#old vic bring back streams | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charlie-rulerofhell · 3 years

Text

For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

#måneskin #maneskin #måneskin interview #my stuff #i'm sorry if someone already translated it but i was working on this for the past 3 hours now so i'm still gonna share it #i know most of it is not very new but there were some quite interesting details in there #and it's just always great to read about those four dorks so i wanted to share it with all of you who wanted to read it but couldn't #enjoy and please ignore any possible mistakes i didn't have the time to proof-check everything

185 notes · View notes

lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface.

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion.

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan.

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way.

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness.

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up."

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though."

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong.

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up."

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives.

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over."

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly.

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners.

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort.

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day.

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated.

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself.

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could.

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind.

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn.

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre.

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor.

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened.

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you.

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress.

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands.

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment.

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night.

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed.

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band.

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor.

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused.

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval

143 notes · View notes

paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 3 years

Text

Titanic Mothers (Mother’s Day 2021 Drabbles)

Dedicated to all Mothers in the world, whether by birth, adoption or otherwise. Take the time to wish the woman who helped you become the person you are a very blessed Mother’s Day.

Of course I cannot have done this without thanking my pen pals @lightdusk96 @mothnem @wisegirlandseaweedbrainforever @fireflyxrebel-writes @tarisilmarwen @bluerene and many others

So without further ado....

Arella Roth

The peaceful, serene and calming orange tinted skies of Azarath are in many ways are therapeutic sort to admire under. For Arella, they are a perfect sort of skies to step outside for a nice and simple meditation. The Monks’ efforts in freeing her mind and grief in light of the numerous....series of events surrounding her entire life, whether being her harsh childhood and especially her unfortunate encounter with that bastard of a devil known as Trigon the Terrible, all of it had truly done some wonders in giving her a chance to appreciate life though clearly that grief runs deep, requiring an additional amount of effort on her end to counter it.

As Arella assumes lotus position on the balcony and lights two candles to her sides, she closes her eyes. She begins steadying her breathing and clears her mind...no easy feat though sine almost about a few seconds into clearing it, the scepter of Trigon and her tyrant of mother start coming in. The harsh words of shame, the demonic laughter, those taunts, the curses, they all start piling onto her mind, no her soul all at once. Her breathing starts picking up speed. She must remember what the Monks taught her....peace...find her inner peace...find what makes her find said peace...then within the blackened and harsh void of darkness clouding her mind...Arella sees it. That peace, a tiny stream of white light...a small bird. The bird starts getting closer, it’s wings start opening, dispelling the black void surrounding her...

As her mind starts feeling the calming light clear it out, Arella peeks open her right eye very slightly, sure enough there she was. Her light, her inner peace, her white bird, her very daughter.

Little Rachel Roth, barely eight years of age as of now, was also in lotus position, practicing the very same meditation her mother was doing right now. She too looked at her meditating partner to her side and sure enough, both realize...’why stop now’ and both wordlessly give each other a small smile, a nod and both continue mediating.

Arella, upon closing her eye back, says, “Okay, Rachel, now repeat after me...”

“Yes, Mom”

“Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos....”

Marie Logan

“Garfield” Maire called out for maybe the fifth time, passing by the tall tree next their camper yet again.

Her six year old little explorer of a boy had a tendency to run off whenever he was bored. Thankfully, he’d never venture into the nearby jungles or savannas the Logans visit too far, he always keep relatively close to make sure he knows his way back safely. Still, as a mother, Marie has her fair share of concerns for his well being since who knows what kind of animals he can run into this time.

However, the fifth time calling for him appears being the charm as sure enough, she can hear the branches creaking and the leaves rustling above her. Looking upward, sure enough, there he was, climbing down the gigantic branches with such agility before finally landing safely right next to her. His blond hair and crisp green eyes shone brightly as Garfield beams to his equally smiling mother.

“Found anything up there my explorer?” Marie asked while picking her son into her arms.

“Nah”, Garfield replied, “plenty of birds like the manual said would ‘round here but they flew away”

“Well, must be cause they didn’t want to hear about Wicked Scary just yet”, Marie says lightly giggling while ruffling her son’s hair, “maybe they just didn’t wanna get it spoiled you know?”

Garfield sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, “Yeah, guess so.”

Dr. Elinore Stone

Fixing her goggles, Dr. Stone narrowed her eyes within them ever so slightly. Next to her, ten year old Victor was equally wearing goggles but also adorably having oven mittens on his hands while holding on tightly to the beaker of green fluid over the larger one with orange fluid.

It was ‘Take Your Kids to Work Day’ at STAR Labs and both Elinore and her husband Silas had taken their son over to both explore where his parents’ worked at and even take part in a family friendly activity like this one.

Lightly guiding her gloved hands over Vic’s, the two together start pouring the green fluid from the beaker the latter was carrying very slowly into the one with the orange substance. The chemical reaction from the larger beaker was almost immediate since it started changing into a multitude of bright colors and bubbling.

“Alright son”, Elinore exclaimed proudly as her son beamed to her happily, “I think you’d just be quite the perfect chemi...”

KA-BOOM!

The lab immediately filled with a light with still irradiating cloud of smoke so rapidly that Silas immediately opened the windows to let the air clear.

As the smoke cleared out safely, both Elinore and Victor were thankfully completely fine aside the black soot covering their faces, their hair standing up embarrassingly, all the while Vic still holding onto that plastic beaker in his hands, muttering with a chuckle, “or not.”

Empress Luand’r of Planet Tamaran

The royal gardens within the palace walls have always been a true sanctuary in many ways. In contrast to the barren and strip-mined prefectures right outside said palace walls, ravaged by years of constant fighting and war, the gardens housed a peaceful and tranquil environment that not provides the many fauna a suitable home, but also anyone who ventures within a calming place to contemplate and even find joy in spite of such harsh times befalling the planet.

That’s very much the case for the very Empress of the Tamaraneans as she cannot help but find her smiling at not just the beautiful varying colors, pleasant aromas and lively calmness of the garden the bench she sits upon at this moment but also of the other resident currently enjoying herself alongside her.

Hearing a small voice giggle above her head, Luand’r beams proudly at the sight she sees: her seven planetary cycles of age old little Princess Koriand’r was floating in the air joyously and with such excitement, flying around the numerous branches and leaves of the fauna surrounding her, only stopping every now and then to have her brilliant green eyes observe closely of the leaves she floats right next to.

It was moments of pure innocence like this that always bring the purest joy within the usually lowkey Luand’r since through her, her husband Myand’r and especially their beloved ally and servant Galfore, Koriand’r and her siblings are actually given even int he smallest of doses a life outside of the constant bombardment and sirens their enemies bring on a consistent basis. If only there were some way, some means of escaping this perpetual worry and state of fear this war for their kind’s very sovereignty. If one such means exists, Luand’r here will ensure she and her people, especially her children, can take it.

A hug snaps the Empress out of her thoughts. Looking to her side, she sees Koriand’r wrapping her arms around her. No other options are needed since all the black-haired Tamaranean woman does is simply yet all too lovingly hug her red-haired daughter back.

And so, Empress and Princess sit peacefully underneath the blossoming flowers and leaves of the royal garden, a truly fond way of doing the ‘spending quality time’ as a certain other species called Earthlings call it.

Mary Elizabeth Lloyd Grayson

Gripping the bar tightly, Mary pulls it back while bending her legs starting with tipping her toes over the edge of the platform. Now int position, she looks down from her post and can clearly see the nets are firmly in place and secured well enough. In the very few instances they engage in practice sessions without the nets, as per their acts, it would be just John and her doing such since by now, years of practice and experience worldwide have taught them a thing or few about making sure not a single fall happens on their watch, lest it cause certain disaster.

However, this it wasn’t John that was up here with her for today but, looking to her side and giving him a proud thumbs up, instead was her eight year old son who also gives her a thumbs up. Just two months ago was his birthday on the first day of spring and since then, no ever since he first took to the trapeze ropes when he was four, Mary watched her Little Robin improve and grow with each session, each show and every single time he stands on that platform, taking a leap of faith with his hands on the bars, letting loose to perform a spin or flip in the air before once more stretching his arms to safety of both John and/or her. Today proves not too different, hopefully. Worst case for this, Dick or her fall to nets below instead of the hard sandy floor.

Leaping off the platform with bar in hand, Mary flew the calm free-of-audience noise air with perfect easy, before hearing that trademark crack of the ropes, signal her to let it loose and with a flip in the air transferred successfully to the second bar across from where her son and the platform are, the first bar she gripped on still in hand.

Returning the first bar back to where son is at, now it was on her to ensure he reached her after his turn to swing. As such, Mary began swing the bar she was on back and forth, gaining momentum with each addition swing, only increasing such until it was deemed ready. Sure enough, the bar was swinging at a good pace and now, being the naturally skill contortionist she is, Mary easily positioned the back of knees so that her calves were holding her on the swinging bar, she was hanging upside down if not for the swinging of said bar and most importantly her arms are firmly in a position to stretch as far as they can for a catch. Her part in the act was good to go, now it truly was her son’s turn to fly.

With a nod, his own hands firmly on the bar, in position for the leap and now his mother across ready to catch him, Dick with a wide grin on his face takes the leap of the platform and swings on his bar across the air. This was it, this was the time he gets it right. The creaking of the ropes he waits for is heard, it was time to let the bar loose. Sure enough as he does so, tucking in his legs to his chest tightly, Dick has nothing to hold him but gravity itself.

One....Here’s hoping Raymond and Calvin are seeing this

Two....He can already hear the crowd gasping

Three....Keep it tight and remember make sure you let arms stretch at the right moment Dad says.

And......Four! Dick straightens out his body and stretches his arms as far as he can.

For the briefest of all moments, he was actually flying. Nothing carrying him, no sense of his own weight dragging him down. He was Superman at that moment.

Then he starts loosing his flight, gravity had set in. He stretches his arms just to tiniest bit hoping before air rushes he can....just a little bit....

Sire enough, all too familiar hands clasps onto his own hand. That familiar calloused texture of the palms, the chalky powdery feeling...Dick looks up to all too familiar face, a very beaming and proud one on top of that

“I’ve got you” Mary says lovingly as she can while using her arms to carry her son safely, “Momma’s here, Little Robin.”

The two smile at each other with all too familiar love and happiness in their distinct pairs of blue eyes while Mary’s bar starts slowing down its momentum. Finally as it comes to near complete stop, it was time to safely descend to the safety net below.

Before letting her son’s grips slips from her hands, Mary pulls him up to where she can deliver a small kiss on his forehead.

“You did great!” she exclaims happily. Just then, finally the bar’s swinging comes to stop, allowing Mary to finally lossen her grip on her son, allowing him to safely land on the net below, giggling lightly as he initially bounced on it. Just then, Dick rolled out of the way to give his mother enough space for own safe landing as she unhooks her legs from the trapeze bar and land on the net right next to him.

Mother and son simply lay there on their sides of the net, panting after such an effort before Mary threw her arms around her little boy, hugging him close to her. “You’re learning so fast”, she says panting yet all to happily.

Dick simply lays his head close to her, feeling her all too calming and steady heartbeat, relaxing the both of them.

“Happy Mother’s Day. Momma, Love you”, he whispers to her happily, as he wraps his own around her tightly

Mary can’t help but smile and even have tears of joy glisten her eyes. Pressing a few kisses on her son’s forehead, she whispers in turn, “And I Love you, so, so much, My Little Robin”

#arella roth #marie logan #elinore stone #luand'r #mary grayson #mothersday #rachel roth #garfield logan #victor stone #koriand'r #dick grayson

54 notes · View notes

lilyofthevalleywrites · 3 years

Text

Alone

It was pouring outside, so much so that even a carriage would get stuck should it try to move. Comte was generous enough to open up his liquor stores to Arthur and the rest of the residents, though after an hour or so of drinking, Arthur wouldn’t shut up, driving away all the other residents. Each bout was worse than the last. Here we join them, three hours in, with Arthur completely sloshed and Theo behind the bar still making him drinks.

……

“I bring worlds to life, characters that are beloved around the globe. Yet the only one anyone seems to know is that blasted detective! I wish to be rid of him! Forever! No one knows Arthur the poet, or the doctor, or the man who wrote science fiction. No, just old Sherlock.” Arthur sighed and took another gulp of his drink.

“I’m brilliant too. Can beat a man at any game. You’ve seen it Theo. But it didn’t do me any good in my life, nor is it doing me any good in this one. Why? Why have these gifts if they don’t do me any good? I’m still alone…. Was in my last life, still am now.”

He sighed dejectedly and finished his drink, motioning for another. “I chase skirts around all day long… but really…. Really…. I’m chasing away the ones who would hurt me. My heart is fragile enough as it is. I don’t think I’d survive a broken heart again. Not after….” His mind flitted to the young man that died asking for more Sherlock. Clutching his chest, he drank another mouthful, hoping to wash away the pain.

“Theo…. I don’t want to die alone again…. I don’t want to be alone for yet another lifetime….” His voice quivered, tears streaming down his face. “What good was any of it? I’m still alone in the end.”

Theo frowned, this was not his strong suit. Reaching over, he pat Arthur’s back, only for the bloke to pull him in for a hug, spilling his drink on him. “You klootzak!” Theo grumbled and pushed Arthur away. After cleaning up, Arthur looked as if he were about to pass out.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your room.” Theo mumbled and threw Arthur over his shoulder.

“I’m always alone…. So…. empty and alone….” Arthur slurred, but Theo understood.

Theo had chosen to be alone to further his brother’s career. Gruff exterior was just to keep the ladies away, same as Arthur’s flirting. Seems they weren’t that different after all. A soft sigh and a faint whisper, “You’re not alone Arthur.”

“Oh yeah? Vic doesn’t count…”

“Not your dog, you klootzak, me. You have me. And you always will.”

Arthur dozed off at that point. Whether he heard Theo or not, he’d never tell. https://archiveofourown.org/works/34765732

#cybird ikemen #ikemen vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #fanfic

8 notes · View notes

patrick-hockstutter · 4 years

Text

Modern!Bowers Gang:

Patrick:

Really into cinematography and photography of the unsettling

Never captions his Instagram posts

Goes live on Instagram a lot, even though people really wished he wouldn’t

Makes art out of dead animals or animal bones he finds

Think Banksy, but with roadkill

He’ll take some (somehow) tasteful photos of them, post them, then leave the scene there for some unexpecting bystander to find

Has a nosering (fight me)

Never uses incognito mode

If someone happens to stumble upon his search history, he’s not paying their therapy bill

He likes reading smut more than he likes watching porn

A ps4 guy

Loves spooky games like Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Until Dawn and Death Stranding

He’s not really into school, but he surprisingly reads a lot when he’s alone in his room

Only about things he likes though

Abnormal psych, criminal psych, and sometimes some zoology (u kno y)

Watches serial killer documentaries like he’s paid to

Listens to grunge, nu metal, and 80s alt

Won’t admit it, but sometimes listens to Joji

He’s not super into emo music, but he’s the only one who will listen to it with Victor (he fckn vibes to Brand New)

Ironically uses a Zune

Has an Android but lowkey wishes he had an iPhone

Doesn’t have a computer, just jailbreaks/hacks the school issued laptop

Has a black line tattooed around some of his fingers, one of his wrists, and the shell of his ear

Has a foot tattoo

Has a fucking Juul

Watches LeafyIsHere on YouTube (tell me I’m wrong)

Spends too much time on Reddit

Wears flannels, skinny jeans, and Vans (a beanie if he’s cold)

Mostly cycles through the same three or four outfits

Wears the same pair of Vans every single day

Victor:

Big into aromatherapy

He uses lavender soaps and has an essential oil diffuser in his room

Uses incognito mode to watch Vampire Diaries

A Nintendo ass b i t c h

He has the gray Switch Lite

He brings his Switch with him everywhere (yes he’s that guy)

But what else are you gonna do when you wanna ignore Patrick?

Watches conspiracy theories about ghosts, cryptids, and aliens

Also big into podcasts (mostly true crime and conspiracy ones)

He listens to them on his headphones while he takes walks or draws

Posts his drawings on Tumblr

Does art streams on Twitch when he gets really bored

Has an eyebrow piercing (but it’s a small stud one, not a ring)

Has little tattoos on his hands

Wears bomber jackets, skinny jeans, joggers, army jackets, converse, and combat boots

The boy has style okay

Had an emo phase but still listens to the music (especially Tiny Moving Parts)

The emo phase was pretty short because Henry made fun of him so much

He just fucking liked MCR and Taking Back Sunday a lot, okay?

And Pierce The Veil and Sleeping With Sirens, but he doesn’t readily admit that

Now mostly listens to new wave, synth pop, and lofi hiphop

His favorite bands are Drab Majesty and Choir Boy (look up their new album btw)

Has a black iPhone and a space gray MacBook Pro

Uses Apple Music

Vapes, but only fruity flavors

Watches BoJack Horseman

Doesn’t really eat fast food but never passes up an M&M McFlurry

Paints his (and Patrick’s) nails black

One time Patrick caught him doing a facemask, so Patrick put one on and started chasing him around screaming as a joke

Cue: hmm… this feels kinda good tho

So now Victor and Patrick have secret mini spa days

Drives a Subaru

Belch:

Makes Spotify playlists like he’s paid to

He’s just really good at putting songs together

He tried to get into music theory, but he wasn’t one for actually making his own songs

Really into metal (obvi) but also likes some classic rock and punk stuff

Has records hung up side by side all around his room where the wall meets the ceiling

Still buys CDs

His Instagram feed is full of vintage cars and custom import cars

Fast and Furious is his favorite movie series

His favorite shows are Sons of Anarchy and The Walking Dead

But he also loves early 2000s comedies

Has a mini projector to watch movies on his room wall

Wears band tees, flannels, jean jackets, Carhartt stuff, d a d h a t s

Really wants a tattoo but always gets nervous

Uses incognito mode to watch porn and buy some of his band tees from Hot Topic

Only one in the gang that uses Facebook (Mama Huggins made him so he could keep in contact with family)

Follows a few meme pages but also some cooking ones so he can send his mom any cool recipes he finds

Victor lowkey makes fun of him for actually using the Facebook page

Invests money in really good headphones and car speakers

Has a black iPhone

It’s always at 20% battery cause it’s always connected to his headphones, Bluetooth speaker, or car stereo

Him and Victor FaceTime when they’re bored

Sometimes they won’t even say much, they just like the over the phone company

Doesn’t smoke, but sometimes hits Vic’s vape

A social vaper if you will

Watches Idubbbz and Filthy Frank on YouTube

His favorite fast food place is Wendy’s

Not really into video games but fucking slays at Guitar Hero

And when Rock Band came out nobody saw him for like two weeks

Has a black Hydroflask with band stickers on it

Henry:

He plays a lot of Xbox

Mostly Halo, COD, Destiny, any first-person shooter really

Baits people on Xbox Live cause he thinks it’s hilarious

He’s also a fucking cyberbully but we all expected that

Has Victor’s old iPhone

Never fucking charges it

He’ll text you back in 3-5 business days (if at all)

And if you try to call him he’ll block your number

Plays iMessage games like cup pong and 8 ball with Belch

The only social media he uses is Snapchat and Tinder to look at girls

In one of his Tinder photos he’s holding a fish (srrynotsrry)

Doesn’t really listen to too much music

He doesn’t dislike music, just usually prefers to do things in silence

His mind is chaotic enough, he doesn’t need background noise

But he will listen to Cigarettes After Sex and TV Girl on a really low volume when he goes to sleep

Uses incognito mode to pick and choose random soft or angsty songs that he likes to put into a bedtime playlist

Otherwise just listens to whatever Belch listens to

Has a tattoo on his wrist

Takes a lot of drives into the countryside/national forests/mountains with Belch

Takes a lot of scenery photos, but never posts them anywhere or shows anyone except Victor

Still smokes cigarettes (he thinks vaping is douchey)

Watches South Park and American Dad

If he’s willing to spend money to go see a movie, he’s going to an IMAX theater

Sometimes he likes 3D, but most of the time it just hurts his eyes after a while

Longboards everywhere

Needs prescription glasses but refuses to wear them

They’re mostly for reading, which he doesn’t do anyway

But he does listen to audiobooks sometimes

Likes Frappuccinos but will kill you before you find out

He orders them through Uber Eats under a fake name so nobody will find out

BONUS: all four!

Victor still has his childhood GameCube that they play Mario Party, Mario Kart, and Melee on

Henry is banned from playing Mario Party after breaking a controller while beating Patrick with it

Patrick only ever picks Waluigi in Mario Kart and everyone is sick of it

When they play Rock Band Patrick is on bass, Henry plays guitar, Belch absolutely slays the drums, and Vicky boy sings his lil heart out

One night a week they order a shit ton of Dominos and make a drinking game out of watching Vine compilations

Victor does everyone’s birth charts

They collectively made a fake Tinder account on Patrick’s phone and catfish guys with it

They all try to one up each other doing vape tricks yikes

They buy bags of chips and candy from Costco and lounge around eating them on weekends

They’re banned from the city metro busses because Belch’s car was in the shop for a week and that week was hell for every bus driver in the city

264 notes · View notes

elocinting · 3 years

Photo

REVIEW: “Ghost” (EP) by Julia Klot

Written by: Nicole Ting

Dominated by poignant piano melodies and powerful vocals, “Ghost” by singer-songwriter and pianist Julia Klot is an EP featuring intimate songs woven together into a larger coming-of-age story, with its nonlinear storytelling that explores different facets of love. What’s unique about Klot’s newest EP is that rather than just acting as accompaniment, instrumental sound plays an enormous, major part in directing and shaping emotion, and every movement of sound is just as crucial as every word that she sings. Reminiscent of the emotive, powerful honesty of Orla Gartland, Birdy, and 2007 Sara Bareilles, the musicality of her stylistic choices, both instrumental and vocal arrangements, is intentional and mesmerizing in the way they bring out the bone-deep lyricism of each song.

The EP begins with its titular track, “ghost,” which is backed by a fast-paced string arrangement conveying just how alive and present memory can be, with the piano melodies driving nostalgia itself forward. The instrumental intro reminds me of wintertime, like flurries of snowflakes falling into the shape of the vocals and forming something ghostly in the beginning image of feeling like “an old house carved right into my empty heart.” The interlude after second chorus of a brief fugue settling into a conversation between strings, back and forth of the past and present melting, melding, together is masterful, and is one of my favorite parts of this song. There is something to be said about the poetic, interlocked lyricism and sound of being haunted by memory despite loss, with the person you thought was “the one” continuing to live on inside your head – lingering like a ghost. This synesthetic image leads into the next track, “temporary tattoo,” which is a heavy piano ballad with a fuller sound. Klot’s strong, mature vocals and raw emotion soaring and diving throughout the chord progressions, throughout the motions of not knowing how to trust love in its entirety. The lyrical and vocal dynamics parallel the motion of anxiety, also mirroring the soundscape of impermanence, which is something that we all fear and learn to live with. I am particularly struck by the vivid image of worries being inked on our bodies and the line “I’m scared to the core that I’ll never have a love that lasts” in the chorus because I believe that’s something that we all question and fear, that I still question and fear, when we’re becoming ourselves and learning to navigate love that lasts and love that doesn’t.

“picture in a frame” is a whimsical and tender rearrangement of a Tom Waits original thematically juxtaposing the angst in previous tracks, as it pulls back sonically. The organ and harp set a mood of something holy and divine and eternal, which conceptually marks a matured love that stays in the lyrics “I love you, baby, and I always will,” as visualized by the permanence of placing someone’s picture in a frame. A metaphor of staying put. The whimsicality birthed by the brass, the comforting warmth of these vocals and soft piano, they add layers to the unconditional nature of this love. As the midpoint of the EP, it is wonderfully framed by the intermittent swelling of the organ and the repetition of “ever since I put your picture in a frame” through different vocal iterations towards the end of the song. In “time to miss you,” harmonies shine through the repetition of “give me time” in the chorus of this lighter piano ballad. It is clever, how the cyclical pacing and phrasing of instrumentals after the final words are sung mimic the abstract yet fluid ticking motion of time spent apart from the one you love. The final track “i’ve cried for you” is jarring, but that may be the point. Its slight, slow-moving dissonance through the way the words collide with eerie atmospheric synth pad harmonies is drawn-out, barely fluctuating in contrast to all the songs before it. It is darker in mood and in imagery, in lyrics like “don’t you know how many times i’ve cried for you? / strike me where it hurts most / to cover up your bruises.” This is an unsettling yet intriguing track to end this story on. Sonically, it circles back a bit to the minor tones and spectral blueness of “ghost” and “temporary tattoo” and thematically, it showcases the trauma of losing yourself in giving your all to someone who takes and losing that person anyway. It begs the question: is this a ghost story or a love story? This final track embodies the fallout of loss affecting how we love the loves that follow, leaving this story open-ended.

Based in Brooklyn, New York, Julia Klot stuns with this EP centered on her vulnerable narrative of love and a relatable human desire to understand its unpredictability. To be so exposed in the light, to be dissected in a manner that is devastating and captivating in its piano-heavy truthfulness, to translate love and its ghosts, is an art form. Vulnerability is terrifying yet necessary, and Klot demonstrates that her truths are worth every note through her thought-provoking songwriting and meticulous musical arrangements in this EP. You can now listen to the EP “Ghost” by Julia Klot on all streaming platforms, including Spotify and Apple Music.

Photo by Vic Bongiovanni

#music review #new music #music blog #julia klot #independent artist #indie music #up and coming #indie pop #pop #soul pop #pop music #pls check julia's new ep out!#music recommendation #music playlist #music post #music lyrics #good music #musicreview

11 notes · View notes

insanityclause · 3 years

Link

LONDON — Cultural institutions around the world have been pivoting to online this year, and Britain’s National Theater has arguably been one of the most successful.

From April to July, with its stages shuttered by the coronavirus pandemic and many of its staff furloughed, the theater put recordings of recent hits on YouTube, starting with the wildly popular comedy “One Man, Two Guvnors.” Those videos got over 15 million views in total.

Last week, it also made a recording of its latest production, “Death of England: Delroy” — which closed the night it opened, because of a second national lockdown in England — available to view free for 24 hours.

Now, the theater has decided to change tack. Just days before it reopens for a second time this year with “Dick Whittington,” a family Christmas show, it has started its own streaming service — National Theater at Home — costing $12.99 plus tax for a monthly subscription, and with a pay-per-view option for individual plays.

The service offers 11 plays at launch on Tuesday, including Michael Longhurst’s 2016 production of “Amadeus,” telling the story of Mozart’s rivalry with Antonio Salieri, and Nicholas Hytner’s 2009 production of Racine’s “Phèdre” starring Helen Mirren. There is also a musical for children, “I Want My Hat Back.”

The reason for the new approach was simple, said Rufus Norris, the theater’s artistic director, in a telephone interview: money. “It’s not sustainable in the long term to keep it free,” he said. The National Theater asked for donations when it streamed plays on YouTube, and received about 350,000 pounds, roughly $467,000. That worked out at just a few cents per stream.

This wasn’t enough for the theater, or the actors, writers and directors involved in the productions, Norris said.

“Obviously our target is people who love theater,” Norris said, when asked if the service could compete with the likes of Netflix and HBO Max. “But it’ll let other people see the actors they love in a completely different context,” he added. The initial slate of plays includes performances by Olivia Colman, Tom Hiddleston and Michaela Coel.

In an interview, Norris also talked about what the National’s move meant for other theaters, the challenges of switching to a paid service and streaming’s prospects once theaters return. These are edited extracts.

Your lockdown streaming efforts were already so successful. Why decide to change approach?

The theater’s in a perilous situation, like all theaters are over the world, and we’re facing some very difficult circumstances due to lockdown coming back, social distancing still going on. So it felt like what we had to do. We’ve kept the subscription fee as low as we can.

But another reason is, this period has been particularly perilous for the artists on whose work we build everything: the actors, writers. And this subscription model means that we can — to a degree — make sure that they’re benefiting from it. They’ll get a share of any income that we make.

I understand this has been in the works for months. Has negotiating payments to artists been the biggest challenge?

Yes. When we launched on YouTube, it was a very, very quick idea — just contacting everybody and saying, “Look, we’re closed, is this something we can do for free?” And everybody immediately piled in and said “Yes.” But at that stage none of them, and none of us, knew how long this was going to go on for, or that freelance artists would be struggling so much within it.

As soon as that became apparent, we immediately started paying fees and back pay for the films we’d put online. This is trying to make that sustainable: We’d love to be able to make our plays free all the time, but that’s just not the world that we’re in.

Musicians with work on streaming services complain they need millions of views to make anywhere near minimum wage. Do you expect a similar response?

They’ll all get paid, whatever happens.

Do you think there’s no alternative for theaters but to go online now?

We’re in such a fluid situation at the moment, it’s really hard to predict what the world’s going to be like in one month, let alone six, let alone two years. We’ll be keeping a very beady eye on how much demand there is for it. And as we start to return to normal whether there’s any measurable negative impact on attendance in our actual theaters, which obviously is completely the opposite of what we intend.

The degree theaters have embraced digital during this time, and certainly the audiences have, would suggest the two can happily coexist.

I can imagine theater lovers who can afford the fee will love this, but some theaters might think, “Oh, God, how can I compete against the National with its reputation and star names?” Is there room for everyone?

I just don’t know. In the end, there’s a huge audience out there with very varied tastes, and there are many initiatives that have found their own market in lockdown.

We do bring other theaters on in terms of the work we’re doing. This will have on it a show from the Donmar Warehouse, and one from the Young Vic, in London. We’re trying to do more.

The National in its early days — the 1960s and 1970s — had legendary actors like Laurence Olivier performing. Will people eventually see very old grainy footage of them on the site too?

I’m not sure how far the archive goes back, to be honest. The older films will be very simple and they were made more as a record for archive purposes, or in case the production was being remounted. So I couldn’t speak to whether the quality would even be good enough.

The oldest production you’ll be showing to start with is a version of “The Cherry Orchard” from 2011. Out of those 11 productions, where should a new viewer begin?

I’m biased toward “Mosquitoes” because it’s a production that I directed. And Olivia Colman’s wonderful in it. But actually Inua Ellams’s “Three Sisters” was a very, very beautiful production recently, and “Amadeus” is fantastic. I could keep on going!

#National Theatre at Home #Tom Hiddleston #Coriolanus

10 notes · View notes

80sstarfire · 3 years

Text

title: throw it deep characters: Vic Stone & Gar Logan genre tag: hurt/comfort, light comedy, angst word count: 1300

He didn't watch a game for at least a year after the accident. The Superbowl happened when he was being put back together; whatever pieces his dad could salvage of him being integrated into a metal and electrical framework that anyone who had less than a doctorate in – at the very least – one field of engineering could barely understand at the time he was put out into the world. Who won that year? His dad couldn't tell him, he'd never cared for sports.

Vic was a freak that no one wanted to acknowledge. He was dead to Marcy for a while and Ron tried to use him for his own motivations; he had no friends left that could even tell him who won since he couldn't bring himself to watch anything that had to do with the sport. Commentary? Turn it off. Speculation on so-and-so's career? Smash the radio. If he couldn't play college ball, if he couldn't go pro, he didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to see it. Never wanted to feel the laces of a ball under his fingers again if he couldn't throw it deep.

He couldn't even hear a Jets game without that gut-deep urge to smash something.

Then one day, he felt the urge to dig through his parents' things. Find the box of his trophies and medals, all the things he took for granted when he was fully organic. They hung on his wall before, glinting in the slanting sunlight from his window, boasting his achievements to his disapproving father and his quietly approving mother. Then after the accident, they got boxed away. His dad couldn't look at them anymore. He probably knew Vic couldn't either. Until the day he went looking for them and found then neatly packed away, wrapped in newspaper and bubblewrap in boxes sitting on the rafters in their old house.

It was the first step back into what he loved. Sure, he was good at engineering. Good at inventing and taking his father's inventions further than Silas Stone could've ever imagined but he never loved it as much as he loved the physicality of running and throwing. The challenge that he had to work for instead of the non-challenge of academics.

He missed it. The fire in his gut that had come to life after he woke up had finally been extinguished; with his dad's death had come a sense of calm and rest that he hadn't known since he was a child. He regretted going to his old high school. Scaring the coach with what his new body could do. But it was done. There was no going back there now.

The silver of his hand flashed against the gold of an exposed trophy as he reached into the box to pull it out.

Most Valuable Player – Victor Stone. 1979.

His mom had been proud of that one. His dad's silent disapproval hadn't mattered to him when she put it on the mantel between their family pictures.

He pulled out another one. A little league first place trophy from 1975. It had been his last year in little league--he was on their majors team, just on the edge of high school. Lanky and full of life. It hurt to remember how happy he’d been. How full of promise.

He set it aside and reached into the box to pull out a medal that had been tucked away inside of a smaller shadowbox that looked like Silas had bought for it especially. It certainly hadn't been that way the day he went to see his parents. He let the light catch the shine of the medal, glinting off of the letters of his name and place. It was first. It came after months of work and striving and competing against himself to get his best time. He set it down and sat back, staring into the box as a knock came from the doorway.

"Hey, Chrome Dome."

Vic rolled his eye and turned, his line of vision meeting with a short, green teenager.

"Did the leader man send you to check on me, Greenie?" He propped his elbow on his knee and stared at the Gar as the boy shrugged and weighed all the options in his mind, making his hands into a make-shift scale.

He gave one last shrug. "Yeah but I wanted to see how you were doing, anyway."

Vic's shoulders rolled, a half-shrug spurring him into movement as he dug into the box again to take out one of the smaller trophies. Another little league trophy, this time from the first year he'd been allowed to play sports; his mom thought that homeschooling him might stunt his social growth. Spending all that time around adults and not enough time around kids his own age.

He snorted. Hanging around Gar made up for a lost childhood.

"What's so funny?" Gar dropped to the floor next to him, never one to be left out of a joke.

"I was just thinking – don't worry about being left out."

"Whatever." Gar turned his attention to the scattered awards on Vic's bedroom carpet. "How many of these things do you have? This is like its own museum – 'the land of Vic Stone's lost history. Discover what the stone age was like.' Or--sorry, I guess it would be the chrome age, huh?"

Vic pulled out another trophy. "Funny. What are you doing here, again?"

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Wanted to make sure you were okay."

It'd been a week since the funeral, is what he meant. A week for Vic to settle into knowing Silas was dead, a week for him to come to terms with dealing with the will and his dad's plans for all of his possessions. But he wasn't going through his old trophies because of the will, he needed to find what he'd lost along the way.

Vic dug around in the bottom of the box as Gar watched, his elbows propped up on his knees. His metal fingers were still a little clumsy as they dug through the trophy box, some of his joints catching the wrappings. He'd have to fix that, make them more stream lined as he worked on future designs for his limbs.

He pulled out another trophy and shook the wrappings off of it.

"Ah, this is what I was looking for." Vic grinned, his teeth catching the light from the window and illuminating his face.

Gar's eyebrows rose and he looked over, his eyes running over the words engraved on the trophy.

"What's it from?"

"It's from my senior year," he paused and wiped the name plate with his sleeve. "We went to the state playoffs."

He could smell the misty fog that had started to roll in around the third quarter. Feel the cold against his cheeks. His grin grew softer, dimpling his cheek. "We lost. Fucked up in the fourth quarter and no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't come back from it. The score ended up being fifty-two to fifty and man, my coach was pissed at how close it was."

He sat back and set the trophy down to look at it. Gar was looking at him instead, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"And you got a trophy because?"

"I got a trophy because I kept the team together." He shrugged. "It was my responsibility as the quarterback and team captain, you know. I had to try and keep up morale and my team liked it so much that they made up an award to tell me how much it mattered."

"Sounds like a good memory." They were both staring at the figure on top of the trophy. Gold colored plastic in the shape of a man, an arm pulled back, fingers fitted over the laces of a football.

Vic rested his elbows on his knees again. "Yeah, I had some of the best times of my life on the field."

#victor stone #cyborg #garfield logan #beast boy #changeling #i haven't posted fic to tumblr in foreverrrr #just realized i never posted this here #and voila now this is my fic sideblog

5 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 3 years

Text

Michael Rosenstein 2020: Seeking Sojourn

What was I doing in 2010? What was I listening to? Honestly, without doing some digging, nothing springs immediately to mind. I’m guessing that ten years from now, thinking back on 2020, that won’t be the case. In mid-March, my wife and I took off on our annual winter/early spring sojourn to Provincetown, Cape Cod. When we headed out, the state of the world was tenuous. But over the course of four days, we split our time between idyllic, cold walks on the Outer Cape beaches and tracking the pandemic slide into lockdown and mayhem. We came back home to an entirely different world which has continued to spiral and swirl. This was a year where I spent far more time walking in a woods near my house, searching out a pair of barred owls and their four fledglings than I did listening to music. Focus for listening has waxed and waned and online video streams just haven’t resonated with me. But still, music has brought me some sense of solace over the course of the last year.

AMPLIFY 2020: quarantine

Without a doubt, most of my listening over the year was spent following the AMPLIFY 2020: quarantine festival. Organized by Jon Abbey, who runs the Erstwhile record label along with musicians Vanessa Rossetto and Matthew Revert, the online festival kicked off on March 20 and ran through September 20, presenting 240 newly-recorded pieces and 80 hours of music by musicians from across the globe. Most were solo contributions, with seven “blind overdubs” where two musicians with established working relationships chose track lengths in advance and submitted their recordings which were superimposed with some light mixing by Taku Unami. While the pieces are all available as free downloads on Bandcamp, that only reveals part of the story. Over the course of six months, the Facebook group grew to 3000 members, acting as a virtual gathering place for online conversations and musings with countless posts a day. Additionally, Abbey tirelessly posted an ongoing playlist which he dubbed “atmosphere” with cuts that ran the gamut from Albert Ayler to Funkadelic to Keith Hudson to Al Green with an extra-heavy helping of DJ Screw. Just tuning in to those choices and jumping on conversations was enough to save some days.

While anyone following the Erstwhile label caught some memorable submissions by expected participants, the organizers and some guest curators had more in mind than that and sub-threads developed early on. Yan Jun recruited fantastic submissions from little-known musicians from China while also contributing two pieces of his own. In addition to delivering three strong pieces, Revert brought in an Australian contingent. Rossetto delivered a festival highlight with her piece “perhaps at some time you have acted in a play, even if it was when you were a child” while also inviting a wide network of sound explorers constructing intimate sonic investigations. Abbey himself cast a wide net, probing for both established and little known musicians who had caught his attention over the years. (I’ve known Jon for a long time and was honored to be amongst those invited, contributing a piece assembled from field recordings from my Cape Cod trip.)

A number of musicians who hadn’t put out solo recordings in years, some who hadn’t had any recent releases at all, were lured back, with highlights by Greg Kelley, David Kirby, Joe Panzner, Annette Krebs and Sean Meehan. There was also a somber thread of homages to musicians who died over the last year, starting with a dedication of the entire festival to Australian percussionist Sean Baxter as well as a stirring tribute to bassist Simon H. Fell by Rhodri Davies, a dedication to Keith Tippett by Mark Wastell, and pieces commemorating Cor Fuhler by Dale Gorfinkel, Marcus Schmickler, Jim Denley, Nick Ashwood (recorded with Fuhler shortly before his death), Clare Cooper and Reinier van Houdt (whose six monthly missives delivered throughout the duration of the festival are all well worth spending time with.)

I find myself still catching up on the overwhelming array of contributions but here are a small sampling that caught my ear, though if I were to assemble this list a week from now, the choices would certainly be different.

Zhao Cong – “Homework”

homework by Zhao Cong

Yan Jun’s choice of musicians from China was uniformly superb and all are worth checking out. But Beijing-based Zhao Cong’s entry, in particular, has continued to hang with me. Her piece, constructed from two bass guitars and objects with its scrabbled detail of electronic hum, grit and glitch shot through with ringing bass strings popped out on first listen and continues to deliver.

Rie Nakajima – “carpet”

carpet by Rie Nakajima

Nakajima’s approach to sound-making, utilizing motors, mechanical devices and found objects proved the perfect tonic for pandemic listening. Her piece for AMPLIFY was recorded in her home in London “with all familiar objects I have been using at home.” The percussive piece is shot through with timbral depth, clattering along with a barely-contained momentum. Her release Karu Karu for Café Oto’s digital Takuroku lockdown series is also well worth checking out. And while I tended not to connect with online video over the course of the year, I found myself returning to Nakajima’s seven days bird songs which unfolded over the course of a week, multiple times.

Ivan Palacký – “Sanctuary”

Sanctuary by Ivan Palacký

Czech-based Ivan Palacký’s “Sanctuary” hit early on in the fest and remained a favorite. Palacký spent the first day of quarantine exploring his flat with an electromagnetic sensor, capturing the buzzes and tremors of everyday electronic devices. A few weeks later, he pulled out three knitting machines which he contact mic’d and used to improvise with the electromagnetic recordings. Palacký deftly interleaved percussive patter with wafts of static, grit and crackles, creaks and sputters and resonant thrums into an immersive piece.

Martin Kay – “Bath Time (2nd Edit)

Bath Time (2nd Edit) by Martin Kay

Through the festival, a thread developed of the pieces constructed as sonic response to the physical surroundings of isolation. Moniek Darge's gutting “Quarantine Child,” assembled from interior recordings and the desperate wail of a child, Mark Vernon's “The Dominion of Din,” woven together from field recordings from outside his Glasgow flat, cataloging exterior sounds that have annoyed him over the years and Kate Carr’s haunting “on every stair another stairway is set in negative” recorded using an old reel to reel tape and instrument recordings captured in her bathroom are three. Martin Kay’s four-part “Bath Time” delves in to that personal, interior realm, composed from recordings made in and around his bathroom during the routine that developed with his daughter’s nightly bath. The use of shifting focus, natural resonances of the room, the tub and underwater recordings transform the private, domestic activity into an increasingly abstracted aural study.

Distant Duos

The Distant Duos project that Mary Staubitz and Russ Waterhouse embarked on was also instigated by a sense of lost community. But here, the strategies employed were markedly different. The two are immersed in the DIY noise/improv New England community, spearheading shows in basements, bars, galleries and ad hoc venues and collaborating with musicians from New Haven to Portland, Maine, with all stops in between. They’ve also been instrumental in developing a network of like-minded musicians and bringing travelers through, some who have become frequent visitors. Unlike the duos in AMPLIFY, Staubitz and Waterhouse curated the 78 sessions, inviting pairs of musicians with a simple strategy. “Two remote artists record five minutes of sound while thinking about the other artist, unable to hear each other. The two tracks are combined into one.”

Released in sets of five on Bandcamp, the first on April 30 and the last on December 9, these bursts served as vital postcards. For those of us based in New England, these were both bittersweet reminders of the pre-COVID world we frequented and exultant celebrations. As someone who organized shows with the two and often played on the same bills, these really connected. (I was asked to participate, paired with Worcester-based Abdul Sherzai.) Some of the duos were longstanding partnerships (Greg Kelley and Vic Rawlings have been working together for over a decade). Some were pairings of musicians who knew each other but had likely never played together. Some participants were drawn from the deep field of regional musicians while others were recruited from across the US and Europe. With only five minutes at play, these served as sketches, vignettes or rough drafts. But keen curation and Waterhouse’s astute mixing and mastering made these hold together. Like AMPLIFY, these periodic missives kept me going through the last year.

Flip through any of the contributions and you’ll find plenty to encourage further listening. This batch, culled from the October 28th releases, provides a glimpse into the broad crew of musicians pulled in and the diverse strategies they came up with.

Adam Kohl and Mickey O’Hara

Adam Kohl and Mickey O'Hara by Distant Duos

Western Massachusetts-based Kohl (better known musically as Arkm Foam) and Worcester-based O’Hara have been performing together for a while now, and experiencing their mix of low-fi cassette manipulation and laptop generated deconstructed clatter and glitch inhabit a performance space is enthralling. This brief snapshot serves as a succinct snapshot of one of their sets.

J.P.A. Falzone and Hali Palombo

J.P.A. Falzone and Hali Palombo by Distant Duos

This mashup between J.P.A. Falzone (part of the ensemble Ordinary Affects) and composer and visual artist Hali Palombo comes across as quavering pulsations dialed in from some ethereal transmission. Listening feels like one is tuning in to an hours-long broadcast of hovering tones and fluttering waves which fuse together into shuddering oscillations.

Henry Birdsey and Mary Staubitz

Henry Birdsey and Mary Staubitz by Distant Duos

Birdsey has been developing his micro-tonal musings as part of the duo Tongue Depressor as well as his solo releases under his own name and as S.T.L.A. while Staubitz jumps from the solo sonic onslaughts of Donna Parker to a wide-ranging array of ongoing and one-off collaborations. Here field recordings of rippling water and electric pops and crackles mix with shuddering overtones of bowed metal for an engulfing sonic snapshot.

Lexie Mountain and Angela Sawyer

Lexie Mountain and Angela Sawyer by Distant Duos

Baltimore’s Lexie Mountain and Boston’s Angela Sawyer have known each other for years, so it’s no surprise that their distant connection of broken electronics and found objects clicks so well. Here, everyday detritus is elevated to a compact improvisation imbued with skittering percussive tumult, whirrs and clatter.

New Releases

When I did carve out time to listen, here’s a few that stuck with me through the year.

Toshiya Tsunoda & Taku Unami – Wovenland 2 (Erstwhile)

Wovenland 2 by Toshiya Tsunoda/Taku Unami

Working from basic field recordings, Tsunoda and Unami use the studio as an alchemical laboratory, delving into mixing and mastering tools to explore, process and transform environmental sound. In their hands, the digital artifacts of that process are as intrinsic to the results as the source material they have deconstructed. They sum it up succinctly. “Our goal is to focus on acoustic experiments. No more and no less.”

Here are some more that stuck with me in no particular order:

Rhodri Davies – Telyn Rawn (Amgen Records)

Judith Wegmann – Le Souffle Du Temps II - Reflexion (ezz-thetics)

Clara de Asís & Mara Winter – Repetition of the same dream (Another Timbre)

Takuji Naka/Tim Olive – Minouragatake (Notice Recordings)

Magnus Granberg – Come Down to Earth Where Sorrow Dwelleth –Revised version for sho, koto, prepared piano and electronics (Ftarri)

Tasting Menu – Mueller Tunnel (Full Spectrum Records)

Simon H. Fell & Mark Wastell – Virtual Company (Confront)

Xavier Charles & Bertrand Gauguet – Spectre (akousis)

Pierre-Antoine Badaroux, Seymour Wright, Jean-Luc Guionnet – Solos (Remote Resonator)

Archival Releases and Reissues

Reissues continued to pour out from record labels. Some applied studio wizardry to revive and restore previously issued material and others dug out material from the vaults that rightfully deserves to be heard. But with touring opportunities gone, the ability to collaborate in person evaporated and the monthly boon of Bandcamp Fridays, many artists also took the opportunity to dig in to their personal vaults.

Gentle Fire – Explorations (1970-1973) (Paradigm Discs)

Explorations (1970 - 1973) by Gentle Fire

This one just hit in December but quickly shot to the top of my listening pile. Working in London in the early 70s, this little-known quintet of electro-acoustic pioneers worked at the edges of composition and improvisation, putting out a single, now impossible-to-find, LP performing graphic scores of by John Cage, Earle Brown and Christian Wolff (which, in itself deserves a reissue.) If they hit listeners’ radar at all, it was due to the fact that Hugh Davies was part of the group. This 3-CD box of previously unissued material is comprised of one disc of works by Wolff, Stockhausen, Brown, Cage and Ichiyanagi, another of their own compositions and a final disc capturing an extended improvisation. Five decades later, this stuff is still essential listening.

Rhodri Davies – Archif Series (self-released)

Archif #13: BMIC 17/09/1997 by IST

Currently at number 28 and counting, Davies dug in to his archives and unearthed a passel of gems, documenting live performances and studio experiments from 1995 through 2000. From solos to various group sessions, this is all music well worth spending time with. Particularly welcome are two releases by IST (Davies, Mark Wastell, and Simon H. Fell) and one by Assumed Possibilities (Davies, Wastell, Chris Burn and Phil Durrant). One hopes there is more to be unearthed.

Cor Fuhler Conundrom label

SLEE by Cor Fuhler

The sudden passing of Cor Fuhler was a tough one in a tough year. Whether as a pianist, instrument inventor or ensemble leader, Fuhler was always bristling with ideas. As part of a group effort, the discography of his Conundrom label is now available on Bandcamp with proceeds going to his estate.

Here are some others of note in no particular order:

Albert Ayler reissue series (ezz-thetics)

Phillip Wachsmann – Writing In Water (Corbett vs. Dempsey)

Charles Mingus – @ Bremen 1964 & 1975 (Sunnyside)

Voice Crack – Glasgow 20/11/1999 (scatter)

John Butcher – On Being Observed (Weight of Wax)

Derek Bailey and Mototeru Takagi – Live at FarOut, Atsugi 1987 (NoBusiness Records)

Cecil Taylor and Tony Oxley – Birdland, Neuburg 2011 (Fundacja Słuchaj)

5 notes · View notes

call-me-rei · 3 years

Text

Chapter 29

“I hear voices in my head; they say leave you alone.”

---

I woke up the next afternoon to a doctor checking my vitals. She smiled at me when she noticed my eyes were open.

“Hello Kellin; I’m Doctor Smith. How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy,” I answered.

“That’s probably the anesthesia wearing off. If it continues past an hour call a nurse and we’ll get you checked out.” I nodded. “The surgery went well. We got in and reconnected the bone that broke. Let’s just make sure your nerves are still in tact.”

She had me wiggle my fingers and make and release a fist. She smiled once I completed her little tasks.

“Wonderful, you did great! I’ll be back later to set your arm up in a stronger cast. Until then, take it easy.” I assured her I would, then she left.

It was incredibly lonely in that room after she was gone. I didn’t have my phone; Rick broke it when he attacked me. I couldn’t call or text anyone, not that I really wanted to. The only other person in the world who knew I was in that room was Vic and he was the person I wanted to talk to most.

I groaned when I thought about him. I was still reeling from yesterday’s events. It was amazing how he flipped the switch the way he did. One minute he was sweet and comforting and the next he pushed me away like I was nothing. I still didn’t know why, not that he would tell me anyway. That just left me wondering what I did wrong.

I didn’t have much more time to worry because the door opened again. I held my breath, hoping it was him. My face dropped when I saw it wasn’t.

“Well damn, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I was just hoping for someone else.”

“I could tell,” Lynn said with a chuckle. I gestured her over to the chair next to my bed.

“What brings you here, Gunn?”

“Well, you weren’t at school yesterday or today, and you didn’t answer my texts. I went by your house and saw all the broken windows. I talked to a neighbor and they said you and your mom were here.”

I sighed. It was bad enough that our neighbors knew about what happened but now that information was getting around. It wouldn’t be long before it got to the school. I started to dread having to go back to that place.

“So what happened at your house? How’d you end up here?”

I let out a small groan before sucking it up and biting the bullet. I told Lynn the story, including the FaceTime with Vic which led him to calling the cops. It was hard to relive all the events that transpired four days ago, but Lynn stayed silent as I went through a rollercoaster of emotions. I had tears streaming down my face when I was done.

“I’m so sorry, Kells,” she said in a hushed tone. She held my hand after she got me some tissues.

“Thanks,” I murmured. “I’m just glad Mom and I are alive.”

She nodded. “Me too. Thank God you and Vic were talking or else who knows what would’ve happened.”

I sighed at the mention of him. “Yeah.”

She noticed my change in mood and changed the subject. “So has anyone else come to visit or have you been here alone all this time?” I gulped. So much for not wanting to think about you-know-who.

Lynn scowled at my expression. “Okay, what’s up?” she asked. I sighed. I knew I couldn’t get out of telling her about it. I once again spilled my guts.

“He rejected me,” I said quietly.

“Vic did?” I nodded. “How?”

I focused my eyes on my fingers playing with a loose thread on the blanket that was over me. That was easier than looking at her when I spoke. “Vic apparently was with me for the two days I was passed out.”

She beamed. “Oh my gosh! That’s so cute!” Her smiled dropped when she noticed the look on my face. “It’s not cute?”

“No, it is, but what happened after isn’t.” She nodded, urging me to continue.

“I woke up and everting was fine. We were talking and he caught me up on everything that happened. We were doing okay. Then I went to hold his hand and he moved away. And then he left the room when the doctor came. When he came back he packed up his stuff and left. He said he didn’t know if he’d come back and see me. He was being so cold.” I sniffed. I didn’t know I’d be that upset about it, but there I was. My heart was breaking at the idea that I made him leave.

“Oh Kells.”

“I’m sure he saw me in this bed all hurt and decided I wasn’t worth his time anymore. I don’t really blame him.” I mumbled the last part, but Lynn still heard me.

“Don’t you dare say that! It’s his loss, not yours.” I nodded, but not to show her I believed her.

“Besides,” she continued, “he was here for two days. He was the one who called the cops and went to your house to check on you. He stayed by your side when you were unconscious and when you went into surgery. Hell, I’m sure he would’ve stayed longer if you were still out cold.”

“Then why’d he push me away?”

Lynn chewed on her lip in thought. I watched her; her brow furrowed as she concentrated on whatever was going through her head. “You said he left when the doctor came in?” I nodded. She hummed. “That’s strange. He was here this whole time and then he left? What happened before the doc came in?”

I thought back. “He was playing with my fingers and I went to hold his hand. Then the door opened and he took his hand away.” I sighed. It still wasn’t fun talking about it. Why did she insist on talking about it?

Another hum came from Lynn’s pursed lips. “Kellin…,” she trailed off. I tilted my head to the side to tell her to continue. “Do you…know if Vic is…” She paused.

“Is what?” I asked after too many moments of silence.

“Out?” I furrowed my brows. “Okay, listen,” she started, “it would make sense that he took his hand away when someone walked in. Maybe he’s not out yet and isn’t comfortable showing that he’s attracted to guys. Either that or he hates PDA.”

“That can’t be right,” I muttered to myself.

“It would make sense. I mean, he’s only affectionate with you when you guys are alone. That date he took you on was somewhere that no other person would think to go, maybe because he didn’t want to get caught. I’m not trying to say that he’s ashamed of you, but…”

I nodded in understanding. Could Vic still be in the closet? I tried piecing together everything I’d heard about him since I started school. Lynn and the others had told me various things about various girls. He was a player, but maybe that was a cover-up?

“Wait!” I exclaimed when I remembered a rumor I’d heard. “You told me there might’ve been something with Alex.”

Lynn chewed on her lip in thought. “Oh yeah, I did.”

“So maybe that means he is out?”

“Well…” Her eyes were fixed forward, almost gazing off.

“Gunn?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, I was just thinking.” I hummed. “I know I told you there was a rumor about him and Alex, but he shut that down really quickly. Like, the speed of light quickly. All the other rumors about the different girls have been going around our school for years. He’s not interested in stopping those.”

I didn’t know what she was getting at. “Meaning?”

“This is just a hunch, but I think that he stopped those Alex rumors to keep everyone from finding out that he likes guys. I’m not sure; he just seems like the type of guy who would do something like that.”

I considered what she was saying and went through my moments with Vic. Our date and our little moments before it. The sweetest moments with him did always happen when no one was around. When people were around he was so dismissive. I always assumed it was because he wanted to keep up his reputation. Well, maybe I wasn’t too far off with that thought.

“I didn’t mean to put all that on you like that,” Lynn spoke. Her voice brought me out of my thoughts.

“You’re okay. What you said kinda makes sense.”

“Yeah, well I’ve wondered about it since you first told me he was flirting with you. “

Leave it to Lynn to look out for me. I smiled.

Lynn stayed for a couple more hours. She even ordered us burgers since hospital food was less than ideal. We talked about what was happening at school and made plans to hang out outside of the hospital once I was discharged.

Before she left she offered to get me some things from my house. I jokingly asked if she could take my phone to the Apple store after school and get it fixed. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came up tomorrow with it repaired. That girl had my back.

***

My mom came to my room to visit the next morning. I was happy to see that she was able to walk on her own. I studied her face when she walked in. She was bruised and bandaged, but definitely better than I was. It appeared that Rick took most - if not all - of his anger out on me. Since she was able to walk without aid and had been stable since she got to the hospital, she was getting discharged.

“I’m kinda jealous you get to leave before me.”

“Well that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been there.” I blushed.

“I was just trying to protect you,” I mumbled. She put her hand on my arm.

“I appreciate that, Kellin, but I’m supposed to be the one protecting you. No seventeen-year-old should feel the need to jump in and get attacked.”

“You always told me we were a team. Well, on a team you look out for your teammates; you’ve got their back.”

She sighed. “I just hate that I put you in this position.” She started straightening the sheets on my bed.

“Hey, you loved the guy. I can’t blame you for that. Next time though, I’ll be doing a background check. We’re not gonna do this again.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. We chatted for a little more before she left. She asked if my friends had communicated with me or had come by. Of course, I let her know Lynn did and was planning to come back again, but I left Vic out of the conversation. If what Lynn said was true then I was sure he wouldn’t want me telling my mon he was gay.

Lynn came by again before Mom left. She had actually gone by the house and picked me up some clothes, my charger, and headphones. She also went and got my phone fixed. She was officially the best best friend I could’ve asked for.

Lynn and I sat and talked for a couple hours. We FaceTimed the gang and had some laughs. They were a good distraction from everything.

Unfortunately, Lynn had to leave all too soon. I stayed alone in my room, this time with a phone for entertainment. I thought about texting my friends, but I had just video chatted with them. I didn’t want to seem too needy. Plus, there was someone else I wanted to talk to more.

Should I do it? No, right? He seemed like he needed his space. But still, everything that Lynn had suggested was still going around in my obsessive thoughts, and I knew they wouldn’t leave until I got some answers.

So I texted him.

I really need you to come by tomorrow. Please?

I didn’t get a response that night or the next morning. Or for the rest of that week.

#Lauren Sanderson - Voices #Playlist Love #Kellic #Kellic fanfiction #Kellic fanfic #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Pierce The Veil fanfiction #Pierce The Veil fanfic #Vic Fuentes #Kellin Quinn

1 note · View note

allyvampirelass29 · 4 years

Text

Taste the Blade

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

"Time to introduce a gun of sorts to our little KNIFE fight!!!!!!!"

Charlie's voice rasped, lethal with his fury, his entire body seething, simmering, boiling over with his hatred, the kind of dark emotion that could kill by pure force of will.

"Reject ME, will you!? You dare REJECT ME, you scheming, ruined WRETCH!?"

Charlie screamed out the open barn door, wishing he could see that haughty little harlot shudder. I'm going to make you squirm, Victoria, just not in the way either of us would like....... His breathing was heavy, his lip snarled as he took that accursed bike in his hands, his long nails biting into the rubber handlebars, the same way they'd bitten into her cheek. That's right, I know you can feel it, Girl, let your eye bleed, and know it's ME, me REFUSING you, taking your own knife, and raising its blade against YOU!!!!

He roughly hauled it out onto the open floor, hurting it like it was a living thing that Vic loved, and he thrust the heel of his palm in vicious assault, smashing the headlight.

As if in counter, as if she could physically sense the abuse, impossibly hear his furious slurs, Charlie's knee shattered on contact, Vic's wielded fire poker connecting with it, as it smashed into the right front fender of The Wraith. He howled as it gave out beneath him, forced to kneel, his mouth open and screaming.

"YOU HATEFUL BITCH!!!!!!"

Charlie tried to stand, and then gritted his teeth, jerking his head to the side in anguish, as his eardrum popped open, shooting blood, while simultaneously, Vic lopped off one of The Wraith's side mirrors.

"DAMN IT, RUN HER DOWN, DRIVE, DO NOT LET HER GET AWAY!!!!!"

He yelled even louder, barely able to make out his own screams, the hearing in his left ear nearly gone. He struggled to stand, reaching for that infernal bike to steady himself, when he cringed with the scraping, first across the shiny top of The Wraith, and then across his own scalp, and he cursed through his teeth, snarling, finally able to get a firm grip on the damned thing, right as he felt the sharp tip of the poker slam into the back of his head. Vic pounded the top of The Wraith with one final blow, knocking him out, and Charlie dropped, hitting the side of his head with almost as much force, as it met with the concrete of the barn floor.

"CHARLIE!?!? CHARLIE, OH MY GOD!!!!! CHARLIE, PLEASE WAKE UP, OH GOD!!!!!!"

His vision was still dark around the edges, slowly opening his black eyes, drawn from the oblivion by a voice. Her voice. Ally's tearful screams echoed dreamily through his mind, muffled, the sound fuzzy like an old am radio. The breath he drew was sharp, more puncture to his lungs than aid, his temple throbbing, everything a haze of onslaught pain, pretty pinned up curls, and morose green eyes. His name on her lips, and he watched her mouth it, watched it take shape, thankful she had come now, and not however many minutes previous........ He groaned, trying to lift his head, feeling for his injured ear, blood staining his fingertips. She could never know.......

She wouldn't have understood. She would have hated him, blamed him for the kiss, when the fault was entirely Victoria's. She tempts me. Oh how she tempts me, tempts my anger, my hatred. I didn't have a choice, oh that infuriating female! She had to be dealt with....... one method at a time.

Charlie cried out as Ally delicately laid him in the lap of her full skirts, accidently moving his shattered knee, and she sobbed, cradling his head in her palms, her fingers trembling, smoothing her thumb over his good cheek, before reaching for something behind her.

Charlie gasped, his breath escaping with his relief, and there was a loud hiss as the ball of snow pressed into his singed cheek, the badly burnt flesh meeting with the frozen cold.

She held it there, stroking his forehead to soothe him, his lip trembled, and he watched, mystified as she fretted and fussed over him. Well, well, well, look who loves her monstrous husband after all........ That's what she'd called him, that's what they'd all called him. Jo, Vic, not to mention his shrew of a first wife, and yet when Ally had said it, it'd had a much different effect than any of the others. It...... excited him. Because he knew...... that even though his true nature had been revealed, and she knew what he was, what he had done, he could feel it. Her still wanting him. Willing to survive the monster if it gifted her the man.

"Charlie........ Charlie, I'm so sorry, W-What happened!?"

"What do you think happened, My Dear? Vic! Damn it! Vic McQueen happened!"

Charlie growled, nostrils flaring, but something inside him softened as he felt her delicate hand stroking his mussed coif, the other settling against his chest. She went to work unbuttoning the collar of his fine dress shirt, and he watched how nimbly her fingers moved before they froze on one of his pearl buttons, uncovering the diagonal bruise, a pained murmur escaping her lips. He'd never had this before....... This fuss and female concern, this womanly need to care for him, ease his suffering. His own mother could not have been more apathetic to his boyhood scraped knees, when he'd come to her crying, and she'd always cursed his softness, demanding he get tougher. I did just that, now, didn't I, Mummy? Charles scoffed calling that callous, self-obsessed strumpet the ridiculous moniker she could never deserve. But as this beautiful girl held his face, sobbing, lamenting his afflictions, he didn't feel tough at all. He felt weak to her touch, very much the same frightened little boy who'd lived for centuries, starved of the affection that he was so afraid to want.

"Vic....... VIC did THIS to YOU!? I don't understand! The truce! You granted her clemency, spared her from the flame at my behest!"

"Yes, I allowed you to move me to mercy, when I knew the truce was laughable at best. I tried so hard to tell you, to warn you of her scheming treachery. Vic McQueen is NOT your friend. However, you're very persuasive....... especially in that dress."

He watched the colour flit across her pale face, and he admired her royal blue taffeta sleeves, and blue silk bodice, her corset making her figure all the more slender and elegant, a long flowing crimson cloak tied around her snow white neck. Her Coronation Gown. He'd matched the colours to his own attire, crafted every stitch, making sure it was the perfect complement, and still had to practically force her into it come Coronation Day. The day Christmasland was motherless no more. Look at you now, Mrs. Manx......... Wearing it freely, of your own volition, looking every bit like the queen I always knew you'd be........

"How could she break the truce in this most heinous fashion, attack you in stealth, unprovoked, mar My Charlie's beautiful face!?"

Ally sobbed again, desolate, and his long fingernails grazed an escaped curl, as he reached up to brush her tears from her face. Such sadness, such...... tender care, and yet there were the slightest hissing undertones of anger that were utterly delectable. He wanted to stoke them, start a fire. Time to show Vic McQueen just how unshakable our love REALLY is, Ally. You're going to punish her, because you love me........

"Am I then, still........ Your Charlie?"

More silent tears streamed down her heartbroken face, and she held his good cheek in her palm, leaving the slightest whisper of a kiss on his burnt one, taking pains not to hurt him.

"Of course........ Oh Charles, how can you doubt me?"

"How can I not? When you refuse to see Vic McQueen for the wickedness, the vulgarity, the menace that she is? That curse of a girl threatens our home, our perfect world, and still you would seek to save HER from me!? And yet, am I not the one that lays bleeding?"

Ally cried harder, covering her mouth and hanging her lovely head, ashamed. "It is true, Charles, I found your hatred, your ire for this teenage girl unnatural, and was most disturbed by it, by how you forced my hand to bring forth her near demise....... But now the veil has been lifted, and I see through her, appalled by these horrors she has inflicted upon you! Dear Sir, you were just in your fervor, your tirade against her. I am a fool, for this, your brutalized state, is my own folly."

Charles felt her hug him to her chest, and he relaxed his cheek against her corseted breast, his heart trembling, feeling the peek of delicate skin, the warm, womanly softness beneath her bodice. He hugged her body back, nestling into the curve, the pain incredulously dulled.

"Heavens no, Sweet, Sweet, Wife......" His nostrils flared as he breathed in the teasing scent of her skin, closing his eyes. "All is good and lovely in your eyes, so quick to believe the best in all of us, even when you've seen the worst. I can see now how nefarious and under-handed my zeal must have seemed to you."

"Please....... Please forgive me, Charles?"

"T'was not your hand that wrote this evil....... but perhaps, it might just be the deliverer from it......."

He pressed his lips into the swell of her sensitive skin and whether it was from his words or his amourous attentions, she shivered. He gazed up at her, his eyes piercing.

"Of course, Charles, you need only ask! I want only to soothe you, act as balm, say the word, and it is yours, any comfort that my hands may bring."

Charlie smiled, but his dark eyes were all mischief. Just your hands, My Sweet? How could you deny me all the other comforts and fleshly pleasures your body so obviously possesses? Ohhhhhh I would give up Christmas itself, and all of its ornamented wonders, if I could lay forever pillowed upon the curve of such a blossoming breast....... Alas, My Bride, it is not comfort I seek from these artful hands, but rather your most crushing destruction and revenge. He brushed his cheek against her body, as she cradled him in her arms, her legs tucked under her, so very ladylike, so desperate to do penance for her imagined crimes, aching so to please him, begging now, for what she had fought so hard against.

"I must confess......... My Lady, there is something, a gesture, that would prove your love, and inspire my generous forgiveness."

Ally beamed at him, her tears quieted, leaning down over him, wanting his lips, and he took hers graciously.

"Anything. Charles........ Anything." She whispered, and, as much as he lamented pulling away from this most pleasing position, he struggled to sit upright, the malignant request tasting delectable on his tongue.

"I would feel much assuaged........ if you might write me a little something......."

Ally shrank back with a gasp, terrified, shaking her head as he procured one long, slender, iron tipped black pen, emblazoned with a black rose and thorns, from the silk lining of his chauffer's coat.

"You would CARRY that instrument of evil on your person!? Charles, NO....... Please.....

"Take it." He said forcefully, his eyes flashing with obsidian fire.

"No, I can't- I beg you, My Darling, Anything else!"

"Do you love me, Allyssa?" He said softer, reaching to touch her perfectly pinned curls, fingering them with fondness, his eyes focusing on her unflinchingly.

"Yes- With all my heart." She whispered tremulous, and he held it out closer to her, watching her eye it with all the fear and reverence it deserved.

"Good girl. If you love me, you'll take the pen, raise your knife against your husband's attacker, and let the words BURN."

Ally bit her lip, and he moved closer, grazing the pen up and down her cheek, before using it's handle to turn her head to the side, feeling her recoil as it touched her skin, and he leaned in so that his lips just barely grazed her cheek as he spoke.

"Why do you hesitate to avenge me?"

"Oh Charles....... I assure you, my hesitation is not for her sake. I curse Victoria for what she's done to you, how she's hurt you......"

"It pains me not to be as pretty for you......." He whispered softly, easing up on the pressure of the pen, brushing his nose against the side of her head, smelling her hair deeply.

"You're still pretty........ So pretty, Charles." She whispered, closing her eyes with a breathy murmur, so affected, and Charles could feel it happening, her surrendering her defenses.

"How do you feel....... When you see me like this, the man you love, attacked, abused, used so spitefully? He breathed each word, feeling his own enthrallment rise. It was one thing to force her hand, as she'd so eloquently put it, but for her to raise it willingly for him, want to author Victoria's pain, ohhhhh that was an arousal he could scarce wait for. Let's play with fire, Mrs. Manx.

Ally paused, and he could taste something in her hesitation, something she didn't want to admit, even to herself.

"I feel........ Furious. I feel........something I've never felt before, Charles. Rage?"

"Good, ohhhh yes. Let the anger rise with the fire of your words, and take up the pen!!! Pour your revenge into the rhyme until it consumes you."

Ally cried, angry tears this time, frustrated, torn between her paralyzing fear of her duplicitous gift, and this strange new desperation to repay Vic's cruelty in full, the heat burning though her, warping her mind. Hate bourne of Love. The most dangerous kind.

"Curse you, Vic McQueen." She shuddered with the words, how vile they sounded, come from her own mouth, which before today, had only reaped kindness.

"Say it again. Louder." He instructed, slowly helping her to her feet, the cartilage reforming in his knee, rapidly healing. It's about damn time, Bing.

"Curse you, Vic McQueen!!!!" Ally hissed, her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched, the sound biting, Charles' poor face stoking that tamped down fire.

"Scream it." Charlie demanded, his face manic, eyes intense, pupils dilated, everything returned to full volume, a new ear drum growing, as Bing Partridge reaffixed the side mirror.

"I want to hear you scream......."

Ally felt her hands shake, her rage once kindled, becoming a wildfire, escaping through the door that Charlie had somehow opened, feeding on the rush of oxygen, and in that moment all she could think about was making Vic McQueen scream.

"CURSE YOU, VIC MCQUEEN!!!!!! You DARE to lay a hand on MY husband, I will SHATTER you!!!!!" Ally didn't recognize her own voice, feeling outside of her body, and Charlie Manx reveled in it, his nerves trembling with the shrill danger of the sound.

"Take the pen, and DO it........ AVENGE Me. He rasped, and he fell even more in love with her, as she furiously snatched it out of his hand. Being led by something else now, not Charlie, not her own sound mind, but something he'd created in her, something he'd hidden within, unbeknownst to her, her love for him, twisting into something dark.

She surprised herself, having sworn she would NEVER do it again, never raise those HELLISH words against anyone else, but she HATED that horrid girl for hurting him, and she knew Charlie was right........ Vic McQueen had to be punished.

"Tell me....... Tell me what to do......." She shuddered again, more angry than scared, but this time it was not just fear of her knife, or Charlie's malevolent influence, it was fear purely of herself.

Charlie, his eyes screaming murder, strode over to the blazing red motorcycle that Vic McQueen loved more than anything in this world, the motorcycle that meant her freedom. He picked it up, as if it weighed nothing, and roughly set it down before Ally, his voice as cold as ice.

"Oh Mrs. Manx........ I think you know exactly what to do. Get...... Creative."

She shivered as he circled behind her, her pen poised in her quivering fingers, the sharp tip of her knife pointed at the motorcycle that had caused all this trouble, this needless suffering.

Charlie placed his hands on either of her sides, taking her into his arms, turning his nose into her cheek, his voice proud and coaxing.

"Write. Write with your fire....... and my ice."

She shook even more as he let her go, the fury of words bursting from her lips, as if she couldn't control them, scribbling frantically, possessed by her revenge, the air itself igniting as she wrote, but Charlie's thrill came in knowing that she was very much in control, his pretty puppet cut loose of her strings, and it was even more crazed physical passion than he'd ever dreamed, hanging onto her every smouldering word, having never loved her more than this moment, when she embraced and became what she had denied herself to be for so long. Powerful.

"VICTORIA MCQUEEN HEAR MY SCREAM YOU, VENOM! POISON TO MY CHARLIE VENGEANCE IS MY DESTINY YOU HATE THAT I LOVE HURT WHAT I ACHE FOR NOW IT'S MY TURN TO TAKE BLADE TO THIS THAT YOU ADORE RED CHARIOT THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE DELIVERED YOU TO THIS ACT MY GREATEST FEAR OH THIS MENACE ON TWO WHEELS FREEZE NOW BLOOD RED METAL TASTE THE BLADE TASTE THE ICE CRACK AND BREAK LIKEWISE UNTIL BY FIRE YOU SUFFER TWICE

Charlie's laugh was rollicking and wicked, watching hungrily as Vic's bike froze over, crystallizing, cracking and breaking apart, as if introduced to a supernatural cold, the handlebars and axles brittle, snapping off, the tires melting, the red paint peeling like blood, as the fire met the ice, and the two finished Big Red off in their drastic extremes.

Ally collapsed with the intensity of the creative force ripping through her, the barn filled with her scorching words, and Charles rushed to catch her, the pen falling from her ink stained fingers.

He plucked both it and her up, carrying her inanimate form, cradled in his arms to the open door, and he felt a slight sting as his face began to heal itself, his former handsomeness returned in the fiercest fashion. Burning words became white smoke, and he looked back over his shoulder at his wife's good work with a devilish smirk.

"Bang. Bang."

#nos4a2 #charlie manx x oc #vic mcqueen #charlie manx #the wraith #christmasland #paradise for the lost #paranormal romance

17 notes · View notes

chierushi · 4 years

Text

REVIEW: Ang Huling El Bimbo The Musical

TRIGGER WARNING. This should be watched with caution as it contains graphic violence. Spoilers also ahead, so skip if you haven't seen it yet.

It started with a cassette tape being played, which may state that the plot is a creative take solely on the song title. Most Filipinos grew up listening to Eraserheads, both young and old. We have our own stories to be reminded of whenever we hear any of their tracks. I think this notion played a major part to lure the people to see the play. It simply screams nostalgia, with a promise of another tale to take away.

Three friends from college presently pursuing successful but separate lives were brought together to be questioned by the police due to the death of a girl who’re once very close to them. The unfortunate event forces them to deal with their haunting past that they have been putting on hold for years and trying to escape from. The characters and scenes will be represented along with the songs from Eraserheads.

Emman: “Both of you tama na! Wala na kong pakialam kung ano man ‘yang bagahe niyo [o] ano man ‘yang gimik niyo. Ang klaro sakin, kailangan na natin ‘tong gawin: tayong tatlo, sama-sama, for once and for all. Isipin niyo na lang, panahon na. ‘Di ba? Kailangan na.“

Whether things in our life have closure or not, every one of it, every person we know, will affect us one way or another. From here, it was clearly presented that they were running from something, but the details of it was yet to unfold. Slowly, we were brought back to university life of these men. We are treated with short scenes that may or may not have happened to us from that era of our lives, when everything sounds hopeful. All opportunities seemed close and within reach, hence the symbolism of them raising up their hands toward heavens, toward their dreams.

Hector: “Alam mo, tsong, ngayong nandito ka na, lahat magbabago: pananaw mo, kilos mo, pati punto mo.”

Anthony: “Oo nga! Kasi alam mo, Emman, for the first time, we are finally and totally free. Ayan na oh.”

Emman: “Kahit saan ka pumunta, may koneksyon ka pa rin. Sa pamilya mo. Sa bayan mo.”

I particularly love the scene where Anthony (played by Phi Palmos) in the midst of his peers’ blossoming lovelives, remained positive and said, “Eh yung crush ko, malapit na kong...pansinin.” After that, his friends joined him in his enthusiasm.

Pare Ko depicts a man in love, in shambles, and in need of advice. It was shown as a group of (mainly) men doing military drills, an emphasis on masculinity of the song. Nothing else speaks men better than being a soldier. When Anthony sang the bridge, for a moment, we are taken to the vulnerable side of being infatuated, something we rarely see with men. We remember that being in love is a beautiful place, no matter how crazy it gets. From their civil military training, through Officer Banlaoi, the three men got to meet and befriend Joy.

One major flaw of hers was she considered every man her savior. This could be the reason why she didn’t take Banlaoi’s forwardness and acts of service as a red flag, and continued to rely on him even at her expense. “Hanap ko lang naman, ‘Tiyang, katapat at katuwang,” she told ‘Tiyang Dely. “’Yon lang naman pangarap ko sa buhay e: ang makahanap ng magiging mabait sakin,” she told Hector, “Di mo maiintindihan ‘yon kasi ang dami niyong pangarap. Ang dami niyong kayang gawin. Nakakapag-aral kayo. May kinabukasan kayo. Kaya niyong abutin ang lahat. E ako?” As we go along, she will attempt to further her dreams, but her low self-esteem stayed with her. Her friendship with the trio may have ushered her to believe more, but that’s the farthest she got. For her, she’ll never be capable of anything. She ended this dialogue with “Ayoko nang umuwi ng probinsya...habang buhay na lang ako aasa,” a foreshadow of her decision to leave ‘Tiyang Dely alone to go back home in the province.

Andre: “Joy, walang ganoon. Walang tinutulungan lang ng ganoon-ganoon. Palaging may kapalit ‘yon.”

Life is never always fancy. When they sang Wag Kang Matakot to each other, it gave us an assurance that even when matters go downhill, there’s no need to afraid. When the going gets tough, we go through it together.

Finally, we get to the graduation. Their getting in and getting out of the university is freedom. Once again, they raise up their hands, reminding themselves of the goals they are now nearer to than they were before. They invite Joy to Antipolo and see the overlooking view, to bid their farewells to her. This should’ve been a good memory. Graduation should’ve been the symbol of their independence. The horrendous events that transpired after incarcerated them forever, still able to achieve but merely surviving, never at peace.

There was a warning at the beginning of the stream but I guess I didn’t pay attention to it, or maybe it didn’t provided the right amount of caution to its viewers. The rape scene got me immobilized to my seat. It was hard for me to re-watch the whole musical to compose a more elaborate review, especially this scene. I’m actually stalling now, repeatedly bringing to mind that they are professional actors and this is fiction. It’s tempting to mute, but it’s going to be unfair to not see the entirety of it. To play Ang Huling El Bimbo here, while being the better verdict is nonetheless unsettling.

Just as perplexing is the graduation ceremony. Everyone is wearing purple instead of the usual black. The color reminded me of death. Joy bringing garlands to them further echoes this, seeing that this similarly depicts a wake. Another beautifully haunting is them singing With A Smile in various rhythms. 'TIyang Dely was sent back home to province due to bankrupt. She thought she’ll be with Joy, but got fooled by her. Joy held on more to Banlaoi as his sole rescuer after being abandoned by her friends.

‘Tiyang Dely: “Kaya nga kung kaya. Anong kapalit?”

How can they leave their friend just like that? They are traumatized, too, but they’re not the ones who got raped. They kept refusing to talk to her even after years have passed and it’s Joy who kept reaching them out. I understand if they’re blaming themselves for what happened. They wanted to ease their guilt, but to be selfish in this situation is unacceptable. It angered me when the adult Anthony said, “There are just some things you don’t want to go back to, and people you don’t need to remember,” as if that was like any other heartbreak to move on about.

Anthony: “Puta, habang buhay nating dadalhin ‘to e.”

Hector: “Kaya ni Joy ‘yan.”

Emman: “Gago, so balewala na lang?”

Hector: “Ako nang bahala. Kakausapin ko si Joy.”

Emman: “Anong magagawa ‘non?”

Hector: “Sasabihin ko sa kanya na kaya niya ‘to.”

Emman: “E gago ka pala talaga e.”

When Banlaoi pointed a gun at her, she gasped with fear, hands shaking. He then told her, “Ingat ka.” This is the only time that he poised to end her life. She was able to tolerate all the abuses and be under this appalling man as long as he keeps her and her family alive. She thought that she’s still in control, but his gesture said otherwise. This puts her into panic and called Emman, Hector, and Anthony one last time. Got caught in the midst of their personal predicaments, they all cut the phone call, saying they have problems of their own too and don’t need more from other people. While the men were struggling to maintain their posh lives, Joy was fighting for her life.

Hector: “Pag tumatawag siya, di ko alam anong isusumbat niya. I mean, you can’t forget these things.”

Contrary to their belief, the reason why she kept bugging them is because she’s trying to tell them that she’s alright. and they need to worry no more. She doesn’t want them to be victims of the past anymore.

‘Tiyang Dely: “Ni minsan, hindi niya kayo sinisi sa nangyari sa kanya.”

After the news of Joy’s death, they all gathered at the morgue. Banlaoi tried to be of help by giving them money, but ‘Tiyang Dely strongly refused, getting Ligaya at her back and out of his sight. What followed was Hector telling her, “Kami na po bahala sa lahat ng gastos,” stupidly missing the hint earlier. This made ‘Tiyang Dely cry (I mean, come on, dude still hasn’t learned his lesson) saying, “Ganoon na lang ano?”

Ligaya, after mourning for her mother’s death, stopped her tears flowing before facing Anthony, Emman, and Hector. She conversed as if she knows them too well, while they don’t know her at all. The three men promised to take care of her. They lay Joy to her final rest along with their grievances of the past. If only they faced the monster under their beds a little bit earlier, they could’ve gotten it out completely. The guilt may now be bearable, but the fact that they could’ve saved not just Ligaya but also Joy is the hard truth they will be carrying for the rest of the lives.

Awful things aside, Ligaya wearing white signifies hope. She is her mother without the burdens of her past. The ending brings back Hector’s car with their young selves reaching out to heavens, reaching out to their dreams. They are joined atop the car with Joy, who’s noticeably not raising her hands. Ligaya is now with them, dancing like her mother once was.

Other things worth mentioning:

Tindahan ni Aling Nena performance, specifically Anthony’s line “shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrush, noodles...yun lang.”

The not-so-subtle rally for free education in the Pare Ko performance.

Yes. Phi Palmos as Anthony. That’s it. Period.

Gab Pangilinan’s portrayal of Joy is superb! Her vocals is breathtaking. From the time she sang Ligaya, I looked forward to her every appearance. Her transformation from being bubbly to troubled soul after one scene is impressive.

Vic Robinson’s (Andrei) and Joy’s mash-up of Ligaya and Tama Na, then ‘Tiyang Dely enters, singing “Ganiyan ma-inlab”.

Wishing Wells as Emman’s love letter to his girlfriend

Menchu Yulo, who played the adult Joy, didn’t exude distress as Gab Pangilinan had done, and made Joy’s struggles less believable.

Some people have expressed disappointment due to its lack of solution on the pressing social issues. In my opinion, I think it wasn't meant to give an answer. Like any work of art, it made a statement. It just happened that what it said was disturbing. However, it is up to us, who lives in the reality of these characters, to do better accordingly.

We should all see AHEBTM in theaters since some parts aren’t focused due to camera work. I hope that once the pandemic ends, they’ll give this musical another chance on stage.

#ChierushiReviews #anghulingelbimbo #eraserheads #aheb #ahebtm #anghulingelbimbothemusical

4 notes · View notes

wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years

Text

2010s Art: Music, Games, and TV

So I love all forms of art. It may not seem like it since I tend to stick mainly to movies, with the odd cartoon or video game thrown in, but that’s really because movies are more my thing due to not being massive time investments. Like, don’t get me wrong, I gamed, I watched TV, I listened to music, but it was a lot more casual than my deep dive into becoming a major cinephile.

With games and TV, it was mostly issues of money and time respectively. I have a few consoles, mostly Nintendo and Sony ones, and my wife helped me experience Xbox games, but I just don’t have the money needed to experience every good game that comes out. With TV, the time investment is the biggest roadblock, especially when all the best shows have hour-long episodes these days. With movies, I just have to spend 90 minutes to two hours on average; for TV, it’s countless hours I could be watching movies. As for music… well, I listened to a lot, I just don’t feel totally qualified to properly rank and list songs and albums.

So instead of the big decade-spanning list for movies that I’m doing, I’m going to go over some things I enjoyed from the past decade and maybe a few things I didn’t in music, TV, and video games. Here’s a little guide so you know what stuff is something I consider one of my absolute favorites in any given medium - if it’s from this decade, it will be in bold, and if it’s from a previous decade but I experienced it this decade, it will be underlined.

Television

I figured I’d get this out of the way first since it’s the medium I have the least experience with. Let me put it this way: I have seen only one season of Game of Thrones, the first one (and by all accounts I dodged a bullet by dropping that show). I also had the misfortune of jumping in to The Walking Dead right as it was gearing up for its abysmal second season, which turned me off that and led to me only watching an episode here or there.

I had better luck watching live action shows on streaming. I managed to get through almost all of Pretty Little Liars on Netflix, which was a chore in and of itself; it’s a good show, but boy could it ever get arbitrary and frustrating. Speaking of Netflix, I think it goes without saying that Stranger Things is their best effort; from the likable cast of kids to the awesome soundtrack, even though it never really surpasses season one the show always has something cool going on in one of its plots. My other favorite from Netflix would probably be their take on A Series if Unfortunate Events, which is how you do adaptation expansion right; everything they add feels like it’s in service of fleshing out Lemony Snicket’s dismal world, as well as giving Patrick Warburton an incredible dramatic role as the Lemony narrator himself.

Amazon managed to score two hits in my book. The first is the unbelievably fun and charming Good Omens, a miniseries that somehow got me to love David Tennant and Michael Sheen more than I already did. The second was the gory joyride that is The Boys which while not the smartest or most original superhero satire is definitely the most fun.

While I didn’t watch the whole show and would not consider it one of my favorites, I do want to give props to Hannibal for introducing me to Mads Mikkelsen. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the only person aside from Hopkins worthy of playing everyone’s favorite cannibal. Another show I DO consider a favorite despite slacking on keeping up with it is Ash vs. Evil Dead; I only needed to see a single season of Bruce back with the boomstick to know this show was a masterpiece.

On the animated side I have much more to talk about. Not since the 90s have we been spoiled with so many genuinely great and varied cartoons. We got Adventure Time, Regular Show, Steven Universe… really, Cartoon Network raised the bar this decade and made up for an awful 2000s. They even finally gave Samurai Jack a conclusion, which despite the mixed results, was still a real exciting phenomenon to experience.

Of course, my favorite CN show came from Adult Swim. I am of course referring to Rick & Morty, a fun sci-fi adventure comedy that attracted the most obnoxious fanbase possible in record time. While certainly not a show you need a high IQ to understand and having an atrocious third season, it still manages to be funny and thought provoking in equal amounts. Seriously though. Fuck season 3.

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is another great show that I sadly fell off the wagon of around the fifth or sixth season. It never got bad of course but it never really engaged me like the older episodes, though what I’ve heard of the last season makes me wish I’d kept up with it. It was a great show with a lot of heart and character, and I’m not sure we’ll ever see a show like it again.

Netflix did not slack in the animation department; I didn’t catch their most famous show (it’s the one about a certain Horseman) but I did catch their fantastic take on Castlevania, which as a huge fan of the series was a real treat. Where the fuck is Grant though?

My two favorite shows of the decade, however, are what I see as the pinnacle of East and West: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure and Gravity Falls.

JJBA is a series I had vague passing knowledge of, only knowing its existence due to seeing Stone Ocean referenced on the Wikipedia page for air rods when I was younger and, of course, the memes that spawned from Heritage for the Future, which were inescapable back in the day. As soon as I got into the series, it became one of my biggest inspirations, teaching me you can be deep, complex, and filled with great character interactions while also being so batshit insane that every new and absurd power is incredibly easy to buy (looking forward to the rainbows that turn people into snails, animators). They managed to get through the first four parts and start up the fifth over the decade; so far my favorite part is four, mainly due to the magnificent bastard that is Yoshikage Kira (played time perfection by D.C. Douglas) and in spite of serial creep Vic Mangina playing the otherwise lovable asshole Rohan Kishibe.

Gravity Falls on the other hand is just a fun and engaging mystery show that manages to excel at being episodic and story-driven all at once. There’s only one or two “bad” episodes across two seasons, and it lasted just as long as it needed to, wrapping things up with a satisfactory ending that still gave fans a few mysteries to chew on. It also gave us Grunkle Stan, perhaps the greatest character in all of animation, the pinnacle of “jerk with a heart of gold” characters who is hilarious, badass, and complex all at once. This is my favorite western animated show…

...but then the last year of the decade threw a curveball and, if I’m being honest, is on par with Gravity Falls: Green Eggs and Ham. Netflix really wanted us to know 2D animation is back in 2019; between this show and Klaus, the future is looking bright for the medium. It’s a fun, funny roadtrip comedy that knows when to be emotional and when to be funny, and it’s all filtered through the wubbulous world of Dr. Seuss. It’s just a wonderfully delightful show.

And on the subject of JoJo, I had a kind of love-hate relationship with anime this decade. The attitudes of anime fans turned me off from anime for a long while. Sure, I checked out stuff like Attack on Titan and Sword Art Online, but neither series really clicked with me. The main anime I loved this decade were ones that started in the 2000s and ended in the 2010s, like Dragon Ball Z Kai and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. I suppose I did enjoy My Hero Academia, which is a really fun show with an awesome and varied cast and great voice acting. Love Froppy, best girl for sure.

One of the most unfortunate things about this decade was how many great shows got screwed over by their networks. Sym-Bionic Titan, Thundercats, and The Legend of Korra were all great shows in their own right but were treated like shit by their respective networks. It really makes me upset that stuff like that not only happened, but continues to happen to this day.

But let’s not end on a bad note; let’s talk about the astounding returns old shows got. Invader Zim got a movie as did Hey Arnold, with the latter in particular finally wrapping up the dangling plot threads, but those are actual TV movies so they don’t really fit here; what DOES fit is Static Cling, the triumphant return of Rocko’s Modern Life. A forty minute special, it follows Rocko and his friends as they navigate the modern age, trying to bring back Rocko’s favorite cartoon. Rachel Bighead’s arc in this in particular is pretty groundbreaking and awesome.

Also awesome was the first few episodes of Samurai Jack’s return, though it did end up petering out halfway through the season and ended on an anticlimactic note. Still, Tom Kenny’s Scaramouche, the sheer amount of continuity, and the awesome final curbstomp battle against Aku are worth giving this a watch. And if nothing else, stuff like this gives me hope for future revivals. What will we see next? Gargoyles comeback? Batman Beyond continuation? KENNY AND THE CHIMP REVIVAL?! Chimpers rise up!

Music

Much like everyone, I listened to a lot of music this decade. There was a lot of shit, and I definitely used to be one of those “wow no one makes good music anymore” morons, but I grew out of that and learned to look in the right places.

Let’s start with the albums I loved the most. Continuing her meteoric rise from the 2000s, Lady Gaga drooped her magnum opus, Born This Way, an album that successfully showcases her skills as she takes on numerous pop styles. No two songs sound the same, and with a couple of exceptions every song slaps. While we’re on the subject of pop stars, Gaga’s contemporary and lesser Katy Perry managed to hit a home run with the fun bit of pop fluff that was Teenage Dream.

Weird Al was sorely missed for most of the decade, but what albums he did drop featured some of his best work. While Alpocalypse doesn’t hold up quite so well, it’s still solid, but even then it is blown out of the water by Mandatory Fun, an album that just refuses to stop being funny from start to finish. And that’s not the only funny albums this decade; aside from artists I’ll get more into later, George Miller AKA Filthy Frank released Pink Season as one of his last great acts as his character of Pink Guy. The album is as raunchy and filthy as you’d expect. And then for unintentional comedy, Corey Feldman dropped Angelic 2 The Core, an album so musically inept that it ends up becoming endearing; it’s The Room of music.

As I gamed a lot this decade I got to experience a lot of great video game soundtracks, but the two I found to be the absolute best were Undertale and Metal Gear Rising’s. I couldn’t tell you which soundtrack is better, and I’ve actually made a playlist on my iPod containing my favorite tracks from both games. Pokemon had solid soundtracks all decade, but they definitely were better in single tracks such as Ultra Necrozma’s theme from USUM and Zinnia’s theme from ORAS.

And speaking of individual songs, there were a lot I really loved. The disco revival in the easel ide half of the decade lead to gems like “Get Lucky,” “Uptown Funk,” and… uh, “Blurred Lines.” The controversy to that one might be overblown, but it sure isn’t anything I really want to revisit.

Corey Feldman may be the king of unintentional comedy, but this decade was seriously ripe with so bad it’s good music. The crown jewel is without a doubt the giddy, goofy “Friday,” but I think the equally stupid but also endlessly more relatable Ark Music production “Chinese Food” is worth some ironic enjoyment as well.

Meme songs in general were pretty enjoyable, though it came at a price. Remember when everyone tried to be funny by ripping off “Gangnam Style?” Remember when people took that Ylvis song at face value? Irony and satire were lost on the masses. I think the best mene song of the decade, though, is “Crab Rave,” a bouncy instrumental dance track with a fun music video and an absurd yet hilarious meme tacked to it. And then we have “The Internet is for Music,” a gargantuan 30 minute mashup featuring every YTMND, 4chan, Newgrounds, and YouTube meme you could think of (at the time of its release anyway),

Then we get into artists. Comedy music was great this decade, with Steel Panther and The Lonely Island putting out great work all decade, but by far my favorite funny band is Ninja Sex Party. Dan “Danny Sexbang” Avidan and Brian “Ninja Brian” Wecht are pretty much my favorite entertainers at this point, with them easily being able to go from doing goofy yet epic songs where they fuck or party to doing serious and awesome cover albums where Dan flexes his impressive vocals. A big plus is how all of their albums are easily some of my favorites ever, with not a single bad CD, and that’s not even getting into their side project Starbomb. These guys are a treasure.

Then we have Ghost, a Swedish metal band who play up the Satanic panic for all it’s worth. These guys captured my interest when I heard the beautiful “Cirice” on the radio, and despite that song rocking the fuck out, Imagine my surprise when it ended up being only middle of the road awesome for this band! With killer original songs like “Rats,” “Mary in the Cross,” and “Square Hammer” to a awesome covers like “Missionary Man” and “I’m a Marionette,” it’s almost enough to get a guy to hail Satan. I think they appeal to me mainly because they have a style very in line with the 80s, most evident on tracks like “Rats.”

While I’d hesitate to call him one of my favorite musicians yet (he is really good so far though), one of my favorite people in entertainment is Lil Nas X. From his short but sweet songs that crush genre boundaries to his hilarious Twitter feed, this guy is going places and I can’t wait to see what those places are.

And finally, the guy I think may be one of the greatest creative geniuses alive and who has nearly singlehandedly shaped Internet culture with everything he does… Neil Cicierega. While it’s not like I only discovered him in the 2010s - the guy has been an omnipresent force in my life since Potter Pupper Pals debuted - he definitely became the guy I would unflinchingly call the greatest artist of our time over that period. Whether he’s releasing the songs under his own name or as Lemon Demon, you can always be sure that the songs are going to burrow into your brain. His Lemon Demon album Spirit Phone, which features songs about urban legends and the horrors of capitalism, is easily my pick for album of the decade. And then under his own name he released three mashup mixtapes: Mouth Sounds, Mouth Silence, and Mouth Moods. All three are stellar albums, but only Mouth Moods has “Wow Wow,” the bouncing track about homoerotic bee-loving Will Smith and outtakes so good they deserve to be on the next album.

Video Games

Having a PC this decade was great because it let me experience a lot of games I probably wouldn’t have otherwise, like Half-Life, BioShock, Earthnound, Mother 3, and Final Fantasy VI and VII. All of these and more are among my favorite games of all time now, but we’re here to talk about the stuff from this decade I consider great.

It’s hard to talk about this decade in gaming without mentioning Skyrim. Yes, it has flaws and the main storyline is a bit undercooked, but there’s so much fun to be had dicking about in the wilderness it’s hard to be too mad. And if you have mods, there are endless opportunities to expand the game. The same is true for the other game I have sunk countless hours into, The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth. Not only is there a thriving modding community, but it has been supported and encouraged by the creators and some mods have even made the leap into becoming fully canon! It’s always a blast to revisit and see how far I can break the game with item combos.

Surprisingly, Batman managed to get not one, not two, but THREE awesome licensed games this decade! Arkham Asylum, Arkham City, and the unfairly maligned Arkham Origins all kick as much ass as the Dark Knight himself. The former two reunite Mark Hamill and Kevin McConroy as Joker and Batman while the latter features numerous stellar boss battles. The combat in these games is so graceful and fluid, you WILL feel like Batman at some point, be it after flawlessly clobbering two dozen mooks or silently eliminating a room of thugs before they even realize you’re there.

Pokémon had a bit of a rocky decade; it started out strong with the fifth generation, the best games in the series with a great story, region, and sidequests and then just went downhill from there. Not incredibly so, of course - the games were always fun at least - but gens VI through VIII were not the most graceful steps into 3D. Still, every gen managed to produce some of my all-time favorite Pokémon. Gen V had Volcarona, Chandelure, and Meloetta; Gen VI gave us Hoopa, Klefki, the Fairy type in general, and a gorgeous mega evolution for my favorite Pokémon, Absol; Gen VII had the Ultra Beasts and Ultra Necrozma, some of the coolest concepts in the series, as well as Pyukumuku; and Gen VIII gave us Cinderace, Dracovish, Dracozolt, Polteageist, Hatterene, Snom, and Zacian. And those are just samplings mind you, these gens are full of hits.

Bringing back old franchises yielded amazing results. Look no further than the triumphant return of Doom in 2016, which had you ripping and tearing through the forces of Hell with guns, chainsaws, and your bear fucking hands. This game is HARDCORE. Less bloody and gory but no less awesome was the return of not just Crash Bandicoot, but Spyro as well in remakes that are easily the definitive ways to experience the games. And don’t even get me started on the remastered DuckTales!

Platinum games did not fuck around this decade, delivering Bayonetta 2 and Metal Gear Rising. The former is a balls-to-the-wall sequel to the amazing original Bayonetta that, while lacking in bosses quite as impressive as the first game’s, is more polished and has a fun story and a better haircut for Bayonetta; the latter is an action game so insane it makes the rest of the Metal Gear franchise look tame in comparison. The latter in particular is in my top ten games ever, with every boss battle feeling epic, all the music kicking ass, and Raiden truly coming into his own as a badass.

Speaking of Metal Gear, the divisive The Phantom Pain easily earns its place here. While much fuss has been made about the game being “unfinished,” it still has a complete and satisfying ending even if it doesn’t totally wrap up the dangling plot threads the young Liquid Snake leaves behind. The overarching themes as well as Venom and his relationship with characters like Kaz, Paz, and ESPECIALLY Quiet make this game, with his and Quiet’s being particularly beautiful and tragic. The Paz quest, Quiet’s exit, and the mission where Snake has to put down his men after they get infested with parasites are all some of the most heartbreaking moments in the franchise. But it’s not all tears; there’s plenty of fun to be had harassing Russians in Afghanistan while blaring 80s synth pop from your Walkman. Oh yeah, and fuck Huey.

The Ace Attorney series also thrived, with both Spirit of Justice and Dual Destinies transitioning the series into 3D a lot more graceful than some other franchises while still maintaining the with and charm the series is known for. And if that wasn’t enough for my point-and-cluck adventure needs, Telltale had me covered with The Wolf Among Us and the first season of The Walking Dead. The stories and characters of those games are so good, it’s enough to make you sad they never got a timely sequel or sequels that weren’t shit respectively.

This decade is when I really got into fighting game, though I’m not particularly good. I supported Skullgirls (and am even in the credits!), and got into Ultimate Marvel vs. Capcom 3 and JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: All-Star Battle (and I also got into its spiritual predecessor, Heritage for the Future). But by and large my favorite fighting game of the decade and the one I’m actually pretty good at is Super Smash Bros. Ultimate, the most ridiculously ambitious crossover in video game history. The fact that the game is STILL getting more characters added is a testament of how insanely great the game is because instead of being mad that there’s so much DLC, people are going rabid waiting for news of more. It’s such an awesome, complete game out the door that the DLC feels earned rather than half a game being held hostage. Other devs, take note!

A lot of franchises put their best foot forward for sequels. God of War III was an awesomely bloody finale to the original journey of Kratos, with more epic bosses than ever; now he’s off fighting Norse gods, and I hear that game is even better! Portal 2 is just an absolute blast, and easily surpasses the first game on the merit of having Cave Johnson alone; the fact we get Wheatley and the malfunctioning personality cores honestly feels like overkill. Then we have BioShock… 2. While it’s certainly not as good as the first game, I think it was a lot of fun, and it got way too much flak.

I think it definitely aged better than Infinite which, while still a good game in its own right (it’s hard to hate a game with a character as endearing as Elizabeth), definitely was not warranting the levels of acclaim it got with such a muddled narrative. “Overrated” and “overhyped” are not words I keep in my vocabulary and I certainly would not describe Infinite as such, but I do feel like people got swept up in the gorgeous visuals and the story bits and characters that are effective and so weren’t nearly as critical of its flaws. It’s still a good, fun game with an interesting world, but it pales in comparison to the other two BioShocks. I feel like The Last of Us is in a similar boat. That being said, I couldn’t tell you why; it has a great story, good characters, plenty of replayability, and fascinating enemy design. But despite all that, I appreciate this game more than love it. It’s the Citizen Kane of video game sin that regard at least.

I’d be remiss to not mention the big indie successes of the decade. Shovel Knight is easily one is the greatest platform era ever made, taking everything great about the platformers on the NES and SNES, removing the bullshit, and delivering numerous bonus campaigns with unique playstyles. Then there was Abobo’s Big Adventure, a marvelous mashup of all sorts of games starring the beloved Double Dragon mook as he goes on a bloody quest to save his son. It’s a blast and there is tons of variety but some sections are definitely as hair-pullingly difficult as the games that inspired them. And then there is Doki Doki Literature Club, the free visual novel that brutally subverts your expectations. Sadly, I do feel the game loses some impact on subsequent playthroughs, but it’s still a great, effective story that skillfully utilizes meta elements.

Still, the greatest indie success of them all is Toby Fox’s masterpiece, Undertale. Charming, funny, emotional, and populated by a cast of some of the most fun and lovable characters ever conceived, this game was an instant smash and is still talked about to this day. Sure, things like Sans have been memed to death, but it’s hard to not just love and cherish the beautiful world Toby Fox managed to create. This game may not be the greatest game of all time, but for what it is I wouldn’t hesitate to name it the game of the decade.

There was a lot of great art in the 2010s, and while I couldn’t get around to all of it, I’m so happy with what I got to experience. Here’s hoping that the 2020s can be just as amazing!

#Music #video games #TV

5 notes · View notes