#they��re both fun to sing and reflect on different parts of loving someone who doesn’t love you back even tho 1) nothing romantic ever

[okay-victoria]

What do people think of Tanya? AKA: Actually, a lot of people agree with Lehrgen

Summary: WHOOOOO BOY. You know it’s going to be fun when my subsections have to have their own subsections. Briefly, there is the Good [people who like Tanya both personally and professionally], the Bad [people who like/love Tanya professionally but not personally], and the Ugly [people who ideally, Tanya will never speak to, look at, send mail to, or be in the general vicinity of ever again]. 

I would say most people fall into the “Bad” category - they recognize her value as an officer, sometimes to a worshipful degree, but on a personal level range anywhere from thinking she’s a creepy child to actively disliking her. Unfortunately for Tanya, the people that fall into the Ugly category are as a rule higher-ranking than the ones in the Good category, and most people in the Bad category seem to like her specifically in her military role, and it is questionable they’d want her as even a coworker outside of that, let alone as a friend.

The Good

People who’re in here: People who have only ever heard of Tanya in the context of the Silver Wings award, people she interacts with in the Imperial Navy; rando soldiers; someone kinda high up in the later-war Eastern Army command; Ugar

People who only know her from Silver Wings:

V1/C1

Describes the nice aura people would see in someone who wins the Silver Wings.

The Navy

V3/C2

A naval officer does assess Tanya as having a predatory look, but doesn’t seem to think particularly badly of it, he just notes it, and then says “Degurechaff was a fellow soldier he could be proud of, which was why he extended his hand in utmost seriousness to wish her well.”

Rando Soldiers

There’s no real good single quote on this, but over time Tanya comes in to reinforce various units and leaves behind various impressions, ranging through Good, Bad, and Ugly, but anyway, there almost have to be low & middle ranking officers and soldiers who are presumably nothing but grateful to Tanya for rescuing them, even though we never get much of anything from their perspective.

Others

A superior officer of Tanya’s in Eastern Army command, in V5/C1, gets a transfer request for Tanya’s unit and reflects he is sad to be losing her.

Ugar - I don’t have down any specific pieces, but IMO it comes across in the LNs that Ugar is generally well-disposed to Tanya and doesn’t have the positive professional/negative personal thoughts that most other people close to her do.

The Bad

People who’re in here: Tanya’s academy/war college instructors, the 203rd battalion & later Kampfgruppe, Zettour, Rudersdorf, Generic Superior Officers, Romel, Lehrgen’s professional opinion

Tanya’s Academy & War College Instructors:

V1/C1

Tanya’s zeal during academy scares her instructors.

V1/C4

The instructors scrawled “abnormal” across the top of Tanya’s file.

“In the academy, we were told over and over – and, for some reason, over again – to love our troops. Weirdly, now that I think about it, I feel like they emphasized this the most when talking to me.” <= Tanya...you’re...you’re so close.

V1/C5

Mentioned that some teachers in the academy are on Lehrgen’s side of the What The Fuck Do We Do With Tanya debate.

V3/C5

Romel’s summation of her personnel assessment notes that at least on paper, the academy and the war college gave good overall evaluations of her.

203rd Battalion:

V1/C3

[Visha] “The moment she turned her icy cold eyes on us like we were objects to be appraised, I shrank from her in spite of myself. People might laugh at me for being afraid of such a little kid, but those eyes reminded me of the way a cat looks when it’s playing with a mouse, which creeped me out”

[Visha] “I was different from Lieutenant Degurechaff, who could calmly nail fleeing soldiers in the back with optical sniping or explosion formulas. I was relieved because I wouldn’t have to shoot.”

V1/C5

[Visha] “Was she an agent of the devil or of God? It had to be one or the other. Ahh, I can’t believe I have an ally more horrible than the enemy. She’s not human. I would bet my life on it. Me and a few others saw it once. During training, one of our teammates dropped like he was dead. The captain gave him a good kick, and before we knew it, she was back on his feet. I had been staring into the abyss of death myself…the captain heaped abuse on me. But I know, I saw it: she charged into the avalanche to save me. Even after my friends told me that she tossed my busted body aside like a used rag, I believe. She is definitely a good commander, even if I’m not sure about her as a human being. Of course, we all laugh and bad-mouth her…if the captain is an apostle of God, then only the devil can possibly exist.” <= in good news, Tanya, you are currently winning on your quest against Being X and mostly making people believe that he’s the Devil for allowing you to exist!

V2/C1

[Weiss] also refers to Tanya as a vampire

[Weiss] thinks Tanya is arrogant

[Visha] “her thought is That’s so low, Major.” <= this is in response to Tanya pulling out her child voice to announce they were going to bomb Dacia’s factory.

[Weiss] “Weiss has only known her for a short time, but even he can pick up the displeasure his superior doesn’t bother hiding. Her mood is as dangerous as nitroglycerin. When Weiss quietly takes a step back, everyone discreetly follows suit. Nobody wants to be so close to Major von Degurechaff when she’s irritated.”

V2/C5

[Grantz] “If the devil exists, it has to be our instructor, the commander of the 203rd Aerial Mage Assault Battalion, the legendary Major von Degurechaff. The way she smiled. The way she looked at us like we were maggots. The way she seemed thirsty for blood. I’d believe she had tried to kill a rebellious underclassman or crack his skull open. If I screw up on the battlefield, she’ll definitely kill me. That’s how threatened I felt by the instructor who just had to also be my advisor…I wanna cry.”

[Grantz] “This was the major who had once said during a speech at the academy that deadweight should be killed…This is crazy. No one said it aloud, but it was the look on everyone’s faces. This was a nighttime mission to abduct enemy soldiers…Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz realized he was shaking. My survival instinct was screaming. I wanted to avoid the war, the combat, the killing. I was hesitating. But one glance from Major von Degurechaff was enough to subjugate that instinct. She was far more terrifying…I was so terrified I hardly felt like myself anymore…How could the major just calmly sing a hymn?”

[203rd banter] Visha asks if anyone wants to trade places with her so she doesn’t have to be with Tanya all the time, and Weiss and Grantz are not itching to take her up on the offer.

V2/C6

[Grantz] Is really, really bothered by how chill Tanya seems to be about Arene.

V2/C7

[Weiss] Reflects on all the horrible things Tanya has put him through, but ends his reflection on the note that he understands why it was necessary to prepare them for war.

V3/C5

“Apparently, the troops serving directly under her thought she was a great field officer” <= Romel re: Tanya’s personnel file

V4/C5

“‘Please have the 203rd be part of your Kampfgruppe. All of us in the battalion wish to continue serving under you.’”

Tanya doesn’t get what she wants, is then pissed, and it gives off weird abusive-parent vibes where all her children try to flee and not be present, and for the ones who have to be (Weiss & Visha), they take it by flinching, cowering, praying to God for Tanya not to explode, etc.

V5/C4

[Visha] “Reality is far too unreal. She’s crazy. There’s something strange about her...The colonel cackled – no, she giggled, smiling like a child. It was positively surreal to see her eyeing the enemy with her tender gaze and licking her lips. She snickered, but what was so funny? She was terrifying...Dripping red liquid. Pink things that used to be humans, flying everywhere. And opposite that scene was a beaming little girl. It was so surreal, it made more sense for me to suppose I had gone insane. No, maybe I really did go insane. The sight of my superior officer nodding with satisfaction and beginning a confession of her faith was horrific. I didn’t get even a glimmer of madness from her beautiful, innocent eyes. They were the eyes of a stubborn servant of logic, full of pure reason. But that’s what was horrific: those eyes stuck on that doll-like face.”

V5/C5

Tanya has some good banter with her Kampfgruppe soldiers and it seems like everyone’s getting along.

V8/C4

T: ‘Are you saying you throw yourself into the slaughter purely, justly – sane and sober? Don’t make me laugh. That’s a broken man talking. Going to war after downing some liquid courage with a grimace is much more human.’ He frowns for a moment, perhaps thinking to argue back, and then whines, ‘So are you drunk, then, Colonel?’ <= yes, a random officer from Tanya’s Kampfgruppe just asked if she was drunk and that’s why she’s always throwing herself into battle so excitedly.

V8/C5

T: ‘Glad you’re safe, Lieutenant.’ V: ‘Thank you, ma’am. That said, I would have rather you spared me from getting caught up in that attack.’ T: ‘What choice did I have?’ V: ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Serebryakov puffs her cheeks out in a pout, which is surely a sign that she’s feeling better. <= Tanya, Visha wanted you to apologize, not excuse yourself, damn!

Zettour

V1/C5

“He doesn’t know whether they should praise her original ideas or call her insane.”

“Apparently, she hasn’t forgotten that she once said she wanted a battalion. She, a first lieutenant, to a brigadier general…something liable to provoke antipathy? She’s already done that.”

“The smirk on Tanya’s face reminds Zettour of some unpleasant rumors he’s heard about her.”

V2/C5

Zettour both remains horrified that Tanya was able to speak so frankly about a world war, yet he is sympathetic to the fact that she could do it because she understood what would happen.

V4/C3

Tells Rudersdorf that he “unwaveringly trusts” her military decisions.

V4/C5

Tanya comes to Zettour to request better units than he’s given her. He finds the request beyond arrogant, seeing as how pressed they are for men, especially for the fact that this is shortly after the Moscow situation and her battalion has “gone too far and been a handful”.

“Somehow, he didn’t think there could be that many damaged kids in the Empire like this young teen back from the battlefield. And actually, regardless of how he felt about it as a soldier, personally, the idea of interacting with them was terrifying.”

“But Degurechaff was unfazed and inquired about their experience with killing people. She saw people as products, and she was asking if they had been tested – that was the nuance. Could such a completely utilitarian view of people even be taught? Certainly, the army is an organization that pays attention to individual functions. Substitutability and cost consciousness are two factors hounding everyone. But can you really judge a human being by those criteria alone?...That innocent face and her straight back made her look something like a surreal doll. Doesn’t…Doesn’t anyone think this is strange?”

Zettour is mentioned to have originally had the same doubts about Tanya as Lehrgen, but after her performance he claims he is ready to “swallow any pill, no matter how bitter” (I think working with Tanya being the bitter pill) to win the war.

Zettour gives Tanya a little discretion to commandeer some equipment, she takes a lot of discretion. Zettour sort of laughs at off saying “this was Degurechaff” but does also mention that Tanya’s actions “amounted to a borderline interference in Supreme Command.”

V8/C4

Zettour is impressed with how Tanya has trained Grantz and thinks that if she wasn’t so good in the field, he’d put her in education.

“Sure, Degurechaff may have been broken, but not as an officer.”

Rudersdorf

V2/C1

Rudersdorf says that Tanya has a “distinct” [read: probably means difficult] personality, but if he just divided people into useful and not useful, she was useful.

V4/C3

Zettour and Rudersdorf debate Tanya, and he mentions that he only thinks she is talented in the military realm.

Generic Superior Officers

V2/C5

Tanya has a misunderstanding with her CO on the Rhine front. He wants her to train some new recruits normally, she mistakes it as saying “well, kill as few of them as possible, but do what you gotta do,” she gets kind of reprimanded over it.

V3/Intro

“Performance Evaluation: Major Tanya von Degurechaff:

Counselor’s Notes on character and conduct [this is printed normally]: Abundant loyalty and excellent fighting spirit. Follow regulations to the letter. Devoutly religious.

[this part is handwritten] Has a bad tendency to take matters into her own hands. Competent but as difficult to handle as a mad dog.”

V3/C1

“Some of the officers even added another thought in the back of their minds: Major von Degurechaff might actually be able to wring out even better results.”

V3/C3

Tanya goes wild on her base commander when he won’t let her sortie to Brest to prevent the French army from evacuating. <= Oddly, IIRC, no one ever like, apologizes to Tanya for not believing her, which is kinda rude, so mostly the incident reflects negatively on her instead of being a balanced: ok she did violate some rules, but...maybe if we’d listened to her we’d have avoided the rest of the fucking war, so seems like it might have been called for?

V3/C5

“The most important evaluations during a war are the ones from the battlefield, and those were all over the place.” <= Romel, re: Tanya’s personnel file

“The second was that although the evaluations were contradictory, she had achieved enough that she was considered an outstanding soldier. Awkwardly, regardless of how she was as an officer, as an individual mage, she was thought very highly of. Her number of kills was among the highest on the Rhine front.” 

“In any case, strictly as a mage, she was unrivaled. As an officer, too, she was by no means incompetent. So they must have been giving her to him as reinforcements and as an excuse to get her out of their hair. Honestly, he felt like they were foisting off their problem on him. ‘They’re telling me to take a mad dog out on a walk with no leash?’ He let slip a complaint. Maybe it was just prejudice, but that wasn’t what it felt like to General von Romel. After all, he was basically being asked to bet on a bad hand.”

V4/C2

Everyone on the General Staff realizes the huge amount of fallout from Tanya attacking Moscow. The backstory of this is that when Tanya asked for permission, the General Staff thought she was just going to do a fly-by and freak them out, not attack the city. It pretty much kills any opportunity they had to negotiate a quick settlement with Russia in the cradle.

Romel

V3/C5

Romel’s first meeting with Tanya pretty much goes: “so arrogant it’s invigorating...unbelievably insolent...in addition to her self-important attitude, it exuded heavy sarcasm...not only was she arrogant, she was clearly horribly warped.”

“Any commissioned officer would understand just from hearing her make that one comment why the Northern and Western Groups couldn’t control her. Having a mage battalion drop out of the command structure was almost like losing a whole division” <= ie, Tanya’s previous superiors must have really disliked her to give her up.

“She simply decided she would be a patriot if it was good for the nation. In short, she’s a capable lunatic, but the bad part is she doesn’t realize she’s twisted…She’s crazy. And competent. And more sincere than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Without a doubt, she’s going to end up being the most horrible person I know. And she’ll probably also be one of my most reliable friends on the battlefield.”

V3/C6

Romel reflects that she is a mad dog, and that she is an ego-crushing entity for the average officer. <= while Romel never brings this up, this has a *ton* of important real-world implications for Tanya, especially assuming men still have more than a little trouble listening to women outside the military. Even if you believe the best rumors about Tanya, you still might not want to hire her because she’s going to be better than you, and most people hate that feeling.

V4/C1

Tanya goes to the Eastern Front, and Romel reflects that he is sad to lose her and that once you got used to her, he found her easy to work with.

The Ugly

People who’re in here: Lehrgen’s personal opinion, Some wartime randos, OG Eastern Army Command, OG Northern Army Command, Imperial Government, people who mostly know Tanya from her Arene reputation, Western Army Command; Implied Future View of Tanya

Wartime Randos

V1/C5

“Some of those who had been on the front lines had a strange reaction to the name [the 11th Goddess] we picked. They claimed it was the worst joke they’d ever heard.” <= ie, Tanya was the Devil, not a goddess

V2/C1

Tanya is happy that Dacia has zero airpower. She displays her happiness by smiling maniacally and skipping around her tent. Everyone thinks Tanya is happy that they just got invaded again and the war is growing and she can go kill people. 

V2/C5

A kinda random infantry guy is still having nightmares about Tanya in like, 1960, and reflects back on how he felt when he heard Tanya casually call for friendly fire to go right through where her men are flying. He questions why anyone listens to her.

“But when I replay the memories in my mind, I can’t help but shout, You monster! A hero, a star, and outstanding magic officer. You, ma’am, were a great officer. To all of us imperial soldiers serving on the Rhine lines, you were a god...Yeah, she’s a god – an immensely powerful one who presides over life and death. Her words, brimming with a spine-chilling anger, swept over the area as if she was planning to attract all the enemy hostility like moths to a flame. Major von Degurechaff had bared her fangs. It invited a violent reaction. The Republic wanted to hunt the devil. In other words, they devoted all humanity’s wisdom to killing the god of death. Gods don’t die, but those of us next to them? …They were right to call her a god of death. She killed the enemy, and the enemy killed our men. Then the noble major, with a glance at all the dead in the mud, took her leave. Fucking hell.” <= and you thought Lehrgen hated her. But, again, real-world implications of this could very well be that post-war, Tanya is a total persona-non-grata as someone that had a high degree of influence on how rabidly everyone fought against the Empire, and how the Empire was treated in the aftermath. I don’t make it out quite that bad, but it could be really rough if someone wanted to make it that way.

V4/C5

“The Guard Division had been on many assignments dealing with formal events, so we had experience…But what is that? That absurd, expressionless, doll-like creature was giving orders to people who appeared to be bloodthirsty mages just back from the war zone.” 

“Could it really…could it really be possible for a child to wear such a smile?...Her hands were soft and would have looked more natural holding a doll, but instead, this odd, human-shaped creature spread her arms as she delivered a welcoming address. No one. None of the high-ranking officers present could raise an objection to this thing. The veteran mages all obeyed this inhuman being in the form of a person.”

OG Eastern Army Command

V1/C5

“The members of the eastern army had been openly angered by her annoyed look until days before, but now their faces were pale. She said exactly what she thought: ‘Incompetent, pitiful, lazy, arrogant, unprepared, mentally disabled, inattentive, no powers of observation’ and her conclusion was that ‘all mages of the Eastern Army group require reeducation’”

“The ranking officers from the regional field armies who had come to protest ended up bearing the brunt of the General Staff members’ critical glares.”

OG Northern Army Command

V2/C3

“With no idea when Colonel General von Wragell might explode in his seat at the head of the table, Lieutenant General and Chief of Staff von Schreise was inwardly annoyed, but at the same time, the atmosphere was so tense he wanted to bury his head in his hands.”

“Schreise couldn’t be the only one thinking that he would have thrown her out immediately if she weren’t a representative of the Central Army’s view.”

“‘You’re very humble, aren’t you?’ one of the staff officers murmured, curling the corners of his mouth into a smile that was more of a sneer.”

“Schreise had never seen a major with such a big head without making light of him…without hesitating even a little, she – a mere battalion commander – matter-of-factly gave her opinion to the staff and even had the audacity to disagree with them. Even with the sacred, inviolable General Staff’s power behind her, she was nearing an inexcusable challenge to authority. A head could be allowed to swell only so far. There’s a limit to what can be tolerated, even for recipients of the Silver Wings Assault Badge!...the major, though still rather new, was readily crossing a line of which all graduates from the war college should have been aware.”

V3/C5

“There was a pile of especially severe criticism from the Northern Army Group. They said she was transferred after voicing a clear objection to those in authority.”

Imperial Government

V2/C5

Tanya sinks a Commonwealth vessel, she is court-martialed, the military says she did nothing wrong [which I agree with], but the diplomats want to punish her to appease the Commonwealth. After the not-guilty verdict, Tanya’s smug-ass smile makes everyone go: umm...should we really have let her get away with this??

V4/C2

She then further makes the diplomats hate her over her Moscow raid.

V4/C3

Rudersdorf warns Zettour that Tanya going overboard is earning Zettour criticism from the government.

V4/C4

During her second court-martial, Tanya doing the most in Moscow manages to fracture the relationship between the government/supreme army command & the guys more in charge of the day-to-day war, like Zettour & Rudersdorf.

International Post-Hoc View on Arene

V2/C6

“They gunned people down like they were so many targets in a firing exercise. They got ‘points’ for shooting people. People had blocked themselves in, so they used heavy-explosion formulas to bombard whole districts. Those are all painful memories of the tragedy being shared today. Even counting only the confirmed deaths, the city of Arene lost half its population that day. In order to avoid the heavy responsibility for each soldier that would result if they went into the city and had to visually confirm their targets, they aimed to cause widespread fires via artillery bombardment from positions surrounding the city. A portion of the documents shows that they had chosen targets that were likely to spread the flames as proof-of-concept for firestorm.” <= the reporter doesn’t know this, but Tanya is the person that comes up with that proof-of-concept for creating a firestorm, as well as the person that creates the case to make it legal to repress a civilian revolt with a military. To me it seems like Arene is presented as the Tanyaverse Bombing of Dresden, except how it would be viewed if Germany had won WWII.

Tanya thinks about how if the Empire loses, her reputation is in the toilet if it becomes known that she did this.

Western Army Command

V2/C6

[The Lt. General or above that is in command of the Western Front] “A terrifying report or a proposal from hell. The one who thought of this was either a lawyer so cunning the devil would invite them to join forces or a criminal. This way of thinking is practically inhuman. Only a devil who forgot their reason and conscience in their mother’s womb could come up with such a tactic. That someone would equate having the technical capabilities for an operation with actually doing it…Are they deranged?”

“Luckily, an army corps commander summoning a mere major is extremely rare. Exceptional though it was, it meant there was a chance he might have to summon this monster again someday…Doing his best not to look directly at the monster straightening her posture in front of him, the army corps commander accepted that it was for work and met her.”

“The principles behind the actions of this major in front of him were impossible to understand using anyone’s logic or emotions. Her inorganic eyes compelled you to conclude that her thoughts, her frameworks, her way of being were all warped.”

This guy keeps going on and on more than I have here, tbh he’s one of Tanya’s main haters. It’s fine Tanya, it’s only the guy in charge of Western Army Command, who listens to him?

“I hope no one noticed that I just flinched, thought the army corps commander, sensing that he was distinctly afraid of her…No worries about what? He deeply wanted to ask what she was planning to do, but he held back. He told himself it was surely better not to know…But there is probably no one more suited to being a soldier than you. Perhaps you feel at home in hell on the Rhine front.”

V3/C5

“The Western Army Group declined to evaluate her, saying her good and bad points neutralized each other, so it was difficult to rate her. Furthermore, she had attempted to resist orders.”

Implied Future View of Tanya/The Parable of the Salamander

V4/C5

“From what I heard, the Salamander is adorable and very clever. If you show it affection, it’ll get attached to you. Like a German shepherd, it can become a trustworthy member of the family. Sometimes it begs or plays tricks, but apparently, everyone ends up overlooking these things. Of course, Mrs. Legen grew angry and screamed that it went too far, but…Well, in the end, everyone doted on the Salamander. Because when it’s even more reliable than a German shepherd, how could you not? At some point, though, the Salamander’s requests and pranks grew to be too much. But what do you think happened when no one was sympathetic to dependable Mrs. Legen, who had continued to angrily scold it the whole time? That’s right. No one was able to stop the Salamander! Of course, the Salamander loved and cherished everyone. But sadly, there was no one to teach it right from wrong. So the Salamander never realized that everyone disliked it. Soon it had exhausted everyone’s patience.” <= for reference, Tanya commands the Salamander Kampfgruppe; this is told as a cautionary tale that Andrew says circulates throughout the future Empire.

Your Author’s Take on Tanya’s Reputation vs Reality

The above should have real-world implications for Tanya’s personal life as far as friends, and for her career both within and beyond the military once the war is over, because, you know, people talk. Anyone who phones up an old pal because said old pal had some quality time with Tanya and they’re curious what she’s like is probably not going to receive a glowing personal recommendation, and the higher up those people are in society, the worse it is likely to be. 

Even for people who think she has a genius applicable beyond the military sphere, outside of extreme circumstances people generally don’t want to employ anyone, no matter how smart, who is known for being unpredictable, uncontrollable, arrogant in the extreme, abusive towards coworkers, manipulative, possibly just straight up evil, etc etc. Within the military, after the war I would expect her to be hampered by the fact that a lot of people won’t want to work with her unless there’s a really pressing reason they need her skillset.

I can’t believe I’m bringing this show up from years past, but she’s sort of in the same position as Dr. House from the TV show - famously talented; famously toxic in the workplace; only one place will employ him, and at a much lower salary than his reputation should command, and even so, thinking that he could get away with that in real life is pushing the suspension of disbelief for the show. The same goes with friendships - very few well-adjusted adults are willing to befriend The Cool Asshole in real life.

When it does happen IRL, those relationships usually aren’t healthy & happy, and can easily end up with borderline-emotionally-abusive undertones because the follower is afraid of losing the leader, and molds themselves to fit what the other person wants so as to be an unchallenging, uncritical presence in the life of their idol.

For a story about an adult man reincarnated as a young girl fighting in magical WW1.5, YS manages to put a surprisingly interesting twist on the Main Character is a Cool Asshole Without Consequences model, with Tanya getting away with it in the present due to extreme circumstances, not realizing that the war is the only reason she’s getting away with it, and facing many implied future consequences for it.

While it’s entirely possible and often completely necessary to handwave Tanya overcoming this for storytelling purposes, as you can’t go many places story-wise if Tanya is as screwed as it sounds like she’s going to be, standard reality is that she’s gonna need to do some serious legwork to dig herself out of the hole she’s in, both personally and professionally. 

I appreciate that the crux of a good Tanya story is often Tanya thinking normal reality will apply to her but then bypassing normal reality to end up somewhere she never intended on being, much to her chagrin, and readers therefore may feel adhering to realism violates the reality of Tanyaverse. 

For the purposes of this story, I have chosen to stick with where the preponderance of evidence leads and apply a good amount of normal reality to Tanya, because that is exactly what allows me to proceed along a different avenue of Tanya misunderstanding things and ending up somewhere she never intended on being, keeping to the spirit of Tanya stories. Plus, Tanya doesn’t seem very intent on growing as a person in the absence of consequences and I need my character growth drivers.

...and I can’t avoid admitting I still end up handwaving some portion of those consequences for Tanya, since, as stated above, it’s...hard to go anywhere with a story if you don’t.

[cherry-interlude]

Lana Del Rey Unreleased Ranking (4)

This is a re-ranking of Lana's unreleased songs, after making a first a few years ago. This is all my opinion, which I don't mind anyone disagreeing with but don't come for me for it - honestly, I like every song, despite any criticism, and this ranking is very vague. It's based on objective and subjective opinion.

This is the fourth of five posts, nearing my favourites.

Backfire

Like Velvet Crowbar, Lana is struggling with her criminal lover in Backfire – pissed off, hurt yet devoted. Lana’s voice is lush and growling in this track, the lyrics work well and it’s one of her most concise unreleased tracks.

JFK

A romantic track through and through, Lana dedicates this to her beloved. She compares him to the dashing figure of her favourite era, letting her voice climb, soothe and whisper her amazement at such an incredible man. It’s a song that just feels rich and warm, only loving with none of the toxicity that creeps into some of her other romances.

Damn You

Damn You’s clean instrumentals and direct story make for easy listening, not to mention the relaxed feel of the music. Yet it’s still a song that is about the breakdown of Lana’s relationship, perhaps a follow up to some of her ditzy teenage love stories where the kids run away together without thought. There is still nostalgia, regret and a distinctly pissed off feel, making the emotion of the song complex and all the more compelling.

Hundred Dollar Bill

Lana may be pre-Ultraviolence in this track but Jimmy and his ultra-violent swing are very much present. Rather than being a sad and grungy song, this is pop about a prostitute (or a stripper) who loves money and her man, the construction king who doesn’t mind his lover doing what she can for the green too.

Jealous Girl

Spiky cheerleader chanting, heavy trap pop and Lana’s near-bored drawl paired with manic warnings make this song a blast to listen to. Lana goes pure pop with a dangerous edge, as much as the song itself could do with a bit of a production clean-up. Definitely one of my favourites.

BBM Baby

Cutesy and practically bubble-gum pink, Lana plays the girlish teen in lust, sexting her man to a noughties-feeling innocent-sounding track. It’s frothy and frilly but in the best way possible.

Tired of Singing the Blues

Lana is pissed in this song, frustrated and shrieking about being stuck with bad men, bad love and bad break-up songs. She really vents in this track, which feels like a furious and storming Hollywood’s Dead, and it has that live-feel that wouldn’t be unmissed as a performance on stage.

Hey Blue Baby

Lana frees her voice as she lets frustration and country inspirations take over on this upbeat, live track. It, like I Must Be Stupid, would be even better with studio versions, but the live version feels raw and real.

Last Girl On Earth

This song surprised me the first time I heard it. It was a thoughtful track that didn’t feel quite like a Lana song, yet it was perfectly her from the images of the lyrics to the on-point vocals. It’s the right amount of sadness, ironic pride and self-reflection as Lana muses over her life now that she is famous.

Disco

Deviously sexual, Lana poses erotically as a model in this track, owning herself as her “only god” (and presumably her body too as she flashes her “prostitute stare”). It has plenty of versions, each as unflinching as the last, that showcase how well Lana can write a song that only contains herself and a guitar.

Roller Derby

Lana paints a picture of pin-up girls, roller derbies, streamers and a frightening screaming crowd that is a mixture of tranquil and unnerving. Slow paced and peppered with fabulous imagery, Lana could tie Roller Derby to Disco easily as she “becomes someone not of this world” much like how she is her “only god”, yet in this song she is less seductive and more destructive from the overwhelming position she has been put in.

Fordham Road

The imagery is gorgeous as Lana debates why she is so drawn in to such a dark place. It’s one of her acoustic best, thoughtful and paced like a breeze as Lana muses and soaks herself in the atmosphere in her carefully-written song.

Kinda Outta Luck

Lana opens the song with a subtle, guitar-and-sparkles driven monologue before diving into a very sixties-feel dance track. Playing a self-destructive murderer, Lana simply enjoys herself as she muses about whether or not her intentions to kill are bad or not – but she certainly embraces the role with flair.

Put The Radio On

Sugary and spicy like the lyrics suggest, Lana keeps the tone sweet with lullaby-style music under a heavier beat, opens with a cute “hello” and essentially wants to refuse belief that she is too much of a bad girl for her bad guy. It’s a smart song that plays into the frequent storyline of delinquents in love, but Lana keeps it fresh with the treacle that feels a little different from such similar songs.

Paris

Lana speaks of her fantasies of a new life in the most romantic city in the world with her lover, opening and closing the song with a soothing lullaby before filling the middle with suggestions to run away and snapshot images of all the things they could do. Much like the doo-wop shaded tracks Puppy Love, Prom Song Gone Wrong and Driving In Cars With Boys, Lana puts herself firmly in the romanticised ideal of teenage love and made it catchy as hell.

Queen of Disaster

Lana goes from the low-voices, disbelieving party girl to the giddy, swooning stage-dominating lover throughout this song, the music box-like plinking the perfect introduction to a cute track about two criminals. Lana praises her gangsta guy whilst embracing being the queen of disaster, calling to the crowd with an echoed “ladies and gentlemen, for the very first time -!” (slightly cringe but honestly a guilty pleasure part of the song).

TV In Black and White

One of her most depressing songs, Lana spins a love letter to her criminal beau, promising to love her locked up lover who is equally devastated by being away from her. It’s too sad to play sometimes, a little too heavy on the optimistic tear-jerker, but that’s what makes it work – she makes a song that is full of clear emotion.

You Can Be The Boss

The daddy kink theme for the 2010s, You Can Be The Boss is a cross between Lana’s older unreleased work and her early records, encapsulating AKA Lizzy Grant and Born To Die eras perfectly. It’s deeply sexy, unashamed and a definite earworm.

Serial Killer

A Lana concert classic, Serial Killer is one of most well-known unreleased tracks – and one of her best. It would be perfect for Born To Die, from the brilliant production to the memorable tune. The bonus points for her iconic moan make it even more enjoyable on a fan scale, but this is one of Lana’s best regardless.

Go Go Dancer

It might not be her best in terms of instrumentals but it’s got the kind of spunkiness that makes it favourable, at least to me. Lana is a sexual performer outright but only for the fun of it, a rich girl doing whatever she wants for attention and the illusion of fame. From the disco-light feel of the music to the undercurrent drums, it’s even better when topped with the breathy confidence in both vocals and lyrics.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hi!!!!!!!!!! I just saw your playlist for the indruck rockstar au so naturally I had to go and reread the whole entire thing in one go this morning and I just wanted to say how much I Love it and the way you write that whole scenario, especially with the way you incorporated the music lyrics??? (Especially since you wrote a bunch of those????) chefs kiss. I was wondering if you had ever written or planned out any of the sternclay that happened before this story took place because the way you described what we got of how they got together sounded so amazing and I would Die to hear their point of view. Hope you have a wonderful weekend!!!!!!!!!

Thank you so much! I’m really proud of that fic, and it seems to have been one a lot of folks really enjoyed. And well, when you asked this, it got me thinking. So here’s a brief history of how Stern and Barclay got together in this universe. Heads up: it is NSFW

That didn’t go as planned. 

Joseph only meant to alert The Cryptids to the fact their manager was clearly skimming off the top and downplaying offers for further connections in the business before turning every ounce of charm he could muster on Barclay. He came to fuck bigfoot, not change careers. 

Now he’s packing up the second of his two suitcases, conversation with his parents still ringing in his ears. They’re not taking the fact that he’s dropping out of college to manage an up and coming, horror rock, very gay band particularly well and have tried twice to talk him out of it. Which is why he’s glad he went through all the bureaucratic steps before calling them. 

He’s never been more terrified or excited in his life. He’s sure he can do this, he’s already booked them four more gigs in a logical tour path, found a better system for making their merch, and is tracking down a promising P.R lead. It’s the close quarters that scare him the most; he’s certain he could charm Barclay for an evening, could get the others to like him enough to hang around back stage once or twice. But for months on end? What if they think he’s prissy, or too perfectionistic, or too normal?

What if Barclay hates him?

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

“I must admit, I’d have thought you would have made a move on Joseph by now.” Indrid says before pulling a sweater on over his head. It gets caught on his glasses, and he flails until Barclay helps it the rest of the way down. They’re somewhere south of Madison, the van cutting a lonely path down the dark road; it’s so late, and they’re on one of those vast, distinctly midwestern stretches where there’s nothing but night sky and fields. Jake drives, tapping the wheel in time with the radio while Joseph sleeps in the passenger seat and Vincent sprawls on the far back one.

“Kinda weird to hit on your manager, right?” Barclay peers warily around the passenger seat to be double sure the manager in question isn’t listening. He isn’t, lips parted slightly and dark hair falling in his face as his sleeping body is tilted this way and that by the motion of the car. 

“Not when the manager looks like that and has already broadcasted his eagerness to fuck you.”

Barclay can’t really argue that first point; Joseph walked into that sorry excuse for a dressing room looking like centerfold come to life. There’s a certain kind of fan of theirs who spends their daily life buttoned up and following the rules, and Joseph struck him as exactly that kind of self-repressing, well groomed gym bunny. They’re always the most fun fans to fuck, in his experience. Couple that with the fact Joseph was (is) hot and willing, Barclay would have happily called dibs on the van for an hour to fuck him senseless that first night. But now…

“I dunno, he hasn’t really flirted with me since we met. And even then he didn’t flirt much.”

“The lecture on Haye’s deficits did start about two seconds after he entered the room.”

“Yeah” Barclay sighs fondly at the memory, “maybe he’s just not interested now that he’s seen me offstage.”

“Or maybe you’re both acting from the same vein of professionalism. Which is not terribly punk rock.”

“I’m being myself” Barclay grumbles “that’s-”

“The most punk rock thing you can be.” Indrid finishes, nodding sagely. Then he smirks, “but that doesn’t change the fact Joseph wants to get into those leather pants of yours. Why do you think he keeps recommending the stage outfits that involve them?”

“Hey, I like that look too. It’s my idea as much as it’s his.”

“Mmmmhmm.” Indrid yawns, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder.  Then he sings in his ear “Baby you got the clothes, baby he’s got the romance, you’ve got the moves so while you’ve got the chance, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna-”

Barclay elbows him sideways onto the seat, making them both giggle like they’re ten and wrestling on the trampoline in his backyard. 

“Enough with the prophecies, Mothman.”

“That was hardly a prophecy.” Indrid sticks his legs into Barclays laugh, “but very well. I will leave you to pine for as long as you please.”

Barclay spares another glance towards the front of the car.

“I’m not pining. I just want him to like me.”

A snore in reply, Indrid out with his arms sprawled in different directions. Barclay chuckles softly, roots around for one of their two pillows, and settles his head against the window. He doesn’t shut his eyes right away; instead he watches the lights of distant houses and stars race past, melding into the reflection of Joseph’s sleeping face.

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

“I bought us ten more minutes, I cannot believe they didn’t warn us this was a double appearance. I’ll-” Joseph finishes shutting the van door and promptly grips it so hard it leaves an indent in his palm. 

The band is in various states of rapid undress, trying to get back into their first set of outfits, and smack in the center of the tableau is Barclay, naked from the waist down.

“-I’ll be more thorough going, um, going forward. See you all backstage.” 

He can’t scramble out of the vehicle fast enough, finds one of the two functioning bathrooms in the place and locks himself in without a second thought. Leans against the graffiti coated door and shoves his hand down pants, a little embarrassed at how turned on he is just from one peek at Barclay’s dick. That doesn’t stop him from picturing it as he shoves two fingers into himself and jacks off like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. The smell of two kinds of smoke, the half dead bulb, the din of the crowd gathering in the building all make him harder; he’s so desperately horny for his bassist he’ll make himself cum in a shitty dive bathroom. The thought has him moaning, and he covers his mouth with his free hand as he cums. 

With a much clearer head, he washes his hands and leaves to round up his band. It’s better this way, better for him to get off alone than put Barclay in a weird position by his manager coming onto him. That’d be weird for everyone; this way is much easier.

Ten minutes later, standing in the shadowy steps and watching The Cryptids perform, Barclay growling and sweat-soaked, giving Indrid a messy, open-mouthed kiss when the singer initiates it, he knows it won’t be easy at all.

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

They’ve done it; Joseph helped the others successfully sign with Amnesty Records, securing them a re-release of their first album at higher quality and with wider distribution, a massive U.S tour, and more money up front than any of them have ever seen. Amnesty sees promise in them, and Barclay knows they can deliver. They celebrated for two nights solid, and now reality sets in; Indrid is locked in a hotel room, writing like he’s possessed by the ghost of several rockstars at once, Vincent and Jake are trying to find places to live now that they’re based in Atlanta, and Barclay…

Barclay is standing in a half-furnished apartment that doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to Joseph, currently hopping on and off the phone while Barclay waits for dinner to arrive. In a perfect world he would have just cooked, but given how Joseph’s been the last few weeks, he’s worried that gesture of intimacy might freak him out. The manager was in meetings all day and is still in his suit, a forty dollar one they bought in a strip mall at the edge of town. On him it looks like it cost a thousand dollars just for the slacks. The slacks Barclay is failing very hard at not staring at. Joseph isn’t even twenty-one, but he’s been working deals like a pro, and it is the hottest fucking thing Barclay has ever seen. 

He tries distracting himself from his unhelpful gay thoughts via distressing images. All he comes up with is having to steal Indrid’s phone from him after the singer called his family for the first time in almost three years. Whether that was to deliver a final fuck you or toss a hail Mary of reconciliation their way, Barclay isn’t sure. All he knows is he watched Indrid’s face take a turn, old hurts smothering the spark in his eyes, and he took the phone away while someone yelled on the other end of it. 

“How are your parents taking it?” Joseph looks up from the laptop on the kitchen table where he’s entering dates into a calendar. 

Barclay smiles, “Good. Pretty sure they’ve told everyone in the family the good news. Alice can get a chain email out like nobody’s business. They say they love me and are proud of me and that I have to promise to still come home for Christmas every now and then.”

Joseph smiles back, open for a moment before a guard slips back up. Barclay tucks his hands in his pockets, psyching himself up. He has to do this. He has to know.

“Have I, like, made you angry or something? You’ve just been standoffish lately.” 

“Working out everything for the contract has been so stressful I’m not sure anyone but the execs have seen much of me.” The answer is well-rehearsed. 

“Oh.” Barclay nods, hands still in his pockets and shoulders slouched. 

“And, um, and they haven’t gone away. My feelings for you.” This answer is far quieter, the other man looking up from the screen with fearful eyes. 

“That’s a...bad thing? But I, uh, I, like you too. I like so fucking much.”

A little puff of laughter, “I can tell. Believe me, I can. It’s just that being your manager is different than being a random fan looking for a hook-up; I might  want something you’re not ready to give, or vice versa, and if we rush into things it could fuck up everything you guys worked for. Everything we worked for.”

Barclay cautiously steps forward, “What if we took things slow? Like, really slow.”

Hope sneaks into the corners of Joseph’s eyes, “What would that look like?”

“Like we go step by step, with first dates and like, hand holding and shit. We can take as long as we want; I mean, unless you’re planning on ditching the next big thing in the music world, think we’re gonna have plenty of time to spend together.”

“I like the sound of that.” 

Barclay circles the table as Joseph stands. He cups his cheek, running his thumb up his cheekbone.

“Hey.”

“Hi” Joseph’s eyes have taken on a distinctly Bambi-ish shape. 

“You wanna go get dinner tomorrow?”

The other man loops his arms around his shoulders, “Absolutely.”

Their first kiss comes less than twenty four hours; they may be taking it slow, but there’s only so much two men who’ve been pining in the confines of a van for months can take. It’s soft and popcorn scented and Joseph holds his hand the entire time. 

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

Joseph waits in the dressing room, ears ringing from the sound system and the screaming crowd. It’s the first time The Cryptids have played any sort of true arena, and they sold out the show a week in advance. 

Barclay clomps into the room in his combat boots, grinning as soon as he sees him. He’s dripping with sweat, his eyeliner is a little smudged, and even though he isn’t the lead vocalist, he has enough backing vocals that his voice is a touch raw when he speaks. 

“Fuck that was fun.”

“You all did so well. I, this is going to sound corny, but I’m so proud of you.”

“Should be proud of yourself too, babe. Without you, we’d probably still be playing no-name bars in Des Moines or Fresno.”

“Managing is easy when the talent’s this good.” He runs his hands up Barclays’ fishnet-clad chest. 

“Take the compliment, blue eyes.”

High on pride and the knowledge that at least a third of the crowd would commit a felony to take his place, Joseph pinches Barclay’s left nipple, “No.”

Barclay growls, grabbing his lapels and yanking him into a salty, toothy kiss. He moans in reply, drops his hands down to undo Barclay’s fly so he can grind against him, feel him getting hard through his dress pants. 

“You really wanna do that here, babe? Don’t wanna make our first time all soft sheets and candlelight?” Barclay rubs the top button of Joseph’s shirt between his thumb and finger. 

“Yes, I want you and I want you now” 

Barclay lunges, shoving him back until his ass hits the dressing room table.

“Fine” he grunts, getting his cock out while Joseph kicks one leg free of his pants, “can’t take a compliment, gonna take something else.”

“OHmylord, fuck, fucking finally.” He thunks his head back against the mirror as Barclay sets a ferocious tempo. 

“Shit, you feel even better than I thought you would, and I’ve been, fuck, thinking about it for a long fucking time. Ever since you walked into that shitty dressing room in those tight shorts and shirt with my name on it.”

“Nnhng” He spreads his legs wider at the memory.

“Oh you fucking like that, don’t you babe? That why you wanted to do this here? So I could treat you like the horny fucking fanboy you really are?”

“Yes, ohmylord, yes, yes.” He can’t feel anything but the points where they connect, can’t hear anything beyond Barclay’s growls in his ear and the slap of skin on skin.

“Fuck” Barclay pulls his hair with one hand, shoves his knee further up with the other, “shoulda known, even with that fancy suit all you wanna be is my fucking toy.” It’s a snarl, the hottest sound he’s ever heard and he drags Barclay into another kiss, amazed that he feels close to cumming already. 

Knockknock.

Barclay turns his head towards the door, Joseph muffling his panting breath in his shoulder. 

“Uh, who is it?”

“Mothman. The winners of that drawing are back here to meet us.”

“Shit” Joseph hisses, starting to sit up only for strong hands to trap him in place. 

“Cool. Uh, gimme like” Barclay looks down to where his cock is buried into Joseph, “three minutes?”

The smile in Indrid’s voice is unmistakable, “Of course. I still need to find Vincent. See you soon.”

“Three minutes seems optimisticAH, ohgod” He holds on for dear life as Barclay fucks him with sharp, deep thrusts. A calloused hand finds his dick and Joseph bites down on a broad shoulder to keep from alerting everyone in the vicinity to his impending orgasm. 

“That’s it babe, cum for me, cum on my cock in a backroom like the horny, needy thing you are.” Barclay stills his hips, hand working with slick, messy movements until Joseph cums. He doesn’t wait for him to finish all the way before slamming into him for ten of the best seconds of Stern’s life and cumming with a deep moan. 

“Fucking-A that was good.”

“Good is an understatement.”

“I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.”

A kiss on the head as Barclay helps him onto the ground, a flurry of putting their clothes into a rough approximation of order. Then Barclay kisses him again as Joseph strokes his hair. 

“Offer of soft sheets and candlelight still stands.” 

Joseph holds him tighter, smiling against his neck, “I guess we know what we’re doing tomorrow night.”

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

It’s the last day of recording the tracks for “Blood on the Mirror” and the mood is bittersweet. After this, there’s one more tour and then The Cryptids go their separate ways. It was time, everyone but Indrid and Jake ready to move on to other projects, and Joseph is already on board to manage Indrid’s solo career (“I’d trust it to no one else, Joseph. I mean it”). All the same, when the final track is deemed done, everyone applauds and embraces like they’re going off to war. 

He heads down to his office to finish reading over venue contracts while the band packs up, but he only gets through one before Barclay appears. 

“Hey, blue eyes.”

“Hi, Bigfoot.” Joseph stands and comes to the door to kiss him, “are you already set to go home.”

“More or less” Barclay rubs his arm, his most consistent anxiety tell, “uh, there’s just one thing I gotta ask before we leave.”

Hushed voices down the hall, but no one there when Joseph looks behind him to check. When he turns back, his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Barclay is down on one knee.

“I, uh, I know this might not be the most, uh, traditional spot to do this but it feels right. I’ve just been thinking about how a huge chapter of my life is coming to a close and there’s this whole new, exciting, terrifying blank page where I have to write the next one. And I, I realized that I want you to be in that chapter with me, and the next one, and the one after that. So, uh, what I want to know is: Joseph Stern, will you marry me?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to come out with intelligible words. 

“Oh thank god.” Barclay springs up, cupping his face and spinning him in a kiss. Joseph laughs as whooping cheers echo towards them. Indrid, Jake, and Vincent, are peering around the nearest corner, beaming.

“Indrid is for sure going to say I told you so the second he gets me alone” Barclay chuckles, “I was so afraid you’d say no because things will be kind of up in the air for the next few years.”

Joseph turns his face back towards him, “You’re right, they will. But I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend them with.”

[johaerys-writes]

For my beloved bean @solas-disapproves​ , and @dadrunkwriting! Please enjoy my poor attempts at writing bawdy tavern songs, making things rhyme is HARD but at least I made myself laugh.

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/Tristan Trevelyan

Read here or on AO3!

******

“I don’t like this place.”

Trevelyan’s voice came muffled from within his mug, his eyes scanning the room as he took a long draught of ale. The inn they had stopped at on their way to Val Royeaux was humble, to say the least; rustic, even. A shithole, if Dorian was being honest about it. The scent of cheap ale wafted from every corner, crass jokes followed by raucous laughter and fists banging on tables mingled with the minstrel’s tune, that was barely audible now. Which was probably fortunate, since the man’s lute was out of tune, his voice even more so. Really, a goose squawking and flapping its wings would be far preferable to this. At least the animal might come close to something resembling a rhythm.

“Come on, Boss, it’s not so bad,” Iron Bull said, sipping on his ale. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Dorian replied with a roll of his eyes. He still couldn’t understand why they were there to begin with. Sister Leliana had received an anonymous tip from someone claiming they had inside information about Duke Gaspard and the movements of his army in the Dales. They had specified the time and place they were to meet, and it just so happened to be this disaster of a tavern they were now sitting in. Leliana had assured them that her agents had found no suspicious movements, that it was unlikely to be a trap. “Even if it is,” she’d said with a small smile, “you’re more than capable of taking care of it.”

Dorian set his cup down, clearing his throat that had been half burnt by the acidic brew they called wine around those parts. At that point, he almost wished it was a trap. Anything that would save him from staying in that Maker forsaken place for one more minute.

“Right,” Trevelyan said, slapping his palms on the table and pushing himself up, “I’m going out for some fresh air.”

“What’s wrong with the air here? Not enough feckin’ roses for his Inquisitorial-ness?” Sera cackled, downing her drink.

“A couple roses never hurt anybody,” Trevelyan muttered petulantly before turning around and pushing his way to the door. It wasn’t long before Dorian went after him, dusting his robes.

“If you’re in need of roses, I think I might be able to procure a few,” he said teasingly, sauntering towards him. “But it might cost you.”

Full, rosy coloured lips widened in a smirk. Trevelyan’s hands wound around his waist, pulling Dorian close. “Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what will it cost me, exactly?”

“Let’s see,” Dorian hummed, tilting his head up as Trevelyan placed a kiss under his jaw, one tender enough to make Dorian’s hair stand on end. “A decent room, for a start. With a decent bed that’s not infested with lice. Oh, and I believe a tub instead of a barrel isn’t too much to ask for. And how about some wine that doesn’t taste like last year’s vinegar?”

Trevelyan scoffed, a little puff of air that warmed Dorian’s neck. “In this place we’re in, you might as well be asking for a miracle.”

“You’re the Herald of Andraste. I’m sure you could whip something up,” he grinned.

The rough sound of boots on gravel and a pained yelp made them both jolt. Dorian blinked in surprise when he saw Bull dragging a scrawny man by the collar, his lip already bleeding from where the Qunari had hit him, Sera in tow.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Trevelyan demanded, pushing himself upright.

“Saw this one creeping after you,” he said, tossing the sorry wretch on the ground before their feet.

Dorian tilted his head to the side, studying the man. “Could it be the informant?”

“An informant with a drawn dagger, skulking in the shadows like a thief? Don’t think so, Boss.”

“What are these- these ludicrous accusations? I was only trying to defend myself!” the man protested in a thick Orlesian accent. “I’m no informant, nor was I about to attack anyone! Not before your beast attacked me,” he spat.

Trevelyan narrowed his eyes, folding his arms before his chest. “You’re not making your position any better.”

The man cowered, glancing away and back. “I didn’t mean to scare you, messer, I swear it. On my honour! On my life!” he mumbled. “I-I just came out for some air, and-”

“Who are you?” Trevelyan asked, cutting him short. “Why are you here?”

“Bardeaux,” he said quickly. “Vincent Bardeaux. I’m a minstrel. Just a minstrel. Looking for work. Heard this place might need someone to play a song or two and came to check. I was just about to leave before-”

“If you’re a minstrel,” Sera said, perching herself atop a barrel, “where’s your lute?”

“I-” The supposed minstrel paled. “It broke. In a brawl, last night.”

“How convenient,” Dorian said with a sweet smile.

“I swear it! Find me a lute and I’ll play any tune you like.”

Bull lifted a brow, glancing at Sera. Grinning, she kicked off the barrel, sneaking inside the tavern. A few minutes later, she re-appeared with a small lute and a mug of ale she had managed to swipe off a table in passing.

“There you go, fancy pants,” she told the man, handing him the lute. “Now play us a song.”

Bardeaux cleared his throat, wincing when he plucked the strings and a jarring, discordant sound escaped. He tuned the lute and straightened, clearing his throat again, more loudly this time. “ O lovely rose, my sweet soul-”

“Does this look like a Chantry gathering?” Bull smirked leaned against the wall. “You must know something better than that.”

“I know… some songs,” the man said, squinting. “But I would hardly call them appropriate. If you catch my drift.”

“That’s the kind we like,” Sera said with a wicked grin. “What are you waiting for? Get on with it, mate, ain’t got all day!”

“I… suppose I shall.” Bardeaux prepared to start again, when Bull stopped him once more.

“Wait! You must know some about him too, right?” he nodded to Trevelyan, his eye glittering with mischief. “About the Herald of Andraste?”

“The Herald of Andraste?” The minstrel’s cheeks were bright red as he looked from Trevelyan to Bull and back. “I suppose… I do know some songs. Just a few, mind you.”

Trevelyan rolled his eyes and huffed. “Bull, no.”  

“Come on, Boss, it’ll be fun! You never get to hear any of the good stuff in the Herald’s Rest. Might as well hear it now, right?”

Dorian placed his hand on Trevelyan’s back, leaning close to his ear. “Bull is right. I think it’ll be interesting. We could see what the people say about you in this part of the world, too, hm?”

Trevelyan shot him a sideways look before his scowl broke, his lips pursing only slightly. “...fine.”

“Right!” Sera leaned back against the wall, sipping on her beer. “Crack on, then, what are you waiting for?”

“Ah… alright.” The minstrel slanted a nervous glance at Trevelyan before his fingers started running deftly down the strings.

“The Herald fancied a dark-haired lad,

With sharp eyes and a sharper tongue,

A magician he was, of great renown,

People gathered when he came to town,

He played with fire, tamed the storms,

He juggled balls and swallowed swords-”

“I’m not that kind of magician,” Dorian grumbled, already regretting having urged Trevelyan to listen to the dratted song. “That makes it sound like I go around performing petty parlour tricks!”

“I think he’s talking about a different kind of tricks, Vint,” Bull chuckled, before Sera shushed them both sharply.

“'Such skill,” cried the Herald, “such finesse!

My love to him I must confess.”

He knelt before the mage’s feet,

And took his mighty hand in his,

“There are no eyes, no lips like thine,

Your silken hair, your form divine,

I want thee with a throbbing need,

‘Tis a matter of urgency indeed,

You hold the key to my heart’s lock,

I shall not rest until I’ve had your-'"

“For the Maker’s sake,” Dorian rolled his eyes as Bull howled with laughter. “Do we really have to listen to this?” He yelped when Sera punched him on the arm.

“Oi!” She glared at both of them, waving her mug in the air and spilling beer in every direction. “He was just getting to the good part, ye daft tits!”

Trevelyan chuckled, the blade of his dagger catching the light as he twirled it around his fingers. “You seem a decent fellow,” he told the minstrel. “I hate to kill you.”

The man’s face, who had lit up momentarily with hope, twisted in a grimace of despair. “R-rock! I was going to say rock!” He bit his lip, wringing his hands. “I implore you, messer. I meant no harm! I’m just a minstrel-” He paused, gaping when Trevelyan’s blade pressed against his neck.

“You tell me who sent you now,” he hissed, his expression turning stony, “or you won’t sing another song about ‘rocks’ again. Yes?”

The minstrel, pale as a sheet, nodded with a whimper.

~

“So he was an assassin after all,” Dorian said, lying on the soft bed of their new room; the largest one the tavern possessed. It was warm and comfortable, all things considered, yet he still had to make due with an old wine barrel full of tepid water instead of a tub for his bath that night. Dratted South, he reflected acidly. “Who would have thought.”

“I did.” Trevelyan kicked off his boots and flopped on the mattress beside him. “And you. And Bull. I believe Sera knew before any of us did. Plain as day, really.”

“Hmm. I believe Leliana is getting rusty.”

“So am I.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “That was more than enough excitement for a day, thank you very much.”

“Are you quite sure about that? You do, after all, have a certain reputation to keep.” Dorian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, propping himself on his elbow.

Trevelyan cracked his eyes open to peek at him, his lips widening in a smirk. “I do?”

“Oh, yes. Remind me where the minstrel left off…? Something about rocks and locks, was it? Or perhaps-” Dorian chuckled when a suddenly very energetic Trevelyan rolled on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head.

“How odd. I can’t remember. I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me.” He flashed him a wry grin. “Or show me.”

Dorian hummed in amusement, a shiver running down his spine when Trevelyan's plush lips closed softly over his own. “Gladly,” he whispered.

[niall-talk]

Why Was I Invited?

Here you go anon. Hope this is ok for what you asked for about Niall having a party and Y/N stays to help clean up. Also thank you @undertheniall for the gif. Also no re-read no edit so there will be typos and such. Sorry not sorry💜💜💜

Y/N pov

It was that time of the year where Niall was getting ready to head home for the holidays. Everyone was gathered at his house for his “going away” party. Nothing to major; a bbq and drinks with what seemed like half of LA. You made the cut after being introduced to him through Mully from where you worked at 40 Love. You had helped out with the food and drinks halfway through the party after Niall had asked you to get this or that for him from the kitchen. You didn't mind it much since it meant you got to spend some time talking to him.

“You know he likes ya right,” you heard the voice come from behind you. You rolled your eyes before you turned to see who was lying to you. You knew that there was no way he liked you other than an acquaintance. You wouldn't even say you were friends yet.

You turned with a platter balanced in one hand and two bottles of beer in the other. “Yeah he likes me helping do the running so he doesn't have to,” you gave a half-hearted smile to the guy you knew from the bar.

“No,well maybe that to, but he likes ya. I can tell,” Justin reached around you to grab a beer from the refrigerator. “He looks at you different than he does the other girls.” He paused long enough to open the bottle and to look around the kitchen. He leaned closer and spoke low enough for only you to hear, “plus you're the only one from the bar that was invited.” He winked at you before he walked outside to join the rest of the party crowd.

Great now you had that running in your head. “Hey Y/N,” you heard Niall call out. “You get lost in there?” His words mixed with an amused laugh. You made your way to the door and rolled your eyes at the sight of him and Mully fighting over dominance of the grill.

“No I did not get lost. Just had a little chat with someone.” You handed the empty platter to Mully and one of the beers to Niall. Mully reached for the other bottle, but you took a drink of it before he could get it. “Sorry boss. Didn't know you wanted one.” That got a chuckle from Niall, and a glare from Mully.

Mully gave up the fight for grillmaster, and left you there with Niall. “So this is a pretty big deal huh?” You tried to act like your mind wasn't replaying the short talk you had with Justin. You turned away from Niall to survey the mass of people in his backyard.

“Eh, kind of. It's my last bbq before I disappear back home for a few months. Go back to London and Mullingar for the holidays. Won't see this lot for about three or four months.” He moved beside you to look at his circle of friends.

You just nod and take a draw from your bottle. If this was a goodbye to his friends then why were you there? You had met him at the bar a few times and you got along well with him, but you didn't think that made you a friend.

As the party progressed you slowed down your drinking. You had made it to your warm fuzzy giggle level of drunkness. Everyone was laughing, singing and enjoying the party. You knew from your time of being a bartender that everyone had consumed a lot of alcohol.

Niall had caught your eye as he was chugging a dark drink along with Gullet, Mully and Justin. After they finished the drinks they let out some sort of caveman grunt, and started laughing uncontrollably. You couldn't help but laugh at Niall's loud contagious laugh.

“Oi! What's so funny,” Niall asked when he noticed you laughing at them. His cheeks and nose were slightly rosie from the alcohol he had consumed. His eyes a little droopy and you were pretty sure there was a slur hidden in that heavier than usual Irish accent.

“You four grunting and cheering like cavemen,” you giggled from behind you hand you moved to cover your mouth. They made their comments and more grunts that caused you to laugh harder and you snorted. That caused you to laugh harder. You noticed that Niall had moved beside you. He was laughing so hard at you that he was bent over hand on his stomach. “Don't laugh at me,” you said with a soft punch to his arm.

“That's not fair Y/N. You started it.” He lightly jabbed you with his elbow. After you both settled down from the laughfest he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “So you havin’ a good time at me party?”

You saw Justin out the corner of your eye and didn't miss the wink he gave you before he turned his attention elsewhere. “Yeah its been fun.”

Before you could try for a conversation people made their way over to let him know they were leaving. He never pulled his arm away from you as he told them bye. You were included in some of the goodbyes. You were also given a few glares as you stood there tucked under his arm.

You moved away from him after the fourth glare, “Bathroom,” was your response when he looked to see what was going on. He gave you a nod. You made it inside for the first time in a few hours. You saw the same mess inside as there was outside. Empty bottles, red solo cups and empty plates scattered everywhere.

After you returned from the bathroom you noticed the crowd had shrunken substantially. Then you noticed that not a single one of them even offered to lift a finger to clean up.

You grabbed one more beer before you joined the crowd of about six including Niall. “That's my girl,” he said with a chuckle. “Y/N is still going strong with me.” He once again pulled you to his side leaving his arm around your shoulders.

“That's only cause I got a great boss that won't make me come in early tomorrow right?” You look over to Mully along with the rest of the crowd.

“Are ya scheduled early?” Mully had a confused look on his face as if he was trying to remember your schedule. You gave him a slight nod before drinking half the bottle in one chug. “Nah don't worry about it. We'll figure it out later.” He downed the last of his drink before he went inside.

You were feeling a little dizzy from the alcohol and the warmth you were wrapped in from Niall. You leaned into him taking in his day worn cologne, natural musk and alcohol. It shouldn't smell good but on him it was a sweet musky smell that left you wanting more.

After about another twenty minutes Niall's hand was on your lower back guiding you inside. You were telling the rest of the crowd goodbye.

“I guess you're leaving too,” he said in more of a question. His eyes were slightly dull and eyelids heavy with alcohol induced tiredness. His speech was a little slower and you knew that he would be passing out soon.

“Thought I would help clean up some.” He started to protest but you cut him off. “I need to sober up more before I try to drive all the way home. Might as well make myself useful.” You couldn't help but smile at the goofy look on his face.

“You don't have to clean up. Was m'party. I'll get it tomorrow.” He tried to protest again, but you wouldn't have any part of it. “Fine,” he gave in with a huff. He was a cute drunk. Then again when wasn't he cute? “Let me get changed and I'll help ya.”

He headed up to his room and you headed for the kitchen. First thing you did was get you a cold bottle of water to help you sober up. After searching for cleaning supplies you set to work. You had not noticed that you were three-fourths of the way finished, and Niall had not come to help. You finished with a final wipe down of the kitchen table before you took the second trash bag out to the garage. It was nearly three a.m., and you were too tired to drive home. You crashed on the sofa and set your alarm for enough time to get home before work.

Niall pov

You let out a groan as the sunlight hit your face. You tried to hide from the light under your pillow, but it wasn't working. “Damn it,” you huffed after you tossed the pillow off the bed. You rolled off the bed headed straight for the bathroom. You saw your reflection, but didn't give a damn how you looked. You had a numb throbbing pain wrecking your head. You couldn't remember much from last night. You had a faint vision of chugging something dark that burned on the way down. Your stomach tried to turn on you at the thought of all you must have drunk. You looked for your pills but couldn't find them anywhere. You groaned as you gave up and headed for the kitchen.

When you made it downstairs you were surprised to say the least. You passed Mully's room and heard him snoring. “Lucky bastard,” you huffed. You looked around at the clean room. You were pretty sure it didn't look like this last night. You heard movement in the kitchen; so that's where you headed.

When you rounded the corner you stopped dead in your tracks. She was here. Y/N was in your kitchen standing in front of the stove. Shit now you cared how you looked, but it was a little too late for that. You stood there for a moment taking in the vision before you. You wondered if she knew what she did to you. You wondered if you had half the effect on her that she did on you.

“Oh hey Y/N,” you heard your gruff husky morning voice call out to her. She turned to see you in your shorts and bedhead hair. You couldn't stop the smile that found its way to your lips. She looked good standing there just doing her own thing. Damn it if you didn't feel like shit and look worse you would have tried to make a move. “You're here?”

“It appears that way,” Y/N pointed to the water and pills on the table. “Better get them in ya before you eat.”  

“Thanks. Did you come back?” You were confused. You looked around the kitchen that should have been a major disaster area after the party. You shuffle around the table and felt her warmth beside you.

“No I crashed on the sofa. Hope that's ok.” She looked over at me, “It was near three when I finished. So I just stayed here.”

Even more confused I asked, “Before you finished? And why didn't you sleep in one of the extra rooms?” I took the pills and finished the water.

“Yeah someone was going to change and come help clean up. That someone never made it back,” she smirked at me then went back to fixing breakfast.

I slapped a hand to my forehead, ‘“Sorry'bout that. I passed out. Barely remember even making it to my room.” I looked around the kitchen again, “You didn't have to clean. You shouldn't be cooking after all that.”

“Yeah well I'm pretty sure my stomach was going so start eating itself if I didn't feed it soon,” she laughed. That laugh was amazing and I wanted to hear it more.

She turned the stove top off and asked me to pass her a plate. I did and watched her plate up a serving of eggs toast sausage and bacon. “Your house; I assume you know where the drinks are.”

“What no coffee,” I teased her as I took the plate from her. I passed her the next plate and saw the side eye she gave me. God she looked good. I had to distract myself from outright ogling her entire body.

“Nope I don't drink it therefore I don't fix it,” she stated matter of factly.

She finished the second plate and I took it from her and sat both on the table. “What ya want to drink?” I opened the refrigerator and listed what I had.

We chatted over breakfast, but I honestly couldn't tell you half of what was said. I was so distracted by her. How beautiful Y/N was, how melodic her voice and laugh sounded. How natural she seemed to act with me. Not many people were like this around me. Not at first anyway. “Could you be any more perfect?”

She coughed sounding strangled. “Excuse me?” She said as she tried to catch her breath.

Oh shit you idiot. You said that outloud. I know I had to look panicked. I ran my hand over my face and up through my hair. There was no way to play that off. “Well I mean you clean and cook amazingly. Is there anything you can't do?” God I wanted to punch myself.

Her cheeks flushed and she suddenly couldn't look me in the eyes. “Oh um I mean,” she stammered. God she even looked good embarrassed. I'm sure I looked like a complete fool. After a brief pause in the conversation she glanced up at me through her lashes and smirked, “Just wait till ya get my bill for all that.” We both broke out into a fit of laughs.

“What's so damn funny,” Mully asked as he walked into the kitchen looking worse than I did. We just laughed harder at him. He joined us after fixing a plate.

"Ok well I guess I better head home to get read for work,” Y/N said as she took her dishes to the sink. I looked at Mully and kicked him under the table.

“What the hell man?” He glared at me completely oblivious to everything. I nodded my head in her direction as she was turned away from us. I raised my eyebrow at him and mouthed the words day off to him. He just looked at me while my unspoken request soaked into his brain. “Oh hey Y/N don't worry about work today." I silently thanked him.

Y/N turned back to us and asked if he was sure. He told her yeah he would take care of it. He gave me the smallest of nods but I caught it. Y/N hugged him and called him the best boss. Something stirred in me when she did that. There was a tightness in my chest and I felt my cheeks warm up when she messed with his bed hair. Get it together Niall.

“Yeah yeah,” he pushed her away and announced that he was going to his room and make some schedule changes.

“So I guess I need to go. Thanks for the invite to the party. I had fun.” She looked everywhere, but at me. Not going to lie; that hurt.

“No problem. Glad ya came. No need to leave unless ya got something else to do.” Her eyes immediately made contact with mine. Damn it why did I keep putting my foot in my mouth? “I mean you can hang out here if ya want. I got nothing to do today but recover from last night.”

She just looked at me and I could tell she was mulling it over in her head. “Thanks Niall, but I need a shower and clean clothes.”

Before I knew what happened I blurted out, “Got four showers here and you can borrow some clothes.” I instantly felt like that nervous awkward teen again with her. God what she did to me was ridiculous. “Besides I owe ya for the helping out with the party, the cleaning and breakfast.”

We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. She finally gave me a nod. “Great, so come on and I'll get ya setup.” I appeared calm on the outside. Inside my inner teen was fist pumping.

After I got Y/N set up with a shower and clothes I cleaned the breakfast dishes up and decided a shower was needed for myself. As I made my way to my room I heard a door open. I stopped and had to pick my jaw up off the floor.

She stepped out of the room in a pair of my gym shorts and a t-shirt. Her wet hair hung loose pushed back behind her ear. She tapped away on her phone and let out a chuckle before she put her phone away. “Oh hey,” she blushed.

“Hey yourself,” was all I could think to say. “You good?” Y/N smiled with a nod. “Well make yourself at home. Gonna get a shower myself.”

“Thanks,” was her simple reply. Her arm brushed against mine when she passed me. I was pretty sure she felt the same spark I did with that contact. She had to because she stopped and looked up at me before she continued down the hallway.

After my shower we just sat around with the tv on for background noise and a momentary distraction. “Ok so I have to ask,” her voice broke the silence between us. I turned to face her scared of what was to come next. “I talked with Justin last night,” she paused and looked away. What the hell did Justin say? “Why was I invited last night. He said I was the only one from work that was invited.”

Remind me to kill him later. “I mean,” now it was my turn to look away and think over my words before I made a fool of myself again. “I don't know. I just feel like we click. Ya know we get along well.”

As the words left my lips her expression changed. Not sure if sadness is the right term but her smile wasn't as full as it had been. Her eyes shifted down to her hands that was playing with the blanket she was covered with. Was that not what she wanted to hear? Someone help me out here. “Why? What did he say?”

“He said he thought you liked me. That I was the only one from work that was invited.” The look I had tried to figure out on her face never changed and I finally recognized it as disappointment. “I told him he was wrong.” Y/n's voice sounded so weak. She tossed the blanket off her legs to get up from the sofa. “I'm sorry. I need to go.”

My heart jumped out of my chest it was beating so hard and fast. I had to do something; say something. I didn't want her to go. I dropped my head to the back of the sofa and rubbed my hands over my face. “Wait,” I blurted out.

I stood and grabbed her elbow to keep her there with me. She turned all wide eyed. “He may not have been wrong. I just.” I looked into her beautiful eyes and lost my train of thought. I looked over her entire face still not sure what to say. I looked at her mouth. Those lips looked so soft and inviting. I don't know what came over me. I kissed her. It wasn't a deep passionate one but it was soft and quick.

As I pulled back I took in the confused but happy look on her face. “Shit sorry. I shouldn't have done that.” She tried to protest, but I cut her off. “I just don't know what to do around you. I like ya, and want to get to know ya better Y/N. You just have this pull on me. If you are near I just get pulled in and want to be around ya.”

I waited for her to say something. A hint of where she was with all of this. Did she feel anything like I did. Was this all just one sided? God just give me a hint of what was going on in her head. As if the heavens heard my plea Y/N hugged me. “How do we get to know each other with you leaving for three months?”

I wrapped my arm around her and closed my eyes in a silent celebration. “We could start with lunch. I'll call in a delivery?”

[michael-and-bots]

FNAF character headcanons for my AU!

This is for my personal AU for what I think happens in the FNAF timeline+more! Click under the cut to see everyone!

Humans

Michael Afton: Mostly just Done and Tired. He’s easy to anger and upset(who wouldn’t be in his state?), but he really is a good dude. It’s just kinda hard being a walking corpse man with trauma so intense that no therapist would believe you. He also has no one except for Jeremy and Scott(phone guy), who both have their own shit to deal with. He COULD consider the animatronics his friends, but that’s kinda hard when they try to kill him every night. Has the life goal of ending what his father began.

William Afton: GROSS BOY!! He’s not a stereotypical maniac killer, he’s a genius, and isn’t afraid to to flaunt that, but his utter lack of empathy is what makes him not feel any remorse for what he does, and his lack of care for anything but himself and genuine curiosity of what happens when you die is what drove him to murder. He’s awful. (See more: Springtrap)

Elizabeth Afton: Cheerful, curious, and adventurous. She’s much like her father in these ways, however she has more empathy and wishes to help people, however she’s not afraid to place herself before others. Around eight years old before death. (See more: Baby)

Cassidy Afton: Shy, hesitant, and introverted. He very quiet when around strangers, and still quiet when around family. He has a lot going on in his head- a giant imagination, something he gets from his father. He often gets dragged along by his twin sister on adventures. Around eight years old before death. (See more: Golden Freddy)

Mrs. Afton: Quiet and kinda a doormat. She loves singing and often sings to her children or to herself. She is kinda scared of William, but genuinely cares about him and tries everything she can to make him happy. Committed suicide after her first child died and her husband refused to give her comfort. (See more: Ballora)

Jeremy: This Boy Has No Fear And Someone Must Stop Him. He obviously can’t get a job in his condition of, Yknow, lacking a frontal lobe? Luckily, Scott took him in and they’ve been living together for the most part!! Jeremy would get into a lot of trouble while Scott was at work until Michael eventually moved in as well. Making sure Jeremy didn’t follow any dumb fucking impulse was like a day shift, but he didn’t mind it too much. Jeremy does care about people and things and does have a will to live, he just completely forgets that stuff when he gets distracted and interested by something that would usually make someone take off running.

Scott(Phone Guy): Nervous twink. Has been working in the establishment for a LONG ASS TIME! He’s pretty sketchy and kinda a compulsive liar, mostly out of fear of William, even after the guys dead. He is literally constantly trying to get Michael and Jeremy to Not Do The Thing.

Henry: Big ol happy bear guy! For awhile, at least. After Charlie died and all the things happened with William, he lost his will to live. Design and engineering was no longer fun to him after someone he grew up with and cared about shattered everything about them in his face with a trail of bloody child murders. Rather sketchy and vague. Deeply cares about his mission to end this as much as Michael does. Charlie: A kind-hearted little girl adopted by Henry. She’s the mom friend- someone who tries to make sure everyone’s happy and tries her best to make sure everything’s okay. She was best friends with Elizabeth before she was killed. Around eight years old before death. (See more: Marionette)

Animatronics

Freddy: Stoic, leader-like, quiet, very reclusive and tries to hide just about anything emotional.

Bonnie: nervous and twitchy, but kinda clever in a way? He'll like drop his guitar or something while muttering "shit. Fuck. Fuck. Dammit. This shits slipping like my guts did through That Bitch Williams hands.." and then get whacked in the back of the head by the others. Hates his body and doesn’t like to be stared at.

Chica: Very soft gal! She doesn’t really take many things seriously? She screams a lot and cusses like a sailor even when being nice. She's very motherly though and adores the kids.

Foxy: little shit garbage boy. Very unstable and emotional and emo. He hides in his cove and when he's not hiding he's being a little shit by making fun of everyone. Twitches a lot. Bonds with Bonnie well cause they joke about their trauma. "This here pizzas worse than that fuckin' kids skull, Chica. Did ya even cook the shit? I'll go Gordon Ramsay on yar ass, I swear it." (Even tho he didn’t cause the bite- though tbh I feel like he pretends to have some psychic twin connection with Mangle for some dumb reason)

Toy Freddy: "listen, man. I'm not possessed by any fucking kids. I'm just here to do my job. And eat pizza."

Toy Bonnie: "> : 3 c"

Toy Chica: Very flirty and chipper, far sweeter than normal chica. While og chica will fight someone if they insult her, Toy Chica will just cry or smth imo.

Mangle: "!!!!!!!!!BARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!BALL????????????????H????????!!!!$!$&&;&;!:7374:${£}£|\+!!!!!!!!!!!!"(literally haunted by a dog. no one can really understand them except for Chica or sometimes Foxy. However, they use sign language to communicate to everyone else.)

Golden Freddy/Fredbear: Goes by Goldie. Far more childish than someone would expect. Hates his reflection. Very rarely shows up because of his fear of the other animatronics, even though he's aware they're also kids possessing them. Don’t ask how he functions in an empty suit, he doesn’t know either. (See more: Cassidy Afton).

Marionette: Goes by “Em”. An Absolute Mom. She takes care of everyone in the restaurant and looks after them. She was overprotective at first, but when the re-opened building closed after The Bite she lost that bloodlust and was fine with hiding away with Goldie, especially since he’s very lonely and doesn’t panic looking at her. She also feels rather bad for Michael, and would never kill anyone EXCEPT for William. Very close with Baby. (See more: Charlie)

Springtrap: Absolute sweetheart!!!! Baby boy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wouldn't harm a fly!!!!!!! Most the time. His connection with Williams soul is different than everyone else? While they kinda fused(??) with their animatronics cause the puppet gave em life, Springtrap is still his own bot but very often possessed by William, who is of course fucking awful. mostly a mute due to his broken down voice box and his fear of talking in general due to so many years alone with just Williams soul(see more: William Afton).

Baby: She’s kinda a little shit? She seems quiet and polite but her very soft-spoken voice says some alarming things or just straight up insults. She’s rather clever and can easily outsmart practically everyone. She doesn’t seem to be very bothered by her death unlike everyone else. After getting kicked out by Ennard, her endoskeleton literally hangs out in the back alley way- or even the kitchen of Freddy’s. Often talks to Em. (see more: Elizabeth Afton).

Ballora: Mom friend, or more like literal mom, in a sense. Ballora is possessed by Mrs. Afton, and is rather aggressive in a way that is vague if you catch my drift. She has a love/hate relationship with William, which is a very common symptom of abuse(see more: Mrs. Afton).

Funtime Freddy: ABSOLUTE CHAOTIC DUMBASS. (used to be shocked the most out of everyone else- eventually it damaged his hard drive and made him more chaotic. They had to hook him off of the controlled shock treatment to prevent him from over frying.)

Funtime Foxy: attention whore. Enjoys being a dumb shithead just like Ft Freddy, but takes the fact that he used to be a child and was killed by the person enslaving them more seriously.

Ennard: An amalgamation of Baby, Ballora, and FT Freddy and Foxy. It’s a little chaotic shit, and has this fake crush on Michael, and enjoys making fun of his pain.

Molten Freddy: Ennard, but without Baby. After Baby was kicked out, both Ballora and Ft Foxy were too submissive to take her place as the one in charge, so Ft Freddy took control, which wasn’t a very good idea. Molten Freddy is very chaotic and loud, as well as twitchy and dangerous. Ennard's slight attachment towards Michael was replaced by pure love for seeing him suffer- but more just disinterest in general.

[caterinaprimrose]

Metamorphosis (pt 2)

(WAIT if you haven’t yet, go read PART 1!!)

Caterina felt a tight wrenching sensation in her gut as Cazneaux spilled his thoughts upon the midnight air. Her face twitched with little subtle reactions and jolts. Eyes linger here then there until they rapidly flick about. Finally she shudders in a breath and weaves her blues between his browns. "Are you going to think less of me if I'm completely honest with you?"

Her various twitches were caught by his deadened gaze, though he mostly looks into her eyes as he speaks. Upon her inquiry, he shakes his head with earnest in his voice. "I'd respect you more."

 Dark lashes bat a few times, her bottom lip caught between her teeth just barely, like she was preparing to say something for the first time. "I think that I  don't see what you see in myself in relation to him because I've spent -so- long feeling.. -small- next to him." Her nose curls in disgust, eyes narrowing like she'd just seen something foul. "I've been broken into this sick and twisted cloud of being secondary. Not just from him but all of them. -He's- protected first. -He- is the priority. -He- is the one they'd die for. And, surely, I've wormed my way into the hearts of some of them but even then I feel a chilling knowledge that if he  gave the command I'd be dead within the hour.” A pause lingers. “I’m frightened because If I step away from this I have no clue what will happen to me. I won't have those suits protecting me as they did. I won't have that security of my well being and in doing so my social -image- drops. I became what I am with his help. How much of that can I do on my own? If I change my environment so drastically - the foundations, won't I just crumble?"

 If he could make his gaze soften, he would. If he could invoke some sort of emotion within his eyes, he would. But alas, he could not. Instead, he resorts to his face, not desiring to interrupt vocally, sporting a frown. Not one of disappointment, but  one to express sympathy. He slightly steps forward and removes his left glove, exposing his tattooed, worn fingers. And with said calloused, slightly crooked digits, he rests them on her naked shoulder, gently rubbing his thumb against her much softer skin. "I'm quite proud of you for speaking so openly to me about your dealings. About how uncomfortable and trapped you are. About your self doubt and insecurity. I -will- be honest with you, just as you have been with me. As long as you truly think so poorly of yourself, if you believe yourself to be so weak and small and little compared to him, which he has designed your life to end up being, you will ultimately be his slave for the rest of  your life. You'll never reach your potential, you'll never reach your peak, and yes, you've a fantastic reputation for yourself and you're highly esteemed, and he may have aided you with that, but is -he- acting? Is -he- the star? Is -he- the talent that everybody looks up to and loves and beats off to in their shack? I don't fuckin' think so. And nobody else does, either. But the longer you stay with him, the more you depend on him, the more you cling to his arm, the more people will see you  as his 'pretty lil' bitch' and once you're gone, he'll nab a new one. One that's younger, one with more bravado, one that will look better on his arm than you as time goes on." 

He gently pats her shoulder, "Now, are you going to settle for that life? Having his kid, no longer acting, staying in your big ol' manor by yourself with a kid of a guy that you don't love, he doesn't love you, and everybody in your circle knows it? Or are you going to grab life by the balls, scream 'who's your  bitch', spit in its face and make it squeal your name? Are you going to show Azeroth that you can be successful, powerful, innovative and not a force to be motherfuckin' fucked with for decades to come? Or..." He trails his hand down her bicep  before dropping it at his side like it was dead weight, "Are you going to end up a housewife that had fun while she was young, but sold out to her insecurities? Where people would see you taking your lil' ten year old to the bookstore and maybe one  or two parents might recognize you and their kid won't give two and a half shits about? Where when you're done signing their autographs and walking back home, they gossip how disappointing finally meeting you was."

 She felt sick. Like she might throw up or pass out. A light headedness came upon her, his hand the only thing steadying her. Like he was laying her whole life out ahead of her. And she really thought about it. About how she would like for things to go and how, even if she tried to convince herself, she knew that Braxton would never allow those things. That he'd be free to continue expansion of his life, goals, business. But she would be expected to stay home with the baby. To educate and teach it.

She reflects back on Quellys. That's what this felt a lot like. Like the same conversation she'd had with her best friend the night she died. 'But you could have a life, you could be Caterina, have children that will grow up to adore you and ones that you could safely teach to sing to dance, you could go to bed and actually be held by a man that loves you instead of a man who will likely have a separate room in his home for you…Caterina you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, you’ve made a cage for yourself out of this life and you’re walking yourself to the hangman’s noose like you’ll be given the courtesy of a long drop!' She'd remembered it word for -fucking- word. Against her will, her eyes stung. She was flooding with anxiety and the only way her body knew how to expel all of the tension were tears. But she fucking hated crying. She didn't do it very often, not without command. So her feminine fingers rise, both of them - lightly cupping  over her face. Barely touching it as not to smudge her makeup. She was just gathering herself. A hitched breath came out but a more controlled one was deeply sucked in. He could see a flick of her thumb move and wetness on its nail. She stayed like that for several moments.

Spotting the tears begin to form within Caterina’s eyes, Cazneaux slowly lowers his head and raises his ungloved left hand to brush the top of his index finger along her cheekbone before retracting and moving his whole hand against her upper-back. Noticing her aiming to disallow her tears to fall too far, he begins to nudge her into his warm mass, keeping her there, allowing her to wet his leather and mail mixed armor. All the while, he continued his slow, calm, calculated breaths to combat the tension within her body. A sensual, circular rub against her back. "There, there, love." he eventually states, his rumbling voice causing a slight vibrate if her head was to rest against his chest.  

"I don't know why I'm crying, it's so -stupid-." the actress nearly hisses the word. "I -know- you're right, you all are. All of you that have told me this same exact thing - so why am I so fucking startled!"

“Because he -molded- you to be that way. Think about it, Caterina. You weren't scared of any other man before him, were you? You dominated them all the while making them think you were just a pretty lil' thing. But he was smarter than the rest of them. He broke you down, and brought you back up to fit the mold he wanted you to fit, and you went along with it because you're an actress and playing parts is what you do. Just like any other time. But -this- time was different, because you ended up believing that character -is- you. You -are- that character. You stopped acting, in that sense. You ended up -living- somebody else's life, and now their life is yours. All the while, your -true- life. The person you -truly are- is suffocating, and if you marry that man..." He shakes his head, speaking with a stern tone. "If you marry that man and have his child, the -real- you dies. They are buried under a nameless grave, because nobody knows who she is. Only who you -act- to be. And you've acted so well that you've even tricked  yourself. Now if -that- doesn't show your skill, I'm truly at a loss for words."

 'Be safe…be smart…and for whatever you’re worth, don’t marry that man.' Echos off along diamond dripping ears. -Those- were Quellys last words to her. Caterina inhales once, her breathing had slowed slightly, a trembling hand pushing her hair back from her face as she looks up and backs away. Exposed to him, her eyes are big, red along the corners and leaking. She's leaking. Her nose and cheeks are cherry and her lips fuller. Her lashes look darker, wet, longer.

What a sight. From 'stumbling into' one another, and around two months later, she's crying in his arms about an abusive man and not knowing who she really is. A widely renown actress of whom he had watched when they were so, so young. Eyes wet, runny  nose, and flushed cheeks in his grip. If he was a poet, he'd write down many thoughts. But he was not. He is instead an ex-military man, ex-felon, arms dealing, smuggling murderer who has taking more lives, innocent or not, than he'd expect his accountant to be able to take. Far more than his mind and heart could handle, that's something he knew for certainty. And yet here she was, using him as someone she's depending on and trusting with so much personal information. His mind continues to think and re-evaluate as she describes her story, in what he believes her attempting to calm herself down and think out loud about her situation of which she seems to finally admit the truth about. "There's a saying in the streets,” Cazneaux started again, 'Be your own best friend, 'cause your -other- best friend'll sell you out the moment they can gain from it'. Apply that here. You've allowed the drainage of your true character, your -true- personality and soul. And now that you know this, are you going to watch her wither away and die alone, or are you going to be your own best goddamn friend, and invigorate her and bring  her to life with color and bravado that I know you can?"

She blinks soft, the back of her hand gently skimming over her tear-stained cheek. She inhales soft, taking a moment. But when she opened them? A darkened tone had over taken her eyes. Something much more calm and serious, residue of her tears still dot her visage. She tilts her head in that way she does, eyes flooding over his expression. His hand that was curled around the back of a slender neck felt warm. She brought her fingers up in front of her stomach, twisting her rings so the gems were all  facing up to the stars. 

"How would you like a powerful addition to building your empire?"

 An open-mouthed grin. That was his first physical response to her inquiry, matched with his moral-less eyes may be a haunting sight for most. An immoral man, happy? Surely no good could come from that. His fat tongue runs along the edges of his teeth before he closes his mouth and releases a low chuckle. "You already know the answer to that, babe. But, you absolutely deserve a firm answer. I'd love one. Especially if they've the eyes that you hold, and the wits that you store and use like an expert."

She didn’t smile back, no, she was far too severe. "And Cazneaux?” Caterina inquires, eliciting a “Aye?” in response from him.

“If something happens to me, if -he- does something to me?" She exhales a single breath, her eyes turning cold and vicious. "Burn him to the ground."

 And there it was. The smile that best fit his graveyard gaze. The vengeful, machiavellian, toothy grin of which rivaled a Devil's. "With pleasure." 

@mister-reigns

@braxtonhudson

@quellys

[hillbillyhippiemusicreview]

Morgan Wade, Reckless

My initial introduction to the self-effacing force of nature known as Morgan Wade was through a gritty, raw and emotional home-recorded video of a song called “The Night” that was shared across my social media feed a few years ago. On a whim without prior presumptions, I decided to give it a listen, and what I heard changed my life forever. Morgan bared her soul and laid it all out upon the table, creating what has become a mental health anthem for myself and many others, giving people in tango with their demons a bit of hope that brighter days are to be found—if only they can make it through the night. With this one song and her spellbinding vibe, I was hooked and began to seek out all of her music, both solo and with her former ensemble Morgan Wade & the Stepbrothers. Fast forward to 2021, and we find Morgan on the brink of well-deserved stardom with a magnificent piece of work that reveals her heart once again, weaving a creative musical map of who she is as an artist and taking us on a journey of battling love and overcoming addictions, while integrating a plethora of new sounds. Before I dive into the review, I must note that music is not meant to be stagnant, but rather an ever-changing figurative river, changing direction and sound as it goes. To me, a musician is purposefully serving their artistic integrity if they are making the music that speaks to their soul, rather than to the masses, and that is exactly what Morgan Wade has accomplished with her sonically diverse debut release of Reckless via Thirty Tigers/LADYLIKE RECORDS.

Throughout the ten tracks on Reckless, we hear Morgan reinvent not only the sonic wheel, but herself as artist, settling into who she is—and it’s fantastic. The record begins with “Wilder Days,” a rockin’ country tune focusing on the dynamic of an almost-forbidden love between a woman and an older man. She longs to know the man he was in his wilder days, back before he would have considered her too young for him. “What were you like when you were a little wilder, why don’t you show me, why don’t you show me” she begs, eager to get him to let loose and go back to a different time, if “just for tonight.” On the same wavelength as that forlorn kind of longing, “Matches and Metaphors” slows it down a bit back to remnants of the softer, singer-songwriter style that longtime Morgan fans are used to. The title alone was enough to catch my attention, and the lyrics laid claim to my emotions from the beginning—I’ve been in a similar, toxic relationship full of false, metaphorical love that was so difficult to break free from. The ability to grip listeners’ heartstrings with her words is one quality I admire the most about Morgan; she’s an insanely talented writer. Switching melodic gears, “Other Side” cements her bourgeoning status as a “country” artist in today’s market, with it’s up-tempo melody paired perfectly alongside lyrics detailing a secure romance that has seen its bad days whilst living for the good ones to make it to the other side of life. My favorite part? The chorus where she sings “we ain’t nothing but rolling stones, being a gypsy ain’t so bad when you’re with me, ‘cause I never have to be alone;” those lines make me want to grab my man on a summer day, hit the road, roll down the windows, and cathartically sing this tune at the top of our lungs while we make our getaway.

As the record progresses, Morgan yet again incorporates a myriad of influences and styles in her music, effortlessly blurring genre lines. “Don’t Cry” is a grungy, introspective song that is overtly reminiscent of the melodramatic soundwaves of Seattle in the 90s. “I’ll always be my own worst critic, the world exists and I’m just in it,” she bemoans to an audience that can surely relate, urging them to “let it go, face the truth and bare your soul” while surmising how “it’s a beautiful thing to fall apart.” “Don’t Cry” is one of my favorite songs off the record, due to its simple honesty about the power of working through traumas and the importance of taking time “to not be alright.” Speaking of favorite songs, “Mend” is an absolute masterpiece, from the lyrics to Morgan’s voice seeping in desolate, desperate emotion towards a lover, and I’m positively in love with the re-envisioned version on Reckless. The song is truly a masterpiece, speaking for itself—so I will not even attempt to describe it. Take a few moments and listen, letting it rip your heart open before you move on to your “Last Cigarette.” In this song, Morgan touches once more on the topics of love and addiction, intertwining the two as one notion backed by a wickedly fun pop rhythm that I could easily hear on Top 40 radio. Following the pleas of “Last Cigarette,” we hear her transition to her passionate, sensual side with “Take Me Away.” Smoldering embers turn into full on flames as she begs her lover to make her feel something by laying her down to rest her angry bones. Talk about being set ablaze! If this song doesn’t stir up emotions deep inside you, perhaps you need to check to see if your heart is beating—it’s simply that emotive.

Towards the end of the album, the title track will stop you in your tracks; it’s expertly written, produced, and the delivery of the lines in “Reckless” is perfect from start to finish. The verses are strong, but the highly repetitive chorus is the highlight here, as slight differences in Morgan’s vocal inflection expertly frame the feeling of the song, ultimately bridging the proverbial gaps between rock, pop, and country in a song about starting afresh and recklessly moving on. On the opposite spectrum of sound, “Northern Air” possesses a bit of a dark, folky aura, while reflecting on heartache and yearning for a lost lover. “Didn’t know the difference between what I needed and what I was wanting, and the way you looked at me was a little haunting” she sings, reminiscing on the tragic moment of someone she loved fading out of reach. From the first note, I was gutted. By the time the song ended and “Met You” began, I barely had an iota of emotion left. The stark honesty of the sorrowful lyrics and the grief-stricken intonation of Morgan’s vocals had me in tears—I literally could not breathe the first time I listened, especially when she bellowed “you lied and you left, and I’m wonderin’ what the hell I should do, I’d seen it all, or so I thought, until I met you.” It was as if she snapped her fingers and sent me into a disconsolate trance, right back to those moments of lovelorn desperation in my past. Despite the heartache the tune stirred in my chest, my favorite line off the whole record is found in “Met You,” and its reflective of the true poet Morgan is, with her expert use of metaphor and history in framing the song: “But like Hemingway and Hadley, it’s not the end of our story.” Never before has a line in a song made me ache and swoon simultaneously. Though it may not have been the end of their story, “Met You” was unfortunately the end of what has become one of my favorite albums of all time, and the sudden way it ended as she sang the words “I lost you” left me desperately thirsting for more.

Readers, if I’ve said it once before, I’ll say it a million times more: Morgan Wade is the real deal and is on the verge of taking the world by storm. If I could give my audience one piece of advice in relation to Morgan and her debut record, Reckless, it would be to buy the record and go see the show….and NOW. Morgan’s essence and talent will not be accessible on smaller stages for much longer—mark my words, her star will rise quickly. You can find her online at www.morganwade.com, on Facebook at Morgan Wade, and on Instagram at @morganwademusic. Be sure to give her a follow and a thorough listen, and as always, remember the cardinal rules here at HHMR: peace, love, & music.

Stay groovy and I’ll see ya’ll in one of our “Wilder Days,” soon.

Lyssa

Watch Morgan Wade’s music video for “Don’t Cry” below:

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*This is an independent review. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this review.

*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).

*These images are not ours, nor do we claim them in any way. They are copyrighted by the artist.

[lanadelreyfiles-blog]

Lana Del Rey: Read NME’s exclusive interview with the modern icon. Lana Del Rey’s new album ‘Lust For Life’ is her most ambitious yet. Mike Williams meets her in the city that inspires her the most, Los Angeles – a place, she says, that “enhances something in me that’s already cooking” – to talk about music, happiness and witchcraft. Interview by Mike Williams. Photography by Neil Krug. It will surprise no one to learn that Dr Dre has very good speakers in his studio. And when I say very good, I don’t mean very good in a pricey and popular headphones kind of way. I mean very good in a “holy s**t, I can hear every individual speck of space dust in this galactic wall of sound” kind of way. It’s how we would all listen to music if we were billionaire music industry moguls. Dre has given us permission to use his Santa Monica studio – across the road from the legendary Interscope Records – to hear ‘Lust For Life’, the latest Lana Del Rey album, for the first time. The inside of the studio is clad with expensive-looking wood. The lights are seductively dimmed. It looks both like Don Draper’s office and the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon. There’s a bubbling lava lamp next to a Bruce Lee lampshade on top of the main desk. The drinking water is perfectly cool. It’s totally LA. It’s a fitting place to listen to Del Rey’s coming-of-age record. Huge in scale in every sense – sonically, vocally, thematically – it’s the culmination of two years of relentless work. Writing, editing, discarding, rewriting, tinkering, erasing, rebuilding. As she’ll tell me the following day: “I kind of felt when I started I was going to be in this whole new zone when I was done, a whole new space. I’m really proud that there’s a shift in tone, a shift in perspective. There’s a bit of reflectiveness on what I’m seeing and it’s integrated with how I’m feeling. Normally I’m just, ‘Let me just put this all out there,’ and then I’m really surprised when people are like, ‘You’re f**king crazy.’”

Del Rey has been Interscope labelmates with Dre since October 2011, when she bought herself out of her contract with 5 Points Records, where she’d toyed with different identities and different sounds. Six months earlier, she’d become an overnight star when her aesthetic clicked and she released her debut single proper, ‘Video Games’. In the space of three acclaimed albums (2012’s ‘Born To Die’, 2014’s ‘Ultraviolence’ and 2015’s ‘Honeymoon’) she’s gone from lo-fi internet queen to fully formed Hollywood superstar. And now she doesn’t just have the songs – they’ve been there since the first day Lizzy Grant looked in the mirror and Lana Del Rey winked back – but also the production, the ambition, the pulling power and the brass balls to make ‘Lust For Life’. I hear nine tracks through the big speakers – ‘Love’, ‘Lust For Life’ (Ft. The Weeknd), ’13 Beaches’, ‘Cherry’, ‘White Mustang’, ‘Groupie Love’ (Ft. A$AP Rocky), ‘Coachella – Woodstock In My Mind’, ‘Beautiful People Beautiful Problems’ (Ft. Stevie Nicks) and ‘Tomorrow Never Came’ (Ft. Sean Ono Lennon) – before driving up to a rooftop bar in Hollywood to order drinks from wannabe film stars and looking up towards the hills to meditate on what I’ve just heard. Shoo-wops, doo-wops, wall of sound production; tender moments, angry moments; sex, cars, uncertainties; opulent LA life. If you squint, you can see the famous Hollywood sign in the distance. If you close your eyes you can see Del Rey looking out from her window right inside the middle of the H. The next day we’re in a different studio in a different part of town, this one belonging to Del Rey’s longtime collaborator and producer Rick Nowels. He greets us at the door with a massive grin and ushers us into the main room where the album was recorded. It’s untidy, in a warm and homely way. He wants to know what we think of the record. He’s excited to talk about it. Nowels is a 57-year-old music industry legend who’s worked with Madonna, Tupac, Stevie Nicks and more, but it’s obvious that there’s a particular space in his head and his heart reserved for Del Rey, who he repeatedly describes as “special” and “remarkable”. Del Rey arrives. She’s wearing a crocheted T-shirt and jeans. We sit down in a side room and both press record on our phones. There’s a book about Manson Family victim Sharon Tate on the table that neither of us notices until after the interview is over. I ask her if she’s as happy as she looks on the cover of the new album. “Yeah…” she says. “That was my goal, you know, to get to that place of feeling like in my daily life I had a lot of momentum. Like a moving-on-ness from wherever that other place was that ‘Honeymoon’ and ‘Ultraviolence’ came from. I loved those records, but I felt a little stuck in the same spot.” How did she move on? “I just felt a little more present. Writing a song like ‘13 Beaches’ – it’s a little bit of an abstract notion, but for me it took stopping at 13 beaches one hot day to find one that nobody was at. And I just thought, you know, the concept of needing to find 13 beaches might seem like a luxury problem for someone, but that’s OK, I’m going to go with that.” It’s a key song on the album. Her voice has never sounded bigger or more emotional. “I usually do things in a few takes,” she says, “but I took a lot of takes to do that. The mood that I needed to convey was better than what I was doing. I knew it was important that I came in straight as an arrow with that one. I always feel like I’m creating a new path when I’m doing a song.” Writing, editing, discarding, rewriting, tinkering, erasing, rebuilding. Not that Lana Del Rey has been completely reinvented on ‘Lust For Life’. The title track, the first of five collaborations on the album (no previous LDR album had ever featured a guest artist), may not come from the melancholic cool world of ‘Video Games’ or ‘Terrence Loves You’, but it’s just as nostalgic. Nostalgia can be sad and nostalgia can be happy, and at her best – and let me put it out there, I think this song could be her absolute best ever – Del Rey taps both at once. Does she agree? “I’m thinking about that. It goes in line with how I thought I was going to be in this more grown-up zone [writing this record], but actually I’m still somewhere right in the middle. When I think of that song I think of nighttime and this idea of, I don’t know, breaking into somewhere and carving up and kissing. That’s fun for me; like the place where I’m not 100 per cent in something really solid relationship-wise, where you’re still going out and meeting new people and all that stuff. And also, this Hollywood-centric environment is still an important thing that gives me life, being in town and the characters and the constant heatwave. It’s a little bit of a cliché – I totally get it; but I still feel like it enhances something in me that’s already cooking.” Hollywood and the sunshine can be quite an intoxicating cocktail really, can’t it? “It can. I’m naturally a careful person, so I like that the ambience… I wouldn’t go out and take a cocktail of pills or whatever, you know, but there’s something about the vibe of just being around that gives me a heightened feeling.” The biggest deal collaboration on the album is the duet with Fleetwood Mac legend Stevie Nicks. Del Rey says hearing her vocal takes made her re-evaluate her own tone. She was convinced Nicks would turn her down. She still speaks about it with a look of happy disbelief that it actually happened. But the most interesting duet is actually with the person who is, in their own personal right, the least famous and accomplished of everyone on the record, but by virtue of his surname, the most fascinating. “I’m a huge, huge John Lennon fan,” she says. “I didn’t know [his son] Sean. I got his number from my manager, who called his manager. I kind of was nervous about what he was going to say. I FaceTimed him – he was amazing. He was very excited.” The result is the sweetest song on the album, a tender folky ballad that gently taps through the fourth wall as they reference John and Yoko, then Del Rey sings, “Isn’t life crazy now that I’m singing with Sean”. There’s a story that goes with the song, where Del Rey calls up Lennon to tell him that she thought his part was perfect, and he says that he’s so happy because no one’s ever said that to him before. He’s John Lennon’s son, he’s lived his entire life in his father’s shadow, and Lana Del Rey has just given him his greatest ever compliment. There’s a tragedy in that, don’t you think? “Absolutely. It’s why I think it’s more than just a song for him – for both of us. He’s sensitive, you know. I assume that’s from his father and I think he would probably say that it’s been… some of his reviews have been difficult. I thought that was one of those moments on the record where it was a little bit of a ‘bigger than us’ moment. I told him, ‘I’m the one who’s honoured, I’m the lucky one; so I just want you to remember that, Sean, I’m singing with you.’” The interview goes off in lots of different directions. We talk about hanging in LA with Alex Turner and Miles Kane (“I randomly see Alex. I’ve been working with Miles”); about her deep friendship with Courtney Love (“I can call, and probably just ’cause she’s done so much crazy s**t, I can tell her something very weird and she’ll be like, ‘Been there, done that’”); her love of Kurt Cobain (“top influence other than Bob Dylan”); people watching (“I’m a weird observer”); detective novelist Raymond Chandler (“I’m a big fan, I love The Big Sleep”); and Californian independence (“I’m a proponent of keeping the country together, but it’s so its own zone it may as well be a different country.”) We end by talking about magic and the power of words. Firstly, Donald Trump. He’s still the president, which means that the hex Del Rey asked her Twitter followers to cast on February 24 hasn’t worked (yet). So did she get involved and do it herself? “Yeah, I did it. Why not? Look, I do a lot of s**t.” Do you cast other spells at home? “I’m in line with Yoko and John and the belief that there’s a power to the vibration of a thought. Your thoughts are very powerful things and they become words, and words become actions, and actions lead to physical changes.” The quirky video trailer that you did for the album (a magical Lana looking down on LA from her home in the Hollywood H, ruminating on the world and the space it takes to make a record) – it’s more than a trailer; it’s a personal manifesto, isn’t it? “There is a message. I really do believe that words are one of the last forms of magic and I’m a bit of a mystic at heart. And I’ve seen how I feel about changing those people’s lives and I’ve been on the other side of that as well – on the other side of well-wishes and on the other side of malintent. And I’ve realised how strong you have to be to be; bigger than all of it, even bigger than your own vibrations. “I like that trailer because I talk about my contribution, which is something you start to think about. I’ve got good intentions. It’s not always going to come out right – it hasn’t come out right a lot of the time – but at the core my intentions have always been so good. With the music or when I get into a relationship, it’s always just because I really want to. That’s what’s at the root of this really cute, witchy B-movie.” You make a point in the trailer of saying “in these dark times”. Is there more pressure to contribute something positive right now? “I didn’t like hearing that come out of my mouth. I have a song, ‘When The World Was At War We Kept Dancing’, and I went back and forth so many times about putting it on the record because I didn’t feel comfortable with what I was saying. I don’t like hearing myself say, ‘In error it’s the end of America’, ’cause it’s a troubling sentiment. I didn’t like saying, ‘In these dark times’ either…” We both stop recording but keep talking about the state of the world we live in. I tell her that I can see more and more artists starting to come to terms with the fact that they need to be more outspoken and opinionated. She agrees and says people need to be bold because there are consequences. For the next hour, she makes silly videos on my phone, eats a messy sandwich and helps me choose photos to send to the NME art desk. She couldn’t be less like the idea of Lana Del Rey that most people subscribe to. There’s a confidence in her that perhaps she didn’t have before, a confidence that comes, maybe, from knowing that she’s about to release her most complete album, but knowing too that there are tweaks she could have made, things she should have done differently, things she’ll make right on the next record, ideas she’ll try when she’s next in the studio with Rick. Writing, editing, discarding, rewriting, tinkering, erasing, rebuilding.

[castawxayaway]

in the middle

why is it that since I got requests I have just gone a bit AWOL? i’m sorry, it has been a few days since I posted and it’s been me and my headspace right now- i’m spacey. i hope you like this though, and of course it had to be the artist that it is, if you know anything about me this is who I personally am in love with right now (music and person wise). 

if you requested something from me it is coming! i promise I haven’t forgotten about it (entirely) and they will all be done before wednesday as that is when i’m at reading festival for almost a week. 

also I wanna do a q+a for my youtube, so if you have any questions about anything (literally anything) send them in! if you want to be anon be anon I don’t mind. just something I want to do and tumblr is a good platform to ask for mixed questions :)

love you guys  🖤

prompt list / collection of my writing / requests open *nudge nudge*

Unable to get the lyrics out of my head I find myself tapping on the keyboard, my foot bouncing to the rhythm and soon enough I am singing the words under my breath. I can’t stop myself from going online and straight to Twitter where many of my bizarre thoughts lie filled with numbers from others in agreement or sheer curiosity. 

cannot get the song ‘In the Middle’ by dodie out of my head! the lyrics to ‘intertwined’ are something else #obsessed 

Immediately I see lots of responses in agreement, some from pages dedicated to the singer and others recommending me other songs. The known smile forms on my face as my screen goes dark, giving me the chance to see my reflection before it turns itself back on and becomes flooded with life. Twitter is one of those platforms where you can just talk to anyone, I’ve been lucky enough to connect with various artists through Twitter, have them praise my lyrics and even ask for my help with producing a song or two for their albums or EPs. 

My job isn’t the easiest, it can be challenging at times, but it pays off when you can hear it on the radio, or talked about online; just like dodie’s is. I sit for a while and scroll through the tweets change in my mentions and focus around someone besides dodie, instead they focus around Bastille. 

Leaning in closer to my laptop I analyse their comments; ‘omg dan loves her work!’ ‘shit you know her too? dan was tweeting about her the other day’ ‘@bastilledan another reason why you two could be super cute together’ they all differed in opinions, but they all kept mentioning him and me along with dodie. Seems like I am the one in the middle this time. 

Part of me wanted to see if he’d respond too, if he even knew who I was. I’ve worked with bands like his, but none of them have ever been as unique as Bastille is. Their lyrics hit you somewhere unknown inside, they delve through all the hidden and buried emotions, bringing them to the surface for four minutes at a time. They are a reminder at times of what we should value, what can easily be lost when we least expect it. Eventually I give up on waiting, I leave my phone at my desk and go to my music room and work on some lyrics knowing that I have a meeting with a new musician in a few days. 

A few hours had passed and I had barely been able to get anything done, the jitters over Dan were settling as curiosity was consuming me and ruining my creative abilities. I kept telling myself to just test these lyrics with these notes, but it was no use. Sitting I stare at the blank notebook, nothing achieved due to my phone calling my name, whispering possibilities in the other room. “Oh fuck it.” I mumble to myself as I rush to my phone as if my life depends on it. 

Scrolling through the masses of notifications to do with the three of us I see one that catches my eye and makes me smile. ‘EeeeeEkkkk it’s you! you like my music??? I listened to your work for YEARS l o l <3′ dodie, a true sweetheart. Shifting my focus from dodie I can feel my heart pause until I see it, until my eyes can find it fast enough for everything to resume. 

‘I wasn’t sure if anyone else really knew of her for the music she does? good to know you love her too!’ ‘as much as I admire her talent, instrumental is a great piece of music, don’t you agree?’ 

I glanced over his words, the words he had aimed at me to read and respond to. Fans immediately got on board, responding, freaking out and fanning their hearts out; which is exactly what I wanted to do, but no I am going to keep my cool. It’s only Dan Smith, an incredibly talented musician and lyricist. Only.

We talked back and forth via tweets, dodie along with others unable to keep up with the excitement of fellow people within the music realm discussing her work, but it was getting to that point where fans were suffocating. Suffocating is that point where the meaning of the conversation is lost in the feed of fans losing their shit, those who love bastille favouring or protecting them/Dan from wanting to speak to me. 

Rolling my eyes I just went to DM him instead, knowing it would be easier in some aspects, but more difficult to not mess it up. After a few messages were exchanged I eased into it more, we both did. Our conversation slowly moved away from dodies music, towards the direction of my own- specifically my writing process and how it is to write for others and not so much myself. 

‘Writing for myself is always a personal thing, some songs I write and I know I can’t share it or give it to someone else to release. Most things I write I tailor for them specifically, I work with them to get the best result rather than put myself in them, I put them in me- not literally obviously!’ 

Why did I send that, it sounded so rare and professional, but like always I cocked it up. 

‘No no, I see where you’re coming from. There are so many songs I wrote and published, but I never perform them, really talk about them. Sometimes I wonder what if I did? What if I were willing to perform them again? But it was before Bastille, that was when I was just ‘Dan Smith’ and it doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.’ 

‘As if it is outdated?’

‘I think it is and isn’t. Some music can be timeless.’

‘Like The Beatles?’ 

‘Yes, but also the likes of Kendrick Lamar.’

‘So you’re an in between then? Somewhere along the scale of being too caught up recent affairs and stuck in the past?’

‘Unfortunately so. But how come you’ve never published under you, as in become an artist and not just lyricist?’

I lean back in my chair as I read over the message. It’s not something I’ve been asked for years, my parents enquired why I wouldn’t do it myself, but I felt too vulnerable in my young adulthood. Now it is a different story, but I just don’t think I could do it. 

‘Conformity, pressure, the stress. When I write a band or an artist a song that is my role done, I get the contract, I write the songs and I get paid. I hear it and my name is written legally as the lyricist, but I have no other ties that are so severe. It prevents me from getting overly exposed, risk of being watched 24/7. I’m just afraid to try really.’ 

He doesn’t respond for a while unlike before. Maybe that was too much, a bit too honest for someone he doesn’t really know besides the work I produce for others. I resume my work as I listen to the rain beating down against my window, trying its hardest to fight through the glass with little success. Now I find myself humming his songs, not dodies. I tap my pen and play a few notes that I can remember off of the top of my head. Interrupting my moment of distraction my phone goes off, he’s back. 

‘Would you like to meet up with me sometime? It may seem a little forward, but I would love to discuss music, possibly working on something together. Only if you’re comfortable doing so. I’ve heard your work, as in your work when you did a few videos prior to writing for others. I didn’t know how to tell you that without sounding like a creep, but I would love to see that person, only if you’ll let me?’ 

My mind wanders back to those years when I would set up my brothers camera on a stack of books as I played on my piano with a small microphone by me to hear my voice above the piano. I forgot I had those uploaded, now no one really knows about it as it remains hidden in the depths of the internet, yet somehow he found it. He actually watched my 19 year old self nervously introduced myself and the song before that part of me melted away into the song. It was an offer to get back into that, to reopen that side of my music that has not been truly revisited for years. 

Glancing over to my notebook, to the second one that is filled messily with tea stains, small doodles and hundreds upon hundreds of lyrics I compare it to the neat, carefully colour coded organised one that I use for other artists and not myself. I used to have fun writing songs, but of late I’ve lost the heart to it. 

Licking my lips I sit behind my piano and envision myself again, that part of me I loved. I close my eyes and my fingers naturally find the keys that I memorised, my mouth opens and the lyrics are still there, despite being shrouded in multiple songs since. It was the first song I truly wrote, the one that I was actually proud to call my own that only few have seen online; Dan being one of those few. 

I reach over for my phone, wanting to thank him for a reminder of why I write music. That sometimes you need to just re-evaluate what is happening around you, to go back to what you know in order to keep creating music. 

‘That sounds like a plan, thank you Dan. It may seem odd, but having a small conversation with you I feel as if I have rediscovered my music. It’s something that is easier to explain in person. How is next week?’ 

As I send the message I can’t wipe the smile, it differs from the smile for the fans on Twitter. It is one of giddiness, of excitement for what is to come with my music, with meeting the musician and lyricist who has lived in the same boat I have for possibly longer. Fans still conspire amongst themselves about our absences, so I leave them wondering with a tweet to an old song of mine. 

‘For the person who made me realise why I do what I do’

[xavierkat]

One of the books I always want to do something “smart” with, but am never quite sure how to integrate it into what I am doing, is Richard Rushton’s amazing “The Reality of Film”. I’ve read it at least three times by now, trying to find a way to make it into a key argument for a long-term project of sorts that has been dominating my life for years now, yet I always struggle with the thought that I never quite understood it, really, and am just using it to try to give some desperately needed backing to my lame unsubstantiated thoughts (that I am not in any sense a film scholar, and am pretty much clueless when it comes to film theory, doesn’t really help). In the book, Rushton asks an incredibly interesting set of questions, roughly reducible to one key idea: that we would benefit significantly if we moved away from the questions about what films are to those what we can do with them / what they can do. And he opens the book with a beautiful (borrowed) example intended to show how films create our reality in ways that are really not that different from anything else that we consider ‘real’, questioning the fact that we normally consider them to be something derivative, a reflection on reality rather than something that is part of it. The reality of film, as if he wants to say, blends so seamlessly with the reality of life, it is hard to understand why films are considered ‘not real’ as opposed to chairs or anything else that we make and consider a part of the tangible reality of the everyday. Films create our memories and fit into our thinking just like anything else.  Why am I rambling about this? I think it is because for me, there is hardly a film or series that blends in with reality as much as Love does. Despite its many attempts to keep the viewer’s critical distance (the meta-elements, the comedic exaggeration, the set decor that is simultaneously authentic and ‘too clean’, and the deliberate exaggeration of certain dimensions of its characters), there are elements to both its ‘grammar’ - like the slowly unfolding events that imitate real (love) time - and its extra-cinematic cues (like the frequent discussions over how much of the character of Gus is based on Rust’s own experience and his relationship to Lesley Arfin, often presented as a reflection of the Mickey-Gus experience; the overlap is emphasised both through script/like both Gus and Rust being from the Midwest, or the homecoming king story/, casting /Gus’s friends in the series are played by Rust’s UCB friends/, visuals/the series frequently utilises Rust’s photographs as snippets from Gus’s life/ and other details, like the fact that Gus wears the glasses Rust actually wears in real life) - that mash the fictional with the ‘real’ or at least blur the boundaries between the two. Most importantly, the writing in the series - again, despite its genre and meta-conventions - often feels very close to the ‘real deal’, clicking so perfectly with the viewers’ experiences of similar things in their own lives, that the series often feels like an extension of what we already know, like it was “real” in the most worldly sense of the word. This makes both disliking and loving the characters simultaneously incredibly easy, and it makes the series a true standout in the sea of “will they-won’t they” TV materials. For me, the first season of Love blended so well with the familiar, it almost became a part of it, which was a huge part of why I loved it so much. While I am not usually known for keeping my distance from what takes place on screen (as this tumblr, with my often over-the-top comments, likely demonstrates), Love was the first experience I can recall where I, having been a long-time fan of Rust’s, at times literally conflated the character and the actor, up to the silly level of developing a slight crush on one, the other or both. That in itself is, of course, slightly crazy and embarrassing to admit (especially for someone who watches a lot of films, and always has to see them for the products that they are). Yet it also testified to the strength of the series, and in retrospect, made me realise a part of why I am not as thrilled with the second season as I was with the first. It is not just that the story seems to be literally a re-take on the first season, the key points repeating themselves almost too clearly (likely in part a result of the announced third season, which meant that there cannot be too many closures just yet). It is also not the fact that, in the light of all the debates about race, gender and representation that have been dominating the public domain for the last year, Love now feels simply forcefully white (even to a white non-American like me), and it cannot seem to find proper place for any of its non-white characters: the one black friend among the guys looks like ‘too little’; the “Korean” director, while meant to be a fun riff on the industry, just feels like a bad joke; the police scene - which reminded me of the discomfort recently caused by seeing another one of my faves, Mike Birbiglia, the quintessential white guy, telling a joke about how police can kill you - feels out of place, like it doesn’t belong to the characters. (The series is also not too great towards women, who all seem to be making some dumb choices.) It is mostly because it skews all its characters into the just slightly overemphasised mode of behaviour that is no longer as genuine as it was, no longer as nuanced. The biggest victim of this, perhaps surprisingly, is Gus himself. What made the character both annoying and irresistible in the first season was how different he was in different social contexts, revealing incredible (and so human) complexity: the hunched, often frowning or insecurely grinning kid from the Witchita set would quickly transform into a still awkward, yet radiant and joyful character among friends (who embraced him with such genuine warmth in scenes that lingered ever so slightly longer than they needed to just to bring the point home: there was genuine warmth and care behind the awkwardness, and it did not go unnoticed by people), then into a full-blown asshole at the slight possibility of social success, only to quickly disappear behind his own fears in every scene with Mickey, turning into a combination of self-hatred and condescending. To Rust’s credit as an actor, he pulled all those off so seamlessly, the viewers always knew this was all one person. Yet in season 2, there is much more of the overplayed, comical Gus: the bored/confused grimacing, the hunched body language that is now omnipresent; the lack of tenderness in the communication with friends, as the camera no longer stays as a presence in the singing rooms (the only conversations are joking), and as the role of the key friend character is taken over by Chris, who we’re never quite sure where to place (the awkward running conversations from season 1 are gone, replaced by more distance, so much that it is never quite clear why Gus invited him to Mickey’s work announcement party); and the lack of any redeeming moments for the character, who now only seems to be valuable for his time with Mickey (he is failing at everything else, in front of everyone else), and even with her, his posture is different, the face less honest about the inner conflict and more confused (underlined by the script’s taking away of his wit, too: the guy who warmly explained ROYGBIV in season 1 now struggles to believe nonsense facts about dr. Phil). The new Gus is somehow less deep, and thus less ‘real’, despite all the meta-moments of blending Rust & Gus into one (one could totally believe Rust was told he looked like Michael Landon with all that hair before). He has a less layered presence in the script, and in how Rust portrays him - perhaps in his own desire to overplay the comedy, but more likely due to the directors’ insistence. Yet there are moments in which the original character still shines through, and those are almost always moments of fear. (The one exception - in the beautiful episode A Day, which humanises Gus in the same way his end monologue in The Date did in season 1 - allows him to be simultaneously charming and playful and slightly obnoxious and beautifully tender, in physical movement more than in words, the feet in the sand and a casual embrace shot from the back revealing much more than grand sentences, and finally freeing the character from the half-interested grimacing.) Despite his often annoying posture and the casual cool he tries to radiate in front of others when it comes to his relationship with Mickey, Gus is - as the script very much recognises, but sadly does little to really take anywhere this time - terrified of being revealed as a fraud by Mickey, an uninteresting dork she really has no business being with. As a result, he apologises in almost all episodes, even when he is not at fault at all: for being too eager, for not being eager enough, for being too attentive or not attentive enough. For failing to be better. For simply being. As a viewer, I often had conflicting feelings about this: from empathy to annoyance (there is a fine line between a sensitive person and an uninteresting doormat who is ‘fake nice’) and back to anger over his inability to recognise that apologies are often warranted, but not for what he is apologising for. But these brief moments of genuine panic were always not only played so touchingly (a credit that again goes to Rust’s ability as an actor), but also served as a gateway to a more complicated Gus from season 1; someone deeply complex and terrified and so much more interesting than season 2 dares to explore, rather focusing on cheaper thrills. The issue is, while these scenes make the series so much more interesting and ‘true’, they also underline how casually emptied out a lot of the rest has become, despite some fantastic moments. The ‘filmic reality’ of Love no longer blends so seamlessly with the ‘real reality’ of offscreen life, which is a shame. In truth tho: if it got me to ramble about it for so much, it cannot be all that bad.