted the steady stream of her patrons. "Nice to see you and the missus, Mr. Dragneel! Who's your friend? Glad to see you've returned, Mr. and Mrs. O'Connel! You're in luck, tonight's reading is going to be the talk of the town." Shagotte passed out her freshly minted pamphlets, accepting a new stack from Aaron, one of her best helpers, and then urged him to assist in the kitchen.

"Talk of the town?" Lucy Dragneel tapped Shagotte on the shoulder. "I don't see an author's name on this."

"It's a surprise for later." Shagotte smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Who's your friend, Lucy?"

"I'm a regular blue-stocking, a bibliophile, an aficionado of the written word!" Lucy's friend answered, smiling as she took in the details of the parlour; dozens of rickety chairs ringing small tables - and a podium on a raised dais.

Lucy giggled and flicked the shorter woman in the forehead. "Dizzy dame, she wants your name!"

"Levy McGarden, pleased to meet you!" Levy thrust out her hand - which was accepted and rapidly pumped by Shagotte who smiled wider.

"I'm delighted to find another literature lover. You're gonna want a seat close to the action." Shagotte pointed to the front chairs. "Especially if my special guest shows."

Levy and Lucy exchanged looks of glee. They promised to find Shagotte afterwards to discuss tonight's poetry, moving to claim their seats.

At the scheduled time, Shagotte signaled for the doors to shut and she made her way to the podium. Her bright red high heels thumped at each step, drawing as much attention and admiration for her smart outfit as her smiling freckled face crowned with lustrous pale hair. Making a show of lifting her manuscript, Shagotte greeted the crowd. She made a few opening remarks about the weather and how glad she was to see so many in attendance.

She checked her watch and began to read the first poem, starting with the title: 'Bothersome Boy,' glittering amusement in her eyes and a suppressed smirk on her lips. A ripple of amusement moved around the room, the disturbance feeding Shagotte's satisfaction. She flipped to the next page and with even more passion, began reading 'Ode to Numbers: How a Certain Man Does Not Add Up.'

Reciting the third stanza of the poem, where the 'certain man' was compared in a bad light to a succession of local ne'er do-wells, Shagotte could hear the muffled honking of a bike horn from the street. With even more enthusiasm she read the next stanza. It dealt with the 'certain man's' poor fashion sense; cheap shoes and shiny tie that clashed with his suspenders. Keeping her eyes downcast on her book, Shagotte kept orating the poem. She heard the tread of a late-comer to the soiree and the creak as they settled into a chair. Another ripple of amusement circled the room as the attendees made certain connections between the new arrival and the content of the next poem which was titled 'Gee Whiz G-Man.'

Several more poems were read, with every progressive title drawing more titters of amusement. Shagotte announced an intermission and darted towards her private sitting room. Caught short by a 'certain man's' solid grip on her upper arm.

"Interesting, Miss Shagotte. You had such a good impression of me the other day, complementing my attractive smile. But today you've lambasted my clothes, job, and IQ. I'd be hurt, but I'd have to care about your impression of me for that to happen."

"Don't start off with a lie Mister G-man." Shagotte fluttered her thickly lashed eyes. "I said you would be more attractive if you smiled more." She tried to wrench herself out of Lily's grip and failed, so she glared pointedly at his large hand on her body. So large and capable looking, a bit rough but his warmth felt nice. "Do let go."

"Sorry." His cheeks flushed and he hunched his shoulders. "I've had enough of the stares, can we take this discussion out of the public eye?" Lily removed his hand from Shagotte's arm and looked at it front and back before shoving it into his coat pocket. "Please?"

"Fine," muttered Shagotte. "I'll give you ten minutes." She decided to blame her momentary lapse of judgment on the man's softly spoken plea. That was a weakness she'd work to eradicate later. Giving the watching crown an insouciant wave, Shagotte strutted off to her sanctuary as if taking Lily D'Pantheur there was actually her own idea.

Pouring herself a tall glass of water from a waiting pitcher, Shagotte took a satisfying gulp before offering Lily some. He shook his head and she giggled. "It's water, not gin. As if I'd offer you any rotgut seeing as you're so convinced I'm running hooch at my fine establishment."

"Thanks for bringing up the reason I'm here." Lily strolled around the room; taking a long, hard look at the pale pink upholstered seating, the doily encrusted wooden tables and gilt-covered frames holding brightly coloured art. "I need your help."

"You're crazy, Mister G-man." Shagotte set down her glass and crossed her arms, glaring for all she was worth at Lily. "My help? You've been accusing me of breaking the law and tryin' to shut me down. You need my help?" Angry sparks seemed to shoot from her eyes. "Please." Her chin lifted and her pink cupid's bow mouth flattened into a thin line. "You may leave."

"Not until you hear me out."

"How about you get out?"

"Please." Lily stopped his pacing in front of Shagotte. He bowed his head after removing his hat and holding it over his heart. "There's a new threat in town and I figure you're more good than bad. I see how many kids you're taking care of, you're their mother figure and someone like that can't be all bad."

"Excuse me?" Outrage made Shagotte raise her voice higher than she'd intended - several of her older helpers burst into the sitting room and milled about in as threatening a manner as they could manage.

"Do you need escortin' outside?" The oldest child stomped over to Lily. "Don't make me ask you twice." Miranda settled her hands on her thin hips and let her disgust show. She would have been exceedingly cute except for the jagged scar that covered her left cheek from her jaw to under her ear. With Lily remaining silent, Miranda turned to her boss. "Miss Shagotte, do you want us to give this bum the bum's rush?"

Shagotte held up a hand and shook her head. "He's a bum all right, but I need to hear him out. He's a government goon, yet I'm curious about what he's got to say."

Miranda sighed, as did the other three young adults; Richard, Betty, and Karl. The leader of the group, Miranda pouted but held her tongue.

"I'm not anything near a bum." Lily held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm a hard working government soldier."

"Just yell if you need us, Miss Shagotte." Miranda and the others filed out of the room.

"More like hardly working government soldier." Shagotte deliberately turned her back to Lily, sauntering towards a credenza covered in books and potted plants. She turned and leaned against the piece of furniture. "What is it you want, Mr. D'Pantheur?"

Lily gulped, the sound loud and surreal in the confines of Shagotte's sitting room. "I want to understand you."

"I do believe you've flipped your lid."

"No." Lily rubbed his forehead. "The new gangs moving in are trouble. I've come to see you're the lesser of two evils."

"Thanksssss." Shagotte drew out the 'es' of her reply. "You sure know how to make a gal feel good about herself."

"Give me a chance and you'll never look back."

"Why should I?"

Lily D'Pantheur dropped his hat and sank to his knees in front of Shagotte. His voice was a soft echo of his former volume. "Because I know you are doing whatever it is you're doing to keep those kids off the street." He looked Shagotte dead in her eyes and smiled. "And if you don't work with me your business is doomed to failure."

Shagotte clenched her hands into fists. "Threatening a woman is a low and disgusting action."

"I'm afraid it's a promise." Lily slowly stood, rising to his full height. "You can work with me to bring down the new threat in the neighbourhood or be smashed with them."

Never slow or foolish, Shagotte took in all the new information given by Mr. G-man. A sour smile on her lips, she thrust out her hand and spoke. "Let's shake on it."

To be continued ^^

[just-a-spark]

The Before, and The After Part 7

A Knives Out Story

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content (18+ to be safe)

Summery: A wealthy classmate of Meg’s becomes close to the family, a little too close to the playboy grandson of Harlan Thrombey. The events leading up to, and following, Harlan Thrombey’s death.

Alan Stevens and his assistant Sally met Phil and Elizabeth at the front door, but she was quickly approached by Lieutenant Elliott from the side of the house, “Mrs. Stevens, nice to see you again. I hear you think you know something of use after all.”

“I told you last time we spoke, I don’t know what happened to Harlan. I thought it was a suicide.” Elizabeth struggled as Phil held he upper arm gently, but she looked at him like he was dragging her.

Elliott put his hand up to stop Phil from coming farther, seeing the hostile situation rising, “We did too, but we are starting to think we were wrong. Since we last spoke a private investigator was hired anonymously to look into Mr. Thrombey’s suicide. And now, seeing as all of his assets are being left to his caregiver instead of his family, we are thinking there’s more to the story.”

“And what does any of that have to do with me?” Elizabeth growled as she pulled her arm away from Phil, but he stared at her coldly and she reached over and stroked his arm fondly, “I’m sorry, I’m just... emotional.”

“We’re expecting our first child. Elizabeth has taken Harlan’s death hard because she was hoping they could patch up their relationship before the baby came.” Phil provided and Elliot nodded with a little grin breaking across his face.

“Doctor’s appointment the other day?”

“First one.” Elizabeth confirmed, looking up toward the open door, “Are they still here?”

“Everyone but Marta and Hugh Drysdale. He picked her up and left, Blanc and Trooper Wagner are looking for them now. His car isn’t easy to hide.” Elliott explained slowly, “Why don’t we go sit around back on the patio. Maybe your husband could get you a lemonade or something, the family is milling about in a tizzy, but I’m sure they’d help him out.” Detective Elliott looked up to Phil and he nodded with a smile, heading toward the front door to join his frazzled looking father.

Elizabeth led the way to the patio, knowing the way well after the time she’d spent in the big house. She knew all the secret rooms and secret roads and secret drawers that held secret notes. At one point, she almost thought of herself as family. “Detective Elliott, I’m not sure what my husband wants me to prove. I just told him I was surprised Ransom took Marta. He’s not... the caring type.” She decided after a moment, but as he stared at her blankly, she added, “He’s up to something.”

“From what I gathered before the will reading began, Ransom knew he was being cut from the will. Walter’s young son overheard Harlan and Ransom yelling about it the night of the party, but Ransom was seen leaving long before the time of death. Meg left after Ransom and Marta was seen leaving around midnight before Meg returned. However,” Elliott paused, trying to gauge Elizabeth’s measured reaction, “The security tape from that evening was tampered with, so we can’t confirm when Meg arrived back at the house. Since you’re here-”

“Are you insinuating the Meg killed Harlan?” Elizabeth asked, completely dumbstruck by the idea. “She’s the only decent member of that family, she is the only person who gives a shit about anyone but herself. How dare you?” Elizabeth hissed, pushing herself to her feet, but Elliott matched her movements, cutting her off from leaving.

“Why did you say Ransom wouldn’t help Marta?”

“Because he’s an asshole.”

“Do you think they’re in it together?”

Elizabeth spit out a laugh, then realized Elliott wasn’t kidding, “You’re serious?”

“Ma’am, I don’t know any of these people, but somebody is dead and someone sent a heap of cash to a renowned investigator to flush out a supposed murderer. All I can do is try to put the dots together.”

“Marta would never hurt Harlan. She was his best friend.” Elizabeth said boldly, crossing her arms and staring the man down.

“Linda and several members of the family seem to think she was having... a relationship with Harlan.” Elliott supplied and Elizabeth laughed so loud tears came out. “I’m guessing that’s a no?”

“Absolutely not! That’s hilarious. My gosh.” Elizabeth cried, looking over to her left to see Meg peek out the window. “You can trust Marta, and Meg. They are good people.”

“And Ransom?” Elliott pressed and Elizabeth shrugged.

“He’s an asshole, but I don’t think he has the capacity to pull off murder, if you know what I mean.” She teased but Elliott continued to stare at her blankly until her joking expression fell, “He’s stupid.”

“Right. Blanc should be back soon, I know he’ll want to ask you some questions. Unless you have another appointment to keep?”

Elizabeth shook her head lightly, looking back to the window to see Meg scratching behind her ear with an annoyed look on her face. “No. I’m free all day.”

“Good. From the looks of things the Thrombeys are keeping your father-in-law busy. Perhaps your husband can help him sort through all their... theories.” Elliott chuckled, gesturing toward the door and Elizabeth took the opportunity to take her leave.

Once inside, she leaned against the glass with Meg, “Is this what you’ve been dealing with the past two days?”

“Yeah, but he’s the least of your worries. Wait until you meet the other guy.” She grumbled, keeping her eyes low.

Elizabeth noticed how cold she was acting, so she reached out and grabbed Meg’s arm supportively, “Listen, he- he asked about you. I told him you were wonderful and they’d be wasting their time to even consider you-”

“Elizabeth.” Phil’s voice cut her off from the library and she looked up, then looked to Meg curiously, but the brunette showed no emotion, she just continued to stare down and hold her sleeve as if to protect herself.

“What’s happening?”

“Aunt Linda found something weird in one of Granddad’s books.”

“Shit.”

Elizabeth padded down the hallway toward the library, wishing she could dig her heels into the ground and avoid the coming conflict. She could already hear Linda snarling at Joni through the open door, and she was steeling her nerves to receive a lashing.

When she appeared inside the library, Linda flared up and stormed toward her, pointing accusingly as Richard and Walter tried to hold her back, “All this time, all this time we thought you trailed along with Meg to get close to my father so he could help you with your books, maybe even give you money, but all this time... you were boinking my father?!”

“I didn’t think it was a big- wait, what?” Elizabeth’s explanation stalled out when she registered what Linda was accusing her of. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, imagining all the love letters she’d exchanged with H. “Oh.”

“You what? Didn’t think it was a big deal? What the fuck, Eliza.” Linda tried to come after the girl, but Phil blocked her from the family.

“It explains why you always tagged along with Meg, and why you’d even come by yourself sometimes.” Joni barked, putting her hands on her hips, “I considered you another daughter, and this whole time, you were just using all of us to get money!”

“No, no it’s not like that at all...” Elizabeth trailed off, wanting to blurt out the truth, but the implications of that could lead to another shocking discovery, and if she told the whole truth and everything she knew, then they’d think what she thought and... “We weren’t having a relationship. Not like that. I was not, as you say, boinking, Harlan.” Elizabeth snarled, looking up as if asking Harlan forgiveness for what she was about to do, “We never acted on anything. They’re just letters. Imaginary letters, like a writing exercise.”

Linda paled but Walt leaned forward on his cane curiously, “Exactly how many letters did you two write back and forth?”

“A few.” Elizabeth said and when the family stared at her questioningly, she muttered quietly, “dozen.”

Linda threw her hands in the air and turned away, unable to look at the woman anymore. Walt looked to Alan and asked, “Assuming we get the publishing company back, am I allowed to publish those?” He was met with a slew of confused glances, “As a tribute to Dad...as his... lost works?”

“Walt, what the fuck?” Joni yelled out and Richard began berating the pair as Phil carefully backed Elizabeth out of the room so they could talk alone.

“How long was this going on?” He asked sternly and she just looked from the family to him in panic.

“Three years we wrote back and forth, but I swear on my life, I never slept with Harlan Thrombey.” She said honestly, pressing a hand to her stomach protectively, “I broke it off when we got married.”

“Married? Not dating, not even engaged?” Phil pressed and Elizabeth bared her teeth in a nervous smile.

“No.” She mewed, “It was like a game. It made me a better writer. But before the wedding, we stopped completely.”

“Where are all the letters?” Phil asked, looking over his shoulder as the yelling intensified, “Lizzie, we need to get those letters.”

She looked past him, “They’re kind of everywhere, but there’s one book. I need to take it.”

“No, you need to hand it over to the authorities, there could be something in those letters that helps with the investigation.” Phil prodded and Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

Yeah, I’m sure there is...

“I want to leave. Now.” Elizabeth said sternly, knowing she had no power over the situation. Phillip looked to his father, who sat in a chair in the far corner massaging his head as the family fought, “Please, Phillip. They’ll eat me alive. Nothing happened between Harlan and I. None of it was real, you have to believe me. I swear on my life, I swear on our child’s life, I had no relationship with Harlan Thrombey.”

“I believe you.” Phillip said after a moment, taking her elbow and gently guiding her toward the front door to leave, picking up the pace when he realized the family had noticed. “Let’s get out of here.”

Suddenly a silver Crossover slid to a stop on the gravel, effectively blocking the couple from leaving. A tall, lean man in a tweed suit emerged and studied the pair, then the family crowding behind them. He smirked and cooed at the nervous woman in a heavy drawl, “What have I missed?”

                                             Three Months Earlier

“I cannot condone this, Elizabeth, I will not have you become a gold digger!”

Elizabeth scoffed at Harlan’s words as she whipped around, staring down the older man sitting on his couch in his study, “I am not a gold digger! Phil loves me, and he’s going to take care of me. This is what I want-”

“No, it’s not. I’ve seen you with him, you couldn’t care less for that man. Alan is a dear friend of mine, and I can’t let you marry his son just because he’s a lawyer. You’re better than this, you’re worth more than this!” Harlan yelled back and Lizzie made a quiet down motion toward her mentor as she looked over her shoulder at the closed door. “I will not quiet down, I care about you, and I won’t see you throw away your life!”

“What would you have me do Harlan?” Lizzie cried out, kneeling down in front of him as tears filled her eyes. She pushed one fiery curl behind her ear and sniffled, “Harlan, I’m floundering. Nobody’s buying my books. I have no money, without Phil I’d be homeless.”

“If money is what you need, you know I’ll take care of it! I’ll give you whatever you need, all you have to do is ask, just- don’t marry Alan’s boy.” Harlan bartered as Lizzie held his hands in hers, but she lifted her head to look at him and her tears turned to anger.

“How dare you? This is the problem Harlan- this- this is why your family is so fucked up! You can’t buy away your problems with money. You can’t baby them into submission, you’re just fucking them up worse!” Elizabeth’s breath was shaky as she swallowed her salty tears, “I know what you want for me, and I want that too, but there’s a third party who isn’t so easily moved. You can’t pay me off to stay somebody’s whore for the rest of my life. That’s not fair, I deserve to be taken care of, I deserve to be loved too.”

“And you have two men who love you, but you only return affection for one of them, so why are you choosing the other?” Harlan pressed and she pulled her hands away and stood quickly, backing away as the wheels began to turn.

“Because your grandson doesn’t want a wife and doesn’t want a job and doesn’t want to change and I need more out of life. If he got his head out of his ass and actually tried to do something with himself, I’d be with him in a heartbeat, and you know it. You’re trying to buy Ransom a good influence, but he’s a hopeless cause. I’m marrying Phillip. Pay off someone else to be your granddaughter.”

Elizabeth turned and flung open the door, stampeding down the stairs as Harlan followed her slowly. She practically flew to the main floor of the mansion, passing by Linda and Richard who were visiting. “Lizzie? Honey, what’s wrong?”

Before she could reach the door, Harlan leaned over the railing of the second floor staircase and called out, “Wait.” She paused and looked up at her, her arm trembling as she clenched the doorframe. “If you walk out that door, you’re cutting ties with all of us.”

“I should have never come in the first place. It’s something I can never come back from.” Lizzie cried and sprinted into her new Mercedes Benz and drove away for the last time.

[drink-n-watch]

I’ve been saying this a lot lately but boy did the end of the fall season hit me by surprise. Maybe it’s because I only watch a few shows seasonally so I don’t get a proper sense of time. Or maybe I was just into the series I was watching and wasn’t prepared for them to end. Either way, there I was minding my own business, enjoying my routine, when BAM! I have to pick a whole new slew of shows to watch (eventually), with all the anxiety and possibility that entails.

I have a highly scientific method of choosing anime. First I look at the promo art that comes with the release announcement. Then I make up a synopsis for the show based entirely on that one image. That’s is. Not all science has a lot of steps to it… or any science to it….

Of course this means that I’m more likely to be picking a season’s worth of shows based entirely on what I feel like watching the specific day I look over the next season’s roster but what are you gonna do. And also my misinterpretation of the pictures. I’m beginning to think there may be a better way to do this. Nah. I must be imagining things. So what am I going to want to watch in 2020?

Haikyuu!! TO THE TOP

Haikyuu!! I Love Haikyuu! I’m gonna watch season 4 of Haikyuu.

Pet

This was originally going to come out last season and Karandi and I were excited to review it. I hope she still wants to. I really want to watch it either way. There’s a Natsume connection and a serial killer story. It’s weird!

Somali to Mori no Kamisama

Boy that’s a beautiful image and it looks to be high fantasy which I’ve been craving lately. I’m also guessing there’s a found family element here. I’m intrigued.

Dorohedoro

Honestly the image just reminded me of Blood Blockade Battlefront. It strikes me as a fun silly high action sci fi/urban fantasy. I’m all for it.

Darwin’s Game

I always fall for these brooding, thriller looking anime and honestly, I’m almost always disappointed. Yet I still haven’t learned my lesson! Still stupidly optimistic about this one.

Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun

Honestly, the content of the image just doesn’t appeal to me at all yet the art style and mostly does colours have me mesmerized. I had to go back for it and I will at least give it a chance.

Ishuzoku Reviewers

I’m really intrigued by this one. The image is unusual, the word reviewers in the title confuses me. I have high hopes and no idea why!

ID: INVADED

This one falls into the same category as Darwin’s Game (told you I couldn’t resist) but it looks like there a bit more money poured into the production. (I’m saying this based on a single picture, please don’t take it for a valid opinion). Even though I’m so guarded about these shows, I really .hope one turns out to be good. Usually when they pan out, they are great!

Eizouken ni wa Te wo Dasu

Honestly, this is all about composition. That image is just so well composed that I think I would enjoy watching the show even if it turns out to be a run of the mill action/adventure title we all forget about next season.

Itai no wa Iya nanode Bogyo-Ryoku ni Kyokufuri Shitai to Omoimasu

I have been craving a good CGDCT show for a while and can’t seem to scratch the itch. I’m a little picky when it comes to these shows though and for some reason Itai is the one that spoke to me out of the slew available this season.

Runway de Waratte

This could be very bad but it could also be very funny. And I do love fashion in anime!

Boku no Tonari ni Ankoku Hakaishin ga Imasu

I love comedies and I’ve been neglecting the genre lately. It’s past time I got back into it!

number 24

It’s a sports anime. I usually at least give them a chance.

Housekisho Richard-shi no Nazo Kantei

I won’t lie, this can go either way. To be honest I’m looking for another Given. Not necessarily a BL series but a slow burn character drama that’s surprisingly understated and nuanced. So no prerssure…

Breakers

A para-sports anime….ooohhh this could go bad. Real bad! But I have to give it a watch because if they pull it off, then it will be a game changer!

ARP Backstage Pass

Here are two fun facts no one asked about. 1) Boy idol shows tend to yield my favourite posts to write and just generally make me happy and 2) Boy idol shows are the one genre I tend to drop over any other. Basically they are often pretty bad in my opinion except when they strike that magic balance, then they’re pure gold! Wish me luck, I’m going prospecting!

Natsunagu!

A short starring a young lady that doesn’t seem to be either a reverse harem or a CGDCT. Count me in!

There you have it. I’ve singled out 17 shows based 9on nothing. Once I filter out those I can’t get on any of my platforms I hope to be left with a reasonable selection for winter 2020. There are a few in here I’m really excited about.

Is there anything you guys are looking forward to watching this winter? Tell us about it!

Anime Winter 2020 Here I Come! I've been saying this a lot lately but boy did the end of the fall season hit me by surprise.

[menleyhuntart]

Concentration Paper

My concentration is an exploration of human interaction with nature through sculptural nature based work. I am studying topics like femininity, form and structure, time, and the temporary qualities of nature. Initially when thinking about my concentration, I thought about how I work as an artist. In my previous work, I have always been very structured and process oriented. I wanted to break out of this and push myself to be more intuitive. When I did nature based work in sculpture last semester, something that drew me to it was its improvisational character. I wasn't focused on making something concrete and planned out, but rather on an idea or gesture. This allowed me to create work in a stream-of-consciousness state of mind. I thought it would be interesting to work like this for an extended period of time, as an experiment with what it means for me to be an artist. When I first started working with nature, I looked towards an artist I have always been interested in, Andy Goldsworthy. Many of my initial nature based pieces mimic his style and characteristics. The forms deal with circular/centrical elements that many of his works also possess. However, I realized that I needed to move away from his style into my own way of working. To me his work is very aesthetically pleasing, displaying natural materials in a way to make one notice them. As I continued to work, my pieces became more about idea and context, rather than form or content. This transitioning point can be seen with my piece documenting the passing of a shadow on the trunk of a tree. This piece was more subtle than my previous ones, as I began to develop my own interpretation of what it means to observe nature. My work increasingly became more about making small gestures and writing reflections on my experiences and less about creating a physical, aesthetically pleasing pieces. When searching for an overarching idea to my concentration, I initially had trouble. Many of my first ideas reflected those of some of my influences, like Goldsworthy, Long, and Mendieta. However, once I pushed past the boundaries of their thoughts, I began to realize the true importance of what I was doing. When first beginning research, I found many artists that I since have continually drawn influence from and acquired certain practices or techniques. When watching the Rivers and Tides film on Andy Goldsworthy, I got to see his process firsthand. Something that really stood out to me was that he only works with his bare hands. In one scene he was working in freezing temperatures, but still refused to wear gloves. I found this interesting and decided to attempt this in my own work. Working this way was especially challenging in my first project. I was constructing the three piles of rocks, sticks, and leaves by the river. This day was particularly cold, and about half way through, it began to snow. However, I decided to keep working with my bare hands. Even though this was very uncomfortable, it gave me a chance to have a direct connection with nature. With gloves, there would have been a material barrier between the natural environment and myself, creating ultimately a disconnection to the true process of my work. I continued this practice through my entire concentration, even in more uncomfortable weather conditions as mentioned above. Weather became a major variable in my daily process,  however it did not dictate my decision as to wether I would create work that day or not. I worked in all conditions, using weather to my advantage. On sunnier days I would work with light and shadows. On colder, winter days I would use the bareness of the environment. Working everyday, no matter what condition, really pushed me to adapt to my environment and notice details that I normally wouldn’t. Looking at particular artists also directed me in my documentation techniques. For example, I was interested in Richard Long’s form of documentation. Not only did he document the piece, but included much of the surrounding landscape, placing it in larger context. One piece that shows this idea well is “A Line in the Himalayas” done in 1975. This black and white photograph shows a line created by rocks that contrast their surroundings. Also included in this photograph are three Himalayan mountain peaks in the background, the line pointing to the center peak. The inclusion of the mountain peaks gives the viewer contextual information on where Long was when he created this piece, how high the elevation was, what sort of materials he used, etc. In a more formal sense, it adds important elements, like the idea of symmetry. This symmetry reflects ideas of calmness, and even perfection, associated with the form of the straight line he created. If this piece had been documented differently, purely focusing on the line made in the rocks, a different connotation entirely would be evoked by it. I adopted this documentation technique for some of my pieces. One piece where this is evident is with my second project, the circular stick structure by the river. After constructing this form, I began to realize how important the context was to meaning. The piece was placed in a very central part of the park. It was across from the waterfall where the river spilt off into two sections. The park is also central to Greenville, and the hollow, circular form that I placed the sticks in reflected that centrality. There were also perfectly carved circular holes in the this boulder that I built the structure on and in the surrounding ones. I later learned that these were apart of an old mill that used to be there, so that place also became a center of industrialization. When documenting, I took photographs from many different angles. One that I thought was most successful, however, was a photograph that included and an older, industrial-like, brick building in the background and the river to the right of the stick structure. Including this brick building in the composition provides ideas of the industrialization that happened in that area. However, it also brings to mind structure making in general and how it has changed and progressed through history. The stick structure representing more prehistoric structures and the brick building relating to industrialization, but existing in the same environment. Although one of my goals in this concentration was to escape the structured way of creating art that focused around a set process, my own process emerged within the fluid nature. For example, before starting each piece I sit down to write in my notebook. I write about the weather conditions that day, specific observations about my current surroundings, or the ideas I want to accomplish. However, after this initial writing time, I don't let the thoughts necessarily direct my work. I begin with thinking about these ideas, but then enter into a more improvisational state. I end sometimes with these initial ideas, but more often with new ones that emerged during the process. This process is something that I found interesting to this type of work. To truly involve myself in my piece, I couldn't focus on what I thought I wanted to accomplish, but the actual physicality of what I was doing. If I tried to direct my work towards a specific idea it would confine the fluidity and the result would not be as successful. After completing a piece I take 15-20 minutes to sit down and reflect on it. I write down the process, how it came to be in its current state, and then I work through the meaning. Meaning can emerge from the contextual surroundings, the physical process, or thoughts I have while creating it. This reflection time gives me the opportunity to give depth to my work, to connect the physical experience with my mental thought process. Through my concentration I have learned the characteristics and process of nature based work, but I have also learned about my personality. One thing that I learned is that I am process oriented. This whole experience of my concentration was to escape my structured way of working, and I believe that I have done that and have become more fluid in my process, but I still obviously value process as something important to making art. At first, when my process began to emerge I worried that I was leaning back towards my structured and controlled way of working, but I came to the realization that process does not necessarily equal structure. I realized that I was able to maintain a constant way of thinking while still allowing myself to be intuitive.   On the first day of concentration I being to experiment with different ideas. During this process I created a pile of leaves surrounded by a circle of clear ground. Looking at this pile of leaves, certain ideas came to mind, like form and texture. These essential first ideas expanded to the creation of my first piece. I wanted it to most importantly be public, which was another idea I started to think about; putting these natural sculptures in unnaturally public places. I planned this sculpture to be three circular piles of rocks, sticks, and leaves, in that order. This piece references the juxtaposition of fragile and solid materials that I explored in my nature based work last semester. However, I was also focused on the idea of unity. Rather than focusing on each individual leaf or stick the pile was meant to be viewed as a whole, a singular form. I implied this unity by having each of the piles about 2 feet apart and by creating each form in the same size. While I was working on this piece, it began to snow. I took documentation shots of it before, during, and after the snow. It was interesting to see how the snow emphasized my idea of the fragile and solid materials, with the leaf pile being almost completely covered. However, after the snow had melted and it had rained, all the materials were washed away again, unifying them. In my second piece I took a technique I used in my first project with the stick pile. I centrally organized sticks to form a hollow structure. I started with larger sticks at the bottom to create a strong foundation and moved to smaller ones as the structure was formed. One thing I enjoyed about the process of making these structures was the physicality of it. I had to search for the right size stick of a wood material that could be easily broken and break them down to the right size, to keep the form of the structure. This process was almost meditative to me. These mediative qualities of working I believe are characteristic of nature based work. For reference, Goldsworthy goes through this same kind of process where he works with the same materials for an extended period of time. For me personally I became very interested not only in the structure I was creating, but the physical materials I was working with. In this second piece specifically, I began to think about the contextual element of my work as mentioned before. As a part of this second piece, I created a contrasting form presented in a more subtle way. This was an exploration of tension between two boulders at the same site as the circular stick form. To exploit this tension I put moss in the crack between the two boulders, the crack running from the land to the water. While creating this piece I was interested in the physicality of the process of tearing the moss from the surrounding rocks, like the stick form, but I was more interested in the way that the moss appeared that it could naturally be there, a direct juxtaposition from the stick form previously made. I took a few documentation shots of this contrast, as well as some focusing purely on the tension of the moss and the rocks. There was a sense of intimacy that emerged with the subtlety of this piece; one had to physically look closely to realize that this was not a natural form, allowing the viewer to become close with the environment. There was also a sort of sensuality created with the gently curved line of the space between the boulders. This also created a juxtaposition with the circular stick structure in the way that one forces itself to be noticed while the other invites one to notice it. In my third piece I was also thinking about ideas of sensuality and intimacy. I wanted to focus on my connection to nature as a woman and how I define myself within the constructs of the natural world. I explored this idea on a rainy day. Rain to me is a sensual element, which I personally relate to femininity and being a woman. For this piece I placed green leaves on top of a puddle on a rock, all pointing north west. The leaves conformed to the irregular shape of the puddle created by the rain water on the rock. The form of the puddle to me is figurative, relating to the curvilinear lines of a woman’s body; the irregularity speaking to the non-confirmative nature of the human body to a specific shape or size. The rainwater that the leaves were placed on reinforce the idea of sensuality. Other ideas that relate to the piece are connected to Dadaist ideals; the mindset of things happening by chance or at random. Some artists that I researched that followed these specific ideals are Marcel Duchamp and Man Ray, who both explored the idea of the readymade: taking a produced object, altering it very little, and displaying it as art. My piece relates to those ideals through the random, irregular shape created by the rain against the rock through a natural occurrence and the inclusion of that shape in my piece. All of the work I create in my concentration is temporal. One that is specifically focused around this idea is a piece that documented the shadow of a lamp post across a tree every 90 seconds as the sun set. I counted the 90 seconds between each shot out loud. It deals specifically with the human perception of time versus the occurrence of natural phenomena. As humans, we have placed a quantitative amount on what naturally occurs: sixty seconds in a minute, 24 hours in one day, 12 months in a year, etc. We depend on these numerical quantities for most things in our lives, however they are only fabrications. This shadow documentation recognizes that. I counted the 90 seconds in between, putting a numerical value on the passing of this shadow, but in reality whether I was there or not, this natural occurrence would still eternally exist. This was a turning point in my work. Here I began to move away from the style of Goldsworthy and Long and enter into my own understanding of nature based art. At this point, the art became more about direct interaction and observation of nature, rather than creating something specific from its materials. This idea of direct interaction with nature was most clearly represented in a series I did where I posed the human body against and conforming to natural materials. These materials included large boulders, the roots and trunks of trees, and the stone landscape near the river. For these I was thinking specifically about the ideas of intimacy and sensuality and a physical connection with nature, especially for a woman. In many ways, I see the physical landscape as a reflection of the form of the female body. Through this I was exploring the juxtaposition of the body and the landscape, but also the consistencies they possess. I took close up, ambiguous photos of the body against the different materials to treat the body as another form in the environment rather than something placed in it. The most affective pieces were subtle in  interaction. I conformed the body to mimic certain shapes or lines of the materials. Through this I was trying to depict a push and pull that is seen universally in the environment as well as in the form of human bodies. As my work became more concerned with this idea of direct interaction with the landscape, I strayed even farther from the traditional description of sculpture. At this point, I was connecting with artist who explored this direct physical connection with materials like Janine Antoni, who painted across a canvas with her hair, and Ana Mendieta, who also physically interjected her body into the natural landscape. My work was transforming into something more conceptual and abstract, and was redefining my personal meaning of sculptural work.   As I approached the end of my concentration, a concurring theme and purpose to my work finally emerged. Beginning that day, I explored a new kind of art form with sounds. I recorded the sound of water flowing through and dripping out of a drain pipe for one minute. What drew me to this specific sound was the irregularity of it, but also the juxtaposing industrial form. I want to explore nature based work that interacts with all of the senses. When observing an environment, I believe sound is secondary only to visual elements. What is interesting about this piece is that when strictly listening to the recording, it sounds manmade; like a fountain or a machine. This contrast with the second sound recording I took. About ten feet from the drain pipe was small waterfall, maybe four feet high, but powerful. The water was constantly pouring over the rocks. When listening to this recording, that natural element is obvious with only gravity as the grounding force. What was so interesting about these recordings was how close in proximity they were to one another. After creating this, I sat and thought about the ideas I had just investigated. I was thinking about man’s intrusion on nature or even perhaps man’s attempt to mimic nature. That there is an internal want for humans to be in nature, but also to restrain nature in a manicured way. It was at this point when I realized that this reflection was not separate from my art making, but entirely a part of it. All of my art work centered around this one idea of being present. Whether I am creating a physical piece of artwork or just sitting and observing my surroundings, I am present in that environment and interacting with it in some way. Through this, my artwork is purely about myself; how I respond to the natural world as a woman and young artist. In this series of work, I also dealt with questions that have been directing my thinking about art making for awhile. These vague questions, like the defining factors of art, are ones that I believe center around my concentration. Many days I would not have a physical representation of my work, perhaps only observations written in my notebook. Does that mean that an artistic process did not occur? I would argue against that. My art is the experience of sitting and observing. So much of our world is focused on the physical; believing that productivity only occurs if something has been produced. Since the beginning of my concentration I have been trying to stray away from this idea of a processed production of art, and I believe I achieved that simply by allowing myself space to exist and think.