#The Meetings Sextet

[asanjou]

i see a lot of fanart of gira dying of had to do paperwork (<-responsible for at least three) but not really any of jeramie doing the same 🤔 i guess it's because pseudo-medevial government is more familiar than whatever system bug men in caves are running on (and i know personally when i think about jeramie doing king stuff it tends to be more social ie. teaching the sanagim to speak common etc)

but im thinking about it now and i feel like he wouldn't struggle so much with it because like he's a historian anyway i think he's got a really convoluted archival system documenting the last 1500 years of bugnarok history minimum in weird detail that he's been doing as he goes along so that part of governing is fine. i do think he's the kind of little freak that loves filling in forms. i think if you ask him about his archives he will smile so big at you like I'm So Glad You Asked (you realise the three hour long minimum mistake you have just made)

#post tag #king oh #gira concluding a sextet alliance meeting like fuuuck i gotta record this now #jeramie skipping home like yay yippee its time to write reports

[praazlwurm]

Volo wins; fights God... again... and again...

cw: injuries, blood, swearing, violence

Everything goes precisely to his plan. Almost too well.

With you beaten, he wrests from you the plates and at some silent, heaven-sent prompting, your flute. You watch as he holds the new, strange shape and raises it in a trance, playing an eerie tune.

His hands fall to his sides and he stands atop the dais, facing north, still but for his breathing and even then not unnaturally so.

It's the little twitches in his fingers, knees, and spine that keep you there in the end. They remind you of sun-baked naps in the fieldlands, and watching your pokemon partner writhe in its sleep as though running in place or pouncing in a backstrike attack.

After maybe two minutes, he jolts, gasping raggedly. He stumbles, clutching at the front of his tunic, but just as quickly recovers. He looks around in a daze and spots you.

You haven't moved far, just to the foot of the dais' stairs, arms crossed and leaning on one hip. The wind is cutting, but this uniform has gotten you through worse; his tunic, however, is far flimsier.

"What the hell," he grits out after a beat, "was that thing?"

You blink, scrunching up your face before taking a shot in the dark. "Big white thing, gold ring, surprisingly dainty feet?"

Jaw clenched, he nods. His visible eye, shocked from that state of perfect mania, is shadowed by his glare but – no, that purple smear is actually the beginning of a black eye. How could...

Shaking off the thought, you shrug insolently, exaggerating an expression of disaffect. "That'd be Arceus."

Volo's face twists in a sneer, turning back around and giving the flute another, shakier playing.

He's... under longer this time, and after almost ten minutes of standing, stretching, and huffing annoyance you walk back up the stairs.

He jolts again, stumbling forward this time, and for a split second, you could swear something like steam wafts from his back. When he regains his footing, Volo whirls on you.

"Why," he growls, "am I fighting Arceus?"

Your brows jump. A glance away, then a vague gesture to the rubble and debris around you, "I mean, it kind of tracks."

Volo throws up his hands, turns, and has to draw a long, calming breath before he can steadily play the flute again.

Now, you're curious. And curiosity had seen you fill out pages upon pages of dex notes to be compiled by Professor Laventon later. In comparison, waiting around is no great feat.

Still, you're not about to do it standing.

You fold your legs to sit crisscross on the cold marble and, after another few minutes just watching him twitch and breathe harshly, plant your chin on a fist set against your knee.

Volo rouses again a moment later, not stumbling but panting as he turns. "I can battle it, why can I –"

He stops, looks down to meet your gaze, and, huh, that's a shiner all right.

The sight of your scrutiny has his jaw setting stubbornly again, freehand clenching. You note that his sextet of pokeballs is still at his waist, just above the spot where the metallic jut of gold splits off. The odd accent swings a bit when he once more ignores you.

When he goes under once more, you contemplate reflecting on everything leading up to this, but in all honesty, most of the betrayal and hurt had been worked out of your system in that grueling battle. So, reminded to heal up your team, you instead start puzzling out what's going on here.

The first strange fact is that he needed your flute. Whatever he's doing now, it was meant for you. Was it lucky or unlucky you had been training up a mid-stage evolution on the way up Mt. Coronet? The poor thing hadn't stood a chance against Volo's team, so battling Arceus probably wouldn't have gone great for you, either.

But, as he resurfaces and dives twice in the next half hour, it certainly seemed like something you could... keep trying at. Hell, with Lord Wyrdeer you could have gone to camp, switched out team members and returned in this same span of time twice over.

Volo doesn't seem the type to have many bench picks. Each of his pokemon were either a powerhouse or set-up players, tasked with paralyzing or hypnotizing. It's damn efficient, but you could likely counter it easily now.

He emerges next to immediately bend at the waist, hands on his knees as he struggles to catch his wind.

"Wanna rematch?" you ask, and he barely glances back before snarling wordlessly and diving again. In a mutter, "so-or-ry mister hates-god-so-much he's gotta cosplay about it."

Speaking of, that wack updo seems to be taking some strays, wilting, and now beginning to frazzle at the paler blond tips. That wisp of steam wasn't unique either; the flare of fabric off his left shoulder has been singed something fierce from behind.

Your harried quelling of Lord Arcanine springs to mind; Cyllene had to replace your entire uniform, leaving your first week in the highlands a miserably cold experience. Ol' Ingo had even lent you his tattered jacket.

Your head cocks, and you straighten a little as some pieces fall together. In facing great Palkia, you barely had time to question the sudden appearance of a sack of balms to hurl at it. That first charge was killer. 

Volo returns and it's not pretty. A few scattered drops of blood have you looking up sharply just before he gasps awake, immediately grasping his face and throwing his head back. 

"Don't move!" he barks at the barest shift of your legs against the stone. Around his now limp bangs, you see him pinching the bridge of his nose, and the drip of blood is stemmed. He doesn't dive again immediately.

"Are you huckin' balms?" 

"What?"

"Balms. The li'l sacks of whatever that helped quell the nobles," you say. You pinch the fabric at your ankles to keep from fidgeting further. "I had to use them on Palkia, too, remember?"

Volo's shoulders hunch. In silence, he waits another few minutes before hazarding to relax, and then still stays mum until he dives again.

By now, it's been long enough for the shadows among the rubble to shift and finally peeved enough at his refusal you stand up, dusting yourself off some. You walk over, a little wary now that you know what he's capable of, and walk around to Volo's front.

Definitely a nosebleed. There's still some tacky drying blood on his nostrils, a smear below it where he's cleaned some away. It doesn't look broken, and other than some new singeing and tears in his baffling outfit he looks no worse for wear. You take a step back, just in case, but after a while his face twists in concentration, eyes flicking about behind his lids, and you assume he'll be a while.

Coronet is still frigid, and the sun is starting to tick down toward the horizon. The cloud cover below the peak is thin enough that you make out the edge of the eastern sea carving into the shore in its myriad bites, like a wurmple munching leaf litter. 

After crossing your arms, tapping your foot, and finally huffing a sigh, you find where he had haphazardly thrown his uniform and pack on the far stone lip of the dais. The latter is far heavier than he ever treated it, and you're just beginning to help yourself to its contents when he seizes into waking.

"Fuck," he bites out, follow by a spit and a small splat. "Fuck, fuck, fu– what are you doing?"

You turn to find honest bafflement on his face, which you return when you see the state of him. In the mere moments you were turned away, he looks like he’s been dragged down the face of Mt. Coronet.

His tunic is dirtied, threadbare at the hems, the metal pieces at his hips scuffed and dull, and his strappy sandals in shambles. From what you can see, he’s got something like rug-burn on his forearms, and the blood he spat looks to have come from a split lip.

The pecha berry you’ve pilfered from his supplies falls from your mouth, painting the dais with a different shade of red.

“I was– you–,” you stutter out, dropping the pack to bark, “what the hell is happening to you?!”

He glances down, seemingly taking in the changes for the first time. He remains struck dumb as you cross the dais toward him, looking up sharply when you stop within arms’ length. Lip curling, he says lowly, “Going to stop me?”

“I don’t need to,” you say, jaw setting, “I doubt I’d have to see the ‘other guy’ to know you’re losing.”

“I’m not,” he snaps, and how the hell did you manage to forget the way he looms over you, brow shadowed and gaze sharp as a filleting knife. ”I’m adjusting strategies. The more often I battle it the faster I can wea–”

He stops, scowling.

Your patience runs out. 

“Oh, by all means,” you laugh, throwing your hands up, “keep your secrets, Volo!”

You can see his molars grinding. “Why are you still here?”

As much as you try, you can’t avoid the deafening pause that gives you. Then, with a jut of your chin to his occupied hand, “To take that back.”

The unspoken, when you fail, has him hackling. His hand swipes out at you as if to lift you by the collar, but you’re fresh-faced in comparison and dart out of reach. What stops him, however, is you palming a pokeball.

Above a bruised smear, his grey eye lingers, and you wonder if – assuming everything is transferring between here and there – his team is weakened; if he’s even able to heal them.

And damn, damn, damn you, you feel a pang in your chest. His pokemon don’t deserve this, whatever this is.

Without responding, his gaze shutters, ignoring that you’re right in front of him to play the flute once again. His knuckles are bloody, and one of his fingers might be sprained or even broken going by the shade of burgundy.

He’s under before you can get another word out.

You bellow something wordless and sharp, and feeling your tension lighten (and seeing he doesn’t react) you decide to seize a rare opportunity.

At the peak of Mt. Coronet, in the ruins of a temple that’s outlived her people, you let loose a railing, cursing tirade that falls just short of therapeutic. It leaves you raw and ragged, and your throat roughened too, and even after half an hour the bastard still isn’t back.

The sun is really dropping now, dipping below the cloud-cover and its warmth and rosy-copper glow with it. Early-bird stars begin to peak out of the darkening sky, and just before you throw his bedroll down to colonize it for your own you find yourself sourly throwing his fur-cuffed coat back over his shoulders. The chattering of his teeth diminishes.

Over the course of another hour, you sit, then lounge, recline, and finally lay back on the bedroll, and start tossing your partner’s pokeball up and catching it. You contemplate letting them join you, for all this about-face might beffudle them, and then allow yourself to actually consider his question.

Why would you stay, after all this? He’s used you day in and day out ever since he sicced you on that Vespiquen like some over-zealous houndour, and now he’s gotten what he wanted.

And yet, especially when his actual success has yet to manifest, some childish part of you thinks he might still come back around.

It was – it was fucking nice, alright? Having an actual companion these last few weeks, rather than crisscrossing the region with nothing but your team and a pokedex. Hiking hither and yon, hearing his rambling accounts of old legends over a campfire, waking up to just see him – every little thing helped distract you from the fact you had a direct line to Arceus and still had to wonder if you were ever going to remember your old life, if you were going to die he–

Volo collapses to his knees.

You’re upright in a heartbeat, eyes like saucers as he casts the flute aside to begin slamming the meat of his fists against the marble.

After a chance to find air, pulling it in like something half-drowned, he lets out a cry to rival your own.

In the moment before he finds the control to speak, you realize his tunic is in tatters, blackened at every edge and pocked by burns as though he’s caught stray pyroclastics while ascending Firespit. His metal adornments are bent and broken at his hips, and the cuffs are warped and dented – likely crushing his wrists. His sandals are unsalvageable.

“Why, you beast?!” he roars, coming out grating as it bounces directly off the marble beneath him. He hammers his fist again, and this time leaves a smear of scarlet behind. “The Celestica live in me, so why – why do you strike me down, again and again?”

You roll off the cushion, palms and knees on cold stone as you venture to approach. You feel like a raw nerve, and he a live wire – any word, any touch and you’ll both catch fire.

And you don’t want to fight him, you realize. Not again. Not any longer.

“I devoted myself to you, worshipped you as highest creator, even as your silence stretched year after year,” he snarls, and his knuckles drill into a seam in the marble pushing more and more blood to the surface and finally breaking skin. He shudders, but doesn’t stop, fading to a weaker moan, “After everything I’ve done…”

“H-hey, it’s– it’s gonna be–” you start, and his head jerks upright.

Around the grey iris and pinpoint pupil, a bloom of crimson creeps into the white of his eye, a stain that takes you a moment to realize is blood within the cornea.

His nose bears a small horizontal split and weeps red, spilling over his lips and staining his teeth when he bears them at you in something hair-raising, something feral.

"You," he snarls, his next words flinging red-tinted spittle, "you outsider, cast down to stop me and couldn't even manage that. Wh-why do you have the blessing of Arceus?!"

"Do you call this a blessing?" you ask, shocked by your own cool tone when it feels like a stone has been chained to your chest. You gesture sharply at him, even as you're still cataloging the bruises, the split skin on the right side of his scalp, "Do you think I would fair any better, even if I succeeded?" 

Volo pauses, but sneers still as he reaches beneath the coat to pull that smoky, purple plate from the remains of his gilded belt.

"Rebel beast," he growls, ignoring you once more, "sovereign of Distortion, come – come and aid me in this final stand."

The imperious timbre is lost to the slow dribble of crimson, painting the plate yet inspiring no shaking of the mountain or unearthly arrival.

The twilit sky does not shatter, nor do shadows spill forth; the quiet broken only by the animal keen Volo makes as he slams the plate against the stone. Once, twice, and not a scuff or chip earned. Finally he throws it away as well and buries his tacky-stained hands into his hair, hiding his face.

"Discarded even by the banished, bastard child."

"Hey now," you mutter lightly, "no need to impugn anyone’s honor. Not the time for making new enemies."

Volo rocks back onto his knees, dragging his hands away and tipping his chin. Even as starlight seeks out its silver, his gaze finds the heavens in a grotesque of bitter mourning.

"You… you're a fool," he says, dully. "Of all people, Arceus chose you. It's…"

"Fucking tragic, innit?" 

His eye flicks down to find you and even swaddled in sorrow the look is so deeply droll as to set you snickering. It builds to laughter as you tip backward onto your rump, wiping at your dewy eyelashes once you recover. As you do, you see Volo frowning down at himself, fingering the hem of the coat flung over his shoulders.

In a fit of pique, you catch him off guard with a half-earnest kick at his shoulder, spilling him onto his ass as well.

"That's for tricking me," you snip at his scowling affront. "Be glad we both failed in the whole ending-slash-saving the world, you prick."

Volo's fine-boned features contort further as he bristles into another furor, snapping, "I have not failed yet, you little–"

"And I'll stop you again," you sniff, tossing your arms over your knees in a petulant spread. "Or, y'know, God will. Mysterious ways and all that shit."

In the face of unimpeachable insolence, his face drops into little more than a curled lip. Leaning back on the hands he'd flung out to catch himself, his slackening posture is dramatic, even for him. Once again, even with the coat his airy tunic and loose-fit pants set him shuddering with cold.

After a moment, he mutters, "Do you mean to tell me this world, as foul and cruel as it can be, doesn't need to be remade?"

"Well," you say, sing-songing the word as you swivel to get your knees under you again. You shuffle toward him, and begin to hem-and-haw, "I think, if I'm so bold to speak on multiple behalves, that what's being said is… whether or not it needs to be, whether or not it can…"

You trail off, seeing him hang on the answer enough to surge forward. The moment you tuck your arms under his, he spreads them in shock. You worm into his space, angled so you’re at least not in his lap, and his shivering ceases. He stiffens but doesn't pull away, and as his arms cautiously find your shoulders and back, you can hear the note of wetness in his breathing.

"We're saying it shouldn't be," you finally surmise, hiding a grin in his chest as his massive frame turns to cotton in your arms. "And what things should be changed can be done together."

(this will get posted on Ao3 tomorrow, alongside the NSFW post-fic)

#pokemon legends arceus volo #pokemon legends arceus #volo #pla volo #volo/reader #voloxreader #xreader fic #volo x reader #pokemon #pokemon wielder volo

[novankenn]

"ARC or Nothing" The Conception

*SPIN off of "Jaune Gets A Gun AU"

Ozpin looks out and lets his gaze travel over the six young women currently standing before him. Behind them, a rather annoyed looking Glynda Goodwitch.

Ozpin: Is this all of... Mr Arcs suitors?

Glynda: Yes... or at least so far.

Emerald: Ms Arc!

Ruby/Pyrrha : (Growl)

Tiny Tina/Jinx/Harley: (Cackle crazily)

Ozpin: Quiet.

The sextet of young women all shuffled nervously before finally settling down. Ozpin looked at each one in turn, before sighing...

Ozpin: While I do not understand how three of you found yourselves here on Remnant, or to my Academy, you are here, and from all appearances, all six of you hold some deeper feelings for Mr Arc.

The Headmaster held up his hand, stopping any comments before they could happen.

Ozpin: Far be it from me to stand in the way of love, and affection, however due to the actions of some... the chances of collateral damage destroying my school is TOO great for me to let you six to attempt to woo Mr Arc...

Tiny Tina/Jinx/Harley Quinn: (Growling)

Pyrrha/Ruby/Emerald: You can't!

The sound of the palm of his hand impacting the top of his desk, cause them all to jump, and instantly settle down.

Ozpin: ...without supervision, or rules. So starting from this point on... ALL aggressive impulses towards one another cease. Understood?

All six nod.

Ozpin: SO from this point on you will all be on your best behaviour, and as a reward I will arrange a series of competitions... the winners of which will have earned a date with Mr. Arc... all expenses paid by Beacon. Now, before you agree to this arrangement, are there any questions?

Emerald looks about at the other five young women before raising her hand.

Ozpin: Ms Sustrai.

Emerald: If I win... can you have him... you know...

Ozpin: Yes, we will... arrange... for Mr Arc to be Ms Arc if you win a date with him...er her.

Emerald was beaming as she lowered her hand. The five others just glared at her, while four others, as Jinx, was still wavering between Husband Jaune and Wife Jaune.

Ozpin: So if there are no further questions, I will now assume we have an accord, with one last condition... that being Jaune Arc NEVER hears of this meeting or agreement. Understood?

The sextet all nod in unison.

Ozpin: You may leave. Professor Goodwitch will contact you via your scroll when the first competition has been arranged.

Glynda steps forward as the young women start to leave, and hands Tiny Tina, Jinx and Harley Quinn their own scrolls.

Glynda: Don't lose them.

The three silently nod, and quickly rush past the domineering woman, to join the others in the waiting elevator. Once the doors slid closed, both Ozpin and Glynda slumped.

Glynda: Is this going to work?

Ozpin: I have no idea, but we have to at least try.

Glynda: I have a headache already.

#jaune gets a gun au #arc or nothing #ruby rose #pyrrha nikos #emerald sustrai #tiny tina #jinx #harley quinn #lancaster #arkos #topaz #timebomb #ballistarc #jaune arc x harley quinn

[silalcarin]

NOTE: This has been sitting in my drafts since literally late 2018, roughly 2 months after this video was posted on YouTube. I decided to finally post it... 5 years later. 👀

Harry = Chandler

Ron Weasley = Ross Geller

Hermione = Rachel

Neville = Joey

Ginny Weasley = Monica Geller

Luna = Phoebe

Ron = Ross and Ginny = Monica because they are siblings. You literally cannot have them in any other role because they are siblings. That's why I have their full names listed for just those two.

Harry = Chandler. Both are sarcastic and have a dark sense of humor. Both are insecure towards their main love interest and soulmate, Ginny = Monica. [In Book 6, Harry feels that the only way Dean/Ginny will break up is if he takes Felix Felicis. Even after Dean/Ginny break up, Harry still feels insecure because other guys ask Ginny out, and he wants to take Felix Felicis again to put the odds in his favor.] Both also get very jealous when another guy shows interest in, or dates, Ginny = Monica (Dean, Viktor; Nurse Dan, Richard, Don). Both are also Amazon Chasers towards Ginny = Monica. Both also fear how Ron = Ross will react to them falling in love with and dating Ginny = Monica. Both also have been best friends with Ron = Ross since the day they first met, and were roommates all throughout their years at school (Hogwarts; college).

Ron = Ross. Both get very jealous when other guys show interest in, or date, their main love interest, Hermione = Rachel (Viktor, Cormac; Paolo, Mark, Joshua, Gavin, Joey). Both also have a long-standing Will They Or Won't They relationship with Hermione = Rachel that lasts for literally the entire series. Both are also very happy that their best friend, Harry = Chandler, is dating their younger sister, Ginny = Monica, and become brothers-in-law by the end of the series. Ron is initially quiet after Harry/Ginny publicly share their first kiss, but after a moment, he gives them his blessing; Ross is initially angry to learn about Chandler/Monica, partially due to his life issues and taking medication for his rage, but after learning that they are sincerely in love, he gives them his blessing.

Hermione = Rachel. Both get very jealous, to the point of being petty and scornful about it, when their main love interest, Ron = Ross, dates or is interested in other girls (Fleur, Lavender; Julie, Bonnie, Emily, Jill, Katie). Both are also not very interested in playing sports compared to Ginny = Monica, who is their closest female friend. Both are also happy to ship Harry/Ginny = Chandler/Monica.

Neville = Joey. Academically, both are the worst of the sextet (Neville because, up until the sixth book, he kept using his father's wand and not his own true wand; Joey because he didn't care about school and focused more on having sex). Despite that, both show immense talent in one area (Herbology for Neville; cooking spaghetti sauce and baking cookies for Joey). Both are sensitive underneath the surface. Both are fiercely loyal to their friends.

Ginny = Monica. Both have three relationships total, where the first two lasted about roughly a year each (Michael, Dean; Richard, Pete), and then they marry their third and final boyfriend, who is their soulmate (Harry; Chandler). Both were also initially shy towards Harry = Chandler in their first official meeting. Both also get jealous, but not to the point of being petty or scornful about it, when other girls show interest in Harry = Chandler (Gabrielle, Cho; Wendy). Both are also Violently Protective Girlfriends towards Harry = Chandler (Ginny defends Harry from Malfoy in Book 2 and then Blaise/Cormac/Dean/Seamus/Hermione in Book 6; Monica defends Chandler from Janine in Season 6 and then their wedding photographer in Season 7). Both are also tomboys, hot-tempered, and enjoy playing sports.

Luna = Phoebe. Both are Cloudcuckoolanders who occasionally make their friends feel uncomfortable due to their antics and beliefs. Nuff said.

#youtube #parallels #friends #harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #neville longbottom #ginny weasley #luna lovegood #chandler bing #ross geller #rachel green #joey tribbiani #monica geller #phoebe buffay #anti jk rowling #anti jkr #ugh if only joke karen rowling didn't ruin my childhood #seriously she had to go and ruin the books with her regressive af views #no but for real she ruined the books for me

[enterthecuttlezone]

Time Is What It Is

Chapter I of The Ministry of Time An unofficial novelization Based on the screenplay by Javier Olivares and Pablo Olivares Adapted by me :3

-

PRÓLOGO


Flanders, 1569

When the sun rose over the Belgian countryside, the battle— more accurately, the massacre— was already over. 

Something had gone horribly wrong. The Spanish army was the most advanced in the world, handsomely financed, its tercio structure decades ahead of its time. And yet hundreds of dead men, almost exclusively soldiers of the Spanish army, were lying in the earth, the colors of their uniforms, faces, hands now the color of the mud. A team of men went around picking up the bodies. As they hoisted life after wasted life into their cart, they had to wonder to themselves— Who allowed this to happen?

At the site of the Spanish army’s camp, a Belgian castle conquered and occupied, the captain Fernández summoned his direct subordinate, Alonso de Entrerríos, to testify on the disaster on the battlefield. This meeting would have been routine, mundane, even constructive under different circumstances. Before the battle occurred, Fernández had it in his mind that he would meet with Alonso afterward to discuss what worked, what didn’t, and how to improve their strategy, whether to call for reinforcements, whether to advance even further. But now he knew the meeting he’d imagined would be impossible. Instead of sending a messenger to Alonso, telling him to report at his earliest convenience, Fernández sent two soldiers, armed, with orders to bring the man to him immediately— by force, if necessary. Fernández knew someone had to take the blame for the outstanding SNAFU, and if he knew one more thing, it was that it wasn’t going to be him.

The moment Alonso’s battered, mud-stained boots made contact with the Spanish army camp grounds, they suddenly found themselves escorted by guards to the room where the anxious officer waited. His back to the door, Fernández turned as he heard the sextet of boots enter the room.

‹Thou attackedst before it was time!› accused the captain. ‹Why didst thou do it?›

Alonso was a serious, once wiry but now emaciated man. Thirty and some years old, battle-weary, muddied and bloodied, he replied, ‹Because thou didst order it so.›

‹Hast thou witnesses who can attest to what thou sayest?›

‹If the dead could speak, I would.›

‹Thou liest,› said the captain, picking up a rod from the table behind him. He turned back to Alonso and yelled, ‹Thou liest!›

He moved to strike Alonso with the stick but Alonso grabbed it mid-swing and held it firm. Quietly but threateningly, Alonso replied, ‹I never lie.›

The captain looked at him as if he were mad.

‹Arrest him!› he yelled.

But before the soldiers could, Alonso grabbed the captain and exploded into rage. ‹They all died for thee!› he yelled. ‹All of them!›

The two guards could barely restrain the tall Alonso as he elbowed and kicked and bit with all his might. He knew there was no hope for him, but he had to do everything he could to give the traitorous Fernández what he deserved. One guard stepped away, and picked up a chair by the door. While Alonso was attacking the captain, he neglected to watch his back. The guard raised the chair and hit Alonso over the head. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

One month later, Alonso was in Seville, shackled to the wall in a gloomy dungeon. His uniform had been traded out for thin, worn rags, and his face was now hidden by the long, tangled beard and hair of a prisoner. Even so, he lowered his gaze. His wife, Blanca, had come to see him. She was upset, to say the least.

‹Why didst thou attack him? He was thy superior!›

‹There are times when a man must do what he must do,› said Alonso. He knew that if he had to live that day over again, and if there was no way he could prevent the catastrophic battle from happening, the only thing he would change would be to give Fernández one extra kick in the groin. Maybe two.

‹Damned pride…› said Blanca. She took his head in her hands. ‹Because of it, tomorrow thy captain will be in his bed, and thou on the gallows.›

‹Then on the gallows will be a man with honor, and in the bed a scoundrel.›

Alonso lifted his head, composing himself. He smiled tenderly at his future widow. ‹Blanca, cry not. I’ve had a good life. I saw the world… I loved… I fought for my country. I have no regrets.›

He paused for a moment. ‹Do one thing for me.›

Blanca nodded.

‹Continue thy life,› said Alonso, ‹don’t look back.›

Blanca hesitated. Alonso didn’t notice as she brought her hand to her belly.

‹Alonso… I… ›

Before she could finish the thought, the jailer yelled from outside the cell, ‹Your time’s up! Out!›

As the jailer entered the cell, Blanca looked at Alonso, and kissed him, empty of all hope. The jailer grabbed her and pushed her towards the door.

‹Forget me, I beg of thee,› called Alonso.

‹It won’t be easy,› said Blanca.

And then Alonso was alone. His head dropped back down, and he was absorbed in his own mind, until an unknown voice brought him back to Earth.

‹Art thou Alonso de Entrerríos?›

Alonso recomposed himself. In front of him was a monk, whose face was obscured by a black hood.

‹Thou wastest time, Father,› said Alonso. ‹What I have to say to God I’ll tell Him tomorrow in person.›

The monk took off his hood, revealing a serious, middle-aged face. He was clean-shaven, with eyebrows that seemed perpetually quirked— but this of course was not what Alonso would remember most about him. ‹I’m not here for confession,› said the monk. ‹I’ve come to take thee out of this place… if thou wilt accept mine offer.›

Alonso’s eyes widened.

‹Wouldst thou like to work for a secret office of the Crown?›

‹A spy?› said Alonso, perplexed.

‹Something like that. Special assignments in strange places… Thou wilt be dead to the world, including Blanca, thy wife.›

At this, Alonso lost the smile that had creeped its way onto his face… but all the same, he offered his hands so that the monk would free them. The monk had keys, and seeing Alonso’s gesture, he opened the shackles.

‹Thou must be very powerful,› said Alonso as the chains came off. ‹Knowing how much these people like executions, it’s strange to me that they would cancel this one.›

‹It won’t be canceled: they’ll have their execution.›

The monk whistled in the direction of the door. Through it, two guards dragged in someone bound with rope and with a sack covering their head. Alonso watched, and, rubbing his reddened wrists, asked.

‹Who is it?›

The monk said, ‹For all intents and purposes, thyself.›

Alonso doubted… but finally reached down to take the sack off the prisoner’s head: there on the ground, bound and gagged, was the captain Fernández. Alonso exploded into laughter, incredulous. The captive captain looked up at him in despair.

‹Can I stay to watch the show?› Alonso asked the monk.

The monk flicked his wrist, appearing to examine the tight-fitting bracelet he wore upon it. Alonso saw that one link on the bracelet was bigger than the rest— a dull green rectangle with mysterious marks on it absorbed the monk’s interest. Alonso could have sworn one of the marks disappeared and then appeared again in an instant. The monk concluded: ‹We don’t have time.›

‹What is that?› asked Alonso, still peering at the watch. The monk, no slave to explanation, walked out the open cell door.

‹Let’s go!›

Alonso, astonished, followed him.

-

Barcelona, 1880

As the afternoon wore on, Amelia started to worry that the professor giving the lecture she was attending did not know what he was talking about. Amelia had devoured books since she was a girl, fascinated by literature and history. She was the only woman in the room— in fact, the only woman in the university’s entire student body. Her presence at the university was a testament to the vast knowledge she had accumulated even before enrolling in her first classes. Unfortunately, not everyone there fully appreciated what she had to share.

The lecture was on the Golden Age of Spanish literature, and the lecturer seemed to be having trouble with the idea that works of high art might take inspiration from the lowbrow.

‹Overall, I deny the influence of any contemporary author on Lope de Vega, glory of Spanish letters,› the lecturer declared. ‹Because the former drinks from profane sources, and our Lope from the deepest roots of our faith…›

As the other students passed notes and shuffled papers, Amelia raised her hand, polite, but determined.

‹Yes, miss?› said the professor.

Amelia spoke fast, the words firing out of her like a machine gun. ‹I’m sorry, but the influence of Orlando Furioso on Lope de Vega is obvious, especially in the theme of madness in relation to love.›

The professor dismissed this. ‹Nonsense.›

‹Characters like Rodomonte and Orlando himself are taken as a model for Lope. You can see it in works like—›

The professor cut her off, coldly. ‹Will you let me continue with the class?›

Amelia stopped and, after a moment, shrank back into her chair, though she did not lower her gaze.

‹The Golden Age demonstrates the glory of our literature,› continued the professor, again at lecturing volume and cadence, ‹represented in Calderón, Lope, or Cervantes’ grandiose Don Quixote. A literature at the height of what Spain was then: the first world power…›

A note made its way unexpectedly to Amelia’s hand. She unfolded the paper and read it silently:

Amelia, come out to the hallway: it’s urgent.

She lifted her head, and the door to the classroom closed just as she turned to look. Not unalarmed, she gathered her notes, got up and hurried out to the hall.

What she found waiting for her there took her by surprise: a thin, attractive woman of about forty years, with blonde hair and a gaudy-colored dress. She had her back to the door, and as Amelia entered, the woman turned towards her and smiled eagerly, as if she’d been looking forward to meeting her for a long time. Amelia stared for no more than an instant.

‹Pardon… who are you?›

‹Someone who knows just how important you are,› said the mysterious lady. She added, ‹Not like all those men.›

Amelia found herself blushing.

‹I’d like to get to know one of the first university women in the country,› she continued.

‹Are you a journalist?›

‹Something like that,› said the woman. She reined in her smile. ‹Tell me, what did your mother say when you said you wanted to study here?›

‹She said I’d lost my mind,› said Amelia. ‹She doesn’t think women have any use for an education.›

‹And your friends?›

‹More or less the same. With them you can only talk about husbands, children, and the fashions of Paris. It’s hard to find a woman who you can talk to about art, politics, or important things.›

‹Well, times are changing, aren’t they?›

Amelia opened up like a book. ‹Sometimes I think that women are our own worst enemies. But that has to change. I’m convinced that in some future, women will be able to do the same as any man.›

‹So am I.›

The mysterious woman removed a flask from the small purse she clutched. She unscrewed the cap and said, ‹Shall we drink to that?›

She took a big gulp and offered the flask to Amelia, who took it, with a more timid sip.

‹If my mother heard us…› Amelia began. She shook her head. ‹She’s committed to finding me a husband… so that I marry and have children.›

This particularly piqued the woman’s interest. ‹And you don’t want to…?›

‹I don’t need a man,› said Amelia proudly.

The woman looked at her for a moment.

‹You don’t know the joy that that gives me…›

She moved in fast— and suddenly her lips were on Amelia’s. Amelia, for her part, was not experiencing the joy. She went stiff as a stone. The woman noticed her apprehension, and stepped back.

Flustered, Amelia stuttered, ‹Need— I don’t need men… but the case is I do like them.›

The woman looked at her and sighed.

‹Oh well.› She picked up her little purse. ‹Let’s see if this interests you more…›

She opened the bag again, and this time removed a wholly unfamiliar artifact. A black rectangle of glass, smooth and rounded at the edges, out of which colored light and soft, strange sounds emanated in response to the woman’s touch.

‹That… what is it?› asked Amelia.

The journalist who was not really a journalist pressed the strange shiny thing to her own ear. ‹Your world is too small for you, my dear— and that we can fix.› Turning away, she said to no one Amelia could see, ‹Angustias? Pass me over to the boss, darling…›

Amelia’s eyes were wide to begin with. Now she wouldn’t shut them for anything in the world.

-

Madrid, 2015

It was a typical night at a typical neighborhood bar. The local regulars drank their drinks, shot the breeze, watched the game playing on the TV mounted to the wall. On the wall behind the counter hung a scarf branded Atleti, for one of Madrid’s many soccer clubs, and a poster of Koke, one of its many famous players.

At a table, two paramedics in their yellow SAMUR uniforms dined on snacks and beer, attempting to wind down as the end of their shift approached. One of them was Julián. Only in his early thirties, he nevertheless had deep lines etched in his face and, tonight as on most nights, very little appetite. The other was Ramón. He was a little older, a lot heavier, and where Julián had short but poofy curls and a five-o-clock shadow, Ramón had a metalhead’s long greasy locks and well-kempt beard. While Julián stared into space, hardly having touched his little dish of nuts, Ramón picked at his tortilla de patata with the contempt of a hungry man confronted with food that is just not good.

‹Tortilla de patatas is like the IBEX-35 of a bar,› declared Ramón, referencing an index of the Madrid Stock Exchange. ‹If the tortilla is good, the bar is good.›

Julián didn’t answer.

‹And this tortilla is a disgrace.›

‹Everything was better before,› Julián said nostalgically.

‹Why are you so committed to coming here?›

Before Julián could make any unenthusiastic response, the radio transmitter they had rested on the table crackled to life: ‹Fire downtown,› said the staticky voice. ‹It’s a hostel.›

Julián got up automatically. ‹Let’s go.›

Ramón, still seated, started to protest. ‹Julián, for fuck’s sake, our shift is over in ten minutes and we’ve just been drinking!›

But Julián was already outside. With another curse, Ramón grabbed a handful of tortilla and grudgingly followed Julián out the door.

Downtown, the lights of sirens and the flames in the burning building colored the light of the night. By the time Julián and Ramón arrived in their ambulance, a fire truck and another ambulance had already been parked in front of the hostel. One firefighter, covered in ash, was being treated by a paramedic with an oxygen mask on the sidewalk.

Nearby, the light of the fire illuminating his face, was Ramón and Julián’s supervisor, talking to another firefighter in front of the building. Ramón approached them. ‹Jefe, how is it?› he asked his boss.

‹Not as bad as it seems,› he replied, with the attitude of having done most of his job already. ‹Inhalation of smoke, some attacks of nerves…›

As they talked, Julián looked up at the building, which was nearly completely engulfed in flame. Behind a window on the second floor, there were two figures. 

Their characteristics were obscured by the smoke but Julián could see their silhouettes clear as day. ‹There’s still somebody inside!› he shouted.

‹Impossible,› said the firefighter. ‹Everyone has been evacuated. We’ve searched top to bottom.›

Julián pointed to the window, and the three other men looked up. But by then, the silhouettes were gone.

Nobody else was making any move to go into the building. Julián realized that if he was going to help those people in the window, he would have to do it on his own. He saw a firefighter’s smoke protection mask on the ground, grabbed it, and ran towards the building. His companions became alarmed. The firefighter yelled after him, ‹It’s about to cave in!›

But Julián didn’t turn back.

With the mask on his face, Julián entered the burning building and made for the stairs. At the top, he turned the corner into the room he saw through the window. Through the sooty mask he could see that the whole room was on fire and could collapse at any minute. Quickly his eyes searched for people in need of help. Then he saw, lying on the floor, two men— strangely, both were dressed like Napoleonic soldiers.

‹Here! I’ve found them!› Julián yelled. He went to try and revive them, but when he checked for a pulse, he couldn’t find one. He heard footsteps, and realized that someone else had entered the room. Thinking it was his partner, he yelled again. ‹Quickly! There’s no pulse!›

When he turned around, however, he saw that the new arrivals were not firefighters or SAMUR, but two other men, one uniformed like the men on the floor, and the other in civilian clothes of the same era. They stared at him, motionless, for a moment. Then there was a great cracking noise, and the three conscious men looked up. The ceiling had broken. The last thing Julián saw was the wooden beams heading right for his face.

-

For the next full day, Julián lay sedated in a hospital bed, coming in and out of consciousness. When he opened and closed his eyes, hours would pass before they opened again. Barely he perceived fragments of what was happening around him.

Open. A nurse is doing something Julián doesn’t get to observe. Close.

Open. Ramón, with he and Julián's supervisor, is at the foot of the bed. They talk in low voices.

‹This can’t go on, chief… Sooner or later something was going to happen. Nobody wants to work with him, he’s a danger, to others and to himself.›

The boss snorts.

‹After what happened with his wife…› says Ramón, ‹he’s not the same.›

‹Who would be?› The supervisor looks down at Julián. ‹Some shit luck you’ve had, kid…›

Close.

Open. Two strangers, dressed formally— a man in a suit and tie, and a woman in a blazer and skirt— are in the room. The man, next to the door, is reviewing a hospital clipboard, Julián’s medical history. The woman, seated by the bed, is looking at Julián.

Close.

-

The next day, Julián was fully awake, and the doctor told him he was free to go. Midday light entered through the window of the hospital room as Julián, now on his feet and dressed, prepared his bag to go home. He went over to the window to open it, but found that he couldn’t. It was locked.

‹Don’t bother. It won’t open.›

Julián turned around and saw his supervisor had entered the room.

‹Doctor’s orders,› said the boss.

Julián smiled. ‹They think I’m going to jump, or what?›

‹We’ve received a complaint from the Fire Department.› The supervisor was dead serious. ‹Many of their men risked their lives because you disobeyed an order from the firefighter in charge of the operation.›

‹There were people inside!›

‹There was only you, Julián,› said the boss.

He paused, to make sure Julián understood this point. Julián’s heart rate started to rise.

‹This isn’t the first time,› his supervisor continued. ‹Your colleagues say that working with you is like working with a suicide terrorist.›

‹But I know what I saw!›

‹You are out of service until further notice,› the boss said gravely. ‹You need to talk to a specialist…›

Julián sat down on the bed, crushed. The boss came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

‹Think of it as a vacation…› he said, more gently. ‹Didn’t you used to do photography? Do that.›

As his supervisor left the room, Julián replied under his breath.

‹Not anymore.›

#el ministerio del tiempo

[forensicated]

A Stiffy (*snigger*) recap for the sextet of Conviction episodes. Sadly no longer Smiffina related as Rachel (boo!) is Inspector for now but still useful for fic background further down the line as they really are quite Callum/Smithy heavy and it feeds a lot of their story.

Conviction aired between the 1st to the 16th July 2009. Gina left October 2nd 2008 so we are 9 months on from An Honour To Serve Part 2. A quick scan back through the wiki episode guides tells us that in the last few months, Smithy mentored Mel a little bit during her first NYE attached to the MET that had her brother down from 'Oop North' to get caught up in a crime, Smithy and Leanne Samuels (Witness 1-8 and others before that) got back in touch during a case that involved a single mother and her sister who happened to attend a community hub that Leanne runs. He learnt Brooke is thriving and that Leanne had met someone and was getting married. Callum got close to another victim of domestic abuse who trusted him enough to tell him about criminal matters her husband was involved with (A cash in transit job). The case was further complicated when Max trampled over it. During Nate's Extra Special School Season, Smithy was stabbed by a school boy during an arrest and his lung collapsed but luckily all was OK in the end. Diane returned for one night before she transferred to another station as a Sgt. She and Smithy ended up undercover in a club with uniform to catch the dealer of mis-identified drugs and Arun, Beth, and Sam all left.

Conviction - Part 1 - Cover Up (1/6)

Ben and Sally find a burglar still on the premises, unfortunately he runs into the allotments behind the houses and Sally loses him. Callum and Roger arrive to give support.

Smithy is called to a disturbance outside the E1 club/pub. He breaks up a fight and threatens a bloke peeing in public with arrest, only to find an assault victim next to him. He asks the rather unhelpful group watching who heard or saw anything - noone helps out!

Sally speaks to their informant, she's in her 70's and can't see very well so can't give a description other than 'male'. The owner returns rather worse the wear and doesn't seem too surprised to see the police. He claims nothing appears to be missing other than an expensive watch. Callum points out the man has a rip in his trousers and some cuts and bruises on his hand. He asks if it was a good night, and the man says he fell over after one too many. Callum just nods and tells him CID will be in touch with a crime reference number in the morning when asked about making an insurance claim.

The assault victim, Andrew Brennan, has 100 pounds and his own bank cards. It doesn't seem like a mugging. Stevie tactfully explains what happened to the mans wife when she calls. Evie rushes to the hospital and explains that her husband told her he was going to speak to someone 'about work' - he's an odd job man/painter decorator. She doesn't know who he met or who might want to hurt him. Roger finds an expensive watch engraved with OR - Oliver Robinson - the owner of the burgled home that Callum was dealing with - at the scene. Brennan could be the burglar.

In the morning, Callum and Ben head to the Brewery where Robinson works to ask if he knows Brennan. Robinson asks if he's the person who took it and Callum explains the man is still unconscious. Robinson claims not to recognise him and says he's had no work done on the house recently. He seems evasive and excuses himself for a meeting, telling them he doesn't want to take it further as he's gotten the watch back - even if the police are holding into it for the time being as evidence. Ben and Callum are in agreement - he's lying. He definitely recognised Brennan from the picture.

Smithy and Stevie return to the E1 bar where Brennan had been drinking the night before. Pete, the head barman gets them a copy of the CCTV whilst Smithy asks a woman at a table if she'd been in the night before. She says she doesn't work there and is just waiting for her boyfriend. As they leave, Jason Devlin, the manager appears and introduces himself and says he recognises Brennan and that he was with another man who was wearing a suit and they appeared to be having a 'heavy discussion'. Watching the CCTV back, Roger recognises Oliver Robinson as the man meeting Brennan.

Callum wonders if the watch was even stolen in the first place, it's possible that the 'heated discussion' turned violent outside and that the watch fell off in the fight. He wonders if Robinson faked the burglary given that - despite his inebriated condition - one of his first questions was about insurance. Noone has come forward to admit to seeing Brennan in the alley, however one witness did describe a man in a suit getting into the back of a gold coloured car at approx 9.20pm. There's no CCTV on the required street so Rachel tasks Sally and Roger with trawling through the CCTV of the surrounding area.

Rachel tasks Smithy and Stevie with returning to the hospital to speak to Brennan's wife to see if she knows if he'd worked on Robinson's house or to at least give them access to his paperwork for them to check. Things get a whole lot murkier when Evie tells them that Robinson is Andy's real surname. Brennan is his mum's maiden name that he took after he was released from a young offenders institute because he was finding it hard to get work. Stevie asks if Oliver Robinson could be a family member and his wife shakes her head. "I doubt it. His family are dead."

Smithy looks him up and finds that Brennan has convictions dated in the 1980's for drugs, theft and arson. Oliver Robinson is listed as his brother. Difficult to explain why he lied to Callum about not knowing or recognising the picture of his brother! He tells Callum that he didn't want to get him in trouble for taking his watch. Callum tells him that it's bigger than the supposed theft of his watch and that they're suspicious he infact attacked Brennan himself. Robinson insists he didn't and says that Brennan has gotten himself caught up in something that he wants nothing to do with. He's apparently hassling Robinson for money but won't tell him what it's for.

Brennan insists he doesn't know who hurt him, he was out for a few drinks after work, left the bar approximately 10 past 9 and was attacked and left laying down so didn't see who did it. Smithy asks if he left the bar with his brother. Evie is confused and asks if it's a joke and Stevie clarifies that it's the man who they spoke about earlier. She is horrified Brennan never told her about him, even if he hadn't seen him in years. She refuses to leave the room and wants to know what's going on. Smithy tells them that Robinson is being questioned and that he's told them Brennan wanted to borrow money. Brennan insists that it's money owed to him and that his brother owes him and gave him the watch. "You think it's my brother who beat me up?"

Robinson tells Callum he hadn't seen his brother since the late 80's and they were never close but he gave him 'some money' because he's his brother. Callum says that doesn't make sense. Robinson says he only met him the night before to tell him he'd give him no more before they went their separate ways. He says he left E1 before his brother and stopped for a kebab before he walked home. Callum asks what Brennan did. "Obviously he went round to my house and stole the watch, didn't he!?" "I don't know. I'm asking you."

Brennan tells Evie he's always been straight with her but doesn't say why his brother owes him several thousands of pounds. Evie storms out, followed by Stevie. Evie tells Stevie that her husband is a good man, there'll be a reason why he's lied and that they're trying for a baby but the 'trying' is proving difficult as nothing seems to be happening and they've just finished a second round of IVF.

Rachel asks Callum if it's feasible for Brennan to have gotten to his brothers and back in the time suggested. It's possible but doesn't make sense as he lives the other side of Canley so why return to the club? Robinson's kebab stop is confirmed by the CCTV from the shop and there's no way he could have returned in time to assault Brennan. Rachel suggests that if his brother didn't assault him then he definitely knows something given the fact he's lied so consistently. FIU look into Brennan's accounts and find he's paid a private fertility clinic for tests. Stevie and Smithy return to the hospital to talk to him about it but he's done an illadvised runner after getting dressed.

Evie is as confused as the officers for why her husband has left and tells them she has his keys so he can't have gone home. They ask if she has any idea where he might have gone, especially as he still thinks his brother was the one who attacked him and that he's in the frame for stealing the watch. Smithy and Stevie arrive to double check on Robinson and they find Brennan collapsing at the brewery.

Sally spots a gold Volvo on CCTV and they go to speak to the owner. He's cagey as he has been mini-cabbing without a licence but Callum just says they'll 'assume for now he's in the process of getting one'. He admits being in the area and that he picked up a man in a suit the night before. His voice sounded familiar to the driver who thinks he's spoken to him previously but can't say where or how. Callum suggests to Ben that he's a 'regular' of the drivers which could potentially lead to him being a member of staff. They take him in and run him through an ID parade of staff members from the CCTV and he identifies the owner, Devlin.

Rachel suggests that they concentrate their efforts on Devlin as the man who attacked Brennan. She shows them CCTV of Brennan and Devlin talking over the bar which seemed innocent. She suggests they have history but Devlin said he'd never met Brennan before in his life - though he would if he'd gone on to attack him. Smithy and Callum can't agree who should go speak to Devlin so Rachel says they can both go and sends Ben with them to 'keep them in line'.

At the E1 the Sgt's meet Matthew Devlin, Jason's father who asks if it's something serious. Devlin appears down the stairs with his girlfriend. He insists he was at the club all night doing the books in the back - as he'd said earlier - and that he didn't leave at 9.20pm. His father says he can vouch for him and Devlin adds that the barman, Pete and his girlfriend can too. Devlin Senior suggests they have the wrong man. "Who did you say the cab driver was?" Devlin asks. "... I didn't." Callum replies. The suit he wore is at the dry cleaners and his girlfriend covers that she spilt a drink over him approx 9pm in the smoking area - an area covered by CCTV. Callum asks for a copy and they spot Brennan talking to Devlin's girlfriend but no Devlin until they hug and the girl kisses Brennan's cheek - and Devlin appears from a doorway at 8.40pm.

Stevie tells them that she has done some digging on the earlier convictions of Brennan. Two separate witnesses spotted two boys at the scene of the arson. The officers investigating thought that it might be Oliver but their parents gave him an alibi. Oliver was older so perhaps the parents thought he'd get a rougher deal being 18 with two drug possession charges so Andrew took the rap alone and that perhaps that is why Oliver has been giving his brother money. Callum wants to nail Oliver on top of the assault but faking the burglary would only get a caution. All three say they should speak to Brennan and offer to listen should he want to clear the air.

Brennan says that he talked to the girl, Abbie, for the first time that night and that she was really nice and sweet and that the hug and kiss on the cheek meant nothing and that 'even the tall guy behind the bar was joking about it.' He says that he warned him off and to keep his hands to himself and that Brennan laughed and said she was out of his league. Stevie asks why she hugged him. Brennan explains he'd told Abbie he was about to be a dad - she asks if that was because his brother was going to pay for him to get private treatment. "You know about that?" he asks and Stevie nods and says she reckons she knows why. Brennan clams up and tells Stevie she doesn't know what she's talking about and that he served the time and will stick to his original statement if she starts digging.

Smithy suggests that Devlin is really dangerous if he can kick a man half to death for a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek. The level of violence he used is far too much for a first offence and so Devlin should be someone they know about. Rachel gives permission to bring him in for an interview.

Devlin claims he doesn't remember the conversation with Brennan and that Abbie is a very pretty girl so he's used to people hitting on her but he trusts her implicitly so has no worries. He claims the angry expression on his face is 'his thinking face' and laughs off any inference that he was the one who attacked Brennan. He claims he doesn't know which dry cleaners his suit is at because Abbie deals with it all and she has lost the ticket and mocks them for having only the word of an illegal cabby for evidence. The Sgt's are aware Abbie won't inform on her boyfriend and Smithy suggests getting forensics to go over the taxi and see if they can get some DNA. Unfortunately before they can get to the car, Sally is called to an arson attack on the cab drivers car and everyone claims they saw nothing. "If someone's trying to intimidate you-" Callum starts saying to the driver who responds. "It's worked." and he withdraws his statement. Callum tells him that with his help Devlin will go down for a long time. "Where is he now?" he asks with Callum telling him he's at the station. "Exactly..." he says, gesturing to his burning car. Callum threatens to nick him for illegal minicabbing and he tells him to arrest him and that he'd rather be sent down than have his family at risk.

Abbie can't help with the dry cleaners name and so Smithy and Callum turn to go with a warning they're going to search Devlin's house for 'the ticket' but there might be a clean up job required after. Abbie suggests there is a place on Gasson Street that they might have used. Pete is clearly listening in and then asks the men if he has been charged when Abbie goes to answer a call. He tells them that Devlin has a temper but is very wary of the CCTV camera watching them and insists he can't help them any further.

Smithy hits a dead end with the Gasson St Dry Cleaners and is not happy to have to bail Devlin because of the lack of evidence. Callum is pissed off at having to give Robinson his watch back whilst he only gets a slap on the wrist for faking a burglary. Neither are very happy boys!

Stevie and Callum tell Robinson they know exactly what happened. Robinson reluctantly hands the watch back and tells them to give it to Brennan. At the hospital Evie tells them they don't want the watch and that all she wants is their life back. She thinks that the watch would be blood money and taint whatever it bought. Brennan gives them the watch back.

Ben spots at fire engine approaching them and tells Roger that he used to beg his dad to follow them so he could see them in action. Roger chuckles and humours him and turns the car to follow the engine. "Don't say I don't treat you nice!" In the meantime Smithy is tracked down by Callum who tells him the E1 bar is on fire and both men hurry to the scene. Callum suggests Devlin has upset someone further up the food chain. "Nothing like a bit of poetic justice, hey?"

#the bill #conviction part 1 cover up #conviction #conviction part 1 #dale smith #alex walkinshaw #smithy #sam callis #callum stone #ben gayle #micah balfour #john bowler #roger valentine #stevie moss #lucy speed #rachel weston #claire goose #ali bastian #sally armstrong

[myreia]

Uncertainty

Rating: G Characters: Aureia Malathar, Thancred Waters Words: 1179 Notes: With the invitation to the royal banquet looming in her mind, Aureia considers the gravity of her new fame and notoriety with the help of a new--and tentative--friend. Read on AO3

Aureia lingers above the Gold Court, arms resting on the heavy stone balustrade overlooking the thoroughfare below. It hums with the vivacity of the everyday bustle, the flowing fountains a thundering backdrop to a hundred conversations. Colourful streamers and lights are strung from post to post, fluttering in the air. Children run through, squealing with delight, chased by each other or their guardians. A handful of Brass Blades look on, their burnished helmets glinting in the bright lights.

The sound comforts her. A month or so ago, she would have been overwhelmed by the chaos. Ul’dah is by far the largest city she has ever lived in and she was easily exhausted. But now, she has a strange affection for the busy streets and bright thoroughfares. She is on her own here, with her closest acquaintances being the proprietor who hands her contracts and a sextet of thaumaturges who enjoy giving her the runaround. Surrounding herself with people—even if they are strangers—makes her feel less alone.

She chews her lower lip and fiddles with a ring between her fingers. It is a recent acquisition—a band of silver inlaid with black stone, stamped with the Ul’dahn crest. It is perhaps the most valuable thing she owns. For a struggling adventurer who can barely scrape two gil together, the desire to sell it is strong.

But it was a gift—and a visible sign that she is climbing up in the world, whether she likes it or not. What would the sultana think if her ring ended up resold on the Sapphire Avenue Exchange?

“Pretty, isn’t it? Her Grace does enjoy her trinkets.”

Aureia stiffens at the familiar voice and glances over her shoulder. “Thancred,” she says.

He flashes her a grin and saunters over to join her. “You should keep a good hold on that,” he adds, eyeing the ring in her hand. “Scoundrels are wont to be about, you know.”

She rolls her eyes and slides the ring onto her index finger. “How many times is this now? Four? Five?”

“Four.”

“Enough to call it a habit, then.”

His pauses, mouth half-open, and covers it with an awkward cough. “Well… there are worse habits,” he says, sweeping his hair out of his eyes.

She gives him a flat look. “Tailing unsuspecting women about the city is nothing to be proud of.”

He makes a strangled noise. “I have done nothing of the sort! Our meetings have been no more than happenstance, a quirk of nature drawing us to the same spot at the same time. I assure you, Aureia, I am not following you—”

She stifles a snort, laughter tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Oh…” He blows out a breath. “Oh, you’re joking? That was a joke. You have an unfair sense of humour…”

Aureia turns, hiding her grin, and rests her arms against the balustrade. “Don’t make yourself such an easy target next time,” she says.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Perhaps I deserve that one,” he mutters, drawing up next to her. They stand in silence for some time, observing the court below. A group of Lalafell youths have gathered on the edge of the fountain and released a flotilla of small paper boats. Their eyes shine bright with anticipation as they push them through the water.

Though Aureia would never admit it aloud, she is glad he sought her out. Despite the bumpiness of their first meeting, they have developed a surprising rapport these past few weeks. Twice now they have inadvertently found themselves in the same scrapes, coming to each other’s aid. It is good to see him outside the pressure of battle. The circumstances of their first meeting may have been unusual, but his is a familiar face in the sea of a new city. Gods know she has precious few of those.  

“I see you are rapidly making a name for yourself,” Thancred says finally. “Perhaps you are becoming a true citizen of Ul’dah.”

She flushes. “I don’t know about that,” she replies, fiddling with the ring.

“You have an invitation from the sultana. Most are not granted such a gift.”

“Not sure why they’re lavishing me with praise. I haven’t done anything noteworthy.”

“Noteworthy? Aureia, please, do not sell yourself short. You are single-handedly responsible for preventing a crisis and saving the sultana’s reputation. They trust you.”

“For what reason? I’m just an adventurer.”

He nudges her with an elbow. “More than that. Perhaps the most capable adventurer in all of Ul’dah.”

She shoots him a glare, a light flush creeping across her cheeks. She’s not in the mood for compliments. “Don’t—”

“Tell me, is it really so wrong to be praised and rewarded for your efforts? Not just anyone would go to the lengths you have, and for the sake of a foreign nation at that.”

“No.” Gods, how to explain it? “I’m not doing this for the notoriety. I don’t want my name to be known.”

He chuckles. “Now, that’s not very adventurer-like. Here I thought they were all in it for the power and fame. May I ask the reason for your aversion?”

She can see it in his face—a question born of genuine curiosity. But she can’t risk telling him. He may be a familiar face, but he is still a stranger. If he discovers where she came from…

Aureia turns away, eyes cast downward. “It’s better this way. Trust me.”    

Thancred pauses, searching her face. “I respect your desire for anonymity,” he says. He rests his back against the balustrade and folds his arms. “We all have our secrets. But like it or not, you are an important woman now. Your name is known in the highest circles. Now they have you in their sights, they will likely never forget you. I did not call you capable as simple flattery. Capability carries with it a certain… weight. Be prepared to bear it. I did say you were one of the gifted, after all.”

She remembers—and she’s still uncertain what it means. Every time he finds her, he leaves her with more questions than answers. “Thought you said you weren’t here to flatter me,” she says pointedly.

“That was no flippant flattery, either, I assure you! You are a very talented thaumaturge, to be sure, but—”   

“Then what do you mean by gifted?”

He falls silent, caught off-guard by the intensity behind her question. He exhales slowly, his lips moving, as if hovering on the verge of an answer. “You have your secrets,” he says, pushing off the balustrade. “Let me have mine. Perhaps I will even tell you it someday. Now, please enjoy your well-earned moment of glory and give dear Lilira my best. After all, it’s her we have to thank, otherwise we may never have met at all.”

With a nonchalant smile, Thancred turns his back on her and retreats across the foyer, circling around the level and out of sight. Aureia watches him go, twisting the ring back and forth on her finger, lost in thought.  

#ffxiv #ffxiv fic #aureia malathar #thancred waters #just some ul'dah stuff #i keep hinting at aur's backstory in these but the truth is it's not very fleshed out #i need more info before she can drop the details #guess she's keeping it a secret from everyone including me 😂 #writing tag

[yletylyf]

Severus/Voldemort or Severus/Tom Riddle rec list

Disclaimer: This list includes a lot of self-recs. Further disclaimers are at the end. It got long, so it’s all below the cut. Fics are sorted by word order (long to short).

The Secret of the Philosopher's Stone by me. 115k, Explicit.

Voldemort gets the Philosopher's Stone, but finds himself trapped at Hogwarts and in need of rescue. Loyal Death Eater Severus Snape is on the job, but even he is not quite prepared for Lord Voldemort to return as Tom Riddle with a patched-up soul and no interest in war.

And as for Tom? Well, it's not so easy to stop being a domestic terrorist.

Self rec: The idea of this long fic was to showcase the ship by sidelining everything else (plottiness, war, other HP characters). Both Severus and Tom are not nice people, and they do some unpleasant things, but they learn to be good to one another as they settle into a Britain that is at peace and stays at peace.

 Two Halves Are Not a Whole by Phantomato. 49k, Explicit.

Tom Riddle and Severus Snape are startlingly similar: half-blood heirs to noble houses, close friends of the Malfoy brothers, academically talented and intelligent, and despite all that, working as shop clerks after Hogwarts. When they keep meeting accidentally, Tom decides to pursue the intriguing man as a curiosity. The decision will force both to confront their difficult pasts and their understanding of friends and family.

My rec: gorgeous characterizations, a deeply satisfying romance, plus really fun development of the Malfoy family and Tom Riddle senior. This ship doesn't often get this treatment - where the author is equally interested in both of the characters in the pairing, and they get to be happy.

 Judas Sextet by Eldritcher. 26k, Explicit.

Severus falls in love with a Dark Lord, who treats him kindly. Decades later, Harry takes a portrait to the town of Mumbles by the sea.

My rec: The relationship between Severus and Voldemort is tragic and doomed, but it's gorgeous and the characterizations are compelling. The main ship is complicated by the fact that Voldemort is still in love with the dead Abraxas Malfoy and the endgame for Severus is Severus/Harry. For that reason, it almost didn’t make this list even though the fic is very beautiful. If you want to avoid both tragedy and snarry, I recommend skipping the last two chapters.

 Padre Island by me. 18k, Mature.

The world believes Severus Snape and Tom Riddle both perished during the Battle of Hogwarts. The world was wrong. Both deaths were faked, and both men subsequently fled Britain, seeking anonymity and a place to rethink life. By fate, or coincidence, they meet halfway across the world, on a beach in Padre Island, Texas.

Self rec: A post-war fic where everything in canon happened except Severus and Voldemort both live. It's a love letter to the ship and the setting.

The Most Unkindest Cut of All by Riddle_Master_101. 10k, Mature.

Severus Snape betrays Voldemort, thus ensuring the Light Side's win. This, then, is what finally breaks the Inner Circle, when nothing else could.

My rec: This is a dark fic. (Most of the fics in this ship - though not this rec list - are dark.) But this one is a surprisingly genuine romance between Severus and Voldemort that leans into their shared love of magic and learning and builds a really compelling tale in relatively few words. The ending wrecked me.

suffer for my sins by inmyownlittlecorner. 9k, Mature.

The year is 1912. Tom Marvolo Riddle is the leader of the Death Eaters, London's most feared street gang. A self-made man, Tom takes what he wants, no matter how many lives he has to destroy to get it.

When Tom's desires demand Severus Snape, his stoic secretary, Tom has no compunctions about getting rid of Snape's irritating bride-to-be. But in bringing Miss Evans to her fate, Tom may topple his own shadowy kingdom in the process.

My rec: A really fun fic set in a non-magical London. Brilliant characterizations of Severus and Tom, and amusing appearances by Lily and James. Not a happy fic for any of the tagged ships, but really on the nose when it comes to capturing what I love about these two.

last year i abstained this year i devour by MxMcLemons. 7k, Mature (bordering on Explicit).

Severus Snape has wars to win and appearances to keep.

-

“You please your lord so, Severus,” Voldemort croons imploringly, “Allow him to please you in turn. It is what you have earned.”

My rec: I was thrilled to find someone writing this ship set during Deathly Hallows. It's tension-filled and dramatic and - well, not all that nice. But it's so delicious. A deep exploration of the psychology of Severus during his year as headmaster, and awkward possibly one-sided but very hot Severus/Voldemort smut.

 The Christmas Misadventures of Lord Voldemort by me. 4k, Explicit.

In which Voldemort is convinced to get drunk, play silly card games with Death Eaters, and face the fact that he is very attracted to one Severus Snape.

Self rec: it's holiday fic with porn. Snape in a santa hat. Bottom Voldemort. What more do you need?

Ad Nihilum by Sushi. 3k, Explicit.

Severus' necessary mission after Lord Voldemort's rebirth forces him to see once again who he really is, and what might have, perhaps even should have, been.

My rec: This fic is a sequel to a very long fic where Hogwarts-era Snape found Tom Riddle's diary and wound up in a relationship with the contemporary Voldemort. It was written before Order of the Phoenix was published, but is canon compliant through Goblet of Fire. This short fic takes place when Voldemort returns in the graveyard in GoF and Snape comes to visit him and reaffirm his love, having already betrayed him. I recommend it because there is something so beautiful about the dramatic tension in the scene where Snape is still in love with this man he has betrayed and will betray again.

Perks of Dating a Dark Lord by memorywolf. 2k, Explicit.

Voldemort fills Severus up before a meeting and watches him squirm through it with great delight.

My rec: it's PWP porn. It's really good PWP porn.

 apparitions of your soul by lunalelle. 2k, Explicit.

Is this all that is left? Is this all there is?

My rec: Another post-canon fic, but not one where they live. It's ambiguous but they appear to be in a sort of purgatory. Not a nice fic. But very well done.

 Something. by DictionaryWrites. 1k, Mature.

It is the Christmas holiday of Severus' seventh year, and he is visiting Malfoy Manor.

My rec: I always like origin stories for Severus becoming a Death Eater. I like them even more, if there is something romantic between Severus and Voldemort. Really, I recommend the entire series this fic is a part of.

Final disclaimers

This list did not include: (1) portraying abuse as romantic or any “forgive your abuser” plots; (2) mpreg; (3) Harry getting as much (or more) screen time as Severus and Tom; (4) unfinished/abandoned WIPs. If you look outside those constraints, there is a lot more fic for you to try!

#severus snape/tom riddle #sniddle #snoldemort #severus snape/voldemort #fic recs #rec lists

[burlveneer-music]

Fire feat. Adrian Sherwood - sextet’s live set from Torino Jazz Festival 2020 with live dubbing/mixing by Sherwood

The Fire crew meets dub legend Adrian Sherwood for a live performance that is finally released on record today. A sonic clash between electronica, jazz and dub whose live mixes and dubs are crafted by British producer Adrian Sherwood. Great interplay between the musicians and the dubmaster. This audio work has accompanied some powerful live cinema visuals dedicated to fire in all eras and civilizations, up to the present day dominated by the uncontrollable effects of technological development on a planetary scale. The album cover, out now in limited edition, features a photograph by artist Antoine Le Grand. Recorded live by Simone Squillario at OFF TOPIC, Torino Jazz Festival, 04 October 2020, Torino, Italy No Overdub Cover photo by: Antoine Le Grand FIRE Crew: Ivan Bert: Concept, Trumpet, Brazilian Nose Whistle, Ucrainian Flute, Direction Marco Benz Gentile: Guitars, Moog, Melodica Filoq: Beats, Synthesizers, Live Electronics Gianni Denitto: Alto Sax, Live Electronics Pasquale Mirra: Midi Marimba, Live Electronics Riccardo Franco Loiri: Live Cinema, Visuals Adrian Sherwood: Live Dubbing, Live Mixing All Tracks Written by FIRE

#fire #adrian sherwood #dub #electronic #jazz #world music #2023 #torino jazz festival

[kutscene-kestin]

Sins, facets, essences, bastions, dragons, gods, and other unrelated things

The streamer I watch noticed that there were avatars of envy and gluttony and commented that he couldn't wait to meet the avatar of lust, so I looked up what the six demonic facets were. Other than either rage or malice potentially being wrath, they don't line up with the deadly sins. A shame, if you're into sexy flesh constructs.

They also don't seem to have any one-to-one matchups with the six emotional essences you collect in the Skywatch meta. Or the bastions. So basically, it's a continuation of the storied Guild Wars 2 tradition of sextets not being related to each other.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #secrets of the obscure #ramblings

[a3day]

Get Ready To Be Wowed by New K-Pop Boy Group XODIAC in Debut Music Video "Throw A Dice"

April 25, 2023 - Hong Kong-based entertainment agency, One Cool Jacso announced nine members from OCJ NEWBIES, their 17 member trainee group, as the new K-pop boy band, XODIAC. Members LEX, HYUNSIK, ZAYYAN, BEOMSOO, WAIN, GYUMIN, SING, DAVIN and LEO stand out in XODIAC’s official debut single “Throw A Dice”, now available on all streaming platforms. The first K-Pop band to land four major magazine shoots including Cosmopolitan, ELLE MEN, Harper’s Bazaar, and Men’s Uno - from Hong Kong - before their official debut and winning at the global Weibo Account Festival held in Japan on December 20 is unprecedented. The group as a collective received an award for “Potential New Boy Group”, and XODIAC leader LEX is one of the first solo pre-debut artists to receive the “Fashion Rookie” award.

“Throw A Dice” is a musical journey from an Ocean's 13 film vibe with high stakes and winner at the end, featuring XODIAC’s gentlemen in sharply dressed visuals. The music is a perfect blend of pop and rap elements that delivers high energy and powerful rhythm to get listeners moving. XODIAC's singing style is a fun and light pop sound, contrasted with a lower and more mature rap beat, adding depth and variation to the song. Each member performs their best moves smoothly and effortlessly, making a strong impression of their highly-skilled choreography. Overall, "Throw A Dice '' music video is a feast for the eyes, and a perfect complement to the catchy and upbeat song. Throw A Dice is a fusion of dance and hip-hop that creates a catchy and electric beat that flows the upbeat tempo perfectly.

The outfits are shown with all members in high-fashion attire such as Louis Vuitton, Gucci and Fendi. Fashion plays a huge role for XODIAC as a group, so it is only fitting for them to have a youthful, modern, yet mature look. Although, now stepping into the K-pop scene, they show a lot of promise with their crisp and precise performance skills. The sextet checks all the boxes in Korean culture with their upbeat and classy sound, precise dancing, fashion sense, and overall visuals.

Dazzled in gold and luxury, XODIAC introduces fans to a world of glitz and glamorous roulette. Opening the video with LEX, who exudes an aura of mystery and allure, he presents himself as the Gamemaster who will lead us through the journey that is beginning to unfold. Adorned in designer suits and slicked back hair, the suave members are preparing to enter a high stakes game that's more than meets the eye. Seemingly meeting for the first time, in an ocean’s 8-esque reveal, the members size up one another as they partake in a match of deception. Though as the video progresses, we witness shots of the members meeting with one another in secret and it makes the audience ask, are they really strangers and who can we trust? Approaching the midpoint of the video, the intentions of the players are slowly revealed and the once elusive end-game is in sight, there can only be one winner in this elite game of cat-and-mouse. Closing out the video with an intense dance break that echoes the climax of the story, the audience is left on the edge of their seats. With each throw of the dice, fans are drawn deeper into the world of XODIAC.

Talent is served in abundance with these boys. Group and dance leader LEX has been learning modern dance since he was a child and has won several national dancing awards in Korea. XODIAC is one of the most highly-anticipated boy groups set to takeover as rookies in 2023 as they prepare to visit fans overseas in Amsterdam and London on 30th May and 1st June respectively.

PRESS PHOTOS (Credit: One Cool Jacso)

--

Connect with XODIAC: Instagram | YouTube | Twitter

For XODIAC U.S. PR Inquiries:

Miller PR

[phone]

[email protected]

#press release #miller pr #xodiac #boy bands #Youtube

[icharchivist]

You know what

Let's rate the first six primals we meet in the MSQ/ the first six raids. The omega sextet

Who do you like best between Tiamat, Colossus, Leviathan, Yggdrasil, Luminiera and Celeste?

omg the besties... the bestest besties....

Tiamat because Tiamat is always a sweetheart and she was our first. which also means we see a lot more of her and i love her for that. Also she's so cute in her holiday lines.

Colossus because his Fate Episode genuinely ruined me. I cried for hours when i read it. He's genuinely so sweet.... And have you seen his uncap art??? literally the most precious.

3. Yggdrasil. The bestie. the sweetie. The angel. Rosetta's bestfriend. Always there when things can go wrong. Love her so much. 4. Luminera. A supporter of the lesbians. I love that everytime we see her it's because she tries to help Vira with her love for Katalina, to try to push her to tell Katalina her feelings and all. The one true ally. 5. Leviathan. He's cute and sweet and always helpful, and the Leviathan's appearance in the Nalhegrande arc (if you know you know) has left me in shambles. 6. Celeste. She doesn't get much focus compared to the rest :( i feel like we barely know her. But she brought Ferry back, and even once the curse holding her there lifted, she still made sure Ferry could keep on living so she could discover new things. We stan Celeste.

(in term of raid mechanisms, Tiamat and Yggdrasill are the only ones who are nice. Celeste used to make me suffer when i was baby, Leviathan has an annoying shield, but not as annoying as whatever the fuck is going on with Luminera. And Colossus' Infernal Blade made me cries tears of blood until Vane got his 5* and managed to tank it as a result. Not that it really matters anymore since i don't touch those raids anymore, with pro skip and all, but i still remember...)

SO YEAH. that's my top your honor.

#ichareply #anonymous #ichafantalks gbf

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

Acclaimed Paris-based electro pop sextet and JOVM mainstays L’Impératice  will be releasing their highly-anticipated, self-produced third full-length album Pulsar through microqlima records on June 7, 2024. Pulsar is an album, where the band — founder Charles de Boisseguin (keys), Hagni Gown (keys), David Gaugué (bass), Achille Trocellier (guitar), Tom Daveau (drums) and Flore Benguigui (vocals) — made every decision while capturing the band’s spirit both onstage and off. Fittingly, the album reportedly radiates with the energy and wisdom of an outfit that has helmed countless dance parties around the world on the way to find itself and its sound. Throughout the album’s material, the Parisian JOVM mainstays move freely and authoritatively among the sounds they love, bridging hip-hop, kosmiche and modern pop with their most unabashed embraces of French Touch and international house of their growing catalog. Pulsar is also the first album of their catalog to feature guest vocalists, including acclaimed folk/pop artist Maggie Rogers and rapper/producer Erick the Architect among a list of others. The album sees the acclaimed pop outfit trying a new creative approach: They split into two teams of ever-interchanging members to explore new ideas, led by the band’s founder Charles de Boisseguin. It was a way of incorporating every voice into the songwriting process like never before, pulling from idiosyncratic upbringings and enthusiasm. They then passed tracks to lead vocalist Flore Benguigui, a longtime jazz singer, who would sometimes write two-dozen vocal melodies for a song, just to see which one fit best. It was an arduous and exciting process that saw the band go from writing through recording in about nine months. For L’Imperatice, this was the sort of self-determination they’d longed for and now found. Throughout the album’s material, the band’s Benguigui boldly sings of self-empowerment, shirking beauty standards, ageism and drag normalcy throughout the album’s material. These are apt messages for incandescent anthems of experience, of fully being yourself, instead of anyone else’s version of it. The album will feature, “Me Da Igual,” a sleek and elegant, hook-driven Giorgio Moroder-era-disco-meets-French touch tune anchored by a strutting bass line, a squiggling Nile Rodgers-like funk guitar line and glistening synths serving as a sinewy and silky bed for Flore Benguigui’s sultry and ethereal delivery. Further cementing the French outfit’s reputation for crafting infectious, sensual, dance floor friendly bops, “Me Da Igual” features lyrics sung in Spanish and French while being a call to free ourselves from the injunctions to please at all costs, to reclaim your body by abandoning yourself to the euphoria of strobe lights and the dance floor — and listening to the sensations that movement and sound provides you.  The album’s second and latest single “Danza Marilú” features Italian vocalist Fabiana Martone. Continuing a bit where its immediate predecessor left off, “Danza Marilú” is a sleek, hook-driven, Giorgio Moroder-era-Italo-disco-meets-French touch bop anchored around glistening synth arpeggios, squiggling funk guitar, a supple and sinuous bass line and thumping beats. Inspired by and written as a rebuttal to Serge Gainsbourg‘s “L’Homme á tête de chou,” Pulsar‘s latest single is a defiantly feminist anthem for women of all ages, encouraging them to get on that dance floor and to be freely themselves — in spite of the looks that may ensue by insecure haters of all stripes. The acclaimed French outfit are in the middle of a lengthy international tour that will see the sextet playing four shows in NYC: April 9, 2024 at  Racket NYC; April 10, 2024 at Music Hall of WIlliamsburg; and September 7, 2024 and September 8, 2024 at Terminal 5. The September 8, 2024 show was added due to demand. And that isn’t surprising to me: I’ve caught them once, and they’re a must-see act that will have the entire room dancing the night away. Alon...

View On WordPress

#Austin City Limits #Coachella #dance pop #electro pop #Erick the Architect #Fabiana Martone #indie electro pop #L&039;Impératice #L&039;Impératice Me Da Igual #L&039;Imperatice Pulsar #Maggie Rogers #Music Hall of Williamsburg #New Audio #New Single #Outside Lands Festival #Paris France #Racket NYC #Single Review #Single Review: Danza Mariliú feat. Fabiana Martone #Single Review: L&039;Imperatice Danza Marilú feat. Fabiana Martone #women who kick ass #world music

[nonesuchrecords]

It was 30 years ago today: Bill Frisell's This Land was released on Nonesuch. The guitarist/composer works with a sextet, including clarinetist Don Byron, on these 14 original tunes. You can hear it here.

Rolling Stone says: "Strange meetings of the mysterious and the earthy, the melancholy and the giddy, make perfect sense by Frisell's deliciously warped way of thinking.”

Design by John Heiden. Cover Photo by Walker Evans, Library of Congress.

#bill frisell #this land #jazz #guitar #don byron #walker evans #nonesuch #nonesuch records

[bamboomusiclist]

1/5 おはようございます。 Charlie Parker / Fiesta mgv80081/5  等更新完了しました。

Josephine Baker / Songs Old And New 33CS2Gerry Mulligan Johnny Hodges / Gerry Mulligan Meets Johnny Hodges Clp1465/Mgv8367Warne Marsh / Warne Marsh 1291Charlie Parker / Fiesta mgv8008Cal Tjader Stan Getz / Cal Tjader Stan Getz Sextet 3266Dorothy Ashby / Soft Winds jlp61Claude Williamson / Keys West t6511Elmo Hope / Last Sessions IC1018Monty Alexander / So What 33148Thelonious Monk / The Man I…

View On WordPress

[krispyweiss]

Béla Fleck’s My Bluegrass Heart at Midland Theatre, March 30, 2023

With mic’ing issues resolved, Béla Fleck’s My Bluegrass Heart reached its blood-pumping potential during set No. 2 of its first show of 2023.

“You’re all still here? So we should play different songs?,” Fleck deadpanned after returning to the stage.

With that, the banjoist and mandolinist Sierra Hull eased the half-full Midland Theatre into “Psalm 136,” which Fleck described as a Ugandan-Jewish number and whose origins could be heard in the musicians’ twin playing - an exquisite display of harmony and communication without language.

Before long, the rest of the sextet - fiddler Michael Cleveland, guitarist Bryan Sutton, bassist Mark Schatz and Justin Moses on Dobro, fiddle and banjo - had reassembled to continue the mostly instrumental voyage across an ocean of songs from My Bluegrass Heart, the Bluegrass Sessions, plus a couple of choice covers.

Hull singing Bill Monroe’s “Dark as the Night,” set to a bluesy arrangement strutting alongside Schatz’s walking bassline, was a highlight, eliciting one of many spontaneous outbursts from the fans inside the Newark, Ohio, venue on the penultimate day of March.

This was music of flat picking, clipped chords, bowed bass and blazing solos. Everyone was in top form, though Cleveland - who is blind and whom Sutton guided on and off stage - seemed to be trying to start a fire with his bow. He consistently coaxed raucous cheers, as did Hull and the rest of the band.

The musicianship was serious. But there was time for fun as Schatz did some tap dancing and beat boxing in “Hunky Dory,” which featured a short, in-song skit based around Sutton missing rehearsal the day the band learned the song. Then there are titles such as “Tentacle Dragon (Revenge of The)” and “Baptist Pumpkin Farm.”

“Thank you for the great energy,” Fleck said when the two-and-a-quarter-hour exhibition ended with an exhilarating take of the Flecktones’ “Stomping Grounds.” This, as Fleck put it at one point, was where “the ’teric meets the esoteric,” as the group transformed one of their leader’s more out-there compositions into a tight ring, where solos lasted only a couple of bars in a flurry of notes passed smoothly from player to player.

Playing through microphones and without amps or monitors, My Bluegrass Heart was hampered in the first half with Hull and Moses too low in the mix. It wasn’t a fatal condition, but it was noticeable as their solos fought to be audible. What the audience missed was even more evident after everything was all fixed up for the second half.

This hiccup notwithstanding, Fleck’s Bluegrass Heart seems the tone painting of good health.

Grade card: Béla Fleck’s My Bluegrass Heart at Midland Theatre - 3/30/23 - A-

See more photos on Sound Bites’ Facebook page.

3/31/23

#béla fleck #béla fleck and the flecktones #my bluegrass heart #2023 concerts #justin moses #sierra hull #mark schatz #bryan sutton #michael cleveland #bill monroe