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nerdzzone · 3 years ago

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Only For A Moment: October + November [part one]

Summary: A series of shorter one shots from Chris and Whitney’s life together throughout the pandemic. Some happy times, some harder times, some fluff and some things a little more sexy - they work through it all as they try to get settled in their new and blossoming relationship.

Chris Evans x OFC

18+

Part of the Once Bitten/More Hearts series

Only For A Moment: September

Note: I was originally going to post this as one longer one shot, but I’ve split it into two. I haven’t finished writing the last part of the series yet and I’ve had a really bad and busy week so I haven’t had much time to work on it. It’s planned out, I just need to write it, but posting November as two parts gives me more time to finish it.

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on this story. The support has been amazing!

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October 2020

"Hey," I greeted Chris as I poked my head around the door of his office. "Are you busy? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

He put down the script he was reading - something for a project he'd be starting as soon as the pandemic allowed - and nodded his head.

"Sure, what's up?"

I moved into the room, feeling strangely nervous about what I was about to ask.

"How would you feel," I started. "About me going to New York for a weekend for work?"

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised by my inquiry and I rushed to assure him a bit more.

"They sent all the protocols that would be followed along with the job offer and it seems like it would be as safe as it possibly could be these days and I would drive up, not fly, so that would cut down on the chance of exposure a bit too," I assured him. "But I know that there's always a risk at the moment and it affects you and Gray too so I won't go if you're at all concerned."

Chris was smiling by the time I finished my long explanation and I felt a glimmer of hope that he wouldn't shoot down the idea immediately. I missed working and while Chris at least had 'A Starting Point' to focus on and various scripts to read through, I'd been completely out of work for months and I was ready to get back into it.

"Whitney, you don't need to convince me," he assured me. "I trust you. If you think it's safe and you want to do it then go for it."

"Okay, thank you," I let out a breath of relief. "I really do want to do it. I miss working."

"I know what you mean," he agreed. "What's the project?"

I couldn't hold back my grin as I answered that question.

"I get to go hang out with your friends," I informed him. "It's a promo shoot for Sebastian and Mackie's new show."

"Aw, man! That's great," Chris laughed. "Would you mind if I tagged along? I won't get in the way, I'll stay out of the photo shoot, but it would be nice to have a change of scenery."

"You wouldn't be allowed to come to the photo shoot at all," I warned him. "That was part of the protocol - no guests - and I don't know how many places are open there right now, there might not be much for you to do."

"I can keep myself entertained," he shrugged before flashing me a smirk. "We can leave Grayson with my mom, it'll be nice to have an adults only weekend."

"That would be nice," I agreed, matching his smirk as I followed his train of thought. We did fairly well making sure we got some quality time together, but we had to be quiet and quick and we always had the threat of Grayson interrupting in the back of our minds. "It's just a one day shoot so we'd have the Sunday together too."

"That's great," Chris grinned. "It'll be nice to get away."

"It will," I agreed, walking around his desk to lean down and capture his lips in a kiss. "Our first romantic getaway."

He slid his arm around my hips to keep me close as he smiled up at me.

"I can't wait."

November 2020

Leaving Grayson was harder than I anticipated. Considering I used to leave him with Chris every other week, I thought leaving him for a weekend would be easy, but I was a weepy mess. I held it together in front of Grayson so that he didn't get upset too - even though he was completely unbothered as he skipped off into Lisa's house - but once we got in the car, I let a few tears slip.

Of course, Chris teased me about it, but there was something in the way that he slipped his hand in mine and squeezed it reassuringly that told me he was feeling it too. We’d all adjusted to our new normal and Chris and I had really embraced having Gray by our side all the time so while two days was not a ridiculous amount of time to be apart, it felt like a momentous occasion. However, after giving ourselves a few minutes to wallow in the sadness, we agreed to do our best to push those feelings aside. We deserved a weekend away. No matter how much we loved him, parenting twenty-four/seven for almost ten months was hard work especially while trying to build our new relationship.

By the time we arrived in Manhattan in the early evening, our melancholy mood had shifted. The drive, spent playing silly little car games like ‘I Spy’ and singing cheesy duets, had put us in a wonderful mood and kicked off our weekend nicely. It was a fairly long drive though so I let Chris check in while I scampered off to use the restroom in the lobby. He had the keys by the time I found him again and when we got up the room, I was shocked. It was a fancy hotel - Marvel did tend to be quite generous when it came to accommodations - but it wasn't until we walked into the room that I realized we had the penthouse suite.

"Holy shit," I gasped, looking around at the luxurious space and amazing view out over Central Park. "This has to be a mistake, there's no way Marvel would pay for this!"

"No, they wouldn't," Chris smirked as he dropped our bags and moved over to the bottle of champagne that was already chilling in an ice bucket. "But I would."

"What?" I giggled. "What are you talking about? We already had a reservation booked in my name."

"Yeah, and I upgraded it," he grinned. "I just paid the difference between the room Marvel booked and this one."

He popped the champagne and poured it for us before coming to join me at the window and handing me a glass.

"You didn't have to do that, Chris. This is a pretty nice hotel, I'm sure whatever room they booked would have been fine."

"Oh yeah, it would have been fine," he shrugged. "But fine isn't what I'm aiming for this weekend and since we can't do much outside of this hotel anyway, the least I can do is make sure we have a good room."

I was looking forward to getting back to work, but suddenly I wished that I didn't have to as the idea of a romantic weekend hidden away in our gorgeous suite seemed like the best thing in the world. But, I knew we wouldn't have come without an excuse, so I tried to focus on being grateful for the time that we did have together.

Slipping my arm around his waist and stretching up on my toes, I pulled him in for a kiss, trying to convey my gratitude and excitement for the weekend.

"Well, I can think of several things we can do in this room that will keep us very busy," I teased once our lips parted again. "We better get started now or we might run out of time..."

Chris chuckled as he took a sip of his champagne, but shook his head.

"Not yet, Winnie," he denied me, despite his raspy voice. "Why don't you take that champagne and run yourself a nice bath while I order us some room service?"

I felt a frown slide onto my face and I would have been embarrassed at my childish pout had I not been so confused about him turning me down.

"Why?" I asked. "I would have thought you'd be raring to go now that we can finally enjoy ourselves with no interruptions..."

"I am but I want to enjoy it,” Chris informed me, leaning down to nip at my neck before letting his lips hover next to my ear. "I want you relaxed and well-fed so I can take my time while I make you scream my name over and over and over."

His low voice sent shivers down my spine as his plan for the night sent a wave of arousal through me. My mouth suddenly felt dry and my brain forgot how to make words as I choked out an 'okay' and took myself off to the bathroom to do as he'd instructed.

When I wandered out into the living room area of our suite almost forty-five minutes later, I was thoroughly relaxed. Wrapped in a very fluffy white bathrobe that was at least two sizes too big for me, I announced my entrance with a contented sigh. Chris looked up at the sound and let out a laugh.

"What?" I giggled, striking a pose as I had a good idea what he found amusing. "They only had one size."

"You look adorable," he grinned at me. "C'mere, let me top up your drink."

I did as he asked, walking over to where he was sitting and noticed the cart full of food that was next to him. He'd ordered my favourite - mac 'n' cheese - and I felt a rush of love for him when I saw it. A lot of people had teased me over the years, insisting that it was more of a child's dish - something not refined enough for an adult’s palate - but it had always been one of my top choices and I was touched that he'd remembered.

He'd ordered a steak for himself and we both eagerly tucked into our meals, eating until we were almost painfully full and just barely saving enough room for the peanut butter cheesecake that he'd ordered for dessert. That was another favourite of mine and I got a stern warning from Chris - as I moaned through every mouthful - that I needed to control myself until we'd had a chance to digest our large meal. I bit back a smirk, almost tempted to continue my noises of pleasure just to antagonize him, but I reluctantly decided to behave.

After we ate, we curled up on the couch with something meaningless on the TV as we recovered from the large meal. We were half-watching it, half just basking in the contentment of our full stomachs until Chris eventually decided that we'd waited long enough.

My feet were draped over his lap as we lounged and I felt his hands slowly move from lazy stroking the tops of my feet to higher up my ankle. At first, I didn't pay much attention as I mindlessly scrolled through my phone, but as his hand trailed higher up my leg, his intentions became more clear. I fought to keep a straight face as I continued to ignore him even as his hand slid up to my knee. He kept it there for a few moments, rubbing his thumb against my skin, but he quickly lost his patience as I continued playing it cool. Letting out a soft growl, he returned his hands to my feet and with a swift tug, he moved me down the couch.

"Chris!" I giggled as my head slipped from the arm of the couch onto the cushion where my bum had been moments before. "What are you doing?"

"You were ignoring me," he smirked. "So, I took matters into my own hands."

"Maybe I was reading something important," I teased. "You're so rude."

He pulled again, moving my hips up onto his lap.

"I'm rude? We're on a romantic getaway and you're starin’ at your phone."

"Well, maybe you weren't being very interesting."

He chuckled at that, but shook his head.

"You're such a brat," he scolded. "Maybe I should just flip you over and teach you a lesson."

He moved a hand down and pinched my bum to emphasize his point and I gasped as a wave of intrigue flooded through me. Using the back of the couch for leverage, I pulled myself up until I was sitting on his lap, but the positioning was a bit awkward so I shifted and straddled him instead.

"I'm not sure if a spanking from you would be much of a punishment..."

My words made his eyes darken as his hands rubbed up and down my thighs.

"Oh, really?" He questioned and I nodded with a smile. "Well, that is very interesting information to have."

"I'm surprised you haven't brought it up before," I teased. "Since you're such an ass man."

"Shut up," Chris chuckled before forcing me to do so by pressing my lips against his.

It started off as a sweet, playful kiss, but the mood of anticipation between us quickly transitioned it into something more.

His hands moved from my thighs up to my hips as I let mine slide behind him - one rubbing the soft hairs on his neck as the other held the back of his head, keeping it firmly against my own. Our lips parted, letting our tongues bump and glide against each other and I felt a fire started to burn inside of me already.

Our position and the fact that I was wearing nothing, but a bathrobe meant that there was nothing between us other than Chris' jeans. I was pressed bare against him which became apparent when he used his firm grip to pull me even closer towards him. A gasp fell from my lips at the friction the denim caused and Chris pulled back to grin at me.

"Does that feel good?" He pressed my hips forward again as he asked the question and my eyes fluttered shut as I nodded. "Then keep going."

He titled his chin to capture my lips in another kiss as he loosened his grip on me, but his instructions had been clear. Taking matters into my own hands, I started rocking my hips slowly against his enjoying the sparks I felt every time I rubbed against him. I could feel him harden, the bulge underneath me growing bigger with every pass of my hips, and the feeling had me moaning into his mouth. I almost stood up - I almost pulled myself off of his lap and dragged him to the bedroom as my body craved him and wanted him inside me - but I remembered what he'd said. He wanted to wait, to take it slow and savour the experience so, with a smirk to myself, I continued my actions with the knowledge of his growing arousal only adding to my pleasure.

As if Chris could read my mind or feel my misguided sense of control, he tightened his grip again and pressed me even harder against him. I moaned at the sensation, pulling my mouth from his as my head fell backwards. I tried to find something to focus on, something to help me regain a morsel of self-control, but nothing in the room could distract from the pressure that was building quickly as the rough material dragged against my clit. A part of me was embarrassed to be rubbing myself against him like this, but with each thrust of my hips, a much bigger part of me grew too desperate to care.

Taking advantage of my exposed neck, Chris latched his lips onto the skin, nipping and sucking gently before tracing kisses up until his mouth was beside my ear.

"You're almost there, aren't you?" His voice was low and the way my fingers dug into the back of his neck was all the answer I could muster as his hands forced my body to keep up the steady rhythm. "I bet you're almost soakin’ right through my pants. You're so needy. Go on, Winnie, take what you want."

A whimper fell from my lips as his words sent shivers down my spine. My movements, supported by his hands, became even more frantic as I felt my release building to a peak and after a few more shifts against him, I let out a strangled moan as I crashed over the edge.

Chris continued his mumbled words of encouragement as his hands continued to force me to move until I melted against him and let my head flop onto his shoulder. My breath against his neck drew goosebumps up on his skin and I placed a soft kiss on them as I fought to control my breathing.

"How're you feeling?"

I sighed softly in response to Chris' question, fighting to make my brain function enough to form words.

"Wonderful," I purred into his ear after taking a moment to compose myself. "But I'm really dying to have you inside me..."

Without another word, Chris used his grip on my hips to lift me off his lap and onto my feet. My legs felt shaky from the strength of my recent orgasm, but they held me up as I stared down at Chris, a bit stunned by the fast movement. He looked up at me for a brief moment before raising an eyebrow and nodding his head towards our bedroom.

"Do you need me to carry you?" He questioned, his tone laced with sarcasm as he clearly noticed the quiver in my legs. "Or can you walk?"

I giggled and playfully rolled my eyes, but turned towards the bedroom. Trying to regain some semblance of power in the situation, I undid the robe that was still tied around my waist and let it fall to the floor. The action left me completely naked as I walked away and I heard a growl of approval from Chris followed by the sound of him jumping to his feet behind me. I scampered off with him hot on my heels, but he caught me in his grasp when I was a few feet past our bedroom door.

He easily lifted me off the ground and I let out a squeal as he tossed me onto the bed.

"Wow," I giggled as I flopped onto my back, leaning up on my elbows to look at him. "That was a graceful landing, real sexy."

Chris smirked as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"You're always sexy," he insisted, moving to the bed and crawling over me. "I can't get enough of you."

Before I could respond, his mouth was back on mine. I smiled against his lips and took a moment to run my hands over his toned muscles, but quickly moved them down to the belt on his jeans as I was eager to get things moving. Almost immediately, he pulled away with that damn smirk still on his face.

"Not so fast," he warned. "I said we were going to take our time."

"We already did," I whined. "Please, Chris, I want you so bad."

He dipped his head and kissed along my jaw until his lips hovered by my ear.

"And you'll have me," he assured me. "Eventually."

I let out a groan of frustration, but as he trailed his kisses lower until they reached my chest, the groan became one of pleasure. A hand slid up my side until it was level with his head and while his mouth captured one nipple, his fingers pinched the other. I gasped and arched my back up towards him, desperate to be as close to him as possible.

His actions started off soft. His fingers and lips worked in a gentle, almost teasing way that had me almost ready to whine for more, but just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he increased the pressure. His fingers pinched and tweaked one as he nipped the other and the sensation had my hips pressing up against him almost of their own volition. He chuckled as I lifted a leg to hook it over his hip, pulling him down in an attempt to find any friction as he moved to rest his chin between my breasts.

"You're so impatient," he teased. "I'm not gonna fuck you yet."

His voice was thick and rough from his own aroused state and it only made me more desperate.

"Please, Chris..." I whined. "Why not?"

Chris let his teeth graze against my skin briefly before moving further down my body, my question apparently going unanswered. He kissed his way over my stomach, an affectionate smile appearing on his face as he watched the muscles under his mouth quiver and twitch from his actions. It appeared he was intent on taking his sweet time and I really was about to start begging again when he finally settled between my thighs, pulling my legs to rest over his shoulders.

A snarky comment about him taking so long was on the tip of my tongue, but any attitude I was feeling disappeared as he pressed his tongue against me, licking upwards until he settled against my clit. I couldn't hold back the moans and gasps that poured from my lips from the sensation and for a moment, I worried I was being too loud. However, from the way Chris' fingers dug into my ass to lift me higher against his mouth, he seemed to find it encouraging.

He was focused and determined, his lazy mood from moments earlier seemingly gone and I wasn't complaining as I was already practically dripping on to the bed with need. He knew my body almost better than I did and the way his lips were locked on just the right spot, sucking with just the right pressure was driving me wild.

In a few mere minutes, I was already teetering on the edge, but when I gasped out a warning to Chris, he instantly pulled away.

I lifted my head as I let out a growl and scowled down at him - the cocky smirk on his face only adding to my annoyance.

"What the hell, Chris," I huffed. "Keep going!"

He kissed my thigh as I felt an almost painful ache between my legs.

"Patience, Winnie," he warned me. "You need a lesson in patience."

The overwhelming feeling I felt in response to that comment was frustration, but there was a hint of intrigue as well. I was at his mercy, being teased and toyed with until he decided otherwise and I'd be lying if that knowledge didn't turn me on even more.

"Do you-" I gasped as he blew against the wet place his mouth had been moments before. "Do you want me to beg?"

"It wouldn't hurt," he grinned. "But there is something appealing about the thought of seeing how long I can keep you like this..."

That idea filled me with dread. As enticing as my helplessness in this scenario was, the thought of it lasting more than a few minutes seemed painfully cruel.

"No, please don't," I pleaded. "Please touch me, Chris. Please, please. I need it so bad."

He groaned, letting his forehead rest against my thigh for a moment before looking up to meet my eyes.

"The way you say my name when you're like this drives me crazy."

He moved his hand to flick his thumb over my clit and his name fell from my lips again as a desperate whimper. That seemed to be all he needed to hear as he quickly attached his mouth back to that sweet spot.

Instantly, my hands shot to grip his head as mine fell back against the pillows. He held down my hips that were pushing up towards him, desperate to increase the friction, but it didn't matter. I was so close already, so worked up from his previous actions, that it took no time at all for the pressure he'd built up inside me to boil over as I finally found my release.

As always, he coaxed me through it, only moving back when he was sure my orgasm had faded. By the time it was done, my chest was heaving and Chris dragged himself off the bed, giving me a moment to catch my breath as he rid himself of his jeans and boxers. I smiled at the sight, but I was in a daze. My whole body felt like jelly from the two amazing orgasms I'd just received, but that didn't stop me from the moment of clarity that hit just as he was climbing back over me.

"Wait! Condom."

Chris cursed under his breath before hopping off the bed and quickly rifling through his bag. He found one - which I knew he would as I'd reminded him several times to pack them so we wouldn’t be caught without them in a moment like this - and returned to the bed.

"Hurry," I panted. "I need you."

A quiet growl rumbled from Chris' chest as he quickly tore open the condom wrapper and put it on. I was still sensitive from our previous activities, but as soon as he was on top of me again, I was pressing up towards him. He filled me with an almost insatiable need and it seemed his patience was also thin after being so hard for so long as he slid inside me with impressive speed.

I groaned from the sensation of him filling me so quickly, but any discomfort quickly shifted into pleasure as he rocked his hips against mine. My fingers dug into his shoulders as my legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer as he quickly established a steady rhythm. As much as he wanted to take his time, his restraint was clearly waning as he kept up a vigorous pace. My over sensitive state and his purposefully angled thrusts, hitting all the right nerves with just the right pressure, had me writing beneath him as I basked in the sensation.

Chris was always rather vocal, but as his moans, grunts and whispers of filthy commentary grew louder and more unrestrained it became clear that he was also edging closer and closer to his peak. His hips snapped with more ferocity and all I could do was hold onto him tightly, giving him all the control and riding the waves of pleasure he was causing.

“I’m close,” he groaned, his voice strained as his breath hit my neck.

Unable to form words, I made a noise that I hoped would convey my agreement and his movements seemed to become even more pointed and more deliberate. With every thrust, he made sure to rub against every sensitive spot inside me and moments later, I felt my release hit me. It felt like every muscle in my body tensed as I quivered and clenched around him, a sound leaving my mouth that was so lustful and unrestrained that I could hardly believe it was coming from me. He gasped out a moan of his own from the sensation of me coming around him and quickened his pace through my orgasm until eventually he stilled, the sound of his pleasure echoing through my ears.

Once we had both recovered, Chris rolled off of me, pulling the condom off and disposing of it in the garbage can next to the bed before he settled on his back, chest heaving from exertion.

I let out a happy sigh as I curled into his side and his arm wrapped around me, pulling me close.

"That was amazing," I smiled, placing a kiss against his chest.

He chuckled, squeezing me even tighter as he answered.

"See? Patience. It makes everything better."

I nipped at the skin underneath my mouth.

"Shut up."

He leaned down to place a kiss on the top of my head and I smiled.

"I love you," he practically whispered in the darkness. "I'm so glad we get this weekend together."

"Me too," I agreed. "I love you too."

He squeezed me closer again as we laid there curled up in each other, basking in our post-orgasmic glow.

No one had ever made me feel the way that Chris did. I’d never felt as safe with anyone, I’d never felt so able to let my guard down, and the physical aspect of our relationship clearly benefited greatly from the closeness that we shared. It was an amazing feeling to know that we were so in tune with each other and that there was so much room to explore the things that made us feel good and, despite being fully satisfied for the time being, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to other things I would be interested in delving into as I drifted off to sleep.

November [part two]

Tags: @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces @firoozehmoon @patzammit @sparkledfirecracker @mytbel0st @chvntelle-99 @mjey12

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans smut #chris evans fic #once bitten/more hearts #only for a moment

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iphoenixrising · 3 years ago

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DickTim Week 2021: Day 5 Winged!Talon Tim au

So. another dual prompt and I really regret nothing about this one tbh. I took tomorrow’s Talon and today’s Wings and made a Winged!Talon!Tim fic. Of course, I talked to the wonderful babes on Capes & Coffee about a what if combination and this just, whew. Careful, it might break your heart a little, but damn if it isn’t an interesting idea.

Not beta read, so don't be a hater :D

Previous Talon!Tim universe posts: The initial idea, Babe and I talking it out, Talon Training Ask, Ra’s vs the Court, Talon and Ra’s, Talon and Ra’s take 2, Talon and Shiva short.

Watching B take on the new and improved Talon is really the entertainment of the year.

Once upon a time it had taken all of them plus more to take down as much of the Court of Owls as humanly possible. Of course, like rats, the Bats knew there would be no way to get the entire Court or all the Talons, not when the upper echelons of Gotham had spent the better part of 200 years creating, storing, training, and obtaining more.

Politicians were investigated, corrupt cops removed, and criminals burrowed underground once word of what the capes did to save the day got passed around.

For the first time in years, crime in Gotham was at an all time low.

But, as the coin flip dictates, nothing good lasts forever. Trouble is always brewing below the surface to eventually rise to the top and try to take over.

Case in point:

The Bats of Gotham have come up against a new threat wearing the signature Talon armor, and the call goes out to all available capes for help taking on the undead mercenary before another crime family ends up in the Obituaries rather than Blackgate.

The fact the Court is still up and running after the Batfamily took them down in a fiery blaze that ended with all their Talons gone, Sensei exposed, and most the ruling families imprisoned or poisoned by Lincoln March, is like a kick to the abdomen after they closed that particular book. Worse, with a new Talon soldier is sighted running around Gotham, another circus kid has been kidnapped and turned into the right hand of the Court of Owls. Dick, with his absolute survivors guilt, is the one to make going after the Talon and whoever is still behind the scenes a top priority.

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of Knight’s Stadium facing down a Talon that is too short to be March. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and Black Bat pretty much got their asses handed to them in the first twelve minutes. Pretty hard to understand until you take into account the new and improved Talon facing them now is terrifying in a completely different way than most undead assassins are.

He knows them.

He knows them in ways that lets him fight fast and furious with vicious accuracy, striking at weaknesses few of the vigilantes of Gotham realized they even had.

He isn't as big as Lincoln or even Cobb, not nearly as old. He hasn't been kept in cryostasis waiting for the next generation to need his skills. He doesn't have creaks in his joints from being put on deep freeze too many times.

This one is silent and efficient, obviously trained in multiple types of martial arts, is highly proficient with or without the standard Talon knives, is a master tactician, counters the majority of their moves with alarming consistency–

and the fucking Talon has wings.

Honest-to-God wings.

Everyone had assumed the metal monstrosities on his back were weapons of some kind, but the glint of steel in the streetlight flash a warning before the lumps moved in an arch, extending far out past his shoulder blades, slicing into Red Hood’s body suit with a razor-sharp edge, shredding the armor like paper.

It’s not enough he’s got weapons obviously made specifically for his skill set, it’s not enough he’s an assassin and doesn’t hold to the same standards of non-lethal combat, it’s not enough that he can use his wings to fly or to fight like he’s using another limb to kick the shit out of them, and it’s not enough that he effortlessly counters so many of their attacks that he has to have some kind of inside information on all of them and their fighting styles.

The knives are definitely a thing when the Talon can throw them hard enough to penetrate parts of their suits in between armored plating, which further drives the theory that this is a person they’ve dealt with before. Intimately. Few people in the world know how their suits are made. Even more, few people know particulars enough when their suits are constantly reconstructed.

The only thing on their side that tipped the scales in their favor–

–the Batman.

The wings threw him off his game, obviously, but not enough to stop B from holding his own with swift and merciless force.

It's like watching a dance of fast and furious fists, blades in Talon's hands glinting deadly in the night, finding B's suit over and over and over until he's made it to blood and bone. He takes every hit the Batman can dish out, head snapping back, left, and right with the volley of jaw-breaking blows and bone-shattering kicks.

None of it gives the Talon pause. When a move makes him drop a blade, another is already in hand, cutting into their body suits, wings flipping out to defend or distract, sweeping moves and well coordinated attacks.

The unnatural appendages are like another arm, another leg, an extension working on the same central nervous system, regardless as to how the Court managed to make it happen.

A jump kick off a trash can is a lucky shot as a wing catches B in the ribs hard enough to knock him into the wall of Mike's Famous Hotdogs. The only thing saving the Dark Knight from a concussion or permanent brain damage is the plating in his cowl.

It gives the Talon enough time to make a final bid for a battered Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin struggling to their feet again, eyes for their fallen mentor.

Before he can lunge forward to start the attack yet again, the Talon just stops, pauses like he’s stuck or something, and in the span of a breath, both wings extend fully, flap powerfully once to propel him up into the Gotham night.

O tries her best to track his flight through the city, but no one’s arms are working well enough to toss a tracker on him.

She loses him over Cape Carmine, slams her palms against her system in frustration, makes sure she gets as much footage from the confrontation as possible.

After some sleep and a whole lot of bandages and ice packs, the Bat family meets in the Cave to watch the footage, breakdown the Talon’s fighting style, his weaponry, and make theories on his identity.

O helps out with readings she has of electronic pulses she managed to capture coming from the armor over his wings. She thinks she might be able to use it to track him if they can get close enough for her equipment to ping the signal again.

B makes a trip to Arkham since Freeze apparently hasn’t stopped producing the formula used to put Talons in cryostasis.

It’s not until Gotham’s power grid has a massive surge that O and the Bats can pinpoint a possible location, all of them invested in one hell of a fight to get the last rats still scurrying in the underground.

The plan of attack comes together smoothly once they’ve scoped out the location, seen the shady activity, and together, they make one hell of a plan.

And because, you know, Gotham, it is completely normal for the Court of Owl's headquarters to have a skylight.

Natch.

For this one, they've got Batgirl and Black Bat, Red Hood and Robin, Nightwing and B, a real family affair.

O's quiet voice over comms leading them through the maze of traps and empty rooms, abandoned libraries and spooky ball rooms. The laboratory isn't the most horrific they've all ever seen (because the Joker's summer place is literally the stuff of nightmares), but a few of them do gag on the smell alone.

The plan, however, goes horribly awry when the clear sounds of tormented screaming echoes from right under their reinforced bootheels.

Black Bat's fists clench hard, her breathing wheezes out when the tone, the utter agony goes right through her.

A shudder slides up Robin's spine as all of them turn toward the noise.

Without a flicker or a word, the Batman moves, strafing in the shadows toward the sound. He can't assume it's an innocent civilian with something the Court wants, but he's betting on the fact that scream will lead them to whoever is running the show.

The medieval room has bars and reinforced locks, implements hanging on the wall. The cement brick is stained rust colored with old blood, the vestiges of training, and the awful realization they've found another hidden niche in the city that always existed right under their noses is punctuated with the abrupt drop in temperature, with the sudden charge in the air, with the zzzzcrack snapping beyond the door, replaced with a muted buzzing Robin can feel in his back teeth.

B is already on his way to the roof, Batgirl down through the floor vent while Nightwing picks the locks with fast precision, knocking the tumblers around.

Robin and Red Hood stay close to the reinforced door, balancing on the balls of their feet, katana and .45s at the ready.

Black Bat takes the high road, ceiling tiles giving way under her Bat-a-rang. She gives a sharp nod before she's up and gone.

"All right. Ready?" Nightwing stands, cracks his neck, flips his escrimas in both hands, works his shoulders to prepare for the strain of each blow he plans to give.

"Ya betcha ass," Hood murmurs low, a cut figure with both guns at his sides, gloved fingers on the trigger guard.

"Don't disappoint," Robin snarls, "either of you."

"Nice pep talk, squirt," Nightwing snickers.

"Tt, back up your mouth with action."

"Better shuddap, Demon. Golden Boy ain't fuckin' 'round. Neither is the Bat. We get one more chance a' this asshole. We ain't gonna blow it again, ya feel me?"

"Finally, something we agree on, Hood."

"Other than N's shitty mullet?"

Nightwing swiftly glares at them both over his shoulder, unconsciously putting himself front and center of the trio, ready to be the first in once they get the signal.

– which is the sound of the glass raining down from the heavens.

Three booted feet kick the door hard enough to take it off the hinges, lying against the faded stains like a fallen body.

First step in the room is the complete opposite to what they'd all been expecting.

The two Owl masks aren't the usual, but a perversion of the originals, crudely drawn yawning mouths complete with fangs dripping blood.

But.

The boy on his knees, arms in a binder holding the appendages hostage at a painful angle, is dripping the real thing. Rivulets down his chest and where his back is partially visible. Some from the base of the wings going into the back of his shoulder blades where the skin is torn and raw.

The bar gag shoved in his mouth doesn't take away from the splatters on his chin, the bruising on his face, the swollen eye. But it's his wings that makes the Bats falter from the initial rushing attack.

His wings are without the armor, are bound straight up above his restrained body with hooks grotesquely puncturing through the downy softness, desecrating the beauty with blood and gore. The angle makes the pull to his back where the wings are part of him just another agony on top of atrocity.

"Fuck," from the first Owl mask, and a swift move frees the Talon's bound arms, the appendages flopping uselessly to the floor, only his trapped, tortured wings keeping him up on his knees.

The second Owl shoves the first back, "let him take care of them. Let's get out of here!"

The first Owl snarls out something low and foreign, the phrases rolling off his tongue.

The words lock into place, and the Talon's head snaps up, snarling around the gag in his mouth.

When his face is finally, finally visible, the protectors of Gotham are frozen in their tracks.

Familiar violet-blue eyes, too-long blue-black hair, cut jawline and pointed nose. Tiny scar on his right cheek from the time he caught Ra's al Ghul's ring across the face.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," is barely heard through the Red Hood's synths and in no way fully expresses his utter horror at what these dirty motherfuckers have done.

Robin wretches, bile burning the back of his throat once those eyes swing up to the masked parody of the Owls and his bare upper body is visible through the blood and sweat on his chest, when the scars peeking through on his collar bones form a half-visible Y-incision, when the coloring of the bared wings now makes sense (robin's wings, Damian Wayne thinks with his heart beating pitter patter fast, and his stomach in knots, they put robin's wings on him...).

And the hurt, agonized noise coming out of Nightwing's chest is the only noise he can make when those dimmed, dazed eyes swing from the Owls back to the vigilantes frozen in their spots, when there's no spark of joy or fondness or stubbornness he's so used to seeing staring him down.

The errant thought, the first instinct, is the only humane way to deal with this new Talon is to put him down for good wars with the man behind the mask that only wants to reach out, wants to pull the Talon into his body and curve over, to scream at the injustice of it all, to rail at himself for not even suspecting.

Another switch flipped and the hooks release his wings, blood splattering on top the old stains.

"Get them! Don't fuck it up this time or you won't get another chance," the second Owl shoves the Talon's injured shoulder in the direction of the horrified vigilantes.

They don't even bother to take the gag out of his mouth before setting him on his target.

A flap of wings, and the Talon is on his feet again, swaying only slightly. He's in the boots and pants from earlier, the rest of his uniform tossed carelessly behind him by his tormentors. A sweep of his feet and the knives glint in bare palms, a whisper of a sound.

The curved, clawed blade glints in the overhead light when the Talon raises it and cuts the strap of the bar gag in his bloody mouth, turns his head to spit it out without looking away from the vigilantes.

The Batman, grim and stoic in the face of this surprising turn of events, gives the barest nod. From her hiding spot behind the complex machinery, Black Bat takes off after the running Owl members, leaving the rest of the family to deal with their former third Robin.

The wings flinchingly flare out and their former bird hunches over, ready for the attack.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the Red Hood removes the helmet, leaves the domino underneath. He keeps one hand out in peace, slowly dipping down to put his helmet on the ground. “Is us, Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. Is us. Yer family. Gotta lookit us, yeah?”

For the first time, the Talon speaks, “who’s Tim?”

And then he lunges.

The fight happens very differently this time.

The former power behind the punches is obviously dulled with the Talon’s identity reveal. He doesn’t hold back, is utterly ruthless with his attacks. He takes out B’s right knee, puts Hood down on the stained floor, knocks Robin into the wall with crushing force, and slams Batgirl’s head off the operating table.

He stands over Nightwing, wicked blade in hand and robin’s wings spread wide. He takes a knee, the sharp edge right above N’s adam’s apple, staring down impassively into the whiteouts.

“Timmy,” N spits blood, grunting when one knee pins his arm down. “Timmy, please. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Those eyes don’t change in the slightest. “You should not have tried to oppose the Owls.”

“We beat them once,” Nightwing gasps, “and you helped us, Baby Bird. You were with us then, don’t you remember.”

“I was nothing before the Court perfected me,” the Talon replies emotionlessly.

“You were perfect before they ever touched you.”

“No,” and the Talon leans down, puts them a breath away. “The only thing you and those others do is put the criminals back in prison, back in Arkham for them to escape again, for them to kill and destroy over and over again. Like this, I can stop them permanently.”

“Oh Timmy,” and behind the whiteouts, Nightwing’s eyes spill over, his vision wavery. “Timmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Stop calling me that.”

“You know me, you know us. You have to remember–”

“Lies. All of it lies!”

Nightwing’s chest stutters, his fist clenching, “it’s not. None of it is. Not even this–”

And he’s fast enough to grab the back of the Talon’s neck, to lean up enough against the blade pressed against his throat, can bring their mouths together, can kiss him like he’s dying and the Talon is the only thing that can save him.

It’s sloppy and awkward because the Talon doesn’t know what’s happening, gasps against the vigilante’s mouth. The tongue sliding over his, the muffled moan in his mouth sparks something in the back of his brain where the Court of Owls could never touch.

When Nightwing pulls back, stares up at wide violet-blue eyes, when the blade falls away to clatter against the block, when the Talon’s mouth trembles and tears fill his eyes, when his wings flutter and falter, fold in on them both, when his voice goes hoarse with, “D-Dick?” Nightwing throws both arms around his waist and holds on.

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magical-girl-coral · 3 years ago

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Re: your recent HC post about Hitsugaya and Hinamori, I would not mind hearing some of those angst HCs you mentioned if you’re interested in writing em out! 👀👀👀

Okay so this not an HC least as much as it's me ranting because holy shit, does Toshiro not deserve to be a captain.

And I'm not saying this because I hate him or trying be edgy, I'm saying this because I'm legit worried of the amount of the pressure he has from being a gifted child along with all the trauma he suffered through that would probably break him.

As one of my friends mentioned once, the little dude lost every fight against Aizen and co. Gin vs. Toshiro was a battle of one strike and Gin proved to be the winner when he thought through when he aimed his sword so that even if Toshiro moved out of the way, the sword will slice Momo so that Toshiro will lose focus (because Gin is a fucking asshole). Aizen would have pretty much killed him early on if Unohana hadn't come to save him. When he fought Halibel, she had him on the defense until the Visored came to assist him. And I don't think I need to mention how Aizen used Momo against him (again) in such a traumatic matter because villains are fucking assholes.

And while I haven't read TYBW and I never will, Toshiro getting him Bankai stolen, watching Rangiku die being the last thing he saw and being turned into a zombie is the final nail in the coffin for me. No living being should go through that! No one! Let alone a fucking child. And yet here he is in the epilogue, still a captain with Rangiku by his side as if nothing changed.

One last thing before I summarize my feelings - has anyone ever noticed how Central 46 uses Toshiro's need to be a Mature Adult™ for their advantage because they knew he wouldn't ask a lot of questions? The only time Toshiro went against the Central was when it was acting so suspicious that everyone else (expect for Byakuya) had said fuck it and went on doing their own shit. In the first Bleach movie, Rangiku joked that Toshiro is the only captain that agrees to go on missions because nobody else wants to but no I feel like there's a more sinister air to it.

In conclusion: CHILDREN SHOULD NOT BE CAPTAINS, ESPECIALLY CHILDREN LIKE TOSHIRO. He's a gifted child that wants to be the most mature one in the room and is a complete hothead when being pushed the right buttons (which is almost every button) . Toshiro should have gone to his grandmother after the war ended, tell her everything and then watch as she beats up every adult in the Gotei thirteen with her shoe before dragging his ass back home. Maybe even let him have some soup and a blanket. As a treat

#watch me beat the entire center 46 for using a kid to their own propaganda #i hate them so guys. it's almost unreal #Asks #Bleach #Toshiro Hitsugaya

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dalekofchaos · 4 years ago

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Killing The New Republic and Luke’s New Jedi Order killed the Sequel Trilogy

Disney you’re a business, who’s all about money, but then you chose to destroy the New Jedi Order and New Republic, that is definitely killing your billions, even after refusing to put storytelling first and foremost, and then having the audacity to claim “we don’t have source material” never mind the countless series of video games, comics, novels, tv shows and films, merchandising etc. Not to mention all the fucking stuff you could’ve done with the NR in BATTLEFRONT! YOU COULD HAVE MADE WITH THE NEW REPUBLIC AND NEW JEDI ORDER!

But no. Instead you made Leia an incompetent general leading an even weaker and an on the budget Rebel Alliance. Han’s character arc was dropped, Han and Leia’s iconic romance was broken up and they were both turned into absent parents and Luke’s Jedi Order failed and 30 years of peace was undone pointlessly. But instead you just wanted Rebels vs Empire 2.0, but only this time around it’s dumber.

Do you know what we could’ve done with The New Republic? Leia as Chancellor. Han and Lando as her Ministers of Defense. Boba Fett, Din Djarin and Bo-Katan leading The Mandalorians together as allies to the New Republic. We could’ve had a House Of Cards/West Wing/Game Of Thrones styled writing for the overall politics of The New Republic. You could’ve made a goddamn fortune on New Republic troopers, armor, weapons, fighters and frigates. Hell, you could even have The New Republic wield their own Star Defenders as opposed to Star Destroyers. I am well aware that canon demilitarized The New Republic and already made a post on why disarming the New Republic in new canon was stupid.

What should have happened is that the NR commanders the Imperial Fleet and starts protecting systems who join the NR, all while chasing down and fighting any of the Remnants (Moffs, Warlords, Crime Lords, etc) who have grabbed power in the resulting vacuum. We could have seen an evolution of ships from Old Republic to Empire to NR ones. They could have renamed Star Destroyers into Star Defenders. Hell, they could have had a Republic of independent systems, each with their own sizable military, so that power isn't centralized.

Here is what the Sequel Trilogy could’ve been with the New Republic in power.

This could have been an interesting question for the ST. What happens after you win a war? How do you not make the same mistakes or become the thing you fought. What happens in a power vacuum? The NR should have been the dominant emerging power, and the Remnant should have been a small, secretive, unknown order, striking strategically from the UR where they hid, and causing fear and panic to spread in the NR. But no, instead of telling an interesting story, we are force fed the recycled poorly written rehashed Rebels vs Empire and the Rebels are made to be weaker than The First Order. The First Order are a terrorist movement, they should not be reigning after Hosnian Prime’s destruction, ESPECIALLY AFTER LOSING STARKILLER BASE! Concentrating your government and defenses around only one system is really stupid(AND BAD FUCKING WRITING) The New Republic’s forces should have been spread far across the galaxy. So after Hosnian Prime, The New Republic sees the bigger picture and mobilizes their fleet and unites their forces with The Resistance. Instead The New Republic is stupidly destroyed because Rian wanted the Rebels to be the Rebels again.(lol this movie is fucking dumb) God forbid we get The New Republic fighting the First Order and making the heroes looking strong in force instead of stupidly having all the Rebels fit inside the Falcon. For the love of fucking god I hate this fucking timeline.

As for The Imperial Remnant. Thrawn, and Rae Sloane would lead the fleets and Darth Plagueis and the Knights Of Ren would would be in command of the dark side.

Do you have any idea how fucking frustrated it was to play The Battlefront games with The Resistance who are just discount Rebels? They look fucking pathetic.

JUST LOOK AT THE NEW REPUBLIC IN THE MANDALORIAN!!!!!!!! SO MUCH POTENTIAL!

Oh and just look at the NR Troopers from Legends and fan concepts

SO. MUCH. POTENTIAL!

As for the New Jedi Order.

Ya’ll were sitting on a GOLDMINE with the New Jedi Order. You murdered the goose which laid thegolden egg. Imagine proper video games, novels, animations, films in that era. Think about all of the unique characters and designs we could’ve seen, all the unique toys they could have sold, plus they could’ve centered Galaxy’s Edge around becoming a Jedi, building your own lightsaber, and undergoing training at Luke’s academy. I know they have a lightsaber-building thing there currently, but it would’ve made a lot more sense if they could’ve tied it in to the new trilogy with the New Jedi Order. Plus, Mark Hamill was the only one of the major OT actors who was willing to continually reprise his role well into the future, and they reduced Luke’s role to a cameo in 2/3 sequel movies and ruined his character and killed him off in the other one. They could’ve kept Luke around for several more decades and thrown him in to as many TV series, video games, and movies as they wanted to, and people would’ve flocked to see or purchase whatever he’s in, because it’s freaking Luke Skywalker. Destroying the New Jedi Order offscreen and ruining and killing off Luke Skywalker were the two dumbest decisions made with the sequel trilogy. They could’ve made BILLIONS off of this stuff. The continued pre-trilogy and post-trilogy stories, the toys, the merchandising, the video games, the books and comics, everything. What makes matters worse is that as I said, Mark Hamill was the only one who wanted to continue with his role,( Also he is an accomplished voice actor so he would have done well in the animated stuff, which also gives him opportunities to do action scenes without being young) he honestly probably would’ve been willing to reprise Luke up until he was in his 80s or even into his 90s, hell, Billy Dee Williams was just over 80 when he reprised Lando in TROS, and Luke wouldn’t even need an action-heavy role as he got older, as the Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order, he’d be able to have a similar role to Yoda in the prequels and The Clone Wars, where he provides wisdom and guidance the majority of the time, but he every once in a while he steps into battle, while the new characters go on the vast majority of the adventures. They really shit the bed with these new movies, because using the New Jedi Order with Luke as Grandmaster would’ve made them BILLIONS. I truly don’t understand how such a money-hungry corporation could’ve missed out on this, because using the NJO would’ve been like printing money. It’s genuinely baffling.

We could’ve had it all

Source

For story purposes. It could’ve been like this.

Luke starts to rebuild the Jedi by training his sister Leia. Leia could not fully commit to the Jedi because she had to lead the Republic as Chancellor, but she is made an honorary member on his Jedi Council. Leia would agree to be trained as a Jedi Master. Leia has a Yellow Lightsaber she keeps hidden should the moment arises. Leia’s most powerful force ability is Battle Meditation. After training Leia, Luke eventually encountered The Emperor’s Hand Mara Jade. Their dynamic and romance would be the same as in Legends. Eventually after Ezra Bridger returns, Ahsoka Tano, Cal Kestis, and Ezra Bridger return and join Luke’s Jedi order. The Jedi council would be this. Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Mara Jade, Ahsoka Tano, Cal Kestis and Ezra Bridger. The new Jedi Order embrace both the Light and Dark Sides Of The Force instead of repeating the mistakes of the Jedi of old and so balance can be brought to the force. Balance would mean understanding both aspects of the force and you can indulge in your anger and more toxic emotions, but you can’t let them rule you and when you can come to peace with that, that’s when you have balance.

Also, Luke’s Jedi order would include multiple aliens species from Wookies, Twi'leks, Iridonians, Trandoshans, Mirialan and you get the picture.

Finn would be a mix of Kyle Katarn and Finn Galfridian.

For those not familiar with either character. Kyle Katarn, a self taught force sensitive who was a former Imperial Stormtrooper that later became a Jedi Master, Battlemaster and a Jedi Council member. Finn Galfridian, a Jedi who is from Royal background and is part of the New Jedi Order who was being taught by Luke Skywalker Finn could still be a Stormtrooper that chose empathy and to walk away, this results in Finn becoming Force Sensitive and brought to be trained by Grogu. We would later find out that Finn is a lost prince of Royalty stolen by The Imperial Remnant. Perhaps, in this scenario. Finn could be the lost Prince of Naboo. Finn would of course continue fighting in the war, but with Artorias on the New Republic’s side, they will gave more funding and at least another ally. It would also provide Finn the ability to have a home for the Stormtroopers after Finn liberates the Stormtroopers from the Remnant. Finn could allow the Stormtroopers that still want to fight to serve in the Naboo military. The Naboo having weak defenses could greatly benefit from having trained soldiers serve them and if the Stormtroopers would prefer a peaceful life, Finn can offer them a civilian lifestyle away from the judgment the rest of the galaxy would give them for their past, even offering them reparations.

Also, Finn would find love with best damn pilot in The New Republic, Poe Dameron!

Luke and Mara would have a daughter. Kira Jade Skywalker(who of course would be Rey) she would grow up loved, with her family and with the Jedi. They would all truly be With her.

Ben Solo, Breha Solo(Played by Billie Lourd) and Jaina Solo(played by Millie Bobby Brown) would be the Solo children. Ben, Breha, and Jaina would all grow up close and would thrive as Jedi while their parents would visit and shower them with the love they would naturally receive from Han and Leia as their parents and Han and Leia would stand strong together leading The New Republic

You could have Ben Solo being the most promising of Luke’s Jedi Knights. He can either stay as a Jedi or choose The Imperial Remnant and become Kylo Ren. The Jedi Order is split between the Jedi loyal to Luke and those loyal to Ben. I will say Ben’s fall would be similar to Jacen’s. Because he sensed something terrible coming. The Grysk. He feels that the Jedi and the NR would not be enough. So he gives in to Darth Plagueis and leads the Knights Of Ren. But when The Grysk attack, Ben shows us his true colors and returns to his family to fight The Grysk and unites both The New Republic and Remnant.

If Ben doesn’t turn to the dark side, Ben would stay true to the Jedi and his family. Ben would lead the Jedi to face the Knights Of Ren and destroy Plagueis.

Together Kira, Ben, Breha, Jaina and Finn would rise together and destroy Darth Plagueis and end the Sith once and for all.

But that’s not the end, because The Grysk would invade the galaxy.

Towards the end of the Trilogy, The NR and FO will join forces to fend off The Grysk invasion. Sloane will call for a cease fire and signing a treaty with Leia, where The NR and FO align their forces and build The Galactic Federation. Building a better galaxy together. Leia's vision for a Republic and Sloane's virtues for the Empire.

We get the legacy characters getting treated with respect, we get the new generation built upon and being prepared for the coming war and are all treated as important heroes, we have a FO treated like strong villains and a stronger threat to unite both forces and we have peace in the end. This is how I think the ST should have been handled.

The theme should’ve been family. It’s about how the Skywalkers and Solos lead and protect the galaxy. How well Han, Luke and Leia became after the fall of the Empire and the upbringing of their children. It should end with all is well with the Skywalker and Solo families. Not end in misery.

As Carrie Fisher said

“It’s about family. And that’s what makes it so powerful.”

We could’ve had it all.

#Luke Skywalker #Finnpoe #Anti Lucasfilm #Anti Kathleen Kennedy #Anti Disney #Anti JJ Abrams #Anti Rian Johnson

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dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram · 4 years ago

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I’d love to hear your thoughts on Louis’ class position if you want to elaborate.

What a great question anon - of course I would love to!

Louis was born in Doncaster in 1991. That sentance is a weighty starting point to a discussion about class. Eight years earlier, Doncaster had been the centre of militancy when Miners were striking to protect the possibility of decent work for working-class people. They had lost - and the price was losing was the devastation of work and the economy in the area.

I’ve always wondered if Len was a miner. The fact that he was working as a driver, makes it more likely - it’s a really common occupation among people who worked as miners. But whether or not that story of destruction and devastation is Louis’ family story, it’s still the story he grew up steeped in.

Jay was a working-class single mother at 19 (I think we know enough about her family to be reasonably sure at that). She would have studied throughout Louis’ childhood, and became a midwife in 2002 (although she had to put it on pause while the big twins were little, she must have gone back to it reasonably soon, because she was a senior midwife by the time she had the little twins). Jay and Louis’ economic position got more secure as time went on, not least because she got married, but both Jay and Louis have talked a lot about money being tight at various points. Once Jay was able to work as a midwife again after the twins were born - their family would definitely be in a better position than a lot of families in Doncaster. Both midwifery and selling cars to businesses (which is what Mark did) are borderline jobs when it comes to class. Although importantly at this point in Doncaster - they weren’t constantly being restructured (we don’t know much about Mark’s work history before he got hte job he had when Louis went on X-factor).

But (and I think this is really important) - Jay and Mark had very little that they could pass on to their kids - and expectations and experiences of working-class people in Doncaster weren’t getting any better.

So what does that look like from pre-fame Louis’ point of view? He’s growing up in a place where the ruins of class conflict lost still dominate both the emotional and actual landscape. At some point, they’re in a position of relative economic security - and there are definitely a lot of people around who want that more. His Mum is working very hard for this little bit of security, and encourages him to join in the project of becoming middle class,. But that’s far from the only influence in his life - everything that he’s done since made it clear that he paid attention to the working-class older men in his family and wider circle. And he’s definitely not seen as a middle-class kid to the people around him. Authority figures feel free to say: ‘you are going to have a miserable shit life and that’s what people like you deserve’.

Then at 18, everything changes. Suddenly he’s a popstar. He has more money and opportunities than ever seemed like it would be possible. But he’s still carrying his experiences of class over the last eighteen years. I think it’s clear that not every door felt open - that there were lots of ways he would continue to feel like a kid from Donny - and therefore aspects of London that felt closed to him (this is based both on the way he’s described his own experiences).

I think that early 1D was also pretty heavily media trained to be non-threatening. The London riots happened, just before they were launched. And the discourse of ‘chavs’ was very much at its peak. I think it would have been very important to their success that 1D came across as compliant, safe working-class lads. And I think Louis and Zayn would have been the members who were seen at most at risk of suggesting otherwise. I think Louis probably understood (he was used to the sort of requests that were being made) - and was reasonably happy complying. But I think it’s really important not to treat early 1D as their unfiltered selves - the class messages they sent to the audience were central to their success. (I always wonder about Louis saying Manchster United as his football team, rather than Donny Rovers, in the Chris Moyles interview in this context, but obviously that could also be about his boyfriend).

And (this is even more speculative) I think there may have been more going on than that. It’s very noticeable that until mid 2012 - Louis isn’t being styled in a way that might make him come across as more straight. I don’t think that can be an accident - I think Caroline knew what she was doing. I’ve always wondered if that was about class - that the most important thing for Louis’ presentation in that first little bit, was making sure that he didn’t come across as a dangerous and unruly working class lad - and if that meant he came across as more gay - well that wasn’t that big a worry. I wonder what that was like for Louis, to experience how others viewed his class-background and his sexuality as incompatible.

As time went on that obviously changed - Louis’ embraced working-class Yorkshire signifiers much more, in speech, life and styling over the latter years of 1D. Again there’s a lot going on and it’s hard to tell what’s causing what. I think it’s clear that football was really useful to him as a way of making sense of the world (I’m thinking of him linking to Joey Barton’s Oxford Union address).

As all this is happening, things are only getting worse in Doncaster, for the kids he went to school with. After the 2008 crash, and the austerity that followed, South Yorkshire’s economy contracted more than Greece’s. He’s aware of this, although he only mentions it obliquely - by talking of liking a Russell Brand video where he talked about the same thing.

In 2017, Louis launches his solo career and he explicit discusses class for the first time. He describes himself as a ‘chav’. Now most of my response to this has been pure rage at the class hatred that circulates in fandom. But in terms of understanding Louis, there’s much more to say. The first is that it is a selective presentation of himself. When Louis talks to a radio host who grew up on a council estate, it’s clear that he didn’t.

But also class discourse has moved on by this point - post referendum the working-class isn’t being presented as unruly young white kids who want things they shouldn’t, but angry older white men who don’t like what’s been taken away from him. I’m really interested in this choice, because I think people involved must have known about this change. I think sexuality probably again played a role - now being seen as an unruly working-class young person was less risky and being seen as gay was much more risky. But also how much of this was about Louis’ understanding of class and his life being stuck when he became famous? Quite a lot has happened since 2010.

But on top of that - I think it’s really clear throughout his solo career how much his class background and experiences means to him. We particularly see it in the music videos. The decision to do the Two of Us video is one thing, but the way Louis connected with Richard is so much more. ‘Chav’ Louis may not be the whole truth - but it’s obviously pretty key to who he is.

So to sum up, I think Louis grew up surrounded by quite explicit class understandings, both of loss and resistance. He’s made it clear that older men’s experiences was quite important to him (and in the 1990s in Doncaster that’s quite a specific set of experiences). He wasn’t ever quite able to be the person who would fulfil his mother’s class ambitions through education, but obviously fulfilled them in another way. That required him to manage and present his class position for an audience to be consumed - and made the relationship between class and sexuality not just a private set of questions, but something that his whole team would have a say in. As an adult, he has reclaimed and rejoiced in his class culture and background. This is sometimes very processed and presented as part of his branding, but it also seems to reflect how he interacts with the world.

#This is more about how I think he engages with and understands class #than his class position per se #the question of class and celebrities #particularly in Britain is another one #Anonymous

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bl-garbage · 4 years ago

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to dance is to unshackle

um, okay—how else do i express this buoyant happiness that Gaya sa Pelikula has awoken inside me? i’m in complete and utter awe. i did not expect a drop of what the sixth episode has brought us. more than satisfying, it’s utterly fascinating. this is quite a lengthy post, but if you have the time, please bear with me. and since we’re already here, let’s fucking dissect the shit out of this:

right off the bat, it’s sweet how consistently written Vlad was the entire time of the show. at the start of the episode, for one, he was concerned with Karl’s disposition, saying, “anong iniisip mo (what are you thinking)?” and, later on, as we know, he pops that question again in this episode. what are you thinking? always in limbo. true, it’s considerate, yet more than that, it’s always a sign of waiting for permission. Vlad has been like this since the beginning: observant and willing to reach out, confident on the surface, yes, but always afraid of going overboard.

that is not to say that Karl isn’t. in fact, the whole dynamics of their relationship rest on the fact that they can lean on each other and just be honest. many moments show this: Karl’s desire to shift; Vlad not getting into the film lab and Karl knowing something was up; the entirety of Vlad’s birthday; Karl and Vlad’s reticence to open up to Anna, in contrast with how comfortable they feel with each other. in a nutshell, they’re each other’s homes. more on this later.

the part i was most frightened at with this episode was when Karl finally told his parents his desire to shift. to be honest, personally, i wouldn’t know exactly how that pressure on Karl feels, as i was able to study the degree i wanted. yet, back then, i had already known that my parents, who wholly supported me just the same, would have wanted a degree that leaned on science or engineering. that still sucked to know. Karl’s situation is much more complicated. his desire to shift to another course is to make up for lost time, a sense of hurrying before it really becomes all too late. this was a heavy lot to take in. the disappointment and anger in his father’s face when he dropped the bomb was too much to handle. Karl had expected it, yet its impact still hurled shrapnel that he was not able to dodge, sustaining him with several wounds. it would be curious to see how his parents come to terms with his confession. i am certain that a number of people have connected with Karl here.

which brings me to another point. Gaya sa Pelikula creates these characters with their own agency. it’s touted as a BL series, yes, but our two main characters’ point is actually not to fall in love — but to live, part of which is to fall in love. they have their hopes and dreams and own burdens to carry, and while falling in love takes centerstage here, we see how they can stand alone, on their own two feet. falling in love is central to their growth, but it is evident that love is not the whole point of their existence.

speaking of which: ate judit. ah, yes, where do i even begin to explain the exquisiteness with which ate judit was written? how, after all of five episodes, it was only now did it make sense why judit was overly, unnaturally caring and protective, a mama bear that would not let anything happen to his little Vlad. now we know why: guilt.

imagine that. being told you were the reason why your whole family went into shambles. there is much vindication in Vlad’s line of questioning, “why would you say that to a child?” (god, i’m tearing up even as i write this.) this was a pivotal scene, with a focal point on judit, the likes of whom we cannot entirely fault for not knowing any better. the fact remains that we are still in an era that fails to understand the spectrum of gender identities and the far utopia that we seek, where gender and sex would not be a damning classification anymore. and for true allies, it is in admitting that they “didn’t know then what [they] know now” that their support gains more strength. it is in confessing where they got wrong, how harmful their actions were, and in the commitment to do more, that their promise is made good.

parenthetically, can we talk about Vlad’s mom as well? have you all noticed how her voice broke when she said, “siguraduhin mong hindi ka na itatanggi niyan, ha (just make sure he won’t deny you, okay)?” was that pain, or guilt even? i wonder if we’re ever going to see her. it would be a regret not to. for so long Vlad had thought that he was the reason his father left, and that his mother was mad at his queerness. i wouldn’t want this simple call to be the resolution that the show had for him. at any rate, we have two more episodes to await, so i am not going to strike my gavel on this judgment just yet.

but whereas Vlad found his longtime coming reconciliation with his sister, Karl had no one to turn to. his call to Vlad was a cry for help. it was heartbreaking to see him like this. Karl had always put up a fake smile against any adversity that had come his way. to him, these were trivial matters that would pass, and they did so — until now. after all he was, as we would later come to know, living a script that had been prewritten before he even came to being. that explains his nonchalant demeanor toward life, the seeming discontent behind those dead eyes, and a repeated hinting that he was always yearning for so much more. at the end of the call, Karl instinctively goes to the closet - and his proverbial closet - and sees the skeletons he had hidden inside, drop in a mess.

that it was Karl’s brother who was in the photo shook me. that past was so well thought out. things made so much sense in this episode: why Karl tried to fit in, why everything seemed so fake. why he was so discomforting to watch, even! that made sense now.

and what do you do when everything has become a mess? the once seamless film that had been rolling without any glitches now sprawled on the floor, entangled in a hodgepodge well beyond fixing. when that happens, what do you do? well, you dance.

i have so many things to say about faux masculinity. it is a fact undisputed that in this society, gender roles are still very much pillars that we have yet to dismantle. our genders have been geared toward performativity, and our consolation is the external validation we receive through the acts of fitting in. in the process, we lose sight of what we really want. we blur the lines between what is and what should be, in favor of what society has demanded upon us. Karl took that role and lived by it religiously. yet, those things has gone haywire in this episode. more than his parents, it was to himself that Karl has finally admitted that the act can be dropped now: the fixed posture, those rehearsed lines, that painfully faux masculinity, on guard all the fucking time. all of those things were dropped.

that is not to say that Karl was faking all of it. there is no denying that Karl has been a masculine person most of the time. but the show portrayed before us a discarded femininity that Karl had been trying to bury deep inside him — one that all people who have been and who are still in the closet know by heart. the thing is, all of us have masculine and feminine sides, the expression of which vary at different levels in different situations. sadly, we have been preconditioned to believe that male persons must be masculine, and female persons must be feminine. Gaya sa Pelikula acknowledges this hegemony, and then throws it away all the same. true, Karl may very well be comfortable in his masculine expression, but his femininity must also be allowed to grow. one cannot be complete without embracing the entirety of who they are. many have died — been killed — for simply living who they are. society has long been a vicious environment. but people have also long fought for their fundamental right to perform these things, and through them, we know that things can change. that things are changing.

it is against this context that imprints more meaning, more gravity to when we finally, finally see Karl dance. in every sense, his dance was the show’s climax for me. it is, quite emphatically, freedom incarnate.

when i say i fucking bawled at this scene, you best believe it.

quite important to note: when Karl sees Vlad, he stopped abruptly, only for Vlad to signal to him, in an OK sign, that what he was doing was perfectly fine. that Karl could be effeminate all he wants, and who the hell in this earth should care? this allowance has given Karl all the needed validation he will ever need, at least, for that one night where they could bare it all. it was only the two of them, but the house has never been more crowded, because their feelings have seemingly exploded and have been overflowing in a glorious climax for all of us to witness. in this scene, Karl has unshackled the chains with which he had been bound all that time, and it was Vlad who helped him finally break the last of those chains. in this moment, there was only pure bliss.

(that the song playing here was Ride Home by ben&ben is the perfect giveaway. for non-Filipino readers who have only listened to ben&ben now, check this band out. it’s one of the best bands to have ever come out of the Philippine music industry.)

and, of course, in this waterfall of emotions, it is only perfect to time the moment of their first kiss. they have accepted each other, haven’t they? in a meaningful act (the gravity of which we will only realize in full later when Vlad tells the story of his dad), Karl rumpled Vlad’s hair, but only after Vlad had already consented to it. then, afterward, it was Vlad’s turn to ask, what are you thinking? to which Karl had this—and i know we all expected it, nevertheless—to say: i don’t want to think anymore. then they kissed.

i swear to god. i only watched this for the 92432475781 time.

the denouement was so well put, too: now everything is put back into its own place. Karl’s brother. his death. his parents’ expectations. the substitution. Vlad’s father. his parents’ expectations. the horror of realizing one’s difference. the abandonment. in these stories, it becomes more and more permissible to believe that Karl and Vlad have easily found comfort in each other. to say that they are soulmates (as the creator, juan miguel severo, told on his twitter) is not an exaggeration.

and, make no mistake: Karl and Vlad did not find each other’s embraces out of pity. no. it would be unduly harsh to view them that way. rather, they found solace in each other’s embrace and warmth, but it is still they who will muster the courage to face their own demons. the only difference is, they now have each other to find some sort of release. they are not destructively dependent on each other; instead, they help each other grow into the versions of themselves that they can be proud of.

finally, a couple of small things: look at the way Karl was inviting Vlad to lie in bed with him. that simple gesture harks us back to the early days of their dynamics: Vlad had expressed that it was okay to share a bed, but Karl was adamant that they do not. Karl had once dreamed of Vlad joining him there, and that scared him shitless. in contrast to that, now we have this: Karl himself inviting Vlad, and Vlad accepting for Karl’s wholehearted invitation. the moment this happened, there was a consummation of the expression of their love. if they had their doubts prior to this, those could not have been more obliterated now.

needless to say, i fucking, fucking loved this. as one who has only ever written three fanfics (2gether and History 2!), all of which seemingly related to sleeping (what the fuck, do i have a sleep fetish or something), this ending to episode 6 is just the cherry on top.

their lines by the end particularly strike me. here we have Karl who wishes to create his own stories. on the other hand is Vlad who wishes that he be in charge of the endings, too. how do they do that? who knows? but the certainty that defines their pact is that they shall do it together, unbound and free to dance to the song they have chosen of their own accord. and that simple promise, made in each other’s tight embrace under artificially warm lights amid that early january weather, with no certainty at all of what tomorrow has to bring, has made all the difference.

in 34 minutes, Gaya sa Pelikula has, yet again, done more than we could have ever expected.

i just checked and this reached 2k words. i’m not even gonna attempt to proofread this anymore. anyway, this is all i have to say for now. i just simply cannot let go of the best episode i’ve seen in this show without expressing my own reaction to it.

(also: i’m thinking of writing a fanfic; that is, the morning after. just a one-shot, hopefully a cute one. as usual, an introspection of these characters, and what lies ahead. hope i actually get to write it!)

thank you so much, Gaya sa Pelikula. you are proof that things do change.

#gaya sa pelikula #ian pangilinan #paolo pangilinan #juan miguel severo #fanfic ideas have been brewing inside me #char #bl series #philippines #philippine bl series

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the-fiction-witch · 3 years ago

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The Siren P2

REAL LIFE HORROR COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: FLIRTY AF

I drove following the directions my phone told me driving down this long curving road beside the sea so many little houses and buildings lined the way between the road and the ocean. The sounds of seagulls and fairground rides breaking through the sounds of the radio playing something I didn't know. The sweet smell of sea air and chips, I drove on following the directions seeming to leave the world behind me going further and further from the busy town down these kong winding roads. Even the little houses stopped now I could see the crisp blue sea down a long drop to the ocean many broken railings were no doubt people had lost control and ended up going to the bottom. I took a turn and I saw it.

Tall, striking sat beside a beautiful cove of crystal blue water and golden sand, the sky a muted grey, the old bricks without a flaw, large victorian windows with purple drapes behind them, a fountain at the front that the road went around with little water coming from it and an old carefully preserved mermaid statue in the centre seat on a rock brushing her hair. The sign on the twisted gate confirming I was in the right place 'The Siren's Bay' hotel, restaurant, and bar. With a smaller sign on the gate

'All non-hotel guests must be off site by 10'

That seems fair. I pulled my car up and saw a car park to the right so i parked up grabbing my stuff and walking over by az soon as I took a step on the marble I jumped seeing a man stood there he was old, a little withered in a pair of black suit pants a red button-down and some black suspenders, he had a bushy beard not too unlike Santa but with tones of grey

"Good afternoon," he said welcomingly

"Good afternoon. I uhh in ti-"

"We know. We've been expected you" he smiled “Come I’ll have someone tend to your things,” He said

“Okay” I nodded a little unsure this felt weird, I swear some kinda Stephen king shit kicks up I am fucking out of here. I followed him up the steps and through the wooden door to a rather nice little reception room with checkerboard stone floors and tall fictional features, the desk central in the room in front of a large staircase to the left was a doorway to a large bar and restaurant with views of the cove and to the right a glass door out to a terrace that overlooked the gardens even if they seemed a little worse for wear then in the pictures online

“We’re a little down at the moment out of the high season you see” He said

“Oh yeah, of course “I nodded going over to the desk with him and he did a little paperwork and handed over a key

“Feel free to use al our facilities during your stay, you’ll be up in room Thirteen” He said “If you can just sign?”

I nodded and signed on the paperwork taking my key “Thanks”

“Go on up, and I’ll have things taken to your room”

“Thanks very much” I nodded heading up the stairs.

I got to my door and unlocked it revealing a very nice room it was large and open with a small area for the fridge And some counter space, a beautiful for post bed with blue curtains some sheer and some less so, beautiful blue and white covers on the bed with so many pillows you could build a fort. A very vintage and stylish bathroom to the side with a bath and seperate shower

There was a lovely old sofa that looked out the large glass doors out to the balcony, I opened the doors pushing back the blue and white curtains and walking out onto the lovely balcony looking out across the sand and sea of the cove nowone down there and honestly it was a little chilly but this Tome of year I don't know what I expected. Soon enough the man from the front brought my things up I thanked him and began to unpack hanging my shirts on the little wardrobe and such as I was to be here a while once I had put everything where it needed to be I smiled and jumped on my bed getting cosy with all the soft covers.

I had myself a nice warm bath and got dressed I'm on holiday perfect Tome to dress up a little for dinner I got my dark blue suit pants on and my light blue button down on doing my hair a little before heading down to the restaurant it was actually fairly busy clearly a lot of local people come up for the evening there was a older woman at the bar washing a glass of I had to guess I'd have sad she was the wife of the guy I met this morning, I took a seat at the bar as that was all there was and she smiled at me "room thirteen?" She asks

"Yeah that's me" I nodded showing my key a moment as I still had it in my hand from locking my door

"Not many in the hotel itself. Most just come up for dinner" she says "I can do you a drink while you wait for a table?"

"Sure" I nodded going for my wallet but she laughed

"No charge sir, part of you staying you see" she says

"Okay. I'll uhh have a cider then" I smiled she did me the drink and I sat sipping It looking out at the beautiful ocean I noticed someone at the bar he seemed off. Sat looking at his drink and nothing else his glass in his hand inna vice like grip, he seemed old, tried, nervous. I made a note of him and continued to look around the very nice room when suddenly there was noise people where applauding I looked around a little confused why before I noticed at the edge of the restaurant by the windows was a raised area and there now stood a woman.

I was for a moment taken aback by her. She was… beautiful.

She stood there in a long blue dress with white petticoats peeking out from the skirt, a white belt on her waist, she had silver bracelets and a necklace with a blue crystal hung from her neck, a white headband in her purple curled hair, she had perfect make up with a bright red lipstick, and eye shadow that made looked like waves apon the sea, natural looking lashes and a glow on her cheeks that sparkled purple and blue she had quiet wide hips and rather voluminous breasts she smiled doing a little curtsy as she stood there setting a microphone up I smiled widely just watching her I don't know why but she made me feel so happy, so peaceful and relaxed music began and she began to sing, it was gentle, slow, sultry and perfect like an old lounge singer designed to make you smile and maybe dance to her songs, but I couldn't help watching her it was like the world went dark and only her and I existed as she sang, like she was singing only for me and it was heavenly.

Once it was over I felt strange, I felt empty like I'd been thrown back to reality and I didn't really want to leave everyone applauded her I did too and she went off somewhere else many getting up to leave now the song was over so I got my table for dinner sitting by the window with my cider looking over the menu as the place cleared out only one old couple in the corner and that weird guy at the bar still here

"Would you mind if I joined you?" A voice asked I looked up and saw that woman again now with a glass of rosé in her hand

"Ohh no not at all, I'd be delighted" I said offering her the other chair at my table she smiled and took it "your song was beautiful"

"Thank you" she smiled "I've not seen you before"

"No I uhh staying here for a holiday only came down this morning"

"I see. How do you like it so far?"

"It's amazing. In really waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under me it all feels too good"

"Well it's a nice place, I'm sure they'll be something somewhere" she smiled

We both ordered another drink and some food getting a sharing thing between us

"So, do you live around here?"

"I do. In the hotel"

"I see. You work here then?"

"As a cleaner. sometimes singing"

"I see well your song was beautiful I've never heard anyone like you"

"Thank you" she blushed her hand gently stroking the top of mine. I blushed a little so not use to having anyone… flirt with me well other than kelly at work but not like this. I couldn't deny I was interested in her she was beautiful and I couldn't stop looking at her breasts our food and drinks came and we spoke for a good while about the area, the hotel, the food.

"Sorry I uhh I don't even know your name"

"Y/n." She smiled

"Y/n? That's a very beautiful name" I smiled "Tom. Or Thomas. Either"

"Tommy" she giggled

"Okay"

"Okay?"

"usual Don't allow that one" I told her

"Ohh sorry I'll-"

"But. I'll let you" I smiled giving her a little wink

"That's sweet of you" she smiled stroking her foot up my leg a little I smirked and did it back too stroking my foot on her ankle and a little up her leg as we finished our food and our drinks

"So you have another song to sing?"

"No just one tonight, nothing left to do likely just go back to my room"

"Yeah me too."

"I could always. Come and keep you company?"

"Company? In my roo- oh."

She shrugged and smiled at me

"Yeah sure I uhh I'd love some company"

"Which room?"

"I'm room thirteen"

"I'll see you later then" she smiled getting up giving my head a kiss and heading out into the hotel as soon as I knew she was gone I pretty much bolted up to my room...

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star-spangledstud · 4 years ago

Text

SAVE THE DAY

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Peter wants to quit being Spider-Man, but the reader needs saving.

Word Count: 3600-ish.

Warnings: mentions of violence/alcoholism and abuse/hostage situation. Angst with fluffy ending.

A/N: Let’s just pretend Peter didn’t turn into dust during IW. Also, this has a dark theme? I wrote this a while ago and figured I’d post it. It’s pretty bad, sorry.

Peter Parker is sick and tired of being Spider-Man.

Between hardly getting any sleep and his grades faltering miserably because of his nightly escapades, the fact that half of his friends died just three weeks ago doesn’t exactly help his case. He’s tired of putting on the suit, tired of scouring the streets in the dark of night, tired of waiting for crimes to happen when he really should be studying.

Peter lost some of the people he looked up to the most, and ever since he returned home, he hasn’t been able to stop feeling horrendously guilty over the fact that he wasn’t able to save them. He misses his friends, but mostly, he misses his coworkers, half of whom had disappeared into dust. What’s the point of being Spider-Man when you can’t even save the ones you hold dear to your heart?

Peter is seated behind his desk, black ink pen tightly gripped between his clammy fingers. His left palm is stuck under his chin, and his eyes, droopy and fluttery, shift between the clock hanging above the door towards the back of the classroom. His hazel orbs scan everything from the green linoleum floors to the yellow-stained ceiling with its flickering lights. Empty seats line the back walls, desks and chairs stacked on top of each other in a sick manner.

Desks that were once filled with students now sat empty to collect dust and termites. Most of the kids that vanished didn’t even know who Thanos was or what his intentions were. It isn’t fair, Peter thinks as he grips his pen and clenches his jaw. They didn’t deserve to die.

Several of Peter’s classes have been postponed until further notice due to the sudden lack of staff and student body. Of course, Mr. Brown hadn’t vanished, and so, Peter is sitting in his Tuesday morning math class with barely over a dozen other kids. Each one of them looks just as sad, confused and most of all defeated as Peter does, because most of them have lost multiple family members and friends in the blink of an eye without any hope of bringing them back.

James from physics has lost both his parents. Samantha from biology lost only one, but her grandparents as well. Francis from literature didn’t have parents even before the Snap, but lived with her aunt and uncle who both disappeared. The gist of it is clear; grief, hurt and anger surrounds the school like a thick, impenetrable blanket of fire from which nobody can escape and for a moment, Peter doesn’t know on which side of the Snap he’d rather be.

The seconds on the clock tick by agonizingly slowly. Mr. Brown knows nobody in his class gives a shit about potentially solving mathematical problems anymore, but life must go at the end of the day and until anyone has any better ideas, the only thing the school board knows to do is to keep teaching classes to whoever decides to show up. To be fair, even though it’s nothing like how it used to be, school remains the only constant in most of these kids’ lives.

Doubt continues to plague Peter’s cloudy mind as the day progresses. He’s already stuffed his suit in Ned’s locker - he wouldn’t be needing the space anymore anyway. The mere thought of his best friend vanishing into thin air made his fist curl and his eyebrows twitch in anger and every waking moment of his existence he hates himself for not being able to help him make it through the Snap. Then again, maybe it was for the best.

Being alive suddenly didn’t seem like such a great thing anymore with the world in complete shambles.

After class is over, most of the students slowly drag their feet towards the library or the cafeteria. With so many postponed classes, study hours are given left and right until the board has time to conjure a new schedule. Peter slings his backpack over his shoulder and, while dragging his feet to the library, absentmindedly reaches his phone from his back pocket. The latest iPhone he was given by Tony now feels alien in his hand, especially since half of his contacts don’t exist anymore. The Snap chat streak he used to have with Ned died weeks ago, and the last message Peter sent him still sits in Ned’s inbox marked as ‘unread’. Peter grips the device and bites his lip. He has to stop himself from throwing it out of the window all together. Looking at it has become unbearable.

Just as he’s about to shove it back deep inside his pocket, it vibrates. He thinks it’s just his imagination at first, but when his hand shakes for the second time, he lifts up the phone with the thumping of his heart.

It’s you, your name displayed as the caller ID across the screen, followed by blue and red heart emojis. You picked those out yourself.

“What’s up?” he asks after picking up, “where are you? You have no idea how boring math is without you.”

When the line momentarily remains silent on your end, Peter shrugs. You’ve pocket-dialed him before so it doesn’t immediately strike him as odd, and when he calls your name and doesn’t receive a response, he hangs up, finally able to place the phone in his pocket where he hopes it will remain forever.

But it doesn’t remain there forever, because less than a minute later, it rings again, once more flashing your name across the screen for his eyes to see. His groans, but picks up anyway as he stands in front of the library entrance.

“Y/N?” He asks, holding the device tightly to his ear just in case he can hear you in the distance.

“No,” you whisper finally, “he’s going to kill a bunch of people, P.”

Peter’s blood runs cold when the call is ended once again. He wastes no time sprinting towards Ned’s old locker and holds his breath when he dashes through the empty hallways. Before he gets there, he calls you back. You don’t answer.

Peter sneaks the costume into his backpack and changes into it in the empty bathroom near the physics lab. He stuffs his backpack inside the air vent and dials your number again. With his phone stuck tightly against his ear, he jumps out of the window.

You are one of the only people Peter still has left and vice versa. The two of you have been friends for ages, sharing nearly every class and you, him and Ned always sit together for lunch. The three of you would hang out together after school as well; you saw movies together and played video games on the weekends. You texted each other constantly.

The Snap wiped out nearly your entire family. Your mother, little brother and both of your grandparents and your aunt and uncle on both sides. You were left with nobody but your step-father.

Peter knows the two of you don’t get along. The man drinks too much, stays out too late even during the week and sometimes, he doesn’t even come home for days. Your mother always welcomed him back with open arms and chose to ignore the empty bottles of vodka and whiskey in the trash. She ignored the perfume on his clothes and his behavior towards you and stayed with him, a man so unstable he couldn’t hold jobs longer than a few months at a time. Her blindness to his shenanigans always angered Peter, because the relationship between your mother and step-father affected you in more ways than you cared to admit.

He knows you wish it was him who died instead of your mom and frankly, Peter wishes the same. He never liked the guy.

Peter is extremely worried about you, because he knows the drinking has doubled since your mom died. You’ve been skipping school to take care of the household and you know very well how Peter feels about your step-father’s lack of participation in and around the home. He started taking you away from your house whenever he could find the time and you’d even met Tony Stark the first time Peter took you to the tower. It surprised Peter to see how well the two of you got along, but then again, computer science is your favorite subject in school so it’s something the two of you could bond over. Well, it used to be anyway, because the class got dropped after the teacher and eight of his students got lost in the Snap.

Peter’s heart rams against his rib cage when you finally answer the phone. In the background, he can hear people screaming and shouting.

“Y/N? Where the hell are you?” He asks, using his webs to sling himself from building to building to avoid being seen in broad daylight.

“Central bank,” you whisper under shaky breaths, “gun. Can’t talk.”

The line goes dead once again, and Peter immediately changes direction.

You knew something was wrong when Hank offered to drive you to school this morning, because he’d never volunteered to take you anywhere before and you doubted he would start now. The red rims around his dull, yellow eyes made you decline his proposal at first but he insisted, and in fear of getting hurt by a man nearly twice your size, you finally agreed to have him drive you to school. You weren’t in any kind of mood to argue with him, and you sure as hell didn’t want to provoke him. Besides, the drive would only take ten minutes, while walking took you nearly half an hour, so you couldn’t exactly complain.

It saddened you to see him like this. The two of you never really got along, but at least a small part of you hoped that the shared loss of your mom and little brother would bring you some type of twisted companionship, something dark to bond over. You wanted to ask him if Peter could stay over for dinner, but the dark sweat stains on his creme t-shirt and his iron grip on the wheel made you stay quiet.

Hank never liked talking when he had a hangover. Talking too much always made him angry, and you don’t like seeing him pissed off. Granted, the only times he’d physically hurt you were when he was so drunk he couldn’t even tell you his own name, but you still fear him even now, afraid that one day he might actually do something he can never take back. With this knowledge, you typically stick to avoiding him on mornings after he’s had too much to drink. Nowadays though, it’s all he does.

Even when he deviates from the usual route to your school, you bite your tongue in fear of pissing him off. Perhaps, you think, he’s forgotten the location of your school or maybe he’s too hungover to think straight and the entire time, you expect him to turn around. He doesn’t, but wen he finally does stop, he does so in front of Central Bank.

You finally dare to speak up, asking him quietly what the two of you are doing there and fully expect him to sneer at you, to spit out that he’s only going to withdrawal money from your mother’s account again so he can support his bad habits, but instead of answering, he leaves you in the car and reaches for the trunk.

“What are you doing?!” You ask fearfully when he rips open your door and grabs a fistful of your hair.

“Shut up and don’t make a sound, got it?”

He pulls your head towards the ground when he walks, so the only thing you can see is the beat up sneakers on his feet and the terrifying barrel of a semi-automatic weapon. There’s no security guard near the entrance, but you don’t have enough time to wonder where he might be, because Hank’s already crossed the threshold and he’s shouting like mad when you realize what the hell is going on.

"Everybody sit the fuck down on the ground or I'll kill every last of one you!"

Screams erupt from every corner, and as Hank angrily waves the gun around in an attempt to scare the customers and bank personnel, people left and right begin to duck behind chairs, desks and in booths. You can hear a baby crying somewhere nearby, and your palms are sweating and shaky when you curl them into fists. You’ve always known he’s crazy, but even for him, this is fucking insane.

"Hank, what the fuck are you doing?" You scream, feeling the pressure of his grip on your neck sting like a hot iron.

"Shut up, before I shut you up myself. Don't make a god damn sound, you hear me? That goes for all of you!"

The next hour is a complete blur. Shots are fired into cream-colored walls, demands are made on stolen cellphones and most of all, you and everybody else inside is scared shitless. Hank forces you to sit in of the empty chair behind counter three, the one where people come to apply for loans. He continues to keep the gun pointed mostly at you - the hostage he uses to negotiate his demands. You called Peter when his back was turned to you, but couldn’t speak at first out of pure terror of being seen or heard.

Outside, flashing red and blue lights draw near, and the sound of multiple helicopters rounding the perimeter nearly drowns out the sound of Hank’s screeching voice when one of the clerks makes an unexpected move. You’ve never seen him this angry and doubt you’ll ever see it again. Practically all bank transfers are conducted digitally nowadays, most banks using shares on the stock market to finance their customer’s savings accounts. Sure, there’s physical money inside, but none of the desk clerks have access to the vault where they keep the big bucks. How Hank didn’t realize this is a mystery to you.

You’re starting to realize time is running out when SWAT arrives with a hostage negotiator. Peter can feel his heart nearly exploding inside his chest when he thinks of you as he slings his way across the city. He’s never run faster across rooftops, but he doesn’t take a moment to breathe until he makes it there.

It doesn’t take him very long to sneak inside through one of the top floor’s open windows. Peter ignores the news camera’ that zoom in on him while he climbs inside, swallowing thickly at the knowledge that Tony’ll probably be pissed off later.

He jumps down the staircase, swinging from left to right and balancing on the barricades until he reaches the first floor of the old building. Directly beneath him, he can hear the commotion and when he finally finds an air vent in one of the break rooms, he uses his webs to fling himself up and inside. His phone vibrates again when he’s slowly crawling his way through the dusty vents, but he doesn’t answer, because he can see you sitting in your chair shaking like a leaf when he finally reaches one of the vents that lead to the main entrance.

He notices your step-father walking anxiously in circles, his eyes wildly darting across the entire ground floor to make sure nobody tried to take him down. He needs money now that his source of income has died and the amount of debt he finds himself in leads him to believe this is the only way to do it.

Peter quickly and quietly unscrews the roster that allows fresh air to distribute throughout the ground floor and silently moves it to the side.

Look up.

He quickly texts you, but doesn’t realize your phone might make a sound until he’s already pressed send. He releases a deep breath when you check the message, and begin to search around the ceiling with a worried frown on your face until your finally eyes land on him halfway hidden in the darkness.

You sigh inaudibly but tremble when the gun goes off three times and Hank begins to shout at a mother and her crying baby.

“I'm going to get you out," Peter mouths at you after pushing up his mask you you can see his lips.

He has to get the gun away from Hank, who is now pacing back and forth on the other side of the wall. With one swift motion, Peter drops down from the vent with his finger pushed against his mask to let the people know to keep quiet. He slides behind your chair and gives your hand a tight squeeze before disappearing just in time to see the barrel of the gun followed by Hank.

Sweat drips down the man’s face and back, veins popping angrily in his neck protruding from his temples. Outside, the hostage negotiator uses a megaphone to shout at him, but it’s as if nobody is paying attention to what he’s saying. You only have eyes for Peter, who’s crouched under one of the desks, his arms stretched out in front of him so he can get a good angle on Hank.

Before you get a chance to do as much as blink, silvery webs shoot out from Peter's wrists. They latch onto the cold metal of the firearm and begin to quickly retreat, pulling the weapon out of Hank's sweaty palms. He accidentally pulls the trigger when he struggles to hold on to the only thing that’s currently keeping him alive, firing four shots into the wall before the gun clashes to the ground and drags away from him.

His eyes bulge out of his head when he sees Spider Man, now standing on top of the desk. Peter yanks his arms back, flinging the weapon towards the security guard, who was sitting near the water cooler next to the staff room. The man doesn’t hesitate to pick it up and disarm it, emptying the magazine onto the ground until every last bullet falls to the ground with a clang. They bounce across the floor and roll under desks and at people's feet, away from the man who threatened to kill with them.

Within minutes, the entire place is surrounded by SWAT and cops, their guns aimed at the man who was willing to kill innocent people for his own benefit.

You can hardly get up from your chair when you feel something warm and smooth pressed up against your body. You instantly feel your knees buckling under you, but Peter uses his strength to keep you from falling. Reporters outside try their hardest to catch a glimpse of what’s going on inside the bank, but police officers hold them back as best they can, cutting off their view with all their might while the two of you hug.

Your entire body trembles and your heart feels like it was going to explode as you shivered in Peter's arms, holding onto the boy for what felt like dear life.

"Shh," he whispers in your ear, "It's okay. I got you."

You try to speak, to thank him for coming as quickly as he did, but nothing comes out except throaty stutters and shaky breaths. You’re hurting, even a blind man can see it.

“You came,” you manage, “he just lost it.”

“Of course I did silly,” he replies, “I couldn’t let you get hurt, could I?”

People all around you gasp audibly when Peter pulls off his mask, synapses doing jumping jacks when you come face to face with him in public. He’s never taken off the mask in front of people before, especially not in front of reporters, and out of all of the Avengers, his identity is the only one that up until now remained a secret. Peter isn’t thinking about what Tony might say or what Steve might think. He’s not concerned with the gaping expressions of journalists and cops alike, or with the newspapers that will have his face plastered on the front page tomorrow. He doesn’t care because grown attached to you.

The feeling had crept up on him slowly, and he hadn’t realized it until now, when the possibility of losing you for the second time in such a short amount of time finally managed to get it through his head.

“What are you doing?” You ask, eyes wide and pupils blown out.

“I want you to see me,” he says, “not the mask.”

“But-” you stammer, “your identity. They’ll know. Everyone will know.”

“I don’t care anymore,” Peter uses his thumb to caress your cheek, “let ‘em know that spider man’s just a kid from Queens. I’m sick of hiding.”

The small smile that plays on your rosy lips makes his heart skip a beat. He’s in love with you, has been for a while now, and Peter’s pretty sure the adrenaline surging in his veins is the reason for the sudden realization. He opens his mouth to speak and the words dangle on the tip of his tongue, but he remains silent when a police officer drapes a blanket over your shoulders and asks you if you require medical attention.

He’ll tell you, he reckons. When the time is right.

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frozenartscapes · 4 years ago

Text

Hey, so remember that idea post from earlier today? I followed through with something...

-- -- --

“What...the fuck.”

Edelgard cocked her head to one side, eyeing her former professor with confusion. “Something has...happened,” she stated, blunt as she always was.

“Yeah, no shit!” Byleth exclaimed, running her hands through her hair as she tried to piece together what was going on. One minute, she was alone in the throne room of a palace-turned-museum. Standing before a solitary candle marking the spot where she once was forced to strike down her old student because of some stupid war and now...now...

That same student knelt in place of that candle, exactly how she had been moments before Byleth’s sword split her skull in half.

Edelgard frowned, mostly at the exasperated tone. She pulled her eyes off Byleth, who looked considerably less threatening now than she did mere seconds ago. She closed her eyes on a hardened mercenary, dressed to the nines in gaudy religious garb and wielding the most terrifying weapon in history. Now... She was wearing some kind of jacket - and using the sleeves properly - and had smooth, pristine pants and heels. There wasn’t a speck of dirt or blood on her, and rather than a weapon of incredible destruction she had a rectangular bag, strap slung over one shoulder.

Enough ogling her old professor... She glanced around and, yes, it was still the throne room. But...it was also different. The banners were wrong. There was a different rug. There were these strange...glowing orbs positioned at the top of each pillar, shining artificial light along the central nave. All of the chandeliers were outfitted with similar-looking lights. They weren’t real candles, she could tell that much.

Slowly, she pushed herself up to her feet, an undignified grunt leaving her lips as her body strained under her injuries. That was easier said than done - she had been using the Sword of Seiros as a crutch moments ago, but now it has vanished into thin air.

Byleth took a step back, subconsciously reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. “It’s...alright, my Teacher,” Edelgard breathed, “I doubt...I could give you...much of a fight...”

“Right. You...you’re injured,” Byleth remembered, “We would have just fought...”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes. “You don’t...remember?”

“I...” Byleth gulped nervously, shifting back and forth on her feet anxiously. She tightened her grip on the strap of her laptop bag, and drew a deep breath. Might as well rip the bandaid off. “It’s been... 850 years since our last battle, Edelgard.”

Edelgard blinked. Byleth assumed she was in shock, but then she looked around the throne room once more. “The palace...still stands after all this time?” she wondered softly.

“You...you’re not... Freaked out by this?” Byleth stammered.

“I am... Processing it,” Edelgard admitted, “I imagine...it will hit me when I’m...in better shape.”

“Oh shit, right. Here.” Without thinking, Byleth stepped forward and gently pressed her hand on one of Edelgard’s most concerning injuries. She tapped into magic she hadn’t needed to use in centuries, surprised at how easily it all came back. Healing magic spread through the Emperor’s body, and it wasn’t until most of the wounds were closed up that Byleth realized she had just healed the woman who she had been fighting to the death against.

She leapt back, drawing the only weapon she had on her: a small pocket knife. Edelgard regarded the weapon in curiosity more than anything. Although Byleth did see her reach for where her dagger had been on her belt, only to discover it wasn’t there. ‘Of course it’s not,’ she thought to herself in relief, ‘That dagger is in the Flame Emperor exhibit.’

“I’m not going to kill you,” Edelgard said simply, taking her eyes off the knife and focusing on Byleth’s face, “Not that I could. I appear to be unarmed. For some reason.”

“O...ok,” Byleth stuttered, still not quite ready to lower the knife, “Erm...why?”

Edelgard shrugged. “If this truly is the future, then I find myself here without any kind of guide, and loathe as I am to admit it, I will likely need one of those. You seem to know what’s going on.” Her eyes narrowed again. “And you’re here, too. I suppose that means you cannot die, even if I tried.”

“Well, technically I still could...” Byleth began, before shutting her mouth. “Ok, so... I accept your truce,” she said, lowering the knife and tucking it back in her pocket, “I...I suppose I should... Oh goddess, what am I going to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Edelgard said, assuming that dignified air only an Emperor could pull off, “In this future, would something like the tyrannical Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg magically reappearing be received well, or would you rather keep such a thing a secret?”

Byleth’s eyes widened slightly. “I...” she stammered, before looking away nervously, “You were never a tyrant.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Professor,” Edelgard told her with a small, sad smile, “How does history view me? A monster? A madwoman? A visionary who lost her vision in all the bloodshed? There’s no need to sugarcoat it - I already know how I must have looked.”

“Misunderstood.”

“...What?”

“I...” Byleth blushed, awkwardly rubbing one arm. “I found...notes. In your office, after...” She gulped, and continued anxiously, “I found letters and drawings and diaries and drafts... I pieced together what happened to you. I made sure the world knew. I picked up where you left off. I couldn’t let the things that happened to you keep happening. Edelgard...the world we live in now wouldn’t exist were it not for you. You were a... troublesome political figure. But ultimately you were good. I made sure the people knew that.”

Edelgard stared at her, wide eyed and slack-jawed. Eventually, she broke her gaze away, turning and covering her mouth with one hand. “I...” she muttered. She quickly wiped away something on her cheek.

“Look... We should get out of here before someone sees you,” Byleth said, suddenly worried she had said something wrong.

Edelgard turned, and there was a smile on her face. “Yes. Lead the way, my Teacher,” she said softly.

Byleth nodded, feeling something wonderful stir in her chest at such a beautiful sight. “Ok. Let’s head to my car. I’ve got a spare room in my apartment - you can sleep there until we get things sorted out. I should have some spare clothes you can borrow, too.”

“I...I trust you, Professor,” Edelgard said, the slight stammer in her voice the only betrayal of her confidence, “I just have one question.”

“I’ll do my best to answer it.”

“...What’s a ‘car’?”

#au ideas #fanfic #i don't have a title for this yet #if i keep going it will eventually be domestic edeleth #but first el needs to learn about technology #frankly she's too overwhelmed to murder right now #if anyone wants to keep this going feel free #i'm open to this being a collaborative effort #fe three houses #edelgard #byleth #a world without gods

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cali-holland · 5 years ago

Text

Heartbreak Weather, Part One- T. H.

Pairing: Tom Holland X Horan!Reader

Prompt: After going through a rough breakup, you lose all hope in love, but your brother Niall Horan insists on getting you back into the world. When you meet his friend Tom Holland, you start to think that maybe your life isn’t just heartbreak weather.

Word Count: 4000

Featured Songs (All by Niall Horan): Heartbreak Weather - Nice to Meet Ya - Dear Patience - No Judgment

Previous Part: Teaser

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

MARCH 2018

“God damn it, let go of the ice cream.” Your older brother huffed, attempting to take the cold dessert from you

“No, leave me alone.” You pouted, refusing to move from your position on the couch.

“You need to get up and off this couch. Come with me to the gala- you already have a dress and everything.” Niall sighed a breath of relief as he finally wrestled the pint of ice cream from your arms.

“I don’t want to go. Leave me to wallow in my own pity.” You groaned, pulling your blanket up over your head.

Just three days ago, you were excited for your older brother to come to London and spend a few weeks with you. You were at school in the bustling English city, and he was usually very busy. Luckily for the two of you, his charity gala for golf lined up perfectly with a break in school; and he invited you to go along with him. You were so eager for that event, and he’s right- you did have everything ready for it, including a red dress you were in love with.

Your mood changed completely when you discovered your boyfriend of two years had been cheating on you for over six months with his best friend. Niall’s arrival coincided with the downfall of your relationship. And now, you had no motivation to get off the couch; you simply wanted to be sucked into a void of sad dog movies and ice cream.

“No, you are coming with me to that gala. Think about it- you dumped Eric’s sorry ass and now you’re going to an event that will be flooded with paparazzi. Show him what he’s missing.” Niall said.

“As my brother, I don’t think you’re supposed to say that. I think you’re supposed to be over at his place, beating him the hell up.”

“Oh, trust me, if it was legal, I’d beat the shit out of him.” He stated. “Please, will you come?”

“Fine, but I’m going straight back to this state once it’s all over with.” You replied. You rolled your eyes while he cheered. You stood from the couch and headed to your room to get ready. Niall let out a sigh as he heard you begin to play Sam Smith over the speakers.

“As if she wasn’t sad enough.” He shook his head, before going to your guest room to get ready himself.

~~~

The gala was being held at a fancy hotel in central London, and you felt nerves overcome you as the car came to a stop outside of the entrance. The paparazzi lined the carpet and the fans lined the paparazzi.

“Can I go home yet?” You asked, and Niall gave your hand a quick squeeze.

“Come on, you’ll kill it out there.” He smiled. The car door opened and Niall stepped out with you following along behind him. You two stopped and posed for pictures on the carpet, before you stepped aside to let Niall have his moment.

Making your way inside, you took in the beauty of the ballroom- it definitely looked like a gala rather than a glorified hotel room. Bruno Mars’ Just the Way You Are sounded over the speakers, and you couldn’t help, but feel a sting in your heart. This was your song with your ex; and it still hurt to think about it. Your smile began to drop as you scanned the room, wondering if Niall had made it in through another entrance. Your eyes fell upon a brunette boy across the room. Almost instantly, his brown eyes found yours and he smiled. You felt your lips curve into a genuine smile back at the stranger. Something about him felt familiar to you, but between the crowded room and the surprisingly bad lighting, you couldn’t place him.

“Y/N,” Niall’s voice caught your attention, pulling you away from the stranger’s captivating stare. “Come on, we gotta get seated.” He led you over to your table, which had name cards placed on them.

“Who are we sitting with?” You asked, wondering if he would know, as you two sat down.

“My buddy, Tom, should be with us.” Niall stated.

“Tom as in-” Before you could finish your question, a loud British voice sounded from behind the two of you.

“Niall! It’s been ages!” The voice exclaimed, pulling your brother into a hug. As Niall pulled away, you felt your eyes widen with surprise as you were met with the face of Tom Holland in front of you- a.k.a. the brunette stranger from not even five minutes ago.

“Tom! How have you been?” Niall smiled.

“I’ve been great. I’ve been here for a few weeks, but I go back to filming in a couple days.” He replied, just as cheery.

“I’m on a break right now. We gotta get together before you leave and play a few rounds.” Your brother eagerly replied, “There’s this great golf course by Y/N’s place.” Niall caught himself as he looked down to you awkwardly sitting there at the table.

“Hi, I’m Tom.” Tom smiled, holding out a hand for you to shake.

“Y/N, Niall’s sister. The one that lives near a golf course apparently.” You joked, shaking his hand. Niall sat down and Tom took the seat beside you, effectively trapping you between the two.

“Y/N, do you still play?” Niall asked you.

“Not often, but I bet I can still beat you.”

“Really? You’re even better than Niall?” Tom inquired.

“Surprised I’m better than him?”

“Considering he’s the only person who’s beaten me every single time, I’d say I’m more intrigued and intimidated.”

“I’ll come play some holes with you two, then we’ll see.” You laughed.

The gala’s host made his way onto the stage and the three of you fell into a comfortable silence with the rest of the audience. Dinner was served shortly afterwards and there was a flow of conversation between the three of you.

“Oh, there’s Rory. I need to go say hi.” Niall stood up, once he finished his meal and spotted his friend at another table. He immediately went over to Rory, striking up a conversation with him.

“He’s such a social butterfly. Everywhere he goes, he knows someone.” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“I bet the fans get crazy with him, don’t they?” Tom asked.

“Ni gets spotted a lot less now that he’s got his brunette hair back. I’ve always liked it better natural than blond.” You stated. Before Tom could speak up again, you got a text notification. Though the contact was missing you knew exactly who it was, sending you a ‘I screwed up. Please, let’s work this out’ text.

“Uh, sorry, I just- I have to go.” You said, standing up from the table and avoiding looking at Tom. This whole night, you hadn’t thought about your ex at all; you were so captivated by Tom.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Tom asked, standing as well.

“Nothing, I just can’t be here right now.” You replied as your voice cracked through your words. With phone and purse in hand, you rushed out to the empty hallway and sat against the wall, letting your tears freely flow. You were crying so hard that you barely registered Tom sitting beside you and putting an arm over your shoulders to comfort you. As you steadied your sobs, you began to speak.

“Have you ever felt like your whole life’s been heartbreak after heartbreak; it’s always heartbreak weather at this point. I dated my ex for two years, and he cheated on me for months. And now he wants to get back together?”

“I’m sorry.” Tom said, “If he’s stupid enough to cheat on you, then he doesn’t deserve you. You’re incredible, and that’s coming from someone who’s only known you a few hours.”

“I’ve spent every day of the past two years devoted to him, and now I have nothing. I wasted so much time on him. I should’ve known he wasn’t the one. Niall warned me all that time ago that he wasn’t good enough.” Your voice was soft as you spoke. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been through this before.” Tom paused, thinking of how to lighten the mood, “Do you want to get out of here? We can go get some real food- this vegetarian stuff isn’t cutting it for me.”

“I look like shit now.” You said, wiping under your eyes in an attempt to fix your mascara that was bound to be all over your face.

“You look amazing. Come on,” Tom stood up and held out a hand out to you. You took it and he helped you stand.

“I don’t want to confront Niall, not now. I’ll just text him.” You stated.

“Just make sure he knows you’re safe.” He replied, leading you out the back exit as he called for his car. You pulled out your phone and texted Niall: ‘Went to go get actual dinner with Tom. I’ll see you tonight’.

You and Tom got dinner from a drive through and ended up taking it back to your place. Your shoes were both abandoned by the door, and Tom’s jacket laid on the back of a chair with his tie hanging loosely from his neck. He rolled up the white sleeves of his suit, giving him better access to chicken wings.

“This has got to be the best post-gala idea.” Tom laughed, taking a bite of the chicken wing, trying his best not to make a mess as you did the same.

“Absolutely.” You agreed. “I should have probably changed out of this dress though.”

“At least it’s red?” He offered.

“That does nothing to hide a chicken wing stain.” You teased.

“Just trying to be helpful.” He laughed.

After you finished up eating, Tom searched for something on Netflix while you changed into more comfortable clothes- a tight fighting dress was not the move for a night in.

“Do you want to watch anything specifically?” Tom called out to you from the living as you made your way into the kitchen, in search of some wine.

“How about a comedy?” You replied, “Do you want some wine?”

“Sure.” You grabbed two glasses and an unopened bottle, taking them into the other room. You set them on the coffee table and took a seat beside Tom on the couch.

“The Hangover?” Tom asked, and you let out a laugh, pouring out the wine.

“I love that movie.” You said, handing him a glass as he hit play.

“I’m not normally a big wine guy, but this is good.” He stated, surprised after the first sip.

“My ex may be a shithead, but he’s got great taste in wine. This was one of his most expensive bottles. I took this from his place about a week ago.”

“Damn, you might as well take his wine.” Tom joked. “I wouldn’t have expected you to like wine.”

“What did you expect me to like? Beer like Niall?”

“Yeah, actually.” He laughed.

“Don’t worry, I can hold my own with beer as well.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as the movie played. At some point during the film, you shifted and placed your head on his shoulder, leaning into him. It didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep.

You began to wake up when you heard a door shutting, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, too content with your peaceful sleep. You were only vaguely aware of two voices.

“Tom, you’re still here?” Niall asked, his voice at a regular volume.

“She’s sleeping.” Tom replied in a hushed tone.

“Oh,” He said, recognition coming over him as he saw your position. He glanced over and saw the wine, knowing exactly how you ended up in there.

“Yeah, we got dinner and watched the Hangover.” Tom explained quietly.

“Here, I’ll take her to her room.” Niall moved over towards you in an attempt to free Tom from his position.

“I’m up now, you dickheads.” You mumbled, keeping your eyes closed.

“You gotta get up or else Tom can’t move.” Your brother stated. You let out a groan before opening your eyes. Your eyes widened in confusion as you realized your head was fully on Tom’s lap, not at all on his shoulder like you last remembered.

“My bad.” You said, sitting up and giving Tom the opportunity to move freely once again.

“You’re fine, love.” Tom replied with a smile.

“Well, I’m going to get a shower. I kind of got champagne all over me.” Niall laughed, before heading off to the guest room.

“How long was I out?” You asked, slowly standing from the couch to clear the wine bottle and glasses from the table.

“I don’t know. I think the movie finished a couple hours ago?” Tom replied.

“A couple hours? Tom, you could have woken me up.” You said.

“You just looked so peaceful, like you really needed the sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you. When the movie finished, I moved your head so your neck wouldn’t be sore.” He explained. His words just about made you blush, thinking that he spent his whole night caring about your wellbeing.

“You’re sweet, you know that?” You smiled, leading him to the front door.

“Thank you for everything, Tom. I had a great night.” You admitted as you walked him to his car.

“I had a great time too.” He replied.

“Good night, Tom.” You said, stepping away from him.

“Good night, Y/N.” Tom got into his car as you walked back inside your apartment.

“So, you and Tom, huh?” Niall asked the moment you got inside, his hair still wet from his shower.

“Piss off.” You shook your head at him and ducked into your room. That night, you drifted off to sleep with thoughts of the next time you’d see Tom floating around in your head.

~~~

The next day, you woke up to the smell of Niall making breakfast. Sure, he could easily get his own place in London, but him staying at your place meant you two got to see each other more. By the time you made your way to the kitchen, he was already eating his portion and drinking his morning cup of coffee.

“Morning.” You smiled, helping yourself to the rest of the food.

“Did you sleep well?” Niall asked almost teasingly.

“Yeah actually. Best night’s sleep I’ve gotten in a while.” You replied, avoiding eye contact with him, knowing exactly where he was going.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain British lad now, would it?”

“I don’t know. Did Louis say something?” You teased back, sitting down at the table across from him. He rolled his eyes and playfully scoffed.

“Well, if it has nothing to do with Tom, then good.” Niall stated as you began to eat your breakfast.

“Good?”

“I wouldn’t want it to be awkward or anything. We’re going golfing today, and you’re coming with us.” He smiled before clearing his plate of food.

“I’m sorry, what?” You laughed awkwardly because yes, it would be strange having to see Tom again so soon.

“Golf. Eleven o’clock.” Niall clarified, before getting up from the table and clearing away his dishes.

“What if I don’t want to go golfing?” You asked.

“Oh come on, like you’d want to pass up the opportunity to beat me.”

He left the room in silence, leaving you to finish eating alone. You sighed, picking up your phone to flick through Instagram while you ate. Like every other day, you had to go through your follow requests. Being the younger sister of Niall Horan meant that a lot of fans tried following you for the past several years, but you wanted to maintain some privacy and kept your page hidden from the public. The fans still attempted to follow you though; you couldn’t exactly tell your brother he couldn’t follow you, and so they easily found it.

You paused your scrolling when you saw a verified mark. The little notification read, “tomholland2013 wants to follow you”. You let out a small laugh before accepting it and following him back- another one of your Instagram habits, you didn’t follow many celebrities besides the One Direction boys. You finished your scrolling and then went through the rest of your morning routine of checking out new posts and viewing stories. As you went to view the new stories, you saw Tom had just posted one. When you clicked on it, you didn’t think you’d be so surprised by it, but boy, were you surprised.

You weren’t sure what kind of stories Tom posted, but you definitely felt like a shirtless, sweaty gym video was an unusual story for him. You laughed, shaking your head. Sure, you had heard about the actor being incredibly ripped, but you never really thought about it in detail. And after that video, you were sure you would think about his muscles a lot more.

You decided that was enough of Instagram for now- you didn’t want to stumble into anymore thirst traps right then. Besides, it was time to get ready for golf with Niall and Tom.

A few hours later, you and Niall pulled up to a golf course on the outskirts of town, and you met Tom inside with his own set of clubs. You couldn’t help but blush when you saw him in his tight polo, especially now that you know exactly what his abs look like under there. He greeted you and Niall with a smile, and you tried to ignore the fact that his stare lingered on you.

“Who’s ready to play?” Niall asked, pulling you away from your thoughts as the three of you headed over to the golf carts.

“Are you ready to lose?” You quipped back, making Tom laugh as you all placed your clubs in the backseat of the cart.

“When’s the last time you played?” Your brother questioned.

“Like a year ago.” You replied.

“I might put my money on Niall winning then.” Tom joked, “He’s been playing weekly.”

“Hey, I had to practice weekly so I could beat Y/N next time we play together.” Niall stated.

“Just sounds like you’ve got no life.” You teased.

As expected, you won the overall game as Niall placed second behind you. He swore that you were cheating somehow. The three of you decided to go down to a nearby pub for lunch, and, also as expected, your brother ran off to the bar for drinks, leaving you and Tom alone.

“So, I see you found me on Instagram.” You said, teasingly, “How long did it take for you to try to find me?”

“Took me longer to decide if I wanted to actually request you or not.” Tom laughed, “I didn’t want to come off creepy, especially because your account is private.”

“It wasn’t creepy.” You laughed as well, “I have to say though, the gym video was a nice touch. A minute after I followed you too.”

“That happened to just be a coincidence.” He said as he began to actually blush at the call-out.

“Oh, I bet it was.” You teased.

“Is there any way I can get your number? I leave tomorrow for filming, but I’d like to stay in touch with you.” Tom asked, his voice sounded nervous. You were a bit surprised by his forwardness, but you already knew your answer.

“Yeah,” You replied and both of you reached to take out your phones. Swapping phones, you both added your numbers. You smiled, seeing his lock screen- a picture of a dog. You asked, “Is this your dog?”

“That’s my Tessa. She’s such a sweetheart.” Tom said, smiling as he looked at the picture fondly.

“She’s adorable.”

“Maybe you can meet her one day. She loves meeting new people.” Before you could even try to reply, Niall came back, pulling the two of you back into reality.

“I forgot I was driving.” Niall told you sheepishly and you laughed.

“I can drive, don’t worry.” You laughed.

You two parted ways from Tom, wishing him a safe journey to the states. The car was filled with a strange silence between you and your brother until he finally spoke up.

“Am I allowed to ask about you and Tom again?” Niall asked anyway.

“I gave him my number, but we’re just friends.” You said with a small sigh. “I dated Eric for two years. Up until last week, I thought he was the one, but then he broke my heart. He was unfaithful to me for months and-”

“Tom’s not Eric.” Niall spoke up calmly, “I know you’re afraid of rushing into things with Tom, and that’s fine- take it slow and be patient. You don’t even need to date him. I know Tom though, and he would never do to you what Eric did to you. Tom’s a good man. I never liked Eric; there was always something wrong about it. I thought he was using you to get to me sometimes-”

“Way to sound vain.” You quipped.

“My point is,” He emphasized, “I don’t let just any of my guy friends hang out with my baby sister, and I especially don’t leave you in social situations with them. Eric was a dick. I know you’re probably worried that the whole distance thing won’t work with Tom; maybe it will, maybe it won’t, I don’t know.” “Where are you going with this?” You sighed as you pulled up to your place, parking the car.

“What I’m trying to say is just give Tom a chance. Be friends with him, get to know him, maybe date him. Just don’t shut him out because of what Eric did. Don’t let Eric have that power over your life anymore. Don’t let him make you scared of dating or of even being friends with a guy. Alright?” Niall asked.

“Yeah, I get it. Thanks for the whole pep talk.” You said, getting out of the car with Niall right behind you.

“Besides, if you two date and he breaks your heart, then I’ll go beat him up for you. The press will love that one.”

“Oh yippee.” You playfully rolled your eyes at his antics. As awful as his pep talk was, he was right overall- you couldn’t let your past with Eric dictate your future with Tom. You were headed for some sunny skies, away from the heartbreak weather that clouded your past.

~~~

Part Two Part Three Part Four

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland series #niall horan #heartbreak weather

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

Text

To Tell You The Truth Part Seven

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: *checks watch* Well well well, look at the time! Friday already?! I hope you're all doing well, and I hope you all like this installment. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut @walkerchick007 @peggers-n-beggers @robbinholland

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment deals briefly with perceived self-worth, and contains certain dialogue/terminology/viewpoints that may be detrimental to individuals who have suffered emotional, sexual, or physical abuse. Stay safe!]

Acquiring a first edition of anything in this day and age had never been a simple task, so it was awe-inspiring to have a book that was not only a first edition, but one that your artwork graced the pages of.

You stared at the cover for longer than you meant to, your fingers rubbing over the embossed name that sat small and unassuming beneath Ezra's lavishly showy pseudonym. With illustrations by…

You almost felt like your ordinary moniker was out of place, but after looking at it for a moment, you decided it was exactly where it belonged.

"I am about to be overcome with emotion." Ezra informed Thomas in a hushed tone.

The publisher heaved a heavy sigh at the other man's antics before getting to his feet, his hand outstretched. A small smile played over his mouth, probably one of relief to finally be free of your companion. "You've done it. Congratulations. It debuts on the digital platforms tomorrow, and physical copies ship next week."

Ezra shook his hand rapidly, then turned to you. "I...I am rendered speechless." He whispered.

"I don't know if anything could claim that lofty honor." You couldn't resist teasing him and he grinned broadly.

He rested his forehead against your own momentarily, ever cautious not to crowd you. "I am truly a better man for having known you, gentle soul." He murmured fervently. He took your hands, the book clasped tightly between the two of you. "These hands that have helped me in the mornings, that have drawn the man I could have been, that have delivered me from my deadly trials...now, see the fruits of your labor."

"Pretty sure you mean your labor." You corrected him. "I had the easy job."

Ezra shook his head. "Our labor." He was looking at you so warmly, his brown eyes crinkled at the edges from how hard he was smiling-

Kevva help you, did you want to...kiss him?

You had no time to ruminate on the sudden thought. Mr. Anglio cleared his throat and the spell was broken, Ezra exclaiming in juvenile delight that this was cause for celebration.

You nodded absently, feeling off-kilter. It was as though a switch of comprehension had been flipped in your mind. You did want to kiss him.

…

You wanted a lot of things, you were quickly realizing.

You wanted to sketch every sleepy smile Ezra graced you with over his mug in the morning. You wanted to be the only one to make his tea just right. You wanted to sit with him for hours in the kitchen or living room, letting him bounce ideas off of you.

The two helmets perched on the mantelpiece taunted you every time you glanced at them because you wanted to be part of a pair, more than a simple partner or roommate.

And it was terrifying.

You started searching for your own apartment even though the idea of living alone filled you with trepidation. He had said you were welcome for as long as you wanted, but now...the situation had changed. You couldn't handle living in such close proximity to him if your brain was hellbent on doing things like this.

It wasn't fair to him for you to want something like...that. For you to want anything at all from him.

You were ashamed of the way you had to tear your eyes off of him. You felt like an intruder, a thief, a scavenging floater hoping for opportune jetsam. You hid away in your room whenever he was around, claiming that inspiration had struck and fumbling to dissuade his childlike enthusiasm when he asked to see your 'new works'. Little did he know that you erased most of what you drew.

You were infatuated with an idea, in love with the picturesque plastic pornography that your mind had conjured, you told yourself sternly. Life wasn't perfect, and no one, let alone someone who had endured as much as Ezra, would be interested in the pitiful gift of your affection. In your own eyes you were dirty, your body forever stained with the invisible mark of abusive handling.

You didn't even know if you wanted to be intimate with someone again! Worse yet, you were uncertain if you would be able to, or if Damon's treatment had so utterly broken you that you would be reduced to nothingness if you ever deigned to attempt.

You should have been happy. The book (Aurelac And I: An Audacious Tale Of Greed In The Green) was performing remarkably well. Ezra had woven a lucrative story with just enough realism, fact and fiction carefully melded into a seamless narrative that appealed to everyone from grizzled floaters to cushy Central socialites. You should have been happy. You were set financially for the rest of your life even without the book.

You should have been happy.

Yet all it took was him giving you a tousled, sleepy smile over his morning cup of coffee or tea and discontent fairly devoured you, turning your insides to knots. Your longing was sharp to the point of agony, an ever-present ache in your chest that you weren't certain any amount of distance would quell.

But you could try.

So you prepared to leave, wavering between resolute and terrified while you tried to articulate yourself.

You had survived the Green. You knew you would survive this.

…

Despite his predisposition towards prattling, Ezra was remarkably perceptive. You sometimes wondered if he used his rambling nature as a screen to observe reactions, instead of to actually carry on a legitimate conversation.

He didn't miss a trick, coming to knock on your door one afternoon as you finished packing up your meager items. Even though you had lived in this room for several stands, you had yet to clutter the space, really make it your own. Maybe you had always suspected this would be temporary, maybe...maybe you knew better than to assume you would be anywhere for an extended period of time.

Fantasizing about having a real life with Ezra...wishful thinking, indulgence of the highest caliber. You blinked back your tears, shoved the backpack off the side of the bed, and went to open your door.

"Gentle soul, I have brought you sustenance! Now please, I beg, unlatch from the fickle teat of your creative muse to indulge with me." The former prospector implored from the doorway of your room, shaking a small paper bag at you.

The scent of the sopaipillas in the bag hit your nose and you heard your stomach roar in reply. Ezra quirked a brow as you flushed. "Well, I guess a...a snack wouldn't hurt." You mumbled.

"I have greatly missed your company these past days." Ezra admitted softly after the two of you had posted up on the couch (you clutching your small sketchbook like a shield), his words clawing at your heart. "I feared you must be growin' weary of the burden of my presence."

You nearly choked to death right there, coughing and sputtering. "What? No, of course not! If anything, I'm surprised you're not tired of me!" You replied once you managed to swallow, guiltily thinking of the small knapsack that you had thrown into the space between your bed and the wall. Your plan was to leave a little later this evening, slip out while he was occupied with Serv A/V correspondence. He dedicated a certain amount of time in the early evening to managing his business affairs, currently working to iron a few more things out with Anglio regarding proprietary Serv-reader programs that wanted to port his tale. Hopefully by the time he realized you had left, you would be checked into your temporary quarters.

Ezra opened his mouth to answer you, but a chime at the door cut him off. "Did you order somethin'?" He asked, his face lighting up when you shook your head. "Ah, it must be something of mine then! How tantalizing, I keep forgetting what I've purchased. I love the surprise every time somethin' appears on the stoop." He grinned like a child, bouncing to his feet.

Stay happy for a little while longer, you found yourself begging silently. His smiles warmed you from the inside out and you knew that you would miss them immensely.

You watched as Ezra popped the door open, the man signing for the thick envelope while the courier hovered patiently. "I don't recall…" he trailed off, hip-checking the door closed and ripping the envelope lip with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Who's it from?" You asked, trying to sound nonchalant. That's not supposed to get here until tomorrow, you reassured yourself. This must just be a coincidence. The envelope did bear a striking resemblance to the ones from your printer, but surely--

Oh no.

You felt your breath hitch as you spotted the return address. You had specifically requested that this delivery arrive tomorrow, you had planned to leave later tonight, oh no! You lunged to snatch the envelope from his hands. "Wait, wait, don't look!" You exclaimed sharply.

Ezra flinched in surprise at your abrupt change in volume, dropping the open envelope as his startled brown eyes flew to yours. Your hard copies spilled out onto the floor, pages flying here and there.

Shit.

"Gentle soul, what is...what is all this?" Ezra asked cautiously when you crouched to start picking the sheets up. "Are you workin' on a new project?"

Your hands trembled as you collected the sheets scattered on the floor at his feet. He knelt after a moment, but you knocked his arm away when he reached for a sheet. "I'm leaving." You whispered. "I made you this to...to try to explain."

You pressed the stack of pages, now reorganized, into his limp hands. Ezra didn't even look down, his fingers automatically gripping the paper. "What?" His voice was hoarse.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I said, I'm leaving. I made you this to explain." Please don't hate me.

"Gentle soul, I...surely we can engage in some civil discourse about this? Have I done something to vex you?"

"No, it's not you."

"You'll forgive me if I am not reassured by your statement." He muttered. "I can think of no other reason that you would attempt a covert exodus like a beleaguered Israelite. Should I investigate the kitchen for unleavened bread?"

"I...what?" You asked in confusion. "Bread?"

Ezra groaned, shaking his head. "Never mind." He then asked bluntly, "why are you leaving?"

You tapped the sheets in his hands, smiling tremulously. "Goodbye, Ezra." With that, you got to your feet and bolted to your bedroom, your face burning with embarrassment. You hated that you anticipated an explosion even after all this time; this was Ezra, not Damon. You picked up your pack and slid on your boots, then hesitantly crept back out.

Ezra was still on the floor. He hadn't moved an inch, just staring down at the pages in his hands. You skittered past him tentatively, but he didn't so much as glance in your direction. This was what you had decided, you reminded yourself while depositing your fob to the apartment on the table next to the door. You had chosen this route. All you could do now was stick to it. The door clicked closed behind you but instead of relief, you felt gut-wrenching sorrow.

Ezra,

It's time for me to leave. I've never been good with words. They always get tangled up inside me.

You popped open the door to the complex stairs in the hallway, sniffling quietly as you began making your way down.

I wish I could tell you in a way that I knew you would understand. I wish I could articulate like you, but all I can do is draw.

You checked the time on your battered watch. You hadn't invested in a new chronometer yet, the bulky square still serving its purpose even with a cracked screen. Perhaps you were too hesitant with your good fortune, you mused, but after having spent so many years carefully scraping and budgeting for every piece of gear, there was bound to be an adjustment period.

So here it is. Ramshackle and hackneyed; everything that you hate. It's got nothing to do with you, so please don't be upset. I just know that I shouldn't stay here any longer.

Your mind's eye ran through your sketches over and over. Weary, worn-out boots. A leaking mug, broken and poorly repaired, pieces that would never fit back together properly. Your helmet, the dome cracked, overgrown in creeping, mossy green. Alone.

You should be able to get on with your life. You don't need me hanging around.

You rubbed your temples. It was too early for check-in, but you were certain that the hotel wouldn't mind you sitting in the lobby for a few hours.

You reached the ground floor without incident, emerging onto the street and weaving your way through the crowded sidewalks of Puggart Bench. Maybe you would go off-planet, get away from the crush of Central's runoff. But that might mean a pod…

You could easily buy your own ship, though you would have to hire a pilot. Perhaps you could get your pilot's license? You would already need one if you wanted to have ground transport options, instead of being subjected to the mercy of the Pug's PTS. Of course. There it was, a plan. This wouldn't be so difficult. You had survived on your own for most of your life!

You squared your shoulders, scrubbing at your face in an effort to shore yourself up. Of course you could handle this. "I can do this." You said aloud, clenching your fists determinedly. "I have four hours until check-in. Tomorrow I have my appointment slated to look at living spaces, and I'll stop by the registry to sign up for the courses. Then, I can go to the grocery depot-" You continued ticking off your objectives, searching through your pockets for your analog sketchbook so you could write everything down. Where is-?

You thought you were imagining things for a moment when you heard Ezra's voice. "The gentry will think you've gone lunar if you keep rambling to yourself, gentle soul."

He sounded slightly out of breath. You froze when a familiar hand tapped your most recent sketchbook against your arm. You must have left it on the couch. For a split-second, you debated on trying to lose him again in the thick crowd.

But then, "Wait, please. Just...permit me a moment of your time." He begged. You sighed and obligingly struggled along crossways to the general flow of pedestrian motion, following him to the sheltered harbor of a nearby doorway.

Ezra shoved his hands into his pockets, looking incredibly rumpled. You folded your arms over your chest, barely resisting the urge to hug yourself nervously. "Look." You said quietly. "If you saw the thing I gave you, you know why I'm doing this."

"I understand the trajectory, but I am still in the dark when it comes to the catalyst." Ezra muttered. "What brought you to such a conclusion? What scurrilous thoughts have flourished, propagated, conspired to usher you onto the path of solitude that you are so determined to float without me?"

I love you. I love you. I love you and I'm scared-

"I think I love you, okay?!" You exploded, flinging the words heedlessly as you finally dared to actually look at him. "I love you and I...Ezra, I'm-" Your lower lip began to quiver while you came to terms with what you had just done, your sentence drying up and your face flushing with shame. "I'm…"

"You're what?" He encouraged you softly, his eyes impossibly, infuriatingly kind.

"Scared." You managed to get out, a raw hiccup catching in your chest.

"Why?" You gestured vaguely up and down at your body, giving him a helpless little shrug. Ezra shook his head. "Attempt again. I want to hear what you have to say, but you must speak."

"I'm not...I'm...Ezra, I'm just-" Your voice dropped to a defeated whisper, tears beginning to roll down your face. "I'm broken."

"By whose definition?" He asked sharply, his visible bristling causing a spike of gratitude to nourish the flame in your stomach. "Who has planted these thoughts in your head? Because they are a bold-faced liar."

"I don't expect you to understand-"

"Oh certainly!" He interrupted you in that ferociously cheery tone, "Why would I, a simple floater that has been crushed under the monstrous heft of the Great Chain time and again, understand what it's like to feel worthless or used? Better yet, abandoned."

"It's different for me!" You cried, hating how pitiful your voice sounded. "You deserve--you deserve everything and I'm so...I'm dirty, I'm wrong and-"

"How the hell can you say things like that about yourself?" Ezra's large hands framed your face gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "How can you spout such untruths about the woman I love?" He murmured tenderly.

The woman I love. The woman I love. The woman I love.

You stared up at him, certain that your mouth was agape. "You speak of deserving with no regard for how little I deserve you, gentle soul. It wounds me that you think so low of yourself." Ezra breathed, his eyes flicking back and forth between your own. "All I can think about when I look at you is how much I do not deserve...any of this. The stability, the contentment. I am akin to a somnolent cat on a warm windowsill, gentle soul." His expression grew pained, clouded with thought. "My life has not been an easy one, perennially by the fault of my own hand. I did not anticipate such...fortuitously serendipitous circumstances, wherein I would be confronted with the task of engaging in mutual lodgin' strictly for the sake of enjoyment of another's company, you must understand."

"I uh." You swallowed, "I probably will once I figure out what you said, give me a minu-"

"Let me translate into the layman's vernacular then. To spare you the...intellectual toil." Ezra sucked in a ragged breath. "I would appreciate you giving me the honor of er, being able to pursue a relationship with you. I would like to kiss you. I would like to kiss...as much of you as I can. I would like to touch you, wherever and whenever you'll permit. I would like to know you...i-intimately."

His awkward little stammer at the end set you off, helpless laughter bubbling up in your chest. "Ezra-!" You sputtered, clinging to his hand.

"What?" He protested. "I am a loquacious fool, gentle soul! Simplicity undoes me, as sure as your tenderness undoes me! I am at a loss." He pressed his forehead to your own. "I beg of you, don't leave. Not yet. At least allow me to attempt to...to offer you something. Anything. Permit me to prove you wrong."

"I don't know if you can." You murmured sadly.

"You have saved me time and again, gentle soul." Ezra reasoned. "With your permission, with your consent, I...martyr's malfeasance, let me help." His voice broke. "You nearly died, I nearly lost you in that Green Purgatory. I do not approach this task lightly, please understand. You are immensely precious to me, and I...I am afraid I am being too verbose once more."

You reached out to run your fingers through the blond patch on his temple, then checked your watch with a put-upon sigh. "Well, if we hurry home, I can cancel my reservations before they charge me."

"Home?" He echoed hopefully, his eyes brightening as he nudged his head against your palm.

"Yeah." You nodded, allowing a little smile to curve your lips. "Home."

…

"I haven't done anything for months, so I…" you trailed off nervously, your hands clasped in your lap. "I don't know whether I even can anymore, you know?" You admitted.

Ezra nodded from his spot by the mantle, circling around behind the couch as he spoke. "I will not rush you, gentle soul. We focus solely on encouraging your relaxation." Your hands dropped to unbutton your shirt and a hand lightly tapping your wrist halted your motion. "Be still." He murmured. "You are safe here. Disrobing is not even on the itinerary for this week."

"The itiner…tell me you have a weird little chart somewhere." You snickered, faltering when his large palms pressed down on your shoulders and eased you back against the couch.

"It is not little, I assure you." Ezra's thumbs slid over the back of your neck. "Rehabilitation is no laughing matter. I will speak throughout so you know that it is me here. If you wish to close your eyes, please do. If you wish for me to stop, simply raise your hand."

"Wh-What are you going to do?" You queried warily.

"Rub your shoulders."

You blinked, confused but immensely relieved. You had thought… "You don't want to...y'know?"

"Gentle soul, never doubt my want." Ezra muttered darkly. "The quest for knowledge is one of eternal restraint, prudent temperance and mute burden." You hummed, not entirely sure what he meant by that. His palms were calloused and warm even through the fabric of your shirt, large fingers spread on your shoulders. Strong thumbs carefully worked into the nape of your neck, alternating in circles back and forth, back and forth. "What shall I speak of, gentle soul?"

"Hmm?" You were so focused on his hands you hadn't really heard his question. Ezra chuckled and repeated himself. "Oh! Um, I...well, whatever you can think of. I like hearing you talk. You could probably read the ingredients on a ration bar and I'd be invested."

Ezra sputtered, trying to muffle his laugh with his shoulder. "There's only so many ways I can expound upon such gripping topics as monosodium glutamate before it lapses into tedium, gentle soul." He hummed low in his throat, then opened with, "On a most divinely appointed day, when our beloved Screamer had been taken by tempestuous winds and scorching rains, I found myself as William Bligh."

"Oh, I love this one." You grinned, settling against the couch. "Favorite story, hands down."

"The increase of your inclination towards bias when I am involved is duly noted and immensely appreciated, gentle soul." You could hear his smile, picturing it in your head with ease. The way his eyes crinkled at the sides, his brows pitching slightly. "By the grace of Kevva I was tossed upon the mercies of fickle men who would not hesitate to slit my throat to save their own…"

...

The shoulder rubbing became a bi-nightly engagement. Ezra would recite a chapter from Aurelac And I, occasionally adding little bits in for flair as he went. Tonight was one such night, "She swaggered into the tent, braggadocious and bold, her hair immaculately coiffed under the dome of her helmet and it was then I knew my demise was encroach-"

"You are ridiculous, I am so far from braggadocious!" You interrupted him to protest. "And no one's hair ever looks good in those helmets. Plus, I was one hundred percent not in your book, thank Kevva."

"I confess I toyed with the idea of writing you in, but you struck me as an individual so fiercely private...I did not wish to remove you from such delectable obscurity." The man teased. "Aside from your name on the cover, naturally."

"I can't believe you wrote it so that you lost an arm-"

"How many times must I remind you that the protagonist of this tale is not myself? He is a man of unwavering moral fiber." Ezra groused. "A man of dubious, shaded past and impeccable integrity. Ambidextrous as well. Nothing like myself in the least."

You make me wish I was a reputable individual.

"Hey, Ezra." You craned your neck to look at him, his palm sliding to cup your ear automatically. "Can I do this for you instead?"

"Do what?" He asked blankly.

"The whole relaxation thing. Like what you're doing for me, you know?" You extended your hands. "Can I do it for you tonight?"

"That's...it's not necessary, gentle soul, you don't-"

"I want to. Please?"

Ezra grimaced reluctantly, running a hand through his hair. "Well, if you are certain." You nodded enthusiastically and he sighed, slowly settling down on the couch as you climbed off of it. "I am unsure if I am quite so receptive to this particular tech-" His words hitched mid-sentence as your fingers slid up into the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. "-nique." Ezra squeaked. "Going in for the kill so quickly, gentle soul? I at least gave you the fair play of two nights before my digits even grazed your h-air-"

You laughed quietly, fingers raking through his short hair with something very close to greed. He tilted his head to follow the motion of your pulls, humming low in his throat. You contentedly basked in the feeling of his body under your hands, even for something as mundane as rubbing his shoulders or finger-combing his hair. "Ezra, you're so tense." you murmured.

"You cannot fault me." Ezra protested. "I have a lifetime of prospectin' that these shoulders have borne the burden of without complaint. It's a miracle I can still move, the foolhardy things I've done…" He flexed his right hand idly. "A miracle, facilitated in no small part by yourself."

Like always, you found yourself flushing at his praise. You bit your lip, a little hesitant to ask the question that had been plaguing you since that particular stormy night. You had your suspicions, of course, but you really wanted to hear it from his mouth. "So I don't know if you remember this, you were kind of half-asleep when you did it. You recited a poem to me and it started out something like…'you come to me in my dreams'."

"Ah, hmm." Ezra coughed awkwardly. "Dare I ask why you enquire?"

You drummed your fingertips on his shoulders, then slipped your hands down to cradle his throat. Your fingers laced together just over his Adam's apple, pinkies resting on his exposed collarbone. "I was just wondering, what's the full version of it?"

You felt him swallow convulsively. "I'm afraid I have not finished that one yet." He admitted softly.

"You wrote that?"

Ezra nodded, chuckling, "Is that so difficult to believe?"

"Well uh, no, not really. I just...I guess I never thought about you writing anything else aside from the floater's rendition of Blood And Swash." You hummed as he laughed again, then asked, "What's it about?"

"It is poetry, gentle soul. It doesn't necessarily have to be about anything." He retorted a little too quickly.

You gasped softly. "Is it about me?"

Ezra froze. "What? No! As if written word alone would be enough to extol your virtues!" He snapped indignantly.

"It is about me!" You crowed triumphantly, the fire in your stomach blazing bright.

"Hush yourself, you contemptuously smug thing." The brown-haired man grumbled.

"You're writing poetry about me!"

"I can do little else!" He exclaimed in exasperation, pinning your hands in place on his chest. "You demand it. You are poetry without a page, gentle soul. I have a responsibility to mankind itself, t-to document...such beauty must be preserved, lest it fade to the marches of featureless time." Ezra proclaimed staunchly, staring straight ahead. "And truly, what a disservice that would be."

You blinked down at the top of his head, tears gathering at the edges of your lashes. At your sniffling, Ezra half-turned to look up at you.

"Gentle soul?" He asked uncertainly. You shook your head, fumbling back over the couch to essentially tuck yourself into his lap. Ezra, to his credit, adjusted remarkably well to your sudden craving for closeness. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on the top of your head as you hid your face in his chest.

"I'm sorry." You apologized thickly after a while, certain that he couldn't be comfortable.

Ezra grunted, adjusting his posture beneath you into something that resembled a dignified slouch. "In my dreams you come to me, as timid and inexorable as the dawn." He muttered the words rapidly, rushing through the memorized lines. "In my sleepless hours you find me, tremulous and waning like the starlight. For I am a lost man who wanders bright and dark, all for the fleeting glimpse of youuuu-" He groaned the last word. "And there it stops. My brain, for all its magnanimous, expansive lexicon, falls utterly flat." His hands stroked over your head, fingers carding through your hair.

"Maybe it is done?" You suggested timidly.

He scoffed. "No, I just...I have to come across the right turn of phrase. The whole thing is trite enough as it is. Hopelessly lovestruck. Never thought I would be the type. Truly, a horrendous conundrum." He lamented, his voice soft. He didn't appear overly distraught about the aforementioned horrendous conundrum.

"Is it making you feel querulous?" You jibed.

Ezra laughed ruefully, his eyes warm as he smiled. "It very well might be, gentle soul!"

"All for the fleeting glimpse of you, all for the…" You paused, your gaze falling to his lips. "A-All for the touch of your mouth on mine?"

Ezra ran a hand through his hair, seeming a bit flustered as he tried to avoid your gaze. "We have not even-"

"But we could." You whispered.

"Could we?" He asked, his voice low. "Should we?" You cupped his jaw, your thumbs rubbing over the unruly stubble he permitted to grow there. "Do you wish to?"

You nodded, smiling. "I do."

"Strictly to further research, naturally. To...facilitate my Byronic breakthrough." Ezra reasoned, his voice drawling lazily. You shook your head and his brows furrowed, drawing tight at the peak of his nose. "No?"

"Because I want to." You confessed shyly.

Ezra cleared his throat, hoarsely rasping a single word. "Temperance."

"What?"

"Don't trouble yourself. I'm merely makin' a note of what to petition the saints for later tonight." A hand rested on the back of your neck, coaxing you in. His mouth was gentle on yours, tentative; lips moving with equal amounts of caution and curiosity. His mustache sent unfamiliar sensations racing across your skin, somehow coarse and soft all at once. You closed your eyes, whimpering quietly as you clung to his shoulders. "I must admit," he gasped into your mouth, "this is hardly conducive to my--"

"Shh," you hushed him, smiling when he chuckled. You bumped your forehead against his, nuzzling your temple over his Mallen streak. "Thank you."

"I believe that is my next line, gentle soul." He teased. "All for the touch of your mouth on mine. What a deliciously trite stanza." His brown eyes searched your own. "I am lost in impassioned rumination over it." He murmured, drawing you back for another kiss.

Part Eight

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pixelsareforsketchbooks · 4 years ago

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Body in Performance - Lecture 1b

Notes on Amelia Jones “Body Art: Performing the Subject”

Initial thoughts… well she makes some points but might be a bit alienating in her delivery.

Phenomonolgy/phemonialogical - Phenomenology is the study of structures of consciousness as experienced from the first-person point of view. The central structure of an experience is its intentionality, its being directed toward something, as it is an experience of or about some object.

(seriously how many times did I have to look up that definition while reading this)

Cartesean - I think therefore I am. Ego defining our sense of self. This is how we know we exist. Making ourselves the subject. The personal is political.

I like her specificity in defining body art. I particularly like her comparison to self portraiture and her example of Jackson Pollock. Jackson pollock being the hinge between formalism and post-formalism.

Formalism: art that has a form. painting/sculpture as opposed to performance, which is without definite form.

Interesting to contextualise Carolee Schneeman as a pre-feminist artist. While I have always seen Schneeman is a seminal feminist performance art figure, I had never given so much thought to the fact that she was creating these works many years before a cohesive women’s liberation movement.

Also Interesting to give more context to Kusama and her work in the 60s and 70s. I find that now she and her work are so highly revered it is hard to imagine her work being controversial, but of course it was.

Photo of Kusama’s peep-show

Self-Portrait in The Lusty Lady Peep Show

Kusama’s Peep Show makes me think of the toilets in the MONA (Museum of Old and New Art in Tasmania, Australia) where you can watch yourself shit through a series of mirrors.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hh-RfF3cIDc

And once again, this all relates to online identities, and online performances. We are in a perpetual performance, and now forever documenting it. Creating a durational self-portrait. Constantly reiterating our personal brand. Creating a cohesive story in which we are the subject.

DEFINE POSTSTRUCTURALISM. Is it related to formalism? And post-formalist? Body art being post-formalist?

Perhaps the best way I can relate Post-structuralism to my own experience is that it is the same feeling I get when I have to send mood boards to clients. I become frustrated before the process even begins because I will send a set of images, but I know they will never perceive these images as I do. They will never pick out the same things that I pick out, which, especially when striving for an overall feeling or mood can become extremely distorted. And even when using language to explain the things I see in the pictures, there is still a huge gap in communication. I am then left with our the tools to accurately communicate my ideas, which is problematic when trying to collaborate.

This relation to the body and body art and feminism, it all strikes me as rather dualist/binary. We get away from the modern artist ideal detached male. Male being associated with rationality, culture and intellect, and we create body art instead…. This still holds all of the trapping of patriarchal dualism. Women being associated with the natural body, the emotive etc etc. She discuss the ‘hinge’ the body being the hinge between culture and nature, but I feel like I want an entirely different option that smacks these binaries into 5 million pieces.

#amelia jones #body art #performance art #performance studies #dualism #binary #poststructuralism #kusama #carolee schneemann #cartesean #phenomonolgy

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psychopersonified · 5 years ago

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Keep Calm, Dance On

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.

This particular snippet is an excuse to write a dancing Q and the effect it has on 007.

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“Is that Nish’s mix of Vodka, Redbull and Ribena?” Q surprises him by reaching for the glass, fingers curling around Bond’s to pull it close and takes a sip from it.

The gesture is scandalously intimate considering they are still in HQ among colleagues - if anyone was watching, it would seem as if Bond was feeding him the drink.

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Notes: Inspired by Tom Hiddleston’s dance moves. If you haven't watched it, you have to! ENJOY!

———————————----------------------------------------------------

SIS HQ - Q-Branch Lower Ground Level 1

They have rigged the lights to strobe and change colours like in a club. Electronic dance music blares from the PA system. The office space on Lower Ground level 1 has been cleared, equipment moved to the edges and covered with black cloth.

Bond is nursing a violently sweet concoction that included a large percentage of Redbull, Ribena and Vodka that Nish handed to him at the door.

He sidles up to Eve catching her attention by touching her on the arm with the hand holding the drink.

“What is this?” Bond has hardly been to any social gatherings organised internally. Except formal affairs where attendance was compulsory, he’s eschewed getting too chummy with his colleagues.

Eve smiles at him a little disbelieving, “James, haven’t you ever been to one of these? Oh you’re in for a treat.”

It does not look like much is going on at the moment. A large section of the central floor is outlined and gridded with hazard tape in what looks like a potential dance floor. However, no one is dancing despite the music, preferring to keep to the edges.

“What a smashing party,” his voice dipping with sarcasm.

“Oh James, don’t be so quick to judge. Just wait—…”

And just then, the lights dim as if on cue. The outer glass doors swish open and white smoke floating low on the ground rolls into the main space. A tall slim male figure is silhouetted in the doorway. The crowd quiets down immediately.

“What’s happening?”

“Hush!” Eve bids him, pulling them into a better position.

The music picks up. The figure descends the short flight of stairs, feet quick and lithe, then comes sauntering towards the dance floor in long easy strides. The crowd parts for him.

He stops right in the centre of the dance floor and the lights brighten just enough to reveal of all people, the Quartermaster dressed in an impeccable black suit - this one for once tailored perfectly to his lanky figure. The jacket and trousers are tight accentuating the slim waist and long slender legs. The hair is still a floppy artful mess, but the back is clipped short and neat, making him look much younger than he really is - he could still effortlessly pass as a university student.

Bond chokes badly on his drink, hiding it quickly with a cough. Not quick enough. Eve’s eyes slide to the left to regard him with with a look and a smirk.

On the dance floor, Q strikes a nonchalant pose. A hand comes up to undo the single button on the dinner jacket. His hips start moving to the rising beat. The air is thick with anticipation.

Then it happens - the beat drops and Q is a sudden blur of movement. His long legs ripping up the dance floor in time with the music and with practiced ease. His movements are precise and controlled but infused with fluid grace.

There is no trace of the cloistered, sometimes hesitant and flailing chief boffin that calls this concrete cave his lair. These, my god, these are the confident movements of a young man that has done more than his fair share of clubbing in the trendy nightclubs of London.

Bond is rendered speechless. He is aware that the intense scowl forming on his face is an over compensation - to keep his jaw from hang open otherwise.

The crowd of semi inebriated colleagues ROAR, wildly appreciative. They start to close in on the dance floor.

Around the edges of the crowd, movement catches Bond’s trained eyes. He’s not the only Double-0 invited to party. He can see 003 and 006 emerge from their lurking places behind thick brick columns. Their quartermaster’s sudden display of sexuality has piqued their interest - like predators catching the movement of prey, it is almost as if they can’t help themselves.

This will NOT do. Something that has been smouldering for sometime inside Bond ignites - something deeply possessive and steeped with arousal.

The music builds to a crescendo and the whole thing is over in less than three minutes. Q’s choreography finishing in time with it. He is panting a little, but otherwise unruffled.

There is a brilliant smile on his face as his hands finds the edges of his jacket to straighten it with a dramatic flourish before doing up the buttons again. When he’s done, he spreads his arms, palms up in welcome - and he tips his head to the crowd.

The Quartermaster officiates the party by calling to everyone, “Please, carry on!”

With that the music starts again and the party begins in earnest. People clapping, cheering and pouring onto the dance floor. The place is transformed in an instant.

The melee of moving bodies helps Q melt into the crowd and Bond looses sight of him for a moment. He sees 003 dart out from her position to slice into the crowd. Her red hair and outfit light making her more easy to see.

Shit. Bond scans the crowd for Q. When he finds the quartermaster, he launches himself into the crowd - completely forgetting to take leave of Eve who was still standing next to him.

How rude! Eve doesn’t really take offence. In fact, she’s surprised he’s lasted this long. She barks out a laugh and shakes her head. 007 likes to think he’s an international man of mystery - but he can be so obvious at times.

Conveniently for Bond, Q was making his way in his direction - or more likely towards Eve. They’d probably agreed to meet somewhere near the drinks table.

Bond intercepts smoothy, he passes Q on the man’s right and swings around behind him to end up on the left. This allows Bond to hook his right arm around Q’s waist briefly before resting his palm on the small of his back.

The move catches Q off guard who was about to say hello to Bond. For a moment, he felt a twinge of embarrassment when thought the agent was going to walk straight past him - only to be startled when 007 ends up nearly pressed to his side on the left.

“Have you been holding out on me quartermaster?” the loud music an excuse for Bond to lean in close, lips nearly touching Q’s ear.

He takes the opportunity to glance back to where he last saw 003. She was just ten feet shy of catching up to them. He sends her a wink and she stops in her tracks. She smiles back with a shake of her head conceding defeat.

“Ah, 007. I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence after all.” Q smiles up at him. He is still panting slightly from the exertion of the dance - his lips are dark pink and there is beautiful colour in his cheeks which just further highlights the smooth curve of his cheekbones.

The effect hits Bond like a punch to the gut. Fuck. He wants so badly to devour those lips. To bury his hands in that ridiculous hair. To make him pant prettily in his arms. ..

“…Bond? Are you alright?” Q’s concern snap him out of his thoughts.

“Ah yes. Sorry where are my manners. Let’s get you a drink.” Bond holds up his half empty glass in his left hand and gestures towards the drinks table.

“Is that Nish’s mix of Vodka, Redbull and Ribena?” Q surprises him by reaching for the glass, fingers curling around Bond’s to pull it close and takes a sip from it.

The gesture is scandalously intimate considering they are still in HQ among colleagues - if anyone was watching, it would seem as if Bond was feeding him the drink.

The thought of it results in a flaring heat of arousal that nearly causes him to trip - and he has to violently push it back into its cage. Bond is pretty sure he is starting to show in his trousers.

“Ugh! Every bit as vile as imagined,” Q passes verdict on the drink. The sip leaves a layer of shiny sweet liquid on his lips and Bond wonders how it would taste if he were to lick it off.

Stop it. Behave! Bond is blindsided by the intensity of his own reactions. At this rate he is not sure how he will survive the night.

“Come. I know what you’ll like..” Q veers off before they reach the drinks table. Bond’s imagination is going to overdrive and his mouth dry. He follows closely because that is all he can do at the moment. He would have followed Q right off a cliff if it meant he could remain within touching distance.

They peel away from the crowd of revellers and make their way to the back of the cavernous space. There is a recessed area in the back, off to the side that serves as Q’s unofficial office. It is dark, but there is just enough light from the party to illuminate the area dimly.

Q ducks into a corner and switches on one of the worklamps, angling the shade upwards so it throws light onto the ceiling instead. The effect is to softly illuminate the recess - almost romantic.

Then Q goes to the filing cabinet behind his desk and pulls out from the bottom drawer a bottle of 12 year old Macallan Whisky; three quarters full. He looks around the workspace for something.

“…I don’t have a clean glass.” Q explains.

Bond looks around, he sees the penholder on Q’s desk. It is an old mug with a broken handle. He removes the contents and then tips the remains of the Vodka-Redbull-Ribena into the receptacle.

Q hands him the bottle of scotch; then moves to sit on the edge of his desk facing the party. His long legs extend out in front of him.

Bond rinses out the glass with the tiniest amount of scotch he can bear to waste, then pours enough for both of them to share. He passes the glass back to Q before settling himself on the edge of the table as well - shoulder brushing Q’s.

“Ah, much better.” Q says after a sip.

“Never guessed you to be a scotch drinker. Then again, never pegged you for a dancer either…” Bond says as he reaches for the glass in Q’s right hand. Instead of taking it from him, Bond returns the gesture Q made earlier - his larger hand wrapping around the smaller one to pull the glass towards himself.

“Did I meet your expectations?” Q asks, eyes not leaving his as he watches Bond take a sip.

“Oh, I’d dare say you’ve exceed it—“ he replies after he swallows. Then right into Q’s ear, “—by a wide margin.”

Q shoots him a fond look that tells him how ridiculous he is being, but makes no move to put any distance between them. It is a brief look, but tenderness blooms in his chest and he has to look away before he does something stupid.

His eyes end up following the stretch of long slim legs clad in tight trousers; which was a poor move. He knows he is going to end up with the worst case of blue balls by the end of the night.

They stay that way for the next half hour. Watching the party, gossiping a little and sharing the drink. Not once did he remove the glass from Q’s hand, preferring to repeat what he did earlier each time he takes a sip - drinking right out of the quartermaster’s hand.

——The End——

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Including my take on a kidnapped Q. Enjoy!

#00q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #q #quartermaster

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happymetalgirl · 4 years ago

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July 2020

Machine Head - Civil Unrest

On this two-song EP, Robb Flynn once again leans into spur-of-the-moment inspiration in an effort to jolt Machine Head out of the creative fatigue that plagued the polarizing Catharsis, but unfortunately the approach that didn’t really work for “Volatile” doesn’t really work for “Stop the Bleeding” or “Bulletproof”, and it all adds up upon the revelation that these songs are constructed from scraps off the Catharsis kitchen floor. Robb’s finger is on the pulse of the tension underlying American politics and his heart is in the right place (which I commend him for his steadfastness to in the face of the apparently sizable chud subset of Machine Head’s fanbase), he just needs to take his delivery a little off the nose. Of the two songs, “Bulletproof” is definitely the stronger and more hard-hitting, while the goofy 2000′s metalcore melodicism of “Stop the Bleeding” meshes poorly with the grim subject matter Robb attaches to the track. In the grand scheme of Machine Head’s career, this EP (and the two non-album singles that preceded it last year) is disappointing filler that does nothing to lift the band out of the dry creative well they’ve found themselves in.

5/10

Khemmis - More Songs About Death, Vol. 1

A much more solid two-track EP, Khemmis’ More Songs About Death, Vol. 1 is comprised of a groovy cover of Misfits’ “Skulls” and an acoustic rendition of the folk song, “A Conversation with Death”, that the band had covered electrically for a split they did with Spirit Adrift. The band adapt well to the more original acoustic style of the latter song, as soulful as ever even with acoustic subtlety replacing their open-hearted doom metal. As for the Misfits cover, the band apply their signature harmonic doom guitar work to give it a signature seal while adhering to the core foundation of the song, and they show that the song does take to their brand of doom quite well. After Desolation and being signed to Nuclear Blast, Khemmis sure were excited to get working on their fourth LP. Now that of course sits on the list of many projects the pandemic has forcefully postponed, but these kinds of offerings and the band’s hinting that they might just come out of this with two albums’ worth of material is helping make the wait a little more bearable. Thank you as always, Khemmis.

more respect to Khemmis/10

Inter Arma - Garbers Days Revisited

Coming off the back of their magnum opus, Sulphur English, Inter Arma’s offering to hold the quarantined world over until the band’s next opus is a quick (by their standards) covers album of metal and hardcore classics, as well as some surprising classic and southern rock tunes. And the band manage the eight diverse songs with an impressive display of two-way adaptability. Turning “The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill” into a blackgaze blast-beat fest and “Scarecrow” and into a crushing blackened sludge-doom epic while layering their atmospheric black metal smoothly over the old-school rock grooves of Neil Young’s “Southern Man” Inter Arma show an aptitude for selecting cover songs that fit their style. It sure helps that they’re a versatile act too, bending their mammothian heaviness to suit the core appeal of covers of Cro-Mags’ “Hard Times”, Nine Inch Nails’ “March of the Pigs”, and Venom’s “In League with Satan” while shedding all that sludge to expose their southern rock roots on (slightly) more stripped back tunes like “Runnin’ Down a Dream” and Prince’s “Purple Rain” (a closer so fittingly beautiful it seems almost unfair), which find them embellishing soulfully and clearly enjoying themselves in the studio. A lineup of tracks like this would make be nervous for whatever band was trying to tackle them, but Inter Arma prove that can shapeshift back to their southern roots just as well as they can bulldoze as needed to do their own justice to these several tracks, making for one of the best cover albums I’ve heard for a while.

8/10

This Will Destroy You - Vespertine

Serving as a soundtrack project for a highly rated California This Will Destroy You seemingly took a long time with this project, having released the “Kitchen” single in 2017 under the same premise. The album is entirely ambient, and not quite as experimental with glitchy electro-ambiance as projects like Tunnel Blanket or Another Language were. Instead, Vespertine highlights the serene/somber atmospheric foundation of the band’s post-metal/rock sound that made the Young Mountain EP and their self-titled LP such transcendent experiences and exemplary advocates for post-rock upon their release. And it’s a great display of just how the band’s discernible ambient style can shine through even such a minimal approach. It is basic ambient music for sure, no additives, but it’s unmistakably This Will Destroy You to those who know them, and it hearkens back to some of their best work, so I see it as a welcome addition to the band’s catalog.

7/10

Static-X - Project Regeneration, Vol. 1

Rebooted in honor of Wayne Static after his untimely passing in 2017 the original line-up and Dope frontman Edsel Dope behind a mask resembling the late singer and the pseudonym Xer0, Static-X return after over a decade of radio silence since 2009′s Cult of Static to mesh the final recordings of Wayne Static for the band with contributions from Xer0 on the first of two volumes of new material under this premise of paying tribute. Despite the lengthy absence and the loss of the band’s central creative force, the album is a mostly smooth transition from Cult of Static with some callbacks to the electro industrial metal of earlier albums like Shadow Zone and Machine. While it captures the essence of Static-X across its 39-minute track list with a handful of hard-hitting industrial nu metal bangers, Project Regeneration - Vol. 1 is a bit of a dry recount of the band’s legacy, and I hope the band saved the better chunk of songs for the second installment.

6/10

An Autumn for Crippled Children - All Fell Silent, Everything Went Quiet

An Autumn for Crippled Children is an anonymous Dutch trio who are helping to keep the blackgaze movement going with their eighth full-length album here. The band released their seventh not long ago in 2018, but this year’s is my introduction to the band, which has been a pleasant one. All Fell Silent, Everything Went Quiet is a moderately sized offering of heartfelt blackgaze as you know it from the likes of Deafheaven and Ghost Bath channeled through more second-wave-like stylings of the Norwegian black metal scene; so it sounds kind of like if Mayhem made more open-hearted music rather than deflected edginess through Satan-worshipping (not to shit on Mayhem or anything). There is more to this album, however, than just diluted or lo-fi Deafheaven worship; through the haze of the band’s fuzzy blackgaze is some pretty dynamic songwriting and impressive. More than just soaking distorted guitars in reverb and juxtaposing blackmetal screams with post-rock ambiance, An Autumn for Crippled Children capture some of that emotional diversity that makes blackgaze at its best (...Sunbather) so divinely captivating. And the spacious beauty the band conjures out of the negative space in the static-y guitars and thin percussion on songs like “Water’s Edge”, “Paths”, and the title track is surprisingly enveloping, but the standout cut on the album I’d say is the very unashamedly Ghost-Bath-y “Silver” for its overt heartfelt delivery with every instrument and its integration of what even sounds like a piano. I doubt this would convert many black metal purists who idolize Burzum and Darkthrone. In fact I bet this album would upset them even more than New Bermuda, but for those without a stick up their ass, looking for some juicy blackgaze with a different set of ingredients than your Harakiri for the Sky or Wolves in the Throne Room, this is some good shit.

8/10

Bury Tomorrow - Cannibal

I gave this one a good several tries because 2018’s Black Flame grew on me significantly after my incredibly underwhelmed first couple of listens, but sadly Cannibal strikes melodic metalcore gold far less often than its predecessor and finds Bury Tomorrow knee deep in the unflattering tropes that the genre is trying to shake off. With a pretty one-note approach to melodicism that results in a largely homogeneously flat emotional tone across the album, it’s definitely a step down from the emboldened and invigorated Black Flame that negates any sense of the band’s ambition that that album might have given off. I can point out “Better Below” and the brief breakdown on “Gods & Machines” as mild highlights in the tracklist, but they only really stand out because the rest of the surrounding tracks are so dry. I’d like to say that things just didn’t click this time or that some experiments just didn’t pan out, but it’s quite clearly just the lack of imagination and ambition that sinks this project deep into the background of forgettable metalcore, and I know this band can do better.

4/10

Kansas - The Absence of Presence

They’re hardly even metal-adjacent but for their sizable contribution to the 70′s prog rock movement that such a huge proportion of metalheads are into, a new Kansas album I suppose counts as on-topic for this blog. The band returned after a decade and a half of absence with a stuttering restart without iconic vocalist Steve Walsh on 2016′s The Prelude Implicit, and it was clear that they needed to do more than yearn for glory days to get the gears back in motion, so with The Absence of Presence the band’s new blood has stepped up to the plate to inject some freshness into the band’s compositional process. The band still sticks to that core violin-spiced prog rock that characterized their iconic 70′s albums, but the structuring and soloing style (especially the keys) are a bit more modernized than the band’s past work, and by modern I mean what Dream Theater sounded like in the 2000′s. Make no mistake, though, it’s an improvement on The Prelude Implicit, and it highlights the band’s talents and natural grandiose tendencies far more than the radio rock singles they’re most widely known for, and the cinematic bridge of the opening title track is sturdy proof of this. It’s a testament to the influence they have had on modern prog through the genre’s biggest bands like Dream Theater, and perhaps a testament to the two-wayedness of that street as well as fun, bombastic tunes like “Throwing Mountains” sound like they would fit easily on something like A Dramatic Turn of Events or as a break from all the melancholy on a Steven Wilson project. The album does wear a little thin on ballads like “Memories Down the Line”, but it makes up for its duller moments with plenty of exuberant prog expressiveness on most of the songs (the closing track being probably the standout example), which should be a good time for most of the band’s fans who fondly remember albums like Masque and Monolith, and any newer prog fans who may not be aware of the band’s influence on today’s prog metal.

7/10

Haken - Virus

Speaking of respectable modern prog though, Haken’s aptly named album this year serves as quite the easy bar to clear for prog metal so far this decade. I regretfully missed out on their 2018 sister album, Vector, but I am partially mending that ill by covering Virus here. Like I said earlier, it’s a solid record that captures the smoothness and tempered heaviness of Soen and the attitude of early Opeth with the angularity of Tool, but even if it ends up being the year’s best prog metal album, I don’t think it will be too long before one of the genre’s juggernauts (or even exciting new faces) kamehamehas this one away. The album starts out pretty solid in its first few tracks, but remains pretty meager and restrained in its explosiveness until midway through the album, relying on rather short bursts of typical prog heaviness like the opening of “Prosthetic”, whose rumbly bassline is a delicious highlight amongst the Townsend-esque choir implementation. The ten-minute “Carousel” ups the band’s expressiveness after the deceptive soothe of the second track with a clash of goth-y ambiance and pounding metallic bombast. The five-part “Messiah Complex” suite finds the band at their most adventurous, straddling the winding mid-song compositional whirl of Dream Theater with the occasional eccentricity and djenty heaviness of producer Nolly’s former band Periphery, the band still sound themselves and confident in every move they make, like true prog masters, ending beautifully on the two-minute “Only Stars”. I think it might end up being the year’s best straight-up prog metal album, and the band have worked hard to earn that honor, but I would honestly be surprised if someone else or Haken themselves don’t outdo it within a year. That’s to take away from what an exciting 52 minutes of prog this is, because with such a moderate runtime for such a tight prog album, it’s definitely deserving of the respect of a top album in its field.

8/10

Skeleton - Skeleton

Even though I tend to end up liking them, I find myself skeptical of projects whose aesthetic feels forcedly retro or whose marketing is focused heavily on nostalgia, and the self-titled debut from the Austin-based trio, Skeleton, complete with its intentionally cheesy and amateurish cover art, definitely checked those boxes. I even got the sense from 20 Buck Spin (being that I’m on their mailing list and follow their accounts and all) that they were more excited than usual to be releasing the trio’s debut. And honestly, after a few listens through of not being all too aroused by the crusty proto-death metal at the core of the band’s sound, the traditional heavy metal focus on infectious guitar riffs helped the album grow on me a good bit. The stylistic versatility of the guitar playing really is the cornerstone of the album, from the Kill ‘Em All-style riffs on “Taste of Blood” and early Sepultura-esque galloping on “At War” to the blackened punk grit of “A Far Away Land” and the even more catchy classic metal riffs on “Turned to Stone” and the melancholic old-school doom atmosphere on “Ring of Fire”. The snarled black metal vocals are gnarly in that old-school sense, throaty and raspy but kind of cheesily thin too to fit with the aesthetic the band are going for, and it’s a pretty similar story with the drums: not flashy at all by today’s standards but just right to supplement the guitar work and complete the vibe. And of course with 11 tracks not even grazing the half hour mark, the songs are pretty trim and compositionally bare bones, falling into quick, crust punk formats foregoing the typical verse-chorus paradigm. Yes, Skeleton has grown on me, and I’m curious to see if they end up expanding this sound like Ghost did from Opus Eponymous to stay creatively fresh or if they plan to draw from the long-abandoned (or less frequented) wells of musical elements they did on this album for the foreseeable future.

7/10

Burzum - Thulêan Mysteries

I know that in a lot of circles (including some I consider myself a part of), saying something even vaguely positive about Burzum invites a wave of disapproval for supporting (or at the very least, excusing) the black metal world’s most notorious villain’s racism, but I can’t say with a straight that Varg Vikernes didn’t play a huge part in shaping Norwegian black metal as we know it or that I don’t like Filosofem or Hvis lyset tar oss. I don’t think that amounts to supporting the guy’s racist bullshit, and luckily Varg has made it pretty easy not to support his racist bullshit because Burzum has been shit for a long long time now; in fact I’d say Filosofem was the last worthwhile Burzum album, with his pathetically bad ambient records during and after his time in prison and the three stale black metal albums that welcomed him back from prison. After such a weak return to music from prison and Burzum’s discontinuation-turned-hiatus, it seemed overdue that Varg finally retire the Burzum project after the unimaginative ambiance of The Ways of Yore. I mean the project has thoroughly emulated the trope of the white guy who views everything he touches as way more genius than anyone else does, which is pretty rich for a guy so willing to dismiss the current black metal scene as derivative, and he’s seemed more invested in whatever it is he’s been doing on YouTube or his blog. Nevertheless, Varg remains an infamous figure in metal probably to a lot of dudes who think there’s some esoteric genius to decode in his lore, to an extent I find kinda disturbing. The weird reverence a lot of the metal community has for the neo-nazi murderer’s cult of personality (the vast majority of whose discography is masturbatory throwaway doodling) is astounding. So this guy’s back, with an hour and a half of, by his own account, ambient scraps of dungeon synth music that he built up over an extended period of time and basically figured he’d compile into an album (because, like I said, everything he touches must be gold in his eyes), and goddamn it sure sounds like exactly what he pitches it as. The first track, “The Sacred Well”, is actually pretty soothing and decent helping of ethereal ambient music, but it doesn’t take long for things to go downhill. The annoyingly repetitive acoustic motif of “ForeBears” and the absolutely amateurish improvised piano plinking of “A Thulêan Perspective” quickly shed light on just how lazily patched together this thing is, while the subsequent “Gathering of Herbs” literally cuts off awkwardly like the full track didn’t upload fully. A few tracks like “Jötunnheimr” and “The Road to Hel” offer some fleeting promise in their eeriness, but they disappear as quickly as most of the tracks here do, in a flash of confusion as clearly incomplete ideas piled into an album for no reason that even Varg can justify. The last third of the album contains some of the longer tracks, but the swapping of fragments of half-assed keyboard doodles for half-assed demos spread thinner than tissue paper is a trade-off akin to the upcoming general election and it’s too little and way too late. I have to highlight the laughably farty synthesizer horns on “Ruins of Dwarfmount”; I mean thank god it’s quick because it’s absolutely awful, but the chuckle I get out of how bad it is is probably the best experience I have from this whole album. Just about everything on here is some combination of irritatingly repetitive, blatantly incomplete, or grossly unprofessional, and the thing that gets me is that it’s not like ambient music or dungeon synth is any sort of rocket science. I’m not at all the kind of music genius Varg’s weird devotees see him to be, but given the same equipment, even I could undoubtedly make a better ambient album than this. Although I’m not nearly as well-versed in ambient music as I am in metal, I have heard enough of a chunk of it to say I know the good shit and the bad shit, but honestly, this album is a new low for me. I didn’t know an ambient album could suck this much. It’s like an extended Daudi Baldrs with a slightly better keyboard, but with no excuse this time for the cheapness of the sound and certainly not the length. Yeah, piece of shit.

2/10

Boris - NO

Tokyo’s prolific sonic shapeshifters have all but given up on giving up, and I suppose the title of this year’s record summarizes their brief questioning of if they stop making music. The band’s first intended farewell album, Dear, which found them (not really) bowing out to the sorrowful drone doom of their most iconic record (Pink), was followed them by last year’s LφVE & EVφL, which saw them revisiting various shades of their career as comfortably as ever. NO finds the power trio on another stylistic tour of sorts, this time through some of their heaviest and most grimy territory, starting from brooding sludge doom to spending most of the album on Slayer-esque thrash and hardcore punk ripe with gritty attitude. The production is thick and nasty as is usually best for Boris, but the writing on this record is just kind of absent-minded for such a stylistically varied project. While the more drony opener, “Genesis”, rides its runtime well on the raw heaviness that the band put the pure simplicity of their slow groove through, the farther the band step away from their wheelhouse, the more apparent sparseness becomes of the more underwritten songs like the meatheadedly punky “Kikinoue” and “Fundamental Error”. We get some crushing riffs like that on “Anti-Gone”, but also some clumsy wailing about like on the song “Lust” that calls into question the effort Boris put in at the drawing board. The sheer power is there, but it’s being used generally inefficiently on a sizeable portion of NO. Still, it’s pretty cool to hear Boris at this pace, and the pure energy they pour into this project is enough to get the job done.

7/10

Tuscoma - Discourse

Tuscoma’s follow-up to the wildly eccentric Arkhitecturenominus is gets off to a slow start with its rather generic churn of blowtorch-blackened post-metal through its first two tracks and is short on risks for the reputably ambitious duo, but Discourse does eventually kick in to dig deep to tap as much of the frightful potential of the band’s sound and showcases a decent example of what the New Zealanders are known for and of lies out in left-field of post-metal.

6/10

Executioner’s Mask - Despair Anthems

Making their debut as a collective for Profound Lore, the quintet of seasoned post-punk creatives embark on an eccentric voyage through darkwave on a ship of modern gothic rock, and the results are as fascinating as they sound on paper, recalling the cerebral ritualism of Children of God-era Swans as much as the energetically veiled despair of Type O Negative and AFI while dipping the rock elements into the industrial side of darkwave every now and then. And again, the product is an effortless immersiveness into the record’s moody journey, not through atmosphere-building, but through the infectiousness of the goth dance numbers take you on. It’s certainly more of a metal-adjacent album than a bonafide metal album, but the way the band captures the despair they set out to is as effective through more subtly seething means as DSBM’s best, and the band’s adventurousness with their sonic palette alone makes for an interesting listen, or several, as I will certainly be giving this project more than its fair share of my ears.

8/10

Ensiferum - Thalassic

Very similar to Amon Amarth’s longtime solidification of their sound, the Finnish talents seem able to simply exhale exhilaration through their both tried-and-true and continually honed black-reinforced power folk metal. And it’s clear the band are on autopilot at least to some degree on Thalassic here because the writing is pretty homogeneous and formulaic nearly all the way through; that being said, the sheer energy of the band’s performances into a sound experience allows them to wield so effortlessly more than carries them across the seas they sing of.

7/10

Bedsore - Hypnagogic Hallucinations

Stepping out from the shadows of Italy to present the great big world of metal with their forty-minute debut-album, the four-piece on the 20 Buck Spin label make their grand atmospheric aspirations for their brand of death metal immediately known across seven tracks of hellish wails and haunted ambiance. Taking ominous clean guitar motif-writing and structuring influence from Neurosis to the point of uncannily resembling “Souls at Zero” on the second track, “The Gate, Closure (Sarcoptes Obitus)”, Bedsore still inject plenty of their own distorted flair into the cavernous death-metal-flavored howl they espouse on Hypnagogic Hallucinations. The band do bank rather heavily on the immersiveness of the atmosphere they try to conjure, leaving a blind spot in the album’s dynamic beyond the fluctuations between clean and distorted nightmare. Compositional shortcomings aside, this is a solid debut to set the Italians on a bright prospective future.

7/10

Spirit Possesion - Spirit Possesion

Blackened thrash metal is one of those smaller subgenres within metal that feels more like a niche occupied by a few stalwarts like Aura Noir, Goatwhore, and Deströyer 666, but now Spirit Possession is making the bid to join those ranks and potentially turn more spotlight onto the specifically hybridized style. The band’s self-titled debut brims with the thrash enthusiasm of Bathory and the old-school riffing that shaped the way the early progenitors of black metal composed theirs, and not only is the Portland duo’s riff-game on point, but goddamn does it sound savory and spicy as hell through the more flattering production and against the backdrop of modern black metal a la Watain. The nasty chug on the song “Swallowing Throne” really highlights the benefit of the thicker, tastier production. The exceptionally grand “Amongst Inverted Castles and Holy Laughter” is a fine example of the band straddling old and new with impressive flexibility, while the bulk of the album's indulgence into early black metal and thrash is impossible not to want to indulge with, like a really fun party with a good crowd that makes it so much easier to have a few more drinks than you originally intended to.

8/10

Defeated Sanity - The Sanguinary Impetus

Through just enough delicious riffing, memorable accentuation, and technicality on par with Dying Fetus packed into structurally creative bite-sized portions, brutal death metal stalwarts Defeated Sanity somehow make a pretty persuasive take-it-or-leave-it case for the genre.

7/10

Paysage d’Hiver - Im Wald

The boldly two-hour debut double-album from Paysage d’Hiver is also a bit of a double-edged sword, basing partly its very ethereal black metal atmosphere on the homemade sound that regularly kneecaps the grander feel the project is going for. And the album does indeed reach some soaring heights of blizzard-stung ambiance, which the biting sound of the tinny, but engaged, percussion and the vexed swooning of the tremolo-picked guitar playing across the album’s several indeed well-organized lengthy tracks. It takes a lot to trudge through the long path covered in thick snow that this album sets out on, and the lo-fi production often doesn’t help the individual elements that make Im Wald enjoyable stand out, and it can be all too easy to get lost in the homogeneous whitewash of the hazy winter wind. It’s a rewarding journey to finally make it all the way through with unbroken attention, but blame for the easiness of that attention being lapsed can at least partially be placed on the shoulders of Paysage d’Hiver for its mastermind’s one-note approach to an otherwise well-arranged and well-composed album.

7/10

Gaerea - Limbo

Despite the members’ faceless appearances behind their fully-covering black cloth masks, Gaerea’s music does not hold back its sorrowful outpour through heavy atmospheric black metal that crashes through and drowns like torrential flood waves as much as it tears at the heartstrings through unabashed languishing. The massive weight of the band’s sound invokes the feeling of being in the presence of an incarnate deity weeping at the ills of mankind and the destruction they have forced this deity to bring about. Abstract descriptors of the album’s experience aside, the band aren’t really doing too much new for the atmospheric black metal they’re making, not breaking any rules or pushing any boundaries, but everything that makes the genre so attractive is turned up to eleven. I was ready to be as critical as ever, but I could immediately see not long into my first listen why Season of Mist were so excited to hype up the Portuguese outfit’s incredibly accomplished sophomore release. The guitar playing is simultaneously powerful and beautiful, much like that of the Ulcerate album from earlier this year (Stare into Death and Be Still) that I also loved, and the drumming is just as ceaselessly thunderous in support. The lamenting screamed vocals are possibly the least exaggerated facet of the album, but certainly not the the point of being unfitting, in fact they fit the chaotically despondent mood quite well, or a detriment to the record’s overall barrage of mourning. As for how all these massive pieces are arranged, they all crash in synchronized waves in a fashion, again, not at all unfamiliar to anyone who’s heard blackgaze, but the raw passion of the band’s performances exemplify why this strategy is so widely adopted for atmospheric black metal. Gaerea have made quite the statement of intent on this one, and I will definitely be enjoying it repeatedly throughout the year and beyond.

9/10

Upon a Burning Body - Built from War

Upon a Burning Body went full Lamb of God last year with their very trim and direct 31-minute fifth LP, Southern Hostility, focusing their efforts on making their southern brand of groovy deathcore as tastily whiskey-soaked as possible, laying on the groove heavily and unrestrained in a way that I thought definitely worked in their favor. Just a year later, the band are back with a 17-minute addendum to their infectiously brash display of muscular bravado, and it’s pretty much as brutishly intense as expected as the band bounce through single-string grooves and ripping drum rhythms to the same conclusions they did last year, only this time it feels so much more fatigued, like they’re trying to artificially replicate this genuinely pissed off attitude that produced results for them despite just not being in that kind of headspace at the moment. The songs are pretty baseline for them and generic as fuck, missing that X factor that made Southern Hostility’s distilled rage so tangible and fun. Built from War has some of the staple features that made its predecessor such a good time, but despite its few high-energy moments across the five tracks, it feels like an unnecessary rehash of the lightning in a whiskey bottle they had last year, just no lightning, so empty whisky bottles that bear the smell to remind you of what was previously in them.

5/10

The Acacia Strain - Slow Decay

I have been pretty harsh on The Acacia Strain in the past; they haven’t come up much on my blog, but the times they have, I feel I’ve been a little overly critical of their use of elements that I’ve perceived as excessive that they’ve used to forge their recognizable sound. The band released a mini album (It Comes in Waves) on Closed Casket Activities just before last year was over and I didn’t even hear it until a few months in to this year, and honestly, I wasn’t all too broken up about it because it was some of the band’s most lethargic, meandering material to date; dragging aimlessly until the last two tracks of the album, a significant step down from 2017′s already middle-of-the-road Gravebloom. So with those albums in recent memory I was kind of not looking forward to Slow Decay all too much, but a few days before its release, I refreshed myself on the band’s 2014 album, Coma Witch, which I remember as a culmination of what The Acacia Strain had been trying to morph their horrific, hardcore-tinged deathcore into since Continent, and it was a great time, that album, and it made me a little more hopeful for the band’s tenth LP (if you count It Comes in Waves). And Slow Decay indeed has The Acacia Strain back on track after the stuttering of the past two releases. The burgeoning metallic hardcore movement over the past few years has certainly vindicated The Acacia’s Strain’s steadfast adherance to their hardcore roots, and with there really being no time like the present for that kind of energy, the stars’ aligning has indeed brought the best out of The Acacia Strain. And on Slow Decay, it’s not like the band have changed up their hardcore-driven approach to djenty deathcore all too much from what they did on Coma Witch, they just sound energgized through a good batch of songs this time, the many situations at hand showing their influence on the rage the ban draws from bleeding through the lyrics ranging from critiquing anti-vaccine sentiments to blasting the snobbishly entitled attitude of boomers. The fiery disdain for the state of the world comes through hard on the blood-pumping chug of “Crippling Poison”, the punchy, pissed-off groove of “Inverted Person”, and the rest of the dissonant horror-tinged riffing all across the album, and it just goes to show that The Acacia Strain have found a groove that works for them and when they have the right fuel for their fire, they can incinerate anything in sight.

8/10

Imperial Triumphant - Alphaville

After revolutionizing the method of jazzification of metal music on 2018’s Vile Luxury, I was ready for a satisfying continuation of jazzy death metal from Imperial Triumphant, but I was not prepared for the wildness of the band’s ambition with their sound and beyond and the incredible success of their sonic expansion on Alphaville. The band are still jazzy as fuck on their successor to Vile Luxury but they’re not advertising it as blatantly like a product-placed soda can this time around, partially because they can’t with so much else going on in the nightmarish mix of sounds. The combination of dissonant grand piano chords over palm-muted chugging and merciless blast-beats on “City Swine” is perhaps the most overt example of the trio’s love for the traditional sounds of the type of jazz often associated with the big apple, but the palpable jazz influence in the winding guitar lines and dizzying drumming all across Alphaville continues to set Imperial Triumphant apart even within their wing of metal’s avant-garde. Indeed, their sound reaches beyond mere genre hybridization; the band incorporates various avant-garde elements in an experimental, yet clearly well-engineered manner all over the album. From the haunting fuzzy dissonance and disorienting electronics of the title track and the odd inclusion of taiko drumming by Meshuggah’s Tomas Haake to the gloriously frightful choir climaxes on both “Atomic Age” and “Transmission to Mercury”, Alphaville is full of surprises, and a size-able step forward for a band already bounds ahead of the curve on their previous album.

9/10

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