#songs for women by frank ocean is carrying me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whereflowersbloom · 3 years

Text

Sealed Fate

The Western horizon was on fire: hot pink turned into mauve, wild orange into gold, the bright colours fading into paleness, then darkness. It was the day they whisper their vows before the gods, both Raven and Damian believed that love was not what stood at the foundation of their pledge, at least not the kind that fate had in store for them. No, that’s what they want to believe, what truly mattered most at this point was peace, peace through political marriage rather than an overwhelming affection. Peace. Damian, the youngest son of King Bruce and the noblest of all of Gotham’s princes, living or dead. As King Bruce was only left with Damian and Richard. Raven, a demigod, sired by Trigon the Terrible and mortal Arella.

The fragile truce between Gotham and Azarath balanced on the tip of a blade, depending on this union of convenience. Kon-El was wearing a scowl that would freeze unquenchable fire from the House of Hades. She could feel Trigon’s dark eyes burning into her face, the harsh, singeing heat of a desert behind it. She wanted to run, but she was also afraid of him giving chase. What was the point anyway. Before coming to Gotham, she knew how to fly, wings spread wide, flying away, her shoulders have borne heavy burdens, heavy burdens of solid stone. Oh she prayed to fly away from them, and roam the freedom of the sky, but her father had cut off both her wings and left her rooted to the ground. There would no longe mountain's peaks with the promise of wondrous views to keep. It all came to an end the day her father told she had been promised to Damian: Prince of Gotham, the great. Gotham the glorious. Gotham the magnificent. She should be honored, but her thoughts and feelings on the matter were inconsequential as the advice of a woman in wartime.

A week later she found herself at her wedding feast. Wearing a silver attire, a veil, a lilies and myrtle garland, and a golden headband. The Brothers and sisters her husband had in plenty, raised to be warriors they fought during war to lose their short lives. Helena and Timotheos had fallen. No body of Jason had been found after the last battle with Crete. She only met her husband her wedding day. He was reserved but polite and not overly perfumed, and when her eyes fell on him she thought of Narcissus. Narcissus, who had been unable to pull away from his own reflection in the pond, enchanted by his own beauty until death claimed him. Although the way her tutor had prattled on and on about Damian’s innumerable virtues, Raven had not expected him to be as radiant as a god. The sun-kissed skin stretched to wrap around muscles built from years of practicing complex military skills, broad shoulders and powerful arms, displaying strength and virility akin to a noble lion, movements of disconcerting grace for one so large. His facial features had a frank and honest quality to them, bright and deep-set eyes, as green as spring leaves with the touch of Persephone, a Greek nose, full lips. He was a God in beauty and stature. Reluctantly, tore her gaze from his beautiful face and focused on her new family. They have been so impeccably polite, specially Richard. ‘Welcome my good sister. We are all so blessed to have you.’ Blessed. Blessed child she had been called once long ago.

Do you feel blessed, my dear sister?” Richard asked, passing a golden wine cup into her hand. His wide smile meant no harm nor his words. As she grew up Raven was left to learn how to smile and laugh prettily at compliments that made her skin crawl, feign the innocence of any maiden her age.

Blinking several times, she looked back at him and smiled weakly. “Of course, brother.”

Richard was all dancing, light and lean seduction, dark myrrh hair and flushed red lips, rosy cheeks and aristocratic arched eyebrows, adorning himself in a blue and gold tunic. Her new brother appeared to be content to sit in the shadow of his younger brother and watch him gleam in all his glory. Cassandra did not speak with her, she was the only calm in the midst of a storm of abrupt adjustment. She tried to pay no heed to the murmurs of gossiping women at the feast, eyes green with envy as she had married the godlike prince. Foreign seductress. Demon spawn.

Bruce and Olivier discussed vehemently about warfare and politics with Kal-El and Kon-El. Diana and Artemis were carrying an excited conversation about traveling and Shiera’s recent journey in Egypt. She caught no sight of Trigon to her relief.

Trigon. Other gods might have roared their pleasure at the skills and intelligence of their offspring, praised their achievements for all to hear whilst filling themselves to the brim with nectar. Not Trigon, who wanted to sire no child but found himself infatuated with Arella, bedding her out of enjoyment.

If she were godly, truly a deity, in all of its ways with fantastical unlimited power, then one could not help but ask: Would Trigon praise her then? Did he not want her because she bled red as earthlings. As I’d guessing what she was thinking her husband finally spoke.

“For a deity to come down on solid ground isn’t seen many times. For her to wed a mortal willingly is even more ambiguous.” Damian exhaled softly, standing right next to her. His voice was so deep, so soothing and alluring as she had imagined.

“I am no deity. I am the undesired offspring of the god of death.” She said in a choked voice. Not sure if he was mocking the nature of her position. Green eyes alight with amusement.

“You are anything but undesired, wife.” Damian responded, voice low in his throat, and private; a voice she knew in her bones he meant only for her. His face reflected an earnest expression filled with so much pure-hearted sincerity that it stole Raven’s breath away

No man had ever spoken of passion or desire to Raven, and all that she knew of such words she had overheard her tutors speak, or learned from old songs; the glory of being called beautiful in tones, not of cool reason but burning emotion flooded her entirely. She was desired. Biting her lip, her face flushed, and shining starlight hair drooping over her face as if that would somehow hide how obviously close to tears she was.

Damian smiled serenely and Raven felt like he’d seen the sun. Resembling the sun and light, Apollo.

He had a gentleness to him that is completely foreign to her experience, not seen at first sight, discerning the heavy emotions in his eyes. Raven did not know before that it was possible for men to be gentle. One glance and she thought of him kissing her mouth, just as he thought of tasting her skin. Uncertainty lies in her desire for the reciprocal dedication to infallible ardour.

Air. Her lungs were in need of air.

~~~

She went to the garden of Thetis, to sit among the flowers and watch the moon-washed stars. The goddess of flowers must have visited bringing brightness and beauty wherever she stepped, as she appreciated a patch of narcissus, foxgloves, hyacinth, and delphinium displaying tightly clustered flowers upon tall stalks in varied blues and purples, in full bloom, surrounded by the thick chorus of crickets chirping all around. With all thoughts of threats and protecting her homeland, Raven found herself strangely empty. It wasn’t hollowness: it was the emptiness of shock, of disbelief and misunderstandings when everything you’d imagined was pulled out from underneath you and she was suddenly living in a reality where someone admired her? Yearn for her touch rather than fear her.

“Raven.” Kon-El sighed her name as he walked closer to her, fabric softly trailing on the grass and it made Raven tremble. His ocean eyes saddened, darkened, burning through her and reducing anything to ash, to nothingness. There were things that must be said but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize.

“When Morpheus came to me in my dreams. I did not dare look upon his godly figure. But I heard his voice like a thunder from grand Zeus. He promised your hand would be mine to hold.” The words had come bitter and aching with such profound loss that it made her throat tighten with his emotion.

“I have a husband now, Kon.” She mumbled quietly, using his infancy name, casting her gaze downwards. “They were nothing but hollow words, grains of sand carried upon the wind of Aeolus.” His disapproval at the mention of the word husband was obvious.

Attempting to reason with him to not make a claim of a right that was no longer his. She could sense his anger, regret, sorrow. Envy . Why do you look at me in such way? Why do you look at me as if you pity me? Why do you look at me with eyes filled with sorrow and hatred, all at once? Where did her sweet and naughty Kon go? She wished to voice those questions.

With clenched fists, he nodded. “It’s for the gods to decide as our fate lies in their hands.” Kon-El spoke solemnly with unshakable conviction. “You have a husband tonight, but take heed as The Fates could cut his thread of life coming morrow.” He bowed down and left without saying no more.

No. No. He would not dare. Notion spit forth from such a place of hate, fear and confusion like its like a venom small at first or great yet if allowed it to take over fully.

The night was calm, witness of the conversation between two old friends, the stifling hot of the day finally giving way to a coolness which smelled like an approaching storm. Yes, she could feel it, there was a storming coming with the unforgiving and celestial ire of Zeus.

~~~

The feast passed quickly, with laughter and high spirits carrying it along. However, Raven could never quite relax after hearing Kon-El’s threatening words. And there was the bedding ceremony to proceed, not in public. Thank to Merciful Elea.

Torchlight played on Raven’s face as she motioned with her hands like a sorceress, then the royal peplos she wore dropped off her like the skin off a snake and she emerged. Goddess Nyx in human form, her breasts round and ripe and firm, her belly flat and sculpted thighs, the tangle of dark hair between her legs an invitation and a challenge. She was bare before him. So very delicate, so vulnerable, so unlike anything he’d ever laid eyes upon. It intrigued him, that vulnerability, laid bare for him to see under the soft glow of the torches. The daughter of the God of death.

What a curious creature she was. Gifted with the beauty of Aphrodite, the mysterious eyes of Nyx, holding the stars of Orion in them. They had been in his mind on and off at the feast, wrapped up in the hazy, sweetly intoxicating lull of inebriation.

As he looked down then back up her body, to her timid eyes, no challenge in them, though her lips still twisted in a semblance of indecision. Doubt. It was obvious that while she was not truly frightened of him, nonetheless the shadow of doubt and tension was present. Damian swallowed hard. He had avoided looking at her more than necessary during the ceremony but he gave into temptation as Aphrodite whispered in his ear all the ways he could have her. He did not like Gods nor their offspring. The Gods enjoyed tricking mortals for their own merriment. But, she was his wife and there was no escaping now. He cursed quietly for his mortality.

Raven dug her pearly teeth into the fleshy hills of her bottom lip, reminding herself to stay in control, taking a deep breath, fists clenched at her side as she took a brave step forward. “My prince.”

“Damian.” He corrected immediately as he straightened up for a fraction of a second before he bent his head and allowed his lips to graze Raven’s ear. “My name is Damian.”

With uncommon courage, she reached for the clasp holding his jade tunic under his chin. The heavy cloth sighed down around their feet. With a delicate feather-like touch, Raven traced the longest scar on his bronze body that went from Damian’s left shoulder down to his right hip. His breath hitched at the sudden invasion, but relaxed into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. No one had ever dare touch him intimately without his permission.

She could see hidden amongst the bright hues an emerald green clouding over with Damian’s lust. Their lips melded together as if they were made for each other and moved in sync as Damian threaded her fingers into Damian’s thick raven locks. Damian gently nipped her lower lip, and when she gasped heavily against his, he slid his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth to meet hers.

Her mind temporarily muddled with an electrical charge coursing through her veins making it hard for her to focus on any one part of her anatomy than her mouth against his. Everything tingles, starting at the back of her neck and rushing down, an uncomfortable yet exhilarating heat razing through her nerves only to whirlpool in her lower belly, churning, before continuing down all the way to her toes. He tasted like pure ambrosia.

As they continued kissing, his lips become eager, desperate, feverish. She’s never been kissed like this before. Kon-El had kissed her cheeks out of mischief a few times when they were children. Innocent love. Never with parted lips and tongue, with a hunger that would scare her had the same kind of hunger not driven her own greedy mouth to kiss and suck and nip. And yet she knew with the wisdom of Athena, that even if she’d kissed a hundred men a thousand times, nothing would ever compare to this.

Peppering her neck with kisses and listening to her gasp his name, he carried her slowly to the crimson bed where he laid her down. Dragging his teeth gently downwards, along the expanse of her sweet, alabaster skin. There all shyness was replaced with audacity and devotion. Not being able to resist the urge, he bit into her neck, at her pulse point where he could feel her unsteady heartbeat against his tongue as he laved at it.

Hands that were calloused and large and warm and so very gentle for a warrior, as they find their way roaming her natural curves. They skimmed over her thigh and hip, caress the soft skin of her waist, ghost over the swell of her breasts. His mouth, hot and wet, closed around her breast and sucks lightly, thus making her suck in a sharp breath. Expert tongue swelling around her pink nipple. What in the name of Hera he was doing to her? She wanted more. More. More.

Raven cannot utter a single word. Her mouth too dry, her mind too drunk on arousal, to form any coherent phrase. Calling his name between small whimpers showing her heightened ecstacy. This must be Elysium in all its glory. It was such a sweet torture.

Damian thought to himself she tasted like earth, starlight, like flowers blooming in the night. What was he thinking? She was his wife, no more. Daughter of his nemesis. His young heart hammering inside of his chest, the memory of his mother’s voice haunting him as she vanished with the wind.

Something flared in Damian then, flared up in his chest and his belly like a flaming arrow shot high to signal the start of a nighttime raid, and he seized her hips and pushed up inside her. Raven groaned softly in pain. Fear sent her stomach and chest quaking, her breaths coming short and fast, mind flooded with words of maidens about the pain of maidenhead being taken. At first, his strokes were slow, but his eyes do not look upon her face. The flower garland tumbled off her head and was crushed under their grappling bodies, the scent of a summer noon briefly filling the night.

She opened her legs wider and wrapped them around Damian following her instincts. Her velvet heat encased him, and he had to restrain himself from descending into madness at the pleasure. He felt like he was drowning in the Aliakmonas, the river swollen with melted snow. Raven’s round breasts goaded him, her hands caressed him tenderly, her ripeness clenched around him. As he started thrusting faster, harder, pumping in and out of her at an erratic pace. Damian drops his forehead to her shoulder, an animal like grunt in her ear, and she heard herself moan along with him. She even shifted her hips so that he hits her just right, his pubic bone rubbing against a sensitive spot his hand had touched.

He could tell she was close by the way her walls were fluttering around him, and he brought one of his hands down between them to rub circles onto her bundle of nerves. Damian also angled his hips enough to reach for the deep spot in the center of women that made them cry with satisfaction with each push.

Something inside her tightens, inside her belly where a babe will grow with the blessings of the gods, and then another wave of pleasure washed over her, pulling such a loud moan from her it should leave her ashamed, but she doesn’t care. Sweat beds clouding her vision, and the ragged breath of her husband hot against her moonlight skin, salty with sweat.

He reached climax and came harder than he had ever. His thrusts slowed, hips stilling as he emptied himself, thick, hot, white ropes of his seed filling her up to the hilt. Letting out a weary sigh he removed his body atop hers, carefully. It was done. Fulfilled his duty he told himself. A clear lie. Damian considered cupping her cheek and kissing her temple but he couldn’t do it. No. His features hardened as he turned away from her.

“I will show you respect as my wife. I will please you in all the ways a husband and lover can. But do not ask me to love you, for that is not an oath I can honor.” His voice came out hoarser and raspier than ever in the darkness, before rolling to the other of the bed preparing to fall in the arms of Morpheus.

There was an emptiness inside of her soul, her center she couldn’t describe. Waiting to be full again. Aching. Pulsing. Whirling.

“But I thought…” Raven began, a lump forming in her throat, not wanting to admit that she had hoped he could ever find love with her. Perhaps fondness. What about the gentleness he had shown her? The words died with the quietude of the royal chamber as if Harpocrates had made himself present.

Perhaps coming morrow with the grace of Apollo, he would bring Damian’s gentleness back to her. All she can do is hope and pray tonight. A lone tear slipped down her face as she closed her eyes.

Notes: Hello it’s me again with a new AU. Sorry not sorry. Had to get it out of my system 😂😂😂😂🙈🙈🙈🙈

Do not panic please. This is the first chapter and there will be Damirae fluff I promise. Happy Damirae moments and probably more smut than in other stories 👀👀

Hope you all enjoy. @ravenfan1242 @tweepunkgrl @chromium7sky @deepbreadlover @timid-soot-sprite @kallura-juniblade @shewhowillnotbenamed1 @andthendk @alerialblu

110 notes · View notes

asunshinepuff · 3 years

Text

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter eleven! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @ladynightmare913 ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

Just a small reminder that the next chapter will be posted on Luna’s blog!

The included lore for this tale has been written under the guise of Fantastic Nautical Creatures by Newt Scamander. As always it will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose, while still having my own twist.

Here’s the link to the previous chapter, and if you’ve missed any chapters here’s the link to the masterlist of this story.

This chapter features two very important songs, but I won’t be linking them here. The key words are melodious and mermaid. If you want the ambiance and the most from your reading, trust me, click the links when you come across them. 🧜🏻‍♀️

Chapter 11: Stop Trying to Rescue Me!

The Dragon’s Pearl had been sailing for nearly three weeks now, Remus for once was a lot quieter than usual Sirius had to note. It was almost unnerving, it was as if he had turned into a completely different person. Sirius often found himself blinking, because he swore that Remus’ eyes glowed amber at times. But no one ever mentioned anything, so he decided to keep his observations to himself.

Remus gave Sirius a list, a bloody long list, of chores for Sirius to do that would last him four days.

“Your wrist,” Remus ordered.

Sirius stared at him skeptically, “What?”

Remus slowly blinked, as if it pained him to be in the idiotic presence that is Sirius Black. Instead of dignifying the pirate with an answer, he simply grabbed the pirate's left wrist, firmly clasping his hand and gripping his forearm with the other.

Sirius tried to free himself of his hold but to no avail. Rather, it seemed Remus was much stronger than he appears.

Dúi hǎi, well the gold snakelet part of him, slithered over from Remus' hand, and onto Sirius' arm, coiling around his wrist and becoming inanimate once more. Its emerald eyes gleaming at Sirius.

Sirius wanted to die right then and there.

If he wasn’t a prisoner on the ship before, he most certainly was one now. Remus only glared at the pirate, as if telling him, stop being dramatic.

“Behave.” That was all Remus said as he pointed to the snakelet before he walked below deck.

And that was the last Sirius saw of Remus in two days.

Two days of pure hell.

Sirius had, rather reluctantly, done his chores, but only because every time he attempted to forgo his tasks, the snakelet would animate to life and hiss at the pirate in warning. Captain Hua would smirk in amusement. First Mate Scamander nearly fell overboard as he laughed.

And Sirius suspected that if he even so much as stepped one foot off the ship, the snakelet would not hesitate to bite him. But after the last two incidents, the first being bitten by a metallic sword snake, and the second being a head attached to a mermaid, Sirius wasn’t so tempted to jump into the open ocean. Especially since he felt his hair on the nape of his neck stand on end, as if someone was watching him from beneath the waves.

Sirius had searched for the unusually quiet second mate of the ship, but to no avail. He did try to talk to Regulus, but the terrible head refused to let the pirate see the boy because Regulus didn’t want to see him. So, Sirius spent an unusual amount of time in the ship library. Sleeping.

And Sirius was in the library asleep when he awoke in the middle of the night to someone shaking him awake. And whispering his name. Sirius nearly fell off the chair.

“James?! What are you doing here?!” Sirius whispered loudly, rising to his feet.

“Rescuing you! What’s it look like!” The unruly-haired pirate grinned. “Now let’s go before someone catches us.”

“Wait James-” Sirius tried, but James was already dragging him out of the library, and onto the deck. There Sirius could see his ship, the Star Weaver, and Lily, Frank, Alice, Peter, Marlene, and Dorcas all waving them over.

James jumped onto the railing, grabbing a rope, Sirius dug his heels onto the deck.

“James, stop! I can’t leave the ship!”

“And why the bloody hell not?” James glanced around in the unexpected delay, an unceremonious splash silenced them.

They held their breath, staring at where they heard the source of the splash. After a few seconds, Sirius turned back to James and whispered.

“Because the second I take so much as a step off of this ship, I will die.” In emphasis, Sirius held up his left wrist, to show the very much awake and angry-looking snakelet that hissed at James.

James stared at it with very wide eyes and gulped. Sirius moved the snakelet down. “Do you want me to die, James?!”

“Just take it off!”

“I can’t! It’s enchanted! It’s alive or something!” Sirius winced, the snakelet coiling around his wrist tighter as it tried to strike James in the eye.

“What?!” James looked at the Snakelet. Terror on his face.

“Aww, you listened in class!” A familiar male voice interjects, “I’m so touched.”

Quinn stood at the deck, leaning against the base wall below the stern of the ship. He pushed off the wall nonchalantly, as he slowly walked towards the two pirates. “And the award for idiotic pirate of the year goes to…” Placing a hand upon the hilt of his sword, he leans forward, grinning madly. “None other than James Potter.”

Ropes snatched up the pirates one by one from the Star Weaver and tied them all up on the beam of the mast in the center of the ship.

“Congratulations. There is no prize.” Opal chuckles as she hops down from the cargo nets, pretending to wipe the dust from her hands.

All of the pirates glared at Captain Hua and First Mate Scamander. Sirius was spared from being tied up. Peter glared, or at least, he attempted to look like he was glaring, he mostly looked sick to his stomach.

“How come he doesn’t get tied up?”

“Because your Captain wasn’t actively trying to escape. This time.” Captain Hua answered smoothly.

Sirius’ crew could say what they wanted about the White Sea Serpent, but after spending nearly two weeks on The Dragon’s Pearl, Sirius knew the Captain was more than fair. And Sirius most definitely had been behaving.

Sirius almost preened at that. Someone like Captain Hua, The White Sea Serpent, acknowledged Sirius as a fellow Captain, even if it was to an inexperienced crew. Sirius hated it. He loathed it, because it was a feeling he wished he would feel if his own family acknowledged him, bothered to even look at him. He buried the feeling.

“How kind of you to join us, I don’t believe we had the chance to meet.” Captain Hua looked down to James and the rest of the crew.

“Though I suppose now isn’t the best time to exchange pleasantries.” Quinn commented, “A shame really.”

Lily, a bright red-haired young lady with bright green eyes glared silently at the older men. “If you’re going to kill us just get on with it.”

“Sweetie, you’d already be dead if we planned to kill you.” Opal cannot help but roll her eyes.

“Not to mention our Captain doesn’t kill children,” Quin added, looking over the young pirates. The pirate seethed in silent rage at the term. “When was the last time you even had a proper meal? And not just biscuits. You’re skinnier than a gull.”

“We are not children!” James retorted.

“Oh? You’re not?” Opal tilts her head. “How old are you?”

“17 summers.”

“Oh forgive me, 17 summers, practically grown men and women then,” Quinn responded sarcastically.

“If you are grown, then I see no reason as to why the captain shouldn’t kill you. After all, you trespassed onto his ship twice, and the first was a warning.” Opal crossed her arms.

Captain Hua remained as stoic as ever, simply watching the young pirates realize that they threw away the small mercy bestowed on them. Sirius couldn’t help but grimace.

The whispers of a singular melodious voice broke the eerie silence which had fallen upon the deck at the realization. Growing ever more vociferous in each passing second, the song reached the deck and the sailors who stood upon it. One by one, more voices began to accompany the harmony. Until there was no escape from the source. The deep blue waves seemed to carry the ship forward at the whims of the melody, as if being willed on command.

It was hypnotic, powerful— heavenly even, and yet something seemed entirely wrong.

Quinn doubled over, his hands clutching his head, an agonizing wail of pain fell from his lips.

“Quinn!” Opal quickly reached for him.

Sirius, James, Frank, and every man’s eyes on the ship, became cloudy as if in a daze. Opal looked across the deck, the women were unaffected by the sound. Opal’s eyes widened. She knew what this was. Captain Hua looked to the greek woman before they both ran off in different directions. Captain Hua went for his men, Opal released Lily, Alice, Marlene, and Dorcas.

“What are you-” Lily began to ask, but Opal interrupted her.

“Tie Sirius and everyone else up!” Opal ordered, rushing back to Quinn’s side, his wails grew louder each second he heard the song.

Captain Hua would stop each one of his men who attempted to fall overboard, knocking them unconscious.

“Why isn’t he being tied up?!” Alice shouted over the song.

“He’s unaffected! Just stop them if they try to remove the ropes.”

“Then what about him?!” Marlene, a blonde-haired young lady with bright green eyes, motioned to Quinn.

“He’s resisting it! To him, the song is a horrible screeching in his head, but to the others, it’s heavenly!” Opal yelled as she wrapped her arms around Quinn’s torso, keeping him from falling overboard as he tried to escape the noise.

The sound of snapping wood caught everyone’s attention, turning to look at the ship the pirates sailed on. The Sea Weaver was sinking. Fast.

“No!” Lily shouted, rushing to the railing. Captain Hua grabbed her by her waist. “Leave it! It’s beyond repair, there is nothing you can do!”

Lily tried to push the Captain off, “No! We can fight them off!”

“Those Sirens will kill you before you ever make it across.”

Lily only screamed in frustration, Min-Jun let her drop to the deck, rushing to the railing as he saw a clawed hand reach up. The Captain of the Dragon’s Pearl struck the climbing siren down. Opal, once certain that the wailing man wasn’t in danger of falling, began to do the same. Alice, Marlene, and Dorcas followed her lead.

Again, and again, and again the sirens climbed up the ship, and there was only so much rope to hold the sailors from their watery deaths.

“There’s too many! We have to abandon ship!” Dorcas, a young lady with chin-length dark hair and bright blue eyes, shouted.

“We’d sooner die out in open water!” Lily answered as she slashed another siren down, not without receiving a scratch on her forearm.

“Do they ever stop singing?!” Opal looked to Min-Jun, who was fighting off multiple sirens at once.

“No!” Min-Jun kicked one siren right in its face, pushing it back into the water, he looked back to Opal as she shielded Quinn. “They will only continue to sing louder until they start their feeding frenzy.”

“Feeding Frenzy?!” Alice screeched.

“Oh, how wonderful.” Opal sneered as she stabbed another siren, with pleasure.

“We just need to hold them off a little longer!” Min-Jun gritted out.

“For what?! For them to eat us alive!?” Alice yelled out.

The singing only grew louder until a new melody broke through the haunting melodious song and hissing with a single voice. Min-Jun visibly relaxed. “For that.”

A distance away, were two mers. One was a female with a white tail with faint blue spots, the other a male with an amber tail which complimented his glowing amber eyes. And they were quickly rushing to the ship.

“Oh great! More of them!” Lily sneered, looking back to the siren in front of her.

“Those aren’t sirens!” Opal smiled in relief.

“They’re mermaids.” Captain Hua finished.

“What’s the difference?!” Marlene demanded, grunting as her blade slashed another siren.

The female mermaid stopped a distance away from the ship.

“Watch.” Min-Jun stopped fighting the sea creatures off.

Opal knocked one last siren back into the sea, before she stopped fighting the rest off.

The mermaid floated on the surface of the water, and began to sing. The sirens’ song came to an abrupt halt, then hissed in the direction of the singing mermaid. Some sirens began to clutch their webbed ears, diving back into the water.

“They’re retreating,” Lily watched in awe, “But why?”

“A Siren’s voice is beautiful, yes, it puts men into a hypnotic trance. Their songs are used for hunting, and have malintent for those who are misfortunate enough to fall victim to it. A mermaid’s voice has different purposes for different things. And a single mermaid’s song is far more complex and superior than a whole pod of sirens singing.” The Captain explained.

The mermaid continued to sing, scaring off the few remaining sirens, then swam to the ship.

Opal caught Quinn before he could collapse, whispering for a moment in concern before helping him to the infirmary, his ears had traces of blood. Sirius was one of the first to break free of the siren’s spell.

Min-Jun left the young pirates to mourn their sunken ship. Sirius didn’t seem too sad to see it go. James, on the other hand, wasn’t taking it well.

“Now how are we going to get off this bloody ship?” James lamented.

Sirius sighed. “If you find a way, just go without me,” he holds up his wrist, “I’d really like to not have another near-death experience thank you.”

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t die,” Remus said from behind the pirates. His arms were crossed. “I was hoping you would.”

“And here I thought you’d actually prefer me alive to get your bracelet off of me.” Sirius held out his left hand. “Please, get it off.”

“Now what made you think that?” Remus tilted his head, then lowered his arms as he walked over to the pirate. “But, since you actually behaved, I’ll take him back.”

“You’re supposed to pry information off of me aren’t you? I’m no use to you as a corpse.” Sirius retorted. “Where have you been anyway?”

Remus decided not to answer, frankly not in the mood to argue.

He reached out and took hold of the pirate's left wrist once again, clasping his hand and gripping his forearm with the other. Dúi hǎi, slithered over from Sirius’ wrist hand, and back onto Remus’ hand. Coiling and becoming inanimate once more. Its emerald eyes gleaming in what might have been the equivalent of happiness.

“Funny, I didn't think you particularly cared.” Remus comments with a small smile, “I’ve been busy.”

James, Lily, Alice, Frank, Marlene, and Dorcas all stared at the moving snake.

“WHAT IS THAT THING?!” They shouted.

“It’s a Spirit Sword.” Sirius and Remus both said in exasperation.

Links:

Previous Chapter: Dúi Hai and Shou

Masterlist: Secrets of the Darkened Seas

Moodboards: SOTDS, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Quinn Sandoval

Fantastic Nautical Creatures: Entry 1

Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries

@sunflowerfox87

@spookypotato

@wonder-womans-ex

@waltzintherain

@madsholland

@fleetingpieces

@heyitssmiller

@moonofthenight

@peggyrose19

18 notes · View notes

punkbarbarian · 3 years

Text

bad kids playlists breakdown

thanks for all the love on my bad kids playlists! at the request of people here’s some of my thought process behind each of the songs/artists on their playlists :)

these playlists are mostly made up of songs i think they would enjoy listening to, but there are also some that i personally associate with them :)

fig’s playlist needed to be mostly, if not all, female-fronted bands and artists bc she is 1000% a very active voice for supporting women in rock. paramore is personally one of my favorite bands of all time and their earlier stuff really strikes me as fig’s taste. mitski is an incredible artist and i KNOW fig would be obsessed with her. i threw a bunch of queen songs in there bc they’re incredible and i believe fig would take after their dramatics a lot in her own performance. chase petra is a small band from california that i found on tiktok and became obsessed with ever since. their music is incredible and is exactly what i think fig and the sig figs would sound like. taylor swift is on there bc she slaps and i refuse to accept that fig wouldn’t know every word to all of her songs, especially from her cheerleading songs.

similarly to fig, i wanted fabian to have primarily black artists on his playlist in honor of lou’s mantra of always playling black characters in dnd. fabian’s taste is a little outside of my own, so i took a lot of inspiration from my friends who were jocks in high school or otherwise reminded me of fabian. frank ocean was the first artist i knew i wanted on his playlist, bc his music just strikes me as so intrinsically fabian (also i have a hc that fabian is bi and would probably look up to frank ocean as a bi person). childish gambino is one of my favorite rap artists bc his songs are all very hype and this is definitely a hype playlist. i put harry styles on there bc fabian was definitely a directioner and then got obsessed with harry once he started putting out his own music. there are a few wildcards on this playlist (see the two sea shanties and musical theater songs) however fabian would listen to sea shanties all the time and is definitely a musical theater nerd.

adaine’s playlist was super fun to make. i think when she was younger she probably didn’t get a chance to listen to music other than what her parents played (which i think was probably just classical or lots of piano music bc they’re ‘proper’) so i kept that in mind when choosing the songs. a lot of them have piano as the primary instrument bc i think even if she associated piano with her parents, she would find beauty in it as an instrument. as a departure from that, i put vivaldi’s four seasons on there because i can’t think of anything more properly ‘fuck you’ to her parents than listening to baroque music (i love baroque music, it slaps). i think adaine is a bit of an old soul in some ways, which is why i put some older songs on there (see: elton john, billy joel, the beatles, fleetwood mac). phoebe bridgers is one of those artists that makes me emotional when i listen to her bc of the weight in her lyrics, and i think adaine would seriously relate to some of her songs in a number of ways. florence + the machine is an artist whose music is completely ethereal to me, and that is the perfect vibe for adaine. monet issues by chase petra may seem out of place, but the lyrics are really what made me choose it for adaine’s playlist. it’s about letting go of your shitty family and choosing your own path and if that’s not adaine to a t i don’t know what is baby!

gorgug’s playlist is the most similar to my own music taste (as a former emo kid, i cannot escape). green day is usually a gateway for people to get into more hardcore/similar music that’s away from the mainstream so it was only fitting that i put them on there. nirvana is one of my favorite bands and i thought gorgug would love them both for their lyrics and dave grohl’s drumming. i stole some of the artists from my friend who’s in a punk band (descendents and misfits) but they still suit gorgug pretty well! i don’t know where the idea of gorgug listening to the mountain goats came from but i couldn’t agree with it more, so theyre on his playlist too! the vibe i was going for with gorgug’s playlist was chill rock mixed with some intense songs that could represent him going into a rage, and i think i managed that!

kristen’s playlist was the hardest to make, no contest. i wanted to capture her music taste from her helioic days and the music she would listen to as a queer teenager, which is why her playlist is absolutely a mess lmao. carrie underwood, bruce springsteen, and taylor swift are leftover from her childhood even though she still loves them (i can’t stand most country songs so there was a limited selection for me to be able to tolerate, i apologize country fans). i wanted a bunch of queer artists on here as well, so teagan and sara, frances forever, and girl and red were guaranteed. i don’t know why, but i think kristen would listen to 100 gecs and i think its hilarious so that’s why theyre on here as well. the last few hozier songs are mostly just what i associate with kristen (especially work song and foreigner’s god) so that’s why theyre on here.

i love riz to death but there is nothing you can say to convince me that before he met the bad kids his music taste wasn’t god awful. i have a friend who almost exclusively listens to video game soundtracks and 8 bit songs (which aren’t bad, just not my own taste) and that’s where i got some inspiration for riz’s playlist from. the rest of the playlist was inspired from another friend of mine, who listens to soft rock AND video game soundtracks so that’s where the killers, cosmo sheldrake, and bastille came from. i put johnny cash on there with the idea that sklonda and pok probably liked him a lot and riz started to like him by association (and also as a way to remember his dad). the last few songs, like on kristen’s playlist, are songs that i personally think of as ‘riz songs.’ brave as a noun is definitely not something riz would necessarily listen to all the time, but i think its a really good representation of his character (or at least the one i think of him as having). there are also some orchestral pieces that i think adaine would have showed him! the planets is a personal favorite of mine so it was only natural to include it.

#i hope this helps explain a bit!#feel free to send me asks about any particular songs you may have questions abt #:)#long post #talking #the bad kids

18 notes · View notes

laxtolhr · 3 years

Text

Title: Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson.

Summary: “Louis… These new lyrics are kind of…” Niall tries to find a way to vocalise his thoughts without tearing his friend down. “Well they seem darker than what you normally write.”

“Yeah. This almost sounds like heartbreak.” Harry friend and flips through the lyric sheet he was handed. “Hauntingly beautiful, but definitely not what you usually give us.”

Louis shrugs. “That’s all I have right now. Take it or leave it.”

Written for @wrckmyplans for the @sololouiegiftexchange . It’s super late, but I’ve never been good with deadlines. I really hope you enjoy it!

1949

“I just don’t understand this need you have. Can’t you just be happy settling down and working at an office?”

Louis sighs as he shakes his head. “I crave attention. During the war, I would do comedy routines in the trenches at night and it… Well it helped make things a bit more bearable. And it showed me I could be the next big thing. Imagine, me! The next Abbot or Costello!”

Jay continues to wipe furiously at a sticky spot on her counter. “I don’t know, Lou. The girls are still in school and they need a good strong role model to look up to. Just think about if your father was still here how-“

“Well he’s not. He was a dirty lowlife who walked out of his family. I don’t want to think about what he would do.”

A silence falls over the kitchen.

“Fine,” Jay says quietly. “If you think London is where you have to be to make this work then go to London. Just promise me you’ll keep your name. These show business names are getting too much nowadays.”

——————

“Hi, I’m Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson.” He throws his suitcase onto his bed and holds his hand out for his new roommate to shake.

The boy, Louis assumes he can’t be much older than sixteen, tentatively takes his hand and shakes it. “Is that your real name or stage name?”

“Both,” Louis pulls his arm back with a shrug. “Told me ma I’d keep it the same. She’s not a huge fan of fake names.” He takes a look around the room.

It’s not much. A single roomed flat with enough room for two beds and an even tinier kitchen space. There’s just enough space for a framed picture of his family and his radio, but he guesses it will do. He’s always heard of the actress accommodations in New York City across the ocean, but he never realised London had the same kind of boarding set up for both men and women.

“And you are?”

“Oh, right.” The boy grins sheepishly before pushing his curls away from his eyes and smiling widely. “Harry Styles, at least that’s my stage name. Didn’t think anyone would look twice with a name like Edmond Thatcher so I decided on something simple and elegant sounding.”

Louis nods. “I like it. Easy to remember too. Are you a comedian as well or a more serious actor?”

Harry shakes his head as he sits on his bed. “I’m actually a singer. There are two other blokes down the hall as well who are singers. We do some gigs together when no one is looking for a single, but a quartet is really in right now. We want to be the British equivalent to the greats in America- Sinatra, Martin, Lawford, you know?”

“Sounds like a laugh, mate. I’m not the best singer, but if you all ever need a fourth I’d be happy to accompany you. Figure knowing some friends might be a good place to start in the city.”

——————

1951

“You sure about these lyrics? They seem a bit… Cheeky.”

Louis rolls his eyes and takes the papers from his friend’s hands. “Liam, what did we talk about last week?”

Liam frowns, eyes going soft. “You take care of the lyrics and I do the instrumental. The big band sound though doesn’t really lend itself to these types of lyrics.”

“Oi, that’s the beauty of music, Payno. You can cross genres.” Louis pulls out a cigarette from his jacket pocket and quickly lights it as he continues to look at his work. “Think about it. Bing Crosby, one of the biggest names in music, was doing a spin on Irish folk songs. Mixing and melding genres is innovative.”

“But these lyrics-“

“Are risqué and real and what we should be singing.”

The door to the studio opens to reveal Harry and Niall, the fourth member of their quartet, carrying sandwiches from the local deli. “Honestly, Louis, do you have to smoke without the window open? Some of us need to protect our vocal cords from the damaging effects of smoke.”

Rolling his eyes once more, Louis moves to the other side of the room and opens the window. “Need you both to take a look at these lyric sheets and give an honest opinion. Payno and I were having a discussion about them, but a fresh set of eyes might be helpful.”

Niall picks up the papers and begins to read over the words. “I’m feeling something deep inside, hotter than a jet stream burning up. I got a feeling deep inside, it’s taking, it's taking all I got?”

He frowns and looks at the lyricist. “Are you singing about an orgasm?”

“Thank you,” Liam says exasperatedly. “It’s too risqué for us.”

“Hold on.” Harry has Niall repeat the lyrics again. “I see where you could think he’s singing about an orgasm, but what if he’s singing about his feelings? Maybe he’s in love and it’s just overwhelming? Sounds like he’s being consumed by feelings.”

Louis takes the last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out against the window ledge. “Honestly, it is about an orgasm, but like Harry said it could be about feelings. I’ve personally never been in love so I can’t relate, but I’m sure someone out there can or even one of you three. Come on, lads, we’ve got great content. Why are we scared of a little controversy?”

The room is silent for a moment as they all have a quick think.

Finally, Liam sighs. “Fine. We can move forward with this song, but we cannot continue with your song about an actual erection.”

——————

“And so I told him he could go fuck himself.”

The whole table laughs at the witty banter of Nick Grimshaw. He was one of the most influential men in all of England and being on his good side meant you went far. He was out with his colleagues to enjoy a simple lunch at the Ritz and that was it.

“Excuse me, sir, but we have an act coming in soon and I know how much you despise having live music while you dine. They are set to take the stage in about ten minutes.”

Nick thanks the server and slips him five pounds for the information. “Well, that seems to be my cue to wrap up this impromptu lunch affair. Quite sad though. I was so enjoying catching up with all of you.”

“Maybe,” Aimee interjects, “we could stay then. I know you’re not one for live music, but perhaps just this once would be alright. Consider it a fun impromptu concert just for us.”

There’s murmurs of agreement around the table. It had been a long time since the last entertainment party Grimshaw had thrown and his guests were eager for more glitz and glamour.

“I guess a few songs wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

The restaurant lights dim slightly as a quartet takes the stages.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Amor Amore.”

A smattering of applause is heard as the swelling of the strings start. The table watches in glee as the four younger men entertain and sing their hearts out for the esteemed guests.

A couple songs turns into a whole set, which quickly turns into a few hours. Grimshaw barely realised that it’s nearly the late afternoon hours until he had been asked if he and his guests were staying for dinner as well. He politely refuses, but demands that one of the quartet comes out to meet him.

“What are you up to, Nicholas?”

“I want to know if they have a record. I’d love to have their music playing at one of my small gatherings.”

——————

December 1955

Louis exhales slowly and watches the smoke curl up into the wintry air. He hates these high class functions. They’re so ostentatious and over done. It’s always the same shitty jazz and same men and women drinking the same old champagne and laughing at the same old jokes. It never meant anything and he wondered how much longer he had to be there until it had been long enough and he could leave. “There you are,” a voice whispers in his ear and there’s a gentle hand on his elbow. It’s Liam, of course it is, and he’s looking at his friend with worry in his eyes. “You can go in like twenty minutes. I know this really isn’t your scene, but being here means the world to Harry, you know?” “That’s why I’m here at all. The whole party and schmoozing scene belongs to Harry and Niall. Sometimes I wonder if you even like it, but then I remember that Sophia is always with you so you have a reason to enjoy it.” The older boy shrugs and downs the last of his champagne as a man up on the stage clears his throat. A hush falls over the partygoers and soon enough the man on stage- Nick Grimshaw- smiles brightly. “Welcome, elite and A-listers. Tonight, I wanted the very best for you all, but I couldn’t very well ask Amor Amore to perform since they’re guests tonight.” A laugh rips through the group of celebrities and important figures. “So, I asked around and I’d like to introduce Zayn Malik to the stage. He’ll be providing the music for tonight. Thank you all for attending tonight. Enjoy the party and happy Christmas everyone.” The guests cheer and holler happily before going back to what they had been doing, ignoring the singer as he took the stage. Louis rolls his eyes and grabs another glass of champagne as the overused jazz sound starts to come from the piano. He can’t see the man, but he assumes he’s like every other wannabe jazz singer- a head of clean cut lines and a smart looking suit wanting to evoke visions of Frank Sinatra from across the pond. “The field was bright with clover, I saw the finish sign. I started as a rover and then victory was mine. I thought the race was over, but they just keep moving the line.” The brunet freezes as the voice pours through the speakers around the room. The voice is breathy and washes over him in gentle waves. He thinks over the name that Nick had mentioned to see if he could place this beautiful voice, but nothing was coming to him. “They cheered at my persistence, but prayed for my decline. The path of least resistance led to Hollywood and Vine. I tried to go the distance, but they just keep moving the line.” He pushes through the women in beautiful little numbers and men in expensive suits to get to the stage. He has to see the man and know what the owner of this voice looks like. He knows he accidentally spills a drink on some woman’s gown, but he doesn’t even have time to apologise as he spots the edgy pompadour sitting atop the performer’s head. “I jumped all of the hurdles to break out of the pack. I started on the outside and then hit the inside track. I left the other fillies back at the starting gate; was ready, on my mark, I got to set to hurry up and wait.” Louis finally pushes through the last of the crowd and finds himself at the foot of the stage. His mind goes blank as he sees the man is his element. He watches as the man tenderly holds the microphone stand and sways to the sound of the jazz music that swells behind him. The man loves his craft, something Louis hasn’t been able to relate to in a long time. The passions and emotion radiating from the man and his voice are enough to send shivers down Louis’ spine.

The attitude was infectious. It made Louis want more for himself. More than just being one of four. He wanted to be appreciated for his lyrics instead of being censored. He wanted that jazzy sound that didn’t quite fit with a melding of four voices.

He wanted to be solo. He wanted to be free of record producers and radio play and measurements of success for a company. He wanted to be successful for himself. He wanted to be more than just a number. He wanted to be a true artist. “So talent and ambition won me a chance to shine. I aced the big audition, but it's rainin' on Cloud Nine. Can't beat the competition 'cause they just keep moving the line. I handled every corner, each bump along the track, and when I saw the ribbon, well, there was no turning back. I won the photo finish, I posed for all the men, but before I got my trophy, well, the race began again.” Louis lets his eyes drag up to the singer’s own and he startles when he notices that they are locked on him. He’s looking straight at him and winks lightly as he continues to sing his song. “So I made friends with rejection, I've straightened up my spine! I'll change each imperfection till it's time to drink the wine! I'd toast to resurrection, but they just keep moving the line! Please give me some direction, ‘cause they just keep moving the line!” The song ends and there’s polite clapping before the chattering continues as if the singer was merely an inconvenience to them. Louis claps loudest of all and reaches a hand up to him. He quirks his head to the side and takes his hand, smiling brightly when Louis shakes it emphatically. He looks at him, trying to read why one fourth of the biggest music in all Britain is interested in his music. “Can I take a request for you, sir?” “Just another song in general so I can watch a wonderful performance. I assume you already have a set planned out, so I won’t bother you with extra songs. When you take your break though, I’d be delighted if you’d join me for a chat.” Louis whispers to the man as he smiles at him and backs away so he can sing again. The singer’s eyes follow him until he’s swallowed up by the crowd and he wonders what just happened.

——————

“Thank you. I’m going to take a small break and be back in thirty minutes. Have fun and happy Christmas everyone.” Zayn says as he ends his seventh song and heads off stage. He’s immediately accosted by the man from before and handed a glass of champagne. “Do you smoke, Mister Malik?” Zayn nods quietly and follows the man outside to the balcony where he lights up a cigarette and hands his one as well. “You have a lovely voice. I thought Nick was just going to hire another wannabe Marilyn, but you’re actually talented.” “Thank you, Mister…?” “Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson,” he sips at his drink and waits for the recognition. Zayn doesn’t disappoint, although he tries to conceal his excitement. “Louis Tomlinson? Like, from Amor Amore? Oh god. You’re one of the most influential men at this party. I’m lucky to have caught your ear then.” He chuckles, eyes crinkling with his smile. “Your lyrics caught my attention. The fact that you look like you actually enjoy what you do is just a bonus. I was wondering… Would you want to accompany me home tonight? I’d love to hear more music from you.” “You mean… You want to work with me?” Zayn frowns and tries to see the downside to working with someone as powerful and influential as him. This could make or break his career. “Of course. Why else would I invite you back to mine?” Louis seems genuinely confused for a moment before he realises just how rude that may have come across. “Oh! Not that I’m saying you might not be a good friend or anything, but I hardly know you. I’m sure that if we work well together a friendship won’t be far behind though.” Zayn’s sigh of relief and happiness must have been evident. “Well, music I can do. The friendship stuff will depend on how well we work together, Mister Tomlinson. I’m more jazz and Elvis inspired and you’re well known for… Well, big band don't exactly mix with my genre at times.” He smiles and the conversation continues as they laugh and get to know each other. Time seems to go by so fast and soon enough, Nick and Liam are joining them on the balcony. “Malik, you’ve been on a break for well over the thirty minutes you promised.” “Louis, we’re leaving if you want to join us.” Louis looks up at the two men and smiles easily enough. “Sorry about keeping your star, Grimshaw. He’s got a great sound and an ear for music. If you hire him for more events, I’d actually enjoy coming to these parties.” He shakes Zayn’s hand once more before he has to hurry back to the stage. “Oh. And, Liam, I’ll be catching a taxi home tonight. I’ll be waiting for Zayn to finish his contracted set.” He heads inside and leaves the two men on the balcony as it begins to snow lightly. “Oh, Nicholas Grimshaw, what have you started.”

——————

Mid-January 1956

Louis smiles politely up at Zayn as he continues to play a melody that only he knows. He brought the other man to the studio a few hours before the lads were set to join him on another writing session. He doesn’t know what the appeal and draw is to Zayn Malik, but all he knows is that he’s drinking it up like milk and honey.

“All I want is to be up on a stage singing songs I can relate to.” Zayn scrunches up his nose. “Instead, I made the round at parties and corporate events and I sing the same thirty songs in rotation. It’s tiring and makes me want to pack it up and go home.”

“So do it then. Stop singing all these songs by others and start singing your own.” Louis looks up at him with a confused expression. It isn’t that hard for Louis.

Zayn leans heavily onto the baby grand piano and smiles softly. “I can’t write songs. I’ve tried. I’m not good at rhythm without a melody and words just aren’t my strong suit. The song I sang at Mister Grimshaw’s party was an original and that alone took me ten years to write.”

Louis perks up. “Let me write for you. I’m sure I can get some great material and have you headlining in no time.”

“Writing for someone else?”

Zayn and Louis both turn to see the other lads standing in the entranceway to the studio room. Zayn has the decency to look like he’s been caught doing something naughty.

Louis just shrugs, not seeing the issue. “Of course. It’ll be great! He’ll be a proper performer in no time.” He straightens up at the piano and starts to play a quick and jaunty melody as he hums along to the music in his head. “It’s simple. Just have to think of an image you want. You want to be the next Elvis? Easy.”

He taps back and forth between two notes as he tries to think of lyrics to put as his opening lines. “If…” he pauses until it hits him. “If you say something is taboo, well, that’s the thing I wanna do. Do it till we’re black and blue, let’s be bad.”

Zayn laughs as he watches Louis start to create a song on the spot. “How do you come up with stuff so quick? Those lines alone would have taken me days! I should introduce you to my friend Taylor. She’s good at this kind of stuff too”

“It’s easy! You just have to think about the message and go from there.” Louis smiles brightly, the praise feeling good. “And I’d love to meet your friend. Would love to bounce songwriting ideas and tips off someone new.”

Liam, Harry, and Niall all look at each other with worry in their eyes. It could only get worse from here.

——————

February 1956

“Has anyone seen Louis?”

Niall shakes his head as he watches Liam pace the radio station lobby. Being invited to spend air time at the BBC with Nick Grimshaw is a privilege that not many artists got, but of course, Louis is nowhere to be found.

“We’ll just say he’s feeling under the weather. Nick won’t mind if there’s three instead of four of us. In fact he’ll probably prefer it.” Harry shrugs. He’s quite upset with Louis, but there’s nothing that can be done about it now.

Niall has a feeling that they haven’t finished with this conversation, but he plasters on a fake smile when Grimshaw rounds the corner.

——————

After the interview, they’re all piling into Liam’s car when the conversation starts back up again. “Let’s just go to his house. He can’t ignore us if we just show up. That would be entirely too rude.”

“Would it? Well, knowing you have an appointment and not showing up is rude as well. Unless you are on your deathbed, you show up. You’ve booked someone else’s time, so don’t waste it.” Liam starts his car and heads towards the absent singer’s home. “If he’s there, then we need to have a serious talk with Louis.”

Niall frowns. “I think it’s nice that Louis found someone to occupy his time. You know he’s never really been one for singing. He wanted to be a comedian and was just helping us out when we got this big. He’s just along for the ride. Maybe Zayn will be good for him.”

“Good for him? Niall,” Liam tightens his grip on the wheel as his anger grows. “He’s throwing away his career- ours as well. He’s only thinking about himself which he can’t do anymore. He has to realise that he can’t take a break or write what he wants. We’re a group- a team.”

“Yes,” Niall decides to cut off the angry tirade before it really starts growing, “but we’re also friends. As his friend you need to realise that he’s never been happy doing this and we’re killing his creative ideas more than letting them flourish. Maybe… Maybe we should give him an out. He seems so much happier writing for Zayn.”

Harry clears his throat. “Or we could stop insisting he choose. He loves writing for Zayn- we know that- but he also loves performing. So we get someone else to write for us or one of us finally steps up and helps out, big deal. Louis deserves to be just as happy as the rest of us.”

Liam sighs as they pull into the wrap around drive out front of the singer’s home. “Can we at least be upset with him for missing the interview this morning?”

“Depends on why he missed it.”

Turning off the engine, Liam grabs his spare key to Louis’ home.

It’s fairly quiet when they enter. The usual record music playing softly in the background and a warm glow coming from the main room is the only hint that Louis is even home. Niall is about to call out when a giggle catches his attention.

And then a woman’s shoe.

“Guys? Do you think we should-“

“Oh, Lou!”

Harry’s face turns bright red. “We should come back at a later time. I don’t think now is really an opportune moment.”

——————

March 1956

“Taylor, I promise.” Louis softly speaks into the telephone. He’s meant to be warming up for the show, but he had called Taylor instead. The girl was staying at his place to take care of his dog while he was away, but he found himself calling every night to check up on her.

“I just want to hear you say it again, Lou. Please? Just one more time- for me.”

He sighs, but can’t help the soft smile on his face as he thinks about her. He can picture her all curled up in his most comfortable chair in the study with Cliff and Bruce at her feet and a heavy book of poetry resting easy on the table where the phone receiver sat. He knows that she’s in those highly fashionable pants that hike up to her navel and a shirt that stops just above so the smallest sliver of skin is visible. Her hair is probably up in a high curled ponytail with a bow tied around it and all he can think about is how much he wants his fingers to be running through her blonde locks. It’s a domestic scene that he never knew he wanted until now.

“I’ll be home tomorrow night. I’ll be home and I’m going to fuck you good and hard until you’re begging me to let you come. It's just how you like it, isn’t it, darling?”

Her giggles are the only reply.

“Tayor, love, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to head to the stage soon.” He bites back those three words on his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

——————

“So what kind of music are you leaving me with?” Grimshaw asks as he takes the record from Louis’ hand.

Louis shrugs, trying to keep it light. “Nothing. It’s a record of a friend of Zayn Malik- the man who sang at your Christmas party. I’ve been writing and recording with her and I thought maybe you’d want to be the one to discover her. Give it a listen, yeah?”

“Well,” Nick pushes his chair back from his desk and quickly crosses the room to his record player. “If you’ve written for her, I’m sure the lyrics will be great. I’ve always wondered why you hadn’t written for other artists before.” He places the record on the turntable and carefully moves the needle to the edge of the vinyl surface.

It takes a moment before the striking piano chords are playing loudly in the room. Suddenly Taylor’s voice joins in.

“We were both young when I first saw you. I close my eyes and the flashback starts: I'm standing there on a balcony in summer air. See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns, see you make your way through the crowd and say, ‘Hello.’ Little did I know...”

The music swells slightly and Louis tries not to smile as he can tell Nick is already hooked. He wrote this song drawing on Taylor and his relationship. He had always wanted to tell a story that wasn’t quite so dirty all the time and finally Taylor’s voice was his own.

“That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles and my daddy said, ‘Stay away from Juliet.’ And I was crying on the staircase begging you, ‘Please don't go.’ And I said, ‘Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting. All there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story. Baby, just say “Yes”.’”

Nick grabs the needle, plunging the room into silence.

“What are you doing?” Louis is bewildered.

“I want it. I don’t need to hear anymore. She’s got a lovely voice and your writing talents are brilliant, we already knew that. I’ll find a segment to play it on. The sentiment is beautiful, just what this country needs. We’ve had the death of our King and hundreds of countrymen die because of the heavy fog at the end of last year, but this whimsical sentiment is perfect.”

Louis smiles brightly. “So you’ll play it?”

“Absolutely!”

——————

“'Cause we were both young when I first saw you.”

Niall turns towards his friend, smiling happily at the two artists. “You wrote that?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Niall.” Louis laughs as he grabs his cup of tea from the table beside him. “I know all of our music is erections and orgasms hidden with colourful language, but I can write lyrically beautiful pieces when I want.”

“Well I think you’re brilliant, darling.” Taylor smiles brightly and kisses at his cheek.

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re only saying that because he’s taking you to bed almost every night.”

“Harry!” Liam looks scandalised. “That is not polite conversation. We don’t speak of that type of thing.”

Taylor just laughs harder. “Oh it’s perfectly alright, Liam. He’s quite right- about the bed part. I think he’s brilliant with or without the sex.”

Liam watches in disgust as Louis falls more and more in love with her. He needs to put a stop to this before it goes any further.

——————

They’re at another party when Liam sees his opportunity.

“Taylor,” he says nonchalantly towards the girl on Louis’ arm. “Have you met Simon Cowell? I do believe he’s over there.”

Taylor’s eyes widen as she cranes her next to see the music mogul. “Simon Cowell? He’s only the biggest name in music that isn’t an act. Anyone who’s anyone is contracted by him.”

Liam nods. “Would you like me to introduce you?”

“Would I!” Taylor lights up like a Christmas tree. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, darling?”

“Of course not.” Louis smiles and kisses at her cheek. “In fact, I’m going to use the lavatory. Liam can introduce you while I’m gone.”

Taylor smiles brightly and watches him walk away. Her eyes shift to Liam, the smile turning into something a bit darker as her focus shifts. “Well aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Liam can only smirk. He knew there was a reason Taylor stayed with Louis. Hook, line, and sinker.

——————

August 1956

“Louis… These new lyrics are kind of…” Niall tries to find a way to vocalise his thoughts without tearing his friend down. “Well they seem darker than what you normally write.”

“Yeah. This almost sounds like heartbreak.” Harry friend and flips through the lyric sheet he was handed. “Hauntingly beautiful, but definitely not what you usually give us.”

Louis shrugs. “That’s all I have right now. Take it or leave it.”

“Does this have anything to do with Zayn and Tay-“

“Don’t fucking say their names.” Louis lashes out. “Why would it have anything to do with them? It’s not like they used me to get connections or anything. They didn’t take a journal I had filled with song ideas for- full songs with lyrics and piano chords- and just fucking leave in the middle of the night. It’s not like they suddenly found someone better and left me.”

The studio space is quiet.

“Oh, Louis,” Niall is the first to hurry to his side and pull him into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Louis tries his best to keep his composure, but he catches sight of the song sheets in Harry’s hands and the title hits him hard. Love you, Goodbye almost seemed too sweet compared to the way things actually happened. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“This!” Louis shouts and flings his arms around to encompass the space. “I don’t want to write anymore! No more writing, no more singing, no more performing! I’m done. I’m going back to Doncaster and… I’ll figure it out there.”

“What! Louis, you can’t just-“

“He can though.” Niall cuts off the line of protest he can already feel brewing in his other friend. “Louis, you need to do what is best for you. If that means washing your hands of the industry, so be it.”

Louis nods. He never wanted to sing anyway.

——————

February 1961

Louis sat in his home staring at photos from a different time. His mother, god rest her soul, had made him keep everything he brought back to Doncaster- even photos that brought back bad memories. He’s busy staring at one of him and Taylor smiling brightly with Zayn off in the background smirking like he knew something they didn’t. In the end, Zayn did know something Louis didn’t; he knew the plan to break Louis’ heart and rob him of any creativity.

He doesn’t know why he pulled this album out. He knew looking over these pictures were going to hurt more than anything. He chalks it up to the wave of nostalgia he felt this morning after hearing Niall’s voice singing to him through the radio.

It was weird, hearing Niall solo for the first time. He kept expecting Liam to join in with his higher harmonies and round out the sound, but there was nothing but Niall’s soft baritone crooning away about love and loss.

Finally something Louis could relate to.

He had felt his hand twitch at the first note from Niall’s mouth. The usual twitch that meant he should be writing. He hadn’t felt it in awhile and figured it had been a knee-jerk reaction. That had been hours ago though and he could still feel the tug in his mind and heart.

He hadn’t written anything in five years? Why would he try again? Was if he was shit at it?

Letting out a long suffering sigh, he grabbed a pencil and some paper. He stared at the photos for inspiration. He could take this pain and make a song. He had done it before. He could do it again.

He just needed the words.

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

December 1962

Louis stood backstage, nervous and ready to pass out. Tonight at the London Palladium, the biggest variety show in all England was trying to pull off the biggest surprise of the decade.

He looked to his left and smiled as he saw Niall tuning his guitar. He looked to his right and saw Liam doing vocal warm ups. They were all performing individually and then were going to perform a melody of their old songs together. It was going to be a night to remember.

He knew he was on after Niall, but he was still debating on which songs he should do. His backing band was well versed in all his tracks so he could do a last minute change in setlist if he wanted, but he had chosen the four songs for a reason. The lyrics were some of the best he had to offer and he was not going to disappoint.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, premiering his songs for the first time anywhere Mister Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis blinked a few times before it registered that he had to take the stage. He took one final breath, catching a smile and good luck from Niall, before taking his place on the stage. He thanked the host before turning to his band. “We Made It, yeah?”

He turns back around and looks straight into the camera. It was his time to shine.

#My writing #sololouiegiftexchange

6 notes · View notes

seasurfacefullofclouds1 · 4 years

Note

I know you've mentioned Frank Ocean before (in terms of label struggles etc.) and I was wondering are you a fan of his work? His tumblr open letter is still one of the more beautiful things I have read by an artist and him living his truth while still being incredibly private is what I hope for Louis one day. Also I'm listening to the Dissect podcast on Chanel orange and Blonde right now and it reminds me of your music posts (highly recommend). Hope you're well. :)

Frank’s Tumblr post is still an iconic thing.

Thank you for the recommendation! Yes, I like Blonde a lot. I also loved Frank’s shoot for Prada. The fashion house fits his aesthetic and was amazing for his Met Gala “camp” look.

Here’s the text of his post:

BASEDGOD WAS RIGHT. we’re all a bunch of golden million dollar babies. my hope is that the babies born these days will inherit less of the bullshit than we did. anyhow, what i’m about to post is for anyone who cares to read. it was intended to fill the thank you’s section in my album credits, but with all the rumors going round.. I figured it’d be good to clarify…

Whoever you are. Wherever you are… I’m starting to think we’re a lot alike. Human beings spinning on blackness. All wanting to be seen, touched, heard, paid attention to. My loved ones are everything to me here. In the last year or 3 I’ve screamed at my creator, screamed at clouds in the sky, for some explanation. Mercy maybe. For peace of mind to rain like manna somehow. 4 summers ago, I met somebody. I was 19 years old. He was too. We spent that summer, and the summer after, together. Everyday almost. And on the days we were together, time would glide. Most of the day I’d see him, and his smile. I’d hear his conversation and his silence…until it was time to sleep. Sleep I would often share with him. By the time I realized I was in love, it was malignant. It was hopeless. There was no escaping, no negotiating with the feeling. No choice. It was my first love, it changed my life. Back then, my mind would wander to the women I had been with, the ones I cared for and thought I was in love with. I reminisced about the sentimental songs I enjoyed when I was a teenager.. The ones I played when I experienced a girlfriend for the first time. I realised they were written in a language I did not yet speak. I realised too much, too quickly. Imagine being thrown from a plane. I wasn’t in a plane though. I was in a Nissan Maxima, the same car I packed up with bags and drove to Los Angeles in. I sat there and told my friend how I felt. I wept as the words left my mouth. I grieved for them, knowing I could never take them back for myself. He patted my back. He said kind things. He did his best, but he wouldn’t admit the same. He had to go back inside soon, it was late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldn’t tell the truth about his feelings for me for another 3 years. I felt like I’d only imagined reciprocity for years. Now imagine being thrown from a cliff. No, I wasn’t on a cliff. I was still in my car telling myself it was gonna be fine and to take deep breaths. I took the breaths and carried on. I kept up a peculiar friendship with him because I couldn’t imagine keeping up my life without him. I struggled to master myself and my emotions. I wasn’t always successful

The dance went on.. I kept the rhythm for several summers after. It’s winter now. I’m typing this on a plane back to Los Angeles from New Orleans. I flew home for another marred Christmas. I have a windowseat. It’s December 27, 2011. By now I’ve written two albums. This being the second. I wrote to keep myself busy and sane. I wanted to create worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions. I’m surprised at how far all of it has taken me. Before writing this I’d told some people my story. I’m sure these people kept me alive, kept me safe. Sincerely, these are the folks I wanna thank from the floor of my heart. Everyone of you knows who you are.. Great humans, probably angels. I don’t know what happens now, and that’s alrite. I don’t have any secrets I need kept anymore. There’s probably some small shit still, but you know what I mean. I was never alone, as much as it felt like it. As much as I still do sometimes. I never was. I don’t think I ever could be. Thanks. To my first love, I’m grateful for you. Grateful that even though it wasn’t what I hoped for and even though it was never enough, it was. Some things never are.. and we were. I won’t forget you. I won’t forget the summer. I’ll remember who I was when I met you. I’ll remember who you were and how we’ve both changed and stayed the same. I’ve never had more respect for life and living than I have right now. Maybe it takes a near death experience to feel alive. Thanks. To my mother. You raised me strong. I know I’m only brave because you were first. So thank you. All of you. For everything good. I feel like a free man. If I listen closely.. I can hear the sky falling too

(Beautiful)

Here’s the Dissect podcast!

#frank ocean #dissect podcast #26 june 2020

8 notes · View notes

skonnaris · 4 years

Text

Books I’ve Read: 2006-2019

Alexie, Sherman - Flight

Anderson, Joan - A Second Journey

- An Unfinished Marriage

- A Walk on the Beach

- A Year By The Sea

Anshaw, Carol - Carry the One

Auden, W.H. - The Selected Poems of W.H. Auden

Austen, Jane - Pride and Prejudice

Bach, Richard - Jonathan Livingston Seagull

Bear, Donald R - Words Their Way

Berg, Elizabeth - Open House

Bly, Nellie - Ten Days in a Madhouse

Bradbury, Ray - Fahrenheit 451

- The Martian Chronicles

Brooks, David - The Road to Character

Brooks, Geraldine - Caleb’s Crossing

Brown, Dan - The Da Vinci Code

Bryson, Bill - The Lost Continent

Burnett, Frances Hodgson - The Secret Garden

Buscaglia, Leo - Bus 9 to Paradise

- Living, Loving & Learning

- Personhood

- Seven Stories of Christmas Love

Byrne, Rhonda - The Secret

Carlson, Richard - Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

Carson, Rachel - The Sense of Wonder

- Silent Spring

Cervantes, Miguel de - Don Quixote

Cherry, Lynne - The Greek Kapok Tree

Chopin, Karen - The Awakening

Clurman, Harold - The Fervent Years: The Group Theatre & the 30s

Coelho, Paulo - Adultery

The Alchemist

Conklin, Tara - The Last Romantics

Conroy, Pat - Beach Music

- The Death of Santini: The Story of a Father and His Son

- The Great Santini

- The Lords of Discipline

- The Prince of Tides

- The Water is Wide

Corelli, Marie - A Romance of Two Worlds

Delderfield, R.F. - To Serve Them All My Days

Dempsey, Janet - Washington’s Last Contonment: High Time for a Peace

Dewey, John - Experience and Education

Dickens, Charles - A Christmas Carol

- Great Expectations

- A Tale of Two Cities

Didion, Joan - The Year of Magical Thinking

Disraeli, Benjamin - Sybil

Doctorow, E.L. - Andrew’s Brain

- Ragtime

Doerr, Anthony - All the Light We Cannot See

Dreiser, Theodore - Sister Carrie

Dyer, Wayne - Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life

- The Power of Intention

- Your Erroneous Zones

Edwards, Kim - The Memory Keeper’s Daughter

Ellis, Joseph J. - His Excellency: George Washington

Ellison, Ralph - The Invisible Man

Emerson, Ralph Waldo - Essays and Lectures

Felkner, Donald W. - Building Positive Self Concepts

Fergus, Jim - One Thousand White Women

Flynn, Gillian - Gone Girl

Follett, Ken - Pillars of the Earth

Frank, Anne - The Diary of a Young Girl

Freud, Sigmund - The Interpretation of Dreams

Frey, James - A Million Little Pieces

Fromm, Erich - The Art of Loving

- Escape from Freedom

Fulghum, Robert - All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

Fuller, Alexandra - Leaving Before the Rains Come

Garield, David - The Actors Studion: A Player’s Place

Gates, Melinda - The Moment of Lift

Gibran, Kahlil - The Prophet

Gilbert, Elizabeth - Eat, Pray, Love

- The Last American Man

- The Signature of All Things

Ginsburg, Ruth Bader - My Own Words

Girzone, Joseph F, - Joshua

- Joshua and the Children

Gladwell, Malcom - Blink

- David and Goliath

- Outliers

- The Tipping Point

- Talking to Strangers

Glass, Julia - Three Junes

Goodall, Jane - Reason for Hope

Goodwin, Doris Kearnes - Team of Rivals

Graham, Steve - Best Practices in Writing Instruction

Gray, John - Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus

Groom, Winston - Forrest Gump

Gruen, Sarah - Water for Elephants

Hannah, Kristin - The Great Alone

- The Nightingale

Harvey, Stephanie and Anne Goudvis - Strategies That Work

Hawkins, Paula - The Girl on the Train

Hedges, Chris - Empire of Illusion

Hellman, Lillian - Maybe

- Pentimento

Hemingway - Ernest - A Moveable Feast

Hendrix, Harville - Getting the Love You Want

Hesse, Hermann - Demian

- Narcissus and Goldmund

- Peter Camenzind

- Siddhartha

- Steppenwolf

Hilderbrand, Elin - The Beach Club

Hitchens, Christopher - God is Not Great

Hoffman, Abbie - Soon to be a Major Motion Picture

- Steal This Book

Holt, John - How Children Fail

- How Children Learn

- Learning All the Time

- Never Too Late

Hopkins, Joseph - The American Transcendentalist

Horney, Karen - Feminine Psychology

- Neurosis and Human Growth

- The Neurotic Personality of Our Time

- New Ways in Psychoanalysis

- Our Inner Conflicts

- Self Analysis

Hosseini, Khaled - The Kite Runner

Hoover, John J, Leonard M. Baca, Janette K. Klingner - Why Do English Learners Struggle with Reading?

Janouch, Gustav - Conversations with Kafka

Jefferson, Thomas - Crusade Against Ignorance

Jong, Erica - Fear of Dying

Joyce, Rachel - The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy

- The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry

Kafka, Franz - Amerika

- Metamophosis

- The Trial

Kallos, Stephanie - Broken For You

Kazantzakis, Nikos - Zorba the Greek

Keaton, Diane - Then Again

Kelly, Martha Hall - The Lilac Girls

Keyes, Daniel - Flowers for Algernon

King, Steven - On Writing

Kornfield, Jack - Bringing Home the Dharma

Kraft, Herbert - The Indians of Lenapehoking - The Lenape or Delaware Indians: The Original People of NJ, Southeastern New York State, Eastern Pennsylvania, Northern Delaware and Parts of Western Connecticut

Kundera, Milan - The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Lacayo, Richard - Native Son

Lamott, Anne - Bird by Bird

Word by Word

L’Engle, Madeleine - A Wrinkle in Time

Lahiri, Jhumpa - The Namesake

Lappe, Frances Moore - Diet for a Small Planet

Lee, Harper - To Kill a Mockingbird

Lems, Kristin et al ��- Building Literacy with English Language Learners

Lewis, Sinclair - Main Street

London, Jack - The Call of the Wild

Lowry, Lois - The Giver

Mander, Jerry - Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television

Marks, John D. - The Search for the Manchurian Candidate: The CIA and Mind Control

Martel, Yann - Life of Pi

Maslow, Abraham - The Farther Reaches of Human Nature

- Motivation and Personality

- Religions, Values, and Peak Experiences

- Toward a Psychology of Being

Maugham. W. Somerset - Of Human Bondage

- Christmas Holiday

Maurier, Daphne du - Rebecca

Mayes, Frances - Under the Tuscan Sun

Mayle, Peter - A Year in Provence

McCourt, Frank - Angela’s Ashes

- Teacher man

McCullough, David - 1776

- Brave Companions

McEwan, Ian - Atonement

- Saturday

McLaughlin, Emma - The Nanny Diaries

McLuhan, Marshall - Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man

Meissner, Susan - The Fall of Marigolds

Millman, Dan - Way of the Peaceful Warrior

Moehringer, J.R. - The Tender Bar

Moon, Elizabeth - The Speed of Dark

Moriarty, Liane - The Husband’s Sister

- The Last Anniversary

- What Alice Forgot

Mortenson, Greg - Three Cups of Tea

Moyes, Jo Jo - One Plus One

- Me Before You

Ng, Celeste - Little Fires Everywhere

Neill, A.S. - Summerhill

Noah, Trevor - Born a Crime

O’Dell, Scott - Island of the Blue Dolphins

Offerman, Nick - Gumption

O’Neill, Eugene - Long Day’s Journey Into Night

A Touch of the Poet

Orwell, George - Animal Farm

Owens, Delia - Where the Crawdads Sing

Paulus, Trina - Hope for the Flowers

Pausch, Randy - The Last Lecture

Patchett, Ann - The Dutch House

Peck, Scott M. - The Road Less Traveled

- The Road Less Traveled and Beyond

Paterson, Katherine - Bridge to Teribithia

Picoult, Jodi - My Sister’s Keeper

Pirsig, Robert - Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Puzo, Mario - The Godfather

Quindlen, Anna - Black and Blue

Radish, Kris - Annie Freeman’s Fabulous Traveling Funeral

Redfield, James - The Celestine Prophecy

Rickert, Mary - The Memory Garden

Rogers, Carl - On Becoming a Person

Ruiz, Miguel - The Fifth Agreement

- The Four Agreements

- The Mastery of Love

Rum, Etaf - A Woman is No Man

Saint-Exupery, Antoine de - The Little Prince

Salinger, J.D. - Catcher in the Rye

Schumacher, E.F. - Small is Beautiful

Sebold, Alice - The Almost Moon

- The Lovely Bones

Shaffer, Mary Ann and Anne Barrows - The Gurnsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Shakespeare, William - Alls Well That Ends Well

- Much Ado About Nothing

- Romeo and Juliet

- The Sonnets

- The Taming of the Shrew

- Twelfth Night

- Two Gentlemen of Verona

Sides, Hampton - Hellhound on his Trail: The Stalking of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the International Hunt for His Assassin

Silverstein, Shel - The Giving Tree

Skinner, B.F. - About Behaviorism

Smith, Betty - A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Snyder, Zilpha Keatley - The Velvet Room

Spinelli, Jerry - Loser

Spolin, Viola - Improvisation for the Theater

Stanislavski, Constantin - An Actor Prepares

Stedman, M.L. - The Light Between Oceans

Steinbeck, John - Travels with Charley

Steiner, Peter - The Terrorist

Stockett, Kathryn - The Help

Strayer, Cheryl - Wild

Streatfeild, Dominic - Brainwash

Strout, Elizabeth - My Name is Lucy Barton

Tartt, Donna - The Goldfinch

Taylor, Kathleen - Brainwashing: The Science of Thought Control

Thomas, Matthew - We Are Not Ourselves

Thoreau, Henry David - Walden

Tolle, Eckhart - A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose

- The Power of Now

Towles, Amor - A Gentleman in Moscow

- Rules of Civility

Tracey, Diane and Lesley Morrow - Lenses on Reading

Traub, Nina - Recipe for Reading

Tzu, Lao - Tao Te Ching

United States Congress - Project MKULTRA, the CIA's program of research in behavioral modification: Joint hearing before the Select Committee on Intelligence and the ... Congress, first session, August 3, 1977

Van Allsburg, Chris - Just a Dream

- Polar Express

- Sweet Dreams

- Stranger

- Two Bad Ants

Walker, Alice - The Color Purple

Waller, Robert James - Bridges of Madison County

Warren, Elizabeth - A Fighting Chance

Waugh, Evelyn - Brideshead Revisited

Weir, Andy - The Martian

Weinstein, Harvey M. - Father, Son and CIA

Welles, Rebecca - The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood

Westover, Tara - Educated

White, E.B. - Charlotte’s Web

Wilde, Oscar - The Picture of Dorien Gray

Wolfe, Tom - I Am Charlotte Simmons

Wolitzer, Meg - The Female Persuasion

Woolf, Virginia - Mrs. Dalloway

Zevin, Gabrielle - The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry

Zusak, Marcus - The Book Thief

14 notes · View notes

blueishfood · 4 years

Text

Wind in our sails (Chapter 2)

Fandom/Ship: Maraudrer era in a Pirates of the Caribbean au! Jily, Dobby x Winky, Alice x Frank,

Summary:

“Lily Evans, a young Lady of El Puerto Del Rey, meets Lucius Malfoy for the first time as she is promised to him. Malfoy is one of the few counts of Slytherin Island, a persuasive and revolting man. Miss Evans sees no way out of the nightmare her parents has landed her in.

That is until the infamous Marauder, a known and feared pirate ship sailed by Captain James Potter, attacks The Serpent on their way to her wedding. Lily sees and escape and grabs on tight.

Set sail with Lily Evans as she joins Captain James Potter and his mates in swashbuckling adventures of romance, mystery and lionhearted bravery.”

Warning(s): Only a little bit of fighting, what is pirate life without it?

Words: 2,4 K

A/N: It has come to my attention that people might actually like this fic! Thank you for that, I will now proceed to post all the chapters I have already posted on my AO3 account plus a new one :)

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

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

Lily was lying on her silk bed when the first servants carried in her suitcases. She tried not to let the tears fall, but couldn't stop them when she thought of her near future. She cried till her head was worn out and her eyes were red and puffy. Sometime in between; Winky came in to her room and tried to speak to her.

"M-miss, i must congratulate you on your engagement,", she flinched as Lily sobbed loudly. "M-Mister M-Malfoy is very rich, he will p-probably give you everything you w-want." Lily tried to sit, but settled for looking up at Winky from where she lay. She tried to force a small smile, but could not manage it.

"I hope you two find real love..." Winky whispered very quietly. Lily couldn't help but break back into tears. She already felt exhausted, but trying to stop herself from crying would drain her of even more energy.

"Oh! I-I am s-so sorry m-miss!" Winky was on the verge of tears; terrified that she had gotten her mistress to cry. She tried rubbing Lily's back carefully, but when the misses flung herself at tiny Winky and hugged her tightly, the maid had no idea what to do. Lily soaked both their dresses in tears, and did not recognize Winky's surprise nor her calming whispers.

"W-will you c-come with me?" Lily asked Winky between tears and hiccups. The maid's big eyes widened and she sat back a bit to see Lily's face.

"Oh miss! I do not know if I am allowed." Lily dried her tears with a fleak of the light pink sheets under her and smiled at her maid.

"If I had you with me, I'm sure this would be much less terrifying, and do call me Lily." Winky smiled back at Lily. She stood up from the bed and nodded.

"I will ask the mistress, L- Lily." Lily laughed, her eyes glimmering.

"Don't be afraid of saying my name! We are friends, are we not?" Winky's smile grew to the size of the moon. She had never had a real friend in El Puerto del Rey before.

"Yes! Of course we are friends!" Winky stuttered, her smile wider than Lily had ever seen it. Lily smiled back and hugged her new friend again.

"And do me a favor and ask dad, not mum?" Lily laughed when Winky nodded fast and hurried out of the room.

When Lily once again was left alone to think; she cried until nightfall, falling into a restless sleep in the bed dampened by her own tragedy.

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

Lily stood on the port, looking at the big ship owned by Malfoy. It was better to have Winky there, she had to admit, but she was still afraid that Malfoy was going to force her to bed her first day on the island. But he could not do that... could he?

Lily was seriously considering to run away then and there, but then Lucius saw her. He looked much older than her, she realized, maybe in his forties. Lily shuddered under his stare.

Lucius was standing on deck, looking down at her and Winky with a smirk. He shot them a wink. Lily ignored him, walking on board with her purse tightly gripped in her cold hands.

Every day from Lily was seven years old until she was twelve, she was on board her father's ships; learning everything, from tying ropes to standing at the wheel. She even learned how to use a sword. Her father believed she could do almost anything a man could do. She was surprised by the mere thought of him marrying her off to a random man. Either way, walking on board the ship, she felt more like herself than any other time during the last week.

Lily and Winky's room was not big. It was slightly crammed and much less exquisite than Lily was used to. Still, it was bigger than most rooms on the ship. It had two beds, one small closet, a window and a water bowl that was hammered to the wall. Lily was admiring the view of the ocean when Winky came down to their room and smiled at her.

"It is going to be okay, miss." Lily nodded and glanced at Winky.

"One would think so," she answered, and looked back out. Winky saw the sore spot and changed the subject. She walked over to Lily and glanced out at the glittering water.

"Do you know where we are going, miss?"

"I do. But I would rather go with a pirate than going where we are headed." Lily sighed and were not even amused when Winky staggered backwards. She had not thought of how her friend would react to the word pirate, not many dared say that word.

"I know where it is, yes.", Lily muttered, slowly sitting down on the bed. "He is a cruel man, he lives on an cruel island. We are sailing towards Slytherin island." Winky gasped.

She had heard of Slytherin island, everybody had. It was an island where even the noblest of women drank, and they served the most vile of kings; King Voldemort. They said that he was a king, but everybody knew he was a pirate.

There were good and bad pirates, Winky knew because she had worked on one of the better pirate ships once. King Voldemort was the worst pirate known to man, and Slytherin island was the worst pirate port.

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

After three days on board the ship; Lily was going mad. She could not hide anywhere! Every time she wanted to be alone, Malfoy would come and talk to her to get to know her better. Yeah, right, Lily thought, more like getting to know the underside of her skirt better.

The only way Lily could get away from Malfoy was by talking to the crew, or standing in the birds nest because he was afraid of heights. Lady Lily would stay up there for hours, waiting for the sun to go down and for Malfoy to retreat to his cabin. There was not much to entertain her in the birds nest except from the occasional sailor on duty. Lily often busied herself by singing a song she had heard on a pub she had visited with her father once. He realized his mistake when Vivida attacked him with her sandal the morning after, but Lily had still gotten to experience life outside her boring mansion.

"We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves Drink up me hearties, yo ho", Lily sang, giggling to herself quietly.

"We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs Drink up me hearties, yo ho Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. "

"Is bad luck singin' 'bout pirates." Lily pushed herself from the railing she had been standing on and looked at the man who talked to her. She had been able to retire back to the main deck after seeing Malfoy return to his quarters. She had figured she would be almost alone at this hour of the evening, but Lily had not been able to sense the man that was now standing before her.

He had a big crooked nose and long black hair, but that was not the most attention seeking detail about the man. He had lost one leg and an eye, in addition to the scars on his face. In short, the man looked like he had been in a sword-fight against ten people, and lost. He was Lily's imagination come to life. The picture perfect idea of an old pirate.

"They sail these waters, all of em. You wouldn't want him comin' after us, now would ye?" Lily shook her head fast, even though she did not know who he spoke of.

"Alastor Moody, pleasure to meet your acquaintance, miss." The man took her hand and shook it firmly.

"Lily Evans.", Lily said, and pulled her hand back to her side. Alastor grinned slightly and asked her if she still held on to her old name.

"I am an Evans until I officially marry Malfoy." She stated stubbornly. Looking back to the ocean bathing in sun, she sighed.

"Not a happy arrangement I wager?" He placed his arms on the railing beside her.

"Not my arrangement.", Lily countered, without taking her eyes off the waves.

Alastor would have given a witty reply as always, had it not been for the fact that he was no longer focused on the miss. He saw a ship in the horizon.

It was not big enough for the normal eye to see, but his eye had been trained for a long time, so he saw it. The Marauder. Filled with the phoenix order; he guessed. The best fighters in the known world, and pirates without qualms of killing. Moody already hated the captain of Serpent's Head, and the crew were terrible fighters. The Marauder would win easily.

But, hey, it would be fun to look at, and Moody would have a front row seat.

"Should we call for the captain?" Lily watched the ship with a careful eye. 'She has good eyes.' Moody thought.

With enough of a warning, the Serpent's Head might be able to out run the Marauder. Moody glanced at Lily, and realized she didn't seem more in favor of Malfoy winning than Moody was.

"Rather not..." he answered after a while. Lily lifted an eyebrow, but didn't call down to any of the crew.

"I've always been Cap'n of this ship.", Moody explained, "I won't give that title away to some city kid with money." Lily's eyes widened, but she nodded and Moody thanked some foreign sea goddess he wouldn't have to knock her out. He rather liked this girl.

"That title is supposed to be earned.", Lily agreed, and turned back to look at the ever closing ship.

"They have hoisted their colors. It's a pirate ship.", she stated, seemingly not concerned of the fact. Moody nodded.

"Good eye.", he muttered. Glancing down to see if anyone had noticed the threat except from them. A few minutes passed, and now the ship was a threatening shadow on the horizon. A few of the men had picked up on the fact, but they all saw Malfoy and decided not to do anything about it.

"I'll wager they will be able to reach us no matter what now, don't you?" Moody pulled out his telescope and measured the speed of the Marauder. Finally he nodded his yes to the woman beside her.

"I won't bet against you, miss.", he said, as he headed for the quarterdeck. "Better lock up safe and sound, Evans. This is looking to be one hell of a fight." Lily saluted the former Captain with two fingers, and laughed as she heard his commandos echo behind her retreating form.

"Constant vigilance, men! N' give me that bottle o' rum, I'm going to need it."

"Winky!" Lily shouted for her maid as she ran down the slippery hallway. She felt her heart pound in her ears like the boots on the deck above her. She heard shouting and stepped out of the way as five armed soldiers marched past her on their way to the battle. The Marauder had yet to reach them as Lily did not hear any canons, but she figured she did not have much time.

"Winky!", Lily shouted again, more desperate this time than the last.

"Miss?" Lily did not have time to correct her on using her name, she just took Winky's elbow and dragged her towards Timmy's cabin.

Timmy was one of the crew members she had gotten to know better. There were many members, and Lily was certain she had yet to talk to all of them, that was why she figured her plan would work.

"What are we doing here, Miss?", Winky asked, hesitating before stepping into the cabin. Timmy was about 16, he was the youngest worker and therefore had the clothes that would fit Lily the most. He wouldn't be mad if she borrowed some clothes of him, would he? Probably not.

"Lily, what a-are you doing?" Lily sighed, did Winky really not understand?

"Borrowing some clothes from Timmy. Take these on." Lily said, throwing some black breeches and a plain white shirt at Winky. Then she threw on some for herself and sat course for the weapon storage.

"Miss? Why are we doing this?" Winky asked as she tied a belt around her waist and tried to keep up with her Lady.

"Because I want to fight and because we do not want to be kidnapped by pirates." Winky's eyes got big as plates. Thankfully she understood the situation and nodded.

"Right," she muttered, and looked at the closed door in front of them, "armory." Lily tried to open the door, but it was firmly shut. "Damn it," she growled, and tried smashing her shoulder to the piece of wood. Lily found out she did not weigh nearly enough.

Winky shoved her away rather forcefully, and picked a few needles out of her up-do. Lily watched Winky work with a surprised look on her face, but didn't ask. She knew Winky's earlier occupations had been less than honorable.

When Winky opened the door, Lily grabbed the first two swords she saw. She threw one of them to Winky who caught it with ease. Lily stopped only for a millisecond to allow a fraction of a frown to form on her face. She knew that all the workers in her dad's house were trained for emergencies, but she did not know that they were this good.

The two girls nodded to each other and with an excited smile, Lily sprinted up on deck. Winky f on followed on her heals. Cannon shots could be heard over their heads just before they arrived at the scene. Lily felt the ship rock from the force and she could only separate a single shout from the mayhem.

"Board the ship!"

When Lily finally stepped outside, the first thing she layed eyes on were the dead bodies sprawled around. The nauseating sight made her want to puke. Was it really smart to fight grown men? Lily knew she was good, but out here it was life or death. If she lost, she would not get a new chance like she did when she trained with her dad.

Lily snapped back to the reality when Winky elbowed her in the side. Her eyes calmed Lily. She knew then, Winky would be by her side.

Lily for a second wondered what was wrong with her. She knew how to fight, and fear had never stopped her before. She straightened her back and charged into battle. She picked up the hat of one of the few fallen pirates and put it on her own head. Pushing it down to hide her face, she smirked and drew her sword; "Let's fight."

#jily #lily evans #James Potter #jily pirate fanfic #the marauders #Harry Potter #pirate au #marauders fanfiction #marauders era

6 notes · View notes

eyebright-iris · 5 years

Text

Review: Met Gala 2019

Good morning to girls and gays only. Straight men can perish.

Well, the Met Gala has rolled around once again and all I can say is: I’m so glad I’m a lesbian. The theme for this year was ‘Camp: Notes on Fashion’ and my GOD did some men decide that this was the perfect opportunity to come in a bland black tux or worse.

Some of the biggest disappointments of the night for me have to be Rami Malek and Taron Egerton, who, having both just played some of the most iconic men in recent history who lived, breathed and ate the essence of camp, saw fit to turn up in black tuxes. Taron’s was kinda sparkly though and I still respect the dude for his general lack of typical masculinity elsewhere (more men commenting “phwoar” on their mates’ Instagram, please). Shout out to Frank Ocean who showed up looking like any bouncer you might find outside one of my local clubs on a Saturday night. He collaborated with James Charles to prove that while some gays showed their best, others certainly did not. The theme was CAMP, James Charles, and you still couldn’t deliver.

I appreciated the change in pace from Darren Criss and Harry Styles, but to be honest, Harry’s had camper looks in concert and Darren Criss…well, I loved his look, but it also took me a solid ten minutes to work out that it was him and not just Brendon Urie in his regular concert gear. Glittery jackets and statement eyeliner do not a camp icon make, I’m afraid, though you certainly did better than so many others.

Kim Kardashian was certainly…there. I’m impressed with the way she managed to make herself look like she’s just stepped out of the ocean butt-naked and dripping wet, but girl. You’re rich as fuck. There’s more than bodycon dresses out there. Also please smack your husband, he’s a dick and he’s wearing a black tracksuit. Kendall and Kylie were a little more flamboyant but honestly, they were single-colour knockoffs of things I would say you could find at a Rio street festival, except that would be an insult to Brazil and all the ways Rio festivals embody everything the Jenner looks were not. And to be real with you? For all the colour that was there, they were boring. What is it with these women and being afraid to be #Iconique? It’s sad that all they seem to know how to do is emphasise their boobs and hips in dresses with very little fabric to try and be daring. If they weren’t so rich and influential no one would pay them any mind because you can see the same look on anyone else.

While I don’t like Cardi B, I can appreciate her attempt to get into the spirit of the Met Gala, which she pulled off so well last year. I only wish her skirt hadn’t ended up looking like rows of theatre seating. Katy Perry was there as both a chandelier and a hamburger, which, while a step up from the Jenner-Kardashian contributions, leads me to wonder if she knows what ‘camp’ means, or if her foray into queer culture stopped once she was done appropriating sapphic sexuality for male consumption in 2008. Special mention must go to Benedict Cumberbatch who saw fit to show up dressed like some bizarre visiting cousin of Colonel Sanders who maybe definitely owned a plantation. It wasn’t a black tux but somehow I just wish it had been.

To get to the real stars of the night, I think it’s only fair to start off by saying this Met Gala was once again, Black Excellence. I cannot BREATHE for the number of incredible, powerful black icons taking to the pink carpet in works of art. Let’s begin, shall we?

Billy Porter showed up (and showed everyone else up) with six hot half naked slave dudes decked out in gold carrying him in on a black-and-gold chaise-lounge like a modern-day Cleopatra and, once he had both feet firmly on the floor, threw up the massive golden wings of Isis and owned the entire space around him. The crown. The wings. The copious gold sparkly shit. The gold bedazzled stuff on his face. Every other man should be ashamed of his failure to measure up to the king. Also every man in a tux found DEAD by the side of the road thanks to our Lord and Saviour Billy Porter.

If Billy Porter is the king, then surely, there are too many queens to choose from. From Laverne Cox’s strikingly shaped black dress with her brilliant blue-white hair and statement makeup, to Lupita Nyong’o showing up in the full neon spectrum of the rainbow, black women showed up to take the crown every single time last night. Janelle Monáe’s stunning artsy dress blew me away, from the Picasso-like features to the multitude of hats that I have no idea how she balanced, she’s a masterpiece. Lizzo stepped out looking like the Empress of Flamingos and I am absolutely here for every second of it. The colours are loud, bold, and the outfit is as large-as-life as Lizzo herself. Her hair was so stunning, I swear I thought it was a crown at first.

Black hair certainly had a starring role on the red carpet as well, from Tessa Thompson’s insanely long braid (she was carrying a WHIP to complete her outfit RIP all wlw) to Lupita’s impressive afro with its many golden combs. I adored Danai Gurira’s hair and especially loved her Oscar Wilde-inspired outfit: here is a woman who understands her brief and works from it to great effect, and I loved Keiynan Lonsdale’s gorgeous hair and butterfly gown – seeing him embracing his queerness with both arms since Love, Simon led him to come out has made my heart big.

I can’t move on from the black dominance and excellence of the night without mention of two of my favourite looks: Zendaya and Lena Waithe. If Billy Porter is the king and there are too many queens to count, then Zendaya stands out yet again as the living, breathing princess of the lot of them. I can hear the white tears over black girl magic Cinderella from here. She arrived in a whole Cinderella dress that expanded and glows from within, a pumpkin-carriage purse and her own fairy godmother to transform her with a little bibbity-bobbity-boo? She even lost her damn glass slipper on the stairs. A true artist. As they say in the LGBT+ community: um, wig.

Speaking of which: Lena Waithe. The lesbian icon herself, who showed up to last year’s Catholic-themed Met Gala in a pride flag cape, and who went hell for leather this year as well, putting every man in a tux to shame by not only out-classing them in how fantastic she looked in her lilac suit, but also paying homage to the origins of camp, with the back of her jacket boldly stating “Black Drag Queens Invented Camp” and the pinstripes on the suit actually being cleverly displayed lyrics to iconic drag queen songs. She really Did That yet again and I’m knocked dead.

This review is already long as hell and it’s about to get longer because there are more looks that I want to mention.

First of all: Lady. Fucking. Gaga. My girl did four outfits on the pink carpet in the space of 15 minutes and holy shit did she kill it. Starting out in a voluminous hot pink ballgown, followed by a more sedate but still impressive black one with a matching umbrella, then down to a slim hot-pink number, huge sunglasses, and statement telephone, and finally ending up in an iconic mesh and underwear set, all while sporting the most gorgeous gold false eyelashes that made the whole thing pop. The creativity and flair of everything Gaga does has made her iconic throughout the years and this event was no exception.

Ezra Miller FUCKED IT UP. Pinstripe suit with the sweeping train, glittering cage corset on top and a myriad of imitation eyes all over his face, carrying an eerie mask of himself on a stick? Phenomenal. The confidence in his walk as he moved and the way he displayed his look was so striking and seeing him own it so much made my night.

I loved Jordan Roth’s take on Billy Porter’s wings, allowing him to show up as a literal whole theatre. I loved Ryan Murphy’s sparkling pink champagne tux and high-collared cape. Florence Welch absolutely slayed in her glittering wing-collared cloak.

However, one of the standout looks for the night was Hamish Bowles. The embodiment of camp, with that magnificent fur-trimmed patterned cape. The look is absolutely dominating even when he’s standing still, and when he moves, the whole thing comes alive. Watching some of the dynamic shots taken of him having fun with his outfit, I felt like I was watching a bullfighter in a lion’s mane – and all of that is good. I can’t quite put my finger on why I felt he looked like a fabulous Mrs Doubtfire (maybe it’s the shoes) but the outfit was one of the best and definitely set a bar that so many men fell short of.

Final Words:

Can someone please tell cishet men to step their game up? Or men in general (I see you Frank Ocean and James Charles letting the damn side down)? They can stay boring if they want, however. The rest of us will be having far more fun without them, and the plain black tuxes certainly are no talking point of the evening.

#review #met gala #met gala 2019 #fashion review #fashion #red carpet #zendaya #billy porter #ezra miller #lady gaga #i wanted to get this out in a timely fashion so it was relevant #also idk if you can tell but i'm eagerly anticipating macdoesit's review because his red carpet reviews are EVERYTHING and i think it shows #*it shows here #i am INFLUENCED because i love him

8 notes · View notes

1dreality · 5 years

Link

Rating: 4/5

Zayn is a hard guy to stan.

Sometimes it seems as if the elusive 25-year-old pop star, who shrugged off teen idolatry as a member of One Direction in favour of melancholic global pop, does the bare minimum to maintain a modicum of smooth bops.

The roll-out for his much-anticipated sophomore album, Icarus Falls, was scattershot. He turned down high-profile magazine covers, pushed-back release dates and a haphazardly dropped singles with little promo. Whereas his former One Direction colleagues play the fame game – both Harry Styles and Niall Horan have cemented their status as solo headliners with world tours and talk show appearances in support of their respective debuts – Zayn has long been ambivalent about his heartthrob obligations. He remains the literal embodiment of “gotta Zayn,” an online lingua franca that found currency following his abrupt departure from One Direction in 2015 in the middle of their world tour.

Zayn’s enigmatic charm – what keeps me coming back for more, even when he frustrates me with his seemingly stoner-gamer work ethic – is how he deconstructs artifices we still uphold in our male pop idols. Those smooth bops, sung to a mostly female fan base, are tailor-made for introverts cognizant of nerdy references to Super Mario Bros and Men In Black, but also question gendered behaviours we lean upon when chasing falling-in-love highs.

His debut record, Mind Of Mine, was an exercise in fuccboi posturing that hopscotched between disparate sounds, but this double album is cohesive. It’s vivid, solitary pop and R&B that arrives at a tentative grasp of serious romance. But loss and grief are still part of the equation. As the poet Jack Gilbert put it in his poem Failing And Falling, “Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.” In other words, we enjoy love’s highs because of the lows.

“Sweet baby, our sex has meaning,” Zayn croons in opener Let Me, a confectionary sweet ballad with buoyant throwback synths, finger snaps and strumming guitar. In the album’s first half, tracks like Back To Life, Imprint and If I Got You are slapping declarative devotionals. There You Are is the rare post-indefinite-hiatus One Direction anthem that would have fit neatly on Four, their final album before Zayn left.

But it’s not all Netflix rom-com vibes. Amidst these odes lurks a possessive and consuming love. On Stand Still, delicate harp runs and eerie snare snaps allude to narcissistic illusions of the “perfect” relationship. “If time stands still / move I will to you,” goes the chorus, attempting to grasp at a moment that’s slipping away. “This was filmed / somehow I see you.”

The album’s latter half leans into heartbreak in all its messy glory. Sampling the reverb-drenched guitar from Nancy Sinatra’s Bang Bang, Good Guy puts the controlling nature of monogamy on blast: “I’m not a good guy / but I know you’re mine.”

Satisfaction and Scripted benefit from muted arrangements that showcase his plaintive vocal delivery and effortless melismatic range. Produced by Malay (who works with Frank Ocean and is a key Icarus Falls collaborator), the latter track is carried by the ticking of a dissonant clock and a rush of violins. Paranoid lyrics about “blurry TV screens, fuzzy broken scenes” glide into a falsetto chorus about not trusting the person sleeping on the other side of the bed.

There are missteps. Icarus Falls is too long, which could be interpreted as taking a cynical page from the Drake and Migos playbook on gaming more streams. While Zayn can swag about features from Nicki Minaj (the dated EDM duet No Candle No Light) and Timbaland (the catchy but anti-climatic closer Too Much), these collabs seem like an unnecessary play for cred and are tonally jarring compared to the album’s moody ambitions.

The introspective final songs mine the quarter-life-crisis narrative. The backwards looping on Fresh Air mimics how we go back and forth on why relationships go wrong: “You and me got differences / why you on some different shit?” Within this discord, there’s a struggle to understand where responsibilities lie: “We’re caught in a cycle / so pardon my psycho.”

Meanwhile, Entertainer captures the bitter and petty comeuppance wrought by heartbreak. Stark piano chords are scuzzed-up by jittery beats while Zayn seductively takes his time dragging out the kiss-off, twisting the knife with a breathy yet scornful chorus: “When you need me the most, I will turn you / When you need me the most, I will turn you down.” Sometimes, the best revenge is abandonment.

And on Good Years – thought to be Zayn’s reflection on his fraught time in One Direction – painful divisions and breakups are let be. “Now we’re high among the stars with a worry, and neither one, one of us wants to say we’re sorry.” Here, Zayn seems to be pulling the curtain back on the cost of fame (for the stans still keeping score, this acknowledgement of boy band drama warranted a sub-tweet clap-back from bandmate Louis Tomlinson) and how men can still be in their feelings about each other. After all, women can’t be expected to fix toxic masculinity. Men need to practice introspection and vulnerability with each other.

“I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,” ends Gilbert’s Failing And Falling. “But just coming to the end of his triumph.”

Icarus Falls isn’t a literal riff on the Greek myth warning of personal over-ambition – it’s an inward, headphones-on plug into a young man wrestling with varying levels of success, from codependency and addictive behaviour to self-acceptance. It’s the sound of Zayn grappling with toxic masculinity.

Top track: Entertainer

#zayn malik #zayn's music #icarus falls #icarus falls review #icarus falls promo #z2 #z2's promo #i agree the features are the weakest tracks on the album

2 notes · View notes

xtruss · 3 years

Text

Nelsy Niño of Colombia’s Instituto Humboldt held a pair of Lafresnaye’s piculets, tiny tropical woodpeckers. Biological collections are part of a nation’s heritage, she says, and likens them to a public library.

Searching for Bird Life in a Former ‘Ocean of Forest’

A century after museum collectors surveyed Colombia’s avian fauna, a new generation of researchers returns to see what remains, and what has changed.

— By Jennie Erin Smith

— Photographs by Federico Rios | August 31, 2021

FLORENCIA, Colombia — In June 1912, Leo Miller, a collector with the American Museum of Natural History, arrived in the Caquetá region of Colombia, where the eastern foothills of the Andes melt into the forested lowlands of the Amazon basin.

Miller was working for Frank Chapman, the celebrated curator of birds at the museum. Chapman suspected that Colombia’s wildly varied topography had given rise to an unusual density of species, and sent collectors like Miller to bring him birds from all corners of the country to study.

Miller set up camp on a farmstead called La Morelia, surrounded by what he described to his mentor as “a perfect ocean of forest stretching out ahead as far as the eye can see.” There, he and his Colombian assistants worked day and night, beleaguered by rain, malaria and insects. By the end of July, they had collected more than 800 birds for Chapman, who was thrilled.

On a morning in early August, a century and nine years after Miller loaded his specimens onto river rafts and commenced his return to New York, a group of researchers tramped through muddy fields to their base camp, a ranch in a rural outpost of the city of Florencia.

The team, led by Andrés Cuervo, an ornithologist at Universidad Nacional in Bogotá, has organized six expeditions across Colombia, collecting birds and data for comparison with Chapman’s; this was the fifth. The undertaking, called Alas, Cantos y Colores — Wings, Songs and Colors — is financed by the Colombian government, with the participation of research institutions in Colombia and the United States. Studies of species from the same place over long periods of time are rare in science, and this resurvey project stands to speak volumes about how tropical birds have responded to changes in land use and climate.

A lot has changed in this part of Caquetá since 1912. For one, the “ocean of forest” has been reduced, after decades of expanded cattle grazing, to mere islands in a sea of pasture. Before arriving, the researchers had pored through satellite images in the hope of finding a forest big enough to sustain the kind of bird life they sought. A patch adjacent to the farm was the best they could do.

This group comprised 10 Colombian biologists and one American. Half were women, most were in their 20s and 30s, and several lived and worked in the Caquetá region. Importantly, the specimens they collected would not leave Colombia. Instead, they would be deposited in the public natural history collections of the Universidad Nacional. Ornithologists like Dr. Cuervo had spent much of their careers studying their own country’s birds in foreign museums. The young scientists on this trip, Dr. Cuervo hoped, would not have to.

Shades of Green

Dr. Cuervo, Ms. Soto and biologists Jessica Díaz and Andrea Morales Rozo check the nets. Mist nets were opened at dawn, checked every 30 minutes until dusk and rolled up at night to avoid catching bats.

The farm’s owners, the Alvira family, had sent their horses into the pasture and allowed the scientists to turn the stable into a lab. Plastic card tables held syringes, vials, glass slides, rulers, scalpels and a lot of forms and lists.

On the packed-earth floor sat a cooler with dry ice and a canister full of liquid nitrogen, which is needed to flash-freeze tissues for genetic studies. The supplies had arrived by tractor early that morning as the team made its hourlong hike from a nearby village. During the group’s previous expedition to a highland forest in southern Colombia, the nitrogen had tumbled off the back of a mule that slipped on the trail, but was saved before it could spill.

Outside in the forest, the team strung hundreds of feet of mist nets — loose, wispy netting that causes birds to become trapped in its pockets — as howler monkeys groaned from unseen perches. At two o’clock, Juliana Soto, a biologist with the Instituto Humboldt in Colombia, carried in the expedition’s first bird, labeled MOR-001 — MOR for Morelia — in a cotton bag hooked to a cord around her neck.

It was a male striolated manakin, with a little green puff of a body and a proud red crest. In Colombia, people tend to call this family of birds saltarines, or jumpers, for the way that males gather and hop from branch to branch to impress an audience of females.

In 1912, preparing birds for scientific study was a simpler process. Birds were shot in the field, with many never recovered. Soft tissues were discarded, and only skeletons and skins were conserved. Each body was dried, filled with cotton and tagged with information on who had collected the bird and the location and altitude of its capture.

The technical and ethical demands of modern science require that greater care be taken with each specimen. A few on this team were veteran ornithologists; others were students, volunteers and newly minted professionals still mastering the challenges of fieldwork. The more experienced members helped the rest.

Andrea Morales Rozo, who teaches biology at the Universidad de los Llanos in central Colombia, guided the team at the nets, from which she skillfully extricated birds unharmed. Ms. Morales Rozo has been studying the blackpoll warbler, a species that migrates between the Amazon and Canada; she was part of a group that recently compared museum specimens and field-caught birds and learned that the warbler’s northward range had shifted by nearly 400 miles in 45 years.

Dr. Cuervo, the expedition leader, offered calm, fatherly support to those at the processing table. It’s not always obvious how best to describe a bird’s colors, for example, and second opinions were often requested. Was a wing “verde café,” greenish brown? Or was it “verde olivazo,” olive green? Was a female bird’s brood patch, the bare skin that warms the eggs, still smooth or becoming wrinkly?

MOR-001 struggled in Ms. Soto’s hand as she passed it to her colleague, Jessica Díaz, a field biologist hired for the expeditions. The bird was photographed and logged. Ms. Díaz labored to extract a tiny amount of blood from its jugular vein with a syringe, expressing the drops into a vial of alcohol. She then prepared herself to euthanize it with rapid cardiac compression, using fingers to apply firm pressure over the bird’s heart. With this technique, small birds pass out within seconds and die in about half a minute. Large birds are anesthetized.

Ms. Díaz held MOR-001 under the table so as not to have to watch; her colleagues did the same whenever their turn came to sacrifice a bird. “This is the not-fun part,” she said, softly.

A few in the group, including Ms. Soto, avoid sacrificing birds, although they believe in the necessity of scientific collecting and participate in the process. “I think it’s hard on all of us,” said Ms. Soto, whose high, mellifluous voice gave her a certain birdlike aura. “But it’s really hard on me. It just stabs me through the heart.” On this expedition, Ms. Soto assumed other jobs on the assembly line: cutting samples of pectoral muscle to drop into liquid nitrogen, calling out colors of beaks and feathers, gingerly tagging a leg.

Each bird was wrapped tightly in plastic and placed on dry ice to await the next, more complex stages of dissection and preservation, which would occur at the university lab. By the time MOR-001 was in the cooler, swathed like a miniature mummy, several more bags wriggled on a wire above the table, and the heat of the afternoon was breaking.

And No Antbirds Called

Ms. Niño, Ms. Soto and Eliecer Díaz, a rancher and member of the Alvira family, in the stable-turned-laboratory.

For long stretches of the next day, few birds came in. The researchers weren’t used to this; normally, they would be too busy to even eat. “Miller said in no location in Colombia did he do so well,” Ms. Soto lamented after one fruitless return from the nets.

A century earlier, Miller had brought back from this site a dozen varieties of antbirds, a family of insect-eating species that need the refuge of the darkness of thick tropical undergrowth.

Most people associate the Amazon region with showy macaws and toucans, but to an ornithologist, the diverse antbirds are among its main draws. In a large, uninterrupted tract of forest, “you get overwhelmed by antbirds, by many species calling at the same time,” Dr. Cuervo said.

But antbirds avoid sunlight. With the forest so exposed, and with so much light now reaching the forest floor, the team wondered whether they could capture any antbirds at all.

Before Dr. Cuervo and the rest of the group arrived, a small advance team had spent days conducting censuses of birds and bird song to better understand the composition of the local forest community. They heard no antbirds. They did hear the buzz of a chain saw.

Census data is an important component of these expeditions, complementing data gleaned from the specimens. Last year, a group of Colombian ecologists successfully compared census data from one forest with Chapman’s specimens, and concluded that the composition of bird life had drastically changed over 100 years. In a forest that once favored specialized species, the all-purpose generalists now dominated.

“But if you’re asking what has changed within a species, you need the actual bird,” said Glenn Seeholzer, a research associate with the American Museum of Natural History who is part of the Colombia team. Species are not static; nor are bodies, behaviors or genes. Beaks grow or shrink over generations; feathers change in color or luster in response to different selective pressures. On a genetic level, the changes can be profound, revealing reduced or expanded diversity, an indicator of a population’s ability to adapt to changing environments.

Scientists are now able to extract some genetic material from old bird specimens by scraping the pads of the toes. By comparing data from birds collected on this trip with Chapman’s, “we will be able to see how the genetic variation has shifted,” Dr. Seeholzer said. “There are very few data sets for wild populations of birds that you could ask or answer these questions with.” Once this series of expeditions is complete, at the year’s end, the collections in both Bogotá and New York “will be much more valuable than the sum of their parts,” he said.

A Wealth of Wings

Residents of Roncesvalles, a rural outpost of Florencia, Caquetá, at a meeting with the scientists. Many families in the region were resettled here by Colombia’s government after being displaced from their prior lands by armed groups.

The researchers conduct careful advance work that begins months before each expedition. This one required even more tact than usual. In this ranching community, Ms. Díaz and two colleagues had knocked on the doors of nearly 100 families, many of them resettled here by the government after being displaced by armed groups. “People were sensitive about us coming onto their land,” she said. “Their land is all they have.”

Another delicate task involves explaining why and how they take birds, which the researchers try to do in as frank a manner as possible. Nelsy Niño, a researcher at the Instituto Humboldt who designs outreach for the expeditions, uses the analogy of a public library when talking to communities or groups of young people. Biological collections are part of the nation’s heritage, knowledge that will be available for all Colombians for generations to come, she explains. “We also talk about collecting as taking a picture,” she said. “A specimen is like a photograph we took of an individual in a specific time and space.”

Ms. Niño and her team return some weeks after each collecting trip to report on their findings and hold workshops, part of an effort to increase interest in bird conservation and bird tourism in the countryside. In recent years, Colombia has promoted itself as the most bird-rich country in the world, but not all of its regions are equally poised to benefit.

Caquetá has been hard hit by deforestation. The region has lost 8.5 percent of its tree cover since 2000, according to Global Forest Watch. Land speculation and cattle grazing, along with waves of resettlement and colonization, have all contributed.

Two members of the expedition, Mauricio Cuéllar and Xiomara Capera Espinosa, both work as birding guides and hope to build interest in the region’s fauna. Here on these farming plots, it was up to families like the Alviras to decide whether to save remnant forests for the sake of their bird life, which they valued. Off and on during this trip, as the rest of the team sat hunched over the processing table, Ms. Niño gently coached the youngest member of that family, the 6-year-old Daniel Díaz Alvira, in bird identification using a guide.

‘A Story of Our Birds’

At the mist nets. From left: Dr. Cuervo; Mauricio Cuéllar, a biologist and birding guide in Caquetá; Ms. Díaz and Daniel Díaz.

Most of the team had read Chapman’s and Miller’s writings about Colombia. Chapman’s 1917 book, “The Distribution of Bird-Life in Colombia,” has been an especially important reference for the country’s ornithologists, virtually all of whom have participated in the resurvey project in some form or another. The roots of the effort date back to 1994, when the ornithologist Gustavo Kattan first used Chapman’s data to show that certain species had disappeared from a forest near Cali.

Dr. Cuervo, who studies the evolution of Neotropical birds, called Chapman’s work “inspirational.” Chapman “laid out a number of ideas that we can now test with modern tools,” he said. “It’s a story of our birds, a history and pattern that you want to understand.”

But it was not lost on this team that both Chapman and Miller expressed racist views. In their books, Black and Indigenous people are disparaged. They seldom named the Colombians who helped them find, collect and prepare their birds, content to label them “unskilled native assistance,” “peons” or worse.

The expeditions straddle an awkward line, being at once a tribute to Chapman’s work and a conscious departure from scientific practices and attitudes that have come to be labeled “colonial,” or at the very least unequal. Even into the current century, scientists in tropical countries have tended to be seen as “the ones that will deal with the permits, the ones who know how to get to the place, and that’s it,” Dr. Cuervo said.

Dr. Cuervo stressed that he did not view this group’s work as a repudiation of their predecessors. “It would be easy to point out all their defects,” he said. “They were writing in their time. In our time, we’re creating a more participatory science, a more global science, with our own diversity and our own tools.”

“We’re not trying to create high-quality bird collections for the sake of accumulation, or out of nationalism,” he added. “We’re doing this because we need this.”

After several days at the Alvira farm, the team changed sites, striking a camp near a more promising patch of forest. Stands of rare palms and bamboo survived in this remnant, which bordered a wide, sandy river. The site was even closer to the old La Morelia estate, and on it they did better.

By the end of their time in Caquetá, they had collected some 400 birds representing more than 100 species. Ten were what they called focal species, which could be compared, morphologically and genetically, with birds in the Chapman collection.

These included wedge-billed woodcreepers, which use their curved tail feathers to anchor themselves to tree trunks; silver-beaked tanagers, whose brilliant white lower bills earned them the nickname come-queso, or cheese-eater, in Spanish. There were scarlet-crowned barbets — small fruit-eating birds related to toucans — and yellow-browed sparrows, an edge-dwelling species that seemed as poised as any to thrive in a new world of micro-forests surrounded by grasslands.

Most of these were common, widely distributed species, Dr. Cuervo noted, and no more than a dozen of each had been taken, meaning that on a population level the collecting was of little consequence. “We don’t deny that there is an impact to the individual bird,” he said. “We remove it. But what we put in the balance is what we can learn.”

It appeared — although the hard work to quantify this had yet to begin — that at least some of the bird life present in 1912 was still hanging on, even in vastly diminished habitats.

But many bird families were missing, among them the antbirds. The group left with just three, of a single species.

— The New York Times

0 notes

oh-bonerline · 6 years

Text

4 summers ago, I met somebody. I was 19 years old. He was too. We spent that summer, and the summer after, together. Everyday almost. And on the days we were together, time would glide. Most of the day I’d see him, and his smile. I’d hear his conversation and his silence. . Until it was time to sleep. Sleep I would often share with him. By the time I realized I was in love, it was malignant. It was hopeless. There was no escaping, no negotiating with the feeling. No choice. It was my first love. It changed my life. Back then, my mind would wander to the women I had been with, the ones I cared for and thought I was in love with. I reminisced about the sentimental songs I enjoyed when I was a teenager. . The ones I played when I experienced a girlfriend for the first time. I realized they were written in a language I did not yet speak. I realized too much, too quickly. Imagine being thrown from a plane. I wasn’t in a plane though. I was in a Nissan Maxima, the same car I packed up with bags and drove to Los Angeles in. I sat there and told my friend how I felt. I wept as the words left my mouth. I grieved for them, knowing I could never take them back for myself. He patted my back. He said kind things. He did his best, but he wouldn’t admit the same. He had to go back inside soon, it was late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldn’t tell me the truth about his feelings for me for another 3 years. I felt like I’d only imagined reciprocity for years. Now imagine being thrown from a cliff. No, I wasn’t on a cliff, I was still in my car telling myself it was gonna be fine and to take deep breaths. I took the breaths and carried on. I kept up a peculiar friendship with him because I couldn’t imagine keeping up my life without him. I struggled to master myself and my emotions. I wasn’t always successful.

The dance went on. . I kept the rhythm for several summers after. It’s winter now. I’m typing this on a plane back to Los Angeles from New Orleans. I flew home for another marred Christmas. I have a windowseat. It’s December 27, 2011. By now I’ve written two albums, this being the second. I wrote to keep myself busy and sane. I wanted to create worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions. I’m surprised at how far all of it has taken me. Before writing this I’d told some people my story. I’m sure these people kept me alive, kept me safe. . Sincerely. These are the folks I wanna thank from the floor of my heart. Everyone of you knows who you are. . Great humans, probably angels. I don’t know what happens now, and that’s alrite. I don’t have any secrets I need kept anymore. There’s probably some small shit still, but you know what I mean. I was never alone, as much as I felt like it. . As much as I still do sometimes. I never was. I don’t think I ever could be. Thanks. To my first love, I’m grateful for you. Grateful that even though it wasn’t what I hoped for and even though it was never enough, it was. Some things never are. . and we were. I won’t forget you. I won’t forget the summer. I’ll remember who I was when I met you. I’ll remember who you were and how we’ve both changed and stayed the same. I’ve never had more respect for life and living than I have right now. Maybe it takes a near death experience to feel alive. Thanks. To my mother, you raised me strong. I know I’m only brave because you were first. . so thank you. All of you. For everything good. I feel like a free man. If I listen closely. . I can hear the sky falling too.

Frank Ocean

Going through my Frank tag looking for a song and ended up typing this thing up just so I could have it in a slightly more readable form on my blog. God I can still vividly remember the night he posted this 5 (almost 6?) years ago and how it felt to read this.

#'some things never are. . and we were'#god.#frank ocean #love u frank

48 notes · View notes

digthe60s · 6 years

Photo

1963

The biggest news from 1963 was the assassination of U.S. President John F. Kennedy on November 22, which thrust Lyndon B. Johnson into the role of president. The assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, was murdered two days later by nightclub owner Jack Ruby. This was a difficult time to become president, with the mounting troubles in Vietnam where the Viet Cong Guerrillas had now killed 80 American advisers. The continued campaign for civil rights by the black community caused violent reactions from whites in places such as Mississippi, Virginia, and Alabama, where the black civil rights leader Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was arrested. Films included The Birds and The Great Escape, and popular TV programs The Virginian and Lassie. Women’s fashion and hairstyles included fur boots and towering hairdos for evening wear. In music, it was the beginning of Beatlemania, after the release of Meet the Beatles.

Major events

• U.S. President John F. Kennedy is assassinated by Lee Harvey Oswald on Friday, November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas.

• The Beatles release the single “I Want To Hold Your Hand/I Saw Her Standing There” and the album Meet the Beatles, which marks the beginning of Beatlemania.

• The Soviet Union launches the Vostok 6 spacecraft, carrying Valentina Tereshkova, the first woman in space.

• The Profumo Crisis happens in the UK, caused by war minister John Profumo having an affair with Christina Wheeler, who was also involved with a Soviet Navy officer.

• ZIP codes are implemented in the U.S.

• NASA’s Mercury Mission, carrying astronaut Gordon Cooper, launches from Cape Canaveral.

• Studebaker, the U.S. carmaker, goes out of business and ends production.

• The U.S. senate approves the PTBT (Partial Nuclear Test Ban Treaty).

• Korea returns to civilian rule.

• American Express introduces credit cards in the UK.

• An earthquake in Libya destroys the village of Barce, leaving 500 dead.

• An earthquake in Ssrikes Skopje, Yugoslavia, destroys 80% of the city.

• Bloodless military coup deposes President George Papadopoulos.

• Typhoon Olive, with 110mph winds, destroys most of the homes on the island of Saipan.

• The Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary, known as “The Rock”, closes.

• Hurricane Flora, a massive storm, kills 6,000 in Haiti, Cuba, Trinidad and Tobago, and Grenada.

• First Beeching report suggests closing 25% of British rail.

• The polio vaccine, which is taken with a lump of sugar, is given nationwide in the U.S. and UK.

• Kenya gains independence from Britain.

• In the Supreme Court case of Gideon v. Wainwright, it is ruled that a fair trial “cannot be realized if the poor man charged with [the] crime has to face his accusers without a lawyer to assist him.”

• Members of the Ku Klux Klan dynamite the Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, killing 4 young girls and causing wide public outrage and condemnation across the U.S.

• A hurricane and resulting tsunami cause a flooding in East Pakistan, Bangladesh, killing 22,000.

• The Indiana State Fair Coliseum explosion kills 74.

• World religious status is determined to be 890 million Christians, 365 million Hindus, 200 million Buddhists, and 13 million Jews.

• Nuclear-powered attack submarine USS Thresher sinks in the Atlantic Ocean.

• Student riots break out all over Coro and Valencia, in Venezuela.

• Pope John XXIII dies on June 3. Pope Paul VI is elected by College of Cardinals.

• The U.S. and the Soviet Union agree to establish a “hot line” on June 20, a direct communication system between the two nations to prevent a possible nuclear war.

• The Great Train Robbery takes place in Buckinghamshire, England.

• The first U.S. state lottery opens in New Hampshire.

• Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivers his “I Have a Dream” speech.

• James Meredith becomes the first African-American to graduate from the University of Mississippi.

• The Beatles release their first album, Please Please Me.

• The first episode of the BBC television series Doctor Who is broadcast.

• Bob Dylan walks off The Ed Sullivan Show.

Top 10 highest-grossing films in the U.S.

1. Cleopatra (dir. Joseph L. Mankiewicz)

2. How the West Was Won (dir. John Ford, Henry Hathaway and George Marshall)

3. It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (dir. Stanley Kramer)

4. Tom Jones (dir. Tony Richardson)

5. Irma la Douce (dir. Billy Wilder)

6. The Sword in the Stone (dir. Wolfgang Reitherman)

7. Son of Flubber (dir. Robert Stevenson)

8. The Birds (dir. Alfred Hitchcock)

9. Dr. No (dir. Terence Young)

10. The V.I.P.s (dir. Anthony Asquith)

Billboard’s number-one music albums (in chronological order)

1. “The First Family” by Vaughn Meader

2. “My Son, the Celebrity” by Allan Sherman

3. “Jazz Samba” by Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd

4. “Songs I Sing on the Jackie Gleason Show” by Frank Fontaine

5. “Days of Wine and Roses” by Andy Williams

6. “Recorded Live: The 12 Year Old Genius” by Stevie Wonder

7. “My Son, the Nut” by Allan Sherman

8. “Peter, Paul and Mary” by Peter, Paul and Mary

9. “In the Wind” by Peter, Paul and Mary

10. “The Singing Nun” by Soeur Sourire, the Singing Nun

Source: [x]

#1963 #1960s #60s #history #mine: edit

109 notes · View notes

normanisource · 7 years

Link

Inside a Burbank rehearsal studio, the women of Fifth Harmony — surrounded by the thousands of album booklets they’ve autographed for fans, the most dedicated of whom are known as “Harmonizers” — are having an emoji debate.

They want to use the digital icons to accompany the online reveal of the track list for their upcoming self-titled album, due Aug. 25 via Syco Music/Epic.

Dinah Jane Hansen, 20, suggested a finger pointing downward as a clue for the album’s lead single, “Down,” but the rest weren’t as easy.

“We need to go quicker, guys,” Ally Brooke Hernandez, 24, instructed as they struggled to stifle giggles.

After all, there’s other, more important business for Fifth Harmony to convey in 2017.

“We should mention we wrote most of these,” said Normani Kordei, 21.

Co-writing and ownership of records is a first for these women — since being put together on the U.S. edition of the televised singing competition “The X Factor,” the members of Fifth Harmony, which also includes Lauren Jauregui, 21, have struggled to assert their independence and prove they’re singular artists who are not just a made-for-TV creation.

We’re so in sync, the four of us. When you have a strong unit, there’s no stopping you.

— Lauren Jauregui

That Fifth Harmony even made it to album No. 3 is something of a feat. Just a few months ago, the group was parting ways — acrimoniously — with one of its founding members as rumors of conflict hit a fever pitch.

And yet in recent weeks, the act has filmed two music videos — including a sexy, lo-fi clip for “Angel,” its new single that was produced by Skrillex and carries hip-hop-inflections — and its members are rehearsing for a tour and Fifth Harmony’s debut at the MTV Video Music Awards on Aug. 27.

“It’s the most monumental moment of our careers,” Kordei said. And the turnaround couldn’t have come quicker. Though the act seemed to be coming into its own with last year’s well-received release “7/27,” there was enough behind-the-scenes drama to fill a whole other reality show.

In December, the group appeared to be in crisis when it announced that singer Camila Cabello had exited just hours after a performance.

The group claims Cabello informed them via her representatives that she was out, something Cabello has rebutted.

And then things got messier.

Shortly after news of Cabello’s departure broke, a recording was leaked of Jauregui tearfully telling Hernandez that the group was being treated like “literal slaves.”

They were exhausted from touring — a period in which more than one member lost loved ones — and frustrated by a lack of creative fulfillment. From the beginning, Fifth Harmony has said that it had zero say in collaborators or the creation of its music, often receiving songs the day before studio sessions.

Often, its members say, the anxiety was crippling, and they started to resent performing. The dream of being the preeminent girl group of its generation was proving to be anything but.

We’ve been taking leaps of faiths — and trusting ourselves.

— Dinah Jane Hansen

“We lost the magic of it all,” Hansen added. “We were doing songs just to do songs.”

The magic, such as it was, began in 2012 when the thenteens entered the short-lived U.S. edition of “The X Factor” as solo contestants. They fizzled out but were then packaged as a group by Simon Cowell and then-Epic Records Chairman L.A. Reid.

Fifth Harmony took third place in the competition, scoring a joint deal with Epic Records and Cowell’s Syco Music.

Though a wave of boy bands had found recent success — including One Direction (assembled on the British version of “X Factor” — no girl group had managed to hit it big like Danity Kane, Pussycat Dolls, Destiny’s Child, the Spice Girls or TLC did in their prime.

Today, pop is dominated by assertive yet solo female artists, and Fifth Harmony risked looking like a relic from another era. And that doesn’t even consider the simple challenge of cultivating chemistry among a group of teenage girls who met on a TV show.

“When you get in a group, you have to go in understanding it’s not just about you and your ideas. It is a collaboration,” said TLC’s Rozonda "Chilli" Thomas. “When you think of [girl groups], most of them don’t stay together, because it’s not easy at all. Chemistry is something you either have or don’t have.”

Epic worked heavily to sell Fifth Harmony, keeping the group on the road constantly, often booking concerts at malls. “Every season, for 4½ years … I was a zombie,” Jauregui recalls.

From the outside, there was much to celebrate.

Fifth Harmony’s 2015 debut, “Reflection,” saw the group pick up where Destiny’s Child and TLC had left off, with an album full of slinky dance-pop and R&B/hip-hop-informed girl power anthems — with breakout single “Worth It” becoming one of the year’s biggest earworms.

The act then made history last year as the first girl group to score a top 10 Billboard Hot 100 smash in nearly a decade with the snappy “Work From Home.”

Yet the women in Fifth Harmony said they it felt burnt out and controlled by the label — like “puppets,” they agree. The women pushed though teary onstage breakdowns, infighting and family feuding.

“It came to a point where I’d catch myself onstage and realize, ‘I’m not feeling this,’” Kordei said. “It scared me, because this is what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

Today, the women are relaxed and comfortable discussing their recent history. They’re dressed in active wear — Kordei’s shirt has “Phenomenal Woman” emblazoned across it, while Jauregui is wearing the anti-discrimination top Frank Ocean recently made famous — and their faces are makeup-free.

Jauregui reflected on the stress of the past.

We’ve been grateful to have a machine behind us. But we definitely needed respect — and we had to demand it.

— Ally Brooke Hernandez

“You’re in front of so many people that you know love you,” she said. “To be in a space where you don’t connect or when you feel bored in that kinda setting ...”

“You feel guilty,” Kordei offered.

“It’s overwhelming to have your whole, entire life planned for something you don’t feel passionate about,” said Jauregui, the room falling silent. “You’re not seeing your family, your friends. You’re not doing anything for yourself. It was depressing, draining and sad. Now, it’s a whole different thing.”

In fact, the members of Fifth Harmony had long been fighting for the autonomy and respect that they are only now receiving. In late 2015, Hernandez contacted outspoken L.A. music lawyer Dina LaPolt, who helped the group clean house.

LaPolt got them new management with the powerhouse firm Maverick and helped transfer the Fifth Harmony trademark from Cowell to its members, giving them complete ownership of the brand.

A more favorable contact with Epic was then negotiated, but the women still weren’t in the driver’s seat when it came to music.

Everything we’ve been through, the ups and downs, I really believe it was to shape and mold us for this moment.

— Normani Kordei

“We were 15, 16 and 19 when we started,” Jauregui said. “We didn’t have any basic understanding of business, and we’re being thrown into this world of wolves where they really screw you over with contracts. We were really in a line of adversity.”

After Cabello’s departure, the women realized they wanted to work on repairing the group’s dynamic as well as its relationship with the label in order to become more vocal about its career ambitions. “We all got on the same page … and fought for our say,” Hansen said.

A key ally was Epic A&R executive Chris Anokute, who joined their team during the recording of “7/27.”

“They were uninspired, beaten up, bruised. They weren’t gelling,” Anokute said. “You could tell there were some things going on between the girls ... issues with management. They started venting their insecurities and desire to write songs, and I realized they were never a part of it.”

Anokute pushed Reid to commit to another album after the turmoil with Cabello (Reid left the label in May), bolstering the group’s confidence.

“We are being more respected this time around,” Hansen said. “We are in a place where we know what we want and who we are. We’ve recognized our truth and what we have to offer — and our power.”

I love these girls and consider them sisters. I have such high visions for us, the four of us. Everything that has come true this year has been validation.

— Ally Brooke Hernandez

Fifth Harmony finding its voice shows on the new album — its title a nod to the group’s newfound independence.

The album was recorded in seven weeks at Santa Monica’s Windmark Recording, and the women co-wrote more than half of the songs on the project — splitting into pairs and penning the type of tunes they’ve wanted to do alongside handpicked producers, including Dreamlab, the Stereotypes, Harmony Samuels, the Monsters & Strangerz and Tommy Brown.

The record is raw, soulful, sexy and fully the group’s own vision.

On a recent afternoon, the pop of a Champagne bottle echoed around a boardroom inside Epic Records’ headquarters on the Sony lot in Culver City.

Cheers, air kisses and hugs awaited the ladies as they filed into a room stuffed with label staff gathered to hear Fifth Harmony’s new album — a mountain of tacos and bottles of tequila and Champagne awaiting them.

Before the music began, acting Epic President Sylvia Rhone led the room in a toast.

“To the baddest ladies in the business — it’s a pleasure to have worked with you guys,” Rhone said, her glass of Champagne hoisted high above her head as the women looked on with glassy eyes, clutching one another’s hands.

“It finally feels like we are living our lives. We’ve taken ownership,” Kordei said. “It’s been there all along, but maybe we weren’t confident enough or bold enough. This time, we’ve got the extra fire … and we don’t care what anyone else has to say.

“I kinda wish it could have been like this all along,” Kordei said with a sigh.

Jauregui, unarguably Fifth Harmony’s most outspoken member — she’s the first to admit group members barely listen to their earlier work — takes a bolder stance.

“We would have freaking dominated,” she said.

#normani kordei #normani hamilton #fifth harmony #5h #all #article #la times article #2017

286 notes · View notes