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thejudgingtrash · 4 years

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[ID: A dark camping side with a fire pit in the foreground. A white frame highlights the logs and the fire. Orange sparks ascend into the sky. Underneath the white frame stands the title ‘A Warm Place at the Fire’. End of ID.]

As promised, @goldendaysareahead a little fanfic about my Camp Hestia AU!

I hope you enjoy it and thank you for @the-real-annabeth-chase for being yet again an amazing beta!

A Warm Place at the Fire (3,8k)

“There! We’ve almost made it!” yelled Bode. His hooves would have brought him much faster near his goal if it weren’t for the mortal legs next to him that trampled to keep up with his speed. Thunder crackled in the distance which made Bode’s brown skin glow in an unusual pale blue.

The satyr looked over his shoulder. His enhanced hearing made him filter out the noise much better. It also helped him focus on the danger behind him. The growls, the hissing and the mass that the animal carried as it surged ahead to kill its prey. “Don’t look behind you!” panted Bode as his friend was about to turn his head.

“Are you kidding me?” coughed the young boy. His legs were burning, and his lungs felt like they were set on fire. “Look who’s talking!”

“Parker, now’s not the time!”

Thunder.

Everything today fell apart. Everything today was nothing but a major disaster. Everything… was simply strange. Parker was used to strange things. He had a vivid fantasy as a kid and always talked about the plants singing for him before he started elementary school. But today really took the cake.

It started with Parker failing three reports at school and slowly peaked to Parker’s father getting robbed in his shop, to said father calling Bode to tell him to put Parker far away in a summer camp for gifted kids out of all places and now after running through the busy streets of New York City, a hell of a ride in a taxi cab that three blind ladies who fought over one single eyeball drove, some weird animal hybrid had sensed them and decided to hunt them the minute they arrived in Long Island.

Oh, and Bode Underwood, Parker’s newfound best friend and neighbor who had just transferred to his middle school, was apparently a satyr with the hairiest goat legs Parker had ever seen and he even had tiny horns hidden in his tight black curls.

The earth shook. It was an earthquake. It had to be an earthquake. But the way the ruptures of the earth had shifted it was clear that it could not be an earthquake. The massive body of an animal still wanted its prey. Tearing two children apart was what he desired.

“There! We’ve almost made it, hold on, Parker!” hissed Bode.

Parker was trying to not land on his face as the path became muddier. It had rained the previous days in New York. “Look! The sign!”

Parker’s eyes followed Bode’s arm. It was true. Deep into the forest there was an archway. It was made out of marble and a wooden sign said New Athens. Behind the archway were… buildings? Houses? Didn’t Parker’s dad tell him that he would be brought into a summer camp? As the two boys came closer Parker could even read the small insignia underneath: formerly known as Camp Half-Blood.

A roar made both nearly jump. The animal. The monster. It also hissed?

Parker jumped over a fallen tree branch and Bode bleated. Oh, he’s really a goat, Parker thought.

A roar. Parker felt the heat in his back. Was he imagining acid tearing his jeans jacket apart or was it truly happening? He had no time to care about it.

The two boys nearly reached the archway. “JUMP!” yelled Bode and Parker did. The both of them slid through the archway and were greeted with silence. Parker vowed to himself to never slide on mud again. The taste of grass and dirt was truly displeasing. No wind was howling and only the echoing songs of the cicadas kept them company.

This so-called camp looked strange. It was a clash of cultures. It was a fight between new and old. To Parkers right it did look like the old grounds of a camp. They looked like they had sporting events, a dinner area and a large area for all kinds of other activities. It would have been fairly normal if it weren’t for deadly ancient weapons lying around in front of a cabin and the dozens of cabins themselves. Each cabin had a different character to it as if they were dedicated to someone. They radiated a strange force. Parker instinctively knew that it was old and ancient, that it was powerful.

The left of the campgrounds were the polar opposite. It wasn’t just buildings and houses. It was an entire city. It was a huge construction side with many finished and unfinished buildings. A city so big yet so hidden deep in the woods of Long Island. The architecture was astounding, and the design was precise and heavily inspired by the world of Ancient Greece.

Was that a CVS out of all things placed into something that looked like the pantheon? And it had a Trader Joe’s next to it in something that looked like another temple? An entire Ancient Greek Taco Bell with a crunch wrap supreme advertisement that had a lightning bolt pressed into its side?! And in the middle of the city was an old market place like in Hollywood movies?

What’s going on? asked Parker himself.

A big blue house seemed to draw the line between old and new. The old ways and the new life. The yesterday and the new beginning at dawn. The old life that Parker had and the new one that rose like a phoenix from its ashes.

Yes, Bode and he made it. The boys had truly made it. They were alive and safe! For now. They gave each other a high five as they rested on the ground and thanked the shining stars above them for their guidance.

A clash disrupted their celebratory mood. The beast. Parker finally saw it in its entire glory. The head of a lion. The back of a reptile? Was that a dragon? And its tale was a snake out of all things?

Fearsome snarls and growls were drowned out behind the invisible layer that prevented the beast from entering campgrounds. The piercing yellow eyes shifted and tried to find the mortal flesh it desired only to be disappointed. The barrier was too strong to be penetrated. The massive beast turned around and was lost from Parker’s sight as it became one with the forest’s darkness. Parker’s adrenaline rush slowly faded away and his heart rate returned to normal.

What he felt rushing over him was a wave of fatigue. He felt the aching pain of his burning lungs that demanded more oxygen, the pain in his bones and muscles that wanted some rest. The young boy sank into the soft grass and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Bode only patted his shoulder as he sat down next to him. The satyr was tired but not as exhausted as the camp’s newest family member.

“You’ve made it,” Bode whispered.

“You’ve made it here, safely! Everything will be alright once the moon chariot sets and the one of the sun rises, we’ll take the entire day to truly process what happens and make a plan about what your father had said, alright?” Parker was too tired to realize the true meanings behind Bode’s words. He only mumbled a “yeah,” and tried to breathe with a steady rhythm.

“Hey Parker,” Bode started, “You just survived the chimera which is something I’m incredibly thankful as that beast has killed other kids prior.”

Chimera? For some odd reason that weird Hercules movie from Disney came to Parker’s mind. “It did what now?”

Bode raised his hands in defense. “Woah hold your horses! No one was seriously injured – this time.” he said.

“What’s important is that you’ll catch your breath and meet the new camp director. Right there at the fireplace.” Bode pointed into the distance and Parker’s gaze followed. “I know all of this is new and weird to you, especially since this place isn’t the most organized, but trust me.”

It was true what Bode said. The juxtaposition between the two worlds that clashed at Camp Half-Blood were simply weird to Parker’s unaccustomed eyes. But there! At the old camp site, right at the edge of old and new, there she was. A woman poking a log with what looked like a golden hook. She wore a brown gown and held a hand to the flames. The flames rose and Parker was worried that the strange lady might have singed her eyebrows accidentally. But no. It was the opposite. It was as if the fire were dancing for her. As if it’s flaring was a beautiful melody for her eyes and only her eyes.

The orange and yellow and golden streaks of the flames were hypnotizing. Parker didn’t even realize how he was already standing up on his two feet and walking towards the pit. Bode followed him. The pit looked small in the distance but only enlarged close up. Parker didn’t feel fear – it was the polar opposite. He felt as calm as he had never been before. The young boy stopped.

“Parker Mbata,” the woman smiled and turned her head to him. The reflection of the flames danced in her eyes and Parker knew that the orange highlighted his beautiful black skin. Beautiful dark skin that she had as well.

“How do you know my name?” he asked her and raised an eyebrow. His voice cracked; he didn’t want to appear impolite as that was what most people thought wrongfully about him. The woman only smiled and pointed to a seat next to her. She was middle-aged and her black braids would probably reach her knees if she had been standing upright. She was pretty. A round face that loved to smile. It wasn’t the movie star look, but she had the calm and grace of someone who had seen much of the world and was able to see the wonderful side of things.

For Parker, she had the aura of a friendly aunt that would help out with homework, try to play on a console with you and would bake here and there from time to time with you. Rib crushing hugs, hands that drove through hair, a pat on the shoulder that said: “No matter how far you’ll go, remember that I’ll always be proud of you.”

If it hadn’t been merely the surface level of her being. She was no ordinary woman like his math teacher – of that Parker was certain. Her eyes. The gleam of the orange nourished her skin and highlighted her beauty. The warmth in her eyes radiated the power of a thousand hugs.

She reeked of power that should never be underestimated.

“I know the names of all new campers,” she simply answered with an honest smile on her face.

“Thank you, Bode.” The woman said and shifted her gaze to the young satyr next to him. Parker could have sworn that he saw his best friend blush at the compliment. That or it was a simple illusion from the fire. “You may now go to your parents’ house. I’m sure Juniper is still waiting on the porch, and Grover will be over the moon with your first search that was a successful one at that.”

The corner of Bode’s mouth threatened to tear his face apart from grinning so big. “See you tomorrow, Parker!” he said before he bowed to the weird lady.

Parker waved goodbye and saw how lights of lanterns turned on in the modern part of the camp as Bode crossed the streets. They turned off again automatically as he turned to the left.

“You may call me Hestia. I’m the new camp director of Camp Half-Blood.”

“Hestia,” Parker repeated, and he saw how she nodded.

“This is a camp for very special people,” Hestia continued and poked the fire. A flame erupted and rose to the sky. “You are safe in here. No monsters or other meddlers will interfere within camp boarders or in the wider city of New Athens. You will train like other half-bloods, find your strength and weaknesses so that you may survive into adulthood and now how to protect yourself and those that you love.”

Half-blood? Monsters? Survive into adulthood? The questions stood bright on Parker’s face as his dark brown eyes widened.

Hestia laughed and patted his back. The warm feeling of being comforted flooded Parker’s body.

“You look an awful lot like my sister,” Hestia said after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

“People just say that I look like my dad only with a better fade on the sides of my head,” Parker denied. “Also, how can I look like your sister?”

Hestia grinned yet again and shook her head. The golden jewelry on her braids clanged. “That is not what I mean, Parker,” Hestia stated.

“Her personality. Her abilities. Her capabilities. All of that and more I see in you. After all, she is your mother.”

Parker’s jaw dropped. Hestia was actually his aunt? She knew his mother? How?! His father had always told him that his mother was a busy person and big in the botanic scene, chasing new discovery after new discovery and that that was the reason why she was never around. Also, Parker had the suspicion that she had fled the country so that she didn’t have to pay child support.

“But I see more in you. Further down your line.” Hestia placed her index finger underneath his chin and lifted it up slightly.

“I can see Morpheus as your great-grandfather. I can see Hermes even further down there.”

“Hermes like the Greek god?”

“Yes, my nephew is a funny albeit sometimes exhausting one.”

“So you want to say that I’m a descendant of Greek gods?”

Hestia nodded. “That I do.”

Parker coughed. Hestia was worried. She waved her hand in the air and Parker had to suppress the scream that was bubbling inside of him as a bottle with a clear liquid appeared. Now he definitely believed her. It wasn’t for the fact that a terrible monster had hunted him for nearly two hours earlier.

“Here drink this slowly. Do not haste, I’d rather not clean up the burnt remains of my newest nephew,” she winked. Parker took the bottle and a first sip.

“Nectar. The drink of the gods. It heals you demigods but too much and it’ll set you on fire.”

The drink tasted like good times. Like the fondest memories that had been deeply buried inside of Parker. The fudgy chocolate brownies with a hint of peanut butter that his father used to make for him whenever he had a good mood. And now his father had sent him away.

The disappointment hit Parker harder than the strenuous activity that had been fleeing the chimera earlier. Hestia sensed his mood and decided to distract him.

“Normally I start camp tours and initiations in the mornings, but I see that I should start out early. You aren’t the only new camper but who would mind a little head start?”, she winked again. “Let me do it differently as well. We used to show a terrible introduction movie around to introduce you into the new world but the reception has been mostly negative.”

Okay thought Parker and nodded slowly.

“How do you feel about your classmates? The Jackson twins?”

Parker narrowed his eyebrows. The twins were weird in a way that most twins were. They were definitely the sort of twins that could read each other’s minds and answer for one another if it weren’t for the fact that they seemed to annoy each other. Apart from that, they were also very friendly and sat down at lunch with him at school despite their constant bickering going on Parker’s nerves.

Ari was the more out-going and bold one and her twin Theo was quieter and more reserved. And he wore glasses that he always readjusted. Parker was definitely not fond of him. No, he was absolutely not. And the swoon in the pit of his stomach that he felt was something he would ignore for the time being.

The more important question: what did the twins have to do with all of this? Hestia grinned as if she had read all of his thoughts and emotions. “As much as I adore Ariadne and Theodoros, we need to begin a generation earlier with their parents. I have much to thank them for.”

Hestia’s immortal memory brought her pictures back that happened decades ago. As her brother threatened to smite Perseus Jackson for daring to stand up to him and ask him for another wish instead of the gift of immortality.

“From now on, I want you to properly recognize the children of the gods. All the children . . . of all the gods,” young Perseus Jackson wished. “I want you to promise to claim your children—all your demigod children—by the time they turn thirteen. They won't be left out in the world on their own at the mercy of monsters. I want them claimed and brought to camp so they can be trained right and survive.”

Oh, how her youngest brother had been furious. “And the minor gods,” Perseus exclaimed. “Nemesis, Hecate, Morpheus, Janus, Hebe—they all deserve a general amnesty and a place at Camp Half-Blood. Their children shouldn't be ignored. Calypso and the other peaceful Titan-kind should be pardoned too. And Hades as well. As for Hestia and him, I have another wish for them. Give them their seats in the Olympian council back.”

That demand made the eyebrows of Poseidon and Athena rise as Zeus’ mouth grew into an even thinner line.

And then Perseus Jackson had turned around to her and had given her the biggest gift she had ever received in her immortal life. “And aunt Hestia, you are the heart and soul of Mount Olympus. You are the guidance and comfort we seek, the hope that remains in our very core. With your permission—the permission from all gods—I’d ask Hestia if she would like to lead Camp Half-Blood as a new co-camp director alongside Chiron and Dionysus until he is done with his punishment?”

Then Hestia did only two things. Hug the savior of Olympus and accept his gracious gift to her as Zeus was legally bound to make his nephews wishes come true.

“Mr. Jackson did all of these things when he was a teenager? With his—uhhh—future wife? And Bode’s dad?” The tales of him having that much influence seemed too great and big and so… unrealistic? Parker couldn’t believe that Percy Jackson was that sort of man. He was a pastry baker and started crying whenever his wife butchered the name of one of his fancy creations according to Ari. That and he was supposedly very busy with his bakery Blue Jackson’s in Downtown Manhattan and another subsidiary in Los Angeles. And that person persuaded Olympian gods as a teenager? Saved the world as a child?

“I mean Mr. Jackson is just a baker,” Parker shrugged. “And Mrs. Chase is this crazy busy architect that also plays mom taxi somehow and drives her kids around while she’s running from meeting to meeting?” At least that was what Theo had texted him ages ago.

Hestia pointed to the beautiful city of New Athens. Not the majestic buildings that stood proudly there surrounding the market place but beyond that where the façade began to crack as the largest construction side he had ever seen. “Yes, Annabeth is incredibly busy with her occupation. As it was she that bore the grounds of New Athens as a safe haven for your kind. Do you see that house on the hill?”

It was pompous, enormous and combined the modern and ancient style beautifully. A light on the second floor was on. “The residence of the Jackson-Chase’s.”

Parker’s jaw dropped. These people must have been filthy rich. No wonder that Mr. Jackson ordered flower arrangements on the regular from his dad. Those pieces were expensive. Parker’s eyes shifted slightly to the left. A few feet away was a Blue Jackson’s bakery right next to the house. Easy commute for Mr. Jackson.

“The illuminated room is Annabeth’s office. It seems like she is still working on her designs.”

The light was suddenly switched off. “Oh!” Hestia sounded surprised. “It looks like Perseus was for once successful in telling his wife she ought to sleep. Oh well.”

Parker snickered.

“After all it is way past two in the morning. You should also rest so soon.”

But Parker didn’t want to. He was wrapped up in the tales that Hestia told him. The middle schooler reassured Hestia that he was yet not entirely worn out. The goddess sighed like a tired mother.

“And it was she, Annabeth, that restored the honor of the gods and built a cabin for every one of us gods—even the ones without half-bloods—so that we have places for our children, visitors and prayers. Until you are claimed, you will stay at Cabin Zero—my cabin,” Hestia smiled.

“We all start at Zero. We all start from nothing only to learn and to grow into something. You will find new friends, a new life, a new home. Just like your parents intended and. I am sure that Mr. Mbata will arrive soon safely at camp. I have given him instructions to hide in a secret place due to the monsters starting to sense you.”

That made Parker smile and relief spread throughout him. He would be reunited with his father very soon.

“You remind me very much of Perseus Jackson, Parker Mbata. Since the introduction movie left a sour taste in many campers and inhabitants of New Athens and you do not appear to be so sleepy, let me retell the tale of Perseus Jackson from the beginning. The most famous demigod of them all. Greater than any other hero the Greek pantheon had ever seen.”

The flames seemed to dance around goddess and demigod. “He was just like you. Small, a little bit on the scrawny side…”

Parker frowned a little bit, but Hestia giggled at her backhanded compliment.

“A half-blood. A child of man and god… Perseus gets quite frequently asked to retell his story. At first, he did so begrudgingly. He wrote his memories down. For his and anyone else’s sake. Had an entire folder with papers in his hand as he sat down. But now he grew confident and into an incredible speaker. He speaks from his heart and not from paper.”

Hestia inhaled sharply. The eldest child of Kronos turned her face to the red of the flames to recount the events that happened nearly twenty years ago.

“Perseus always starts his stories with ‘look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood’…”

The End

I’m not really an OC person but I hope you enjoyed this little thought experiment regardless ;>

If anyone is interested in my other fanfics, I can offer you How Could You (Percabeth, sad, finished) and The Fool (Percabeth, mystery, on-going) :3

#pjo #Percy Jackson #percy jackson fanfiction #camp half blood #chb #hestia #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo fanfic #mel writes #demigods of color

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thinking-ji · 3 years

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Why does TXT’s “We Lost The Summer” MV work?

Hi, I’m back again to overanalyse TXT’s MV for “We Lost The Summer”. After first watching it, I was overwhelmed by sadness but didn’t know why. After all, there have been literally tons of videos and songs about COVID-19. Until 2h ago, perhaps the most heart-wrenching song I’d heard about the topic was FINNEAS’ “What They'll Say About Us". Yet I was more deeply affected by “We Lost The Summer” thanks to its combination of brutal honesty, clever cinematic juxtaposition and images of kids suffering (from first world problems, but problems all the same).

I think what makes the MV work so well are two things:

The song conveys a message of longing for the past, for the "normal". This complements all the contrasting shots of "what is" and "what could have been". It hurts to see kids who could have had a fun summer with their friends out in the warm sun be banished to self-isolation with no one but themselves (or in some cases, a soft toy or a dog) for company.

Their acting. Their facial expressions do tons in expressing the plot, especially in the scenes where they look longingly at the camera. As cheesy as that sounds, their expressions line up perfectly with the almost resentful mood of the song.

Click ‘read more’ for frame-by-frame analysis of what makes the MV work:

0:09-0:15 Taking photos as a group in front of the toilet mirror, probably in school. Bright. Just a normal day in school with ya bros, no problems hugging one another.

0:16 Cut to Yeonjun receiving a Public Safety Alert. He's using an iPhone - this feature was not available until a few months into the COVID-19 outbreak (20 May 2020). Two possibilities - 1) This marks the point at which everything changed i.e. when the pandemic became concerning enough that quarantine was necessary (note the strict warning on screen - "If you leave home, assume you were exposed to COVID-19."); 2) canon-compliant sequence of events - this was in May 2020, when there was also a spike in cases in South Korea (see: Itaewon spike). The former is more likely, considering the lyrics "left alone on the evening of an endless March 1".

0:16-0:17 Back and forth shot - we first see the Public Safety Alert (with a jarring alert ringtone), then the video cuts to the group's concerned reaction, then back to the Public Safety Alert. Almost as if they cannot believe what they're seeing. Note also that the second shot of the Public Safety Alert is clearer than the first - they're paying more attention the second time around.

0:18 Cut to awkward Zoom call (with dog!).

0:19 Intro to main protagonist Yeonjun. Interesting styling choices here - Yeonjun doesn't himself have tattoos; these are fake tattoos. I see this as an effort to represent every kind of young person - it's not only the studious, clean-cut kids who choose to stay home. Now, even the stereotypical bad boys who would usually stay out are forced to stay home as well (that is, if they choose to be socially responsible).

Yeonjun is also putting on a simple singlet here. This is a clear departure from his school uniform. He's chosen to dress comfortably and looks disappointed. Perhaps he feels that nothing matters at this point. This will be a recurring theme throughout the video.

0:24 He gets up to hug his teddy bear, likely a source of comfort. He appears to be alone. Maybe the teddy bear is his only companion when he's at home. A stark contrast to the beginning of the video, when he had a squad of friends to hang out with.

0:26-0:27 Yeonjun starts to dress up for the Zoom call with his friends later. He seems to be in a much better mood with this semblance of normalcy. Or maybe he's just practicing his smile for the camera. His room is bright despite the blinds being drawn; it's the morning.

0:28 We realise that Yeonjun was smiling in the mirror. His expression changes as soon as he looks away. He's not happy about the situation; guess he's just practicing his smile for later.

0:31 The squad's coming online, just waiting for Yeonjun. Everyone is dressed up in bright colours, against their very bright and cheerily-coloured rooms. Juxtaposed with the rather dull school outfits and blue walls at the beginning of the video.

0:33-0:36 For the first time since being at home, he appears to be truly excited. He waves enthusiastically at the squad. Interestingly, his curtains are drawn and the only source of light is a neon green light in the corner of his room. It's unclear what time it is.

0:39 Classic eyes closed, close-up shot of Kai's face. Sadness. Slight increase in exposure near the end of the shot - reminiscence of a time when the surroundings were brighter.

0:41 Flashback to old times in school with the squad. The setting is brightly-lit. We'll see that this changes as the MV progresses.

0:47 Sharing earphones. Ah, the good times.

0:52 Taehyun throws a baseball across the open area. Something you won't get to do inside unless you want to break something.

0:54 Cut to Soobin lying down on the floor of his room (peak relaxing position tbh). He's just dropped his phone on his face. First world problems. Sucks that even little things like this will happen more often now that they're home alone with their phones being their only connection to the outside world.

0:56 Guess Soobin is trying to preoccupy himself by putting together a (big, may I add) puzzle. Seems like he also tried to distract himself with whack-a-mole. But he can't help but watch old videos of him and his friends - this is marked by the school uniforms. Again, reminiscing the old times.

0:58 Closer look at the video Soobin is watching.

1:00 Dude fell asleep with a puzzle piece on his face omg. Clearly bored/frustrated/tired of being stuck at home with puzzles being the most interesting thing he could possibly do alone.

1:01 Yeah, he's not happy about it.

1:03-1:08 Beomgyu is at home with his dog. I can't tell much other than that his dog doesn't hate him, which is a good thing when your dog is your closest companion at home.

1:09-1:12 I can't think of this shot of them syncing the choreo over Zoom being anything other than a cool way to transition to the dance and juxtapose with them performing the choreography together (see: 1:13~1:19).

1:20 Jamming out to the song together.

1:21, 1:24, 1:25, 1:27, 1:28: Yeonjun jamming out alone.

1:31 It's raining/snowing...

1:32 In their hideout in school (remember it's only partially covered). Also note that the colour scheme in the school setting has gotten much duller than before.

1:34 Taehyun catches a baseball. Note that he isn't in his school uniform, so we can assume he is alone here while everyone else is staying in.

1:35, 1:38, The squad escapes the rain.

1:40 Yeonjun admiring his image in the mirror while trying on a different jacket. Compare this and the previous images of him looking into the mirror, with a later shot of him looking into a mirror. Here, we can see both him and his reflection, which gives us the impression that he isn't alone.

1:44 Beomgyu is on the floor hugging his dog. Maybe he's given up lol

1:46 Beomgyu opened the blinds a little to look outside. "Want to see you again."

1:48, 1:50 I'm not sure what Kai was trying to do, but he definitely messed up that smiley face. Seems like an allusion to how everything was fine and dandy, but then this virus just had to come and ruin it for everyone.

1:51 Seems like Taehyun is playing baseball with himself.

1:56, 1:59 Repetitions show that Taehyun is going through the motions. Has nothing better to do.

2:03, 2:07 These shots confused me at first, but "I hate my face drained of expression" clears it up. Communicating online has reduced us to avatars, profile pictures and our digital versions of ourselves. A pretty digital avatar void of human emotion - that's what Soobin has become.

2:13 Beomgyu seems pretty happy creating his personal Jurassic Park...

2:15 But yeah, there could've been better things to do.

2:16 I know Beomgyu is creating an obstacle course for his dog, but his constantly changing environment (e.g. additional bowling pins in this frame) makes it seem like he's trying every possible trick in the book to occupy himself while he's alone.

2:22 Again, the introduction of Beomgyu's dog makes it seem like he's exhausting all his sources of entertainment. I'm not complaining though, it's cute to see him try.

2:25-2:26 The transition to a wide shot showing that Beomgyu's dog is leashed indoors is jarring when you think twice about it. There's no reason to leash his dog when they're indoors, but maybe he's trying to simulate being outside.

2:28 From here onwards is where the structure of the MV changes. Before this, we'd been getting shots of TXT at home interspersed with flashbacks of their time together pre-COVID. But now they're out on a large, empty road on a bright day. They would not be dancing on such a wide road if it weren't empty because no one needs/wants/is allowed to go anywhere. Also note that these are different outfits from previous cuts of them dancing, where they were dressed in their school uniforms.

2:31 Taehyun pastes a sticker of pixel ver. squad on his drone. Perhaps highlighting the fact that the only reminder he has of them while they're separated is their online presence.

2:33 Taehyun is wearing a helmet to fly his drone even though he doesn't really need to. It's not like he's travelling outside or anything. But anything to escape the feeling of being stuck at home, I guess. You do you. Also, the fact that he's flying a drone is symbolic of his wish to travel or at least wander outside. He can't do it in person, so he lets his drone do it for him.

2:33 The squad arrives on the rooftop! Note that Yeonjun is wearing the jacket he tried on the second time - this is still during COVID times. How were they able to get on the rooftop with Taehyun when they were all supposed to be at home? REBELS. Maybe this is all just a dream... unless? Last thing - it's sunset here, which links to...

2:47 It's snowing and dark outside in their usual hideout in school. Note that Yeonjun is wearing the same outfit as in the dancing on the road cuts. Clear juxtaposition between hopes and reality.

2:48 Their bench and things are covered in snow, almost as if the winter has stopped them from doing whatever they were doing before. "Endless winter."

2:53, 2:57 They're taking photos alone. Interesting upside-down shots.

2:55 They're trying to have fun in the winter but for Beomgyu it's just not the same.

3:00 The brightly-lit toilet is juxtaposed with - gasp! - not its reflection. Without his friends, Yeonjun perhaps finds that staring into a mirror alone isi like staring into a dark void, or a duller version of reality.

3:02 Also, it's snowing on the other side. Note that in all the 'winter' shots we've been getting, it's always dark.

3:09 Is Yeonjun trying to check if there's a mirror, or reach into the void?

3:11 We get confirmation that there is a mirror in reality, but to Yeonjun it feels like a void. This image of him telling his reflection that "it's all gone" is honestly heartbreaking.

3:14 The squad is together, but the winter is depressing.

3:20 The most direct reference to COVID in this entire MV. "It's all gone". The masks serve as a tangible representation of the new normal. Their expressions are all gone now ("I hate my face drained of expression") since half their faces are hidden. It no longer matters if they smile or laugh; no one can see it anyway.

3:21-3:25 Direct reference to social distancing.

3:25 The toilet gets progressively darker.

3:36 It's snowing on the road now, almost as if the bleakness of their reality has permeated through to their imagination of a brighter future.

3:39 Interestingly, compared to the past few shots of the boys in the dark winter, they seem to be slightly happier here, getting used to the new normal.

3:40 Butterfly on Beomgyu's face a representation of summer.

3:46 Cut to someone's phone on the bench, the only thing that hasn't been covered in snow, the only bright thing in the darkness. Looks like this is the last video they filmed while they were out on the road dancing.

Overall, it seems that:

bathroom, bright school hideout scenes = the past

road scene = last time they were able to see each other, transition period OR a time between strict quarantine and "new normal" where cases were low enough that people felt comfortable going outside

home scenes = quarantine period

winter scenes = new normal

#TXT #we lost the summer #ji overanalyses MVs at 1am #instead of writing graded essays due in 3 days #kpop

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hadestownmodern · 4 years

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Persephone is everyone’s mom thats it thats the fic

This fic may be my favorite one I’ve personally written for this au??? It means SO fucking much to me and I think we agree that this is one of our favorite relationships to play with!

“Hey mama, you ready to go home?” Persephone peaks into the room, smiling brightly at Eurydice. The young girl was sitting on the edge of the bed, in her boyfriends oversized sweatshirt and pajama pants. She was free now of the IV and various health tracking devices, and how seemed no different than before save for the most important part- being, of course, the baby she held so near and dear to her.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I think so.” Eurydice looks up at her and smiles. She’s already clearly tired but glowing is an understatement on how she radiates joy in this moment. “Have you seen-”

“Orpheus? He’s been cleaning the house all morning. He called me at four am to ask how to wash baby sheets. I thought he’d be here though…” Persephone entered the room and nearly stuck her arms out in anticipation. She’d refrained in the past two days of visits from asking to hold her, not wanting to take Eurydice’s daughter from her. She recalled her own refusal to let anyone hold Junie for days, so she understood. Eurydice worked hard for her, she deserved to never let go of her.

“Oh he’s been around, he just left. I said I wanted fries and he went running.” Eurydice giggled, leaning down to brush her nose with Melody’s. “He’s gonna do anything we need, isn’t he baby girl?”

“I could have told you that months ago. He’s whipped for you. Thinks you hung the stars in the sky.” Persephone teases as she comes closer and sits next to Eurydice, her head coming to run over the baby’s dark hair. Persephone remembers it vividly- she’ll never forget it actually- the way she was enamored with her tiny daughter. The weight of her in her arms, the way she spent hours intoxicated with the smell of her hair. Eurydice deserved that kind of irrevocable love, too.

“Does she have a name yet? Or is she gonna be baby girl for a few more days?” Junie had been easy to name- her name was decided for her before Persephone even knew she existed.

“Oh! We picked one the other night..do you want to hold her?” It was abrupt, but Eurydice needed Persephone to be holding her when she told her. So she could take a picture of her reaction and save it forever, at least in her heart.

Euydice didn’t want for a response before shoving the baby, tiny as she was in all her six pound glory, into the arms of her pseduo-mother and real best friend.

“I- of course.” Persephone grins, laughing as soon as the infant is in her arms. “She’s so small! I forgot how little they are. Then again I haven’t seen a baby since Junie, and I never put her down long enough to register that she was an extra weight. She really was just part of me…” She’s cooing at the baby when Eurydice stands and takes the time to get her things together. Save for Orpheus and a few brief nurses visits this is the first time the little girl is out of her arms.

“So what’s her name? Curly fry? Waffle fry?” Persephone teases, recalling the endless stops they had made together so Eurydice could satisfy a craving one way or another.

“Cajun fry, thank you.” Eurydice rolls her eyes, but reaches out to hold the baby’s hand. “no..Her name is Melody. ‘Cause she’s like Orpheus singing to her for months now. He’s the only thing that could calm her down...it seemed fitting, you know? To name her after music...after his music. My Melody. Melody Stephanie.” She raises an eyebrow at Persephone, to see if she caught on what she did yet, but the content smile gave nothing away.

“Melody. It’s a beautiful name. Very Fitting. Melody Stephanie..it’s nice.” Melody, she understood. And looking at the little girl in her arms she could agree- yes, this baby was Melody. Stephanie didn’t flow- she expected maybe an homage to Eurydice’s mother but not Stephanie. “Nice name...I have to admit i’m surprised you didn’t pick something for your mother. I know you don’t talk about her much but you’ve told me before you wish she were here and-”

“It is a nice name.” Eurydice agrees, squinting her eyes at Persephone as she continues to talk about the content of her daughter’s name. She really didn’t get it. “But I did name her after my mother, Perstephanie.” It’s teasing and light, but she looks up just in time for her brown eyes to meet Persephone’s. “You are Orpheus’ mother… and you’re as close as i’ve ever had.”

It was true. She respected her mother and the few memories she had of Lydia were happy ones. But in the terms of parenthood and being a mother- Persephone filled that role for Orpheus his entire life. She went to parent teacher conferences, she went to recitals. She was his mother. And in the short eleven months since she met Persephone- even before she met Orpheus- the woman had filled that role for her too. Persephone was the first person who saw her- not the broken child shuffled home to home, not the girl with the hard shell to protect herself from the world- as herself. Just a girl putting herself through school to make a better life for herself. Just Eurydice.

Persephone was the person who found out this brilliant girl- who never missed class, turned assignments in early, came to office hours, who offered commentary every discussion- had noone. That she was a force to be reckoned with but she was alone. Persephone was the one who insisted she not spend a holiday alone, not spend one more day in that shady part of town she lived in. Persephone was by and large the reason they were sitting in a hospital room today, a two day old baby being passed between them.

“She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You’re the reason I formally met the boy who I watched sing across from me at the coffee shop for weeks. You’re the reason I had a place to go, and you’re the one who gave me the wine that said going home with him was a good idea-” Eurydice is laughing and smiling, a juxtaposition to the solid stream of tears falling down her cheeks. Persephone was the only other person besides her Orpheus that could see her like this.

“You gave me my family.” Eurydice takes Persephone’s hand, and squeezes it, drawing them to look eye to eye. She’s crying and she realizes so is Persephone, though Persephone’s border sobs far more than her own. Eurydice, at least, is trying to stay composed through the rest of her dedication.

“You gave me my family. Melody wouldn’t exist if you didn’t insist I come over that night. Orpheus is Orpheus because of you. Not because of Calliope. And in the times I needed someone most..when I needed a mom. You were the one who was there. When I was so sick I couldn’t make it to class and you let me eat crackers in your office. Or when I was so tired I couldn’t stand and you let me sleep in your office. You kept shoes for me knowing I was going to be so damn stubborn i’d be crying by noon if it weren’t for you saving my life with flip flops.” Eurydice laughs, wiping her tears away, before she runs that hand over her daughter’s cheek, eyes looking at only Melody now.

“I don’t want her to carry the ghosts and demons of a dead woman in her name. I loved my mother when I was little. But she isn’t my mom like you are, Seph. And if she ends up anything at all like you then she’ll be a damn good woman one day.”

Persephone is speechless, tears falling over her face and landing on the baby she held. Her heart felt tight in her chest, as pieces from a conversation with her mother eight short months ago fell into place.

“I’m just scared he’ll get his heart broken,” Persephone is sitting at the island in her kitchen, across from her mother, picking at broken bits of Christmas Cookies. “And if he does it’ll be my fault. I introduced them. And if he gets his heart broken-”

“I know you love the boy, Persephone. We all do. You raised him. Yet you also know they love each other. And that is deep and inseverable love. Do not worry. This is meant to happen in this way. They are two souls created for each other. The universe works the way it was supposed to. They were made to be together, this is just a fact of life. They are meant to have this baby just as I was meant to have you, Honey Bee.” Demeter is stitching something intently, across from Persephone, but watched her daughter intently. “The love they have for each other was put there by the universe..but so was the love you have for her.”

Persephone raises an eyebrow at her, reaching out to grab her wine glass, swirling the deep wine within it rather than bringing it to her lips. “She’s a great girl and I love her, yeah-”

“No. She was meant to be in our lives as much as she was his. She was born to another woman but her soul is tied to yours. You could not have been her mother by birth, no. That privilege was reserved for Juniper and the things she will bring you. But, Eurydice needs you in the same way you need her. Whatever that may be is up to you.” Demeter muses, glancing at her granddaughter who was sitting on the floor, playing with a baby doll. “Yes, Eurydice is part of your heart for a reason. Don’t underestimate the power of the love you will share.”

“Look, i’m “Rydice!” Junie interjects, waving the baby around enthusiastically, before holding her arms up to Demeter to be held.

Persephone snorts before drinking the remnants of the wine, shaking her head at her toddler. “June Bug, you can’t say that yet.”

“Why not? She’s right. This one, she’s got the gift for sure.” Demeter kisses her angelic curls, wrapping both arms around her grand daughter.

“Mmhmm. Gift.”

“Eurydice I-” She doesn’t know what to say, she doesn’t know how to elaborate on the deep feelings of love and protection she feels for the young girl infront of her.

“Is that okay with you?” Eurydice asks, so soft Persephone isn’t sure she’s actually speaking or if she’s imagining it. “We can change it-”

“What? No, No. I’m honored, Eurydice. Truly- i’m so honored.” Persephone breaks their linked hands so that she can run her finger under her eyes to catch her tears. “I-thank you, Eurydice.”

“Thank you, for everything you’ve given us.” Eurydice wraps her arms around Persephone’s shoulders, careful not to crush her daughter between them. “Thank you for seeing more than the broken girl with the sad story.”

Persephone wraps her free arm around Eurydice’s back, hiding her crying face in the dark, cropped hair of the new mother in her arm.

They stay like this for minutes, at least, until Orpheus returns to the room and finds them crying in each other’s arms. He wants to ask, but knows what has transpired is personal and intimate to the two of them and that if he’s meant to know he will. That’s just the way the universe would have it.

#persephone #eurydice #hadestown modern #melody #persephone and eurydice #Annika writes

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recentanimenews · 3 years

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FEATURE: All Hail Secret Society BLANKET! Looking Back at Laid-Back Camp

Seasons come and go, but anime is eternal, and there's no need to be afraid of missing out on the goodness of yesteryear when “Cruising the Crunchy-Catalog” is here to help connect would-be viewers with the shows they may have passed over the first time around.

Thanksgiving has concluded, Christmas is just around the corner, and as the weather cools down, we anime fans turn our thoughts to warm campfires and cool locations, so this week we're getting into the wintery spirit with a look back at a series that captures the idea of “chill” in both the literal and metaphorical sense. Please join us as we revisit Laid-Back Camp.

What's Laid-Back Camp?

Based on the manga by afro, Laid-Back Camp is a winter 2018 TV anime with direction by Yoshiaki Kyogoku and animation production by C-Station. Crunchyroll describes the story of the series as follows:

Nadeshiko, a high school student who had moved from Shizuoka to Yamanashi, decides to see the famous, 1000 yen-bill-featured Mount Fuji. Even though she manages to bike all the way to Motosu, she's forced to turn back because of worsening weather. Unable to set her eyes on her goal, she faints partway to her destination. When she wakes up, it's night, in a place she's never been before, with no way of knowing how to get home. Nadeshiko is saved when she encounters Rin, a girl who is out camping by herself. This outdoorsy girls story begins with this first encounter between Nadeshiko and Rin.

This description makes the intro episode of Laid-Back Camp sound a bit harrowing, but rest assured, gentle readers, that the series is only stressful if you're like me and have an almost pathological distaste for camping. After a little viewing, I got over my hang-ups, and I was able to appreciate the show's cozy and comedic charms.

youtube

The Great Outdoors.

The primary attraction of Laid-Back Camp is how it explores the hobby of modern camping in glorious detail. Not only does the show provide advice and trivia for activities such as setting up a tent, tending a campfire, and enjoying outdoor cooking, but special care is given to conveying the beauties of nature.

From the show's color and lighting schemes to the subtle sounds of crackling campfires to the steam that condenses when characters exhale in the cold, Laid-Back Camp captures a sense of the Japanese countryside during the winter season in a superb fashion that few other TV anime can rival.

Roughing It?

Laid-Back Camp also quietly explores themes of humanity's place within the natural world. When Nadeshiko, Rin, and the members of the Outdoor Activities Club go camping, they aren't disconnecting entirely from the comforts of modern society.

Instead, the girls bring along precision-engineered gear (tents, sleeping bags, portable heaters, etc.) as well as their smartphones and more mundane items such as books, so they can remain in constant contact with each other and with the trappings of everyday life. Running water, plumbing, and convenience store food are never too far away.

This juxtaposition of the vast emptiness of the wilderness versus the amenities of urban life gives Laid-Back Camp a reverent but contemplative tone.

Rose-Colored Glasses.

Laid-Back Camp presents an idealized version of camping where the thousands of tiny disasters that can accompany the activity — ravenous mosquitoes, inclement weather, lousy food, annoying neighbors, broken gear, etc. — don't really apply. Combined with a bit of gourmet cooking thrown in for good measure, it's designed to make the viewers feel warm and cozy.

Laid-Back Camp most closely resembles reality with the running gag of the girls experiencing sticker shock whenever they discover that camping can be an expensive hobby. The dramatic tension of the show never peaks higher than Rin — who prefers peace and quiet to raucous social gatherings — slowly learning to overcome her initial resistance to camping with other people, and the worst-case scenarios involve closed roads and missed opportunities.

Maximum Chill.

Crunchyroll currently streams Laid-Back Camp in numerous territories around the world, and the series is available in the original Japanese language with subtitles in English, Spanish, Latin American Spanish, French, Portuguese, Italian, German, Russian, and Arabic. Crunchyroll also streams the ROOM CAMP spin-off anime, and an English language version of the original manga is available from Yen Press. Additionally, a second season of Laid-Back Camp is scheduled to hit Japanese TV beginning in January of 2021.

With an understated sense of humor, a low degree of dramatic conflict, and a genuine love of the outdoor life that is obvious in every animation frame, Laid-Back Camp is an easy recommendation for viewers of all stripes. If the series is available in your area, then please consider giving Laid-Back Camp a try.

Thanks for joining us for this week's installment of “Cruising the Crunchy-Catalog.” Be sure to tune in next time when we take a look back at a story of employment with a foxy, supernatural twist when we check out a series from the fall season of 2017.

Is there a series in Crunchyroll's catalog that you think needs some more love and attention? Please send in your suggestions via e-mail to [email protected] or post a Tweet to @gooberzilla. Your pick could inspire the next installment of “Cruising the Crunchy-Catalog!"

Paul Chapman is the host of The Greatest Movie EVER! Podcast and GME! Anime Fun Time.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Paul Chapman

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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michaelmilkers · 5 years

Note

I saw in one of your tags that you mentioned how 21 pilots made emo pretentious and im actually curious about why you say that (not hate i just never knew about them that much)

my friend you have asked me about a topic i am very knowledgeable and very angry about so prepare yourself for what you have wrought

it isnt just twenty one pilots but theyre just the biggest and most popular example

like. take my chemical romance in the early-mid 2000s aka the peak of emo. it was very melodramatic and theatrical, the way emo should be. there was a presence of “we are not like other people” in a lot of the songs, but it was never just that. it was more of a “we have been cast out and we kinda suck but thats okay.” one of the best examples of this is, ironically, i’m not okay.

take, for example, the opening to the mtv music video:

[Ray] You like D&D, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria, Harry Houdini and croquet. You can't swim, you can't dance and you don't know karate. Face it, you're never gonna make it. [Gerard] I don't wanna make it, I just wanna...

this immediately establishes the song as being about social outcasts and people who dont fit the mold. the fucking tag line of the song is “i’m not okay” ffs, that really tells you all you need to know about the song. but the important thing is it doesnt take itself too seriously either. the music video takes place in a private school, and shows scenes of the band members eating lunch alone, being bullied by jocks and preps, etc., but it ALSO shows scenes of frank putting swim goggles on in chemistry class and ray drawing on his test with a crayon and then licking it, and at the end they all ambush and beat the shit out of a guy in a mascot costume. all of this is cut up by text saying things like “if you ever felt alone” “if you ever felt wronged” “if you ever felt anxious”

do you see the juxtaposition here? the music video could very very easily be a fake deep bullying psa, but its not, because while theyre getting bullied and playing their music in a garage they are also, unequivocally, total fucking losers for obvious comedic effect. it is a very exaggerated and lighthearted version of real phenomena, which makes it more relatable to a wider audience.

the same can be said about the song itself. it has some pretty heavy and angsty lyrics (”i’m not o-fucking-kay”) but the instrumentals are punchy and energetic and catchy and gerard’s vocal delivery is very theatrical but also very deliberate and he still puts real emotion in the words. it sounds like its taking the piss out of not being okay, which is exactly what i as a clinically depressed 13 year old needed, and i bet a lot of other people can say the same. i’m a loser and thats okay. i fucking suck in school and thats okay. i feel shitty and thats okay. i’m not okay and that, in itself, is okay.

with twenty one pilots, on the other hand, there is no theatrics, theres no taking the piss, theres no over-the-top melodrama that made emo what it was.

take, for comparison, the opening lines of heathens:

All my friends are heathens, take it slow Wait for them to ask you who you know Please don't make any sudden moves You don't know the half of the abuse

and this presents, immediately, one of my biggest criticisms of twenty one pilots: their rampant appropriation of mental illness.

because my first thought when hearing this is as an abuse survivor and someone with ptsd they can kiss every single square inch of my ass.

Welcome to the room of people Who have rooms of people that they loved one day Docked away Just because we check the guns at the door Doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades You're loving on the psychopath sitting next to you You're loving on the murderer sitting next to you You'll think, "How'd I get here, sitting next to you?"

they try to do the same kind of nuanced poetic lyrics that my chemical romance did and in my opinion is just doesnt fucking work because they take themselves SO. FUCKING. SERIOUSLY. it sounds JOYLESS.

and the song closes out with this:

Why'd you come? You knew you should have stayed (It's blasphemy) I tried to warn you just to stay away (Away) And now they're outside ready to bust (To bust) It looks like you might be one of us

this is what i mean by pretentious. there is a clear separation of the person/people from whose point of view the song is told and the people the song is meant to be listened to by from the greater population, but theres no high energy or comedic self deprecation to counteract it.

now take some lyrics from heavydirtysoul, a song i actually really like the sound of, im not just shitting on this band bc its not to my taste yall:

There's an infestation in my mind's imagination I hope that they choke on smoke 'cause I'm smoking them out the basement This is not rap, this is not hip-hop Just another attempt to make the voices stop

Nah, I didn't understand a thing you said If I didn't know better I'd guess you're all already dead Mindless zombies walking around with a limp and a hunch Saying stuff like, "You only live once." You've got one time to figure it out One time to twist and one time to shout One time to think and I say we start now Sing it with me if you know what I'm talking about

right back at it again with that appropriation of mental illness symptoms! and some dumbass critique of our generation that doesnt fit in with the rest of the song at all, closing out the verse with “we are not like you” shit. the vocal delivery at least has more energy than heathens, but the lyrics just feel like a mishmash of different points theyre trying to make that have nothing to do with each other.

the best line of the song is undoubtedly “death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit” but its poetic just... for the sake of being poetic? its one of those lyrics that sounds like someone came up with and was like “bro we gotta put that in a song” but then couldnt actually figure out how to fit it into a song in a way that would flow. another example of this is “i cant drown my demons they know how to swim” in bring me the horizon’s can you feel my heart. not shitting on bring me the horizon, i really like sempiternal, but thats another line thats just poetic for the sake of being poetic. and to be put on t-shirts. i know this because when i was 12 i had a shirt that said “i cant drown my demons they know how to swim” on it.

i could do more analysis on other mcr songs, namely welcome to the black parade and famous last words, but i would be here for literal hours and idk if people actually care that much.

to sum my points up:

they take themselves too seriously. they appropriate and romanticize mental illness (forgot to mention that top’s website, at one time, described their music as “schizoid pop” lol). they pull a lot of “We Are Not Like Other People..,.,.,,...” shit.

that last point is not inherently a bad thing, for example the new slipknot album is literally called “we are not your kind” but the song that contains that line as a lyric is all out life, and corey taylor is screaming that entire song and the instrumentals are reminiscent of speed metal with how fucking energetic they are. its edgy and its GREAT. twenty one pilots just sounds like they think theyre the shit.

also, and i want you to read the following sentence in a bass boosted voice to best understand how i feel when i say this:

the twenty one pilots cover of cancer is an embarrassment that completely misses the point of the original song and changed it into a weird amalgamation of lo-fi synth pop.

emo music is dead. thank u and goodnight.

#Anonymous

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happymetalgirl · 5 years

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Demon Hunter - War & Peace

I don’t remember exactly where it was, but I have seen the sentiment echoed on the online metal discussion sphere (and I’m possibly also thinking of my own thoughts as well), that Demon Hunter are basically just the Christian Five Finger Death Punch, at least lately. And I don’t know why, but I do feel the need to address/debunk this before talking about their double release here this year, mainly because it was when Five Finger Death Punch tried their hand at a two-volume album release that I felt them really starting to go south.

Anyway, first-off, like I said, I have had this cursory comparison enter my mind, so I understand the reasoning behind it. Five Finger Death Punch has been for the past few years, unfortunately, probably the biggest (in terms of success) representative of modern groove metal and alternative metal, even if it’s just in name only at this point. Demon Hunter play a similar style of groovy, melodic metalcore and alternative metal to what got Five Finger Death Punch on the map (though Demon Hunter predate Five Finger Death Punch by five years and three full-length studio albums), and of all the “Christian bands” doing it, they’re definitely the biggest right now, and have been for a good few years as well. Ivan Moody’s and Ryan Clark’s aggressive mid-treble growls and melodic vocal deliveries are pretty similar, and they could both easily sing for the other’s band. And both bands are not shy to give one or a couple power or acoustic ballads a shot per album, which Demon Hunter definitely have a better track record with (see “My Heartstrings Come Undone”, “Carry Me Down”, the acoustic version of “The Tide Began to Rise”, “One Thousand Apologies”, and “Driving Nails”). And perhaps the most unnerving aspect, both bands are definitely not making their best work right now with Demon Hunter peaking at The World Is a Thorn and Five Finger Death Punch continuing to nosedive since War Is the Answer. At least Demon Hunter had a period of relatively consistently good output and more than one and a half really good albums under their belt. But that’s really where the similarities end: their similar genre styles and their respective successes.

What makes being compared to Five Finger Death Punch such a hypothetically inauspicious sign for a band, such as Demon Hunter, doesn’t really apply to Demon Hunter. Yes, while they’ve struggled for form for the past few years, it’s nothing compared to the absolute trash fire Five Finger Death Punch have made of their career only worse as time goes on from an artistic standpoint. Last year’s And Justice for None was undoubtedly the most corporately managed and phoned-in sellout project ever from them. And while I thought Demon Hunter’s Outlive in 2017 was below their potential, it didn’t make my bottom ten like And Justice for None did the next year. But what really makes Five Finger Death Punch such a despised name has a lot to do with the attitude. Ivan Moody behind the microphone and on the lyric sheet is juvenile and cringe-worthy to put it nicely, and his ugly enough prima donna antics on-stage and behind-the-scenes have leaked into the band’s music as of late to provide an utterly unattractive attitude to the band’s sound, a problem Ryan Clark and Demon Hunter definitely do not have to a degree even close to being worth mentioning. For them it’s just putting in the honest compositional work they always have, and singing semi-ambiguously about their Christian faith. Demon Hunter have also not terminally infected their sound with radio pandering and butchered production to nearly the same degree that Five Finger Death Punch have. On a very superficial level, yes, there are some similarities between the two, but where it really matters, Demon Hunter is not nearly the rotten eggs Five Finger Death Punch are to their respective spheres of metal.

Okay, that took way too long, but with it out of the way, on to the matter at hand: War and Peace (the two Demon Hunter albums, not the famously massive Leo Tolstoy novel). The pair of albums are intended to explore the band’s self-attributed stylistic poles on their own respectively, with War focusing on their groove metal and metalcore roots and Peace focusing on the more alternative hard rock forays they often go off on. Yes, while the prospect of ninety-eight minutes’ worth of music spread across two albums from a band in much less than optimal shape as of late certainly wasn’t a great sign going into these albums, the results were much better than I expected and not quite as watered down as so many projects of this type tend to get. Both these albums bring about a surprising upturn in Demon Hunter’s compositional form.

Of the two, I think Peace is actually a little more solid, only because I think the band better represented that side of themselves than they did their heavier side on War. War isn’t quite the stark contrast to Peace it really could have been if the band tapped deep into the creative well that produced their fastest, thrashiest, and most punishing songs like “The World Is a Thorn”, “LifeWar”, “Storm the Gates of Hell”, “Not I”, and “Beheaded”. Demon Hunter do indeed tap into their metalcore style pretty well, but for my personal preference, I think I would have liked to hear the band less reliant on melodic choruses and melodic vocal sections in general throughout, especially since Peace, meanwhile, finds the band more easily and naturally channeling their less overtly aggressive side. Though War does have a good few highlights worth noting. “Cut to Fit” opens the album with sufficient direct melodic metalcore force comparable to what the band have built their name on. The shortest and fastest track on the album, “Ash”, captures the direct-thrash-assault approach that makes so many of the band’s short title tracks on past albums such bangers. The band do showcase some respectable versatility as well as the song “The Negative” captures a harsh, revolting metalcore feel with Ryan Clark’s scratchy hardcore snarls backed by lone snare battering and its menacing bridge, while “Lesser Gods” finds Clark channeling Randy Blythe a bit during the more grandiose-minded song’s heavy choruses. The closing track, “Gunfight”, is perhaps one of the band’s most directly furious, yet phenomenally ambitiously structured metalcore thrashers. Songs like “Close Enough” and (to a lesser extent) “Unbound”, however, that base their core on basic rock drum beats and typical structuring do indeed (after all my arguing to the contrary) remind a little too much for comfort of Five Finger Death Punch, and mar the album unnecessarily.

Overall though, War is actually a significant upswing from the past two or three releases, and even if it could have gone heavier, it was great to hear Demon Hunter really centrally focusing on the heavy side of their sound that got them where they are. Its weaknesses are minor, if not only fleeting, and the band show that they still have plenty of gas in the tank to keep their fire going.

Peace, on the other hand, the rockier album of the two, if you will, isn’t completely neutered at all, just more of a rock-focused album with some alternative metal tinges still held around to spice things up. Ryan Clark’s clinical melodic clean singing takes center stage of the songs on here. This is not to say the rest of the band don’t shine; they do lay back and maintain the vibe of the songs for a greater portion of this album than War, but Peace certainly has its unexpectedly adventurous and even heavy moments.

The opening track “More Than Bones” keeps the allegro pace and the metallic guitar distortion dialed in from the previous album. It’s really the most classic-rock the band get for the entire album, and it might have served better somewhere in the middle to break up the rest of the hard-rocking material. But its placement is only a minor potential gripe. The hardness with which the rest of Peace rocks is kind of surprising, with “Bet My Life” even featuring a downtuned nu metal guitar breakdown of sorts near its closing moments. The song “Time Only Takes” also rocks pretty thoroughly hard through some slow, but crunchy, palm-muted guitar grooves. The similarly crunchy metallic verses on the song “Loneliness” sound like some old-school, actually cool, Five Finger Death Punch, while the more subdued acoustic choruses provide an unexpectedly hair-raising juxtaposition.

“Rescue Myself” sees the band directing themselves toward making one of those famous power ballads of theirs, with some ethereal choir vocal backing being one of the primary highlights of the song, which isn’t much to write home about compositionally. The results are decent, but the song “Peace” is perhaps the most fully realized upbeat somber ballad the band have ever made, and its sheer soulfulness and sing-along infectiousness is unrivaled on the rest of the album. The stripped back piano balladry of “Fear Is Not My Guide” comes pretty close, though. It’s a nice breather track for sure, but I think I still would have liked to hear some kind of extra instrumental or compositional ambition of some sort on it.

Like I said, I think Peace is just the slightly more consistent of the two, if only for its fewer moments of actual Five Finger Death Punch reminiscence. It’s by no means a take on the band’s “soft side”, but rather a focused exhibit of the band’s other main style of song-writing, which they do well to spice up regularly enough on here to keep it interesting.

After sitting with it after a several good listens though, still enjoying it, I have to say this was a risky move that paid off with what will likely be a sleeper hit for the band. I wouldn’t have put money on them bouncing back a bit with more material so soon, but the centrifuging of their styles seems to have helped bring the best out of them for both sides of their sound, and that’s great. I think being able to commit fully to one approach and one focus one one project and commit fully to another focus and approach on another project both helped the respective albums flow more smoothly and helped the band not worry so much about the balancing act they’ve had to maintain between the two throughout their career. Of course, the question is where to go from here. Do Demon Hunter do split-up or double releases for the rest of the foreseeable future with this style? Probably not; it sure must be exhausting for the band, and even as well as this one came out, I don’t think I’d bet on a repeat being similarly palatable in the near future. I don’t know, most bands that have tried this kind of double album thing usually don’t do it twice in a row unless long, winding compositions make their albums long as hell to begin with (i.e. Swans, Sunn O))), Prurient). Opeth just did Ghost Reveries after Deliverance and Damnation. Periphery did their third eponymous album after the Juggernaut double album. And Five Finger Death Punch shat the bed even worse with Got Your Six after their double album snooze party. So I guess it’s more likely they go for a more traditional single LP next, which will mean probably recombining everything that did so well split up on these albums. Hopefully the time apart the styles got here and the vitality the band found in their approach keeps the upward momentum going for their next album. For now, I’m rather pleased with how this came out. Definitely the best offering of alternative metal I’ve heard all year.

Good job Demon Hunter, my review is as annoyingly long as the book you named your albums after/10

#demon hunter #war #peace #groove metal #alternative rock #alternative metal #metal #heavy metal #new music #new album #album review

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iesorno · 4 years

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Anxious Comics – issue 3 page 4

I first saw Daniel Bristow-Bailey’s work when he offered up free copies of his prose zine Dog. I ordered it on the strength of the cover, Dog handwritten above a very detailed drawing of a frog. It made me laugh, there was something oddly significant in that juxtaposition, couldn’t tell you why, but there was. Shortly after that he started his Anxious Comics series, which is a fast paced, underground influenced mash series that has a lot of nonsense and yet some very powerful moments. It’s daft, but also on point and so, exactly what I enjoy.

He’s an eclectic creator and has a set of skills that make his work pop.

You can find him here

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Use the discount code ZINELOVE10 for a 10% discount on anything you buy. Valid until the end of 2020.

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Screaming page 2

Can you tell us a bit about the first creator whose work you recognised?

It would have been someone from 2000AD. I remember being very excited by Kevin O’Neill’s run on Nemesis and Simon Bisley’s painted artwork for Sláine. If I look at Bisley’s stuff now I find it hard to get past the grotesque anatomy, but as with people like Todd MacFarlane in the US he pushed past his technical limitations with a raw energy that appealed to adolescent boys. I don’t mean that as snootily as it sounds! Adolescent boys can be fierce critics.

Kev O’Neill – Nemesis the Warlock

Simon Bisley – Slaine

Which creators do you remember first copying?

My mum, who should get most of the credit for teaching me to draw, always strongly discouraged me from copying directly, but I came pretty close to it with Moebius! He always makes it look so (deceptively) easy that it’s hard not to have a go oneself.

Moebius – Edena

Who was the creator that you first thought ‘I’m going to be as good as you!’?

That’s an interesting question. Probably Gilbert Shelton. I started reading the Freak Brothers when I was far too young (got to thank my mum again for that) and that “underground” style with lots of fine linework and cross-hatching seemed to be achievable with the materials I had at home. I think the Shelton influence still shows in my black-and-white stuff.

Gilbert Shelton – Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers

Which creator or creators do you currently find most inspiring?

In terms of comics, I’ve recently discovered Al Columbia. I can’t remember the last time I found an artist who really disturbed me like his stuff does. Even the more restrained stuff has an evil, haunted quality. The book I’ve got (Pim and Francie, Fantagraphics, 2009) feels like a cursed object, like the Necronomicon in Lovecraft’s stories, or the video cassette in the Ring. It’s a great example of text, illustration and book design all working together.

Al Columbia – Pim and Francie

Nabokov – Pale fire – Gingko Press edition

I’ve been reading a lot of Nabokov. He’s one of those writers I keep coming back to. Sometimes I like to think about how you could do a graphic novel of “Pale Fire”. The first half of the book is a very long poem, written by one fictitious character, and the second half is a collection of footnotes to the poem, written by a second fictitious character, who has stolen the manuscript and is preparing an unauthorised edition of the poem. As the notes digress further and further from the text of the poem, another narrative emerges, that may or may not be “true”, so it would probably be impossible to do a graphic novel adaptation, but thinking about how one might do impossible things is often creatively rewarding.

Which creators do you most often think about?

David Lynch – Twin Peaks

Aside from the people I’ve mentioned already, I think a lot about David Lynch. I’ve always liked his stuff but Twin Peaks: The Return (2017) absolutely blew me away. There were points I was watching that when I thought “I didn’t know you could do that with television”. I think whenever a work expands your ideas about what’s possible within a particular medium you know you’re in the presence of real Art with a capital A. I love the sense of mystery in Lynch’s stuff, which I think comes from his letting the subconscious take the lead in the creative process – he talks a lot about using ideas or imagery from dreams, or meditation. It’s a process I’ve consciously been emulating with “Anxious Comics”.

Anxious Comics – issue 3 page 4

Can you name the first three creative peers that come into your head and tell a little bit about why?

Gareth Hopkins, because I’ve just finished doing a page for his “no new ideas” project. It was great fun getting to paint over a copy of one of his pages. Gareth posts a lot of his process online and I’ve found it inspiring how he reworks and recycles stuff. His work has definitely encouraged me to veer more towards abstraction, and not to be afraid, in comics, of decoupling the text from the image – I think he was a big influence on my one-shot “the Screaming”.

Gareth Brookes. I’ve not talked to Gareth much about process but he seems drawn to ridiculously labour-intensive media, like embroidery or linocuts. As if making comics wasn’t hard enough already! But as I said before, there’s nothing like setting yourself an impossible challenge to get the creative juices flowing. Also, when I look at the spread of stuff he’s got for sale at conventions – a mix of self-published zines and two or three big hardback books published more traditionally, I think it’s where I’d like to be myself in a few years’ time, so I guess he’s kind of a role model for me right now.

Hannah Lee Miller

Hannah Lee Miller is producing some lovely stuff. I picked up a copy of her zine about condiments at Catford Zine Fair and it’s one of those things that initially seems rather slight and inconsequential but is actually really, really good, it just doesn’t shout about it. Also, Hannah is, in my limited experience, infallibly enthusiastic about other comic / zine people and always ready to help out or lend support where it’s needed. An asset to the scene.

Finally, can you tell us a bit about your recent work and yourself?

For a long time I tried to be self-disciplined and only work on one thing at once, but recently I’ve come to accept that I’m happier when I have several projects, preferably in different media, on the go at once.

The last thing I self-published was “The Screaming”, an experimental one-shot comic about dreams and mental health. I wrote about it in some detail for Broken Frontier.

Screaming page 8

I’ve got five pages in the upcoming anthology by Obsolete Comics. I’m really excited about this one as it looks like it’s going to be great, and hopefully represents the start of another small comics press. We can never have enough small comics presses.

I’ve also got Anxious Comics, my ongoing series – four issues out to date and the fifth long overdue! My long-term plan with that, if you can call it that, is to keep it going between other projects for as long as it needs to, or until I get bored. At some point it would be nice to do a collected edition.

I’m currently drawing a comic written by Steve Thompson, which he’ll be pitching to publishers soon I think. I like drawing other people’s scripts because it forces me to draw stuff I otherwise wouldn’t think of.

Looking to the longer term, I’m working on a script for a longer-form comic. It’s kind of a superhero thing. But not quite. I’ve got this character who’s kind of my own take on the super-violent costumed vigilantes like the Punisher and Deadpool that were popular when I was a kid, but transplanted to the “real world” of early-noughties London. It’s pretty bleak. I think it’s funny myself but as with some other stuff I’ve self-published in the past it will probably cause people to express concern for my mental health.

Gareth – Hunt Begins – work in progess

Bio: Daniel Bristow-Bailey was born in London in 1978. Growing up during the “dark age” of mainstream comics, he quickly became attracted to the alternative / indie scene and, encouraged by his mum and the bloke in the local comic shop, started drawing his own from an early age. Like many others, he drifted away from comics in his late teens, put off by their uncool image and lack of seriousness compared to grown-up art and literature, but came back to them in recent years as he realised that no-one was going to think he was cool or take him seriously anyway. As well as making his own comics, he draws other people’s scripts and sometimes writes prose fiction. He has a day job working as a mental health person in schools. He lives in Richmond with his wife and two children.

Thank you very much for taking the time to fill this out and let us into your mind.

Gerald – work in progress

all art copyright and trademark it’s respective owners.

content copyright iestyn pettigrew 2020

Small (press) oaks – Daniel Bristow-Bailey @bristowbailey details who influenced him (tl:dr mostly his mum!) in our latest look creator's influences #smalloaks #comics #zines #inetrviews #zinelove I first saw Daniel Bristow-Bailey's work when he offered up free copies of his prose zine Dog.

#comics #horror #interview #smallpress #zines

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hillonphotography · 4 years

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CHINESE PHOTOGRAPHY

Yining He in Conversation with Paul Hill

1. What are you engaged in recently? How Peak District looks like at this season? Making pictures on my iPhone of things that are magnets to my eyes and also reflect my life at the moment. The weather is grey here which I like for photography, but a bit miserable for everyday living!

2. How did you start as a photojournalist in the mid 1960s? As far as I know, Tony Ray-Jones had just come back from the US, and began to work on a series on British customs. At the same time Creative Camera, as the only periodical about photography at that time, recommended a series from American photographers. How was the British photographic atmosphere back in that time? I was a reporter/writer on a small provincial newspaper in a rural county Shropshire in England but I was always in the darkroom watching the photographers and trying to print my own photos I had taken of my hobby which was – and still is – rock climbing and hill walking. Photography then was always in the service of commerce – editorial, advertising, industrial – if you wanted to make a living. But some magazines exposed us to photography as a personally expressive medium, like Creative Camera, which I used to see in the 60s. In it I saw the work of photographers like Tony Ray Jones, Diane Arbus, Lee Friedlander, Robert Frank. I had been introduced to the work of Henri Cartier Bresson and Eugene Smith through a photographer friend who helped me get work with a Birmingham newspaper when I decided to become a freelance in 1965. I also saw the work of Bill Brandt at that time in the book Shadow of Light which was very different to the photojournalistic work I was doing, but I loved it because it was SO different.

3. How did American and Europe photographic atmosphere influence you and other British photographers? They were very influential, but British photographer, Brandt was the best for me. What I liked was how photography as a stand alone medium was appreciated in the US. Much more than in Britain or Europe. In Europe photojournalism and documentary was king and I was a part of that practice but I realised that you could ‘say’ things with photography that were relevant and important to you. Serious art galleries were not interested in photography then and college painting, sculpture and print making courses, and artists in general, thought it was a medium of record rather than a creative medium as personally expressive as painting or sculpture

4. You completed a great book in photographic history – Dialogue with Photography - from 1974 to 1978 that collects interviews with photographic masters, and helps professionals, amateurs and scholars to observe and study photography. How did you and your partner Thomas Cooper start the dialogue? We wanted to research the idea of whether there was a difference between an American and a European aesthetic in photography. In 1974 we had to take some work to the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris, so we decided to try and interview some famous European and American photographers who lived in France – Cartier Bresson, Brassai, Man Ray, Paul Strand, Lartigue – and we did it over 4 days. Camera, the Swiss magazine, which was the best international photo magazine then, was interested in publishing our photos – AND publishing the interviews on a monthly basis. This helped fund the project, and its editor Allan Porter helped support our interviews project, which were collected into the book that was published in New York and London in 1979.

5. What was the most impressive during the whole process?

Nearly all of those people we interviewed impressed us. Each interview was a different experience and a bit of an adventure as meeting some of your heroes can be. I must write about each experience before I get too old to remember them! Helmut Gernsheim met his wife and collaborator, Alison in a nudist colony, Man Ray smoking pot, and seeing my first microwave oven at Ansel Adams’ home, and finding out he was a member for a time of the communist inclining Photo League, that Cecil Beaton deliberately photographed members of British aristocracy in a way that made them look foolish because he felt an outsider. I think the most impressive were Beaumont Newhall and Paul Strand to whom we dedicated the book.

6. How do you think this special experience influenced your understanding of photography? What’s more, I noticed that in the same period of time, you changed the subject significantly. As a relatively personal project, Prenotations, as you wrote before, consists of incongruous juxtapositions, visual metaphors and symbolic references that transcended the information that was in front of the camera at the time of exposure. We can see your style was changed from documentary to abstract. Why did your photography change at that time? When I started teaching in an art department at Trent Polytechnic my approach changed as I wanted to be a student myself. So I experimented in the way we encouraged students to. I started to explore light as a solid object rather than a fleeting phenomenon in a photograph, for example.

7. In the following decade (1979-1989), you made landscape the subject of your creation, and created many great black and white images. Liz Wells thinks landscape photography inherited two main themes: First is pure photography based on topography. In general, they maintained the image structure of traditional landscape paintings. Second is images with more pictorialism. They are consistent with the photographers’ idea of “valuing the first”, and are mysterious, poetic or critical. As a practitioner of landscape photography, how do you understand landscape as a genre of photography?

Photography foregrounds my involvement with the world, so landscape for me is about the stuff under your feet – the form, shapes, marks, history, social significance, adventure – because I found being in the outside, near to natural things, open spaces compelling even before I was a photographer. I climbed up crags and mountain tops, which gives a different perspective and attitude to it. I try to reflect what my instinct dictates in my photographs first before constructing a theory about what I am trying to achieve. If I see in the viewfinder a photograph I’ve seen before I try NOT to press the shutter. I learned this from Alexei Brodovitch's teaching. Although I’m bound to be influenced by the work of others, I strive to go my own way and deliberately provoke as well as witness. There is too much of the academy in photography today and not enough passion and emotion. It has become self conscious and too ‘cool’, in both senses of the word.

8. Wendy J. Darby, writer of Landscape and Identity, connects the landscape of Peak District with British national identity. She thinks the landscape of Peak District can arouse national sentiment and reflect people’s feelings toward history – the admiration of Britain before or after Norman Conquest. What significances does Peak District have on you? Its where I live, so I identify with it as a person and as a photographer as I said before. I don’t know what British national identity is – only my own – and I’m not sure about that either! The older I get the more suspicious I am of nationalism. There is here a tolerance of the strange and different, because most English people do not like to confront or cause offence, instead they ignore what they do not understand or let others – like some newspapers and politicians – do the complaining – except when they are drunk then they lose their inhibitions!

9. In your 50-year career, which photographer or artist are the most influential to you?

In the early days Brian Randle – a photographer I worked with when I was a reporter – and Bill Brandt

10. As we all know, the 1970s is the turning point for British photographic education. At that time, several British art schools, including Trent Polytechnic, Nottingham and Derby College of Art, West Surrey College of Art, Farham, and Polytechnic of Central London, respectively initiated new photographic courses. The Creative Photography Course launched by Trent Polytechnic Nottingham that you led in the mid 1970s significantly promoted photography as an art form. Why did you choose to teach photography? What made you launch such a course? I was asked to give talks to photo students in the early 70s – one of the first was at Manchester Polytechnic when Martin Parr, Daniel Meadows and Brian Griffin were there. Also, the editor of Creative Camera, Bill Jay , who I had worked with on another magazine, suggested to Trent Polytechnic that I be approached to some teaching there. I was getting disenchanted with the newspaper world I had been in for 13 years, particularly the arrival of Rupert Murdoch and his approach to journalism which was to take papers much further down market. Photo courses were very vocational then and had little regard for photography as a stand alone art form, or even for photo history. Most were more concerned with training rather than education, but the profession was changing and the majority of photographers were becoming freelancers and self employed. Permanent staff jobs were in the minority, so we wanted to give a more rounded visual education and emphasise creativity and adaptability. We managed to persuade our UK institutions and educational authorities that you could also be an artist with a camera too. Education was one part of the sea change. The others were Arts Council grants for photographers, the emergence of photo galleries, and photo workshops like my own, The Photographers Place, which my wife and I started in 1976

11. What were the units of this course at the beginning? What’s more, being a course leader is different from being a photographer, because a course leader has more responsibilities and has to deal with many administrative affairs. What was your biggest challenge then? The most influential module was in the first year which was called Experimentation where we encouraged students to take chances. The work had to be innovative and reflect the personality of the student rather an application of commercial photography. The biggest challenge for me was to keep my own practice going as well as teach as well as direct the curriculum. But I think teachers should not ask students to do things they do not do themselves.

12. During the past four decades, what has changed in British photographic education? Would you mind share some of your experiences in teaching photography during last twenty years? There has been an enormous growth in degree courses in photography in the last 20 years, including postgraduate and doctoral studies. But over the last 10 years paid work for photographers has probably declined. There are more platforms for the medium, but little cash. So students should study photography like they might study English. Photography is probably the most important visual communicator in the world with more photographs being made during the course of this interview than in the first 100 years of photography!

13. Besides photography, what’s your other interests? How do they influence your creation? My interest as I said - outside photography and teaching - are walking, climbing, nature, history, cinema – and recently, through my partner Maria Falconer, contemporary dance and physical theatre.

14. What’s the relationship between photography and writing? Although they both describe, they can also transcend the informational, and create other perspectives on the world that reach the emotional and intellectual depths beyond our imaginings.

15. To help Chinese readers further understand British photography, could you please recommend one or two impressive exhibitions or books in the past decades? I think it is very difficult to give an accurate view of ‘British’ photography because it is an amalgam of international styles, but if pressed I would recommend: Three Perspectives on Photography (Hayward Gallery) and Through the Looking Glass (Barbican Gallery)

My book Approaching Photography is published in China, I am pleased to say.

Monographs - Shadow of Light (Bill Brandt) and The English at Home (Bill Brandt) A Day Out (Tony Ray Jones) Last Resort (Martin Parr) Red River (Jem Southam) Weather Forecast (Mark Power)

January 2016

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thenichibro · 7 years

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Fall 2017 Anime First Impressions

And so here I am again, three weeks late because I can never keep up. Fall 2017 thus far doesn’t seem too, too bad, but I’m sure that will change, considering the multiple original shows on my watching list. Luckily there’s plenty of cute girls doing cute things shows, which is all I need, really. As usual, here’s what I’m watching, with MAL links and original shows marked: Osake wa Fuufu (MAL) Starting off with a short show this time. Osake wa Fuufu follows a wife, Chisato, and her husband, Sora. Sora likes making drinks, and Chisato likes drinking. Match made in heaven, if you ask me. The show even includes drink recipes depending on the featured drink, and a food pairing with it. It's a three minute show about a cute, drunk wife. What's not to like?

URAHARA (MAL) Taking a sharp departure from the calmness of Osake wa Fuufu, URAHARA involves three fashion-loving Harajuku girls saving the planet from aliens. This show is Harajuku personified. Everything from the character design to the OP explodes with a bubbly, colorful atmosphere, wrapped up in a beautiful watercolor aesthetic. ORESAMA's fantastic brand of electropop is the exact cherry on top the art style needed. Rito is the skateboarding, soft-spoken girl with demon horns, Kotoko is the peppy blonde kemonomimi, and Mari is the twintailed idol who also owns the clothes shop the girls work at. After aliens sucking up cultural landmarks appear, an American girl wearing a talking fried shrimp shows up, gives them "physical manifestations of imagination," and they promptly transform into magical girls and fight the aliens, making them explode and turn into donuts. Sure, that made no sense at all, but everything's so colorful. Capped off by a similarly bubbly ED, this show is just outright fun. If it stays about three cute girls happily fighting fashion-stealing aliens, I'm in.

Dies Irae (MAL) Just as an FYI, Dies Irae aired an episode zero prequel, but I've waited until the formal episode one before doing any impressions, seeing as the prequel was a complete clusterfuck anyway. Now then, after the prequel involving Nazi supermen, Dies Irae's main series cuts to the future and the protagonist Ren, a solemn oft-hospitalized teen. Plenty of mysteries abound - a sudden murder, a strange vision at a museum, a runaway friend, a girl calling him Cagliostrio in a dream - interspersed throughout an otherwise thoroughly boring slice of life. Following that, the episode alos teases plenty of the insane bullshit the prequel was few of. In one line, one character drops 5 proper nouns we have had zero interaction with, with the off mention of one name from the prequel episode. Foreshadowing is fine; introducing three characters in the span of 15 seconds and then talking about 5+ more of them is a bit much. The art is nothing special, and the orchestral soundtrack is unique enough, but if the prequel was any indication, this show is going to get insane, really fast. And not insane like the fun, rollercoaster ride kind. More like the trying-too-hard, unnecesarily edgy, impossible to actually follow kind.

Net-juu no Susume (MAL) Ah, the MMO spin on the isekai genre. Net-juu follows Moriko, a NEET woman living alone who devotes her time to playing a guy (Hayashi) in an MMO. She meets with an amazingly cute girl, Lily (who later we see to be a guy IRL), and they start adventuring together. Cut to 70-odd levels of grinding, joining a guild, and an upgraded PC later, Moriko/Hayashi has settled in just fine. First off, Lily's VA is the fucking cutest, holy shit. My reactions about echoed Moriko's anytime she was being cute. Other than that, the first episode was surprisingly sincere. Relatively light on the "MY REAL LIFE IS ON THE INTERNET!!" in favor of Moriko just being more of an awkward, lazy video game nerd. Using video games to not have to deal with real life is nothing new, but the heart with which Hayashi/Lily meet and grow in just one episode impressed me. This could go either way, and I'm hoping it stays a interesting vignette on the trials and tribulations of the two lives Moriko lives.

[ORIG] Just Because! (MAL) Next up, Just Because sees Eita Izumi returning after four years to his locale's high-school, reuniting with people he lost touch with. The first episode sees a wonderful moment of return, as Eita practices with an old baseball friend, leading the practicing band to strike up into the chorus they played at games, seeminginly on their own. The trumpets flowing into the full orchestral matches the rising tone perfectly. Juxatposed with a Photography Club facing termination and a former class prez buried in obligations, a web of connections lies in wait, ready to reaccept Eita. The art is quite muted, and even with complaints about the hot weather, the sun is behind clouds and the cityscape is grey, as opposed to the beating sun we often see. Just Because's first episode, while not telling much, showed plenty, and indicated what the main issues would be and who would be involved, and that's exactly what a first episode should do. If an original work is showing that early on, maybe it has more direction than most - and that's a very good thing.

[ORIG] Two Car (MAL) Sidecar racing is something I haven't seen, for sure. The island of Miyakejima, with its uncontrolled speed limits, is home to famous sidecar racing, or "kneeler racing" competitions, and the show follows the endlessly arguing but amazingly similar local team of Yuri and Megami. A bouncy pop soundtrack plays over the high-speed racing, creating a light yet competitive tone that perfectly fits the colored visuals, featuring the same artist/production company as Masamune-kun no Revenge from a few seasons ago. Discord has cropped up between Yuri and Megumi due to their beloved coach leaving for greener courses and the feelings they had for him as he left. The cuts between the high-speed raising and the melancholic, reflective flashbacks does quite well in explaining their movements throughout the race - catching us up to speed, so to speak. The tone of the show comes across perfectly as the episode closes, backed up by the fantastic soundtrack and beautifully done OP and ED. You just feel this show is time spent on an island, split between relaxing and racing. It's wonderfully done. It remains to be seen if this show will echo others like Minami Kamakura and Bakuon and go really into the mechanical aspect of sidecar racing. However, this show is a surprisingly emotionally-based piece where emotions are expressed on the race course - and I'm interested in more.

[ORIG] Animegataris (MAL) Minoa is our orange-haired, ahoge-sporting protag, called out by the school princess Kamiigusa to talk about anime, of all things. Go figure. Coming off the trash that was Gamers last season, the blonde perfect girl actually being a huge nerd is already tiring. Minoa is looking for the name of an anime that moved her as a kid, and to do it suggests to get the anime club back in action, then promptly gets roped into leading it. Her endless optimism isn't original but it's always refreshing, and the use of anime to let Minoa see "more of Kamiigusa's faces" is a bit better than just having the red face of a normally "perfect" girl besmirched by the recognition she likes anime. Also there's a huge-headed cat and a somehow magical beret, which came out of the blue just a bit. We get a sneak peak of the future members, ranging across all archetypes and social cliques, and then the magical beret comes back and the cat now talks. Interested to see where the hell any of that goes, but if this stays more comedy and less Gamers romance-misunderstanding bullshit, I'll be satisfied. Also, both the OP and ED (especially the OP - GARNiDELiA is so good) are great. Some very strange plot choices, especially worrying in an original work, but if they pay off this will be enjoyable. Let's just hope they do.

Mahoutsukai no Yome (MAL) Backing off the slice of life, Mahoutsukai imagines a modern day world intertwined with fantasy - beastmen, magic, and the few humans who can see it - one of them being Chise Hatori, ostracized for her power until she is bought at an auction by a legendary mage, Elias, who aims to make her his apprentice. Chise is actually a "Sleigh Beggy," a rare being that attracts "faries and mysteries," whatever that will eventually entail. Mahoutsukai thus far gives off a kind of Uchouten Kazoku vibe as Chise moves into Elias' tranquil house. An ostensibly normal-looking environment inhabited by mystical beings, and a duality of calmness and turbulent themes below echo Uchouten's politics. The juxtaposition of the forcible buying of Chise versus the welcoming environment she is brought in creates an interesting dynamic that I'm interested in seeing played out. The animation is beautiful, and the small switches to a more chibi style aren't disruptive in the least. Aside from some confusion about the initial setup of the world, if this show becomes a magical slice-of-life with even a fraction of the heart of Uchouten, I'm in.

Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou (MAL) Two girls in old-school fatigues, cruising around a cold, apocalyptic, industrial wasteland. Sounds cool to me. Chito is the collected, tired foil to Yuuri's galavanting, charismatic self. The animation is a bit divergent, in that while the landscapes are detailed in their greyness, the art of the two girls echoes something like Hidamari in its style. While initially strange, it didn't become anything more than just "noticeable." The muscial backdrop is a flowing, airy tone that fits well with the girls having fun praticing shooting or walking around looking for supplies.The music and the attitudes of Chi and Yuu create an atmosphere to the point that doesn't feel like a depressing, sober look at war. Seeing it through the eyes of two children also puts the concepts of war and conflict in eerily simple terms, providing a new look at a concept done to death, so to speak. There's a strangely relaxed feel despite the landscape and color scheme. It remains to be seen if this will go the route of Made in Abyss, especially with an out of place scene at the end of the episode, but while MiA was fucking phenomenal, I could do with less bawling two seasons in a row. This is a strange one, but the simple story of Chi and Yuu trudging across the snowy landscape is appealing.

Konohana Kitan (MAL) Cute fox girls working at a traditional Japanese hot spring hotel? I'm in. Yuzu is the nervous newbie, Kiri is the charismatic head attendant, Natsume is spunky and atheletic, Satsuki is responsible to a fault, Ren is the doll-like one whose personality doesn't match her cute exterior, and there's the diminutive, quiet Sakura. The personalities of the girls are varied and interplay nicely, and I look forward to seeing how Yuzu fits in. Moreover, the art is fantastic. The character designs echo perfectly the individual personalities, and the landscapes of cherry blossoms are stunning. I personally love the traditional Japanese aesthetic the inn and surrounding town embody, and it obviously fits well with the fact that the girls are all kitsunes. Konohana seems to me like a slightly less energetic/comedic Urara Meirochou, which is a good thing. The aesthetic is great, the girls are cute - this is a show for healing, and I need it.

Blend-S (MAL) Maika, a perpetual job hunter with her naturally scary eyes, finds her home at a cafe where all the waitresses are archetypes, as the sadistic one. Blend-S is almost like a more overt version of the varied personalities in Working!, with all comedy and less romance. I quite like the juxtaposition of the girls' normal personalities when talking to each other and their work personalities (especially when the line blurs). While usually its a cute girl who's actually evil or something and used as boring shock value, being the point of the show pivots the concept into a new way I enjoy. Even moreso, Maika especially has plenty of quirks that bely her role as the "normal" main character. The art is clean and sharp, and the girls have great character designs - I really like the facial designs. The OP, by the VAs (which is always a plus), is fantastic both in design and music, and compliments the more relaxed ED (which is also by the VAs). Overall, this show is friendly and the girls are cute. Sounds good to me.

Boku no Kanojo ga Majimesugiru Sho-bitch na Ken (MAL) Adaptations with stock character protagonists and plenty of overt fanservice. Yay. I'm amazed this isn't from an LN, because it is exactly that kind of show. Shobitch begins with our MC Shinozaki confessing to Kosaka, which she accepts. Then she learns "how to be a good girlfriend," which far more often than not involves plenty of fanservice. Also, despite him having a girlfriend, there's a whole variety of other girls interested in him - the childhood friend and imouto get ticked off the list int he first six minutes. On the bright side, the art is great. Character designs aside from the protag are varied and well-drawn. Kosaka's earnestness with which she wants to be a good girlfriend is endearing in itself, but the 100% focus on sexual themes is just a bit tiring. Sort of like how Kuzu no Honkai went from seriously emotional to reducing any character motivation to "the only way I can be loved is physically." Regardless, you know exactly what you're getting into with a title like this show. There are some genuine emotional moments, but they are few and very far between. Otherwise, Shobitch is a well-drawn yet bland ecchi definitely-not-LN adaptation.

Inuyashiki (MAL) Last but not least, adding to the limited action slate I'm watching this season, we have Inuyashiki. Inuyashiki is, for lack of a better term, strange. It begins with nearly all CG, but then transitions to a mix of normal animation and CG for the rest of the episode. The first half of episode one is one of the most solemn, depressing sequences I've seen, and that's blown away by a whirlwind of aliens, body-swapping, and mechanical bodies. While the tonal shift is quite jarring, the change wasn't anything completely incomprehensible. The problem will be where this will go, now that Ichiro, our man with months to live, is now equipped with alien technology. I'm hoping that within the mix of action there will be a sense that Ichiro, now unshackled by sickness, can make concrete steps to make his life better. While the action shots were nice-looking, and the CG actually doesn't look half bad, with how emotionally powerful the first half of episode one is I want to see more of that as well. Either way, Inuyashiki has my attention, and I'm eager to see where Ichiro goes.

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squishy-wizards · 7 years

Text

Electric Love [Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles]

Author: @galacticstylinson

Word Count: 11.4k

Ratings/Triggers: homophobia, dysfunctional families

Summary: Louis is the most talented scholarship student Liberum Saltare School of Dance has ever seen. With flawless technique and a determination that is unparalleled by any other, he is definitely going places. Harry is a natural dancer moved up two years based on sheer raw talent. When they end up as room mates, Louis at first is less than impressed, but with time, they may grow to understand each other - and maybe on the way, fall in love.

Based on the song 'All About Us' by He Is We ft. Owl City

Also read here on AO3.

***

Soft light dances on the patio tiles, the warmth from the room leaking out of the brightly lit windows. Through the slightly foggy glass panes of the conservatory, a vast number of round tables could be seen, flickering under the soft candle light from the garland of flowers at the centre of each table. Wax drips slowly down onto the delicate baby blue carnations, surrounded in greenery - this blue and green theme continuing throughout the room, from the pearlescent balloons hovering above on the ceiling, to the soft chiffon ties on the back of every gold gilt seat. The soft hum of chatter fills the room with a more comforting feel, eyes glistening with joy and excitement under the vintage glass bulbs hanging down from the ceiling.

It was the definition of a Pinterest wedding – and sat at the heart of it all, still giddy with happiness, were the two newlyweds. Long brown curls tumbled down onto one’s shoulders, masking part of his face as he leant down to whisper in the shorter of the twos ear, drawing out the crinkles around the sterling blue eyes and a smile that warmed the room. The same blue eyes followed his now husband as he retreated back, eyebrows raised as he replied, the jest in their conversation clear in their body language. Their hands, laying on the crisp white table cloth, were interlocked, silver wedding bands glinting in the light. Simple, plain with only a hint of detail – blue and green stones that scattered patterns across the soft, tanned skin of their hands as the light hit them. Stones that perfectly matched one another’s eye colour. It was a simple, personal detail, but it made them so much more effective.

A voice over the microphone boomed around the room, breaking up the loved-up nature of the couple, and triggering a hush to the gentle buzz across the room. Only a few moments passed before the taller man rose, extending a hand to his respective partner before leading him away from the table. Before the caramel haired lad had taken two paces, he felt himself being scooped up, bridal style in his partners’ arms, much to the delight of the guests who emitted cheers, drowning out his protests. It wasn’t until they reached the centre of the dance floor he felt himself set to rights. After a half-hearted punch, they began to dance – their first dance as a married couple.

Soft, gentle melodies mingled with the hushed voices in the air, as lean, muscular bodies stepped closer to each other, slotting together perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. Lacing his arms around the taller lad’s neck, blue eyed boy rested his head on his chest, hearing the steady heartbeat and feeling comfort wash over him when he felt the other lad rest his chin on top of his hair. Swaying softly in the pale light, the couple allowed the music to engulf them, bringing back the memories that started it all…

Three years ago…

The golf ball plummeted back down into the grip of tanned fingers. Louis studied it carefully, eyes darting over the surface, before tossing it back into the air, exhaling softly. The Script blaring from his speakers, he rolled over, eyes gliding past the poster of a shirtless Brendon Urie to land on the certificate proclaiming him the third year scholarship student of the Liberum Saltare School of Dance.

The most renowned dance school in the country.

A painful reminder of how hard he should be working right now, instead of resting.

But with his new roommate due to arrive at any time minute, he figured he had an excuse for now. The room had remained a perfect freeze frame of how it had been the day George, Louis previous roommate, had left six weeks ago. One side remained un-lived in, desk bare, wardrobe empty, bed turned down, cold and un-slept in. As if in direct contrast, Louis side – textbooks stacked high on the desk, which had become a dumping ground for any and every piece of miscellaneous paper found in the room, wardrobe overflowing with t-shirts, shorts, dance tights that spilled onto the floor. Posters camouflaged the peeling, off white paint that smothered the walls, and empty protein bar wrappers overflowed from the trash can under the desk.

Louis heaved himself off the bed, kicking the clothes slightly further back into his closet and attempting to compact the wrappers down, a very half-hearted attempt at cleaning the room before Harry arrived. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he sighed, reaching out to grab a comb, but before he had a chance to fix his rats nest of hair, the knock Louis had been anticipating arrived.

Harry. That was all Louis had to play with, a name that had been rattling round his head for the entire summer. No age, no personality, no face. All boiling down to today, September forth.

Harry had always been one to appreciate beauty. He saw it all around him, no matter where it may be – from the typical, plain delicacy of a flower petal, gently dancing in a warm, summer breeze, to something less typical – the glint of sunlight as it filtered through dirty paint water, illuminating the various colourful pigments. It was one thing he had always had an eye for – which is perhaps why he was short on breath when the peeling, grubby door of room thirteen was opened to reveal, what had to be, in his top ten list of the most stunning things of all time.

Harsh, jagged, muscular lines – sharp jaw, high cheek bones, piercing blue eyes that held a multitude of emotions in each sharp shade of colour – contrasted so deeply with the soft, gentle curves – wide hips that lead in to muscular thighs, fringe flopping lazily over his forehead, the caramel complimenting his skin tone impeccably. His short stature was easily overlooked in face of biceps that peaked out from underneath the white sleeves of his t-shirt, and calves that were taught and lean in a way that could only have been formed from years and years of dancing. It shouldn’t work – this sharp, soft being was a walking juxtaposition, an oxymoron on legs – but it did, it worked so, so well. Harry was already so absorbed, he almost missed it when those pretty pink lips begun to speak.

“Ah, first years are on the second floor, just go back down the stairs and through the door on your left.”

Harry glanced down at the crumpled sheet in his hands, confirming that he had indeed got the right room number.

“No, no I’m Harry? You must be Louis right, it’s lovely to meet you…” Harry stepped past the shorter boy, taking in the clutter of the left side of the room before planting his case on the bed, dumping a box of miscellaneous goods on the desk. Louis turned back towards him shutting the door with a soft click, confusion written in the slope of his eyebrows and slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Right…How old did you say you were?”

“I didn’t, but I’m eighteen. I got moved up two years – they said it was due to raw talent, but honestly, I think it’s just my old teacher, she was pretty amazing. I progressed fast.”

He watched as the smaller boy nodded, confusion still written on his face. Danny O’Donoghue’s voice broke the silence that had fallen between the pair, Louis eyes fixated on the floor and lip trapped between his teeth, as Harry made a move to start unpacking. As the song progressed to the chorus, Louis seemingly snapped back to reality, reaching out to the speakers to hit the off button.

“Oh, you don’t have to, I actually really like The Script so.”

Louis looked in surprise at Harry, smiling slightly.

“You have good taste.” Harry smirked, shrugging before gesturing to the posters on the wall.

“I also approve of the wall art. Brendon Urie’s pretty fit to be honest.” The surprises kept coming, Louis thought to himself. Not many straight guys describe other guys as pretty fit. So did that mean….

“You, uh, into dudes like that?”

The bluntness of the question evidently surprised Harry. He turned slowly, still holding a folded t-shirt in his hands, to face Louis, one eyebrow quirked.

“Is that a problem for you?”

Louis practically tripped over his own tongue in the haste in which he tried to speak.

“No! No, of course it’s not a problem, it’s fine, completely fine.”

He watched as Harry’s face dissolved into a wide grin.

“It’s not contagious, I swear. You aren’t going to “catch the gay” from me.”

“I know. I said its fine, it’s not a problem.”

Harry grinned, turning back to his pile of stuff.

“Class starts tomorrow right?”

Louis only hummed in response, Harry turning back to see the lads eyebrows drawn together in thought.

“Something wrong?”

Swallowing deeply, Louis grabbed his dance bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he reached for the door knob. He glanced up to meet the concern brewing in Harry’s green eyes, face framed by soft, gentle curls. There was no denying it - the lad was cute, even Louis could see that, and whilst he emitted some kind of warm, trusting aura, Louis was not ready to open up to a near enough stranger, not yet. Not now.

“I need to go practice - you probably need to get on with un-packing anyway.”

Harry’s farewell was muffled by the already closing door, Louis half way to the stair well before he glanced back.

Over the passing days, only a few nods and friendly small talk was exchanged between the pair. They lived around each other - Louis was always gone when Harry awoke in the mornings, and rarely was there in the evenings. He seemed to use the room as more of a pitstop than an actual living space. Harry tried not to take it personally - assuming the scholarship certificate hung on the cream walls was to blame for the boy’s crazy work ethic.

It was the subtle things that allowed each to build up impressions of the other - the photos that were littered through Harry’s belongings of him smiling with two women - whom Louis could only assume to be the mother and sister he’d heard Harry talk on the phone to. He couldn’t lie, it triggered a poisonous stab of jealousy over how cheerful they looked in the photos - how perfect Harry’s life seemed. As hard as he tried to push these feelings away, they, annoyingly, remained.

But as normally happens when living in such close proximity to a potential love interest who happens to be unfairly attractive, feelings began to form.

Harry was in ballet class when he first developed what he would call a serious, unquestionable crush. Sure – Louis deep blue eyes and rugged caramel hair had been enough to trigger something – but seeing him dance, properly, for the first time, was when Harry knew he was done for. The soft, unbroken lines of Louis body masked the strong muscles that powered him across the floor, his face that so often seemed troubled, tired and weary from overwork, instead at ease, the storm in his eyes calmed to a peaceful blue ocean. Every movement, each step executed just so, a sense of ease to the motion, fluidity that was un-replicated even by water. It was impossible to drag your eyes away from him, and as Harry’s followed Louis movements up to the mirrored wall at the front of the studio, he noticed Liam’s smug smile plastered on his face. He turned to his best friend, who was slouched lazily against the barre, warming up.

“What?”

Liam nodded pointedly towards Louis, who was now moving round to the back of the studio, water bottle poised at his lips whilst listening intently to the corrections he was given.

“That’s what. How long have you had your eye on him?”

Harry huffed, crossing his arms defensively on his chest.

“I am not that obvious.”

“How else do you think I found out? I’m sorry, mate, but if subtle was what you’re going for, it is not working.”

Harry turned his gaze back to where Louis stood, engaged in deep conversation with another third year.

“You know how I feel about beautiful things Liam. It’s undeniable he’s pretty fricken’ attractive.”

“I’m not disputing that. He’s the most talented third year in the school, and happens to be your room mate. Which makes him-“

“Totally out of reach for the likes of me?”

Liam shot his friend a withering look, before snapping to attention as their instructor called their names, signalling their turn to go across the floor.

“I was going to say perfect.”

Louis was completely absorbed in his textbook when he heard the soft click of the door. He turned his head, greeting on the tip of his tongue before being snatched away by the sight in front of him. Harry stood, long hair damp from the shower, in the doorway of their room, the white towel wrapped round his hips falling to just above the knee. But it revealed enough. Toned muscles chiselled in the pale skin of his stomach were bedazzled by a few droplets of water that remained, Louis’ eyes following the prominent v-lines down to the hem of the fluffy towel. Smooth calf muscles were taught as Harry moved into the room; damp skin glistening, illuminated by the warm light coming from the desk lamp Harry flicked into life. Louis eyes raked back up Harry’s bodies to his eyes, which stared prettily out from under his long, dark eyelashes, bold eyebrows raised in greeting.

“Hey.”

Louis attempted desperately to pick his jaw up of the floor, swallowing deeply as his brain scrambled for a reply.

“S’up.”

Mental face palm. You idiot, Louis.

Harry chuckled, Louis mentally cursing as those bloody eyebrows quirked into their usual, cheeky formation.

“Didn’t figure you’d be in, you’re normally out.”

“Yeah, y’know.” Louis patted his textbooks “Studying.”

“Aha. Well, I won’t bother you, I was heading to bed anyways.”

“Need me to shut the light off?”

“Nope you're good. Night Louis.”

“Night.”

Louis tried desperately to regain focus on his Physics textbook, ignoring the rustling of Harry settling into bed behind him. But to no avail - before, he’d regarded Harry as a sort of cute, young, excitable puppy, whom happened to share a room with him. He needed to reassess his evaluation. Cause now, Harry was far more than just a slightly adorable eighteen year old with a pretty amazing smile and a glowing personality to match. He was a crush.

Louis did not have time for crushes. It was not part of his schedule, and drifting from his schedule was the perfect way to loose his scholarship and end up homeless. Something he did not intend to happen.

But as he lay in bed, the sound of Harry’s soft breathing playing his heartstrings like a harp, he had to admit he was beginning to fall. And fall pretty hard, at that.

“Hey, I just needed to grab - Lou, you alright?”

Harry nearly missed the hunched figure that was Louis in his haste to get his maths textbook, but slowed to stop when he caught sight of the boy’s head held in his hands, tufts of caramel sticking up through the gabs in his fingers which where fisted in his hair. He watched as Louis raised his head, slightly puffy eyes turning to meet Harry’s.

“Oh, yeah. I’m great. Y’know, its only, what, a month or so until the opening competition of the season, and not only do I have absolutely nothing in the way of choreography, but my duet partner just broke his arm. So I’m fucking fantastic.”

Harry hesitated, replacing his textbook on the desk, figuring maths could wait. He moved closer to the older lad, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder. Louis sighed, allowing his forehead to rest on one of his hands, eyes closing with his exhale.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. None of this is your fault.”

Harry shrugged, collapsing onto Louis bed.

“It’s okay, I understand. You wouldn’t have said it if you weren’t so stressed.”

“I guess.”

Harry took in the sadness in Louis voice, heart lurching at how small and lost he sounded.

“Right. What can we do to this fix this then.”

Louis glanced to Harry, smiling weakly.

“It’s fine, I’ll come up with something, I hope-“

“I said we, not you. I am more than willing to help.”

Louis chuckled, smiling at Harry.

“Unless you know an entire routine of choreography, and someone willing to learn it in a month, then-“

“I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do what?”

“The duet. I’ll do it. And I can attempt to help with the routine, although I can’t promise I’ll be much good at it.”

“Have you ever competed before?”

Harry smiled, mocking reproachfulness.

“No. But everyone’s got to start somewhere.”

Louis looked uneasy, at which Harry tried not to take offence.

“Look. At this point, what other choice do you have. You said yourself - trying to find another replacement at this stage would be next to impossible. Here you have a blank canvas, an eager volunteer who is more than willing to be tutored by the best dancer in the school-“

“I wouldn’t go that far-“

“You wouldn’t have got the scholarship if you weren’t. Look - we can do this. You can do this.”

Registering the lingering doubt in Louis eyes, Harry grabbed his hand, locking their pinky fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“I said do you trust me?”

Breathing deeply, Louis looked into Harry’s eyes, eyes that danced with hope and optimism, eyes that were glued to his own, pulling him in like windows to his soul. Louis could feel his heart wrestling with his mind on this one, conscience desperately searching for an answer.

“Yes.”

Maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk for the smile that spread wide across Harry’s face.

“I promise to spend every hour of free time I have working with you until the routine is as perfect as you want it to be, if you promise to give me a chance. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Harry rose from the bed, once again scooping the discarded textbook into his arms, reaching for the doorknob, before glancing back at Louis, whose once sullen face was now replaced with a small, soft smile, a smile that Harry automatically filed into his memories favourite things about Louis folder.

“Have a little faith Lou. It’ll be okay.”

Louis watched Harry’s tall, lanky form leave the room, staring at the crumbling white paint of the door long after it had closed behind him. He’d just let his heart rule his head. This was either going to be the best decision he ever made, or the downfall of everything.

Great.

The music drifting out of studio three gave away Louis’ location to Harry, who upon reading the hastily scribbled post it note stuck to their door had followed his instruction to meet him that night to practice. Gently pushing open the door, he watched Louis, eyes completely shut as he blocked certain movements to the phrases of the music. Even these rough movements seemed so controlled, Louis black long sleeved top and shorts adding to his perfect silhouette that moved with such precision, a puppet to the music.

“Doesn’t look like you’ve got nothing.”

The sound of Harrys voice halted Louis movements.

“Well, y’know. It’s just ideas.”

The smile rang in Louis voice as he turned to face Harry, taking in the biceps that were made seemingly more prominent in his grey tank top. But as attractive as Harry was, it was his eyes, always his eyes, that stole the show. Cheerful, innocent, just stunning, a green that remained unparalleled by any other colour. A green that was fast becoming Louis favourite colour.

Harry chuckled, dropping his bag at the side of the studio.

“Looks pretty good for just ideas.”

“Thanks.” Harry watched the pretty pink flush appear on Louis cheeks, along with a smile that was sweet with just the right touch of shyness to make an unexpected warmth rush through Harry’s body. He forced himself to look away, focusing on his shoes.

“So, what’s the deal then. Basic idea?”

Louis cleared his throat, turning the music down slightly.

“The song’s called ‘All About Us’. It’s by an artist called He Is We, and feature’s Owl City, one of my favourite singers. It’s quite gentle, but does have a good beat, so I was thinking contemporary, maybe?”

Harry hummed in approval, listening to the lyrics as Louis continued.

“As for the topic - the criteria was to choreograph a piece related to something important to you, to which I chose the recent legalisation of gay marriage. To me, the song fits perfectly - it seems to be about a couple’s first dance as a couple, and also is mostly, if not all, in a major key; it’s happy, optimistic, celebratory.”

Louis searched for a reaction in Harry’s irritatingly neutral face.

“What do you think?”

Those piercing eyes were back on Louis’ again; he felt them reading through his thoughts, trying to make sense of something.

“Why is the legalisation of gay marriage important to you?”

“Cause I’m - gay?”

The quizzical look that filled Harry’s eyes did not match Louis’ expectations.

“You seriously did not know?”

“You’re reaction when I came out to you…”

Louis sighed, moving to pat Harrys shoulder.

“If you thought I was homophobic, you are about as far from the truth as you can get, evidently. I’m sorry if that’s what I gave off - let’s just say it hasn’t always been something I’ve been made to feel proud of. Leave it at that, yeah?”

The grin was back on Harry’s face - a grin that made Louis feel exactly as Harry did towards himself, although unbeknownst to him. The way his lips lifted upward. The way his dimples crinkled. The way his teeth were perfectly aligned. The warm glow his happiness gives. His smile is a ray of sunshine, a ray of sunshine that filtered inside Louis and practically melted his insides.

“Let’s get going then - or we will be here all night,”

At twenty-one, Louis was not inexperienced with relationships. There'd been a few - from questioning crushes at fourteen to more recent, more ‘adult’ experiences that whilst confirmed Louis homosexuality, had not lasted long. Perhaps it was due to the unbreakable barricades Louis imprisoned himself behind - or perhaps because he had never met the right person. He’d spent years yearning for the storybook, hollywood portrayal of love, only to be left with a bigger void in his chest when every relationship failed to meet his expectations.

But there, in that studio that night, as he danced with Harry, he began to catch glimpses of that love. It was as if two souls were joining to form one, connected through the shared medium of music. He’d performed with many people, but never had it been like this - never had the movements been so instinctual, so synchronised even in the early stages. Every pulsation of music that rippled through his soul seemingly had the same effect on Harry, as they moved as one body. It may have been sloppy, it certainly wasn’t perfect - but it was the most alive Louis had ever felt when dancing, had felt ever in fact.

Harry was in awe himself. Dancing was something he’d always loved, enjoyed - but he had never seen anyone as creatively gifted as Louis. Each step he came up with fitted with the music so beautifully, as if he were knitting the two together in such away that they became one, fluid piece of what could only be described as magic. And Louis was magic - the way he made Harry feel as if even his most feeble of contributions were valuable; he made everything feel so special, so right. He was unbelievable. He was so desperately out of reach.

They worked for hours, until finally, they were interrupted by the cleaners, insistent on them leaving so they could do their ‘ruddy job’ as they’d so eloquently put it.

“That was brilliant.” Louis said as he placed the water bottle to his lips, chest heaving and fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead. Harry scoffed.

“I think you mean you were brilliant. Me, not so much.”

“Oh shut up,” Louis spoke, nudging Harry in the ribs as they made their way up the stairs to where the rooms were situated, “You’re technique could use a little work, but you have really good musicality - your performance aspect hides any minor errors.”

“I guess - technique has always been my weak point though.”

An idea dawned on Louis.

“I could help. I can tutor you.”

Harry glanced at him, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna be busy enough with this on top of everything else. You don’t need to-“

“I know I don’t need to, but I want to. You’re spending your time on me, at least allow me to give you something back.”

“We already made a deal - I’m more than happy to do this.”

“Consider it payment, then, if it makes you feel better!”

“I don’t want-“

“Do you trust me?”

Louis chuckled at the withering look Harry gave him.

“You did not just use my words against me…”

“Oh, but you know that I did.”

Some may say they sounded like an old married couple already. And as would be expected, after a little bit of nagging, Louis got his way.

(A/N: Okay so I am aware that Gay Marriage was officially legalised in the UK in July of 2013, but did not in fact come into effect until March of 2014, with the first same sex marriage happening in the same month, but for the sake of plot, the first marriage happened in September 2013, deal? We’re rewriting history for the sake of fanfiction.)

Harry’s mind was in a different place than his grungy English classroom the next morning - a place that may or may not have included him, Louis, and an unspecified amount of alone time. Unfortunately, as all good daydreams are, his vision was burst by the sharp sting of reality.

“Disgusting fags. Makes me sick, it does.”

Desperately hoping they weren’t talking about what Harry thought, he turned, looking round for the source. It didn’t take him long to locate the group of boys crowded around a newspaper article proclaiming the first same sex marriage had occurred the previous day. Instead of the swell of pride he should have felt about equality finally being achieved, he felt anger begin to surge through his body, bubbling in his stomach like an angry volcano.

“Don’t say that.”

He rose from his chair, reaching over to snatch the paper away, but a hand slammed down on top of it to prevent his attempts.

“Why not? It is disgusting - two men getting married is just not natural.”

“To some people it’s the most natural thing in the world!”

The boy stood, stepping closer to Harry until he could feel his hot breath on his face.

“What, like you? Are you a little faggot, Styles?”

Harry bit his lip, looking down at his scruffy converse. It was this action that caused him to miss the hit as it was swung - the sharp tap to the side of his head that jerked his neck sideways.

“You’re sickening, y’know that, fag? Everything about you is-“

“What did you just say?”

Liam's voice cut clear across the room, but by this point the damage had been done. Pushing past the bystanders, Harry rushed from the room, the sting of tears pricking at the back of his eyes. Gaze fixed firmly to the floor, avoiding the watchful stares from the current of students flowing through the corridors. It was his determination to focus on the ground that lead to his collision with the last person he wanted to see right now. Louis.

“Harry?”

Louis grabbed him by his shoulders, tilting his chin up and noticing the sheen across Harry’s eyes. Harry stumbled for words, desperate to remain composed, but already he could feel the hot, angry tears dripping down his cheeks. Feeling his heart jolt, Louis looked around, before guiding Harry away from the crowded corridor, opening the door of a nearby store cupboard. Pulling the younger boy into a hug, he felt Harry break down in his arms, shoulders shaking with each heavy sob. They stayed, frozen like that, for minutes, until Harry’s sniffling slowed to a soft snuffle. Assuming his composure had been regained, Louis began to probe the issue.

“What happened?”

“This guy - he was saying all this homophobic shit, calling me a fag and-“

Louis sighed, seemingly in relief, before pushing Harry at arms length.

“Thank god that’s it.”

It was predominantly confusion, and part anger that flashed in Harry’s eyes now.

“What do you mean? How are you relieved about that?”

“You have to ignore them, Harry. The world is full of bigoted, ignorant people, crappy people who are going to say bullshit. But that’s exactly what it is - bullshit. You can’t let it get to you like this. You can’t let them win.”

“I’m not! But it’s hard y’know…”

Louis snorted slightly.

“You mean you’ve never faced bullying for being gay, AND a dancer before?”

“No.”

It was Louis turn to be confused by normalcy in Harry’s voice. Looking into Harry’s eyes now, he saw a naivety - a naivety he had perhaps labelled too quickly as innocence. A naivety he could see now to be a lack of knowledge rather than a lack of experience.

“Where I come from, that doesn't exist. You’re encouraged to be who you are - if a boy wanted to dance, who cared? So what if he was gay? It’s his life. It is what it is.”

Harry’s voice was soft, as his eyes stared right back into Louis’, reading desperately, trying to decipher the layers of heavily encrypted code that was Louis mind. Terrified, petrified the walls were crumbling, Louis shook himself, eyes turning hard again.

“Not everyone had that.”

“I guess not.”

Louis broke the connection at last, glancing down at his watch.

“You need to get back to class - as do I for that matter. If it really matters to you, I can report the douchebag-“

“No, it’s okay, I’ll do it.”

For the first time in knowing each other, there was a tension, something that was being left unsaid. Both were seeing something they had never seen in the other before - whereas for Louis, it was over-sensitivity, for Harry, it was cowardice on Louis’ part. Louis was afraid. Of what, who knew. But it was written all over him.

“Right. Well, I’ll see you later, Harry.”

He only hummed in response, watching Louis leave, head bowed and shoulders sagged. He watched, really watched, the way Louis moved. Slow, tenuous movements, as if the weight of the world fell only on his shoulders. So far removed from what he’d seen before - when Louis danced, he looked lost in his own world. No, lost wasn’t the right word - he was in his own world, and he belonged there. But here, in the real world, was not the same person - and Harry loathed himself for not noticing it before.

The tension remained when Louis entered the room that evening. Harry sat at his desk, where he’d been for hours, rolling a pencil over and over, up and down the scarred wood table top. For the first time, no greeting was exchanged - just a stiff silence as Louis hurried to change into his workout gear, heading off to the gym as he always did at this time. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry observed him. The sandy fringe couldn’t hide the dark rings that plagued Louis eyes, and the sharpness of his cheekbones that whilst were stunningly gorgeous, contributed to the overall run down, weary look of his face. Louis looked tired, over-worked.

“Why don’t you just stay here tonight? You don’t need to work out everyday…”

Louis tied his laces more aggressively, focusing hard on his nimble fingers, refusing to make eye contact.

“I have to work out. If you don’t, you get weak.”

“Yes, but not everyday. Please Lou, you look so tired.”

“I need to stay strong to keep dancing well.”

"You need to rest-"

"You just don't get it, do you?!"

He was looking at Harry now, and any compassion in his eyes was long gone. Instead, anger burned in its place, spitting and sparking and hissing, and ready to erupt.

"Not everyone got lucky, okay? Not everyone got things handed to them. I had to work, for years, for the chance of coming here. I still have to work hard to stay. If I don't, I lose everything. You don't understand that kind of pressure. You’re too naive."

His words stung more than Harry could have imagined, the venom in them branded onto his mind with a red hot poker. He watched as Louis rose, the resentment radiating of him in hot waves.

"Lou-"

"Not everyone had a storybook childhood, where they were able, allowed, to be themselves without fear.You are so privileged you don’t even know it. Things may have been all sunshine and rainbows for you-"

"That's not true."

"Oh sure. Like it was anything but."

"You know nothing about-"

"You? Too right I don't. Y'know, I genuinely liked you. I thought you were so sweet, and kind, and amazing. But you’re just as ignorant as the rest of them. You know nothing about how the real world works."

Breathless. As though the oxygen had been knocked out of him. Harry could feel his insides quivering, trembling, ready to disintegrate from the unfairness of it all. His stomach clenching, his eyes pricking, he tried, desperately to remain calm. Blocking Louis path to the door, Harry stood before him, desperately clinging to the hope that maybe, maybe, he could turn this around.

"You don't mean any of this."

"Oh don't I?" Louis spat back.

"No. You’re just being defensive cause you're scared. And you don't have to be."

Harry reached out to touch Louis shoulder, but the older boy recoiled.

"Do not touch me."

Pushing past Harry, Louis grabbed the door handle, slamming it behind him, pausing only long enough the hear Harry emit a chocked, oxygen starved sob. He was only five paces down the corridor before he punched the wall beside him. It was mere seconds later he was cursing under his breath, cradling his hand and feeling the dangerous itch at the back of his eyes, the lump that rose in his throat suffocating, starving his body of air. He broke into a jog, running, until he reached the isolated stairwell. Only then did he allow himself to break down.

Harry didn't deserve even half of what he had said. Louis knew that, and he felt like crap for it. All he'd done was have a decent life. What kind of heartless creature could blame him for that?

Moonlight streamed through the semicircle window, casting delicate patterns over the smooth wood floor. The studio was silent bar the snuffles of the lone boy who sat in solitude, squarely in the centre of the room, legs drawn to his chest and mop of curls buried in his knees.

Harry had never learned to cry with style, silently, the pearl-shaped tears rolling down his cheeks from wide luminous eyes, as seen in all the classic rom-com films, leaving no smears or streaks. He wished he had; but instead, he was left with puffy, red eyes, a blotchy nose, and tear tracks that gave away everything to even the most oblivious of people.

“My parents were Evangelical Christians. Even if they had approved of the dancing, which they didn’t, it was drilled into me from a young age how vile, disgusting and downright wrong it was to be gay.”

Harry lifted his head, turning it to the direction of the croaky voice. Hovering in the studio door, Louis stood half in shadow. The contrast of light and dark only made his face seem more beautiful, which was completely unfair given the circumstances. Stepping towards Harry, he continued.

“I was fourteen when I realised that not only was dancing all I wanted to do with my life, but also that I was one of the homosexuals my family spoke so poorly of. I stuck it out for three years, but I was going bat-shit crazy being cooped up with people who shove their bullcrap down your throat every second of every day. I started spending more time at my dance studio; which led to me getting better, much better, until my teacher wanted me to audition for a place here. She knew as well as I did that my parents wouldn’t want to let me go, let alone pay the fees - so she set me up for a scholarship audition.”

The floorboards creaked as Louis sank down next to Harry, who was now listening intently.

“I got the place. The same day I was due to leave, I decided to come out to my parents. My stuff would be all packed, I’d be about to jump on a train from Doncaster to London - even if they disowned me, it wouldn’t matter cause I was eighteen, they couldn’t touch me.”

Louis paused, drawing breath and trying desperately to keep the unwanted tears at bay.

“They took it about as well as you’d expect. Step-dad took a swing at me - that’s how I got this.”

In the moonlight, the faint, pale line was stark on Louis cheek, marring his otherwise perfectly smooth skin. Harry reached out, touching it gently. He felt sick.

“It wasn’t him I cared about. But my mum - she didn’t even try to stop him. Just hurried my sisters upstairs. She just stood there, watching me as I left. I haven’t heard anything for three years. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my sisters.

I am cynical about the world, about the people who populate it. I’ve experienced first hand the kind of poisonous ignorance that rips families apart - but it’s also shown me that you can’t argue with these people. People who are that close-minded, that deep-rooted in their own beliefs - they won’t change. They can’t change. It hurts, but they can’t.

I shouldn’t have said the things I did to you. It was beyond shitty of me, and you were completely undeserving of it. It’s not your fault you had a normal, happy childhood. And it’s certainly not your fault for being right about me - I am scared. I’m terrified of losing this, of losing my dream - cause it is all I have left. I sacrificed so much for it - it has to work out. But you figured that out - and it threw me, cause people don’t usually question it. So I am sorry, Harry.”

Louis gaze was fixed firmly on his hands, which lay in his lap. He didn’t notice Harry begin to speak.

“My dad left before I was born.”

As Louis processed the words, his head snapped up immediately, to meet Harry’s dull, sad eyes. Guilt began to crawl up from the pit of his stomach, clawing its way into his chest.

“It was just me, my mum, and Gemma, my sister. The three musketeers, sticking by each others side. It was fine, I wasn’t deprived - but we were always struggling to make ends meet somehow. I can afford to come here because of the inheritance we got when my grandma passed away - she always wanted me to follow my dreams. But y’know, there was always this nagging at the back of my head - why would you leave a child you didn’t even get to know. How could you hate something so much, without even meeting them. That’s why mum and Gem made sure to always be so, supportive of whatever it was I wanted to do - they knew I always had this awful niggle of the simple fact that my dad didn't want me.”

Harry’s voice was choked up now, the tears beginning to chase down his face again. The sight caused Louis’ own eyes to mist over, reaching out to brush away the droplets as the rolled down Harry’s flushed cheeks.

“Not quite the perfect childhood you thought.”

That was the end of the remaining composure Louis had retained. Pulling the younger boy into a crushing hug, he rested his head on his shoulder, feeling Harry’s curls brushing against his ear.

“I am so, so unbelievably sorry.”

Any lingering resentment vanished in that hug. The connection was back, stronger than ever, and Louis could feel it, pulsing between them. They had bared their souls completely for the other to see, put themselves at the others mercy - they had shared things that mere weeks ago, they never dreamed they would be telling. And Louis felt free - the spine crushing weight he had carried around with him for all these years drifting away like a balloon in the wind. In that moment - he began to feel the shrapnel in his heart dislodge.

From that night, the dynamic between the two began to change. Not the dry, curt tension that they had felt before - not even tension at all, more of a static, magnetic force that pulled them together, like electricity. Powerful, irresistible, unstoppable force. From darting glances shot across the studio to subtle brushes of the hand in the corridors - their attempts to grow closer, to be near one another, where obvious.

The night of Harry’s first ballet lesson with Louis arrived. Harry was more anxious than he should have been - whilst there was nothing more he wanted than to spend two hours alone with Louis - there was also nothing he dreaded more than spending two hours alone with Louis. His feelings had never faded, only intensified with time, and whilst he desperately, stupidly hoped they weren’t one sided, he couldn’t be sure. In his school-girl like crush, all the signs he’d been interpreting as mirrored affection on Louis part could fine well be innocent actions that were purely platonic. It was like walking a tightrope, or the narrow edge of a blade, and all the while, Harry was trembling, scared to ruin their bond of carefully constructed trust.

Louis was already in the studio when he arrived - the studio that had become their studio, the place which had seen them at their best, and at their worst. Soft, calm melodies floated round the room as they warmed up. As hard as he tried, Harry could not shake the tension he felt, the tension that held an iron grip on every muscle in his body. He could feel his feelings getting wound up tighter and tighter, like a coil, or a spring. It was getting harder and harder to resist every time he looked at Louis - the pale, delicate pink that dusted his cheek bones, subtle lips that looked so full and soft and downright kissable.

It wasn’t hard to notice Harry was distracted. The stiffness in his body was evident from his dancing, which whilst normally was all beautiful, soft rounded edges, was now unsure at best.

“Relax, Harry.” Louis said softly, moving behind the younger boy to massage his shoulders slightly, opening them up more, “Your lines are broken, they aren’t smooth.” 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, pausing to shake out his long limbs before returning to his arabesque position. He tried so hard not to focus on Louis fingertips ghosting over his hips, rolling them back into a more open position, the gentle touch that conjured goosebumps across the surface of his skin as it skimmed over his leg, turning it out more. He really did try. But he could feel the spring winding tighter, and tighter, the clench in his chest becoming nearly unbearable. For the second time that evening, he faltered, coming out of the arabesque and turning to face Louis.

Confusion was painted in the blue of Louis eyes, Harry’s lust blown pupils drinking from them as though they were water from a mountain spring. He bit his lip, gaze flitting from those eyes down to those pretty pink lips, and back up again. The spring snapped.

“Stop me if this is not what you want.” Harry breathed before crashing his lips onto Louis, eyes flickering shut. Louis felt his breath snatched from his lungs, surprise winding him before his brain caught up to what was happening. His eyelashes fluttered down across his cheeks as he felt Harry’s warmth begin to leak into him. The kiss was hungry, urgent, volatile - as if sparks of electricity were flowing round a finally complete circuit. Louis could feel the current passing through every nerve ending in his body, the solid, cold wood barre that was pressing into his back the only thing keeping his mind grounded. Harry’s hands were cradling his cheeks, thumbs rubbing the underside of his jawline in attempt the deepen the kiss - and Louis was putty under those fingertips, fully complying to Harry’s wishes, allowing him to take complete control. He felt his own hand reaching up to tangle in Harry’s curls, pulling his body impossibly closer.

It was a perfect moment, one that was totally unique, for them, and them only. But as with all good things, they must come to an end, and the sudden jolt of their noses nudging provided this opportunity. Still, they remained close, foreheads pressed together and breathing heavily into each other. Harry moved his hands from Louis face, one coming to rest splayed on his chest, feeling the racing heartbeat pulse through his fingertips, before looking up through hooded eyelids to meet Louis stare.

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I didn’t want to.”

The statement was so assured, so blunt, that even Harry couldn't question is validity. Instead, exhaling a sigh of relief, he allowed his head to drop forward to rest in the crook of Louis neck, arms lacing around the older boys middle.

“I’m meant to be teaching you ballet.”

“Screw the ballet” Harry chuckled, breath tickling the sensitive skin of Louis neck. His breath hitched in his throat as he muttered softly,

“I’d much rather screw you, to be honest.”

Harry froze, smirk creeping across his face.

“Is that a suggestion or a promise?”

Louis moved away from the younger lad, lifting Harry’s chin until those twinkling eyes met his own.

“Why don’t you try it and see?”

The next few weeks were tainted with a feeling of falling - falling deeper into the whirlpool that was their feelings for the other. With every gentle caress, every chaste kiss, Louis could feel his heart being slowly patched back together, stitches so fine it was almost impossible to tell they were there. The magnitude of his feelings were almost scary - the velocity at which the changes to his life were occurring overwhelming. But somehow, with Harry by his side, it wasn’t as daunting as it could have been. He wasn’t scared of the changes - he embraced them wholeheartedly. After much persuasion, he toned down his rigorous work schedule to spend more time with Harry, whom had already created plans for their new room with a double bed after suffering through a morning of dance class with cramp from sharing one single.

Things were moving fast in their relationship, along with their lives. The competition mere days away, they were spending increasing amounts of time in the studio - however, how much work was actually achieved between the frequent make out sessions and stolen kisses was debatable. In spite of this, even Louis couldn't deny the duet was shaping up to be pretty spectacular, if he did say so himself - although he tried to argue that it was Harry’s touch that made it so. Elegant, flowing movements used the music as a springboard as they combined to form one beautiful piece of art, with such meaning, such life attached to it.

But it was Louis and Harry dancing it that really created an atmosphere that was untouchable. Their dependance on the other was crystal clear, each gesture complementing the other in a way that just worked. It was this chemistry, this electric bond between them, that made the choreography alive.

“So, um, Mum and Gemma are coming up tomorrow.”

Louis looked up at Harry from where he was sorting through the box of CD’s, trying to find a blank one to rip the song onto. They were sat on their dorm room, only the desk lamp on, washing a subtle, warm glow over the room. Harry was nibbling at the skin around his finger, something he only did when he was nervous.

“Really? The competition isn’t til’ Friday though.”

“Yeah, they wanted to come up and stay in London for a couple of days, before we go back to Cheshire.”

The stab Louis felt in his gut was a painful reminder of the fact that they only had three days before Harry departed for home, and Louis was left to the solitary confines of the school once again. If it had been lonely before, God alone knew what it was going to be like now he actually had something to miss.

Louis hummed, turning back to the seemingly endless pile of CD’s he was listlessly flicking through. He tried, albeit failed, to keep the jealousy at bay, focusing on maintaining small talk.

“I think they wanted to take me out to dinner.”

“Ah, cool, going somewhere fancy?”

“I’m not actually sure, actually, I was going to ask-“

“Yeah, you should ask them, you need to make reservations, and some of the restaurants are actually kind of dodgy - you don’t want to know how I know that, just-“

“Can you be quiet for five seconds?”

Louis looked up, retort ready, before noticing the smile in Harry’s eyes.

“I am trying, Chatterbox, to ask you if you would like to join us?”

The stunned reaction on Louis face made Harry chuckle as he watched millions of thoughts darting across the surface of Louis’ eyes.

“Before you even attempt to protest - I already asked mum, who said it was more than okay, and she and Gem have made reservations for the four of us somewhere - I don't know where - so yeah. You’re coming, basically.”

During Harry’s speech, the stunned silence had turned to a very anxious look on Louis face.

“What’s wrong?”

“They aren’t going to like me.”

“What are you talking about?! Of course they are going to like you, how couldn’t they, you’re -“

“But what if they don’t?”

Taking Louis by the shoulders, Harry guided the boy up into a hug, before releasing him, holding him at arms length.

“Louis William Tomlinson - you are by far, the most talented, kind, strong, amazing and beautiful person I have ever had the privilege of knowing. You have managed to convince me of the fact that relationships can in fact be happy and content. And I have never met someone as passionate and dedicated to their dreams as you. You are a remarkable human being, which is the reason you are my wonderful boyfriend - and it will, trust me, be next to impossible for my family not to see that.”

Seeing hints lingering uncertainty in Louis expression, Harry pulled him closer, angling his chin up before softly pressing his lips to Louis, instantly feeling the boy respond to his touch. The kiss was short and sweet, but reassuring - everything Louis needed it to be. When Harry pulled away, pressing one final kiss to Louis cheek, he looked to the older lad hopefully. Sigh.

“Okay.”

It was near impossible for Louis to sleep that night - not only was the competition playing on his mind, first introductions to the family of the boy he might well lov- like - were only fuelling the pressure he felt. But with each trace of Harry’s thumb over his hip, he felt his eyes drifting closed, his mind unwinding and slowing down, until all he could focus on was the steady heartbeat he felt from where Harry was pressed close to his back.

“Would you like to stop fiddling with your tie - I already told you it’s straight, and besides that, they are going to think you’re more weird than you actually are if you keep acting all jittery.”

“Hey!” Louis dragged his attention away from the skinny, deep red tie that ran directly down the centre of his torso to punch Harry’s arm. It wasn't fair - he felt so plain next to the younger boy who’s blazer hung effortlessly well off his lanky frame, tailoring to his body in such an enticing manner Louis would have been struggling to restrain himself had nerves not been wracking his body. Harry merely chuckled, resting a grounding arm around Louis waist, pulling him closer until his breath tickled Louis neck.

“I think you look-“

“Harry!”

They broke apart, barely having the chance to turn before Harry was tackled into a vigorous hug in a blur of dark brown-y-blonde hair. Glancing past the embrace of mumbled greetings, Louis caught sight of another women, glinting eyes and a smile fixed on her face so similar to Harry’s it left no question that this must be Anne. She drew to a stop, glancing at her children before turning to Louis.

“You must be Louis.”

Attempting to wipe the sweat from his palms and swallowing heavily, Louis began to instigate a handshake, but instead found himself being pulled into a bone-crushingly tight hug.

“We’ve heard so much about you - so much talent! I can’t wait to see the performance on Friday - it’s all Harry talks about, he just can’t shut up about you, and - “

“Mum?” Harry interjected, smiling at the nerves that were visibly draining from Louis face. “Breathe. And also let Louis breathe - he’s going purple.”

In actual fact, it was a rose pink that littered Louis cheeks, but nonetheless, a genuine, heartfelt smile was present as he thanked Anne, before turning to the tall girl, who bared an almost scary resemblance to Harry.

“Harry, when did you get good taste?” Gemma said, eyes scanning over Louis, triggering a laugh from everyone and deepening the colour of his already flushed cheeks.

“Hands off Gem - he’s mine.” Harry said, tone light as he weaved an arm round Louis shoulders, staking his claim.

“Shall we head in then?”

Following Gemma and Anne through the restaurant door, Harry pulled Louis closer into his side, squeezing his arm reassuringly.

“Told you they’d love you.”

The zestful tone littered the conversation throughout the evening - with Gemma and Louis bonding exceptionally quickly due to their shared love of teasing Harry. When the laughter from one particular childhood incident including Harry, a bucket, and an angry mother goose near a pond died down, the conversation turned.

“So Louis, do you have anything nice planned for the half term.”

A slightly awkward silence fell between Louis and Harry, who only seconds ago had been giggling. Louis cleared his throat.

“Well, I’ll probably just spend sometime in the studio - and studying, of course, it’s never too early to start revising so.”

Gemma sneered her nose up, reaching for her wine glass.

“You’re going to work during the break? Really?”

“Considering I’m at school, there isn't much else to do…”

Gemma looked at him, stunned, over the rim of her glass.

“You aren’t going home?”

“Got no home to go to.”

Louis was so focused on the napkin he was plucking at anxiously in his lap he missed the looks being bounced across the table between the family.

“Yes you have.”

The sound of Anne’s warm voice drew Louis sad eyes back up to hers, seeing the warm glow present in them.

“You would be more than welcome to stay with us should you want to.”

Louis gaze travelled round the table, resting on each face in turn before landing on Harry - Harry, whose warmth and acceptance was now multiplied trifold. He turned back to Anne, feeling the familiar knot of tears forming at the back of his throat

“Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”

“You might as well have been her second son, thats how much she loved you.”

Lounging on the bed later that night, moonlight casting shadows over the crisp white sheets and illuminating the pale skin of bodies intertwined, Louis shifted slightly, turning so he could see Harry, face even more stunning in the pearlescent glow.

“Well that would suck - cause then I couldn't do this.” Harry felt Louis lips graze the stubble on the underside of his jawline, before planting a kiss on the rather sensitive patch of skin right below his ear. Eyes fluttering shut, Harry hummed in agreement.

“That’s true, I guess.”

They lay in silence for a few seconds more, only the soft buzz of traffic and the gentle sigh of their exhales cutting through the still air.

“You were about to say something before you were interrupted by Gemma.”

Harry smirked, opening his eyes just enough to see Louis quizzical stare.

“Fuckable.”

‘Excuse me?!”

“You looked fuckable, to answer your question.”

Perhaps it was the genuine happiness that Louis felt for the first time in forever at the prospect of having a home to go to, and getting to spend all his time with Harry, that kept him remarkably chilled out over the next twenty four hours. The same, however, could not be said of Harry.

The dress rehearsal was, to put it bluntly, a shambles. Movements that had once been fluid were now clunky and heavy - gaps were appearing in Harry’s memory where the choreography once was, and he was falling apart more and more with each mistake. After their fifth restart, Louis pulled him to one side.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, concerned by the panic he could see brewing in the forest green on Harry’s eyes, which were now misting over with tears.

“I don’t know - I just want it to be perfect for you cause you’ve worked so hard and you deserve it, and I've never done this before and there’s going to be so many people watching me fail -“

“And pause for breath,” Louis pressed a finger to Harrys trembling lips, indicating for him to stay quiet.

“You are going to be brilliant - I would not have chosen you and kept working with you if I didn’t honestly, in my heart of hearts believe that. And even if you do screw up - this is your first competition. No one expects perfection. To be honest, whether we come first, or last - I don’t care. Cause this dance is, has become, about so much more than just a stupid little competition number. It is all about us - this song has literally been there, from the beginning, all the way through to now. It is the soundtrack of us - and that means more to me than any first place will, cause I love you, Harry., and - shit.”

Harry noticed the panic that had fled from his eyes now enter Louis at the realisation of his slip, but before the apology could even leave his lips, his mouth was captured in a kiss- a kiss laden with emotion, attempting to convey the mutual status of Louis words. Suddenly growing aware of the fact they were not alone, the sound technician coughing subtly, they broke apart, Harry’s response hanging on his slightly bruised, just kissed lips.

“I love you too.”

Harry was still, unfortunately, a mess the next morning, watching Louis as he wordlessly packed their costumes of deep blue t-shirts and black leggings into a garment bag. The taxi ride there was almost eerily silent, filled with unspoken wishes of good luck as Harry stared apprehensively out of the window, watching the raindrops roll down the icy glass pane. He tried desperately to focus on the light weight of Louis hand resting on his knee, seeking comfort from even this small gesture.

The backstage of a competition is also not the most ideal place to calm nerves. Crying children, sweaty dancers, stressed stage directors - finding a moment of peace is impossible. It wasn’t until Harry and Louis reached side stage, hand linked together, that they properly stopped and looked at each other. Louis placed one last kiss on Harry’s lips, their foreheads remaining together for a brief moment.

“You’re going to be fine.”

And then, act number thirteen was being called, and they were walking out onto stage, pitch black engulfing them, taking their beginning places.

When you first perform on stage, nothing can prepare you for the rush of adrenaline that surges through your veins, taking control over every limb in your body and pushing you to limits you thought were far beyond your capabilities. Everything comes down to the few moments of silence you have to yourself while the lights are still down, and the audience anticipate the first hum of the music - the seconds of complete stillness in which your mind empties and muscle memory takes over.

And, in this case, the bond that can only be formed between two of a kind - two souls that are so perfectly matched that they can instinctually help and support the other without having to even communicate.

Wordlessly, Harry and Louis danced, reading the dialect of the others body as though it was their native language. The room could have been burning around them, and still they would only have had eyes for the other, melodies tying them together in an unbreakable bond. Harry’s nerves were barely detectable - only once did he let the facade fall, as he stumbled out of a double turn halfway through the second chorus. After a brief heart-stopping moment, he began to dance again, more determination and power in his movements than before - Louis feeling a smile tug on his lips at how amazingly wonderful his boyfriend was.

Three minutes and twenty six seconds where over all to quickly. Harry and Louis exited the stage, pausing only for mere seconds before crushing each other in a hug, chests moving heavily together and the eruption of cheers from the crowd still ringing in their ears.

“Third place goes to……act fifteen, Chandelier!”

They applauded as a couple rose from their place, accepting their trophy. Louis looked across at Harry to find his eyes already on his face, the same hopefulness Louis could feel rising in his chest radiated back to him through the glimmer in Harry’s eyes.

“And in second place, with only one mark off drawing with first…”

Harry closed his eyes, praying, hoping…

“Act thirteen, All About Us!”

Second. Expecting to see bitterness, regret, disappointment, Harry looked to Louis, features already morphing into an expression of apology - but he was surprised to see real, genuine joy in Louis smile. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, feeling a sharp nudge to his back. Louis nodded toward the trophy in the announcers hands.

“You get it - you more than deserve it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pft - of course!”

The trophy was cold and smooth against Harry’s hands as he turned back to see Louis hand extended towards him, eyebrows asking the unspoken question. Grinning, Harry laced his fingers into Louis, heart swelling at how perfectly they fitted together, before feeling them be raised high above his head, the audience whopping before him.

Louis had never felt so complete in his life. So - his parents didn’t accept him. But here he was, doing what he loved, with the most perfect human being to have ever existed, in front of people who didn’t care whether he was gay, straight - whatever. He was gay. And that was more than okay.

As they were leaving via stage door, arms cradling each other loosely, Louis felt a sharp grasp clench on his arm. Turning, confused, it took him a few seconds to place the face of the supposed stranger who had grabbed him, before he tore away his arm, any joy draining from his calm eyes that were fast becoming stormy, ice cold and piercing. Feeling the sudden jerk, Harry turned too, catching sight of the dark haired, desperate looking women whom Louis was regarding with an expression that could only be described as disgust.

“Louis…Please, just hear me out, before you say anything…”

“You think you deserve any of my time?”

None of this was aiding the confusion Harry felt, as he went to interrupt.

“Sorry, who-“

“Three years, mum. Three years, and you haven't called, texted, even written, to your supposed son!”

Jigsaw pieces finally falling into place, Harry recognised Louis features at last in the women standing before him - the crinkles around the eyes, the tanned complexion. A cold, hard hatred tensed his entire body, but he moved to protect Louis, placing his hands on the older boys shoulders. The anger was practically radiating off Louis; Harry could feel him trembling beneath his finger tips as he squeezed slightly, making the boy aware of his presence. Jay looked down at her shoes, desperation clear in her pleading eyes.

“I know - it was awful of me, and I cannot even begin to apologise for what I did. I wouldn't blame you if you never forgave me -“

“Good, because at this rate, that is the outcome-“

“But I never wanted you to leave. I didn’t want to let him do what he did to you - but the girls were so young, and I was worried that he would become volatile enough to turn on them to.”

Louis looked into the eyes of his mother - the women he had seen hurry his sisters upstairs all those years ago, one last fleeting glance serving as a goodbye. He understood her point. But, as much as he hated it, he still felt the pain, fresh and raw as a salty wound, whenever he played that moment over again in his head.

“Nothing excuses what you did.”

“I know Louis - I am going to punish myself eternally for my actions the day. but please, just - I have changed. I am not with him anymore - i accept your way of life, if that’s who you are-“

“It is.”

“Then that’s okay. Just please - can’t you even give me a chance?”

Louis bit his lip, studying his mum intently before turning to Harry. He had finally found someone who could fill the void ripped from his chest three years prior. He was happy, content, peaceful - but surely that was all the more reason to forgive her?

He turned back to his mum, picking up on something in her eyes he had missed for a very, very long time. Love.

He slipped his arm back round Harry’s waist, turning to make a move away.

‘It’s going to take me some time. But I’m going to give you a chance. Call me, okay?”

Three years later, and Louis could now see that same glowing look of love in his mothers shining eyes from the dance floor, his chin resting on Harry’s shoulder. His sisters, their bridesmaids, were also seated at the side of the dance floor, and has they moved to the music, Louis caught a glimpse of Anne and Gemma, each with equally proud and happy looks on their faces.

They’d come so far in such a short space of time - not only had familial bonds been remade, but Louis was finally following his dreams, pursuing a rather successful career in the Royal Ballet, as their lead male dancer. Harry was still at Liberum Saltare School of Dance - but as a teacher now, not a student, after deciding he really didn't want to leave. Both had achieved almost everything they’d ever dreamed of, with another moment being ticked off today in the form of their marriage - the kind of marriage that they knew would not fade over time, for it was clear for all to see, that they were the living proof of soul mates.

Louis felt himself being spun around, laughing at his husband, before finding himself falling backwards, supported by Harrys strong arms as he french dipped him, whoops echoing from their wedding guests. Laughing blue clashed with sparkling green. And as Louis felt Harry’s velvety smooth lips on his own, he finally felt whole again.

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