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because-she-goes · 1 year

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nineteen hundred eighty five

warnings: masochism/sh, couch scene, eating raw meat, Nora and Matty as intellectuals, a dash of sub!matty w/ dom!nora, swearing. Enjoy!

They were six months out from the album being released. Of course Nora had heard what they were working on so far and loved the live, organic energy. Her voice even hidden deep under layers of guitars and bass in some tracks. Matty had promised her no one would be able to know which song or hear her, so she agreed. What she didn't plan on, was him asking for her creative input on an interlude he was planning that would separate the “Being Funny” and “Greatest Hits” section of the concert. When he had first brought it up to her they were sipping their morning teas in their cozy California home. A much larger space than their New York and London apartments, especially with their studio spaces. The home wreaked of “art couple”, pictures plastered everywhere, flowers in unique vases sporadically placed on tables and counters, massive his and hers studios next door to each other that they had used two bedrooms for, a sitting room complete with library and sketch pads with markers for jotting down quick ideas for lyrics or paintings, a media room filled with DVDs of movies and vinyls they love, large open kitchen with windows everywhere for beautiful natural light and lastly a cozy yet romantic dining room with candles and fairy lights everywhere. Truly like someone had taken their brains and turned them into interiors. Greenery everywhere, ivy crawling up the white brick cottage’s walls, picket fence, the whole nine yards of a quaint american-english home. Nora was the main planner/buyer of the operation what with Matty being in New York and London every week working in the album with Jack or Jamie, but she made it a point to ensure the home felt warm and lived in - a place where he could come home, dump his shit at the door and relax. Not have to think about work or the band, just be himself, not Truman or Matty. Obviously, she didn't dare touch the home recording studio, all of that being left up to him and George to decide what he’d need. She also let him pick stuff for their bedroom and bathroom since she wanted him to still feel a part of the whole ordeal. This was their forever home so why shouldn’t he have input. He opted for a jade-green tile shower with twin wooden sinks and a block bathtub. For their sleeping situation, he wanted a big platform bed with blackout curtains covering their floor to ceiling windows (“Nike, my jetlag will be terrible coming home from traveling, they’d be so helpful!” He explained one evening over the phone) and two wood bedside tables with artwork. Keeping the space calm, zen and relaxing.

Getting back to the interlude, he had told her that the general idea of it - and tentative title - would be A Depiction of Masculine Romanticism. They had started planning and researching almost immediately, checking out books from their local library that afternoon about performance art and certain ideas Matty had already had: using Bukoswki interviews, The Virgin Suicides and Buffalo ‘66 clips to be playing in the TV sets behind him, discussing how people fake certain aspects of themselves or hypersexualize themselves to appeal to potential partners, as well as the whole ridiculous idea of Matty being a sex symbol in today’s world. Hearing all of this, it made Nora think of Yoko Ono’s Cut Piece where she sat full dressed in front of an audience and on a PA system granted them permission to cut her clothes and take the piece with them - some approached her shyly and cut small pieces out of the hem of her skirt or top while others were bold and began cutting the center of her blouse or chunks of her bra straps. Ono herself describing it as a “give and take” between the participants and her - much like a romantic relationship. There was also the instruction given in her book Grapefruit, Nora remembered, where she instructed a group of individuals to simply touch each other and it was up to each participant how far to go with said message. She brought this up to Matty that evening while in bed, showing him the book and exact message. Glasses slipping down his nose, wild curls in every direction, stubble dotting his jawline as he carefully flipped through it and read each passage.

“This is wonderful stuff, I was already contemplating taking my own shirt off and playing into the whole machismo thing with my tattoos and stuff. Thanks, baby!” He pecked her cheek, continuing to read on.

“Handsome, would you pass me that stack of Bukowski books? I want to highlight some stuff you could post across the TV.” She asks saccharine sweet, and he hands them across the bed sheet.

“Find something you love, let it kill you… I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of…A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.” She mumbles to herself, orange marker inking the pages.

“Nike love, remember that movie Buffalo ‘66 we watched one night, and how the guy is telling the girl to fake being in love with him? To sell the idea of them being married or something? I think that could work right like that bit?” He asks, brown eyes facing hers.

“Yeah, that would be really good! Plus, it would play into the clown character you do in the videos sometimes when you have a love interest like the Change of Heart couple.” She adds, thinking back to hearing him mention the other day on the phone to Jamie how he wanted to reprise the role for a new song off their album. “Plus, if you wanted to use The Virgin Suicides like you mentioned, practically the whole movie is about men exploiting young girls for their bodies and playing with their emotions so that would definitely work.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love you and your brain, Nora Downey?” He sweetly prompts, taking her cheek in his hand and rubbing the apple of it with his thumb.

CONTENT WARNING START: SH, MASOCHISM

“Only a few thousand times, Handsome… and I love you and yours too.” She melts, moving closer to him and tucking herself under his arm, now reading his book about Gina Pane and the use of her body as the vessel for artistic expression - st times even using the act of masochism and how people react to it as the art itself.

“In Unanesthetized Climb (1971) she climbed, barefoot, a ladder with rungs studded with metal protrusions, stopping when she could no longer endure the pain. For the installation series Action Notation she mixed photographs of her previous wounds with objects, such as toys, glass, etc., from her previous actions…” Matty’s hair falls in his face as he speaks, a hand rakes through it combing it back out of his eyes. “The process was controversial since it almost always involved an element of masochism: cutting her tongue or her ear, sticking nails into her forearm, smashing through a glass door, ingesting food to the point of nausea.” An idea sparks, he’ll come back to it later. He yawns. Nora’s eyes trained on his mouth like a hunter waiting for just the right moment to attack. God, how were his lips so pink? “Pane no longer based her approach on direct bodily experience, although the body remained pivotal and retained its symbolic significance through figures (cross, rectangle, circle) and materials (burnt or rusty metal, glass or copper).” Matty continues, breath shaky. He knew this was good, but he himself was not a masochist of this caliber yet, however Truman Black could be. Nora noticed the gears in Matty’s brain start to turn once he stopped reading. Despite the graphic content, she was fascinated with Pane’s work. She could see the clear connections between this physical mutilation and the emotional trauma women endure. One of Pane’s performances making this exact argument, it involved her laying on a mental frame with candles underneath, her body unmoving and unyielding to the slow burn - physically representing the pain some women experienced in their own bedrooms, with a partner or simply during sexual relations. Nora grimaces at the thought, bitterness suddenly soaking her tongue.

CONTENT WARNING END: SH, MASOCHISM

“…Okay! Think that’s enough of that for the night.” Matty swiftly states, ends of the book clapping together. “Do you want some tea or anything before bed, Darling?” He asks, getting up and making his way to the door. Her mind turns. Why has he been making the tea every night? Where did all her sweets go?

“Oh very smart, Matthew! I knew you’d been sneaking the chocolates at night while making the tea!” She gets up, chasing after him as he giggles over his shoulder - face bright red like a thief caught in the act.

“But they’re so good!!” He exclaims, running down the hall.

The following week, Matty is sat up in bed reading. Nora asleep in a heap next to him, snoozing away calmly. Bags under his eyes darker than normal and stubble more pronounced. Unbeknownst to Nora, Matty had spent every night for the past week reading about different performance artists, in an attempt to keep up with Nora during their meetings with Jamie and Patricia every few days. He was tired, but he liked the quiet evenings of studying - missing out on it during the ages where he would normally be at college or uni, as his brother now called it. He’d bring whatever book he was reading with him to the studio with the guys and read while George made the backing tracks.

“Mate, a tour isn’t a thesis essay. We can just have 10 minutes of us talking and the fans would be happy.” The giant points out in his deep voice.

“I am just reading so I don’t seem like a wanker when talking about this stuff to Nora, Mate.”

“Oh her? You’ll never outdo her. She’s got a brain the size of The Shard!” Ross cracks back at him.

“Yeah, Matt. She is like an oxford scholar or something with all the stuff in her head!” Adam chirps.

Matty grumbles something about his friends talking about her head as his nose goes back to his book.

Some months later, Matty has his interlude finalized. Nora hasn’t seen anything about it since those first few weeks, but here she was on opening night of At Their Very Best. Her black outfit matching his all black suit perfectly. The patent leather gleaming in the concert lights. Her brunette hair is worn down, gently caressing the small of her back.

The first half is going great, the fan’s screaming every lyric as if they themselves wrote it. Nora now hears the music she had suggested to Matty for the performance - “Nothin In The World Can Stop Me Worryin Me Bout That Girl” by The Kinks. It was a song from a movie she loved as a kid and it talks about a girl being unfaithful and her partner still loving her despite the pain. Matty, now up on the stage before her does as he told her moons ago, takes off his black button down to the cheers of the crowd. Nora’s stomach sank when he started doing the following action, something they certainly never discussed or something she never got a warning about. He saunters over to a crinkly leather couch, takes some puffs of a cigarette, hollowed cheeks accentuating his lips perfectly. He puts an oxygen mask to his face and continues to do things only Nora has seen when Matty is needy, pleading for her and aching to be touched. He feels his thighs, his own hands drifting everywhere hers wouldnt on those nights where she teases. His breathing goes erratic, chest starts to heave. Nora’s thighs begin to burn and at the apex of them she feels like a flame is being held to her skin. Her leather skirt suddenly feeling too restrictive. She is frozen, mouth agape, eyes unblinking. He simulates things only she has seen while on FaceTime while he toured and missed her. Her mouth drools. She looks at him like someone who has been starved for 6 years and suddenly sees a feast in front of them. Ravenous.

It is then that her Matthew bucks into his hand, head thrown back, jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. Cheers and screams of lust fill the room, it is deafening. She can’t hold it together anymore, sprinting to the side entrance to the stage, flashing her lanyard to security. She halts only when the edge of the spotlight is just about to hit her boots. Surrounded by the guys, Patricia, Sam, Jamie and the band, she is in shock.

He gets up off the couch, takes one final drag of a cigarette and as if he knows she’s there like a radar is in his brain, he fucking looks over his shoulder and winks at her with a devilish grin. Now the music shifts: an instrumental of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” by the Rolling Stones. He kneels like a disciple in front of the TVs as they flash on. Bukowski’s words flashing across them with the footage of Buffalo ‘66 and The Virgin Suicides. Matty lays his head down in a sort of down-ward dog yoga pose, lanky arms outstretched - his shoulder blades jutting out like a fallen angel’s wings. Music taking over him as his chest heaves even more. He shifts a bit and moves to do push ups. Nora is now like a rabid dog at the side stage. Practically foaming at the mouth. He has her right where he wants her. George has to physically hold her back to keep the girl from running out onto the stage. Her brain analyzing each inch of his marble skin as it squeezes and contracts into the exercise to hold his weight suspended.

He comes to a stop and pivots on his knees. The music crescendos. Mick Jagger’s screaming now being played with the choir and guitars. Piano plays manically. Choir builds. A tomahawk steak is brought out to him, he takes a glance to the audience and to Nora, another wink. The audience goes to a level 10 wild. He devours the raw steak, holding the bone and gnawing down on the flesh. Picking some out his teeth and sucking his fingers clean.

Nora is baffled. All lust and the fact that she is married to the guy aside, it is some of the best performance art she has ever seen. Artistically, she is stunned at the fact that the toxic masculinity radiating off of him was not only being encouraged, but adored by the crowd. He has every single person in the building in the palm of his hand. Wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, he crawls to the largest TV. Pushing the screen open, he plummets like Alice going down a rabbit hole. The crowd thunders. Nora is out of herself, brain alight. Amazed by his creativity and his ability to make at least 20,000 people feel every emotion he wanted them to, to have all of them at his whim. She is in awe, she knew he was a great performer and someone beloved, but she never knew he had this in him. That her Matty had this power at his disposal to use whenever, that he could switch that power on and off.

He, now out of character, steps to the group and wipes his face with a towel - out of the audience’s view. The sound of the sea of people cheering still consuming the building. She takes one look at him.

“I love you, Healy.” She mouths.

“Love you too, Downey.” He smirks as he gets pulled away to get dressed. All Nora can think is that no-one on the planet will ever come close to him for her, he’s it for her. Her mom always told her he was the one, but she didn’t actually think she’d be alive to see the day Matty fucking Healy was hopelessly in love with her. More than anything though, one thing was true. He was the best thing going for her in her life, and she would always be thankful to whatever angel sent him to her.

Thankful for her Matty. Her husband.

#matty healy #drew’s writing :)#the 1975 #matty x nora #ENJOY GUYS!!#I MISSED THEM!#Spotify #an encounter

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hailsatanacab · 5 months

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Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #batpham #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #look. this has been in my mind for so long guys so long - and idk if its canon that the batfam have codes for time travel situations or what #but i feel like ive seen it before and if its not canon it should be #so here - how i think that would be funny to go down #i have so many thoughts about TUE and its place in a dpxdc crossover like holy shit there's so many ways it can go!!#i have another wip in the works thats kinda similar to this but with superman and i cannot wait to work on it again #there are so many ways i wanted this to go but i just couldnt get there - i wanted to keep it on the shorter side but like #perhaps ill have to expand #i just love the idea that like. theres a stranger at your table who knows you and knows you well. who knows the secret that youd die to keep #there's a stranger at your table and he says something and you know he's family. you know you're strangers but now...#now you have to be something more #oh man theres so many juicy ways it can go and I KNOW I DID NONE OF THEM #i want to write this whole plot again and make it angstier #(me with everything)#anyway! sorry love you all hope you enjoy it!!

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