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astoryisaloveaffair · 3 years

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Fix You - Chapter 6: Handle Me with Care

Gif by @darksber

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Read on A03

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Chapter Summary: The morning after. You and Frankie grow closer. Frankie reveals one of his secrets.

Word Count: This is literally 8K of smut and feelings. I’m not sorry about it.

Rating: EXPLICIT, 18+, NO MINORS

Chapter Warnings: legal age difference (10-15 years), cussing, fluff, smut, dirty talk, consensual somnophilia, oral (m & f rec), sexting, Frankie is an oral king, praise kink, mentions of hard drug use, Frankie still has severe anxiety and self confidence issues until he fucks someone.

A/N: Hey all! I’m sorry this update took a long time, been ✨going through it✨ lately and I’m suddenly overthinking all my writing. I’m not completely happy with this one but I’m probably just being too critical, I dunno. Anyways, please enjoy literally an entire chapter of our love birds fucking. I do hope you enjoy it and thank you for your support! I also have a NSFW Frankie Morales ABCs Headcanon I’ve been working on since chapter 4, that should be posted soon.

Suggested Songs: “Handle with Care” by the Traveling Wilburys, “Burnin’ for You” by Blue Oyster Cult, “Lucky Man” by The Verve, “Sunshine” by Steve Azar, “Talk Dirty” by Doja Cat, “Hold” by Vera Blue

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Frankie was always an early riser. It had started in the military. It was a requirement to be up before the sun rose to be inspected, and he had usually been put to task immediately. On missions he’d often have to be up before dawn to have the element of surprise. The long worn-in habit didn’t change much after discharge. He still woke up early, though as the years progressed, he didn’t always necessarily stay awake, allowing himself to go back to sleep for a few more hours if he had nothing going on. If he had Gabriela he would stay up, she had a set schedule that he didn’t want to disrupt. He didn’t resent it though, he was happy to have as much time with her as possible. And now…

Now. He woke, inhaling a sharp rousing breath before stretching and tilting slightly to check the baby monitor he left on the nightstand late last night. It was still pretty early, the slivers of window not covered by the room’s curtains were still mostly dark, just enough to see where he was going should he need to walk around the room. He could see Gabi was still asleep on the monitor, no noises or movement coming from the device yet, so he rolls back over and nestles back into the warmth of you he was happy he didn’t have to leave yet. You make a happily content noise in your sleep when he curves back against your body from behind, and he settles his face into your wild bed hair, breathing your scent in deeply. It’s kind of crazy, how used to your scent he’s become. Even though he’d smelled you before, this was different. It’s different when he can get so close, when he can smell every shift in your body’s pheromones as it mixes with your lotion or perfume or whatever your general fragrance is that smells so damn delicious. It’s different when he can nuzzle his face right into your skin and smell it coming directly from the source, not just a waft in the air. He sighs in cozy pleasure, pulling you closer to him, one of his arms under you and wrapped between your breasts, the other draped over your waist.

He couldn’t believe he just...had you in his arms like this. Like you belonged here. Like he deserved this. He still didn’t feel like he did. He thinks you can do better than him. But...it’d just been so long, so long since he felt wanted, since he felt desired. Since he wasn’t just pushed away. He didn’t want to give it up. He doesn’t think he could take another romantic loss, and he feels his heart rate quickening with anxiety at the thought of you disappearing from his life. He slams his eyes shut and chides himself for getting ahead of himself and letting his negative thoughts spiral. It’s the same kind of shit that would lead to him using, he can’t indulge this bullshit in his mind anymore. He forces himself to remember the things you said to him last night instead...

Please.

I’m yours.

I want all of you.

This isn’t a one time thing. I really like you.

He would not let himself second guess this. He had to trust in his gut, he had to trust in you. You’d never given him reason to doubt you, in anything you did. You made him feel so good, and not just in the sexual way, which...wow, last night was fucking incredible. There. Distraction. He thinks back to what he learned in group. The mind can be your worst enemy. Trust your instincts. Distract yourself from the negative thoughts. So he does. He shifts his line of thinking to last night.

He thinks about the exasperated way you just kissed him to shut him up on the beach. The way you begged for him, sounding so wrecked and needy. Your shyness at him going down on you, the innocence of it riling him up in ways he doesn’t want to think too hard about. You’d said that your previous experience with men doing that wasn’t great, and the concept that he had changed that, made it better, well, it had made him feel like a fucking god. His attention to you made you blossom like your nickname, as you shed your nerves and wriggled against his mouth. And fuck, how loud you had been when you came on his tongue. The essence of you, sharp tangy-sweet, he thinks he could never tire of the taste of you. And the way your eyes darkened when you saw him fully bare before you, it’d made him feel so good about himself and his body. And when he had looked down and saw his cock pushing into you, your lips spreading, entrance expanding to accommodate his size. The sharp gasp you made when he was finally fully seated in you.

He was suddenly hyper aware of the press of your ass against him, and he sits up carefully to look at your sleeping face. You were so beautiful, and he finds himself in awe at how you always looked so gorgeous, whether you had just woken up or had been chasing his daughter around for hours. He reaches out his hand to cup your cheek softly, then lightly traces his fingers down to your chin. Your lips are plump and slightly open, and he gently pulls your lower lip down with his thumb. Before he can think twice about it, he’s pushing the tip of his thumb into your mouth, slipping past your teeth and sliding it against the tip of your tongue.

Holy fucking shit. Pulling his thumb back out of your mouth, he trails his fingers down to your breast, teasing your nipple with the wetness left over from your mouth. It stiffens under his touch, and he moans softly, cupping your entire breast with his hand and palming it slowly. You whimper and shift under his touch, and he lays back down behind you, whispering in your ear.

“Feel good baby?” He pulls your thighs up higher, the new angle allowing him to press his cock against your folds, and he moves his hips so he can slide between your lips, his large hand landing back on your hip, thumb caressing the skin.

He’s panting heavily against your neck, dropping his head to your shoulder when he hears you whine softly again. He rubs against you harder. He can feel you getting wet, whether you’re responding in your sleep or you’re waking up, he reacts viscerally to it, his desperation for you coming back hard.

“Wildflower…” He moans out. “Need you awake baby…”

You move again, gently press your hips back into him, tilting them just slightly so he slides right up against your entrance. You hum, pushing again, and he feels just the tip of himself enter you, his eyes rolling back and snapping shut at the warmth encasing him.

“Fuck..baby, don’t tempt me.” He palms your breast again, splaying his hand so your nipple is between two of his fingers, closing them to pinch you, and you keen softly against him. He can’t help himself, lost in his lust, he pushes in. You’re incredibly tight at this angle, and he feels resistance as he slowly eases his cock into you. “Feel how tight you are around me baby?” He mutters in your ear, pushing the rest of the way in. Your eyes fly open at the feeling of his hips hitting your ass and you cry out. He pauses, suddenly realizing maybe you had not given your consent as he thought you had, but your hand flies up to grab the nape of his neck behind you, tugging hard on his curls.

“Don’t stop.” You beg, he groans loudly at the sweet sound of you pleading for him again. He thinks it might be his most favorite sound. When he starts moving, your hand leaves his neck and you bend forward a little to adjust the angle to your pleasing.

He slides his hand back down your body to rest it on your thigh, pulling you sharply into him, his other hand wrapping around your shoulder for leverage. He’s gripping you hard, finger pads digging into your skin, he knows he will leave marks but he can’t hardly care. You feel too good like this, completely surrounding him, your walls cradling him tightly in the most perfect way. And it’s just the way you desire him so much, letting him take you this way, allowing him to have you how he wants, he can feel that warmth gathering to the center of his body, and he snaps his hips in your ass faster as you pant and mewl and moan nonsense in his arms. You lean forward more, grabbing the nightstand for leverage so you can meet him thrust for thrust, your wetness covering the backs of your thighs and the front of his groin, the harsh sounds of slapping skin and grunting filling the air.

“Fuck, honey...you like that? You like me fucking you like this?” He slides his hand between your thighs to circle your clit harshly and you open them slightly to give him easier access, your moans and whines hitch higher and higher. “Shit, FUCK. You sound so fucking sexy.” He rasps in your ear. “Couldn’t wait to wake up, needed me to fuck you so badly, yea?” You mewl and suddenly stiffen at his lewd words, back arching as you cum, sobbing out his name over and over as your wall clench around him, as if you hadn’t been tight for him at this angle already. “Ah shit….oh, shit, fuck. Keep-saying-my-name-baby-don’t-stop.”

And you don’t, you chant it to him as fading waves of pleasure roll over your body. He slams into you sloppily four more times before he cums inside you, hips stuttering, growling and groaning, his short nails piercing into your hips.

He doesn’t pull out of you immediately, and you don’t pull away from him either as you pant heavily in each other’s arms. You weakly reach back to his hand that’s still gripping your hip tightly and pat it gently. He takes the hint and releases you.

“Sorry.” He suddenly becomes nervous again, that constant second-guessing creeping back in, but you send those thoughts unknowingly away as usual, wriggling back against him again and sighing happily. He leans his head down and kisses your shoulder, rubbing his sharp nose side to side along the skin as you pull his arms back around you.

“MMMMmmm. What did I do to get to wake up to that?” You ask, rubbing the arm resting between your breasts.

He hums, and peppers kisses to your cheek. “Just...woke up. N’you looked so sexy there all hot and naked. Sorry...”

You giggle and turn in his arms, his softened cock slipping out of you. “It’s okay. That was...kind of hot? That you want me that badly. Makes me feel good.”

He sighs in relief, resting his forehead against yours. “I do. I think I went a little pussy-dumb, couldn’t control myself. I don’t...want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t. I told you, I want all of you. So...what did you do? Before I woke up?”

He raises his eyebrows and bites his lips, turning a little red. “I...put my thumb in your mouth, and touched your tits.” He watches your mouth part, your pupils dilate in arousal, and it makes him more bold. “And I rubbed against you a bit, and then...well.”

You lick your lips. “You should put your cock in my mouth next time.”

He rears back, staring wide-eyed. “Fuck.”

You giggle again and peck small kisses on his lips.

“You’re so fucking filthy.” He groans against your lips, and moves to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth and cupping the back of your head. His thigh moves between your legs as he reaches for you, but a soft cooing noise from the baby monitor causes you both to pause.

“Fuck...Gabi’s up.” He whispers against your lips. “I gotta get up.”

You move to also. “I can do it, let me.”

He chuckles and pushes you back down. “No. Relax baby. You’re off duty.” He plants one more kiss to your lips, rolling off the bed and pulling on his clothes quickly. He brings you another damp towel from the bathroom to clean yourself before he leaves. “Take your time. I’ll see you when you get up.” He winks and closes the door behind him.

After a diaper change and some snuggling, Frankie pads slowly to the kitchen to fix some breakfast for Gabriela. He sits her down in front of the TV, turning the volume low and switching it to a random kids program to occupy her attention.

“Stay there, okay? I’m going to make something for you to eat, but I need you to be good and not leave right here.” She nods to him, already wrapped up in whatever cartoon was on, and he returns to the kitchen, deciding to make her some english muffins. They guys would be up soon, as they had to help Santiago move today, so he also started the coffee maker with enough for anyone. He had just handed Gabi her food on a paper plate on the floor, returning to the kitchen to fix up his coffee to find Will already in there, blowing over his mug.

“...Morning.” He smirks, waggling his eyebrows.

Frankie sighs and rolls his eyes. “Oh, fuck off Will.”

Will wouldn’t let him off that easily. “Have a good night? Actually, I already know the answer. We heard some of it.” He winks.

Frankie huffs and pushes Will out of the way of the mug cupboard.

“Don’t get pissy, we’re all happy for you. Sounded like you rocked her world.”

Frankie finally laughs, turning against the counter with his own mug in hand, mimicking Will and leaning against the opposite counter. “Maybe she rocked mine.”

“THERE HE IS! FUCK YEA FRANK!” Benny enters the kitchen dramatically with a huge grin on his face. “Fuck I didn’t know you were THAT good. I mean I heard all the girls in camp talk about how good you were but SHIT! Now I have that hard evidence!”

“Alright..alright. You two better shut the fuck up when she comes out here. I don’t need you two embarrassing her after we finally...got together.”

Benny nods. “No worries Fish, I wouldn’t tease her. Just you.” He grins cheekily when Frankie flips him off and opens the fridge to look for something to munch on.

“So you guys are like...a thing? Like this wasn’t a one-off?” Asks WIll.

Frankie furrows his brow, chewing on the inside of his lips. “I think so? I HOPE so.”

“Y’all didn’t talk about it?”

“She mentioned it wasn’t a one-time thing, but it wasn’t like an in-depth conversation.”

“Yea, WIll, hello! They were BUSY.” Benny pipes in, mouth full of something or another.

Will nods, sipping from his coffee again.

“Hang on, wait. What did the girls say about me in camp?”

“Oh, they said you were the pussy-eating king.” Benny says, swallowing hastily. Will almost chokes on his coffee, then nods at Frankie’s glare.

Frankie rubs his face with his hands. “So much for kissing and not telling I guess. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Maybe the rules are different for pussy kissing. And it was definitely a compliment. The girls wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Benny, shut the fuck up.” Frankie chides, face turning bright red. He scrambles to change the subject. “Pope still asleep?”

“Think so.”

“He better wake his ass up so we can help him up with this move. I took off work for this.”

“I’m up.” Calls Santiago from the other room. You’re with him, giggling softly at his whispers when Frankie looks into the main room.

You look...breathtakingly gorgeous. Your hair is deliciously rumpled, eyes heavy with sleep. When you meet his eyes, he can’t help but grin like an idiot. “Hey. Want some coffee?” You nod, smiling broadly back.

“Eh, what about me, you bitch.” Santiago snips, and you can’t help but laugh, turning to head over and give Gabriela some morning kisses. Frankie scoffs mockingly at Santiago and walks back into the kitchen to make your cup.

It’s just...so natural, how well you fit in with him, with Gabriela, his life, his friends. If he were a more emotional man he might’ve started tearing up over the damn coffee maker, but instead he takes a deep breath and focuses on your coffee.

“You sure you don’t need me to watch her today?” You ask, leaning against the side of Frankie’s truck bed. He’s buckling Gabriela into her carseat, Santiago still inside getting his things together.

“She’s got daycare today, and you’ve already been on duty way more than you’re expected to be.” Frankie finishes buckling her in and shuts the door, the truck already running and blasting the air conditioner throughout. “Not that I don’t want you for company, but if you come with us, you’ll try and help, and you are absolutely not doing that.”

You mockingly pout, bouncing on your feet. “But I wanna!” You break out into laughter and he joins you, grabbing your arm and pulling you into him. He smells fucking amazing, the musk of pheromones and sex permeating all your sense and he burrows his face into your neck, nipping love bites, his scruffy beard scratching against you deliciously.

“Would you be mad if I said you would also be way too distracting for me?” He trails his pointy nose up your neck and along your jaw, slowly backing you against the side of the truck bed and caging you in.

“Now when you say it like this.” You whisper, and he meets his lips with yours, tentatively at first, building into a ravenous makeout as you whimper against him. “Frankie…” You sigh as he pulls away. “As much as I’d like you to fuck me against this car, we’re in the middle of the street, anyone could be looking.”

He huffs a laugh and pulls away, the pair of you looking around quickly. The streets are mostly empty, except for one black car on the next block with dark tinted windows, a few cars in driveways, but most of the neighbors had already left for work after the long weekend.

“It’s a truck, and no one’s looking.” He husks, moving forward to you again.

“I am, and as much as I’m enjoying this scene, we got shit to do.” Santiago chimes in as he walks up to you.

“Sorry.” You say, and Santiago shakes his head and gives you a tight hug.

“No worries Gorgeous. I just gotta put these assholes to work now.”

Benny and Will exit the house to say goodbye to you, and you give them each a long hug. “Thank you Benny.” You whisper softly in his ear.

“For what?” He winks as he pulls away.

“So we’ll meet you at your house at 21:30?” Will clarifies.

The quartet continues to work out the details of the move as you head to your car, sighing happily as you hop into your seat. It’d been the best weekend you’ve had in a long time.

You’d spent the day being lazy, doing some minor apartment chores until collapsing on the couch to doze, random episodes of Parks and Rec playing in the background. You missed him already, was that weird? The events of yesterday were such a blur, it’s hard to believe they actually happened. But you could feel him, in the soreness of your muscles and the remaining flickers of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. It had been a while since you’d felt someone just wanted you so deeply like that, and you shiver when you remember how he practically ate your face with desperation in that hallway. And after...fuck. He was good. He was so fucking good. You’d never wanted it to stop. So rough, and hard, but then soft and apprehensive at the same time. The duality of him was just...perfect. He was perfect. So big, and firm, and strong...you could feel the tingle between your legs growing just thinking about him. God, were you going crazy? Was this kind of lust normal? You couldn’t remember the last time someone set you on fire like this. Not even...no. Not going to go there. Frankie. Just Frankie…

Your phone chimes and you’re jerked awake, fumbling for it on the coffee table and rubbing your eyes. It’s just after seven, you’d napped longer than you had wanted to, but you smile when you see Frankie’s name bannering on your lockscreen.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Hey, just got home. Sorry I didn’t text earlier. Pope’s a workhorse. How are you?

You can’t help but grin wider at his attentiveness, it’d only been ten or so hours since you’d seen him, he was acting like he hadn’t contacted you in days.

Good! Just being lazy on the couch, watching TV.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Missing me I hope?

Always missing you. Missed you even when I was just your employee 😘

You hope that wasn’t being too forward, and you pick at your nails waiting for his response.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Me too. Thought it was just me. Thought about you all the time.

It’s almost stupid how the simple things he says make you want to squeal like a little girl in the throes of her first crush. He just makes you feel so ridiculously giddy, endorphins masked as butterflies thrumming through your body. How dare he be so fucking cute! You almost want to throw your phone down, because god, you two could have had this so much sooner if you had just said something, but you hear your phone ping again and scramble to see his next message.

Frankie 🐈🐟: So what are you watching?

Parks and Recreation. Seen it?

Frankie 🐈🐟: Fuck yea, love that show. Office too.

Okay so now I have to ask who your favorites are.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Hmm. Ron and April for Parks. Dwight and Stanley for Office. You?

Nice picks! I like them too. Also Andy and Leslie from Parks, Jim and Pam from Office. Michael’s a given I think.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Definitely. Well I gotta feed Gabriela and get her ready for bed, but I wanted to say hi real quick. Can I text you later?

Okay, I’d like that. Give Gabi a kiss for me, I miss her too. Talk to you later.

Frankie 🐈🐟: 😘

It’s a few hours later when he does text, and you’re nestled in bed when you hear the ding.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Hey. Sorry, she was a little amped tonight. Still up?

Yea, just relaxing in bed. You caught me in time.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Wish I was there. Or that I could just come over there.

You smirk to yourself, the tendrils of arousal that ghosted over your earlier coming back to life.

Me too. But we’ll have to make do I suppose.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Oh? How so.

You bite your lip, considering his response and what you want to nudge him towards.

To be with me, but not with me

He’s quiet for a few minutes, nervousness building in your chest as you see speech bubbles popping up and disappear. Fuck. Maybe you’d misinterpreted…but then-

Frankie 🐈🐟: I need a visual.

You exhale a sharp breathy laugh, relief and desire is a strange cocktail of emotions to feel all at once, but it encourages you to be a little daring. You throw the covers off you and snap a picture of your body in lieu of texting a visual, the image capturing how your sleep tank rises up off your lower stomach to expose the bare skin and the panties you’d decided to sleep in due to the heat. You exhale, hyping yourself up, and hit send.

Frankie 🐈🐟: You’re so fucking hot, you’re killing me. Wanna touch you so bad. Can you do it for me?

Your heart is beating so fast, like it’s going to just burst through your chest and fly right out the window. You’ve never done this before. Well, you’ve masterbated, obviously, but not...text sex? Sexting? It’s sexting. But you’re too intoxicated with the way he makes you feel to feel shy. You trace your fingertips down your sternum, dipping the front of your tank top and gently circle your right nipple, increasing pressure as your body heats up.

I’m touching

Frankie 🐈🐟: Where. Need to know.

My nipples

Frankie 🐈🐟: Fuck baby, I’m getting hard. Can you touch your pussy for me?

You tell him yes, and slide your hand lower, resting the phone on your tummy as you close your eyes, playing with your clit softly. Your fingers are so small compared to his. Softer, less calloused.

Your fingers are so much better than mine, big and thick

Frankie 🐈🐟: Jesus fucking christ baby, tell me, tell me what to do.

Pull your dick out and touch yourself. Send me a pic.

He does. With absolutely no hesitation of reservation at all. And fuck, he has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. Thick, tan and perfectly cut, rigid veins trailing down to a slightly groomed mass of hair which somehow doesn’t turn you off at all. Holding his perfect cock in that big hand...you moan and dip your finger into yourself, grabbing your phone and sloppily sending one more text message one-handed.

Call me now

It’s like the text had barely been sent before he calls, and you answer, phone in the crook of your neck, simply whining in greeting.

“Cat…”

“Wildflower”, He pants out, “you’re gonna fucking kill me, I know it.” He’s panting in your ear, and you can hear the lewd slick sounds of him jacking himself off. You increase the pressure of the heel of your hand on your clit, pushing another finger inside you, canting your hips upwards as if he was on top of you, filling you up perfectly like he did last night. And this morning. You don’t even recognize the sounds coming out of your mouth. He continues, rambling straight filth into your ear.

“Fuck, honey, I can hear you fucking yourself. Wish it was me, been thinking about your tight little pussy taking me all day. God damn..” He moans out, and you can hear his speed increasing, his panting coming out harder.

“It’s not the same.” You whine, “Too small...need your big dick in me.”

“Yea?” He huffs. “Want to so bad, bet I could slide right in, I can hear how wet you are.” You cry out at his words, a sharp jolt of pleasure surging through you. You’re so close, and you grind your palm harder into your clit despite the ache in your hand.” You’re practically crying into the phone now, and he can barely take it.

“Baby i’m gonna cum, you sound so fucking sweet. Are you...are you close?” He finishes the sentence with several moaning sighs, they sound so intoxicatingly obscene that it throws you right off the edge.

“Yes, Fr-Frankie!” You yell out as you cum, and through the stars popping behind your eyelids you can hear him cursing and moaning, finally grunting out your name as he cums. You groan through your aftershocks as you hear him, he’s never shy about his noises and it’s one of your favorite things about fucking him. He is loud and dirty and raw, you think you could cum just thinking about his noises alone. He’s huffing now, in your ear, and you hum in contentment as the two of you come down off the high.

“God damn.” He finally rasps, his voice like gravel after his loud orgasm. “You’re fucking insatiable.”

“Me!” You exclaim, but there’s no mirth in it, and the two of you start giggling like idiots in each other's ears. “Please tell me who woke me up already fucking me this morning.”

“Okay. You got me. Can’t help it though. You make me feel like a teenager again.”

You hum softly. “Lust of a teen, body of a man. I like that combination.”

Frankie chuckles. “I’m glad.”

The two of you talk late into the night, about nothing and everything.

“Oh...fuck” Frankie inhales, several hours later. “I didn’t realize what time it was. I gotta be up for an early shift tomorrow. See you tomorrow then? Can you stay later than you normally do?”

“It’s a date Cat, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You say your goodbye and toss the phone across your bed, rolling over. You fall asleep immediately.

You were practically vibrating for Frankie to come home, and even though you internally chastised yourself for acting like a lovestruck fool, you couldn’t help it. You tried to expend your energy chasing Gabriela around in the yard until it ended in a long tickle fight, but although it tired her out, you were still humming with energy. You had a specific movie picked out for tonight, and you were excited to watch it with the two of them.

But when Frankie came home, he was weird. It was barely noticeable. He wasn’t doing anything necessarily to you, or to Gabi, he was just...off. Slumped.

“Bonita.” He greets Gabi, dropping everything in his hands to pick up his daughter and toss her in the air. She lands with a giggle in his strong arms, his biceps flexing with her weight, and he presses kisses all over her face. You looked on with adoration, a clenching in your heart whenever you see him in full dad mode.

The two of you had discussed taking it slow introducing the new dynamic to your relationship with Gabi, so when he puts her down you settle for a nice long hug and a press of his lips to your neck. He sags slightly in your arms, a huff of relieving breath puffing out over your bare shoulders. You pull him away and hold his arms, looking into his face. He looks like a scared baby fawn.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head minutely. “Nothing, just a long day I guess.”

You squint at him, not sure if you believe him or not, but decide not to press it.

“Buh BYE!” Gabi yells, bouncing up in excitement.

You laugh. “Oh yea, she’s learned to say buh bye correctly now, she was very excited to tell you.”

“Wow! Gabi! That’s awesome! I know that was tough, you’re so smart baby.” He picks her up again and sits on the couch with her, and you join, keeping a respectful distance. She nuzzles into his chest and sighs happily. Mood, you think to yourself. Soon. But first, movie.

“So what’cha got for us, I’ve been wondering all day. You sounded excited.”

“MMhmmm.” You nod, smiling widely. “Get ready for feelings.”

Frankie gasps loudly and looks at Gabi. “UH oh. Not FEELINGS.” They giggle with each other as you pull up Disney Plus, finally selecting The Fox and the Hound. You press play quickly before either have time to notice, too lost in whatever secret language they’re speaking together. But as the screen shifts from black to blue, and the title of the movie flashes on the screen, Frankie suddenly quiets and stiffens noticeably.

“Oh.” He says simply.

You look at him, his throat bobbing as he swallows, and you immediately question your choice. “Um, actually, nevermind. Let me pick something else.”

Gabi lifts her head and smacks her hand down lightly on Frankie’s chest. “NO.”

“OOF. Niña! Por favor sea gentil, okay?”

She nods and wriggles out of his arms to plop down between you, leaning against you slightly.

You look up from her and meet his eyes. “Frankie, do you want to watch something else? I don’t want to watch something if you don’t want to watch it.”

“I want to watch it with you. I’m just...I might..cry.” He says, looking down to fiddle with the webbing between his thumb, circling his opposite thumb over his tiny faded little bullseye tattoo.

You realize suddenly that it’s hard for him. It’s hard for him to show vulnerability to someone. And you don’t want to push him if he’s not ready. He looks back up at you, but there’s determination now in his expression. He makes the decision for you, grabbing the controller from your lap and hits play.

You get through most of it without crying. You both knew which part it would be, so it wasn’t something that crept up on you. But when you turn to look at him, tears prickling in your eyes, you’re still surprised.

Frankie is crying, noticeably. Drying tear tracks down his cheeks, one more tear pulling from the corner of his eye as you look. There’s no noise, and his face is stiff to the point where he could pass as a statue. You wish you lived in a society that didn’t chastise men for showing their emotions, because whenever you saw it from him it made you like him more. Maybe it came from society, maybe it came from the military, but he wasn’t just rough and gruff. He had depth, softness, he was sensitive and you think he probably tries so hard to hide just how sensitive he really is. You wish he wouldn’t. But you also knew the more comfortable he was with you, the more he was letting you see. He’s already shown you some of that. So you would allow him space, give him the time he needs to show you more. You look back to the screen to give him some privacy, but slowly reach your arm out behind where Gabi is perched to the edge of the couch and grasp his hand. He accepts it and squeezes back tightly. I’m here. I support you.

“But WHY?!” Gabi breaks the tension, pointing at the TV as the old lady leaves the fox in the forest alone. You pull her into your lap, explaining the movie to her a bit, allowing Frankie to quickly wipe his eyes on his flannel and get himself together.

“Okay, she’s finally down.” Frankie says with a sigh, flinging his body back on the couch. He rubs his face with his hands and turns to you, leaning in for a kiss. You give it, taking his hand as he pulls away.

“Frankie, I’m sorry again if I upset you about the movie…you’re upset, I know you are. I just wanted to have some fun with you. I just thought...we’d talked about it when we first met and-” You don’t meet his eyes.

He tilts your chin back up. “No, no it wasn’t that. I’m sorry, I guess I’ve been weird today. I- I had a rough meeting today. Sorry I’m ruining our date.”

‘You aren’t. You didn’t!” You pull your lips into your mouth, wondering if you should press more, but decide to do it this once. “What happened? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I just...I wanna help if I can.”

He thinks this over for a few moments. “Well, I told my group about you. They weren’t the most positive about it. I guess it put me in a bad mood.”

“Oh.” You pull your hand from his and join it with the other in your lap. “Is this...is this your AA?”

“NA.”

“What?”

“NA. Narcotics Anonymous.” He braces for your reaction, sure that the realization of his addiction to more serious drugs would send you running for the hills. It’s why he had tried to avoid this conversation. But you deserve the truth. Some of it, at least.

You surprise him again. “Oh! Duh, I’ve seen you drinking alcohol. Stupid of me. Um, how long have you been sober?”

“A year and a half.”

“WOW!” You perk up and clap your hands together, almost scaring him with the suddenness. “That’s great Frankie! I’m so proud of you!”

He takes his cap off and runs his fingers through his hair sheepishly, tossing it on the coffee table instead of replacing it on his head. “Yea, uh, I worked hard. I’m still working hard. For Gabi. They wouldn’t let me have custody of her until I’d proven sober for a long time.”

“That must have been hard for you. I know you never would have hurt her.” He nods gently. “Well, I wouldn’t take it too personally, with your group I mean. They just want to help you. And they don’t know me.”

He takes a gulp before continuing. “Yea. They...they said they didn’t want me to get overly invested in something that -- that might be...temporary.” He struggles to get the words out, to not let you see his deepest and darkest fears, but he can’t help but seek an answer from you that he desperately needs reminding of.

You furrow your brow. “You mean me? Frankie...you’re not temporary to me. I mean if you want that then...I dunno...I guess that’s fine, but that’s not really what I was thinking. Not at all.”

“No?” He can’t help but let out the breath he’d been holding during your answer, a wide grin spreading across his features. It shows off the dimple on his right cheek beautifully, and he reaches out to you and pulls you into his lap, straddling your thighs on either side of his.

“No, you idiot.” You giggle and kiss him on the lips, then spread out, kissing him all over his face. “I really fucking like you Frankie, I already told you that. I’m not going to hurt you. I wish you’d believe it.”

He spreads his hands across your back, holding you close to him. “I do, I guess I just needed reassurance. And then we watched that movie and she just leaves him and then-”

“Oh...Frankie.” You take his cheeks in your hands and scratch your fingers through his beard, and he preens at the sensation. “You are so fucking adorable, I can’t stand it.”

“So...so does this mean you wanna be my girlfriend?” He looks up at you with the softest eyes you think you might scream.

“YES. Yes, boyfriend, and let me show you how much I like you, so you never fucking forget it.” You draw him in for a kiss, tilting your head so that your lips fit perfectly into his, suckling on his bottom lip. He hums with pleasure in your mouth. You swipe your tongue into his mouth once, then pull away, and he pouts at the abruptness of the ending. “I love these pouty lips.” You say, caressing his bottom lip with your thumb. “And this fluffy, curly hair,” You move to run your fingers through it. “And your dark eyes, and this fucking nose!” You nuzzle yours against his.

“Oh, stop, it’s the worst.”

“No, it’s fucking sexy. MMMmmm and this scruffy silver fox jawline, and these freckles on your neck, and your strong arms…” You start moving off him, slowly sliding down his body. He closes his eyes and sighs happily at the praise.

“The broadest fucking shoulders too.” You’re between his legs now, knees on the floor. “And this tummy….”

“Oh god…” He slaps his hand over his face.

“Shutup Frankie. Let me praise you. Let me show you how much I like you.” You lift up his shirt, taking note of the bulge already growing in his jeans. He’s got a thing for praise, you revel, and you stick a pin in your brain about that for later. His tummy exposed, you lean forward and press a kiss to the tiny little swell that overflows his belt. You don’t see his lips part as you love him here. Your kisses continue into open mouthed ones all along his stomach and happy trail, until you are nibbling little love bites into him and he’s moaning softly, head tossed back.

“Baby…” He whines.

“Shhh.” You chide, and you lean back to look him in the eyes, placing the palms of your hands on his jean-covered calves, sliding them up to his thighs, inches from where he wants them. You squeeze them lightly. “MMmmmm and these thighs, with that little elephant tattoo…” You turn your head and kiss him where you saw it before peaking out of his swimming trunks.

“Wildflower, please don’t tease...” He begs, his hips bucking slightly, desperately seeking the contact he’s going crazy for.

You hum and give him what he wants, sliding one of your hands up further and palming his stiff cock through his jeans. His pouty lips open in an ‘O’ shape as he stares at you. You lean forward and nuzzle your nose into his crotch, opening your mouth to wet the fabric and squeeze him a little between your lips. You look up again and he’s still staring, looking a complete mess.

You smile and start unbuttoning his jeans, and he lifts his hips to help you pull them down his legs. You look at his cock blatantly, licking your lips, and he whimpers and shifts in impatience.

“Be patient like a good boy, and I’ll give you something I don’t give a lot of people. That’s how much I like you.” You tell him, pulling your shirt off and unclasping your bra.

“Fuck...” It’s all he can say, he’s completely fuckstruck. You love seeing him this way.

“And I love your cock…” You whisper, leaning forward to kiss the tip, the pre-cum following you as you pull away, a thin string pulled with your lips, eventually breaking with the distance. You giggle at his expression, completely bug-eyed, mouth hanging open, until you lean in and take the tip of him in your mouth. He groans out and his head falls back to the back pillows of the couch again, and you slide him into your mouth more, swirling your tongue around the ridge of his cock head, lathing it against his perineum.

You pull away, licking your lips, until he looks back down at you. He looks utterly debauched, and you love it. “It’s so big in my mouth Frankie, I don’t know if I can take it all.”

“Jesus fucking christ…” He pants, and you sheathe your mouth around him again, moving as far as you can go, wrapping your hand around the thick bottom half you can’t fit. He moans out loudly, slapping a hand over his own mouth for a second when he remembers Gabi is sleeping down the hall. “Shit, fuck baby, you look so fucking pretty sucking me off.” He whispers.

You speed up at his approval, and he runs his hand through your hair to grip it at the base of your neck. Not pushing, but reinforcing his appreciation. He lets go when you eventually pull away again, and he exhales in frustration at the loss of sensation. But you’re just moving back to pull off his boots, pants and boxers completely. Pushing his thighs out wider, you lean down further and lick a small stripe up one of his balls, using your tongue to pull it into your mouth gently.

The noise that comes out of him is so fucking vulgar, the deepest moan you’ve ever heard come from his mouth, and you take it as more confirmation he likes what you’re doing, so you switch to the other one and do the same.

“Babe, babe you gotta...I’m close. Want your mouth on me…” He begs.

You comply, moving back up to slide your mouth back down his length, tightening the muscles of your lips so you squeeze him on the way down. You wrap your hand at his base again, moving it up and down in a corkscrew. His chest is puffing in and out, his muscles tensing up, and he stiffens, pressing his hand down on your head until his cock hits the back of your throat, and you squeak at the intrusion.

“I know baby, I know, just...FUCK please don’t move please don’t move please-don’t-move-PLEASE-DON’T-MOVE!”

You swallow around him, eyes watering, relaxing your throat as he pushes just a little further, looking up at him from your eyelashes, and he fucking loses it, growling and groaning as he cums down your throat. Frankie always cums alot, and it leaks out the side of your mouth and dribbles down your chin as he comes down off the pleasure high. You stay where he asked you to be obediently, swallowing as much of it as you can when he finally pulls his softening cock out of your mouth.

“Shit, sorry, here….” He scrambles around for something to wipe your mouth off with but you shake your head, licking your lips and wiping your face off on the crook of your elbow, the sheen of his spend glistening in the dim lighting.

“Damn, you look so fucking good with my cum on your face baby, come here.” He says, grabbing you around the wrists and pulling you up and over his shoulder, carrying you off into the bedroom.

“Ah! Frankie!” You exclaim, slapping him on the shoulder softly, but he ignores you and tosses you onto the middle of his bed.

“Take off your shorts.” He smirks.

You pout. “Frankie...this was just supposed to be about you tonight.”

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, trust me, this is for me.” You scoot up the bed and he pulls your shorts and panties off for you, tossing them behind him without a care. “I don’t know if you heard, but I love doing this, and apparently I’m really good at it.” He pushes your legs to the sides and settles himself between them, wasting no time in swiping his nose right up your slit. He looks up at you and smirks again, the sight of some of your wetness on that nose making you clench around nothing.

“Did you get this wet sucking my dick?” He asks, and you nod shyly. “You’re fucking perfect baby, such a good fucking girl.” He brings his face back to your pussy and laps you up like a starved man, thrusting his tongue into you and occasionally moving back up to suck on your clit. You cry and moan, and he eats up the praise as you knew he would, before he plunges a thick finger into you, curling it and rubbing it against your walls. You arch your back, squeezing your eyes shut in pleasure, and he takes the opportunity to add a second finger, working you open more.

“Oh, fuck, Frankie!” You grind your hips down onto him and he lets you, pulling back to watch you fuck yourself on his fingers, before adding a third. You’re writhing in his arms, moving your head from side to side, face pinched, and he sucks your clit into his mouth, giving it the tiniest, gentlest little nibble. You squeeze your eyes closed with so much force tears leak out of them as you shatter, back arching off the bed, clamping your hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet enough to not wake Gabi. He hums as he works you through your subsiding release, slowing down to soft kisses and licks while you quiet down.

He’s hard and aching to be inside you now, and he crawls up your body, kissing you the whole way there. You’re completely wrecked, not sure how he can still have any energy. He kisses you softly, languidly, pouring as much of his feelings into it as he can. He reaches down to line up against you, pushing in slowly and sets a gentle rolling pace, his mouth never leaving yours. You’re sighing and whimpering in his arms, and he feels a twang of guilt for not being completely honest with you. He is scared you’ll leave. But it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Because he always, eventually, fucks up everything. And he can’t help but think he will fuck this up too, and you will leave, and he will be alone and sad again. He can’t tell you everything he’s done, not yet, he wants to cling to the brief happiness he can. So he hitches your legs around his hips to let you lock him in, nuzzling into your neck, saying your name over and over, running one of his hands through your hair and caressing your cheek as he lovingly fucks you.

No, not fucking. Making love.

Chapter 7

»»———————►

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nothingunrealistic · 3 years

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some thoughts on the question of “so when did taylor firmly Decide to leave axe cap, anyway?”, sorted by episode, under a cut because it got unexpectedly lengthy

3x11 kompenso: after an episode full of taylor checking in with winston to see how The Algorithm is going and locking horns with axe over not being given the money they want & being taken off the capital raise team, we get the reveal of Taylor Mason Capital as a company in the making, and as the occupant of the space above the quant headquarters. obviously, taylor’s decision to leave axe cap was firmly made by this point.

3x12 elmsley count: taylor officially leaves axe cap and gets tmc up and running, using The Algorithm, which served as the basis for their pitch to grigor, and some of the funds initially acquired by axe cap at the capital raise.

3x09 icebreaker: the first appearance of the quant headquarters, and the first gathering of the quants (winston, roger, and bronwen) outside of axe capital to work on The Algorithm for extremely vague purposes. at this point, taylor must have already decided to restart the quant project for their own ends after axe dismissed it, and to reserve space in the building for their own company.

3x10 redemption: though the quant hq already being established in 3x09 means taylor’s axe-induced breakup with oscar couldn’t have been The inciting factor that made them decide to leave, it likely strengthened their resolve to do so. to quote an interview with koppelman & levien regarding the season 3 finale: “When asked if the Oscar situation was the final straw for Taylor, Levien says, "perhaps but the split would've happened regardless."”)

actually, let’s put some more of that article in here: “As for the Axe-Taylor relationship turning as it did, Levien explains that the seeds of the breakdown were planted very early on. “We see Taylor as a reflection of what Axe was like at their age. These are people that have a lot of ambition and it’s hard to co-exist. At some point, they each have to have their own world, their own kingdom.” And, he explains, "any offenses, whether real or perceived, were built up enough so that someone would make a break."”

4x06 maximum recreational depth: axe and his lawyer discover that while taylor was running axe capital, they handled the contract for a partnership with victor mateo’s company, and they included a term in the contract that made axe cap potentially liable for any wrongdoing by victor. this term is described as a trap set by taylor for axe capital, suggesting they wouldn’t have included it in the contract unless they already intended to leave axe cap (and meant for the trap to be sprung after they were gone) by the time they handled that contract. also, mafee was a co-signer on that contract, suggesting that by that point, taylor intended to take mafee with them to tmc (rather than leaving him at axe cap to have that signature blow up in his face) and felt confident they could persuade him to come, even if mafee himself didn’t want to leave axe cap at that point.

3x02 the wrong maria gonzalez: at the episode’s start, axe is looking to make trades without getting caught by persuading the ceos of various satellite funds of axe cap, including victor and his fund, to make trades for him. throughout the episode, taylor and axe are at odds over the use of $2 billion that axe wants to invest in his satellite funds and that taylor wants to use for other purposes. the conflict is resolved by axe giving taylor control over the money and taylor agreeing to hear pitches from various investors, including axe’s satellite funds, and investing in some of them. this is likely the source of the deal that was made with victor’s fund.

3x03 a generation too late: at the episode’s start, axe is trying to convince raul gomez, a former investor in axe cap, to invest with victor’s fund. this suggests that the deal with victor has been made and axe’s money is now in his fund, or else that it will be made soon. throughout the episode, taylor is interviewing quants to hire for axe cap, and when none of them work out (thanks in part to wags sabotaging the interview process), taylor decides they’ll have to work on The Algorithm they’re envisioning alone.

3x04 hell of a ride: when craig heidecker’s spaceship explodes with him aboard, and most of the axe cappers watching it happen celebrate the impending success of their short of heidecker’s company, mafee and taylor are the only two people in the room who are both upset by his death and disgusted by everyone else’s reactions. this is likely the first moment where taylor was certain that mafee could be persuaded to leave axe cap.

3x06 the third ortolan: taylor works on The Algorithm, both alone and with the assistance of roger and bronwen, who are clearly At axe capital but are cordoned off / hidden away from the other employees. it’s unclear how they planned to implement the algorithm at axe cap, and by this point they could have intended to use it for their own purposes instead.

3x07 not you, mr. dake.: taylor talks with mafee about the pressure being placed on him due to his role in the ice juice short and reassure him that he “will earn his way in this business whether axe cap exists or not.” taylor then confronts wendy over being responsible for some of that pressure and for neglecting her role as an impartial counselor to the employees at axe cap. when mafee is rewarded for lying about the short to protect wendy, taylor notices and worries. this is probably the first point at which mafee would be willing to turn his back on axe cap.

3x08 all the wilburys: axe returns to axe capital as a free man, takes the reins of the company back from taylor, orders them to get rid of their quants, and announces that they’ll be doing a cap raise as soon as they can. taylor asks him for their own money to manage, and though axe agrees to it, he gives them less than he’d promised. this sets in motion all the components that are clearly needed for taylor to break away and start tmc — the capital raise, the reestablishment of the quant project, and the start of a clear grudge against axe over being denied autonomy and power. it’s also the end of taylor’s time in charge of axe cap, which means the deal with victor’s fund must have already been made.

3x01 tie goes to the runner: wags and taylor discuss possible Big Ideas that axe capital can bring to an idea dinner to impress other hedge fund ceos, and wags asks taylor if they’ve been looking for offers from other funds. taylor tells him they turned down krakow’s offer of a job already, and says that “until and unless it becomes necessary, I will not leave.” (this early on, they’d already come to the conclusion that leaving axe capital might ultimately be necessary — they just didn’t know when.)

in summary:

taylor must have made the deal with victor’s fund after 3x02 and before 3x08. (or maybe during 3x08, depending on when exactly their leadership of axe cap is considered to have ended.) most likely, it was closer to 3x02.

taylor first wanted to hire quants in 3x03, had succeeded in hiring them by 3x06, and was forced to dismiss them in 3x08, only to rehire them outside of axe cap in 3x09.

taylor first learned about the capital raise in 3x08, demanded to be part of it in 3x11 despite axe deciding otherwise, and successfully led the raise in 3x12.

taylor first saw that mafee was at odds with the axe cap culture in the same way they were in 3x04, and mafee was having doubts about axe cap by 3x07.

conclusion: you could argue for taylor deciding to leave axe cap as early as 3x03, as late as 3x08, or a number of points in between. i personally can’t decide on one single answer that makes The Most Sense. all i can say is that the possibility of leaving was clearly on their mind for a long time before it was inevitable and obvious that they would leave.

#billions #taylor mason #bobby axelrod #dudley mafee #chronology posting #this is wildly anachronistic in terms of Ordering The Episodes but imo it's the order in which the threads are most readily followed #also the plot point of ''taylor set a trap in this contract with victor'' may have been devised well After everything else in season 3 #and that may be to blame for the wonkiness caused by retroactively trying to apply it to the season 3 timeline #Also also could have gotten more into taylor & wendy's conversation about heidecker's death in 3x04 #and how it affects their relationship + taylor's perspective on axe cap moving forward but that's a bit tangential to the point here

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kimabutch · 5 years

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JLCR: kimabutch edition

To celebrate somehow reaching 1000 songs on Jam Like Critical Role, the giant fan-created playlist that I’ve been curating since February, I’ve decided to put together a mini-playlist of own, featuring two of my favourite songs for each member of Vox Machina and The Mighty Nein! Each song has a YouTube link, but you can find the whole mini-playlist on Spotify here.

By mini-playlist I meant that there are “only” 36 songs, and also that I’ve pulled out my favourite lines and explained why I associate the song with them, so that this whole thing is approximately 5400 words long. I tried to restrain myself, but, well, Jam Like Critical Role is a testament to my lack of self-restraint. If it helps, I’ve tried to incorporate a diversity of artists, eras, and genres, from folk-punk to techno, country, dream-pop, classical, and beyond. I hope you find something you enjoy.

Grog

We’re Going To Be Friends, Jack Johnson (cover of White Stripes), for Grog and Pike’s incredibly wholesome childhood friendship. While many of the lyrics describe friends at school, which is not totally accurate for them, I can just imagine the two weirdos playing among the bugs:

“Walk with me, Suzy Lee/ Through the park and by the tree/ We can rest upon the ground/ And look at all the bugs we’ve found”

Not to mention Pike teaching Grog his ABCs:

“Tonight I’ll dream while in my bed/ While silly thoughts run through my head/ Of the bugs and alphabet”

I just love these two silly monstahs.

Giant, Juno Reactor: to balance out that last song, have some techno that makes me want to yell “Vox Machina, Fuck. Shit. UP!” and split Kevdak in half with a nat 20 from the sky. Appropriately named for our goliath friend, this song always temporarily convinces me that I, too, am a seven foot tall barbarian (which is not recommended while you are trying to do anything that requires brainpower.)

Keyleth

I Lost Myself, Lauren Mann and The Fairly Odd Folk, for Keyleth’s self-doubt about whether she can do her Aramente (or whether she even wants to) and fear that she’s hurting everyone:

“I’ve got voices in my head Making me think that this is where I end Hey, what do you see, if anything What do you see in me”

This specifically reminds me of her Aramente, and how it taught her so much more than she was expecting:

“You and me we made a plan To travel from here to there and back again Somewhere on that weathered road I found the dreams that I’d been looking for”

And “Hey, we’ve got the world to see/ So let’s forget our anxieties and get on our way” makes me think of Keyleth and Percy’s friendship, and how both of their stories are about trying to figure out what to do once you’ve achieved your goals. I want to think that after the story ended, they were still occasionally able to leave behind their responsibilities and travel the world together.

Take Us Back, Alela Diane, for a post-canon Keyleth, reminiscing on the old days and eventually outliving the rest of Vox Machina. I get a strong image of Kiki coming down from Zephra to see her friends:

“Atop the crags and cliffs the air is thin/ So we’ll find a mountain path on down the hill/ Meet me where the snowmelt flows/ It is there, my dear, where we’ll begin again”

And of her listening to Scanlan’s music, centuries later; they’d be the last two alive: “I’ve a friend who lives out by the river’s mouth/ He knows the fiddle’s cry is an old sound”

And then Keyleth, alone, listening to a river’s gurgle or the wind’s howling, and almost thinking she hears her friends: “Muted voices, just beyond/ The silent surface of what has gone.”

Percival

The Devil Spoke Here, Chicken Little, which I think is actually about the aftermath of a protest, but which I feel works eerily well for Percy’s development following the Briarwood arc. The beginning reminds me of his guilt, feelings of brokenness, and anger issues after he’s cast out Orthax — right down to his guilt about guns:

“There’s bullets in the streets/ and broken dishes on the floor/ enough anger in my heart/ to take the blame for it all/ I could take every bullet back/ if I could never feel like that”

It also covers Percy’s realization, after his conversation with the Raven Queen, that he’s free from the judgment of the gods, and acceptance that he’s the one who has bad thoughts for the greater good:

“I have no god for guidance/ still I’m praying all the same/ may everything I do/ be done for everybody’s gain”

And then this, for a reason that I can’t quite explain, feels so much like Percy’s forgiveness of Ripley at Glintshore, and his death at her hand:

“May we always fail/ with the best of intentions/ with our hearts always pure/ and our souls only human”

Wandering Star, Portishead: the weird trip hop vibe to this song somehow feels appropriate to Percy, and in particular to his darkest thoughts. The song addresses the possible punishments for these thoughts: “Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved/ The blackness, the darkness, forever.” It helps that this is an allusion to a Bible passage about atheists.

The second verse makes me think both of Percy’s relationship to the concept of eternity (because of the “needle’s eye” — a parable about the entrance of heaven for the rich) and his raven mask:

“Those who have seen the needle’s eye, now tread Like a husk, from which all that was, now has fled And the masks that the monsters wear To feed, upon their prey”

Additionally, “Doubled up inside/ Take a while to shed my grief” is reminiscent of Percy’s revelation, in the last episode, that he just really fucking misses his family. This whole time, something inside of him has been curled up into a little ball like the teenager he was five years ago, grieving his family.

Pike

Holy, Jamily Woods: a song about self-love and self-assurance, underscored by Christian imagery:

“Though I walk through the darkest valley I will fear no love/ Oh my smile my mind reassure me I don’t need no one […] Woke up this morning with my mind set on loving me”

Many of the lyrics can be interpreted either as the singer being self-sufficient because her god is there — or being sufficient even beyond her god: “I’m not lonely, I’m alone/ And I’m holy by my own.”

I think both interpretations work for Pike: that she has found (or is attempting to find) peace when she’s not with her friends, or that although she worships Sarenrae, the Everlight doesn’t necessarily interfere in her day-to-day life and she makes her own happiness. Either way, the song makes me feel at peace in the same way that Pike does.

The Otherside, Ohbijou, for Pike’s feelings about Scanlan during the year gap. Particularly, I’m reminded of Pike’s attempts to talk to Scanlan on the earring: “With things left unsaid so unsatisfied/ And a burning to hear your voice just one more time.”

And in these lyrics:

“And it’s so silly for me to worry/ About situations that don’t exist/ We create these problems and try to solve them/ Why waste each passing moment?”

I hear Pike trying to figure out her feelings for Scanlan, but shooting herself down because he’s gone, why even try?

Scanlan

The Pilgrim - Chapter 33, Willie Nelson (cover of Kris Kristofferson), which really encapsulates, for me, Scanlan’s complex relationship with religion: the fact that a guy who regularly produces lightning from his dick, messes with people’s memories, and actively attempts to cultivate a drug habit finds himself praying to the Everlight at night and eventually becomes Ioun’s chosen:

“He’s a poet, he’s a picker/ He’s a prophet, he’s a pusher/ He’s a pilgrim and a preacher/ And a problem when he’s stoned”

The lines “He’s a walking contradiction/ Partly truth and partly fiction” reminds me of all the identities he’s taken on, both for fun and to shield his emotions from his friends, whereas “Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home” makes me think of Scanlan’s long road back to Vox Machina after leaving them.

Handle With Care, Traveling Wilburys: almost every single song on this album works for Scanlan, so choosing just one was a real challenge. But this song is so good for all the shit that Scanlan’s been through (and all the shit that he’s been), and his relationship with Pike through all of that:

“Been beat up and battered around/ Been sent up, and I’ve been shot down/ You’re the best thing that I’ve ever found/ Handle me with care […]”

“Everybody’s got somebody to lean on” reminds me of Scanlan’s feeling, in episode 85, that he’s the odd one out in Vox Machina.

The last verse encapsulates Scanlan acknowledging his own fuck ups, working to make them right, and eventually, having a healthy relationship with Pike:

“I’ve been uptight and made a mess/ But I’ll clean it up myself, I guess/ Oh, the sweet smell of success”

Taryon

Father and Son, Cat Stevens, for Tary’s relationship with his father and his decision to leave home; the song is a duet of sorts. I think the father’s part of the song is a little generous for Howaardt Darrington, but retains the message of (somewhat condescendingly) trying to keep his son at home and have him reconsider his far-reaching plans: “I know that it’s not easy to be calm/ When you’ve found something going on.”

The son’s part, though, captures Tary’s frustration with his father’s strictness and inability to actually understand his passions:

“How can I try to explain?/ ‘Cause when I do he turns away again/ It’s always been the same, same old story/ From the moment I could talk/ I was ordered to listen/ Now there’s a way and I know/ That I have to go away”

And the last verse is some real closeted gay feelings that always make me tear up:

“All the times that I cried/ Keeping all the things I knew inside/ It’s hard, but it’s harder to ignore it”

What’s It Gonna Be, Shura, not so much for the song’s lyrics, but for its music video, which is all about falling for a different gender than you expected, and which is incredibly sweet and beautiful.

That being said, you could definitely take the lyrics to be about his crush on Percy and his obliviousness about who in Vox Machina is sleeping with whom:

“Do I tell you I love you or not?/ 'Cause I can’t really guess what you want/ If you let me down, let me down slow”

Vax’ildan

Glorious, Muse, for Vax’s early relationship with faith. He can’t help but feel drawn towards Sarenrae’s light, even as he has doubts and perhaps even anger towards the gods:

Faith: It drives me away/ But it turns me on/ Like a stranger’s love It rockets through the universe It fuels the lies and feeds the curse And we, too, could be glorious”

He wants that glory that he sees in Pike, but he doesn’t know how to approach it or reconcile it with his life experiences. And then he finds his whole world shattered as he’s chosen by the Raven Queen, and he once again has to find faith, though in a way that he never expected:

“I need to believe But I still want more With the cuts and the bruises”

Fields of Gold, Sting: a song from Vax to Keyleth. I can imagine them so perfectly in this scene, perhaps during their year of downtime, with the winds of Zephra blowing through the fields and their hope beyond hope that they’ll be able to stay together:

“Will you stay with me? Will you be my love?/ Upon the fields of barley/ We’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky/ As we lie in fields of gold”

“See the west wind move like a lover so/ Upon the fields of barley/ Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth/ Among the fields of gold”

Years later, Vax knows that Keyleth will see those fields again and think of him: “You’ll remember me when the west wind moves/ Upon the fields of barley.”

Vex’ahlia

Half Jack, The Dresden Dolls: a truly haunting song about the pain and unavoidability of being her father’s daughter — she’s always half Jill (her mother) and half Jack (her father.) The whole song is incredibly painful for Vex, and the lines:

“It might destroy me But I’d sacrifice my body If it meant I’d get the Jack part out”

always makes me think of “If I could pull the blood of you from my veins and give it back, I would.” Also,

“But if you listen/ You’ll learn to hear the difference/ Between the halfs and the half nots”

reminds me of her asking Percy if she looks like she comes from money — or a younger Vex, in Syngorn, gradually realizing why everyone looked down on her and Vax. Lastly, isn’t “I see my mother in my face/ But only when I travel” absolutely heartbreaking for her?

Fall Down or Fly, Lindi Ortega, only partly because Lindi Ortega strongly resembles my headcanon for Vex. The other part is because of my abiding love for how Vex learned to fly, and how that worked with her character arc: from the first time, in the Briarwoods arc, that she discovered her love for flying, to her flaunting convention and stealing the broom, to Percy modifying it for her, to her friends cheering her on with chicken target practice, and finally to her soaring through the skies with confidence. And the song captures that so well for me, as well as her decision to keep going even when her father, Saundor’s words, and her own self-doubt bring her down:

“This is your life/ You can fall down or fly/ You can burn out a shot if you want/ This is your life/ You can live it or die/ You can quit now or try if you want/ But don’t you give up, don’t you give up”

This also reminds me of how much all of Vox Machina adores and supports Vex (and I will join them in crying about how awesome she is):

“You said what is there to lose?/ Do it if you choose/ I got faith in you/ Everything you do/ I know you are gonna make it to the top”

(I also maintain that a modern Vex would be really into country music, particularly the genre of country song in which women tell people to fuck off.)

Vox Machina

Call Them Brothers, Regina Spektor feat. Only Son, for Scanlan’s departure from Vox Machina and the whole team’s attempts to deal with it. I first heard this song in an absolutely heartbreaking TAZ animatic, and my pain increased exponentially when I realized how much it also worked for Critical Role. It’s perfect, in my opinion, for the sense that their family, which has seen them through so much, is irreparably broken — “That’s it, it’s split, it won’t recover/ Just frame the halves and call them brothers.”

But then you also get “Over and over, they call us their friends/ Can’t we find something else to pretend?” for Scanlan’s insistence that Vox Machina doesn’t really care about him, and “Find your fathers and your mothers/ If you remember who they are” for “what’s my mother’s name?”

Maybe this should go on Scanlan’s playlist, but I think “The hunt is on, everyone’s chasing a shot” also works for the way that the rest of Vox Machina independently searched for Scanlan during their year of downtime… and the feelings of defeat in the song just feel appropriate to the whole group.

(I actually have a playlist full of songs for episode 85, because I enjoy making myself sad; it took a lot of effort not to put them all here.)

Freaks, The Hawk in Paris: I can never decide whether this is a Mighty Nein or Vox Machina song, but I’m putting it here mostly because “If you come along with us, the doors are never ending” is absolutely hilarious in for Vox Machina’s single greatest enemy.

That, and there are a lot of lines that work for individual members of the group: “We have a flair for the shade and the inbetween” (Vax); “We like to run with the wolves from the darker scene” (Keyleth); “When we turn the safety off, the shots are automatic” (Percy); “All our friends tell their friends we’re so dramatic” (Scanlan); and “We’ll make you swoon, make it hurt just a little” (Vex).

Additionally, “We have a plan, we’ve got the means for your liberation/ You’ll only have to blur the lines on a few occasions” makes me think of the Briarwood arc, and I makes me think of Percy dramatically revealing his identity to the priest — and cut to Grog pulling out a guy’s tongue.

Anyways, if I learn to make AMVs by the time that the animated series is released, this will be the first that I’ll make.

Beauregard

Saint Simon, The Shins, for Beau’s escape from the Cobalt Soul. The song expresses frustration at weighty intellectualism and how much it doesn’t teach you — which i think is something Beau felt strongly with her monk teachers:

“After all these implements and texts designed by intellects/ So vexed to find, evidently there’s still so much that hides […] Since I don’t have time nor mind to figure out the nursery rhymes/ That helped us out in making sense of our lives”

So she tries not to care about anything because it’s safer that way (“The cruel, uneventful state of apathy releases me”), and she runs away:

“I’ll try hard not to give in, batten down to fare the wind/ Rid my head of this pretence, allow myself no mock defence/ Step into the night”

I think the last part of the song could also work for her meeting the Mighty Nein and starts understanding friendship and love: “Mercy’s eyes are blue when she places them in front of you/ Nothing really holds a candle to the solemn warmth you feel inside you.”

Jonas and Ezekiel, Indigo Girls, because what kind of lesbian would I be if I didn’t put at least one gay-written song on Beau’s playlist? This one is about road trips, wandering, and looking for a purpose:

“I left my anger in a river running Highway 5 New Hampshire, Vermont, bordered by College farms, hubcaps, and falling rocks Voices in the woods and the mountaintops”

But also contains one verse that I think fits her strict family, her new family in the Mighty Nein, and the “devils” — or tieflings — of which her family would certainly not approve:

“Now when I was young my people taught me well/ Give back what you take or you’ll go to hell/ It’s not the devil’s land, you know it’s not that kind/ Every devil I meet becomes a friend of mine/ Every devil I meet is an angel in disguise”

And something about this reminds me of her journey into Xhorhas and attempts to uncover conspiracies and work out the truth: “In the war over land where the world began/ Prophecies say it’s where the world will end.”

Caduceus

Born at the Right Time, Paul Simon, for Caduceus’s belief in destiny and his place therein. The chorus describes his occasional naïveté, and the happiness of his life in the Blooming Grove, with his family:

“Never been lonely Never been lied to Never had to scuffle in fear Nothing denied to”

And then gets into his conviction that his goddess and the world itself put him where he is:

“Born at the instant/ The church bells chime/ And the whole world whispering/ Born at the right time”

The very chill vibe of the song is also very Clay, to me.

Happy All the Time, Danny Schmidt: the singer himself has said that he doesn’t know whether or not this song is ironic and/or melancholic, so I’m going to go with a sincere and cheerful interpretation for Caduceus, with maybe a hint of nostalgia for more peaceful days among his family. It’s got some incredibly lush and occasionally strange nature imagery that I think is perfect for him:

“I took the time to breathe cause I was happy all the time/ Among the rootbuds and the weeds cause I was happy all the time/ But the peat moss and the leaves took turns with both my feet/ Until my toes took root and I was happy, I was happy all the time”

I think Caduceus is still happy, but he was definitely at peace as a hermit.

Caleb

I Miss That Feeling, Tennis: a song about panic attacks and how the physical effects, when described, almost seem like falling in love. It works not only for Caleb’s panic attacks, but also, relatedly, his relationship with fire, which scares him, even as he likes the way it feels — “Something like pleasure, you’d never believe it.”

The fiery way that the singer describes panic attacks is also very Caleb:

“I miss that feeling/ Flicker hot and hovering/ Like my own discovering/ Eagerly, tenderly/ I miss that feeling/ Flicker spread into an itch/ Into a burn, into a twitch/ Slow and even”

It brings me back to the first time we saw it, in the gnoll mines. Also, “Every little thing starts trembling/ Recorded by the needle of an EKG” feels very reminiscent of his hospitalization, though from a modern perspective.

Putting the Dog to Sleep, The Antlers, for Caleb’s very tentative trust in the Mighty Nein, and in particular his friendship with Beau. I think this song really encapsulates Caleb’s pain and skittishness, especially near the beginning of their campaign, as well as his desperation (unknown even to himself) to love again:

“Well, prove to me I’m not gonna die alone/ Unstitch that shit I’ve sewn/ To close up the hole that tore through my skin/ Well my trust in you is a dog with a broken leg/ Tendons too torn to beg for you to let me back in”

And this feels like something that Beau would say to Caleb — upfront and caring all at the same time, reminding him that his actions affect everyone else and asking him not to run:

“You said, ‘I can’t prove to you you’re not gonna die alone/ But trust me to take you home/ To clean up that blood all over your paws/ You can’t keep running out […] Kicking yourself in the head/ Because you’re kicking me too.’”

By the end of the song, Caleb is starting to believe her, and even asking her to trust him: “Put your trust in me/ I’m not gonna die alone… I don’t think so…”

Fjord

Release the Kraken, The Daysleepers: I added this to Fjord’s playlist back when everyone was speculating that his patron was something kraken-like, and even now that this is clearly not the case, I think it still works for Uk’otoa (Uk’otoa) and his attempts at freedom: “It pulled the ships down/ It’s rising from the deep below.”

But also for Fjord’s relationship with Avantika — for his attempts to get close to her in order to save himself and his friends:

“Turn the lights down Careful as a serpent’s tongue Move without a sound Gentle as the cold wind moans”

I think “When you sold love/ Your heart becomes a monster” is some of what Fjord felt after those encounters: like he gave part of himself away.

21st Century Child, Daggy Man, for Fjord’s self-hatred and the masks he puts on. Many of the lyrics could fit several characters (particularly Beau, Caleb, and Scanlan), but

“I hate the sound of myself/ When I’m being honest/ Sounds like somebody else/ And I don’t wanna listen/ To the whinings of a 21st century child”

just perfectly captures his feelings about his voice and his past self — weak and whiny, and not who he wants to be. And then we get these lines, which feel like a good summary of his issues with identity and deception:

“And I’ve struggled with how/ Others perceive me/ And I can’t tell if I’m better/ Or just better at deceiving And I’ll keep going until I’m called out”

Jester

The Sweetest Sounds, Ella Fitzgerald (cover of Richard Rodgers), for pre-stream Jester barely waiting for her exciting life to begin. I first heard this song in Rodger & Hammerstein’s Cinderella, and while there is something fairy-tale-like about Jester, I think this upbeat, jazzy cover fits her well:

“The most entrancing sight of all Is yet for me to see And the dearest love in all the world Is waiting somewhere for me”

I can just imagine a 10-year-old Jester listening to the band at the Lavish Chateau play this song, dressing up in Marion’s clothes, and pretending she’s in a storybook romance.

One Hand in my Pocket, Alanis Morissette, which really captures her beautiful complexity:

“I’m free, but I’m focused/ I’m green, but I’m wise/ I’m hard, but I’m friendly/ I’m sad, but I’m laughing”

because Jester is so many things all at once, and none of them negate each other. It’s so hopeful (“What it all comes down to/ Is that everything’s gonna be quite alright”) and comforting (“What it all boils down to/ Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet”) in a way that really reminds me of my favourite blue cleric.

The whole song has such a fun, free, summer vibe that always makes me smile — just like Jester.

Mollymauk

Carnival Overture, Antonín Dvořák (Leonard Bernstein & New York Philharmonic Orchestra): one of my favourite pieces of classical music ever — when I hear it, an entire music video about a carnival plays in my head. The exuberant theme that bowls you over from the start reminds me of Molly’s effervescent, ostentatious personality.

The slower and quieter part in the middle with the violin and woodwind solos gives me a picture of Molly and Yasha sitting alone in the evenings just outside the carnival encampment, cuddled together — Yasha talking about her wife, Molly telling jokes, and the both of them making up names for constellations and flowers. Then the quick-paced minor section makes me think of the bloodhunter tiefling in combat, deadly with his swords and vicious mockery — before the return to the joyful, triumphant original theme.

Wonderful Everyday, Chance the Rapper & The Social Experiment**: this is sort of a cover of the Arthur theme song, but in the absolute best way possible. The meandering, loose, and extraordinarily happy vocals always remind me of Molly’s way of living.

Although some of the lyrics are more optimistic than Molly (I think he’d laugh at “Everybody that you meet/ Has an original point of view” and say that their points of view are usually bullshit), the message of appreciating every single day is just wonderful for him.

And the last bit hits me like a ton of bricks:

“And when I go down/ I'ma go down swinging/ My eyes still smiling/ And my heart still singing”

“Eyes never shut,” indeed.

**not on Spotify, sorry!

Nott

The Sore Feet Song, Ally Kerr: at first it appears to be a simple song about traveling long distances to find your love, which certainly describes Nott’s search for Yeza: “I walked ten thousand miles, ten thousand miles to see you/ And every gasp of breath I grabbed at just to find you.”

But the second verse is where it really gets into Nott’s thieving, rat-eating, badass ways:

“I stole ten thousand pounds, ten thousand pounds to see you I robbed convenient stores cause I thought they’d make it easier I lived off rats and toads, and I starved for you I fought off giants bears and I killed them too”

I love this strange little goblin.

Fox in the Snow, Belle & Sebastian: this song has always been a bit of a mystery to me, but the lyrics remind me of Nott’s intense vulnerability after she was transformed into a goblin — and in particular her self-image as something animalistic:

“Fox in the snow, where do you go/ To find something you could eat?/ Because the word out on the street is you are starving/ Don’t let yourself grow hungry now/ Don’t let yourself grow cold”

The second verse, which switches to describing a human girl, reminds me of pre-transformation Veth, more acceptable in body but no less socially ostracized than Nott:

“Girl in the snow, where do you go/ To find someone that will do?/ To tell someone all the truth before it kills you/ Listen to your crazy laugh/ Before you hang a right/ And disappear from sight/ What do they know anyway?”

I can just see that exact scene play out with a young Veth, right down to the “crazy laugh.” I’m glad she found Yeza, but she must still have been pretty lonely without any other friends.

Yasha

Into the Barrens, Grizfolk, for Yasha’s years of blank wandering after Zuala’s death. This song fits Yasha so well that for months, I somehow tricked myself into believing that Ashley had put it on her playlist. But I feel like this encapsulates her hopeless feelings, away from all society, not living for anything or anyone:

“Cast me away, my shadow’s cold/ Into the barrens where I will grow old/ Well, I’m not looking for answers/ And I’m not looking for gold”

And I can see this verse for the beginning of her relationship with the Stormlord, following voices she can’t understand as she wanders, barely alive:

“The voices in my head/ They echo in the wind and I begin to sway/ I follow what they say/ I can’t see their eyes, but I hear howling through the haze”

Dreams, Fleetwood Mac: technically a break-up song, but I can’t help but think of Yasha’s ever-present guilt and her memories of Zuala when I hear:

“Listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness/ Like a heartbeat drives you mad/ In the stillness of remembering what you had/ And what you lost”

The storm imagery also works for Yasha — “When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know” makes me think of her fight with the Stormlord on the boat, which allowed her to open up to her friends. And it touches on Yasha’s opaque dreams (“Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions/ I keep my visions to myself”).

(Ally and Stevie also have a lesbian mash-up of Dreams and Rhiannon, two of the gayest Fleetwood Mac songs, that I associate strongly with Beauyasha.)

Mighty Nein

Old Black Train, The Blasting Company (from Over the Garden Wall): trains don’t exist in Exandria (yet! — Percy or Taryon should get on that) but this is more of a metaphor for life. It reminds me of the Mighty Nein setting out from Alfield, not knowing the twists and turns they were going to face, the places they’d go, nor the family they’d become:

“This journey is a long one/ It will take you all around/ Life rushing by your window/ Before it lays you down”

Then there’s this verse:

“Oh come on now young stranger/ Weren’t you someone’s son? How’d you find this depot 'Cause it ain’t where you belong”

which feels very appropriate for many members of the Mighty Nein, separated as they are from their families and wandering in lands that aren’t welcoming to them. There’s also a verse that’s reminiscent of the graveyard they passed on the way to Zadash, which more and more feels like a portent of things to come:

“You will pass a graveyard/ Stones worn by the years/ The train’ll stop a minute but don’t let it leave you here”

Sailing, Leisure Cruise: another song about transportation, although this one is a little less metaphorical. As you can probably guess, I associate it with their adventures on the Mystake and the Ball Eater, which begun by total accident but which, in my opinion, was a turning point for the group, and ultimately helped them grow closer together:

“And to our surprise we’re sailing The high seas in the middle of the ocean […] We’re sailing the wildest mystery And to our surprise we’re happy and free”

Okay, so maybe “happy and free” is a bit of an exaggeration for that arc (particularly for poor Nott) but I think there were a lot of moments in which the Mighty Nein learned unexpected lessons about themselves.

And I think this is a good summary of the Mighty Nein’s modus operandi: seize every passing opportunity, because you don’t know what tomorrow will bring:

“Maybe it’s today Maybe it’s tomorrow But we have to make a play Or the chance will fade away”

And that’s a wrap! Thanks for listening and reading. Love you all <3

#critical role #Cr music #my stuff

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patsdrabbles · 5 years

Text

Once Upon A Time

Fandom: The Traveling Wilburys Pairing: George Harrison/Bob Dylan Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 1749 Summary: Wherein Bob has a story he finally wants to talk about. A/N: Another story I wrote a while ago. ^^ I also have two more Dylarrison drabbles written that I hope to get around posting soon. ♥ Feedback is, no matter how short, super appreciated and helpful! ♥ Enjoy <3 (AO3)

„And now we welcome, on TV for the first time in several years: Mister Bob Dylan!”

The applause was insane. It was almost too much but he shook his head briskly. He had come here on his own terms. He had asked his manager himself whether he could arrange an appearance on the show a while ago.

“Bob!” The talkshow host welcomed him with a firm shake of the hand, and before he knew what was happening, Bob was already sitting on the thankfully not too soft couch opposite of him. Had it been too soft, he might just have let it swallow him whole. He still hadn’t managed to calm his nerves.

After exchanging some pleasantries, the talkshow host, a certain Dan Miller, thanked him for appearing on his show, and Bob talked about his latest album for a minute, until the talkshow host harrumphed.

“So, Bob. You wanted to talk about something in particular when coming here, you told me?” Bob, despite being prepared and all too willing to finally confess, felt his heart stop for a moment and took a steadying breath before nodding affirmingly. “Yeah.”

He looked directly into the camera for a moment instead of toward Miller. “I just wanted to say... I am gonna tell you a story about George. ... George Harrison, you know.” He saw Miller nod from the corner of his eye. He had his hands folded in his lap and looked eager to hear what Bob was going to tell him. Him and half the nation watching the show right now. “And I just wanted to say that Olivia and Dhani – his wonderful wife and kid – they gave me their blessings to tell this story. ...Yeah.”

He had turned back toward Miller toward the end of his little heads-up. Now it was time to spill the tea, as George used to say. He smiled a little to himself, not noticeable enough for anyone to notice.

“Now, you see, I first met George when he was only in his early twenties and the Beatles were quite famous already.” Miller nodded, but remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. “I was also quite known back then and I ended up meeting all of the Beatles then. George became a fast friend of mine. He was one of the most decent people I ever met – and the one with the most wicked humour.”

Miller laughed, nodding. He had met George on his show once before, many years ago, and his humor had left a lasting impression. The talkshow host told Bob about the incident and Bob allowed himself a barely but yet, visible smile. “Yeah, that was George.” Miller was smiling at him and the tension caused by the anticipation of what Bob’s story was faded away a bit.

“A’ight,” Bob shook his head, still smiling. (Talking about George tended to have that effect on him.) “I’m gonna tell you the story I came to tell now. It’s not a lot that happened, but I felt like it was time to spill the tea, as George used to say.” Miller nodded at him encouragingly.

“You see, Olivia told me she had found writing of George’s the other month and it seemed like he wanted to publish it when he was working on it. It was all autobiographical and she saw a sequence in there, a story we all three knew about. She called me and we reminisced about it when we met on her invitation.”

Bob took another steadying breath when suddenly, a gentle calm settled over him. He wasn’t nervous about what he was about to confess anymore, hell, he couldn’t care less about what anyone thought about him. And he had known George well enough to know that he had his blessing, too. And he had Olivia and Dhani at his back, no matter that he hadn’t seen them for years until recently.

“In the eighties – before the Traveling Wilburys came to be – we hung out sometimes and one time, late one evening, we were sitting on George’s couch with some wine.” He paused, recalling the evening very clearly still. He knew it would never fade from his memory and he was glad for it. “He told me–” He let out a sound that could only be described as a giggle but thankfully wasn’t as obviously one, his voice deeper and rougher than it had been in younger days. He reached for his water and took a sip before continuing.

“He told me, serious as only George could be without being intimidating, that were I a girl, he would have dated me. Even married me.” The room and the audience within had grown noticeably quieter over the course of his last few words. “Despite all my flaws.” Bob shook his head, laughing lowly.

“I told him I’d still be no good then, as a girl, but also that I wholeheartedly returned the sentiment.” He smiled, the memory coming back to him more clearly than it had been minutes ago. “He was closer suddenly, but he didn’t do a thing. So I ...kissed him.”

There were a few gasps but also an audible, surprised “Woooah” coming from the audience, but Bob didn’t pay much attention to them then. He didn’t pay more attention to Miller either, who was staring at him unbelievingly. But more positively surprised than uncomfortable. Bob had chosen to appear on his show for a good reason after all, that being Miller being openly gay and talking about LGBT matters quite frequently. He knew that most people that watched the show were also pretty open-minded, but that didn’t matter all that much now. Tomorrow, the whole country would know anyway. He felt oddly unworried about it now.

“George was horrified, told me he’d have to fess up to Olivia about what had happened. I told him not to worry, it had been my fault after all. He hadn’t kissed me. He told me he had been thinking about it though.”

“Wow, I. Wow.” Miller was clearly at a loss of words, not having anticipated Bob’s story to lead where it was going right then. So, Bob internally shrugged and went on.

“He asked me if I didn’t like girls after all and I looked at him and told him–“ Bob raised both his eyebrows, mirroring his gaze back then, and dryly repeated his words to George: “There are people who are bisexual, y’know, George?”

The audience laughed heartily for a moment and Miller, too, seemed to recovered his voice, despite only managing a short, laughed “Oh my god” before Bob took over again.

“Y’know, that question coming from a man who then told me he was bisexual himself was kind of hilarious. But... that was George to you. I think he knew but wanted make sure.” He added: “And it was still a topic you didn’t talk about that much with your friends back then. But then, you didn’t kiss your best friend every day either.”

The rest of the talkshow went over quite fast after Bob had finished telling his story. The show still continued for another half hour, actually, but Bob felt like he had lost his sense of time. He felt so much lighter now that he had talked about what had happened. There had been no one else, no other guy after George and their kiss. But that didn’t change how he felt. And he felt better for himself now and he felt that George would hug him, where he still here.

*****

It was late and they had spent all day jamming and writing a couple of new and half-finished songs. It was a musically satisfying day, to say the least, and being in good company was a bonus both of them appreciated.

George had gone and fetched them a bottle of wine from the cellar, pouring them both a glass before letting himself fall lightly onto the couch next to Bob.

They sipped at their glasses in amiable silence for a few minutes, drinking but not enough to get tipsy yet. It wasn’t the wine that made George suddenly set down his glass on the table before turning and, meeting Bob’s eyes seriously, tell him: “If you were a girl, I’d have dated ye any day. Even married ye.”

It was a sudden and unexpected confession and Bob, too, set down his glass before he thought of a good answer. “I don’t think you’d like to date me. I’d still be as unreliable as I am now, I reckon. But... I’d date you, too.”

His gaze was locked on George’s, silent questions being directed at each other in a frenzy, and suddenly, George seemed to sit so much closer than before. Bob couldn’t help himself anymore, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to George’s lips, his hand holding George close by the shoulder and his thumb caressing his throat gently.

George, whose eyes had closed the second their lips had met, pulled back all of a sudden, eyes wide and filled with panic. He was married and very happily so. Bob knew. George didn’t even need to say it.

“I’ll have to tell Olivia.”

Bob nodded. He understood.

George looked torn and close to tears, and he placed a hand gently on Bob’s cheek before pulling him closer and resting his forehead against Bob’s. “You know that I love her, more than the world, but... I love you, too.” He waited, looking into Bob’s eyes to see if he understood how important this was to him. “Please don’t ever forget that.” Bob couldn’t look away, the moment too intense and his own feelings finally released from where he had hidden them for years now. “I always loved you, George.” It came out all choked out and the tears in his eyes were undeniable. “And I always will.”

George pulled him into a tight hug and sadly cursed about his too big heart, asking why he had to love two people so, so dearly, at once. But Bob only shook his head against his shoulder and told him firmly to stop. “You are one of the finest persons I know, George. I won’t do anything to hurt you. I promise.”

George, too, shook his head then. “I feel like all this love might kill me someday.”

Bob stilled for a moment before holding George even more tightly. “It won’t. I’ll make sure it won’t.”

And he and Olivia did.

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harrisonstories · 6 years

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For the 30th anniversary of the Traveling Wilburys, Olivia Harrison did an interview with Laura Cantrell on Dark Horse Radio (11 Oct. 2018). Here is a transcript I’ve made of when they talked about the Romanian Angel Appeal and the Material World Foundation:

LAURA CANTRELL: In 1990 the Traveling Wilburys’ cover version of Nobody’s Child was released as the title track on the Nobody’s Child Romanian benefit album. The charity project was organised to raise awareness for that children’s organisation. The song itself has quite a history and was first recorded by Hank Snow in 1949. It made its way to the ears of many young skiffle bands in England by way of Lonnie Donegan in 1956. George first recorded the song in 1961 on the backing session The Beatles did with Tony Sheridan in Hamburg. Tell us how did the song make its way then into the Wilburys?

OLIVIA: When Nicolae Ceaușescu was overthrown in Romania, Western press went in, and revealed a lot of orphanages. Really severe crisis for a lot of infants and children, and I ended up going there. Linda, Yoko, and Barbara all wanted to do something. Elton [John] actually did as well, and before I knew it they had all donated money, so I thought I have to go down, and I went down and went into some orphanages. George was in the studio with the Wilburys, and he phoned me, and I said, “I’m in Bucharest.” “What are you doing there?”

CANTRELL: Wow.

OLIVIA: Somehow I bumped into Dave Stewart on the way down there – I mean – [laughs] not on the road down there, but somewhere I’d seen him in the days before, and he said, “I’m going to give you two songs. I’m going to give you a song so you can put it out as a single to raise money,” and I told George that. I said, “I have this song from Dave Stewart, so if you have any time and you think of it, maybe you guys could do a song.” You know, I went to sleep, and I woke up in the morning, and they had stopped what they were doing, and they recorded that song which was really amazing because you had all of them in the studio. They got the lyrics, maybe George remembered it. They chose it, thought it was a perfect song, it was. It was really generous of them because they were in full flow recording the second album, and they stopped, and it was literally I woke up, and he called me. They were still awake, and he did this. It was great.

CANTRELL: You were in different time-zones halfway across the world, and you make a suggestion one evening, and the next morning you wake up, and they’ve made it happen.

OLIVIA: He knew. You know, George knew I wouldn’t ask, and he knew the tones of my voice so obviously knew it was serious and how I was feeling there because it was pretty horrific. And in fact the Romanian Angel Appeal’s still going, and it had been adopted as a program by the government there so they’re still helping children.

CANTRELL: Wow. I know that you’re also involved with the work of the George Harrison Fund for UNICEF and the Material World Foundation that George started in 1973. It supports diverse charities, especially programs for children, people with special needs, cultural projects that support artistic expression – including some significant film restorations you’ve also funded. Any recent projects you want to tell us about?

OLIVIA: The fact that George did the Concert for Bangladesh in 197[1], and then in 2018 there are more refugees there than ever before is just a very sad situation, and I think 700,000 people are probably going to spend their whole lives in those camps. There’s no clear way back for them to Myanmar. One of the poorest countries in the world, Bangladesh, has taken on those refugees which is a big message to other countries and to our country as well. The GH Fund has – is you know, giving UNICEF some funds to provide some sort of semblance of normalcy for the kids in the way of schools so that they have somewhere to gather. It’s shocking what’s happening. You know, I have to keep my cool about it, but they need a lot of help. They really need help. We also have a boat program down there. I went down there maybe five years ago, and found a boat maker who is taking kids in the flood plains to schools. Schools didn’t exists at the time. We were going to have a floating school. [A nonprofit group] then built [floating] schools in those [flooded] areas to [get] the children to schools, and that’s working really well. And also Mexico the earthquake, we help a lot with that. Salma Hayek was great, and she did an appeal which we matched for that as well.

CANTRELL: Olivia, could you also tell us about the film projects and film restoration you’ve been involved with?

OLIVIA: George obviously had some interest in film.

CANTRELL: Yes.

OLIVIA: He actually did films through Apple, Little Malcolm with John Hurt, and that was early, and then of course he had Handmade Films and all those movies and great talent…and working with Marty Scorsese on [Living in the Material World] – Marty has a fantastic film foundation, and you know I started just asking what films would you restore? What’s at the top of the list? And we’ve done nine films now, and we really got to a point where I said – I grew up watching Mexican movies in LA. Marty was watching Italian neo-realist in New York, and George was probably watching George Raft and American movies or – I think his favourite movie was Jekyll and Hyde with Spencer Tracey. He loved that movie…so um…anyway, with the film foundation we just restored two Mexican films, and we’re gonna do another one and four early Charlie Chaplin films, and a wonderful documentary called The Memory of Justice. These films need to be preserved. Finding the masters, the negatives is you know, a big effort.

CANTRELL: Just the resources to actually do the restorations but figuring out, “Where are they?” and “Who has the print?” I mean it’s a far flung process.

OLIVIA: Well, the film foundation and Margaret Bodie whom I work with, I’m really just trying to enable them to do what they do. They’re the ones that do all the restorations. It’s a fantastic program. Really, you know, I feel really fortunate to be able to be a part of it.

CANTRELL: Fans of George might not understand all the far flung places that his influence still supports.

OLIVIA: You know, Material World Foundation was set up because George wanted to enable Ravi Shankar to bring Indian musicians and do a recording similar to the one that he heard very early on which was done for All India Radio called “Nava Rasa Ranga”, and it was an Indian orchestra that Ravi put together, wrote the music, and orchestrated which ended up really being very similar to what Ravi wrote at the Concert for George which was so amazing. I watched that, and I thought, there it is. There’s “Nava Rasa Ranga”, and it’s dedicated to George…so the foundation was set up to bring the musicians over so it really was for alternate philosophies and music and culture. It really has expanded, and it’s for the arts and people in need, and we’re really lucky to be able to – to help.

CANTRELL: Well it’s a lot of things to be proud of.

OLIVIA: Oh. Thank you.

CANTRELL: I’m sure George would be proud of them too.

Material World Foundation

GH Fund for UNICEF

#olivia harrison #george harrison #traveling wilburys #laura cantrell #romanian angel appeal #material world foundation #nobody's child #linda mccartney #yoko ono #barbara bach #dave stewart #ravi shankar #martin scorsese #dark horse radio #1990 #2018

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maximumbob-universe · 4 years

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"All Things Must Pass", George Harrison's 1970 masterpiece set a high bar for his solo career, establishing the quiet one as a major talent on his own. I take it a step further, believing it to be the best album ever produced by any of the ex-Beatles. No one could blame Harrison if he couldn't reproduce the power and majesty of his maiden voyage, but finding fault in his work became common, causing his promising start to come to early grief. His 1973 effort "Living in the Material World" was a solid effort, giving us the hit single "Give Me Love" as well as such gems as "Sue Me Sue You Blues" and "Don't Let Me Wait Too Long", even though weaker songs dominated much of the album. The next year, George embarked on a lengthy tour to support his "Dark Horse" LP. He was suffering from laryngitis, which pulls the finished album down somewhat, although the songs are generally less than inspired. Rolling Stone magazine, the preeminent rock publication at the time, referred to it as "Transcendental Mediocrity" in a scathing review that attacked the artist as a no talent hack. As the years passed, Harrison's albums produced some hit singles, but rarely rose above being average. By the time "Gone Troppo" came out in 1982, it was hardly noticed, failing to make the top 100 on Billboard's album charts.

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Five years later he staged a comeback, with a new album produced by Jeff Lynne. "Cloud Nine" was a huge success, earning both popular support and critical praise. Although his weaknesses are still evident, the punchy arrangements pump up the songs to another level, allowing George to sound relaxed and confident throughout. "Got My Mind Set On You" was the hit single, but strong performances abound. "Fish on the Sand", "Devil's Radio", "Wreck of the Hesperus", "When We Was Fab" and the title track all ring true, as Harrison delivers his best record since "All Things Must Pass." He capitalized on his success with his involvement with the Traveling Wilburys and a nice live album. "Cloud Nine" redeemed George in the public eye and re-set his long floundering career. Another strong album, "Brainwashed" would be released after he died, but "Cloud Nine" the last studio album released in his lifetime, proved conclusively that George Harrison still had game. His return was long overdue, but fans didn't care......they were just glad to have him back.

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auroral-melody · 7 years

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I can't wait to see Crowley's eyes, either! Part of me, though, really hopes we DON'T see them until his glasses are knocked off in the burning bookstore. I think this was when they were revealed for the first time in the book, and it's super dramatic and badass. (I'm sending this as an ask bc the post you mentioned his eyes in was already pretty long)

I agree!! That scene is incredibly important and quite a bit of a reveal. I’ve actually been meaning to talk about this. Here’s a sketch to help visualize:

Poor kiddo.

I wouldn’t say he’s exactly badass here; actually I rather feel the exact opposite, but it’s an incredibly powerful scene. I have a lot of Thoughts on this, so more under the cut.

Throughout the entirety of the book, Crowley is hyped up to be ~super cool~ and suave, anxious at times but usually under control. Similarly, Aziraphale is shown to never swear. The points when these characters break that trend means heightened emotions - for Aziraphale, it’s a bit of comedy; for Crowley, it shows how truly scared he is, because the buildup is slight things throughout the book (Aziraphale’s “oh dear,” not swearing with the practiced ease of someone who has spent six millennia not swearing, and wasn’t going to start now).

Crowley is doing okay - stressed, scared, yes, but he’s getting somewhere when he runs out of his flat. After that, he doesn’t know what to do, so he goes straight to Aziraphale’s place and runs inside, shouting for his friend like never before. Let’s look at this scene.

“Then he pushed open the door, and stepped into an inferno.

The whole bookshop was ablaze. Aziraphale!’ he called. ‘Aziraphale, you - you stupid - Aziraphale? Are you here?’

No answer. Just the crackle of burning paper, the splintering of glass as fire reached the upstairs rooms, the crash of lapsing timbers.”

The imagery here is intense and sets up the drama. His repetition of the angel’s name goes through several emotions. First, it’s just calling. After that, he’s frightened. He sort of half-insults Aziraphale, not knowing what to do, and asks if he’s here. At this point, he’s just trying to hear the angel’s voice in response, and he would immediately rush to help if he heard it. [I’m definitely writing that, heck.]

He scanned the shop urgently, desperately, looking for the angel, looking for help.

In the far corner a bookshelf toppled over, cascading flaming books across the floor. The fire was all around him, and Crowley ignored it. His left trouser leg began to smolder; he stopped it with a glance.

“Hello? Aziraphale! For Go - for Sa - for somebody’s sake! Aziraphale!”

Repetition in sentences, I’ve found, helps heighten the emotions, because it’s all the character can think of. In the first bit, he’s equating Aziraphale to help. After all, he did rush here to see if they could stop the Apocalypse; he did call him immediately post-delivering Adam. Crowley is very clever. He’s killed Ligur and evaded Hastur, and he can get to Tadfield on his own with ease. He invented many things. It’s a rare time when he’s out of ideas. Even when he’s confronted by Hastur, he’s thinking fast and manages to get out of it. But now, he’s hunted and scared and has way more problems than he started with.

He’s basically here because he’s scared out of his mind, and having Aziraphale around is comforting to him. He thinks Aziraphale will know what to do, because he sure doesn’t.

He’s not particularly afraid of fire - he’s afraid of facing all of this alone.

So he calls out a few more times, nearly swearing to two deities/lords he doesn’t generally go for, as has been done a few times (blessi - windfall / that time when Hastur and Ligur called “hail satan” and Crowley started talking about traffic). He’s still trying to get Aziraphale, just desperately aware of how useless he is at this point.

The shop window was smashed from outside. Crowley turned, startled, and an unexpected jet of water struck him full in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

His shades flew to the far corner of the room, and became a puddle of burning plastic. Yellow eyes with slitted vertical pupils were revealed. Wet and steaming, face ash-blackened, as far from cool as it was possible for him to be, on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.”

This is his breaking point. Physically, he’s shocked. Mentally, he’s terrified. The glasses are somewhat symbolic of his cool dude façade, and now they’re on fire. He’s probably landed on broken glass and it’s hard to see or breathe.

Seeing his eyes means vulnerability.

It’s like writing his name. He doesn’t like to do it - it associates him with what he tries to hide. He’s somewhat ashamed of it. He’s somewhat ashamed of being who he’s supposed to be - a demon, without freedom or any spark of decency. He’s vulnerable now and to a demon that’s fatal. He’s on the floor, afraid, probably looks like a wet rat, is also probably on fire. It’s his lowest point.

Back to how his being cool has been played up the whole book, the line “as far as cool as it was possible for him to be” is important. Five minutes after he loses Aziraphale, he’s lost everything he feels is him. Aziraphale grounds him. Aziraphale is important because he can perform, he can think faster when he can bounce his ideas off someone else and build them with support (think of how he and Aziraphale go back and forth against the Metatron and Beelzebub; think of how he leads Aziraphale to his point of view while also convincing himself).

The angel is someone he holds very close, and losing him feels like losing himself. Think of how you feel when a friendship ends: it’s heartbreaking and so scary. While he figures Aziraphale is probably okay, it still feels like he’s been abandoned, intentionally or not. He’s sort of felt this before, when Aziraphale leaves with the book (”Right,” mumbled Crowley, suddenly feeling very alone), but this time it’s more impactful because he needs Aziraphale for other reasons besides just being lonely.

Kinda interestingly, Crowley seems to just lose it here and curse everyone he can think of. He doesn’t want it to be his fault, and arguably it’s not. He feels thrown into this.

This sort of theme continues for his next few scenes:

“He reached into the glove compartment for his spare pair of sunglasses, and found only cassettes. Irritably he grabbed one at random and pushed it into the slot.He wanted Bach, but would settle for The Traveling Wilburys.All we need is, Radio Gaga, sang Freddie Mercury.All I need is out, thought Crowley.”

He keeps spare sunglasses in the car, haha, but finds only music. Oh, well - he associates music with him being cool too.

He buys a lot of classical cassettes, which evidently Aziraphale enjoys a lot. The angel knows he keeps his cassettes in the glove compartment, so they’ve probably listened to things before. I kind of wonder if he’s subconsciously wanting classical because it reminds him of Aziraphale, and maybe that gives him comfort.

Again, Crowley doesn’t want to be in this situation at all. He’s just really scared.

“Whee. Whizz. Pop. Static drowned out the rest of the program.

Crowley turned off the radio and bit his lower lip. Beneath the ash and soot that flaked his face, he looked very tired, and very pale, and very scared.”

The gardening bit is interrupted by the demons. Back and forth throughout these, when Crowley is stressed, his conflict is his identity. Who is he really - a demon who’s just incompetent and useless and frightened, or a Cool Dude who knows what he’s doing and can casually listen to gardening tips at the end of the world? Is he truly evil, or does he have a spark of goodness? Does Aziraphale only care for him because of that spark? Does being vulnerable and scared and lashing out - does being a demon with yellow eyes mean he’s less to the angel? Does being vulnerable mean he’s kinder, or is his aloof and cool sunglasses persona the better one?

Not to mention, all the stress around him. How is he going to die?

When he gets his sunglasses back, he recovers. He decides he’s going to do his best, and he’s going to stay optimistic. That’s who he’s going to be - he’s going to be him right until the end. Anthony Crowley. After all - and this is a sentence that’s repeated a couple times - what the hell? What else does he have to lose?

In the end, here, Crowley manages to gather himself up. I’m proud of him. These scenes are a height in his arc: deciding to do what’s right and keep going no matter what, and hoping against hope. He’s powerfully optimistic (perhaps an undemonic feature) and it gives him strength to carry on. That’s admirable.

I feel like seeing Crowley’s eyes means seeing him unveiled. I think, acceptably, if he were to get other scenes without the glasses on, they could be around Aziraphale. Trusting Aziraphale with that could be monumental. You know how often in fic, wings are intimate? I think that’s a great headcanon, but maybe for Crowley, seeing his eyes means he’s letting his guard down too (or, in this case, it’s been thrown off him and stamped into the ground like a steamroller).

#crowley #good omens #aj crowley #anthony j. crowley #oops this got. long #good omens meta #asks #answers #my art #maniacalmole #wow if only i could write these essays for school

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joementa · 7 years

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R.I.P. Tom Petty (Part 2)

As I type this, I currently have one of the best fall albums ever, September Of My Years, by one of the best musicians ever, Francis Albert Sinatra, on the turntable. I still remember the day that Sinatra passed away. I was 12 years old, and me and my family woke up to the news. That day at school felt very strange. It was weird to think of Sinatra as someone whose music would now forever be in the past. Growing up in an Italian household, Sinatra is always there. I don’t even remember learning who Sinatra was. His music was just there. Your family would say something like “put on some Frank”, and you wouldn’t need to say “Frank who?” If you said something like that, you would be kicked out of the house. He was just that present. So when he passed away, it was really strange for me to hear people talk about in the past, or how much people would miss him. No one talked about that before. It was a weird adjustment for me.

I’m experiencing a similar feeling now with the recent passing of Tom Petty. Learning about his health struggles on Monday, and then waking up to the official news of passing on Tuesday, was, for me as a massive music fan, surreal. Tom Petty’s music has been a constant presence in my life from as far back as I can remember. I don’t remember even learning some of his early hits. They were just always on the radio – anything playing popular music, whether a rock ‘n roll station or not, was bound to play a Tom Petty song. What was different about Tom Petty compared to a lot of other classic musicians was that he was still releasing good music, with massively popular songs, even during the second half of his career. As a kid growing up in the ‘90s, it was incredible hearing songs like “Free Fallin’”, “Learning To Fly”, “Into The Great Wide Open”, “You Don’t Know How It Feels”, and “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” gain in popularity to the point where they became standards. And those are songs that were released more than a decade AFTER he had already had massive hits like “Refugee”, “Don’t Do Me Like That”, “The Waiting” and “Listen To Her Heart”.

I still remember the day that Tom Petty’s music first became substantively meaningful in my life. It was after my first day of 6th grade, and I can remember it like it was yesterday. It was a brutal day at school – a good indicator of what the next few years of my life would be like. I remember how warm it was that day. I can still smell our house, filled with incense candles burning and the feeling and smell of the wind blowing through the house, since our windows were always open. When I stepped into the house, “Don’t Come Around Here No More” was playing. As I walked in, I was near tears from having such a rough day at school. I can still see the light shining through the kitchen window as I hugged my mom, with the song playing. I can still hear that song playing and all of the other feelings I was experiencing while the song was playing. That moment saved my life.

There was a confidence and defiance in Tom Petty’s voice that I really needed to hear and FEEL. “Don’t Come Around Here No More” saved me and inspired me on that day, and continues to do today. He sings it both confidently and as someone is hurting. You almost don’t him when he says it, which to me makes me believe him even more. Because that’s how it is in real life. We’ve all been there. We may tell people who hurt us not to come near us anymore, but often we do WANT them to come back, because we’re insecure in our loneliness. But some people are lucky enough to know that despite what we WANT, what we NEED is for them to not come around. You can really realize that in “Don’t Come Around Here No More”, and that human feeling is all over Tom Petty’s music. I feel really lucky to have noticed that at a very young age.

As I discovered more of Tom Petty’s music through the years, I continued to be inspired by his music. “Learning To Fly” has always helped me keep things in perspective. “Don’t Do Me Like That” was my anthem as I got over a tough heartbreak experience. “Won’t Back Down” is a song that I always turn to when I need a reminder that I need to persevere through some tough challenges. And it’s now a song that, while I feel a close personal relationship with it, it’s also become about something that’s bigger than my own feelings. I listened to that song non-stop after the September 11th attacks. I don’t know how many times I listened to that song on the morning of January 20, 2017. I usually keep track of things like that, but I went back to my notes from that day and it just says ‘Tom Petty – “Won’t Back Down” (a lot of times)’. I think on a day like that that it was truly A LOT of times.

I’m amazed at how his music sounds both classic and unique at the same time. If you hear an instrumental piece of a Tom Petty song, you can tell that it’s a Tom Petty song (I say instrumental because his voice is so very distinct). But at the same time, the music sounds very familiar. If you’ve ever spent time listening to The Beatles, The Byrds, ELO, Elvis, country, soul, etc., you can hear the influences in Tom Petty’s music.

I don’t think he really invented anything music-wise. But what’s wrong with that? The music and songs are so great. And he made them incredibly consistent over his career. Take a listen to the Greatest Hits album. It’s undeniably one of the best greatest hits albums by any musician. Most greatest hits albums are heavily loaded towards the beginning of a musician’s career. That tends to be when they have the most hits. Usually the last few songs of a greatest hits album are filled with songs that may have been released as singles but aren’t really that popular. Sometimes they will include a new song that makes you think “how the heck is this a greatest hit if it’s just being released now and the musician isn’t even really THAT popular anymore?

That is 100% not the case with Tom Petty’s Greatest Hits album. The last few songs on the album were MASSIVE hits, and include some of his best known songs. And one of the new songs on the album actually became an extremely popular song that is still well-known to this very day and is probably one of his most popular songs.

Since I woke up to the news of Tom Petty’s passing on Tuesday morning to listening to September Of My Years this morning (Sunday), the ONLY music I listened to was Tom Petty’s. I listened to every single studio album (both solo and with The Heartbreakers), the Greatest Hits album, and the two Mudcrutch albums. I didn’t listen to the two Traveling Wilburys albums during this time period, as I am very familiar with both albums and wanted to learn new Tom Petty songs that I didn’t already know. And if you aren’t familiar with the Traveling Wilburys, you need to run, not walk, to your local record store RIGHT NOW and buy both albums. The Traveling Wilburys is a group that consisted of Dylan, George Harrison, Jeff Lynne, Roy Orbison and Tom Petty. All five of these musicians. In. The. Same. Group. You wouldn’t believe it if it didn’t actually happen!

One of my goals was to put together a playlist of great Tom Petty songs that, with the exception of one song, most likely weren’t very familiar to the general public. I’ll admit that “Anything That’s Rock ‘n’ Roll” was technically a hit in the UK. However, it wasn’t released as a single in the US and from my lengthy experience listening to popular music on the radio, I’ve never heard it on the radio (at least not until his passing this week). Hence it is eligible to be included in the playlist as one of the non-hits. Here’s a link to that playlist: http://joementa.tumblr.com/post/166104244991/rip-tom-petty. I hope you enjoy it.

Rest in peace Tom Petty. Thank you for all of the music.

#tom petty #music #mudcrutch #frank sinatra #vinyl #live music #tom petty and the heartbreakers #concert

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davedimartino-yahoo-blog · 7 years

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Breakdown: Mourning the great Tom Petty, 1950-2017

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Tom Petty’s jarring, sudden death Monday made an extraordinarily odd year seem even stranger.

It was by any standard unexpected — he just played the last of three sold-out Hollywood Bowl shows a week earlier — and especially cruel in its timing. “I want to thank you for 40 years of a really great time,” he had said from the stage at his final show at the Bowl. And now he’s gone.

If he was in the mood then to look backward — at a career that generated more than 80 million record sales worldwide in the course of those 40 years — he was likely pretty happy with how 2017 had been shaping up so far. While his personal life had been dotted with varying degrees of misfortune since his childhood, be it a troubled childhood, a failed marriage, or dalliances with drugs and depression, it was dotted even more conspicuously with consistent critical and commercial success. He sold records. He made lifelong fans. He was appreciated.

As he was this year, say, at the yearly benefit concert for the Recording Academy’s MusiCares Foundation in February. “We got together last week and rehearsed for this thing,” 2017 Person of the Year Tom Petty announced from the stage, “and I realized I may actually be in one of the best two or three rock ‘n’ roll bands there is.” What followed then — a nonstop tribute set of Petty material played by the likes of Randy Newman, George Strait, the Foo Fighters, Jackson Browne, Stevie Nicks, Don Henley, and many more — was further confirmation of that fact and much more. He and his music touched many, many people.

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It might simply have been a matter of Tom Petty’s age, and his background. He liked rock ‘n’ roll, he grew up in the South playing rock ‘n’ roll in bar bands, and while he loved the music of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, he was just as likely to be fixated by the music of those artists’ contemporaries — the Animals, the Searchers, the Zombies — instead of just the big guns, and that showed in his music.

And let’s not forget Yanks like the Byrds: When Petty’s 1976 debut album emerged, its highlight was the unforgettable “American Girl,” which many era listeners thought sounded uncannily like some previously-unheard Byrds track. As did Byrds founder Roger McGuinn, who good-naturedly covered it on his 1977 Thunderbyrd album. And in fact, he and fellow ex-Byrd David Crosby show up on the just-released, Petty-produced Bidin’ My Time album by yet another ex-Byrd, Chris Hillman – who, to further complete the circle, performed “Wildflowers” at this year’s Petty tribute. Petty’s friends always seemed to stick around.

He also managed to be at the right place at the right time. When mid-‘70s punk emerged, both Petty and Shelter Records labelmates the Dwight Twilley Band seemed, to their great fortune, to be sufficiently new and cutting-edge enough to be filed in both the ROCK and PUNK/NEW WAVE bins at America’s hippest records stores, thus satisfying both AOR and hipster listening audiences simultaneously. And as the ‘80s unfolded, when Petty wasn’t blaring on the radio via tracks like “Refugee” and “The Waiting,” both expertly co-produced by Jimmy Iovine, he was captivating a youthful MTV audience with the Alice-in-Wonderland costumery of “Don’t Come Around Here No More.”

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To his long-term credit, Petty tended to stick to his guns and was, actively, nobody’s pawn. When record companies were at their biggest and toughest and meanest, he would typically — as the song he’d later write would have it — not back down when they pushed. It meant a delay for 1979’s Damn the Torpedoes, which after a lengthy court battle between Petty and MCA Records ultimately ended up on a newly created imprint, Backstreet Records. And it didn’t stop there: When the label announced plans to initiate a raise of price for “superstar” product with Petty’s upcoming Hard Promises, the artist threatened to withhold it from them until they relented. And they did. Tom Petty: He did it for the kids.

Petty was all over the place during the 1980s, in a good way. He hit the Billboard top five with Stevie Nicks’s “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around,” which he penned and performed with the Heartbreakers, he collaborated on tracks with the Eurythmics’ Dave Stewart and the Band’s Robbie Robertson on 1985’s Southern Accents, and, significantly, undertook a world tour with no less than Bob Dylan the next year. One result of that pairing was “Jammin’ Me,” the opening track of Petty’s next album Let Me Up (I’ve Had Enough), penned by Petty/Dylan and Heartbreaker Mike Campbell. And the other result may have been, at least in part, the formation of the Traveling Wilburys.

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To those there at the time, the Wilburys were a fascinating combo — a combination of three certified icons (Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Roy Orbison) and two hugely talented players (Petty and Jeff Lynne) not quite at their level, but gaining on it. That this, by design, was intended to be a for-fun gathering of equals must have been mind-blowing for Petty, who probably grew up with a transistor radio glued to his ear listening to his new bandmates sing their distinguished catalog of hits.

It was at some point during this era that Petty attained the status that would never depart thereafter: a top-rank class act, a superstar less concerned with image and sales status than with doing the right thing, playing rock ‘n’ roll for the sheer love of it, all the while with one of the very best rock ‘n’ roll bands ever in tow. There were sales lulls here and there, true, but as the current millennium rolled around, the music stayed strong, the most recent albums like 2010’s Mojo and 2014’s Hypnotic Eye sold strongly — the latter was the band’s first-ever No. 1 album — and Petty became, almost by default considering the sales decline of the genre, one of rock ‘n’ roll’s true remaining live icons.

There was something about Tom Petty, something that made the made the man act outside the normal boundaries of the conventional rock ‘n’ roll business. There were the two excellent albums he made with his pre-Heartbreakers band from Gainesville, Mudcrutch, in 2008 and 2016. That they made them was one thing — that they were so listenable, and so filled with enthusiasm and love for music, was quite another. Few artists in music have managed to attain Petty’s status; even fewer would ever take the time to see that those albums — and all they meant to those who made them — were actually created.

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It’s funny. Being in the rock ‘n’ roll business for so many years, Petty had the time to make deep connections with everybody. And those connections vary per person. Me? I grew up in Miami, and in 1976, when I heard him singing “American Girl,” about the cars rolling by “out on 441/Like waves crashin’ on the beach,” I knew precisely what road he was talking about, because I’d driven it hundreds of times, and we connected. Years later, I’d moved to the San Fernando Valley here in California, and when I heard him singing about Ventura Blvd. and Reseda in “Free Fallin’,” or saw its video featuring the same hot dog stand I drove by every day, we connected.

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My older brother went to school in Gainesville and still remembers briefly working with Petty at Shelly’s in the early ‘70s; they delivered sandwiches and pizza, apparently. “He was a great delivery guy,” my brother recalled today. “He never got lost.” They connected.

In front of that exclusive MusiCares audience earlier this year, at the benefit concert paying tributes to the music that he and his band have created over the years, Petty noted, almost bashfully, “This is kind of a surreal moment in a surreal life.” He noted the performances of a few of the newer bands that had been performing his songs onstage earlier, such as the Head and the Heart, Cage the Elephant, and the Shelters. “They’re going to carry this forward, and we have to be there to support them through it,” he said. “Because there ain’t nothing like a good rock ‘n’ roll band, people.”

And now, for the first time in 40 years, there’s one less rock ‘n’ roller out there who’ll be filling our hearts with joy. And he will be greatly, greatly missed.

#_uuid:e5281a13-20dc-3e14-afa5-ff031596acd6 #tom petty #_author:Dave DiMartino #a retospective #video #_revsp:wp.yahoo.music.us #_lmsid:a0Vd000000AE7lXEAT

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thissurroundingall · 6 years

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Henry Andersen

The riskiness of seduction and the plastic language of LA hip-hop in melting pot Brussels.

Nederlandstalige versie

Date of interview: November 23, 2017

Estimated reading time: 17 minutes

“Off to Brussels”, that’s what Australian-born artist Henry Andersen (°1992) scribbled down on the note he left for his fellow travellers on his first trip to Belgium. Several years and a detour via Berlin later - where he studied with the Austrian composer Peter Ablinger - he is now officially living in the Belgian capital and wrapping up his Master of Fine Arts at KASK in Ghent.

Just like Henry himself, his artistic practice can’t be easily fixed in time and space. Henry produces a variety of artworks and performances, ranging from a Slow Reading Club dismantling the choreography of readership, to a conceptual album, to architectural installations. His work oscillates between the visual arts, sound art and performance, transforming along the way. Stanzas or The Law of The Good Neighbour for example - a word game piece – exists as a printed work, a performance, a released record and a curated group exhibition.

On a particularly gloomy autumn day, we arrive just in time on Henry’s top floor flat in Ixelles to escape the stormy weather. Australian-born, Henry isn’t particularly used to these sudden seasonal changes “This year I am prepared for a proper winter though”, he smiles. With a portrait of our ancient king Boudewijn overlooking the plant and book filled living room, we discuss his widespread trajectory over a cup of coffee. Moving around the house during the interview to explore what spaces and surroundings mean, he is always elaborating his answers, moulding them in order to scan their borders: a characterising element of his artistic approach.

‘Stanzas’ or ‘The Law of the Good Neighbour’ released on KRAAK

It’s not exactly easy to pinpoint what you do. How do you actually introduce yourself when you meet new people?

(Smiles.) What I do and how I introduce myself are different questions maybe... Generally I just say that I’m an artist and that I mostly work with text. I use written text and spoken text. Sometimes I write myself, sometimes I find text, sometimes I commission or alter text. Almost every project is beginning with text and then the endpoint changes. So I make a lot of performances, some printed material, some installations, some sound recordings.

But always starting from text?

Yes, text always seems to be the starting point nowadays. And then it’s often developed in some kind of collaborative format. I like to work with people around me. It’s a way of being less precious about the finished result, and it’s also usually a much more gratifying and fun way to work.

For example, the record I released on KRAAK is a recording of the readings I do with friends. It’s something I have been doing for years, and it ends up being a documentation of different relationships around me. It means I'm always working with friends to realise the recordings, and that the particular qualities of their voices and their relationships are given a lot of scope in shaping the piece.

There are a lot of really interesting people working in that city, but at some point, I started feeling a little limited with that scene.

You studied music composition in Australia before moving to Berlin. How do you still relate to the idea of being a composer these days?

I wouldn't really call myself a composer anymore. When I was in Germany, I was composing music for others. I was much more involved in producing music for other people to perform, in spaces dealing with experimental, classical music. There are a lot of really interesting people working in that city, but at some point, I started feeling a little limited with that scene. It’s quite dogmatic in certain ways. I had a lot of friends working as visual artists, and I wanted to move more into that setting. So moving to Belgium was a way to formalise that shift somehow, by studying fine arts in Ghent. Since I’m here, I don't think of what I do as being so strictly related to composing anymore.

The kind of composing I was involved with is very reduced, very German, conceptual composition. It’s working with simple blocks of material. It has a lot of parallels with structuralist film-making. So even if I'm making less music now, I think those ways of working still have a lot of impact on how I think about form. The other thing is that as a composer you work very hard at how your ideas are communicated to a player, so I think that interest in different models of communicating ideas – often deliberately leaving stuff a bit vague and open to interpretation– carries over to what I am doing now.

So it was a very conscious shift into visual art as your main thing then?

Yes, but since being here I feel like I'm moving between contexts quite often. I made a record, so I end up performing in music contexts. Now with the Slow Reading Club project, with my friend Bryana Fritz, we end up performing in theatre spaces. It feels like this kind of practice is allowed in Brussels in a way that isn't necessarily the case in other cities.

There's something very nice about that freedom. It means you get to interface with different spaces, different audiences who bring their own frame of reference, different types of attention. It is interesting to think about what’s expected in a particular setting and then decide how much to go along with it, and how much to try to bring in other frames of reference. So for example, with Slow Reading Club we organised a reading in a theatre, Beursschouwburg. We decided to try to use the technologies of the theatre - stage lighting, for example, or even just the fact of gathering a whole group of people together at one time – but to try to push other kinds of durations, other sets of experiences. So the whole thing was very long – about 3.5 hours - and it started at 11pm which means it starts to draw on all these expectations of a party or something. We served people rum, we used a carpeted space. We wanted to play with those different frames.

Slow Reading Club at Batard Festival Photography: Cillian O'Neill

It is interesting to think about what’s expected in a particular setting and then decide how much to go along with it, and how much to try to bring in other frames of reference.

Slow Reading Club at Batard Festival Photography: Cillian O'Neill

(Recently) I noticed his notes in the margin of Foucaults’ Discipline and Punish. He must have made them when he was more or less my age now. I was fascinated by the idea of having a relationship with him at that age.

How does that align with the Wansbrough piece, the font you made based on your father’s handwriting?

My dad’s kind of an interesting guy. (laughs) He made documentary films about particular leftist concerns in the 80s in Australia. When I was stealing some books in my parent's house a while ago, I noticed his notes in the margin of Foucaults’ Discipline and Punish. He must have made them when he was more or less my age now. I was fascinated by the idea of having a relationship with him at that age. I took scans of his handwriting and developed it into a digital typeface I can use myself.

There’s a lot of love in it as a piece, but at the same time it’s a hollowed out, fleshless format - to reduce someone's private handwriting into a typeface and give it away for someone else to use. To display the piece, I ask that a space use the font for any external communication – so any invites, any posters etc. should all be written in this slightly clumsy font. I liked the idea of giving away the responsibility for what content the font would be used for. I wanted to keep it as functional as possible.

If your father was a filmmaker, I imagine you got in touch with art quite early on.

Not so much. There was a lot of literature around when I was younger, my parents read a lot. So I was exposed to literature early on. Also to music, there was some music around in the house. But I hated music until I was thirteen – other than this one CD I had of the Traveling Wilburys. (Laughs)

You hated music?

Yes. It used to really upset me. I didn’t understand why listening to music was something that people would want to do with their time. Still, I somehow ended up in a band when I was a teenager. I played guitar. It just seemed like a fun way to hang out with friends, to be in a band. I got into composition through that.

But I was only exposed to contemporary art quite late I would say. It’s getting much better these days, but there wasn't so much contemporary art around in Perth, at least not so much that I had access to. I started going to much more exhibitions when I moved to Europe. The first year I was living in Germany, the first thing I’d do when I arrived in any city was go to the museums and see all the permanent collections that each city had built up. I learned a lot from just wandering around – about how all these artists related to each other but also just about what sort of work I liked, what I responded to, what experiences were possible in a museum space. I really loved this feeling of just swallowing it all in and being totally fascinated.

‘Stanzas’ or ‘The Law of the Good Neighbour’, was maybe the first time I really worked with language again after university. That was also the summer I was listening to a lot of hip hop, particularly stuff out of LA.

When did this fascination for language occur to you then for the first time?

I had a really good English teacher when I was in high school, she would always encourage me to write prose and poetry. Nothing I made in university had any language element to it though. So then I got a little bit away from it. ‘Stanzas’ or ‘The Law of the Good Neighbour’, was maybe the first time I really worked with language again after university. That was also the summer I was listening to a lot of hip hop, particularly stuff out of LA. Those guys have this amazing, plastic way of using language. Making things sort of flex around the rhyme, even if doesn’t always make sense in terms of content. It’s very elastic and playful, and often really funny as well. The text is sort of caught between being a method of delivering content and an aesthetic object in its own right. That was definitely something I wanted to think about in my own practice.

Gradually, I started to realise that because I'd been adding to the list for such a long time, over years, it started to have this very autobiographical function.

Did you start the word list for ‘Stanzas’ very consciously or was it a playful coincidence?

It was definitely playful. It started at home one night for fun. I didn't necessarily have any plans to make it into a piece, but I enjoyed doing it. Even after the first performance or two, I didn't think of it as a piece. It was a fun thing to do with people I met. Basically, the list is just constructed by adding words which sound like the word before: “human”, “hammon”, “harmon”, “mormon . Gradually, I started to realise that because I'd been adding to the list for such a long time, over years, it started to have this very autobiographical function. When I was living in Germany there were a lot of German words, or place names from around Berlin -“Schlachtensee” for example, which was always my favourite lake to go swimming. Since I moved to Brussels more and more French words crept in but at the start it was very basic things like “jus de pomme”

I organised a lot of readings where pairs of friends would read sections from the list. Sometimes for a public, but more often just in their apartment on a Sunday afternoon or something. I built up quite a big archive before I thought much about how to present it. Then whenever I would be invited to present something, I would think about different ways of making this activity public.

Can you still turn off the list in the back of your head when you listen to people these days or has it completely structured the way you listen?

It’s a nice question. There were periods where I was writing it way more intensively, when I was writing every day. At the moment I write very occasionally. Usually there is a hangover of an hour or so, where after I finish writing I'm still thinking about words in terms of how they sound next to each other, rather than what they mean. It’s a very awkward state to be in if you turn up to a party or something. (Laughs)

Now it only happens when I hear a word that I’m really seduced by. Some words are really seductive, for some reason, because they have a strange sound or they remind me of something really specific.

I think a lot of my work is about being seduced.

There’s definitely a sensual side to your work. How important is that notion of sensuality in your work?

I think a lot of my work is about being seduced. I’m very interested in what seduces me. It’s a good motor for me to start working on something. I don't mean it in a sexual way, more like this whole-body fascination for something. Where it gets stuck in your head. The best example for me will always be being a teenager and listening to a certain band. Where you don't just want to listen, you want to read every interview online, start to dress like them or whatever. It’s some kind of extreme hunger. Something that you feel on a bodily level.

As an adult the feeling is much rarer and usually less intense – otherwise it would be difficult to get anything done - but occasionally I still feel a really bodily reaction to something that peaks my interest. A lot of projects for me start like that.

The folding screens, Paravents, started out like this. I found this image online, of a set of room dividers that were designed by Eileen Gray in the fifties and I was totally seduced by it. I've never seen the original objects, but in the image they seem extremely strange. Like some kind of half-way point between and animal and a wall. They confused me and building them was a way to figure out how to deal with that feeling. I spent a huge amount of time building and cutting and I just guessed the scale in the end. It wasn't the idea to make a faithful reproduction. I’m more interested in the image of them than I am in the actual objects.

Seduction has a vulnerability to it that I like. It’s much riskier than keeping critical distance, it often ends in tears.

So it’s more the fascination for your own fascination then?

Totally. Fascination is an important clue for trying to locate yourself as a body in a terrain where bodies don't necessarily exist: a study of the body where it isn't. This is particularly the case in language. I think language is usually understood as something bodiless: over here is language and over here is the body but the two don't really meet. I like the idea of working with language but being really consequent about the role the body plays in the equation: how does my skin feel when I read, how does the musculature of my face move when I speak etc. More broadly, I think bodies present a challenge because they are non-exchangeable. They are always specific, so they don't really belong to a late-capitalist logic which is so constructed around measurability and exchangeability. That makes them very important, I think.

Seduction has a vulnerability to it that I like. It’s much riskier than keeping critical distance, it often ends in tears. But I like this kind of proximity, this way of dealing with material.

Henrys’ graduation project in KASK, Ghent. Photography: Omar Chowdhurry.

How did you start the Slow Reading Club?

I met Bryana at Batard Festival in 2013 and we kept in touch when I moved to Brussels. We always wanted to work together and we had a joke that we ran a reading group, though we never once met to read together. One night we were drinking together in a bar and for some reason we wrote a manifesto for this fictional reading group – about how to think of reading as something embodied and erotic. It was a fun document to make – lots of slightly crude jokes. Amazingly, we got invited to participate in a festival (kunstenfestivaldesarts) based on the manifesto, so the text came first and the project kind of developed out of that. It was interesting to work on something with this fixed document in the background. I think it kept us on track.

Basically, the whole thing came from the question of how to suspend critical reading. We wanted to try to read texts without using all of these techniques of critical reading and deconstruction that we'd learned through arts education.

Can you completely turn off criticality?

Probably not. But I believe that there’s very tiny brief moment of aesthetic experience before you can put something into language or understand it. It’s not the idea to grasp this state – I think that wouldn't be interesting – but about setting up the conditions for it to emerge. What do you need in space to let that happen? What happens if the lights are yellow for example, what happens if there’s alcohol, or if you have all these other informations of smell and touch interrupting the reading process? What kinds of conditions can we set up in order to let that emerge?

Slow Reading Club at Batard Festival Photography: Cillian O'Neill

What are the plans for the next Slow Reading Club editions?

The texts that we read change every time. Each time we organize a session, it’s a kind of answer to the last one. So for example, for the first session we had a lot of texts that would deal with the nighttime or with a thin edge between the self and the world – everything kind of expanding outwards. So then the second session at La Loge, was about fetishizing confinement, fetishizing enclosure and the walls around you. Then in Batard, we wanted to break with the idea of enclosure and get into this slightly magical thinking where bodies are always changing shape – turning into animals for example. It was a lot of texts about mimicry and doubling.

Next, we'd like to maybe think about coldness. Until now, everything has been performed in a kind of soft, warm space. It’s been a lot about tactility and community. We want to experiment with something a little more alienating.

The manifesto states that SRC aims at the production of some kind of excess, a word that occurs repeatedly in your portfolio. Can you elaborate a little on that?

Excess is everything that doesn’t fit the frame. If you want to make excess make a frame. So excess is somehow like this unknown and unknowable territory that is blossoming out of everything that is happening all the time. It’s a material you can't really handle or make sense out of.

For my record launch at Brussels gallery Damien & The Love Guru in May last year, I was somehow interested in this idea that every time you make something, it generates all this excess that you didn’t mean to generate. I wanted to see how I could deal with that. With the album, I had all these friends that had given their time to make readings. There was this kind of excess of people that couldn’t fit onto the experience of that record. Everyone who had given a reading had some practice of their own – as dancers, writers, artists. I asked everyone who had done a reading to show some excess or overage from their own creations – people showed prototypes, or cut up old works into new ones, Marion Menan showed a film that she had previously use as a backdrop for a dance piece, Eleanor Weber wrote a very beautiful play using a bunch of scraps of her own writing that had not been published because they had been rejected, or cut out in editing or the research had just gone in another direction.

The idea was to make manifest this kind of imaginary community of people who were surrounding the record and to make manifest all of these overages spilling out from their own work. I wanted it to feel like a collection of stuff relating to the people involved, without everyone feeling that they had to put their best foot forward like in a group show.

It was totally not minimal: too hot, too much color, too many people. I loved that with this austere minimalism, the gallery was full of sweaty bodies.

I also wanted it to be a very joyous event. I had done a few readings already in the months before in Brussels, so it didn’t make sense to just do that again. The piece is funny in a way, but also austere and a little disinterested, so I wanted to the launch to be the complete opposite. It was totally not minimal: too hot, too much color, too many people. I loved that with this austere minimalism, the gallery was full of sweaty bodies.

Where do you work or create the most?

It changes a lot, now I’m a lot at home in my apartment reading, but I was working in a wood workshop to make the room dividers for example. I’m also looking for a studio at the moment. I like to have a place to come back to. So I don’t have to think about my washing when I’m working.

I think now more artists should work in office spaces – to get inside the warm carcass of the global financial crisis.

What would be a perfect home or studio for you?

I’ve never really done much to the houses that I’ve lived in. Before I was always in shorter-term rentals, this is the first place I have been for a longer time and I haven’t changed that much. There’s a difference between the kind of architecture I like to think about and the houses I'd like to live in. I'm writing a lot about modernist architecture at the moment, but I don’t know what it’s like to live in those spaces. It might be horrible! Those houses fascinate me, the way they propose a different way of living, but I don’t know if I would actually want to live in one.

As for a studio, for a while I was really into the idea of working in an old office space – blue carpet, potted plants, water cooler. In Britain in the 1980s you had all these YBA artists setting up in old factories because the industrial sector in that country was completely collapsing. It developed into a very specific aesthetic. I think now more artists should work in office spaces – to get inside the warm carcass of the global financial crisis.

And the people here (in Brussels), that’s the main thing. That feeling of familiarity, conversations that can stretch over months, and even years. That’s what makes it feel like home.

Is Brussels home for you right now?

I like it a lot, so I think so. There are a lot of interesting people floating about and it’s the size that I like. Berlin was somehow too big for me. Here the city is small enough that I feel part of a community. I feel like I have an idea of what’s going on in the city even though there’s still too much to see. There’s influx of different sorts of information and I really like the mix of languages. And the people here, that’s the main thing. That feeling of familiarity, conversations that can stretch over months, and even years. That’s what makes it feel like home.

What I find really striking is the excitement that pours out of your work, as though always on the lookout for new possibilities. What is something you’re particularly excited about at the moment?

I’m really looking forward to this winter actually. (laughs) I think that there’s something in trying to love what you normally really hate. I used to hate writing emails, now I started writing these very flowery emails and I’ve started enjoying it more. So yeah, this year I'm trying to convince myself that I enjoy the winter, just by pure force of will.

Interview + translation: Tessa Vannieuwenhuyze

Photography: Tom Peeters

English Editor: Henry Andersen & Steven Kremers

Dutch Editor: Britt Sterkens

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