#anyway shut up jazzy just look at san

[woosansang]

oh my god they're so BIG on the tv 👀 wtf how did anyone survive seeing them irl if seeing them just larger than laptop size is sending me 👀

#jazzy talks #dont rb #im not sure why i need to say that on every ramble post i make but like. dont rb them lol theyre my thoughts #except mutuals ofc u guys can do whatever u like <3 #unless theres pics of my house in them lol like this one #anyway shut up jazzy just look at san

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - Taking the Cake (Rated G)

Summary: When Aziraphale decides to host Warlock and Adam's 12th birthday down at his shop, he tells Crowley they'll be doing it without magic. That's all well and good until Crowley is called upon to finish decorating the cake... (1551 words)

Read on AO3.

“Ho there! Mmph... angel? Ngk... ” Crowley grunts, stuffing himself through one door of Aziraphale’s bookshop, the other holding stubbornly to its frame. He barely makes it through, lugging copious bags bulging with party gear, his long fingers curled around handles strained thin by the weight.

"In here, dear," Aziraphale replies, giving no indication that he's coming to help. Crowley picks an aisle and starts walking, navigating the narrow expanse between late 18th century classics and Roman philosophy. 

“I got everything on your list," Crowley says when he spots his husband. "Goodie bags, balloons, streamers, poppers… “ He pauses inventorying when he comes up behind Aziraphale, deeply engaged in the creation of a buttercream rosette.

By hand, no less. 

Aziraphale insisted they throw together this entire party like natives, and that meant no magic whatsoever. Crowley couldn’t understand why. Miracling together a party is literally a snap. They'd done it hundreds of times over the years. It's how they hosted their wedding. 

With a snap.

That did, however, create a mountain of paperwork, which led to Gabriel and his henchmen finding out about their shindig and showing up uninvited. Surprisingly, they didn't cause much in the way of trouble. They snickered a little, made a few snide remarks, but they mostly spent their time "observing" from a table in a far corner, mingling with no one as if above it all. 

Crowley tensed when they arrived, but having a few party crashers didn't go too badly... until the karaoke began. 

“Is that the cake then?”

“Yes. I’m almost done.“ Aziraphale pinches his tongue between his teeth, steadying his hand as he adds a peony this time.

"It's gorgeous," Crowley says in awe. "Truly stunning."

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale says, glowing from his husband's praise.

"But... " 

Aziraphale's shoulders instantly go rigid. 

Crowley hates to do this to him. The cake really is a masterpiece of confectionary construction. But it needs to be said. "Warlock and Adam are turning twelve."

"And... ?" 

"Don't you think they might appreciate something a bit more... I don't know.... befitting of a pair of former antichrists? Like a zombie with bleeding eyes? Or a raven with sharp, pointy teeth?"

Aziraphale glares over his shoulder at Crowley as if insanity has finally set in. "Ravens don't have teeth!"

"I know! That's why it would be terrifying! Right up their alleys!"

Aziraphale shakes his head, going back to his peonies. "This is a birthday cake! Not a Halloween cake! Besides, I only know how to make flowers. Anything else would require magic, and you know how I feel about that. Besides, I'm certain they only care about the insides anyway, and it's crammed full of chocolate. I don't think they'll mind a crocus or two."

"Fair enough," Crowley concedes.

The clock in the corner chimes, and Aziraphale sighs. He looks over at it, then double-checks the time on his pocket watch. Crowley checks the time on his watch, too, although he doesn't know what for.

"Three o'clock," Aziraphale observes. "Damn."

"Wot's wrong?"

"I’m afraid I’m running a bit behind.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Crowley asks, piling his sacks on a nearby chair.

“As a matter of fact, I have to pop out for a few," Aziraphale says, handing Crowley the piping bag, "but this cake needs one final touch.”

“And that is?” Crowley holds the bag between his fingers the way he would a dead rat, wary that he might be called upon to construct the same delicate flowers Aziraphale has. Without his magic, Crowley doesn't have anything near Aziraphale's talent with icing. 

Warlock and Adam may just get a gruesome cake after all.  

“I just need it to say 'Happy Birthday Warlock and Adam'.” Aziraphale bustles about, grabbing his coat off the tree and throwing it on. “The handwriting doesn't need to be immaculate, just legible. Could you do that for me?”

“Pfft. No problem," Crowley says, secretly perceiving a problem. "Piece of… “ 

Aziraphale stops on his way out the door to give his husband an exasperated look. Crowley snickers. 

“Well, you know,” Crowley finishes, shooing Aziraphale out the door. "Ta-ta now. Mind how you go."

***

"Damned antique dealers and their damned negotiations! Ignorant bast---" Aziraphale stops short of cursing. It doesn't matter what happened, which was extremely upsetting. There is no need for bad language. He hurries down the crowded sidewalk, going over the details of the past hour-and-thirty in his head. "I was doing them a favor, and look how I'm repaid! I'm late to the party I'm hosting! There's a fine how-do-you-do! Ungrateful humans! See if I stop another Apocalypse for you, in your tacky grey suits and your cheap pointy shoes... "

Aziraphale stomps up to his door, keys in hand, but stops outside when he hears laughter on the other side. He peeks through the dusty glass, and his shoulders sag. 

The party is for the kids. He knows. But he was so looking forward to celebrating with everyone from start to finish. That and he didn't think he'd take this long, so he neglected to relocate his first editions somewhere secure. 

He fears for their safety.

Icing is notoriously difficult to get out of parchment and ligament, even through the use of miracles.

He should have never taken that stupid meeting to begin with. He had a feeling it wouldn't pan out.

Oh well. 

No need wasting any more time on that than already has, he thinks, bucking up and unlocking the door. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and start celebrating while I still have the chance...

Aziraphale takes a step in, ready to announce his arrival, but stops dead when he hears jazzy scatting in a sonorous voice. 

A voice that doesn’t belong to anyone he knows.

Aziraphale walks in further, scanning those gathered, and makes a minor correction to his original assessment - doesn’t belong to any human that he knows. His eyes blow wide, his cheeks burn red, and his husband's name explodes off his tongue before he even opens his mouth.

"Anthony J. Crowley-Fell!"

Aziraphale doesn't say anything other than his name and Crowley starts apologizing. "I'm sorry, angel!" he says, running across the shop to greet him, but not looking the least bit sorry. 

"I gave you one task!" Aziraphale bellows, snapping his fingers and slamming the door shut, his no-magic edict flying out the window. "Just one little thing! And you couldn't do it!"

"I'm no good at writing!" Crowley defends with the shadows of an infuriating grin on his face. "My hand gets all wobbly! I didn't want to risk ruining any of your lovely flowers!"

Aziraphale, splotchy-faced and buggy-eyed, glowers. "You couldn't write a simple Happy Birthday, so you enchanted the entire cake!? That was your brilliant plan!?"

"I'm a demon! Of course, that was my plan!"

"Crowley!"

"They showed up right after you left! I had no time! I panicked!"

Aziraphale drops his head into his hands, shaking it slowly back and forth. Crowley reaches out to put a comforting hand on his husband's shoulder until he hears him counting backward from one hundred... in Akkadian. Then he creeps his hand to his side and quietly steps off. 

Aziraphale breathes in deep through his nose and out through his mouth, struggling to ground himself. He has no one to blame but himself. That's the painful part. In the back of his mind, he knew something like this might happen. 

He's impressed it isn't worse. 

He should have never left his husband alone.

Next time, he'll hire a sitter.

Aziraphale continues counting, continues breathing, and as he does, he pays more attention to the goings-on around him.

The cake singing is quite unsettling, but the children are gleeful, the adults joyful. Joking, teasing, and enthusiastic conversation fill the spaces in between. 

Much like their wedding reception, except there isn't an archangel in sight. 

And Crowley's magic was instrumental in making that day memorable.

Maybe Aziraphale overreacted with that 'no magic' rule. Crowley's face fell when Aziraphale told him they'd be hosting the boys' birthday at his bookshop sans magic, but he'd recovered quickly. The streamers and balloons Crowley managed to toss on the walls look plenty festive, but they don't compare to what could have been had Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tap into his imagination.

Their guests are having a grand time despite the modest decor, but it could have been so much more. They are an angel and a demon! Between the pair of them, they could have whipped up a true spectacle, if for no other reason than they still owe poor Warlock after last year's fiasco. 

What would have been the harm of calling upon a little divine intervention? 

An alarming thought pops into Aziraphale's brain, and his head snaps up. “They’re going to cut into that, you know. Is that when the enchantment ends?”

“Nope.” Crowley rubs his palms together. “That’s when the fun begins.”

"Uh... "Aziraphale's jaw drops. "Good Lord," he moans, Crowley cackling when Adam runs to fetch the cake cutter. Aziraphale's mind whirls with thoughts of what fun could imply, but there's no time to ask. While Crowley starts laying a drop cloth, Aziraphale puts his coat away and relocates his favorite books into his back room for safekeeping.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

[chalabrun]

between the dirt & desperation, ch. 1

Word count: 3,753 Pairings: Symbrock Rating: T Warnings: None Summary:  Sequel to “Angry & Half in Love with You”, it’s been well over a month since Eddie moved away from San Francisco to start over in his hometown of Manhattan. Yet, it’s difficult to return to a normal life when what you were once addicted to becomes addicted to you.  A/N: This is a crossover between Venom (2018) and Sam Raimi’s Spiderman trilogy (2002-07)

( READ ON AO3 )

Cities had moods. They had character, and personalities. It was hard explaining to someone from the suburbs or a small town of 5,000 where everyone knew each other. Eddie had been born in the city of cities, the one that everyone from Helsinki to Beijing and everywhere in between thought of when asked to imagine America, even for the tiniest of moments. Even Americans themselves. Manhattan had a personality so large and old that the entire East Coast looked like it. Like the Big Apple could be any city from Maine to just a stone’s throw above the Bible belt and they wouldn’t be wrong. Not entirely.

New York was steel and teeth. It was craggy concrete that bubbled like rivers of dried and cracked lava through the streets. A raw, industrial creation. When Christ told his disciples to be fishers of men, he wondered if they’d anticipated it’d look anything like this, that the net they threw would bring people together in a new Noah’s ark. Expansive, secretive, old, haggard, but also alive. Old and new. Fast-paced and robust and industrial. It claimed chilly winter nights and congested traffic as its temple, old jazzy film noir and sleepless, caffeinated nights as its sacrifice.

San Francisco had always been different. A bright tendril of Los Angeles, soaked in sun. If the sun made its harbor in Hollywood, then San Francisco was where its rays touched first, but also where its shadows were longest. It didn’t have the steel and shadiness New York did. Or ever would. It felt like your favorite relative you saw on the holidays, of palm fronds and brisk walks on a beach crested by an ocean so brilliant it was bluer than the sky it was supposed to get its color from. Peeled away and without secrets.

Maybe that’s why he never really felt like he’d belonged. Why he finally up and left after the whole Life Foundation incident. And after divorcing himself from the Other, when it finally became apparent how utterly at the mercy he was at the symbiote, they had to part ways. Lest he lose himself on top of all sense of normalcy. Of Anne and Dan and how utterly suited and picture-perfect they were for San Francisco.

It’s why New York’s rough and tumble called him back like a siren, and he just couldn’t refuse.

“Hey, I think ya dropped these.”

The subway emerged from a long and ghastly dark tunnel that made your reflection too easy to see. The back car for the early morning train from Brooklyn was mercifully sparse, all things considering. The man in question had dropped a sheaf of photos the lights blocked its glossy contents of, until it became apparent as to what it was.

Opaque, wide eyes set in a mask made of webbing. Red like blood, like slaughter. Interrupted by a Pacific blue on the chest, crawling up the side of a skyscraper in stunning detail. Eddie became shell-shocked at the sight of it, mind phasing to a rapid negative of the photos. Blinking, it went away.

“Oh, sorry about that. Guess I’m still kind of clumsy in the morning.” The brunet who speaks with wide blue eyes and earnest, smiling thin lips is the picture of someone untouched, but not innocent.

Eddie remembered himself and smiled back. “Yeah, no, no. These are some killer shots, though. You the guy who’s been getting Spidey’s mug in the papers? Man, even I gotta envy that kinda skill.”

The other man chuckled modestly. “My boss tends to differ on that front. He thinks all my stuff is pretty mediocre.”

Eddie’s brows bounced in disbelief, sputtering, “You serious? This shit looks like you got Spidey to pose for you in a SoHo photo studio. And he thinks this is subpar? Man, I wouldn’t wanna be workin’ for him.” Handing the photographer’s material back to him, he added, “Y’know, I do investigative journalin’ myself. Hell, I just got hired on to the Daily Bugle just the other day. We might actually see each other around.”

A boyish and incredulous look crossed the brunet’s face almost shyly. “Wait, seriously? What are the chances of that? —Oh, I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker.” He offered his hand to shake. “I’m more freelance, but I guess this makes us coworkers, huh?”

“No kidding. Can’t say I’m adverse to the idea. You photographers are like the muses of us journalists. At least, I think I got that off’a fortune cookie somewhere. You headed to HQ or somethin’?” Smiling crookedly, he shook Peter’s hand a little too enthusiastically. Blame finally getting something resembling a friend on that. “Oh, uh—yeah, Peter. I’m Eddie. Eddie Brock. Real name’s a bit longer, but kinda pointless, y’know?”

Their hands finally released, Eddie backtracking to whether or not he’d shaken it for too long. Clearing his throat, visibly fidgeting, he awkwardly ushered Peter through when they’d finally made it to a mutually apparent destination. “Hey, uh—after you, Pete.”

Peter smiled thinly at that. “Bugle’s this way. It’s not all that hard to miss.” Completely oblivious as to the sudden change in demeanor, Eddie shrugged and alighted on the platform with the other. At least he wasn’t going it alone this time around.

“Will you shut that thing off! If I have to hear one more goddamn word out of that smug Daily Planet’s reporter’s mouth, someone’s going to get fired!”

John Jonah Jameson leaned back in his rickety reclining chair, proudly smoking a thick cigar, a smug and politically incorrect aura bleeding from it. Thick brows raised dubiously as he went through Peter’s crop of photos like an inspector of choice swine at the country market, sticking a knife in the fat to gauge its leanness of the meat. And by the way his cigar hung from his teeth, he didn’t look too impressed.

“This the best you’ve got, Parker? I’ve seen brats on Instagram take better selfies at 3 AM after getting the damn munchies.” Peter himself looked tense, jaw gritting but too subtle to be noticeable or angry. Even Eddie found himself morbidly fascinated by the exchange and feeling vaguely bad for Peter himself.

“It’s the best I’ve got, Mr. Jameson. I got better lighting, and everything,” Peter reasoned, bordering on protesting, splaying his inventory out more. “Like for that one scoop you were talking about. I got this,” he pointed to a photo of the Friendly Neighborhood Spider accelerating up a wall in the wake of a crime scene, “in exactly the kind of context you were looking for and everything.” Incriminating, but falsely planted. Just what sort of deal had they made, anyways?

“It’s crap,” Jameson rebutted bluntly. “You think stories are made from HD screenshots? Nah, I want in-action pictures, Parker. Hell, I think it’s why teaming you up with Brock here will do you some good. You’ve got promise, but I just don’t see it—”

“Sir, your wife she’s—”

“Tell her I’ll call her back! Can’t you see I’m busy?” Jameson barked to his secretary who shrunk back, gazing sidelong as though the employees at desks behind her back were a captive audience. Jerking his head towards Eddie, he quipped gregariously, “What do you say, Brock? You up to heading to Oscorp to interview Doctor Octavius?”

Eddie needed a moment to mull over the name, feeling a pit open in his stomach at the realization. Oh God. Oh no—this was turning into San Fran all over again. Exactly what he’d been trying to escape. Except—Eddie calmed his breathing. It didn’t have to be a repeat. He’d get the interview, get in, get out, and not stick his neck where it didn’t belong like last time. Easy.

“You can count on me, Mr. J. I’ll keep Petey here from takin’ photos that look too good, eh?” As if to prove a point, Eddie circled an arm around Peter’s shoulder and shook it for emphasis, Parker glancing at him in bemusement, brows furrowed.

“Yeah…what he said, Mr. Jameson,” Peter replied stiffly, shrugging Eddie’s arm off and offering him a distantly apologetic look.

Alright, that was something. Only one more head-ducking event to go, and he’d be in the clear!

Several days later of navigating his way through an apartment at various stages of unpacking, and Eddie cobbled together an outfit that seemed decent enough: a button-down dress shirt, crisp black slacks, penny loafers, a dark jacket, and tie. Dressy, but still informed the world that he wasn’t some Washington Post shill. Remembering his past mistake with Carlton Drake seared the reminder not to get involved, not to fuck this up. He did enough time with what happened and paid dearly for it.

Even if he’d turned a new leaf, that didn’t mean he didn’t lie awake thinking about the symbiote. He did. God, he did. It was just the little things, mainly. Buying chocolate and tater tots and wondering why the hell he had. Thinking something and pausing, waiting for a response. It was messing with him, but he had to move on. If Venom was really that hellbent on keeping him, it would’ve. But, it didn’t. He had to remember that and move on. All graceful, and shit.

That didn’t make the memory of their parting any easier. Why did it still come back and bite him in the ass? It had been a month, maybe more. Why did his heart still ache like there was an emptiness to fill?

“C’mon Eddie, get your shit together,” he muttered to himself after stepping off the platform in Midtown Manhattan where the Oscorp tower rose in rivalry to that of Stark Industries’. It was an enviable life, being able to live so richly and without much complication, building an empire off the wit, grit, and ambition that made the American Dream. …Eddie mentally jotted that down. That could make for a good opener in his article.

“There you are. Right where I left you.” Eddie smiled at the sound of Peter’s voice. Sweater vest over some dress shirt and crisp trousers; the glasses made Parker look like a classic point Dexter. Guess that made Eddie the classic rebel to match.

“Yeah, yeah. Least Aunt May spiffed you up pretty good, eh? We ought’a start going; looks like it might start soon, an’ all.”

After their first meeting, they’d met a few times at a bar. First, it was logistics. The sense and sensibility that came with networking that any New Yorker in any industry worth his salt knew how to do. Brock wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far otherwise. Then, it was real friendly talk. Bonding over being born and bred city slickers felt like a homecoming he didn’t ask for, but sorely appreciated. It was nice having friends that didn’t quite stick as much in San Francisco.

“You ready to head on up, or does your hair need more greasing?” Peter teased as they crossed the street in unison. “Could stop at McDonald’s, too.” God, the shit-eating grin. Parker had a real mouth on him when he wanted to. A real potshot when it came to sarcasm and its humor.

“Can it, wise guy. Let me look a little bit smart ‘ere.”

Little more words were exchanged when a familiar professionalism beholden to men in journalism overcame them both almost in tandem, greeted by a front desk secretary who gave them both guest passes specific to the press conference Doctor Octavius was holding in one of Oscorp’s more “public-friendly” labs. Fair enough, even though the investigator in him wanted nothing less than to pass through all restrictions and really see the seedy underbelly. No corporation made it this big without a few body bags along the way.

At the demonstration proper, an enormous curtain separated the small gathering of reporters and journalists like them from the class act behind it. Eddie folded his arms and Peter appeared equally pensive, but a lot less out of place amid shined shoes and news anchor smiles.

“So, this guy, this Otto Octavius—any idea what he’s got cookin’, or we just gonna be surprised?” Eddie turned to Peter to ask who was like a kid in a candy store. He was still in is later college years, far as he knew. Practically a friggin’ baby, which explained a lot. That put a couple years between them. “’Cuz I ain’t really the surprises type.”

“Well, yeah. That’s kinda the whole point, right? Besides, it looks like it’ll start soon.” Peter’s eyes were wide as saucers and totally affixed to the front row. “Let’s get up front. I want a good view of what we might see.”

A flutter of anticipation and nervousness flowered in Eddie’s breast, practically feeling preemptive adrenaline pump through his veins. “…If ya say so, Petey. Guess it can’t hurt.” Why did it feel as though a sense of foreboding hung over them like a cloud? Along with something damnably familiar? Eddie swallowed down a clout of nerves he hadn’t felt before, following it tow as Peter dragged him to the front where no one seemed to mind. The lab’s ampitheater slanted downwards, anyway, so it’s not like they were blocking anything.

Clutching his camera in hand, Peter looked as though he might unleash a barrage of snapshots in his excitement. Which suited him just fine. Not that the camera shutters weren’t going off already like Peter was trying to commit to memory via his camera. Eddie, meanwhile, ticked on the portable recorder he kept on his person at almost all times, checking the small mic clipped on his jacket’s lapel.

And just in the nick of time, too. The lights dimmed substantially from their florescent blaze. Across the stage did a middle-aged and stocky man come unto the podium, smiling in a way that did little to offset the brooding intensity beneath heavy, thick eyebrows. The face of a scientist who grimly saw the failing condition of the world and had many a sleepless night trying to contrive of ways to offset the inevitable flatline. Cartlon Drake had that look, he remembered. This man wore it more intensely, and that much was exceedingly obvious.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we stand upon the brink. We live in a world where we’ve yet to explore the unknown while what we do is on the verge of collapse. And in response to it, it is the burden of those gifted with an aptitude of their calling to answer that call and play their part in saving this planet. The only one of its kind that we know of.”

With all the aegis of someone of his stature, of his eminence as a scientist, it still made Eddie feel wary of him. Even before the crawling sense of déjà vu, it clung to his tongue like gum and stuck there. What he wanted to speak out against before he even knew what it was. Clapping once, the maroon curtain rose and slowly did that sensation return stronger than it had ever before.

He should’ve known something out there was conspiring against him. Before him, in a cylindrical tube, was the symbiote. He could feel a low pulse that hummed softly, knowing exactly what it was doing: subduing the Other. Slowly did Eddie’s arms unfold, completely transfixed, and he had to resist every urge in his body to leap on stage and bash the glass in.

It was in pain.

Dr. Octavius gestured at the tank with a sweeping gesture, a dark humor in his smile. “I present to you the symbiote. Roughly a month ago as I’m sure you are all aware, the Life Foundation discovered these beings on an unsanctioned space flight. In San Francisco, innocent human lives were subjected under the machinations of Carlton Drake to try and bond it and others like it. Inhumane, and completely reprehensible.”

Venom stirred in the tank, almost in a stupor before rousing to life. Familiar, achingly agonized eyes widened in recognition of Eddie and the symbiote began writhing madly in the tank, inky tendrils crawling up its curve in futility, as if trying to escape to get back to him. His heart caught in his throat that throbbed sympathetically, every protective instinct in his body revving to high gear that wanted to spirit it away. As if knowing his thoughts, Venom thrashed in desperation and he swore he could hear it whimper and whine as though it were next to him, panicking once it knew he was here.

“It’s alive. Instead of subjecting this creature to the harms of bonding to a human host, we mean to study it, to replicate its properties without bringing harm to humans. Through this being, this symbiote, we intend upon harnessing its potential as both armor and protection and regeneration to benefit mankind. Think of it: a suit that could heal the infirm and disabled, helping them walk again. Or, sending people armed in this suit to hazardous places to save endangered lives in the wake of disaster. Even going beyond that, at no cost of life.”

While Octavius continued orating, Eddie tried to maintain his composure, but it was difficult with every passing second. His field of vision completely whited out save for his view of the symbiote, how it was practically ready to capsize the container in its desperation with Eddie so near. He hardly heard a word spoken until Octavius mentioned him by name, Peter’s perplexed look matching that dozen who stared at him in unison.

“Mr. Brock, is it? I’ll admit, I was surprised to find you among the list of those who were in attendance, but pleasantly surprised. Please, why don’t you come up here? Maybe you can hold their attention better than I can.” There was a murmur of polite laughter, though there was nothing humorous in the scientist’s eyes. If anything, it looked more like he was sharpening a knife and Eddie was the whetstone.

“Oh—right, yeah, sure thing, Doctor Octavius,” Eddie responded automatically, smile tense as he vaulted on the stage instead of taking the short set of stairs nearby. No one seemed to really mind, despite the formalness of the event. Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, it was a struggle not to keep his eyes wholly trained on the symbiote that loosed a long-pitched whine at their close proximity.

“Now, as many of you may be aware, Mr. Brock was one of two known successful hosts that bonded with one of the symbiotes, notably this one. I’ll admit, I’m quite curious: what was it like, being at the mercy of this fascinating creature?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, Peter’s blue eyes intense upon him that he only surreptitiously met. With every moment under the limelight, he felt his self-control crumbling and a white-hot rush of adrenaline take its place. He was sick. He was so fucking sick and he hadn’t even touched the Other in over a month, their time together having been brief enough as it was. “See, that’s the thing. It’s not really a ‘creature,’ y’know what I’m sayin’? It’s alive. Maybe not our definition of alive, but it thinks, it feels—it knows what it is. Who it is.”

Disguising his adrenalized state as thoughtful pacing, he rounded away from Octavius who watched him hawkishly, conspiratorial murmurs ringing the crowd like mist, like gathering storm clouds. And he could hear it in waves. “Humanity often thinks we’re the only ones out there capable of thinkin’ about our place in the universe, of makin’ bonds so profound that even the sun feels cold to us.” A flash of red along the wall: a fire extinguisher. It looked heavy. Heavy enough.

In the calm before the storm, he placed his hand on the glass, barely aware of the flashing bulbs of the cameras. Venom reacted intensely, that familiar, savage purr as it pressed itself yearningly to the glass, a passion so heavy it weighed like blood. “’s alright. I’m here now, baby. I’ll get ya outta there.” If it could devour the oils from his fingers, the milky clear prints left behind, the lingering heat—it would. Starved, so starved, not even meat could sate that hunger.

“What was it like being its host, Mr. Brock?” one of the reporters prompted, a stern blonde with flinty-ash eyes. “Were there any detriments to your health? You look fine, by looks alone.”

Eddie cleared his throat, coughing into his hand. Octavius’ gaze was like irons on his, having seen it from the sidelong view he had of the tank. Eddie’s own faltered as he pretended to focus exclusively on the crowd, Peter’s enthusiasm faltering. Like he knew about the chaos to unleash.

Posturing to look as though he were preparing to answer the question, he instead bolted for the fire extinguisher and paid no attention to the sudden shock upon the crowd while Octavius’ smug darkness shifted to a frenzied possession. Lunging for the tank, Eddie manfully smashed the glass, taking several tries before there was a fissure enough for Venom to seep through and spring into Eddie’s arms. Despite the whizzing of bullets from the security guards stationed nearby, Venom craned up to lick Eddie’s lips in a semblance of a kiss, wanting to sink into it. To be enveloped and taken by that tar pit he’d feared.

“Eddiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee,” Venom crooned adoringly, wrapping around the blond with aplomb and all the anxiousness of before melting away. A massive black tarp of its nebulous miasma unfurled like crow’s wings around them, the bullets repelled uselessly. It nuzzled into his neck, content to stay there forever.

“Hey, Ven, we gotta get outta here. Y’think you can help me out here?”

A toothsome, wolfish smile of all fangs spanned its black lips, eyes narrowing in a feral cheer. “We’ll protect Eddie. We’ll keep him safe,” came its savage purr, all before the proximity between them closed with a harsh entanglement of mouth and tongue, Eddie forgetting to breathe and almost glad not to. Gradually, the eddies of his vision clouded away to a soothing blackness, one he never thought would’ve been.

And I’ll keep you safe, too—promise.

All he could remember last was rocketing into the very sky, smashing through skylights that rained down like shards of ice and incited a panic, Octavius enraged while the rest scattered. It was to be a state of emergency, sure, but little else mattered now.

All faded to black.

#eddie brock #peter parker #venom #spiderman #symbrock #j jonah jameson #otto octavius #crossover #my writing #i didn't think i'd be writing a multi fic for them in less than a day but here i am lel--

[jezfletcher]

1000 Albums, 2020: Top Tracks #50-26

Hey folks! After the fun and excitement of counting down my top albums of 2020, I'm launching straight into my top tracks. Today, we're counting down numbers 50-26, which will leave the Top 25 as a Christmas present from me to you tomorrow. I don't know exactly how many tracks I've listened to this year, but I conservatively estimate more than 12,000, which puts these tracks in the top 0.4% of all the music I've heard this year. YouTube versions of the songs are included where possible. I belatedly discovered that I can also embed Bandcamp links as well, which is probably a better option, from a "supporting artists" perspective. If you stumble upon something you like, go buy it on Bandcamp. Apologies if the video clips for any of these are wildly offensive—I have not at all vetted them before embedding them. Enjoy!

50. L.E.J. - Pas Peur (French chamber folk)

I’m starting off this write-up with this excellent bit of folk—a sultry chanson, backed with low strings that develop into a full little chamber ensemble. I’m perhaps demoting this down to a fairly low position because I heard this track as a single, and was thrilling in excitement for the release of their album, which consisted of this song, and a whole bunch of songs that sounded nothing like this song. So it’s a standout, but it’s not necessarily a sign that L.E.J. is an artist I want to follow in general.

49. Avec Sans - Altitude (vapor pop)

When I first heard this track, I loved it a lot, especially the contrast between the restrained, almost plinky verses, and the smash of drums and synths which mark the start of the chorus. The rolls of the hihat and the fuzzy synth bass are overt and intense and I love it. Overall, it ended up not quite being of the same depth and character as many of the tracks above it though.

48. Trixie Mattel - Malibu (pop rock)

Trixie Mattel is such a fascinating artist, and she’s a genuinely great songwriter too—far outstripping most (all?) of her RuPaul’s Drag Race cohort. This is a great bit of pop rock, the kind of thing I absolutely groove along to and sing at the top of my lungs (at least until we get to the falsetto swoop in the chorus). I will absolutely keep following Trixie Mattel’s career as long as she’s producing music.

47. Beans on Toast - Logic Bomb (jazz folk)

The top track from Beans on Toast this year is this jazzy number, performed with his new full band, and filled with pessimistic predictions about the fall of the world through the computers we depend on. I’m far more sanguine about the world he describes, so I’m left to enjoy the groove and the gentle horn riff which launches each new doomsaying verse.

46. Nelson Kempf - Family Dollar (art folk)

A long, slightly meandering adventure in avant-garde folk, with Kempf’s conversational lyrics, found sound recordings like announcements at an airport, and the persistent presence of gently struck marimba or xylophone. It’s a great piece of music, although it’s also one which is hard to think about as a catchy tune—it’s certainly not something that gets in my head all that much, which is probably why it’s languishing a bit in the 40s. But every time I’m reminded of it, and listen to it, I do enjoy going through it again.

45. Marcelyn - Guilloteens (experimental folk rock)

I switched from Google Play Music (shutting down, of course) to Spotify about half way through this year, and as a result, my Spotify end-of-year list was jank, missing anything from the first half of the year, and lacking much of my revision listening. I say all of this because of all the songs I’d heard since switching, this was apparently my most listened-to on Spotify. It’s certainly not a bad song, and it’s a song which won Track of the Week the week it came out—but it’s also languishing in the mid-40s on my end of the year list, so it’s not genuinely a standout. But it is very solid, especially the shifting vocal harmonies from an evocative chorus. It’s certainly a song which makes me keep an eye on Marcelyn in the future.

44. Little Big - Hypnodancer (funeral rave)

It’s one of the great tragedies of 2020 (you know, along with all the sickness and dying) that there was no 2020 Eurovision Song Contest, because Little Big, progenitors of the hardstyle analog “funeral rave” were going to represent Russia. Which possibly would have been one of the only times I would have been cheering for that country come voting time. Anyway, the song they were taking to the competition was not this one, but another called UNO. But this is better, capturing the pop aesthetic into a hard 90s underground techno beat. Maybe we’ll get to see them again in 2021.

43. Walk Off The Earth feat. Harm & Ease - Toxic (eclectic pop cover)

Prolific indie pop coverers Walk Off The Earth have seemingly come up with a neverending stream of singles this year, none of which seem to be obviously pointing to a new album—especially given that their last album (my #2 album of 2019) was released towards the end of last year. But I keep listening to and enjoying their fun cover versions. This one, done with philosophical stablemates Harm & Ease builds into a great, raucous singalong version of one of the millennium’s pop classics.

42. Stormzy feat. Aitch - Pop Boy (grime)

I’m very conscious of the general lack of hip hop on my end of year list. It’s a genre that I think is ill-served by its most prominent examples currently. Kanye, Lil Uzi Vert, Drake—all have an extremely thin production quality and a drawly delivery that lacks the rhythm that really helps the style. But grime (and UK rap more generally) seems to get the point of what makes the style worthwhile. With a kicking beat, rhythmic delivery that lands its rhymes beautifully, Pop Boy is probably the best bit of grime this year. Stormzy and Aitch trading flows is genuinely fun to watch. I’m also glad that I have a new grime favourite after its Godfather outed himself as a raging anti-Semite earlier in the year. Stormzy seems pretty chill by comparison.

41. The Fratellis - Six Days in June (pop rock)

The Fratellis are a band who are absolutely rocking the late era of their career. Their 2018 album In Your Own Sweet Time was an absolutely cracking set of music, and if this lead single is anything to go by, their 2021 album is going to be similar. Swinging in 6/8, and with a horn section to add something of an orchestral sound to their accessible pop rock, this is a great track.

40. MOBS - Big World (80s pastiche pop)

These guys did an amazingly fun album this year, taking a broad kind of funky electropop and embracing all of the biggest 80s tropes. This one leans on the synth horns, and some working synths that you just know have the black and white keys reversed. It’s a jumpy, poppy, danceable track—one of the ones this year that’s most likely to get me grooving.

39. The Lemon Twigs - The One (alt rock)

A great piece of music (albeit one from an even better album), this is almost a kind of throwback alt rock—it has elements of the 80s to it, more poppy than the Cure, but maybe containing a similar kind of theatricality to it. It’s very happy to swing between high tenor vocals and squealing guitars for its drama. But on top of everything, it’s just a great bit of pop rock.

38. The Cuckoos - Weekend Lover (glam rock)

There’s something that you’ll likely see over and over again in this list, especially if you listen to the tracks and look for similarities. And it’s a driving, perhaps slightly repetitive riff in a pop rock song. This has a great one, incorporating bass and synths, and working in counterpoint to the straight up percussion line. It’s something of a formula that works really well for me, and you’ll see it a number of times on this list.

37. MisterWives - It’s My Turn (indie pop)

MisterWives are absolute stars of the music project. In 2017, the last time they really released much music, they had my #1 song of the year for Machine, and also took out #3 on my albums list. This year’s album didn’t do quite as well, but it’s hard to deny there are some pop bangers on it, like this one, their top entry this year. It’s a lot of fun, with manic, colourful energy. Sure, it’s not a #1 track of the year this time around, but I defy you not to have some fun with it.

36. Sammy Brue - Pendulum Thieves (alt country)

A fabulous piece of country rock, about stealing a bit of time back—maybe you want an extra minute with a lover in a perfect moment, or maybe you want to take back a fight. It’s nicely done with an anthemic chorus and some harmonic slide guitar in the background. Great piece of music.

35. TheFatRat feat. Laura Brehm - We’ll Meet Again (pop EDM)

Just a great piece of dance music. It has a great riff that evokes other classic dance numbers from the past 10 years like Clean Bandit’s Rather Be, throwing in a bit of grunty wobble bass for good measure. It’s short and sweet and catchy, and I like it for that.

34. Starbenders - Holy Mother (glam rock)

A track that came out of nowhere the week it was released, because I didn’t overly love the album. But this is just a full-throated bit of stomping glam rock that I couldn’t go past it for song of the week. Incidentally, Sam liked the album a whole bunch more than me and we ended up both giving this particular song a nod. It’s just a raucous, fun bit of music with a singalong chorus I often find myself headbanging along with.

33. Minh Beta - Let’s Fight COVID! (Vietnamese coronavirus pop)

Absolutely one of my iconic songs of 2020, this is a straight up pop banger released as a PSA by Minh Beta about the best ways to stop the spread of COVID-19 in his home country of Vietnam. It also has an excellent video clip[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSiK7U46PfA] with anthropomorphised superhero versions of things like “Wear a Mask”, “Don’t spread Facebook conspiracy theories” and “Don’t share your ice cream cone with your mates”. It’s apparently a re-skin of Minh Beta’s previous track “Viet Nam Oi!”, but we’ll forgive it for being a timely readjustment for a good reason (personally, I credit about 90% of the success that Vietnam has had containing Covid to this song). And also, it just absolutely slaps.

32. Kiesza feat. Lick Drop, Cocanina & Shan Vincent De Paul - Dance With Your Best Friend (pop)

You know this might be the highest track of pure unadulterated pop. There’s nothing subversive or quirky about this—this is just a catchy pop track. It’s helped along its path by some great rapping from Cocanina, and a bit of that laddish vocal quality from Shan Vincent De Paul with the London accent of Rat Boy and Yungblud. Just a fun bit of music.

31. Ultrahappyalarm - Messy Gyaru (happy hardcore)

CRITICAL DAYDREAM by ULTRA HAPPY ALARM

It has been so many years since I’ve heard a true bit of happy hardcore like this. It has all the things I loved about the style in the 90s, but it brings with it a complexity to the production which ensures that you can’t just immediately pick apart the tracks. This was the standout on a great set of variegated techno in Ultrahappyalarm’s EP Critical Daydream. More happy hardcore for 2021, please.

30. Saint Saviour - Taurus (chamber folk)

Instrumentally, this is such a beautiful combination of piano and strings, with cello dominant, and a set of beautifully blending folk voices over the top. Later, it brings in some soft percussion to bring it home. Hauntingly though, the repeated piano ostinato is layered with a counterpoint of vocals in the final section. It gives me chills.

29. Kate Rusby - Love of the Common People (indie folk cover)

I clearly love this song, originally a standard, but most famously recorded by Paul Young, because there were two separate covers this year which reached my end-of-the-week list of best tracks. This, however, is the better of the two. It has a soft kind of electronic folk quality to it, and Rusby’s sweet, unaffected vocals perfectly fit into the mix. I’ll admit that much of the credit for this being so high has to go to the original songwriters—the team that also wrote “Son of a Preacher Man”. TIL.

28. Seazoo - Honey Bee (indie pop rock)

A lovely bit of pop rock, clearly a genre I like, especially when it has a catchy, slightly unusual riff to it. In this case, it’s a repeated rhythmic guitar stab that plays against the snare backbeat, creating this persistent sense of rocking back and forward. The rest of the song is solid enough to keep it moving, and a late guitar solo kicks it into another geat.

27. City Mouth - Sanity For Summer (indie pop rock)

A fantastic bit of upbeat pop rock. It starts with a melodic theme, then absolutely blasts out a manic piano riff which becomes the energetic motor of the track. Mostly, it’s just catchy, energetic music that makes you want to get up and dance. We need tracks like that this year.

26. Cory Wong & Chris Thile - Bluebird (jazz-bluegrass crossover)

Cory Wong has had a really strong year this year, releasing a full album, a live album, and two paired EPs. This comes from Dawn, the lighter, brighter of the EPs, and pairs his excellent guitar work with the sublime mandolin of every one’s favourite mandolinist. This is just exceptionally virtuosic work from both of these guys, and the combination just ratchets up the quality.

#1000albums #best of the year #albums #songs

[viruswithsaas]

Roadburn 2018: day by day (2/3)

The festival kicked off on thursday and our original plan was to start with the Waste of Space Orchestra set that the organisation had commissioned for the festival but the line to enter the otherwise spacey 013 main hall was so disencouraging that we decided to enjoy the sun a bit longer and then check out the first Earthless set.

Like mentioned earlier, Earthless was one of the San Diego jam rockbands that more or less invaded Tilburg with sets all over the place with the first in the 013. Besides the Cheech & Chong version of jazz, jam rock is also a difficult genre for the audience. It requires some effort and an adventurous mindset and even then it is pretty much hit or miss. If the band is not “feeling” it, you can expect a half assed cacophony but if it’s good, it is a thing of wonder that will fill you up with delight. Earthless were definitely on a roll and sure, the guitar player had a bit of a Jimi Hendrix-complex and loved his wah-pedal very much, but it was a perfect opener.

Insect Ark in the hot, small and crowded Cul de Sac was less than perfect. Just like the show in Brussels one or two years ago, the doom duo started off awkwardly and didn’t pull itself together until the last third of the set or so. A shame because I like Insect Ark and love Ash Spungin’s drumming style; clever, never one hit too much or too few. Just like Meg White of the White Stripes but tighter.

After some much needed post-Cul de Sac rehydration, it was time for Cult of Luna’s final show with Julie Christmas. Don’t you just love her name? All joking apart, that was an amazing show, the post metal band played incredibly and la Christmas is an energetic Wednesday Addams-esque appearance that filled up the entire stage on her own.  With a landslide the highlight of the day, not even Weedeater, a proto-type stoner metal band with bears and gnarly fuzzes that rather plays loud than tight, could change that. Good times, good times. Maybe we were not as pro-active as we would like to have been but tomorrow we were going to change that.

But we didn’t. We started out with a plus two hour set of Motorpsycho. Weird thing is that I’ve seen the individual members with other bands but never with the “mothership”. So, I sort of knew what to expect but not really. Anyway, it was amazing. Its start was slow. Very slow but after the opening song the band kept the tempo up. Of course you had to be into instrumental 70′s styled jazz/heavy rock music to enjoy but euhm, yes, Motorpsycho, damn.

From Motorpsycho with its intricate, jazzy style to the hard, brutal and loud Converge playing the “You Fail Me” album (with another detour to rehydrate) and it was.... I can’t say. Metalcore is one of the few genres that I find awful (along with reggae) and although Converge is brainier than Five Finger Death Punch (not difficult, “plus bête, on meurt”) it never really connected with me.

Seen that we liked Earthless the previous day, we decided to head over to the new venue Koepelhal, basically a giant patched up warehouse but still very cool, and check out their set with singer Damo Suzuki. But given the monotony of the band and Suzuki, we quickly headed back to 013 for Godflesh which was equally monotonous but only much louder and with the compressors running red hot.

Luckily Igorrr was there to save the day with a superb electro-metal set, a drummer and two brilliant singers. It was fun, it was danceable and the theatrics of the singers gave it a bit of a cabaret feeling. Yes, a lot of the music was pre-recorded and blablabla but one, it’s 2018 so shut up about 1979 already and two, this shit was TIGHT AF! But, second day, all in all, we didn’t see as much as we would have liked. Third day was going to be different.

Euh, yeah kinda? We started off slowly by skipping Bell Witch playing the entire funeral doom opera “Mirror Reaper” but we saw the Húgsja set with Ivar Bjørnson (Enslaved) and Einar Selvik (Wardruna) which was gorgeous. It wasn’t too different from Wardruna, perhaps a bit more mellow and new age-y, but with Selvik’s esoteric vocals and the wonderful folk music, who really cares?

Panopticon had to deal with a bad soundmix but their furious, take-no-prisoners black metal went down easily. Not really super duper original but still good.

Last minute we decided to skip Boris, getting hydrated with friends, and Zola Jesus, because the headliner was coming up: the post rock titan collective that is Godspeed You! Black Emperor.

It was a brave decision of Roadburn to make this band the headliner of 2018. GY!BE is pretty much anti-headliner material. Long songs without a catchy chorus or vocal hooks, a style and aesthetic that feels more like an arthouse movie entrance than a full fledged band, bit of a murky image without a recognisable face and no hits, even by independent standards. During the show, I felt that many spectators didn’t bother check out the band before coming to Roadburn and were expecting something completely different. Well, fuck them because GY!BE was AWESOME! Close your eyes and you’ll see apocalyptic landscapes, fields of grass waving in the wind, comets flying by. A lot of bands say that they are all about the music but there is only one band that can and should make that statements.

After the brilliance of GY!BE came Thou x The Body and it was basically a fuckload of heavy noise. It has the sophistication of a donkey raping a goat and it even sounded like that too! But in its sloppiness and uncontrollable noise, it was fun.

Excellent third day!

Before heading back home to our own homes and showers, we wanted to see few more acts. The first was the other commissioned piece “Vánagandr: Sól án varma”, thank heavens for copy/paste, from the Icelandic black metal scene. This piece was just… wow… It was brutal, layered, dense and incredibly creepy. At moments it felt like the score for a horror movie. With a MIDI-controller, three guitars, drums, bass and four people singing, there was a lot going on and it packed enough variation and dynamics to keep this overwhelming 90 minutes long blastbeat fest interesting. The performance was spot on and the response to it was amazing.

A band that slipped under our radar but turned out to a pleasant surprise was Watter in the Green Room and a nice change of scenery. Watter played a mellow hybrid of alternative rock and soft electro. With all the super loud black metal mayhem going on in the main room, this was an oasis of tranquility. Perhaps this would sound a lot more boring on record but in the then current context it worked. In the main hall afterewards it was time for more black metal with Wiegedood. It was more straight forward and “simpler” than the commission from the far north but was at the time just a bit too much. Before getting in the car we wanted to catch another glimpse of the second set of Godspeed You! Black Emperor. This time the people were prepared for it, you could the many people sitting down and attentively listening, and the atmosphere was more relaxed and respectful. Again, GY!BE was by far the best thing of the entire weekend, no question about it.

Like stated earlier, Roadburn is at a turning point and the focus might change but the team behind the festival have crafted out their own little world where it can do as it pleases. With Heilung as headliner, it looks like we can expect another edition where anything could happen.

I used to say that Roadburn is always ahead of the curve but that no longer applies. Roadburn IS the curve.

#roadburn #motorpsycho #icelandic black metal #godspeed you! black emperor #igorrr #watter #earthles