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dustedmagazine · 4 months

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Four Albums I Almost Slept-On But Fortunately Did Not: Alex’s 2023 Superlatives for the Nearly Left Behind

Lamaar

Superlatives are silly, but they structure the hell out of a list. Below you’ll find the music I’m glad to just barely not have missed. Whether it was deciding to pull on several layers and go to a show or having the radio on at just the right time, these releases could’ve easily passed me by, but, once noticed and nabbed, stayed with me throughout 2023. Special shoutout to Mary Lattimore, whose Goodbye, Hotel Arkada, was my favorite thing to review this year and to Gina Birch, whose triumphant, funky, biting solo album, I Play My Bass Loud, towered over everything.

Best release I would’ve slept on had I not braved snow and windchill to see a show

Laamar – Flowers EP (self released)

I was introduced to multi-instrumentalist and songwriter Geoffrey Lamar Wilson’s music by a magnetic set* not quite two weeks into 2023 in central Minneapolis – his hometown and my adopted one. Wilson’s stage presence, at once calm and direct, unassuming but earnest, was matched by his band’s warm, enveloping mix of percussive acoustic guitar, trotting drums, and walking bass. These paved a smooth path for his lyrics: plain-spoken, incisive confrontations with the insidious ravages of racial violence, both implied and perpetrated, that still manage to bloom with love. A few weeks later, the stop-in-your-tracks “Home To My Baby,” started playing on local indie radio and an EP, Flowers, followed some months after. The qualities that made that set so memorable were not lost in the recording and I’ve had it close to hand ever since. It’s an intimate, haunted, and bewitching release.

*A well-deserved mention to Poolboy and Yellow Ostrich, who book-ended Laamar, and also released new music recently. The former are practitioners of bright guitars, tight drums, and subtle but knowing lines like “breaking bread with ten close friends until your early thirties.” The latter, who organized the show, is a project from Alex Schaaf, an adept in the live combination of emotive synthesizer loops and shredding guitar.

Best new album from an artist I had previously slept on but, fortunately, no longer will

ANOHNI and the Johnsons – My Back Was A Bridge For You To Cross (Secretly Canadian)

This summer, my step dad sent me a box of vinyl he no longer had the desire (or functional turntable) for. What I found weren’t the fetish objects of a hairy-handed crate digger, but rather a small though satisfying slice of canonical rock, blues, and adjacent subgenres, from the mid-1960s through the mid-1980s. Nothing unfamiliar, at least in name and gist, but also very little I’d actually spent much time, you know, listening to. So on went, among other things, Taj Mahal’s Giant Step/De Ole Folks at Home, Bruce Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town, The Time Has Come by The Chambers Brothers, Cat Stevens’ Tea for the Tillerman, and, with apologies to the guys at Championship Vinyl, the soundtrack to The Big Chill.

That trip yielded hits and misses, but also the inspiration to dig back into some of the contemporary music that passed me by. I’d been aware of ANOHNI and the Johnsons since 2005’s I Am A Bird Now, but for some reason, and despite vigorous recommendations from my high school carpool, things never clicked. Thanks to the magic – chaos? – of streaming, I threw convention to the wind and started with track four. As “Can’t” built towards its bursting apex, Anohni Hegarty blurting the title and riding the groove like Van Morrison, something finally did. My Back Was A Bridge For You To Walk On isn’t all fireworks – although the brief guitar solo on the backend of “Scapegoat” streaks about as high. More often, the album lives on elegant plucked guitar or an effortless rhythm and blues, over which Hegarty delivers her potent reports, at once deeply personal and vigorously political.

Best album I had no good reason to sleep on but did

Mary Jane Dunphe – Stage of Love (Pop Wig)

Growing up in Seattle with an ear for punk and indie rock, it’s hard not to turn south to Olympia, home of labels like K and Perennial (née Perennial Death), bands like Bikini Kill, The Microphones, and the inimitable Hipster Piss Party. Also in that milieu, beginning in 2013, was the singer and songwriter Mary Jane Dunphe. Her work, from the pulsing synth pop of CC Dust to the rumble and roar of CCFX, tends toward the fist-pumping. Her voice is an otherworldly purl, an odd and captivating instrument that bends genres in its path – her aptly named duo The Country Liners is just as satisfying as the clubbier projects in its formidable if weary honky-tonk tales of heartbreak.

Which leads me to Dunphe’s first proper solo release, Stage of Love. Country, it is not. It’s more in keeping with her earlier work in CCs Dust and FX. Particularly early on, songs like “Phantom Heart” and the title track deal in immersive dance beats, chanted refrains, and, on occasion, a rip of chainsaw guitar for emphasis – some of the last is courtesy of another Olympian, Earth’s Dylan Carlson. Others like “Longing Loud” or “Always Gonna Be The Same,” take that basic template, but turn the rawness and throb down, giving more space to the airy curve of Dunphe’s vocals over an agile mix of keyboards, xylophone, and rubbery drum patterns. Elsewhere Stage of Love opens yet further. Songs like the strumming, shimmering fog of “Moon Halo,” “Saint Dymphna,” a wash of synth and field recorded birdsong, and the closer, a second instance of the spare, romantic “Just Like Air,” walk the album into a fresh, if possibly hungover, morning.

Best album I would have slept on were it not for 89.3 The Current

Partial Traces – Stay Dreaming (Salinas)

Amy Rigby’s The Old Guys is one of my favorite albums of the last five years. I love the grit in Rigby’s voice, the way that, not unlike Lucinda Williams, she strains sorrow, humor, and yearning through it to deeply cathartic effect. Partial Traces’ principal vocal- and keyboardist Maren Macosko has that quality too, though with more of a quaver – Ian Curtis’ suppressed fury alongside Williams’ knack for resolute and candid storytelling.

I heard “Days Between Dreams” from Partial Traces’ latest, Stay Dreaming,driving south along the Mississippi river. It’s the perfect music for steady motion, for catching glimpses of cloud and sky through the trees. By the time Macosko gets to the emotional center of the song in the lines “I want to stay in that day in the sun/I want to not understand anyone/except for you…a perfect day lost with you in Berlin” you’re right there with her, walking with the other “dumb young Americans.” It’s bracing. The rest of Stay Dreaming follows suit. Like Rigby on The Old Guys, or fellow Minneapolitan Paul Westerberg, Macosko and her fellow lyricist Brad Lokkesmoe write big, heartfelt songs about getting older, its joys and losses, and the detritus of younger, not always freer, times – like Macosko sings later, on “Oceans of Coffee,” “sometimes it all goes up in flames.” The music is straightforward and stirring, exactly what I want from my melodic indie rock. It can at times recall Handsome Furs in its propulsion, the relentless, echoing drums and airborne guitars that always feel, and often are, pushing the band into another heart-on-sleeve chorus.

Alex Johnson

#dusted magazine #yearend 2023 #alex johnson #lamaar #mary lattimore #gina burch #anohni #mary jane dunphe #partial traces

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dalamusrex · 2 years

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Is there any in-game music (or, if not, any other instrumental piece) which you associate with Dalamus?

Thanks for the question! I’m not particularly good at picking out soundtracks in games, so I went to listen to the soundtrack to give my thoughts better. I wouldn’t assign any of them to Dal in particular, but I can let you know what certain tracks make me think of as I listen!:

Here’s a link to the soundtrack on Youtube that I used! Timestamps to each is in the description: The Elder Scrolls V Skyrim | Full Original Soundtrack

From Past to Present is particularly nostalgic for me, and beautiful enough for me to want to sit and just listen and let emotions wash over me. It’s a slow song, calm, but also contemplative. Taking time to rest but also knowing that one can’t sit still forever, they have to move forward even if the future is uncertain. But just… 5 more minutes, okay. Then we’ll go. It makes me think of Dal–who came from decades and decades of living a life on the move–now having a permanent residence, and occasionally taking the time to sit down and realize how far he’s come. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, but sometimes it’s nice to have the luxury of just being able to pause and take in everything around him. It’s difficult to regret a past that brought him here.

Unbroken Road actually seems to match how I feel Dal’s energy is during Guild Jobs. He’s in his element but also careful. It’s energetic but not chaotic, tense but not panicked, suspenseful but predictable. He knows what he’s doing but can’t afford to let down his guard.

Silent Footsteps makes me think of a nocturnal hunt. A vampire in the night, hiding in shadows, eyes reflecting light as red eyeshine if seen at just the right angle. Soft footsteps you think you hear, but when you listen they suddenly stop. The feeling that you’re being watched, and that danger is imminent, although you can’t pinpoint the source. The deep sort of rumbling bass in the background makes me think of how, when frightened, sometimes you hear a rumbling that drowns out everything else and creates a sense of unease. As the song fades out, it’s as if the threat has passed, although you’re not sure how you know, just that suddenly it feels safe to breathe again. Into Darkness has similar vibes.

Secunda sounds like the relief of returning home after being away, either on a Guild Job or other occasion that took him away from Riften for a prolonged period of time. When things are still on his mind and the action is fresh but he just wants to lay in bed and decompress, perhaps hug a loved one and hear them say “Welcome back.” Seeing smiling faces and warm expressions, knowing he can relax. The Streets of Whiterun has a similar vibe.

Towers and Shadows makes me think of approaching a destination for a Guild Job, apprehensively making a plan and scouting out the area.

I can’t find hardly any instrumentals in his playlist, sadly, which is somewhat ironic because his Modern Verse self absolutely loves listening to instrumentals and classical music. I tend to listen for lyrics that tell a story or describe feelings, and attach those to him. When I do listen to something without lyrics, I tend to associate him with violin and piano, and slow somber rhythms to reflect his angsty mindscape. But the pieces with faster beats are good for action like battle. Here are a few I found that I really like!:

ReallySlowMotion - "Pandemic" : Makes me think of preparation for battle, very determined and strong beats.

Really Slow Motion - Sunder: Starts out somber and contemplative, makes me think of a quiet moment between beats of chaos when he feels low or overwhelmed by emotion. Takes a moment for himself to actually feel it in private. Then it’s time to get up and get shit done.

Audiomachine - Tangled Earth: Makes me think of him and his loved ones, his friends, family, and what he’s willing to do for them. The ups and downs. How far he’s willing to go to defend them, protect them. How much he’s willing to go beyond his “nature” to keep them safe. I think of battles and bloodshed, when thoughts of his loved ones and going home to them are what’s able to keep him fighting and make sure he wins despite exhaustion.

Twelve Titans Music - Monolith: Kinda makes me think of a battle, but in a “Villain Reveal” sort of way for Dalamus, where an enemy has pissed him off sufficiently that he drops all guise of being mortal and the enemy suddenly realizes they’re not just dealing with an ordinary dark elf. Not quite Boss Music but definitely heading into that territory.

I also like the sort of "haunting" tone and buzz that comes from a Hurdy Gurdy when playing darker music, but can't find one I'd associate with him in whole.

I’m realizing late that these might not count as “instrumental” but..... it’s all I got, boss!

#missy rambles #ooc #info #music #dalamus music #the pitfalls of eternity #apparently i couldn't keep a consistent music tag on this blog lmao #so have 3

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 2 years

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aaaaa i’ve been doing a lot of my own brainrot recently instead of answering asks like i should be please forgive ;-;; brainrot strikes late at night and i feel bad if i answer asks so late </3

anywho late night concept GO

you being a devout follower of the Tsaritsa, with a place in the Fatui akin to a Mirror Maiden due to your genuine worship of the Cryo Archon. you don’t fight often, instead staying in Snezhnaya to keep order, and when you do fight it’s in the Tsaritsa’s name. you believe your place and the Fatui to be safe and securely good, wholeheartedly trusting your god and superiors.

one day you’re walking around the main Fatui HQ when you come across a door, slightly ajar. it’s Il Dottore’s lab, somewhere you normally stay out of simply because other Fatuus take care of the clean up (or Dottore himself is in there doing Archons know what), but now it’s silent and empty, so you shrug and walk in.

you’re on cleaning duty, after all.

when you walk in your nose crinkles at the sharp scent of chemicals and the sound of glass underfoot, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. you wear gloves for a reason! and you’re in the process of cleaning up (making sure not to touch any bottles or equipment) when you hear something like a whimper in the corner. curious, you walk over, finding a large cloth covering something and yanking it down. you’re met face-to-face with an enormous Abyssal monster, cowering in the far corner of a too-small cage. it’s curled into itself, shivering with fear and chill. there’s a paper attached to the bars.

Tartaglia, Eleventh Harbinger, status: Abyssal Transformation, experiment 254.

Part 1 for brainrot i guess???? help i’ve already come up with more for this i already have an ending in mind why do i do this to myself >:0 i can definitely expand this into a full length thing honestly tell me if you wanna hear more <33

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themusicview · 2 years

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We woke up one morning and fell a little further down - a Godspeed You! Black Emperor retrospective - Pt. 7: Luciferian Towers

Here’s the thing about this moment in Godspeed’s history. By this point the fanbase was comfortable with, maybe even expecting, the band’s opaqueness. They said little to the press, and what they did mention was cryptic, there was no website you could visit, no pre-announcement of their new works.

So when Godspeed released a full manifesto with their next album, you could say we were taken by surprise.

As such, the primary emotion of this LP is anger: white hot, blistering, sharp anger. It is Godspeed saying, “We can no longer afford to be cryptic, so let us be blunt.” I can think of no more blunt a statement than the bullet pointed conclusion of their manifesto.

the “luciferian towers” L.P. was informed by the following grand demands:

+ an end to foreign invasions

+ an end to borders

+ the total dismantling of the prison-industrial complex

+ healthcare, housing, food and water acknowledged as an inalienable human right

+ the expert fuckers who broke this world never get to speak again

This being said, let’s dissect their musical manifesto and see what exactly this album is like. The band’s own descriptions will be followed by my own.

UNDOING A LUCIFERIAN TOWERS – look at that fucking skyline! big lazy money writ in dull marble obelisks! imagine all those buildings much later on, hollowed out and stripped bare of wires and glass, listen- the wind is whistling through all 3,000 of its burning window-holes!

Borrowing from the tradition of Yanqui UXO, the album begins with a drone. It’s a lighter drone than the black darkness of their earlier efforts, but it is a drone none the less. If anything, this track feels like an overture, the rising curtain to a grand spectacle show. Militaristic drums and violin hymnal melodies explode at the end. All in all, it begins the album well enough.

BOSSES HANG – labor, alienated from the wealth it creates, so that holy cow, most of us live precariously! kicking at it, but barely hanging on! also – the proud illuminations of our shortened lives! also – more of us than them! also – what we need now is shovels, wells, and barricades!

This is part one of the thesis statement for the album. It is a cinematic track, but one that feels more like a short film compared to LYSF’s feature length picture. In it, well, the worker becomes tired, and rises up against his master. It is a revolution of feeling and crescendos. This is the most soundtrack like Godspeed have gotten so far. The track is less coherent and build like than anything else in their discography, but still communicates their intended message well enough.

FAM / FAMINE – how they kill us = absentee landlord, burning high-rise. the loud panics of child-policemen and their exploding trigger-hands. with the dull edge of an arbitrary meritocracy. neglect, cancer maps, drone strike, famine. the forest is burning and soon they’ll hunt us like wolves.

In revolution, especially revolution lead by the left, power rarely is taken all at once or with any degree of long term stability during the revolution. Often, the result of revolt, especially in the short term, is chaos for all involved. This chaos is reflected in this track. It’s easy to see that this track is disorganized and a little bit disjointed. However, given the images that accompany this track, the immediate counter attack from the government that we are attempting to overthrow, it is a fitting one. We are dodging the bullets, retaliating where we can, eking out an existence in the rubble and the burning wreckage of the new order, attempting to find safety in the rubble and the wreckage. And yet, there is hope, the hymnal melody from the Undoing a Luciferian Towers is present here, under all the chaos. This is difficult, but it will not be the grave for the revolution.

ANTHEM FOR NO STATE – kanada, emptied of its minerals and dirty oil. emptied of its trees and water. a crippled thing, drowning in a puddle, covered in ants. the ocean doesn’t give a shit because it knows it’s dying too.

True peace at last, but at what cost. Here, we mourn the passing of our comfortable lives, but at the same time, we look for the world to come. However long it lasts. The effects of capitalism will linger on for a long time, perhaps for the rest of our species’ allotted time on this planet, but it’s OK. We are finally beginning to pay back the debt that has been accrued. There is love at last, there is peace at last, now that the world is out of the hands of the people who broke it. The people come out of their homes, and work to create the new world. The music builds to a thunderous crescendo. It’s hard work, but it is glorious. Finally, we are free to make a decent world.

Godspeed have always been cinematic as a band, but on this album, that cinema feels tightly controlled and intentional in a way that was not present on earlier releases. This is Godspeed with purpose. Their moment has arrived. This is them rebelling against a system that is broken and terrible, and, at long last, giving us a blueprint to a better tomorrow. On their next album, they would give us a bit of comfort to get us through the long fight.

#themusicview #review #music #godspeed you! black emperor #post rock #undoing a luciferian towers #lift your skinny fists like antennas to heaven

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80yrscap · 4 years

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Welcome to overthinking CA:TWS, Steve’s notebook edition

First of all Steve definitely doesn’t use this list as a list. He doesn’t need to, a perfect memory is one of his super powers

The list is a prop, the easiest way Steve’s found to get through the obligatory Recommendations About What You’ve Missed part of the conversation. Just like No polio/boiled food/the internet is a stock answer to the inevitable It Sure Is Different Here Huh question.

Not too deep, kinda funny, and completely impersonal, Steve has had this exact conversation dozens of times before Sam Wilson and he’ll probably have it dozens of times again.

If this sounds dismissive of Sam it is not, Sam definitely got through to Steve on a personal level, it’s just that Steve is not ready to admit it yet and Sam doesn’t push.

Let’s get to the list!

1. I Love Lucy

Recommended by someone who thinks Steve could use something in his life that’s cheerful and funny and relatable with references he can understand

Good recommendation, Steve doesn’t take it

2. Moon Landing

90% this came from a moon hoaxer

“The moon landing was faked, look at the pictures, black sky like space but where are the stars?? They forgot to edit them in?? Stupid! Look it up! And one more thing the whole moon program was run by secret Nazis”

Steve doesn’t follow up on any of it but when Zola explains Operation Paperclip Steve thinks about this conversation and wishes he had

3. Berlin Wall (up + down)

This was from somebody who wanted to talk to Steve about Germany but he didn’t feel comfortable with them or the conversation so he broke out the notebook and pretended ignorance

We know Steve has been doing extensive reading on Cold War history, he’s even seen WarGames ffs

4. Steve Jobs

From the time Steve got stuck in an argument between an iphone user and a stark phone user

Steve had no idea what they were talking about and didn’t care

5. Disco

This recommendation was a joke, like “wow you dodged a bullet, imagine you came back in the 70s, bell bottoms and disco, haha look it up”

Steve did look up disco and he thinks it’s fun

6. Thai Food

One of those conversations like “what??? srsly??? you’ve never had Thai food?????”

Steve... still hasn’t....... it’s on the list, ok?

7. Star Wars / Trek

Okay I know exactly how this went

SHIELD sends Steve to Stark Tower

Tony Stark, aggressive gen X reference dropper: How would you know, you were frozen in carbonite when they... what? Star Wars? Look it up? [to Bruce] No I mean it, he has to know Star Wars or I can’t talk to him

Bruce, an intellectual: Steve, don’t listen to him, he’s being unfair, you don’t have to watch Star Wars

Steve: Um, thank you

Bruce: You have to watch Star Trek

[Chaos ensues]

8. Nirvana

A sincere recommendation from Clint or a sarcastic recommendation from Fury? You be the judge

Steve is still hung up on 70s disco funk and soul he’s not there yet

9. Rocky (Rocky II ?)

5000% this was someone from STRIKE

Natasha overrode it with The Mighty Ducks and The Mighty Ducks 2

10. Troubleman (soundtrack)

Sam is one of those guys who whatever he was listening to last is his #1 favorite album and he wants to share the love

Steve was so happy to get this recommendation, he already fuckin loves Marvin Gaye, but the whole point of the notebook is to keep things low key and impersonal and he just wasn’t ready yet

It’s okay, he got there

So like is having a prop ready to facilitate small talk really worth the effort Steve puts into carrying a notebook and pen in his pants pockets everywhere he goes? No but it’s actually Steve’s sketch book 😊

#steve rogers #samsteve #catws is a really good movie #overthinking catws

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sasorikigai · 3 years

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Uno reverse card: Imagine if Commander Hanzo 1) ended up thrown far into the future to wittness Yang the last one standing and a broken person still standing and holding her promise to survive. 2) He's died. But pulled himself back into the world as Scorpion to see the hell it became after all these years with Yang yet remaining. 3) A terrible nightmare for Commander Hasashi of watching Yang die slowly to fight for his survival.

UNO REVERSE I DID NOT EXPECT || @yetremains || always accepting

1) ended up thrown far into the future to witness Yang the last one standing and a broken person still standing and holding her promise to survive

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || How his own words would whisper their way into his head until he was just as airy and fleeting; nothing, but a wisp of smoke swirling through a dewy mist in the midst of verdant, stacked forest of people he had known throughout his lifetime. Warriors who survive trauma wear a certain vulnerability around them, and some are still hungry for prey, their tongues filled with lies to pull victims and innocents back into the void they have just escaped from. How Hanzo Hasashi will fall with the moments, both treasured and forgotten in the rapid path of his strenuous life, as he would fall into the the abysmal, vicious loophole of repeated destruction and hollowed loss, as the battering sandstorm will scoop the chambers of his heart and lungs hollow. He would let all the unfettered emotions seep in, with his mind’s voice perilously low and convulsing with visible tremor. He would too often let life think it was going to win, but little did it know; he bares serrated, glinting teeth, too, sharper than its and a heart that has survived terrible pain young.

The untamed, towering behemoth embers are the catalyst of his own heart and soul, for even the most hardened warriors who survive trauma do wear a certain vulnerability around them, but this kind of vulnerability is from where the pyromancer’s greatest strength emanates. He was meant to be the last man standing, having endured the merciless barrage of losing everything in his grasp; starting with every one of Shirai Ryu, then his wife and son, even his own precious life and soul in the end as an ultimatum.

While he does not have to unburden his soul for everyone; it will be enough if he does that for those he loves, as another moment, another eternal recurrence and chaos once again. Chaos that surrounds both, chaos that reflects their perdition; perdition that will haunt them to their inevitable grave. The shadows feel overwhelming again, as Hanzo fears not being strong enough to face her. “You are allowed to sink, I’ve been striving to stay afloat so long as I have forgotten about how it feels to dive into the beauty of darkness,” perhaps he had already been succumbed into the devastation, settler-colonial dispossession that would rob him of his sanity and threaten to sever his sustenance. And he would eventually capitulate beneath the swift, all those moments of shocking, quick, abrasive rapture that would come out of the blue, that is worse than any collisions and destruction he’d face. “I refuse to see you as a ghostly body on the same road, with all the dangling pieces of heart, as the unoffered love will only frightfully abloom further as the barren land within my own heart bursts open.”

2) He's died. But pulled himself back into the world as Scorpion to see the hell it became after all these years with Yang yet remaining

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The widowed dead spirit within Hanzo Hasashi begins his weeping, the forsaking god is sleeping, and Scorpion, savage ravaged keeper of infernal flames mark the humble hour of his own leaving. For the fog lifts at cusp of evening, conjuring feelings, the bottle he is drinking, memory best left to the side of the road, near the spot by the bridge, by the by, and a salt-swept bay, in his dreaming, seeping down concrete, so very lonely, the last survivor, somber and sweet, not worth marking, nor lamenting. The resurrected spectre of the Netherrealm’s undying fire continues to unravel of his despair; a fallen god’s weaved gold, shining, brighter than a supernova taking forth the falsified magnanimity of a wreathed hearth-fire turning into rushing crescent of a macabre grin, bubbling crimson until the shredding fragments of his heart runs dry.

In an afterwards of his catalytic annihilation, the valley of the mountains would permeate with squelched spillage running amok, and no quenching of solar flare would completely dry the sanguine stretch, as his sin would continue to feed the soil in scorched, charred blackness. And Scorpion’s bursting firestorm would intensity, and his being would breach through the stacked crevasse of the realms’ layers, as the coagulated pool would taint the Earth for eons, as muddy maroon would fade to the faint gray of his irises. Mother Earth could not bear the violence she had witnessed, but she could only ephemerally cradle him. Now, moss mimics the shape of a girl, wisteria bound; held fast to the mountain land.

But a warrior’s hand would be thrown out, left to an eternity’s, reaching for another’s. Talia Jones Yang’s silhouette remains blanketed by roasted daisies and roses, red as blood. Perhaps she came to offer him either an excruciating, perpetual torment and damnation, or panacea to go through the hollowed chasm of his path, as he would breach through the condemned fate of existing as an intangible spectre, living in-between worlds, existing, yet forgotten as the scar tissues will continue to rupture from the clotted stage, festering and emitting suppurations as his throat becomes acid-kissed. Burnt sugar atonement, penance paid in rough tongue and bubbling scar tissue. Perhaps the female warrior was the withering, eroding fragment of Hanzo Hasashi, clawing through the indomitable eldritch magic of his nihilism and deadly vengeance, wrought unhinged towards the world that refused to support his existence. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

3) A terrible nightmare for Commander Hasashi of watching Yang die slowly to fight for his survival

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Hanzo sees himself in the stream, his fingertips becoming nonexistent gossamer upon the shoulder of Yang’s reflection. How his agony would flare so bright, the black waters becoming molten, as the obsidian ripple of death-saturated mountainous tides whiten with the dust of his crumbling bones as they sculpt his face in the bleeding, macerated flesh. Amber and ochre baked, parched soil of his flesh causes the earth of his being to crack open; veins spreading, flowers wilting, fleshy fruit browning and shriveling. The ecosystem of his unhealed bruises building up underneath his soaked uniform, weighing him down like a hardening cement. One bruise for each memory, as he unravels trauma like he would of old, knitted sweaters and consume hopelessness between temporal respite, as Commander Hasashi struggles with all the stacked layers of fear and betrayal of his resilient will as he attempts to breach through the guarded gray, the swirling fog.

It’s not the violent conflict between parts of the truth, but the quiet suppression of half of it, which becomes the formidable evil; there is always hope when people are forced to listen to both sides; it is when they attend only to one that errors harden into prejudices, and truth itself ceases to have the effect of truth, by being exaggerated into the semblance of falsehood. How he wishes to scoop out the turmoil hinder the storm of moribund death, of its serrated maw.

The imagined susurrus of the sea becomes the soundtrack behind his safehouse summer, and it has become Hanzo Hasashi’s confession; a place to keep his heart safe. The water will always reach and run to the shore like the eternal cacophony of whooshing black hole. He hopes Yang could hear his voice in the silence; stuck in-between the inescapable give and take, a push and pull, a heaven and hell - spent living for love, as he would grotesquely feel guilty of gravitating towards the act of living. And he would drown in such concepts that has lost meaning; hunger, pain, anger, shame, regret, loss, and unease. In all sickness, discomfort, grief, which is deep and endless. As he would continue to dance around the diseases of his soul and hope to romance his death in the hopes of his life, as he continues to witness the varying vicissitudes of Yang’s death, Hanzo finds himself waxing and waning and waiting the iridescent black white of his viewfinder to dig further graveyards.

This is the way of things; for every stagnation and motionlessness is just another death, and he is surrounded by the mangled, gnarled expanse of floating bodies. He would let go of his heart as he would drift away on a sea of moonlight, and dream to make a home in the shore of Harumi’s eyes, as built veins and tissues and cells - all disintegrate and crumble as legion of pain becomes Atlas upon his broken shoulder. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ obsessive cathartic (headcanon)#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)#(relationships; yang)#(after two hours of struggle... here you go)#(I hope this is satisfactory)#yetremains

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barnesaintdead · 4 years

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Pandora's Box Chapter One

Summary: Times have changed, great heroes were gone and all that remained was wreckage and lives to start over. After an alleged attack, Bucky is taken back to the past. With nightmares still vivid in his mind, he must choose between succumbing to fear or standing before it.

Warnings: smut, angst, mentions!abuse/rape/torture, +18

Word count: +1,200

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Mutant!OC

A/N: after Endgame, another Stark Tower was built in honor of Tony and everything he has done for the world. There are lots of details about him all the way in the new Tower. Also, I'm hearing Griss's soundtrack while writing this.

The first thing she noticed when her brain woke up was how cold her body was. The warm sunlight kissed her cheeks gently, seeping under her lashes and making her eyelids flutter open to a blinding white room. Observing her surroundings, she noticed she wasn't alone. A men was sitting next to her bed, a long forgotten book in his hands and low snores coming out of his parted lips. Her entire upper body ache when she tried to sit against the headboard silently. She stayed quiet, watching dust motes travel across the room in the early morning haze. It was a chilly one, for sure. Her last memories started to appear in quick flashes trough her head. She was sleeping peacefully when the first explosion startled everyone in the building, flames already taking over almost everything in the first round. And then a second and a third, and everything was chaos and smoke and her only wish was to crumble down with the building because, fuck, it was happening all over again. The the fourth explosion came, those strong arms that were holding her tight vanished in a split second and everything she knew was the hard ground and the iron taste on her tongue.

"Good morning, sunshine", the man greets, throwing her off of her reveries. He stretched his arms up in the air, joints cracking all the way.

"Why am I here?" She asked under a troubled look. Her eyes darted to the window. From that level, all she could bring up was the Statue of Tony Stark resting above the fountain, his hand aiming at something beyond the horizon. She was in the Stark Tower.

"You know why", Sam answered. "Pandora, am I right? Like in the files?"

The girl nodded once, her slender fingers tugging to the thin fabrid that covered her legs. The moment he called her by her codename, she knew she was doomed and he was already aware of everything she was and everything that was done to her. She wondered he knew a lot more than necessary when he swinged her personal diary in his hand before throwing at her side on the bed.

"I want you to see someone... Do you think you can walk?"

Pandora nods once more and start dragging her feet off the bed's edge, startling herself by the purple marks all along her skin. It wasn't a pretty view. The first steps were difficult, like the ones of a newborn doe, she would have fallen instantly without Sam's support on her waist. Side by side, they moved slowly towards the room next door.

Once Sam pushed the door open, her entire body tensed as if the blood in her veins had turned into ice. With her knees shaking, she stammered unconsciously:

"Zim... Zimniy s-soldat..." [Winter Soldier].

In his bed, Bucky's head moved to the side and his eyelids fluttered seconds before open slowly. His movements were lethargic by the sedatives.

"Gotov soblyudat..." [Ready to comply]. He flashes a weak smile, his voice nothing more but a growl and he focuse his blue irises on the terrified girl. "Nobody have called me that in a long time".

"Yeah. I call him asshole", Sam scoffed.

Pandora, still petrified, let a diminish laugh scape before forgetting the excruciating pain that was rushing furiously trough her body and let herself collapse against the cold floor. Images of a long lost life before her freedom takes place, filling her mind and projecting painful memories that went straight trough her heart like daggers.‎ Fear hit her hard and suddenly she is out of breath and the floor underneath her seems to disappear. Choking and trying to collect herself hysterically from the ground, she end up falling back onto Sam's grip. He hugged her tight and hid her face against his chest without hesitation, hiding her. Pandora's entire body trembled to the point of chattering teeth, her knuckles already white from tugging his shirt between her fingers.

"It's okay, darling. Nobody's gonna hurt you", Sam assured, whispering with lips touching her hair. "I promise. You can trust me, can't you? I'm here with you, nothing's gonna hurt you".

Sam had seen many post-traumatic stress atacks, more so panic ones. He knew how to deal with it. With her. She was scared and feeling unsafe and probably triggered by whatever Bucky said to her in russian, kidding or not. The first thing he did was lift them both from the ground and place her small crooked figure onto the spare bad next to the wall and covered her with the biggest blanket he could find at the moment. He watched as she started to roll herself up in a messy coccon mode.

"Don't worry, Panda. I'm gonna be here with you. Just breath, darling", Sam is now stroking long caresses across the girl's back. Bucky who had been silent trough the whole situation looked at her fondly, but there was still a hint of pain or guilt in his baby blue eyes. He knew he caused her that crisis. It was his fault. He desired to erase himself from her mind for a moment.

Almost an hour passed until Pandora was stable again. Her muscles were slowly untwining and letting her breathe properly, full deep inhales and long exhales to soothe her aching throat. Sam smiled when she looked at him with teary, but thankful eyes, but he kept his hand in motion caressing her for a while, observing how relaxed she was once she saw that were no danger. Not in him nor in the room or in Bucky's presence. She was now laying with face half buried in the sheets. looking dead into Bucky's figure like she was studying him.

"Feeling better?" Sam finally asks, taking a step back from the bed. Pandora nods and looks at him. "I need to report to Fury and get you both some food. Think you can manage to be alone here with him for a moment?"

"I guess... Yeah."

"I'll be back in a second then. Distract her, Barnes, will ya'?"

Bucky waved at him and whitin a second Sam was out of their sight. The air tensed a bit with the sudden silence, she wasn't much of a talker, neither was him, but they kept the eye contact before Bucky broke the connection to take a look outside the window.

"What happened to you?" Pandora's voice startles him, making him let out a chuckle begore putting his attention back on her. She was more mature, it was visible, there were some new scars, but still the same soft, childish features. Her question was short but complicated. He sighed.

"A lot, after Hydra. They wanted me to murder Steve, but I just couldn't finish. He broke the brainwash and after that I started to remember. When everything crumbled down, I found a place to stay in Bucharest", He lost himself in his thoughts for a moment, looking at his metal fingers. "I started a routine, everything was about remember who I was and be invisible. Then, the enemies came... Zemo, he caused a lot of problems... Thanos and the war. I turned to dust when he snapped his fingers, but Steve and the others brought us back. We fought, we won. I'm very thankful for their help. Shuri, who erased Hydra's poison from my head. I wouldn't be nothing without them, probably dead by now".

"So did you nightmares stopped?"

Bucky remembered his times under Hydra control once again, a specific moment, when he was in a cage. The girl next to him helped him sleep trough his nightmares that day. Pandora helped him even tho she was just as scared.

"Those never go away. They're always there, lurking inside my head", He laughed. "The nightmares never were about the brainwash, but about what I did when I was their puppet".

Pandora's eyes went to the ground. She understood him, her own nightmares almost drove her crazy most nights. She abused sleep pills and alcohol, but not even that made them go away. They would be always there. Her heart sinked into her chest for a second and then she heart his voice calling again.

"What about you?" He now had turned his body a bit to the side, for her to look at his front. The sheet went down a bit, showing his marked skin, so many scars in a tiny piece of him. A cold chill went down her spine.

"I was always running. Everytime something would get out of control, I just ran away to another city, then another state, and another country until I end up in that apartament".

"Get out of control...?" He lifted his eyebrow and she licked her lips.

"The things like those explosions and the fire?" She let out a faint laugh. "I'm used to that happening all time. I bring disgrace to everyone around me and that's why you should let me get out of here as soon as possible. I wouldn't want to ruin your lives."

"You mean you started the fire? You caused the explosions?" He asked.

"No. God, no. I... I didn't do anything is just... It happens around me, like I'm cursed or have this terribly bad luck", she shook her head. "I would never hurt anyone".

Outside the room, Sam and Fury listened carefully to their conversation. They new eachother from another times and leaving them alone was the best idea Sam had to show his boss that the girls wasn't a threat. Fury continued to listen while reading the girl's diary carefully while Sam got out to get the food he promised. When he got back, his boss was watching both of Hydra's best agents talking about their periods of peace and chaos with his hands befind his back.

"You hungry?" Sam asked munching on a big piece of his own cheeseburguer before handing one in the other man's direction.

Fury refused with a hand gesture and handed over her diary. He need to know nothing more, that was more than necessary.

"We're keeping her".

"Excuse me?"

"Project 001: Pandora", Fury repeated slowly, with a mischievous smirk in his face. "We're keeping her."

#bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes multi shot #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x oc #the winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #a bit of angst

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chicagoindiecritics · 4 years

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New Written Review from Mike Crowley on You’ll Probably Agree: 10 Reasons Why ‘Blade Runner 2049’ is better than ‘Blade Runner’

If you haven’t’ seen the movie, see it then read this. No intro, let’s jump right in.

1. K is a replicant

The reveal of K’s genetic code, or lack thereof, flips everything we assume the movie will be on its head. We are learning along with K what it means to exist. Do we as humans, live like replicants? Do we obey a society that treats us like trash but breath anyways out of the fear of death? Where we viewed “Blade Runner” mostly through Deckard’s eyes who didn’t have much of a personality, K’s lack of a character is his entire purpose for existing. For K to emote is to face death.

Where Harrison Ford’s Deckard entire arc was us questioning if he’s human or not (despite what Ridley Scott unequivocally says), there’s nothing much of substance to Officer Deckard. He gets drunk, retires replicants, that’s it. Name one thing that makes Deckard standout? I’ll wait. Ryan Gosling’s Officer K goes from a machine that is dying spiritually on the inside to someone wanting to have a purpose in life. All while maintaining his composure, if perhaps too much poise for the film. Anything with a conscious can feel. Whether or not how it was made is as relevant as where you were born or what skin color you are. The importance is that you’re here.

K doesn’t seek gratitude nor affirmation. He doesn’t suffer from a narcissistic personality. All he wants is not just to be another useless piece of metal.

2. Deckard has depth this time

Being a daddy changes you a lot. Rick isn’t just a slouchy drunk who likes to shoot robots out of legal obligation. He’s a man who’s principles and love for forbidden things cost him his life. What kind of soul did Deckard have in the first film? Who did he care for? Please don’t say, Rachel, we all know why he was attracted to Rachel. Like Winston in 1984, Deckard rejects Big Brother for a life of pain to gain a glimmer of happiness.

3. It’s horrifyingly relevant

Denis Villeneuve based the imagery in 2049 on a planet that has become degraded with pollution. The buildings are extrapolating enormous amounts of water into the atmosphere, the sea wall at the end of the picture will be our new Mount Rushmore, the orange Vegas is happening now. Denis Villeneuve didn’t predict the earth looking like this, but his production team was still spot on. A picture that transcends its very style, developing a look that will be discussed on its merits separate from the ubiquitous original, is a stunning achievement.

Everything isn’t dystopian because that’s the way it was in the book. It’s what will happen to us in real life, why we’d look for colonies to live on if we had the technology or funding towards NASA to do so. God help us all.

4. The love story questions the essence of relationships

The story between K and Joi further examines the meaning of love, sex, and mortality, with the two being different versions of artificiality. When the default sexed-up version of a naked Joy pops up on the screen, we are emotionally mortified. Some of us may be repulsed to observe a character we care for utilized like a thirsty Godzilla.

The towering ad tries to seduce K tempting him to buy it, rendering everything Joi said to K throughout the picture questionable. Its manipulation solidifies his final decision in life to help another man. We’re not sure if she loved him or said what it thought it wanted him to hear throughout the narrative. Possibly Joi herself didn’t know her intentions. An unusual amount of nuance and uncertainty rests in the love story. Who do we love? Why do we love? Do we love by the heart or the heart of our designers whom we don’t know?

Meanwhile, Deckard was just drunk and horny when he bashed Rachel up against the wall. Sorry, that really was all there was to their passion despite what Wallace says.

5. The movie was an honest commentary about how the world views woman

Here’s a controversial one. A lot of women were disgusted by the way they were depicted in the film. Outwardly watching the movie, I can’t blame them. I’ll let Mr. Villeneuve speak for himself. “I am very sensitive to how I portray women in movies. This is my ninth feature film and six of them have women in the lead role. The first Blade Runner was quite rough on the women, something about the film noir aesthetic. But I tried to bring depth to all the characters. For Joi, the holographic character, you see how she evolves. It’s interesting, I think. What is cinema? Cinema is a mirror on society. Blade Runner is not about tomorrow; it’s about today. And I’m sorry, but the world is not kind on women.”

Villeneuve is right. Women today are still sexualized. Even with the Me Too movement, women are continually seen as sex objects or subservient slaves in a male-dominated society. Villeneuve isn’t interested in painting a rosy picture that Hollywood does for female roles to make the audiences feel comfortable. It’s an honest reflection on who we are. What we see is what we don’t want to see, but that’s part of the honesty of cinema.

6. The score is mesmerizing

Another point in which I may face some contention. Yes, Vangelis’ score is iconic, but it only works for the era it was composed in. Much of its mixture of bleeps, blops, and wind chimes are a product of its time. A lot of emotion is missing from the score other than the opening theme and “Tears In Rain.” Hearing much of the soundtrack while on the road, I sometimes thought I was listening to something from a porno. Take a listen to “Wait For Me” in the soundtrack and tell me otherwise. Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Walfisch’s score is timeless while also paying respect to Vangelis’ synthetic use in the original. It dives into the character’s mind providing a replication of something more human than what Vangelis composed.

7. It thematically ties more directly to “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep” than “Blade Runner” does.

“Blade Runner” got the overall gist of Phillip K Dick’s novel. Replicants are scared, trying to find a way to survive as Deckard hunts them down. However, the Andies in the movie almost deserve to die. In their quest for more life, they torture and kill multiple civilians. What did the guy making the eyes do to deserve being frozen to death? What about J.R. Sebastian? He was nothing but pleasant to Roy and Pris. Did Roy eye gauge him when he was done with Tyrell?

Aside from Luv (Sylvia Hoeks), our replicants are fully rounded people. Sapper Morton is a watchful protector who was meant to be a NEXUS 8 combat medic; Joi’s true intentions come into question for herself and us. K’s inner conflict is the central core of the story. All of this revolves around the meaning of existence within a world that has forgotten about you. The introduction of Robo procreation is an evolution of Dick’s ideas, widening his notion of why life exists in the first place.

8. It doesn’t get lost in the scale

Many sequels love scope over characters. Remember “The Matrix”? Remember how they talked about Zion and all these other things we didn’t see? When the sequels brought in Zion, the focus got lost in the spectacle. “The Matrix Reloaded” was a bumbling CGI mess of Agent Smith Clones and cave orgies. “The Matrix Revolutions” was a glorified “Space Invaders” game. Shoot as many sentinels as you can before becoming overwhelmed. Amidst the sequels bumbling chaos, I missed the smaller scale of the Nebuchadnezzar crew.

The story of “2049” could have focused on the replicant uprising with thousands of robots slamming into humans. We could have gone off-world to finally see what all these other colonies we’ve heard about are like. Some have argued that the movie could have borrowed some of its source material from the later novels about replicants creating humans, so on and so forth. All of that sounds incredible in theory. In execution, you would likely get “The Matrix” sequels.

A movie that overreaches in scope, attempting to please fans by showing everything. What we got was an incredibly meaningful story that further explores the themes of the original while building upon its world without going too far. We see what’s beyond L.A. on the dilapidated west coast. The answer is not much. The film aims at minimalism over extravaganza.

9. We’re still talking about it

After being MIA for decades, “Blade Runner 2049” isn’t forgotten. I can’t say the same for “Superman Returns,” “Monsters University,” “The Incredibles 2,” “Live Free or Die Hard,” and “Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of The Crystal Skull.” In fairness, people do talk about Indy 4, but not in a positive fashion. “Blade Runner 2049” returned to the limelight with disastrous box office results yet high accolades, even gaining the Academy’s attention. Ironically it seemed destined to live the life of its predecessor.

“2049” may have tanked because it was a multimillion-dollar art film that respected its audience’s intelligence. Maybe “Blade Runner” was too far gone amongst the public to gain an interest geared almost entirely towards comic books and Disney. I think the trailers after the reveal teaser looked too generic for my own two cents, turning me off from the film for a short while.

Here we are with Honest Trailers in 2020, making a video about a film that came out in 2017. Bloodsoaked orange skies from the headlines mention the atmosphere of this film. Somewhere, about 100 other people are writing their analysis of “Blade Runner 2049” as I type right now. Seven years from now, we’ll be talking about why the world is still like “Blade Runner 2049.” Villeneuve made a timeless sequel to be remembered.

10. It’s better than the first film and one of the best films in the last ten years

Here’s why you’ll probably agree with this one when you put your pitchfork down. Remove your nostalgia goggles. I know it’s hard to do, please, trust me. Look at the points I made above. Think about how ironic the love story is to our lives. The layers of meaning behind K’s existence is lightyears beyond the featureless Rick Deckard. The picture isn’t flawless. Niander Wallace is spectacularly corny in his scenery-chewing grim monologues. Dr. Eldon Tyrell had some ambiguity regarding the morale of his intentions. For that, I’ll give the original the benefit of my doubt. I understand Ryan Gosling was cast to be intentionally deadpan, but it’s okay to emote once. His distant stare in all of his other performances made it difficult for me to discern myself from the actor’s rather dull persona.

With this said, “Blade Runner 2049” understands cinema. Its atmosphere is why we venture into a dark room that takes us to a different place. Denis Villeneuve’s masterful follow up is one of the most orgasmic cinematic experiences I have witnessed in the last ten years that demands a re-screening in 2022 when theatres reopen at an entirely safe capacity. The style doesn’t overshadow its substance, which is far richer in detail than the original without grasping at blatant metaphors. “Blade Runner 2049” is slow cinema at its finest, letting us into the character’s heads, knowing when to be quiet and when to be loud.

Like “The Empire Strikes Back,” not everyone appreciated the movie at first. Time has been incredibly kind to it, though. I wish the Academy recognized “Blade Runner 2049” beyond its technical marvels in 2018. I suppose it wasn’t the type of picture that catches Oscar voter’s eyes. But it has acquired the audience’s to this day. Now, if you could just look up and to the left for me?

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hotoffthepressfics · 5 years

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Teach Me How to Dance with You

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,832

Summary: After a botched mission the Reader tries to get closer to Bucky, but can she get passed his trauma and get close to the man underneath?

Warnings: Injury and violence, angst, fluff

Chapter Soundtrack:

“How ‘Bout a Dance?” - Laura Osnes

“Teach Me How to Dance With You” - Causes

“Try a Little Tenderness” - Frank Sinatra

A/N: Hands down, my favorite fic I’ve ever written. I hope you all enjoy this super fluffy piece. 💕

Distant rumbling shakes the destroyed building. Small clumps of concrete drop like hail. The heavy slab of wall shifts lower, putting more pressure on your pinned leg. You groan in pain; your brain scrambling to figure a way out. You had tried to contact the others, but your comm had been damaged in the explosion.

The mission was supposed to be straightforward. Clear out the Hydra cell, take back any intel gathered. Except that someone had been ready for you.

The ground shakes again as more aftershocks roll through the vicinity. The wall moves another inch lower. You scream this time, the pain becoming unbearable. You wonder briefly if this is where you’ll die when you hear someone shouting. You crane your neck to see who’s coming. A dark figure cautiously creeps through the dust and smoke, body in a battle ready stance.

“I’m – here! Please, help me!” Your voice grates against your throat, coughing as you inhale to speak.

The figure zeroes in on you, quickly approaching. It dawns on you that perhaps this wouldn’t be an ally, but an enemy. If it was an enemy then at least this pain would be over soon.

Relief floods your veins as soon as a certain super soldier’s features come into view. His eyes widen in recognition and he drops to your side.

“Y/N! Can you move?” Bucky asks, assessing your predicament.

You shake your head.

“No, my leg’s pinned. The wall fell as soon as the chaos started and I wasn’t fast enough to move out of the way.” You answer a bit ruefully.

You’re suddenly aware that the pain in your leg has subsided. In fact, all sensation of feeling is muted as you attempt to wiggle your toes. You fight the rising panic.

“I’m gonna lift this up and you need to move out from under it. You got that?” Bucky instructs.

You nod and brace your hands against the floor. Bucky positions his hands underneath the rubble and lifts, his metal arm whirring with the force needed to move the heavy object. As soon as it’s high enough you pull and kick with your good leg until you’ve slid clear of the debris. Bucky drops the slab to the floor.

It was like someone had dropped hundreds of fire ants down your leg, the sudden rush of blood tripling the dulled pain. You hold your breath, trying not to scream. Small black dot swim in your vision. You’re dimly aware of someone speaking, the agony making it hard to focus on anything else.

Without warning you feel yourself become weightless as two arms lock beneath your back and knees. The jostling movements as Bucky carries you quickly from the scene renew the pain in waves. You whimper pathetically and beg him to stop.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know it hurts, but we have to get you out of here. I promise, when this mess is over I’ll do whatever you ask, doll.”

You whimper again but nod and press your face into his shoulder, the coolness of the Vibranium soothing on your fevered cheek. You hear Bucky speak again.

“I’ve got Agent Y/L/N. She’s injured pretty bad. We’ll rendezvous at the quinjet.”

Steve responds though you don’t catch it. Bucky moves quickly, taking care not to jostle you too much. You attempt to keep your whimpers and groans to a minimum, though the trek to the jet feels like an eternity. As you two come up to it Steve careens around a corner and ushers you in.

Bucky sets you onto a seat and begins strapping you in as Nat, Sam, and the rest of the team barrel into the jet. Steve walks over to you. He kneels to inspect your wound, gingerly lifting the torn cloth and prodding the flesh beneath.

“What happened?” He asks you, his piercing blues staring up at you.

“Explosion… concrete wall…boom.” You weakly mimic the slab falling down with your arm. Your head lulls to the side. “Couldn’t move.”

Steve hums in understanding and resumes his examination. He nods once.

“The good thing is the skin isn’t broken, but you could be bleeding internally. Not to mention that the bone might be broken. Fractured at the least.” He says, a little relieved though still a bit grim.

Now that eminent danger was diverted the adrenaline was wearing off. Your eyes feel heavy and you struggle to keep them open. They drift close and Steve digs his thumb into your wounded leg. You yelp and yank away from his grasp, eyes snapping open to glare at him. He grins repentantly.

“Sorry Y/N, but we need to you stay awake until we can get you properly checked.”

“Well then, stop probing my poor leg and get this thing in the air already!” You whine, a little too petulant. You were hurt; you were allowed to be a little childish.

He leaves you be and begins giving commands to head back to the tower. Bucky takes the seat to your left and straps himself in. You incline your head towards him, trying to focus on his movements to stay awake. When he’s finished he rests his hand against his thigh, waiting for lift off.

You study his hand for a moment. On instinct you reach for it. Bucky pulls back the second your fingers make contact with his skin, but then he turns his hand over and laces his fingers with yours.

Silence passes between you two for a beat, then you mumble, “Dancing.”

Bucky cocks his head towards you, one eyebrow quirked. “What?”

“You said… you would do.. anything I asked. I want… you to.. dance with me.” You pant, the effort to remain conscious taking its toll.

He smirks and narrows his eyes at you, “Any particular reason for that request?”

You clumsily shake your head, eyes dropping closed. A sharp pain spreads over your cheek. You crack open your left eye and scowl. Bucky’s smirk widens and releases his hold on your pinched cheek.

“Alright, it’s a deal.”

•••

Recovering from you injury was a bitch. The silver lining had been that, thanks to Tony’s fancy, high – tech machines, you’d be able to walk again. The dark cloud had been the endless, and oh did you mean endless, weeks of healing and physical therapy.

A super soldier with incredible healing abilities you were not. Damn them.

No matter the struggle, you’d been determined to make a fast recovery. Tony Stark’s annual Avengers Gala has been two months away. Normally that wouldn’t interest you much, but this time was different. This time you had the procured promise from one Winter Soldier for a dance.

You recall the night you’d found a somber Rogers nursing a glass of whiskey, though it didn’t do much for him. You’d sat and listened to him reminisce about the good ol’ days. He told you how Bucky would try to set him up on dates and force him to go dancing. Steve bragged about how light on his feet Bucky used to be. He could sweep any dame he wanted off onto the dance floor and she’d be his. However, once he’d come back he never indulged in such things anymore. He figured Bucky felt he didn’t have a right to, after all the damage he’d caused.

It made your heart ache. After all he’d been through Bucky deserved more than the self – hatred he’d been made to feel. You wanted to give him back a piece of himself, even if for a moment. The problem was you’d just never had the nerve to broach the subject with him.

Until the accident. Perhaps it’d been the thought of never seeing him again without telling him how you feel, the delirium from your injury, or a bit of both. Whatever the case, you couldn’t stop picturing a scene with just the two of you dancing, Bucky smiling ear to ear. The image was so perfect you could believe you had died. So, without overthinking it, you’d asked him.

You’d been elated when he agreed. You worked hard and it had paid off, and he’d been there to help you initially. However, as the weeks went by Bucky became more reclusive. A dark shadow seemed to hang off of him, and it made you nervous. The Gala couldn’t come at a better time.

Now you sit in your wheelchair impatiently waiting for the elevator to take you down to the party. You smooth your hands over your curls and down to your white dress skirt, fiddling with the twin splits up to the tops of your thighs where intricate lace peaked through. You could walk now, in short bursts, but you couldn’t pass up the little show you could put on once you joined in the partying.

The elevator doors ding and slide open to reveal a very sophisticated Natasha. She wore a form – fitting, slate gray dress. Her fiery red hair is piled high on her head, little ringlets falling to frame her face. She looks stunning, as always. Nat whistles when you come into view. You roll your eyes but you grin widely. As you both settle into the descending compartment you shiver. Your veins buzz with the nervous anticipation.

“Are you ready?” Nat asks as she grips the handles for your wheelchair.

“Umm, excited, yes. Ready?... I’m not so sure yet.” You respond.

Nat pushes you out of the elevator and towards the double doors at the end of the hall. She steadies the seat as you stand.

“It’s going to be great, now get in there!” She encourages.

You take one last deep breath, roll back your shoulders, and waltz in. Your first steps are little wobbly, and you question for a moment if wearing the heels had been a good idea. You find your balance though and walk a little more confidently.

The event is in full swing. Civilians and agents mill about, chatting, laughing, and schmoozing the other Avengers. So many beautiful people but you are only interested in finding one in particular. As your eyes scan the crowd Steve steps in front of you, arms spread wide to take you all in. A beaming smile splits his face.

“Look at you! It’s good to see you are up on your feet again.” He exclaims, wrapping you up in a giant bear hug.

You laugh softly and return the embrace.

“Thanks, it’s good to be able to move around on my own. Have you seen…” you let the sentence trail off, slightly embarrassed to be so intent on the task at hand.

Steve pulls away and chuckles softly. He stands to the side and points to the bar in the far right corner.

“He’s over there. It took a lot to get him dressed and down here, so he’s brooding over a glass of bourbon. Seeing you might cheer him up though.” Steve pats your back good naturedly and steps behind you to greet Natasha.

Your heart flips inside your chest at the sight of him. Bucky looks stunning in the black, tailored suit. His dark, shaggy hair slicked back from his face. He turns his head at that moment to gaze out at the crowd. A small strand of hair falls rebelliously over his forehead, making him look a little more vulnerable than usual. As if attracted to your gaze his dazzling blue eyes lock onto yours. Your spirits dampen a little at the dark circles under them, his look a little hollow.

You begin to make your way over to Bucky, but every few feet someone stops you to congratulate you on your recovery and make small talk. Your gaze drifts back to Bucky every now and then. He had turned back around, hunched over the bar.

After what felt like an eternity you finally made it over. You lean against the counter and shift your body towards Bucky, beaming up at him. He continues to bore holes into the countertop. The circles under his eyes appear much worse this close up. Your smile falters a bit. You reach up for his hand.

"Hey, are you okay?" You squeeze your fingers around his metal palm.

His eyes flick up to your face, breaking himself out of his daze. He inhales deeply and adjusts his stance, drawing his hand out of yours in the process. You try not to let your disappointment show.

"Yeah, I'm great. Couldn't be better." He states flatly, a small lopsided grin forming but it doesn't reach his eyes.

He looks a little wild, like an animal caged and in desperate need to flee. You study him silently for a moment before you attempt to reach out to him again. Placing a gentle touch against his shoulder you try once more to get him to confide in you.

"I just... I'm worried about you." You hope your eyes convey the feeling and sincerity in your words.

Bucky holds your gaze for a beat before he scoffs.

"No need to worry about me, doll. I'm as fine as a warm, summer day in July." He takes a swig of his bourbon, grimacing as it burns down.

He returns to sullenly staring at the counter. You watch him sadly, letting your hand drift slowly down his metal arm. You feel each ridge through his suit. The band changes songs and your mind registers the slower tempo. Your smile regains its strength and you renew your efforts to draw Bucky away from the bar.

"Come on, I think I know a way to cheer you up" Your voice eager as you turn to pull him to the dance floor.

The farther you walk away, however, you feel Bucky's hand disappear from your hold. You slowly spin back and watch as Bucky pushes off the bar counter and heads to the exit, dragging his glass along the top. When he reaches the edge, he throws back his head and downs the rest of his alcohol. The glass clinks against the surface as he sets it back down and leaves through the doors you had entered.

You stand there at a loss, your high spirits quickly deflating. You knew it was silly to think so, but it felt like all eyes were on you and had witnessed your spectacular failure. A hand brushes against your shoulder and you jump. You look up at Steve's sympathetic face. At least one person had seen. He holds out his hand to you.

"I may not be as good a partner as him, but could I have this dance?” Steve asks.

You force a small smile and place your hand in his, your vision becoming blurry with unshed tears. He leads you to the dance floor and pulls you into position. You allow him to lead you through the song, eyes downcast at your feet.

"Hey."

You glance up to Steve's face. He smiles gently. "Give him some time, he's going through a bad spell."

You cast your eyes to the floor once more, saying nothing. The band closes the song and Steve tucks your arm through his, leading you around the room to mingle. You put on a brave face, being polite and friendly. A little while later Sam asks you to dance and you nod, pulling away from Steve. It's enjoyable and you appreciate their kindness in trying to cheer you, but you just want to wallow in self – pity. After an hour passes you decide enough time has passed to make excuses and retreat to your bedroom.

Everyone urges you to stay and revel a little more but you blame your departure on your healing leg and bow out. It wasn't a complete lie; a slow ache had begun in your muscle. Only when the elevator doors slide close do you allow yourself to shed the tears you'd been holding at bay. Some enchanted evening this turned out to be.

•••

Bucky shoots up off of his bed as his nightmare jolts him awake. He pants heavily, blinking to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He looks down at his chest; the white dress shirt he'd passed out in clinging to his form from the sweat pouring off of his body. Bucky flops back down on the mattress breathing slowly to calm his rapidly beating heart.

It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. Y/N is safe.

Probably. He hoped you were safe. He'd retreated from Stark's asinine party to ensure you'd be safe. From him.

The nightmares weren't an unusual thing. They'd plagued him since he'd come out of being the Winter Soldier. His past misdeeds coming back in pieces to haunt him. Now, though, they had begun to morph. Making Bucky believe he might be responsible for everything that failed in missions against Hydra. He had been their assassin after all. Couldn't they still find a way to control him?

They now begun to convince him he had caused the explosion that hurt Y/N. His relief had been so instantaneous when he'd found her that he'd wanted to do nothing more than hold her and keep her safe. He had determined to get closer to her when they got back. Then the nightmares made him realize how wrong he'd be for Y/N. Bucky had nothing good to offer her; just heartache and pain.

Since then he'd started distancing himself from her. He had intended never to set foot downstairs tonight, but Steve had been so adamant he attend Bucky couldn't really say no. The moment Y/N walked into the room he'd wanted to pull her close and never let go. She looked so radiant, and when she'd seen him? That smile would keep him warm for days. Bucky loathed how much he'd enjoyed her touch. She was too good for him. She didn't understand the things he'd done, not really. Which is why he'd needed to leave.

Here in his quiet room Bucky could strengthen his resolve to let her go. He swallows, the saliva sticking to his parched throat. He needed another drink, though it did nothing really. Just quenched a thirst. Figuring the party had long ended he makes his way back downstairs to the bar.

He's surprised to find Steve sitting alone at the bar when he arrives. Steve pours and downs a series of shots attempting to get enough alcohol in his system to generate a buzz. Bucky slides into the seat next to him and pours himself a shot. Steve glances over and snorts. He shakes his head in disapproval.

"You're a real jackass, you know that?" Steve says, a tinge of anger to his voice.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Not that I'm disagreeing, but what is it for this time?" He challenges.

Steve inclines his head to stare at Bucky for a moment. He shakes his head again and throws back another shot.

"If you really aren't aware then maybe don't make promises you don't intend to keep. My god, you didn't have to see her face. It was like you'd kicked a puppy.”

Bucky furrows his brows. Now he was really confused. He downs his own shot and slams it onto the counter.

"Kicked a puppy? What the hell are you talking about?" He demands.

"Y/N! She'd been working so hard to be able to dance with you tonight but your head is so far up your ass that you can't appreciate all that effort. A beautiful woman wanted to make you happy, but you're too busy focusing on sulking. I'm certain she's given up now." Steve brings the glass to his lips but thinks better of it. He sets the glass back down.

Bucky sits stunned. The alcohol he'd just consumed churning uncomfortably in his stomach. He had made Y/N that promise, hadn't he? That's where she'd been trying to lead him tonight but he'd been too stubborn to notice. He had wanted to keep her safe, not hurt her with his perceived callousness. Bucky rests his head against the counter, exhaling loudly.

"I'm an idiot." He admits to Steve.

Steve hums in agreement. Bucky needed to make this right, at least for Y/N's sake. He lifts his head and gazes at his lifelong friend.

"Help me fix this?" He asks.

"How?" Steve stares at him one eyebrow cocked in question.

Bucky mulls it over for a minute, an idea formulating. He smirks and says, "Do you think you have a way of getting onto Stark's landing platform?"

•••

You had gone to bed hours ago but sleep was far from you tonight. You'd wept heavily and though the tears had stopped flowing your depressed mood kept replaying the disaster of tonight over and over, trying to discover what you'd done wrong. To top it all off, you really had overdone the walking. The dull throbbing of over exertion radiating up your thigh, adding to your misery.

It'd all been for nothing.

You thought sadly. You could get up and take some pain killers, but you decide to use the pain to indulge in your pity party.

A soft knocking sounds at your door. You ignore it hoping whoever it is will assume you'd fallen asleep and leave you alone. A minute passes before the action is repeated. Again, and again. The fourth time you sigh in frustration. You'd think they'd get the hint! You sit up in bed pulling the covers up to your hips before you lean over and switch on your beside lamp.

"Come in." You grumble trying to infuse as much annoyance into your voice as possible.

You weren't really sure who you'd been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been Bucky. You glance down at his feet as he stands in the doorway, unable to meet his gaze. Neither of you says anything for a moment. Beginning to feel awkward you clear your throat.

"Is there something you want, James?" You rarely used his given name, but your feelings were still raw from his snub. Endearing nicknames were not what you wanted to use right now.

When he still doesn't respond you huff and shift away from him, flinging the covers over yourself. You really didn't want to play games. You hear his footsteps approach and travel across to the other side of the bed. You shut your eyes as soon as you feel the covers slide down your head and body. Another moment of silence passes. Finally, Bucky sighs and murmurs,

"Y/N, please look at me."

You want to refuse him, but curiosity won out. You slowly open your eyes and peer up at him, hoping the puffiness from your bout of crying isn't noticable. Bucky kneels, carefully picking up your hands and gingerly holding them against his firm chest. You feel the steady rhythm of his heart underneath. You glance at your joined hands than back up to his face, eyebrows quirked in confusion.

"I want a do over." He says finally, "I'm a complete idiot, I know. I need you to understand that I never wanted to hurt you. I made you a promise, and I never break my promises. Just ask Steve." He winks and grins widely, trying to alleviate the tension.

His mood swings were starting to make you feel like you were on a roller coaster. One moment he was sweet as honey towards you, the next he was acting like he wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole. It was getting tiresome.

"James..." You pull at your hands but they remain firm in his grasp. You inhale a shaky breath, tears pricking your eyes anew.

You drop your gaze to your body lying on the bed. You had wanted to give him one perfect night. The gift of one good memory out of so many bad ones. Now instead of the gorgeous gown you’d been wearing you were dressed in a plain chemise. Your curled hair brushed out, not to mention your face. It was scrubbed clean of makeup, a combination of you washing or crying it off. No, this was not how you had pictured yourself appearing when you made this memory. You offered a more practical excuse than this however.

"James, it's too late. I wanted tonight to be special for you, but I can't even stand right now. I – I overdid it tonight. My leg is killing me and I'd be useless as a dance partner." You laugh bitterly.

Bucky is quiet for a few seconds, his thumbs grazing the backs of your hands lazily. You can physically see the lightbulb go off in his head when he gives you a sly grin.

"I can work around that."

•••

After a little more convincing on his part, you agree to Bucky's do – over. He cautiously scoops you up and carries you bridal – style out into the hallway. Just as he had the day you'd been injured, although this time was much more pleasant.

Inside the elevator you rest your head on his shoulder, content to be close to Bucky like this. You let your eyelids shut for a moment, soothed by his even breathing. The elevator dips as it stops. You’re aware of the gentle sway as he resumes walking but you keep your eyes closed, trusting him.

“Open your eyes, doll.” Bucky whispers softly.

You comply, looking up at his face before shifting your gaze outwards. Your breath is taken by the sight.

Amid the stars and city lights below Tony’s landing pad twinkles with flashing lights. A soft wind blows a few strands of hair across your face as Bucky moves you out onto the center of it. The blinking lights illuminate you both. It was like you’d stepped out into the middle of the sky, surrounded by the tiny celestial bodies.

Lost in your wonderment you’re caught by surprise as Bucky gently drops your legs. He easily catches you by your waist before your feet even touch the ground, careful not to put weight on your healing leg.

He draws you closer, placing your feet atop his as the sound of an old forties song begins to play around you. You hold Bucky’s gaze with wide eyes, speechless.

“I know it’s a little late, but may I have this dance?” He asks in earnest.

You can only nod shyly. He smirks and wraps his metal arm around your middle, supporting your weight as he moves his feet to sway to the music.

As the music continues you laugh quietly, a little giddy from the whirlwind of emotions you’d felt that night. You press your cheek against his shoulder. Trying to memorize the feel of his arm pressed to your back. The soft material of his dress shirt wrinkled beneath your hands. The words of the music playing. You feel Bucky’s breath whisper against your ear.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize my mistake. I just… didn’t want you hurt because… of what I am. What I’ve been.” He admits.

You lift your head to stare into his clear blue eyes, the low light deepening them. Suddenly you’re aware of the hidden emotion in them, afraid of what they’ll find in your returning gaze. He was opening himself up to you, part of him expecting you to reject him. You notice his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, uncomfortable with your scrutiny.

You smile sweetly, placing a gentle hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. His eyes flutter closed as he presses his face into your palm, so touch starved.

“Everyone was some darkness in their past, Bucky. You, Nat, Steve, Sam… even me. You can’t dwell in it forever, but if you must then let me stay in that darkness with you.” You intone quietly.

Bucky doesn’t respond, letting your words work themselves into his mind. The song slows and he dips you. You let your knees bend with the motion, holding his gaze. Without much thought you lean up and press your lips to his.

You would have thought you’d prodded him with a taser the way he jumped back. So caught off guard he drops you flat on your back, breaking the magic of the moment. You burst into laughter as Bucky swears and drops to his knees, apologizing. He scoops you into his lap, running his hands along your body, inspecting if he’d hurt you.

“I’m fine, Bucky. I’m a little sturdier than that. A little fall isn’t going to kill me.” You grasp his face between your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“You’re a good man, James Buchanan Barnes. I believe in you, even if you don’t.” You say gently.

He glances down a moment, his hands trailing along your waist as he draws you closer.

“I’m beginning to understand that.” He says just before he captures you lips once more in a burning kiss.

EVERYTHING TAGLIST:

@booktvmoviefangirl @lowkeybuckyb @mrsdaamneron @xxashy999xx @c-ly-g @coal000 @rroguebones @ghostlyrose2 @part-time-patronus @emelielwh @peaceinourtime82 @buckysforeverprincess @geeksareunique @amnahs9695 @v-2bucky @scarlet-skywalkers @lokilvrr @thisismysecrethappyplace @sacre-bluhm @tatertot1097 @until-theend-oftheline @amoonagedaydreamer @marvelouspottering @thatfanficstuff @chuuulip @averyrogers83 @ellaprime68 @shield-agent78 @jewels2876

BUCKY BARNES TAGLIST:

@bloodiedskirtts @igotkatiepowers @misplacedorphan @superwholockwannabe @moonstruckhargrove @ladysergeantbarnes

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #bucky angst #bucky fluff #marvel fanfiction

85 notes · View notes

superfics-forone · 4 years

Text

Heads will role

Warnings: Violence, light swearing, angst

Word Count: 2,955

Summary: You are an opera singer with a public life that has been blackmailed to work for a secret organization. Your current mission gets sabotaged by Bucky.

Notes: This is mostly exposition so sorry if that’s not your thing. This is also my first fic EVER so please by kind!! Also, I’m still trying to get a handle on how to post on this platform so please, please be patient with me! There are a couple links in there for music. I’m actually an opera singer so if you know about stage life at all this will make sense to you, if not, ask me! I have links in there for the music I was listening to (kind of like a soundtrack) while I wrote this. I think it makes the story more fun to read but up to you. I will probably continue this into a second part because our reader’s story isn’t done yet and I need more interaction with Bucky, but I hope you enjoy!

For @mermaidxatxheart‘s 500 Followers Challenge!!

They picked you because of your background - documented stage combat training, classical dancer, martial arts expert. They picked you because of your name. It was easy to remember, and just as easy to forget, rolling off the tip of the speaker’s tongue. They have picked you because you had a reason to fight and those reasons came in five loving bodies waiting for you back home.

But mostly they picked you because you had the easiest cover story of anyone in the department. If anyone was going to be able to get all of the necessary international documentation quickly and easily, with the fewest eyebrows raised, it was you. An internationally accredited opera singer.

This used to be one one of your favorite roles, but as the opening chords of Anna Bolena by Donizetti vibrates through the house of La Fenice you couldn’t help but feel a tug at your heart for the job you knew you had to do. Taking a deep breath you fixed your headpiece one more time and smoothed out your gold and red satin gown.

The lights glowed hot and little flecks of fog could be seen as you stepped onto the stage for your first scenes as the tortured queen in Donizetti’s masterpiece.

There were lots of things that could go wrong with this mission and as you looked up at the first box and saw your target the music was the farthest thing from you mind. Heavy red curtains hung around him that when drawn would give you the cover you needed to get the job done. It would have to be at the end of the first act. It was the only way to keep your cover.

“They” had specifically designed tonight’s opera around what needed to be done. At the end of the act you would dramatically faint during the fight scene between Percy and Smeton rolling to the other side of the bed where a body double would be waiting to take your spot. It was only a 60 second scene. There wasn’t any room for error. Some of the crew had even been taken down with a fever that morning and you knew that their “replacements” would be there in the wings to get you to the trap door leading into the box. The perfect cover. Plausible deniability. You, yourself a “tortured diva” at the end of the performance. Well, at least that part would be true you thought to yourself as the tenor playing your opera husband banged through the doors of your stage room. Now was the time. At the first sound of steel being drawn you put a hand to your forehead dramatically and rolled on top of your fake bed to the other side. The two fighters cut a curtain that fell dramatically across the bed and you swapped with your body double.

60 seconds. “They” were there. Fourteen pairs of hands were on you, stripping you of your big skirts and headdress, attaching your hidden harness to the rigging and in 7 seconds you had a sword in your hand and were being flown straight up to the third level to the trap door.

You hit with a thud that was covered by the swell in the orchestra.

13 seconds. Two. One. Now

You push open the door and spring into box as the lights flash. You don’t know who you strike and your knife flashes across the top of the seat placed at the front of the box. You never ask who your target is. You’re sure you’ll read about that tragedy later.

Something’s wrong. As soon as you hear a thud you realize that no one is there. There isn’t a body where there should be one. You look around in haste. The box is empty.

You look at the chaos on the stage and down to your watch on your harness unsure of what to do. Puzzled you look around. You look straight to the box on the other side of the house and see two eyes watching you intensely in an unlit box.

“Shit.”

You duck quickly behind the curtain and look at your watch. 45 seconds. You have to be back on stage! This mission is a bust!

You rolled back to the other side of the box and quickly threw your legs up over the trap door, clipping yourself in as you swung it shut again. Pulling the break you sped down the last twenty feet of wall with the team waiting below you.

You knew you would never see their faces again as the grabbed you and started dismantling your harness and putting you back in your costume.

You were quiet and pensive as a skirt came around your waist and a headdress was placed at the top of your head.

“He wasn’t there.” you whispered.

The flurry of hands around you stopped as the dresser in front of you looked in your eyes and her face went white.

“60 seconds” the man behind you cursed. You knew this would be your last night on stage. You knew that the people who had just helped you in and out of you costume were never going to make it out of the theater doors alive for your failure. You just had to get through this next act and prepare for whatever came after.

As you rolled back onto the stage and began singing the last few lines of act one finale you mentally prepared for you what you were going to be facing later tonight.

You raced back to your dressing room. You had to think. Thankfully you weren’t in the first scene of the second act and could form a plan. Ordinarily you’d stay in you costume but tonight your dressing room became a staging ground for the battle you knew you were about to face.

“They” expected you to be at the gala tonight. Your evening gown was even hanging in the closet to your left but you dove right past it and grabbed the black bag that you had made improvements on as soon as you had gotten tapped by “Them”.

You reached in about found your four inch knife and holster, strapping it to your thigh. It was a smooth weapon that would barely made a line through your dress. You dug out your passport, obviously a fake, and tucked it into your bra for later. It was only about 5 minutes before they were knocking on your door.

“Ms. Y/N, 5 minutes to places.”

“Thank you, five!” You called through the door praying the poor stage manager wouldn’t come in seeing you in such a state.

You climbed back into your costume and prepared for the second act...and the chase of your life that was bound to follow.

The final chords of the opera played furiously as the curtains fell. The audience roared their gratitude as the executioner stood before his block, sword in hand. It was the last image they saw before a black out. You breathed deeply trying to get the air back into your lungs that you had just given in that final aria. Everyone around you was congratulating each other on a show well done and it was all you could do not to run for your life.

You slowly made your way to your dressing room where a flurry of costume techs were surrounding you - hands coming from all different directions. You flashed back to act one.

Those eyes in the dark box. Blue and curious. Waiting and ready.

Who was it? Why did he compromise you?

Whoever he was you knew that it didn’t matter. Right now you just had to get to the next door.

As the last tech left you slipped your silver evening gown over your body double checking that your knife and passport where still on your person.

Looking around the room one last time you looked at the picture of your family - the five people you’d be leaving behind and sighed. Undoing the frame itself you folded the picture and tucked it safely into your knife holster.

Taking one last look around the room you walked out the door.

You brushed your way past the chorus and backstage hands weaving your way through the throng. You didn’t stop to chat as people yelled “Brava” to you as you brushed back.

Your dress brushed around your legs as you rushed back up to the stage hoping to make it to the loading dock and slip out the door unnoticed. You wove your way around the set. The tower, throne, and executioner's block still out waiting to be reset by stage hands.

You heard voices coming toward you and hide behind the raised throne’s dias waiting for them to pass. You breathed low and slowly so as not to be heard.

Staying low you backed away from the throne watching the stagehands as they left through the door. Crouched down you reached for the door behind you while still watching to make sure no one came.

Cold, smooth, ROUND metal met your hand.

(Music)

Panicked you swung your head around as your fight or flight instincts kicked in. You dropped your clutch, you hand forming a fist as you punched straight for the crouch now directly in your sight line.

You heard a groan as you twisted around the man now doubled over in pain almost making it to the door before two arms wrapped themselves around your waist and picking you up back toward the stage. You brought your legs up and pushed against the wall, using it as leverage and kicked pushing your attacker back and over a box. His grip loosened slightly and you threw your head back into his. Using the momentum of your fall you flicked your legs over your head grateful for the flexibility that years as a dancer had given you.

Reaching through your dress slit you grabbed your knife and came over the top or your opponent to stab his chest, your head above his. His hand grabbed your wrist inches from his chest and for a moment you registered that his hand was the smooth metal you had felt from earlier. Shocked you looked into his cool blue eyes and saw him smirk at your discovery. His hand squeezed slightly, twisting your wrist and dislodging the knife from your grip. It bounced harmlessly against his chest.

With a singer’s scream you swept your right leg around his through using the grip he had on your wrist against him pulling his arm straight up as you sought to cut off his air supply.

You felt your stomach lurch as he picked you up as though you weighed nothing, your bare leg peaking out of your dress, still wrapped around his neck.

“Who is this guy!” You thought to yourself. This was taking too long and all of his moves were nearly missing you. He had you in the air and threw you onto the mattress of the bed you had started this mission on. Having been rolled to the wings during the intermission you only had about two feet of clearance between you and the wall. You crawled around to the head of the bed, knowing there was a fake backing, while he made his way to the foot. Slinking around the side you felt a sharp piece of the bed frame graze your face stinging as your ran for you knife lying on the ground.

Three loud, long steps sounded behind you. And you felt air as the man dove for your knife trying to get it away from you. Knowing that he would get there first you stopped, remembered the executioner's block he had fallen on at the beginning of your struggle and changed course. You wiped the blood from your cheek and picked up the sword. His eyes followed your blade as it pressed against his neck.

“Don’t move”.

“Mercy” he said. Now that you had the advantage you took in the person in front of you. He looked at up at you half sitting up with you knife in his hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you” he said dropping your knife on the ground as he looked straight into your eyes.

“Really,” you scoffed, “The bruises on my knees and hips say otherwise.

“Self defense.” he shrugged.

“WHAT?”

“You threw the first punch.” He said matter of factly, “And it was a cheap shot too.” His eyes squinted as he cocked his head to the side away from your sword.

You were thrown for a second but pressed the blade back to his carotid.

“Who are you?” You demanded.

“That’s what I was going to ask you, doll. I would say Y/F/N Y/L/N considering I just heard you sing but the way you just fought would say you’re a little bit more than that. Then there’s that pesky detail of you trying to kill our poor friend in that box.”

You panicked for a moment.

“No one was supposed to know about this mission. Where are you getting your information? Who do you work for?”

He laughed as he slowly got off his knees, hands up in defeat, your sword still precariously place on his neck.

“Let’s just say I have some very patriotic friends who can’t seem to mind their own business.”

You stood in confusion as you pieced together his words.

What happened next was entirely a blur. His metal hand swirled around the blade of your sword and the clang of metal sounded as it hit the floor.

You found yourself with your arms at your sides pressed up against the man’s broad chest. You felt tiny compared to his large frame and had to pull your head back to keep from being two inches from his face. You were so close could smell his musky aftershave.

“So, do you want to tell me who you are now, doll?”

“You already said you knew who I was” you retorted.

“True, Y/N, but I don’t know WHY you’re here.”

“I had a job to do” you looked away from his eyes in slight shame. You didn’t want to answer these questions.

“Yes, which you failed because the president got a suddenly violent flu before the end of the duet.”

You raised your eyes in shock and looked into his deep blue ones.

“Who are you?” You gasped in fear.

“I’m James, but you can call me Bucky.”

A shadow fell across the back wall behind Bucky. You saw it coming fast and furiously, eyes widening.

Bucky, seeing the fear in your eyes, released you and turned to face the attacker. You knew there was no running from this.

A black blur was all you could see as you realized these would be your final moments and you prayed to whatever God there was out there to keep your family safe. At least if you died they wouldn’t know what you did... you hoped.

Instead of the pain you knew was coming you heard grunting and fighting instead. Opening your eyes you saw Bucky fighting off your attacker, throwing him across the backstage with a yell. The black-clad attacker fell into the executioner's block with a loud THUD. You chuckled for a moment over how heads had rolled over this prop tonight.

You gaped for a moment as Bucky went in pursuit of the attacker following him over the block. He landed a nice right hook across the attacker’s face.

You knew this fight wouldn’t last long. Bucky really had avoided hurting you when you fought. He wasn’t holding back now. You took this opportunity to get out of the grips of both your attackers, picking up the knife Bucky had dropped and dropping down to the trap door of the backstage to get out to the loading dock’s alley as quickly as possible. You didn’t know what your next stop would be, but you knew that the next stop was going to be completely of grid.

As you slunk from shadow to shadow down the alley in your evening gown, you faded wordlessly into the Venician night. Running was going to be your life now.

If only it would be that easy. You pulled out your family’s picture from your knife holster and thought for a moment.

Once you had criss crossed the Venetian canals long enough to distract any pursuers you walked into a small tourist shop and grabbed a postcard from an outdoor spin tower.. La Fenice was on the front. You also grabbed a pen and kept walking. No one suspected you to lift while you were dressed like this and you used it to your advantage.

You needed a message. Something only your family would understand. Saying that you were safe. Saying that you would watch out for them. Knowing that they would worry regardless you wrote one word on your postcard. It seemed insignificant, but it had been a password for your family since your youngest sibling had been born. They would understand. They had to.

You searched for a post bin and slipped your message inside, and with it said goodbye to your life. Turning, you squared your shoulders, head on swivel, and you hopped on a water taxi. You still weren’t sure what Bucky was doing there tonight but he was the reason you were in this situation. As the boat pulled back from the doc you made your way through the warm humid night. Whoever found you first, you’d be ready.

#Bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #opera fic #Anna Bolena #Donizetti

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fire-toolz · 4 years

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Infinity and “I”: An interview with Fire-Toolz

Sometimes you encounter music that opens your ears to new possibilities in such a way that your subconscious burns the moment of impact into your memory. For me, the most potent of these include an early adolescent exposure to the cyclic, minimalist bliss of Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way as in-between-set music at a neighborhood basement show, doubling over laughing with my sister on our drive to school at the vocal-sourced percussion of Björk’s “Where is the Line?”, and having my 19-year-old shit permanently rocked amid my (still) daily breakfast of eggs and oatmeal by the opening few tracks of Fire-Toolz’ Drip Mental.

At least to my ears at that time, the breakneck transitions between Mego-style avant-pop glitches, digitized metal skree, snapshots of vapor memories and scream-led dance pop offered up a vision of shape-shifting music that felt wholly new, almost sacred in its profane blend of styles and sound. “To me, that constantly shifting atmosphere and mood is the ebb and flow you perceive,” says Angel Marcloid, the face behind the Fire-Toolz moniker. “Lots of waves and conditions to pass through, but they all make sense to me … Ideas flow out of me with absolutely no effort made, my body records as many of them as it can and the song gets built in little bits at a time.” The idea of musical “sense” might seem at-odds with the free-wheeling, genre-agnostic sounds of a Fire-Toolz album, but sustained exposure breeds familiarity: By the time I rolled around to my third or fourth listen through Drip Mental, the chaos began to cohere into a logical world of its own.

If my ears grown more accustomed to the utter uniqueness of Marcloid’s art, so too does it seem that “Fire-Toolz” is becoming a musical language of its own. Every new release brings the euphoria of Marcloid’s music toward higher and more mind-bending plans, and nowhere is this more true than on Rainbow Bridge, Marcloid’s new album for Hausu Mountain. The music is distinctly Marcloid, taking the same hallmarks I found on Drip Mental and refining them into sharp gems. A monophonic hymn drives “⌈Mego⌉ ≜ Maitrī,” making for one of the most patient and profound Fire-Toolz composition to date. At the other end, “Rainbow ∞ Bridge” hurls in with synthesized black metal fervor before it combusts into a grooving, tuneful section of electronics. A soaring electronic guitar solo dominates the middle third, and the track eventually loops around on itself into the ear-splitting pulses and crashes of the opening. “It’s less stitching sounds together, and more like inventing gigantic puzzles made of both large and tiny pieces dancing around and overlapping each other, interacting with each other,” Marcloid says of this segmented composition process.

A standout sonic quality of Fire-Toolz’ music—on Rainbow Bridge and all its older siblings—is its embrace of the sounds, chord structures of new age, jazz fusion, prog and a host of other styles based around extreme musicianship, and exacting production. Born in 1984, Marcloid finds that many of these sounds are inseparable from the nostalgia of her childhood. “I wasn’t raised on jazz or electro-pop or adult contemporary or electronic music, but in the distance, there it all was—in waiting rooms, in the background of movies, at the mall, in TV shows, in educational films, in video games, in my friends’ parents’ vans,” she says. These musical encounters all share a sense of accidents. From muzak to soundtracks to chance encounters, Marcloid never supposed to take this stuff in.

 Though that’s precisely the path she took, and Fire-Toolz takes a magnifying glass to these background sounds and exposes their inherent beauty and strangeness. “Because of the internet, and having the privilege of being able to access those sounds and use them creatively, I am living out my second childhood in a heartfelt, authentic way,” she says. This “second childhood” is an apt analogy for the giddiness that Fire-Toolz music exudes. These sounds and harmonies are familiar—some would argue overused and tired—but Marcloid approaches them with a renewed sense of optimism. At their core, these styles hunt for religious ecstasy and otherworldly piece, cosmic qualities that Marcloid’s art exudes with boundless glee.

These ideals of grandiosity that run rampant through Marcloid’s music also appear in the conceptual and philisophical framework surrounding the Fire-Toolz project. The track titles alone convey this sense of out-of-body msyticism. Through a combination of between cheeky, internet-based puns, dense transcendental philosophy and creative linguistic construction through the use of atypical spellings, punctuation and word structuring, Marcloid constructs a verbal world inside which her singular music lives. “Infinity and wholeness is a constant theme, but it is by default. It is a framework from which I operate,” she says. “I’m on a journey; steadily growing every day, until my body no longer works. I’m not even saying I’m getting better and better, but I’m always changing. I’m constantly falling, and there is no ground.”

Stand out examples of these constructions from the past include the warm, nostalgic hum of Skinless X-1‘s “In The Computer Room @ Dusk ☕” or the scattered sonic metamorphosis of “Fluids Come Together & The ‘I Am’ Appears.” On Rainbow Bridge, one of the most stunning realizations comes on “dEcRePiT φ PhOeNiX,” a track which Marcloid says “is a direct reference to myself and evolution. A decrepit phoenix is kind of how I see my body-mind and personality. Always escaping from the ashes, sore and tired … But, a phoenix nonetheless.” With its wobbling chromatic synthesizer melodies and arena-ready drum slaps, the music presents a colorful foundation atop which Marcloid’s screamed vocals delve head first into this beautiful crisis of change: “Melted and melded and molding crashes / Illusion of self reduced to ashes,” she sings, highlighting the twin agents of destruction and rebirth that accompany any process of change.

While these ideas might traverse the breadth of Fire-Toolz’ discography, the new album places the themes in a more specific context. “For Rainbow Bridge, I felt like I had an enormous amount I needed to say and express; so many questions to ask, and expressions of energy I needed to release. I just make music with that in mind,” says Marcloid. Specifically, “the title references the pathway that our pets take when they leave us. My cat Breakfast, who passed away in December of 2018, is the talking point of the album. A lot of it is about her, or speaking to her.” Breakfast also appears on the album (as she has on a number of previous Fire-Toolz releases), creating a sort of living/lasting artistic tribute to the lost friend. In this light, the epic constructions feel even more special, as if the explosions of colorful sounds on Rainbow Bridge are paeans to Breakfast. The songs build towers that stretch toward the bridge in search of communication.

 “Fire-Toolz has always been sincere,” Marcloid says. “Melodramatically sincere.” It’s this sincerity that’s kept me coming back time and time again after that fateful February morning encounter. Especially at its most bombastic and indulgent (see: the sing-along chorus of Rainbow Bridge‘s “It’s Now Safe to Turn Off Your Computer,” the neon, fusion-drenched guitar outro “Clear Light” off 2019’s Field Whispers (Into the Crystal Palace)), Marcloid’s music teethes with a sense of purpose and meaning. What might illicit chuckles of disbelief upon first encounter transforms into a beautiful sonic odyssey that offers more intruige and magic over time.

Like each and every Fire-Toolz album, Rainbow Bridge is a mind-bending excursion that blows up music into a cosmic, surreal land, and it’s only the tip of the iceberg: In the last year or so alone, Marcloid has put out equally incredible music through her Mindspring Memories, Angelwings Marmalade, Nonlocal Forecast and Path to Lobster Believers projects, as well as a number of mastering jobs (some personal favorites include The Car? and w i n t e r q u i l t 愛が止ま). A number of these projects (including Fire-Toolz) have future releases already in progress, and there’s a high chance I’ve even left of a name or two in this list. If this seems like this stretches the limits of what one entity can perform and produce, Marcloid suggests that there’s other energy at play: “Something tells me it’s not me doing it. ‘Me’ in the individuated sense,” she says. “It feels more like something I am a part of is doing it through me.” What form this ancillary force might take is unbeknownst to anyone save Marcloid, but let’s hope their fruitful collaborations continue for years into the future. We’ll always need more rapturous shock; we’ll always need more Fire-Toolz, ad infinitum.

-Audrey Lockie/Slug Mag

https://www.slugmag.com/music/interviews/music-interviews/infinity-and-i-an-interview-with-fire-toolz/

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years

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Hi! This is for “I Ship It”. I’m pretty friendly and always think about others before i think about myself. I’m quite affectionate and a flirt because i’ve got so much love to give, but i’m always hesitant when it comes to people crushing on me. I usually wear makeup and wear stylish but comfy clothing. I wear a lot of crop tops mainly to get more comfy with my body. I enjoy listening to musicals and acting. Fandom: Marvel. Any pairing and pronouns. Scenario: the first “I Love You.” thank you!

You were the only team member left in the tower. Everyone was scattered to a variety of meetings or missions except for you. It felt odd to be alone where you were typically surrounded by chaos and noise. You kind of missed it. You lasted all of an hour before asking Jarvis to play the soundtrack to your favorite musical since no one was around to complain as they normally would. You might as well make the best of the situation.

You found yourself humming along or swinging your hips a bit as you caught up with your chores. Once your room was straightened and your laundry put away, you decided to make dinner for everyone. Now you were on your second soundtrack of the day while you worked on making a simple dinner for everyone. You hummed as you set aside the knife you’d been using on the vegetables. As soon as it left your grip, hands ran across the exposed skin at your stomach as arms wrapped around you from behind.

Startled, you jumped before realizing it was your boyfriend. He chuckled as his nose nuzzled into your neck and he pressed a kiss there. You turned in his arms and smacked him playfully on the chest. “Damn it, Sam. You scared me.”

He kissed your lips softly. “There was a reason I waited until you put the knife down, Y/N.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You could have just announced your presence, you know. Some thanks I get for doing your laundry for you.” You turned back to the vegetables to scoop them into the pot.

“You did my laundry, baby? Man, I love you.”

Your heart raced a bit at the words though you knew he didn’t mean anything by them. He said it often, even to the rest of the team. It was just his things. “I love you too, Wilson.”

His hand settled on your arm and turned you when you’d finished what you were doing. He placed a hand against your cheek and searched your eyes. “No. I really love you, Y/N. Have for awhile, just couldn’t work up the nerve to say it.”

You grinned so wide your cheeks hurt. “I love you, too, Sam.”

He kissed you, long and slow. When you separated you laid your head against his chest. His hands ran up and down your back as he held you. After a moment you laughed. “What?” he asked.

“Wait until I tell Steve and Bucky that ‘Man, I love you’ was your first I love you.”

***

I see you with Sam. I think his loveable, easy going nature would mesh well with you. But he also is serious when he needs to be so he could put any of your insecurities about his feelings to rest. Oh, and he loves that strip of skin he sees when you wear your crop tops. It drives him crazy and you’ve caught him checking you out while he bit his bottom lip more than once.

Thank you for the request! I hope you liked it.

#I ship it #number 2 #sam Wilson x reader

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indxstress-crypt · 5 years

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alt!

CHARACTER INTRODUCTION: MODERN GAIA (Greek)

It goes like this. A moment, a frozen-in-time thing made of spun sugar and heaving backs, that space between am I and yes, wherein the stick is dry and there’s nothing, nothing to be seen before that answer. Then she looks, she looks down and sees, and her smile is wondrous to behold as she falls onto the bed in shock and calls, ❝ Honey, honey- I’m pregnant ! ❞ He doesn’t know what to say but says it anyway, all full of answers and smirks that belie everything and nothing at once. It’s not his, is it- he’s had no children since the red-bleeding day long ago, the day they don’t think about but will never ever forget. There’s a barbed word here and there but he stays, he holds her and helps her as her belly swells, as she grows large with a child of the eternal earth, deep-growing and kicking into every trimester that passes like a season. Four-five-six years go by, years of little games and a pitter-pattering soundtrack to maternal days and nights, tiny feet on a child that she can love because she’s new, and mortal, and won’t grow to betray her like the others. A child that she loves, this bright daughter with no old feuds or conflicting values, this mortal who will grow old and die in the fullness of time. The mother who is MOTHER looks on her every night and dewy morning with this knowledge, this certainty of seeing her children’s children laid in their graves and feels a yes deep to her core. Because no mother should bury their child, but the age of this one will be perfect and it will be right, and even her very bones will be returned to Mother Ge in the end. For every end is a beginning, the circling cycle that moves us through the spinning wheels of time. Seasons, minutes, hours, days- passing as shadows and the march of moon and sun through Father Ouranos. This little girl seems to shine of her own volition, a child of earth and stars, as she runs to Mommy at the end of her first day of school with a gap-toothed smile full of uncorrupted love. Hello, she breathes into her daughter’s dark honey hair, Mommy loves you too. The earth never lies, and her promises to this child are as honest as flowers and falling leaves. It stops like this. With the blood pounding time has slowed, her question a thrown rock down an empty hall. What’s wrong and will she-, when the doctor’s every hesitant blink and stalling gesture spans a lifetime. Wasn’t it just yesterday that she came home complaining of a headache and stiff neck, woke up in the middle of the night with spiking fever? They two parents, these GODS with no knowledge of disease, thought it just some passing thing, labored on until a disfiguring rash prompted them to seek out a den of healing. Only to be here, now, to have the final tests done and see this mortal man remove his glasses slowly with a dragging sigh, and it doesn’t take an oracle to see the clouded horizon. The hospital hallway echoes bleak and desolate, every inch a linoleum mausoleum. They wait and watch and listen as the syllables fall with rusty bell-clangs, all there’s nothing we can do and went too long untreated but she can hear nothing, only the beating of her own heart and the knowledge that no, she will never see her little girl drive a car or get married, never see her grow old before laying her in a grave.It falls apart like this. She is running, r u n n i n g down the halls of the living mausoleum and out the door, running until she finds some patch of green and good, with trees and carefully sculpted flowers that she can surround herself with and be at home. The park is empty this early in the morning, just the odd jogger and sunrise squirrel, but off in the distance a child is at play. One of her holidays, Litha was just the other day and the candlelight worship still swells in her, surging power that floods her veins with ruddy strength and life. The world is quiet, dimmed to a choked whisper as she falls to the ground and screams. It moves like this. The hill is no towering Olympus nor proud Othrys, but her feet are rooted to hard-packed desert earth in the midst of CHAOS. For miles around there is screaming, screaming and trembling and people running for cover, struggling to keep their balance as the very ground BUCKS and sways, a horse trying to overthrow its master. Buildings shifting, windows shattering in their frames, bookshelves toppling to crush innocent, scared people- the damage is vast and spreading. With every twist of her hand and shift of her FURIOUS gaze it worsens, rippling from her as waves in a pond. Nothing within her feels pity for the scared and dying, no iota of mercy that bids her to stop. Beneath her feet the very ground is RIOTING, a vast and furious panorama of destructive wrath. Every tremor seems to reflect in or come from her, her bones and muscles shaking fitfully in their skin as the ground slides impatiently along fault lines. Something in her face is strange and distorted, the pretty features twisted into stone with every tremor that sounds like a scream of inhuman grief. Death, chaos, horror and DESTRUCTION: from her they come, perfect ripples from the ALL-DESTROYING ALL MOTHER. I brought you into this world, she seems to say with humanity in her hand, and I can take you out. It casts off like this. He isn’t the hand-holding type prone to tenderness and sweet nothings; they have gone many centuries playing their games, sniping back and forth with love bites that feel like tearing beaks. When he looks at her, at his wife and mother who has always returned to him, she has a hardness that speaks only of deep fragmenting, and he instantly sees through to her soft places. It’s a tricky thing, picking through screaming people and falling trees, wending through streets that are sliding into each other and crumpling like paper. The raw power rolling off her nearly knocks him back, but she’s very close to killing them both so he continues. When she feels his hand on her shoulder, she retaliates with fury: a swift motion meant to knock him on his back. He knows her too well, though, and soon has her by the wrists. As before ( in those older days, those days of newness and pain ) his embrace envelops her, wraps around on all sides as he was always meant to, containing her still-shaking arms as the world FALLS APART around them. She looks at him, all rage and wrath, and his answering gaze is calm ( perhaps the slightest edge of understanding, even ) ; calm, unperturbed, the rocks on which the tide of her grief breaks. And like the waves she breaks, her ramrod-straight spine curling into him, tears falling from eyes that have been dry since the Inquisition. He lets her, embrace all-enveloping, and she cries until the tremors stop.

#scarwritten #❛ meme response. ┈ 「 interactions. 」#chill? never heard of it

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grimelords · 6 years

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My May playlist is finished and it’s got everything from Rachmaninoff to Peaches across 3 and a half hours, I hope you enjoy it.

If The Car Beside You Moves Ahead - James Blake: James Blake has got such a big brain and this song is unbelievable. He has such a way of taking things that could be gimmicky like this vocal stuttering, or looping vocals and making them totally heartrending.

The Boxer - The Chemical Brothers: The central melody of this song is constantly stuck in my head and complete proof that you can make an incredibly catchy hook with just three notes if you need to.

known(1) - Autechre: I think this is maybe Autechre's most straightforward song but it still sounds like a harpsichord concerto getting sucked into a black hole. The way the violin-ish part swoops around throughout the whole thing, disintegrating and reforming before your eyes is hypnotising.

Sundown - Boards Of Canada: Guess who started crying this month listening to an ambient Boards Of Canada song thinking about how the end of soil is within my lifetime and we have destroyed our only home the earth!!

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys: With their new album coming out I went back and listened to AM for the first time in a while and it's still really astonishing what they pulled off. This and R U Mine? completely blew me away when they came out. Having the audacity to completely change your sound and style and have it work perfectly is amazing, and then disappearing for five years and trying to do it again? Bold.

FML - Kanye West: I was listening to this a lot when Kanye was off his lexapro and fucking his whole life up. And now there's a sequel to this on the new album where Kim's begging him not to fuck the money up, which I think is a very good kind of storytelling.

United P92 - Venetian Snares & Daniel Lanois: I love the idea of ambient Venetian Snares and this is the song on the album where their two ideas meet in the middle the best I think. Also the way this builds and builds into total chaos I always forget that it's coming and get surprised when it says 'the machine can cum', what a funny song.

Turnstile Blues - Autolux: I saw Autolux's drummer in Jack White's band when he played on SNL a couple of weeks ago and suddenly remembered how perfect this song is. A true testament to the power of a simple groove that sounds like it was recorded in a concrete garage.

Young For Eternity - The Subways: Yet another great song about being a vampire and all the benefits that vampirism can bring to your life! Thank god for Dracula! He sucked the shit out of me, now I can leave my work for nights and leave my days for sleeping! Young for eternity!

Oh Yeah - The Subways: I bought a 7" of this song a couple of weeks ago in honour of the time it inexplicably caused me a mental breakdown and made me sprint out of my house to drive around town crying and listening to it on repeat for some hours about 5 years ago. Not sure what that was about!

The Blues - Defeater: As far as songs that go for less than a minute go, I really can't fault this one. Pure power, it does absolutely everything it sets out to do and still manages to get two choruses in under the wire.

Bombay - El Guincho: I saw Holy Mountain this month in a double feature with El Topo, and although El Topo kind of sucked I loved The Holy Mountain a lot. There's a part where there's been a battle and a whole lot of protesters are dying on the ground bleeding, except you can see that the blood and guts are obviously special effects, you can see the hose that she's using to pretend to cry and the guts are green balloons and things like that. Hold on I found it on youtube anyway I know I've seen it before and I thought it was in the video to this song or another one of CANADA's videos but I watched them all and can't find it! If anyone can tell me the music video I'm thinking of, thankyou. This song is also, of course, good.

Swim Good - Frank Ocean: Honestly has there ever been a better song about wearing a cool suit and driving your car into the ocean?? Never. This is perhaps the best sing along song ever because you've got to do your smoothest voice ever until he does his little emo yells of 'I'm goin out!' near the end.

Batphone - Arctic Monkeys: I think this is my favourite song off the new Arctive Monkeys, it's the most '3am slamming away at a club piano' type vibe of them all, but most of all I love the little spiralling into space guitar noise that keeps happening whenever he finishes a line.

An Open Letter To NYC - Beastie Boys: I'm almost always thinking about the time Beastie Boys made a very serious song about how good New York is after 9/11 and they said 'dear New York I know a lot has changed, we're two towers down but we're still in the game'.

Black Car - Beach House: I can't get enough of the new Beach House album, and this song in particular. It's some of my favourite lyrics of theirs ever, a good song for when you're trapped in a dark labyrinth of your own creation.

Midnight Radio 1 - Bohren & Der Club Of Gore: Got quite heavily into Bohren & Der Club Of Gore again this month. This is from the album before they got rid of their guitarist and replaced him with a saxophonist, which pretty dramatically changed their sound from 'extremely brooding night music' to 'film noir soundtrack', which is still very good but really not the same. Anyway this song goes for 20 minutes and it feels illegal to listen to it any time before 2am.

House In LA - Jungle: I am so excited that Jungle are finally back and with such an amazing song too. I love how spacious this is, it feels very different to their first - a lot more grown up and I really can't wait for the album.

Lemonworld - The National: Someone had a tweet a while ago that was like 'the guy from the national sounds like he's been going through a divorce for ten years now' which is very true, but this song feels like it's from happier times when he went to see his sister in law and had an morosely horny time. This song feels like the entire experience of reading a literary novel condensed into 4 minutes: a depressed older man in New York having a sort of backwards, confusing sexual thought. This is a song I regularly listen to on repeat and sing along to, it's a very specific feeling and I think "it'll take a better war to kill a college man like me" is one of the best lines he's ever written.

Rigamortis - Zomby: I put off listening to the new Zomby album for so long because his last one was just so boring but he's completely redeemed himself on this, it's really something. It feels like one long piece, which is amazing when any sort of thematic coherence is a rarity for Zomby albums. There's a lot of recurring sounds and motifs, and almost zero drums in the traditional sense. It feels like a really mature reflection on grime that he's been building up to for years.

Indoors - Burial: Whereas this song sounds like you're waiting outside a club in hell.

Segeln Ohne Wind - Bohren & Der Club Of Gore: Another Bohren song but from much, much later. I love the way the brass sounds in this when it finally comes in, it's so rich and overpowering.

Isle Of The Dead - Segei Rachmaninoff: Wikipedia says "The piece was inspired by a black and white reproduction of Arnold Böcklin's painting, Isle of the Dead, which Rachmaninoff saw in Paris in 1907. Rachmaninoff was disappointed by the original painting when he later saw it, saying, "If I had seen first the original, I, probably, would have not written my Isle of the Dead. I like it in black and white." and it also says "Prints were very popular in central Europe in the early 20th century—Vladimir Nabokov observed in his novel Despair that they could be "found in every Berlin home". Folks what is going on with this spooky painting.

Been Caught Stealing - Jane's Addiction: For a long time this was the emergency dead air song on Triple J, which is an inspired choice in my opinion because there'd be ten seconds of eerie silence because something's gone wrong at the station and then suddenly two huge loud chords! and dogs barking! A BEEN CAUGHT STEEL IN! ONCE!

Sledgehammer - Peter Gabriel: I was sitting on the toilet when I saw a news article that said Peter Gabriel has finally made his music available on Spotify and I said 'yessssssss' loudly myself and then played Sledgehammer. Honorable mention to the best ever sample of this song in Contemporary Man by Action Bronson, which is unfortunately still unavailable on Spotify.

Reaching The Gulf - Dylan Carlson: I saw a review of this album saying Dylan Carlson is the only choice for soundtrack if they ver make a movie of Blood Meridian and they're completely right. I'm also so glad that he collaborated with Emma Ruth Rundle on this, it feels like the closest I'll get to bonus tracks to her Electric Guitar One album.

T-1000 - Swarms: I have no idea where or why I first heard this album but it's been in my rotation for a long time. It's in the general canon of post-Burial dubstep before dubstep got americanized and it's just very nice. When the vocals finally come in on this it's a very emotional moment for me.

Casino Trem - Tyondai Braxton: It's really surprising listening to Tyondai Braxton's work after Battles because he has such a distinct melodic style it's shocking to realise how much he brought to that first album. After listening to a lot of his solo stuff it becomes so recognisable it almost feels like you can go back through Mirroroed and pick out every single guitar line of his making. Anyway this song is great. Starts out sounding like what it feels like to be trapped in a pokie and ends up like you're trapped in a databent Banjo Kazooie cartridge.

Kick It - Peaches & Iggy Pop: The first time I ever heard this song, and the first time I ever heard of Peaches or Iggy Pop was on the soundtrack to Midnight Club 3 so I didn't really know what the fuck was going on. I still don't really. I love that this is supposed to be like a dangerous sexy song but the whole time Iggy Pop is just rebuffing her advances and bullying her. Then she's like 'go to berlin' and then the song ends. Still not sure what this one's about still!

If You Know You Know - Pusha T: GOD this song is good, I've been listening to it on repeat. What I love about Pusha T is where a lot of other rappers talk sort of frivolously about drug dealing and everything, he often feels like he's putting his hand on your shoulder and looking you straight in the eyes saying 'I am not fucking around. If you need drugs of any calibre or kind I can get them for you in massive quantities.' The impish way he's saying 'if you know you know', absolutely kills me, like he's a cartoon man winking at me while hiding drugs inside a tennis ball.

Hacker - Death Grips: I think I put this on my playlist last month but I'm still on it so. My new favourite part of this song is when he says "The table's flipped now we got all the coconuts bitch / Burmese babies under each arm / Screaming beautiful songs".

Cavity - Hundred Waters: Hundred Waters feel like a really underrated band to me, I've been listening to their last two album a lot this month and they're just stunning. The long build up towards the end before the two note melody comes back and kills me? What a moment.

Music For The Long Emergency - Polica: I didn't love this album when it came out but I've been listening to it more and more and it's really growing on me. I think I put this song on a playlist a month or two ago so I won't write more but let me say this: Polica rules.

On The Grid - Lime: tfw you turn the knob and you do a good job and you wind up on the grid :/

Elephants - Them Crooked Vultures: I feel like Them Crooked Vultures gets forgotten when people talk about Queens Of The Stone Age albums. People bring up Desert Sessions and Kyuss but somehow forget that this giant album happened. Anyway this is far and away the best song on it because it just keeps on giving and giving. It's just a huge jam about riding an elephant and having cool hair(?).

Particle - Hundred Waters: This song feels like it could be the EDM hit of the summer if it was structured slightly differently, but instead it's the biggest brain pop song I've heard in a long time. I love how much power the bass has in this, it really feels impactful when it comes and goes. The vocal performance is obviously incredible as always but I really love the distorted vocal line that sort of tears itself apart now and then, against how clean everything else in this song sounds it really makes it.

Me Or Us - Young Thug: Thinking hard about when Young Thug sampled First Day Of My Life by Bright Eyes and made it into a really really good song.

Because I Love You - Montaigne: God this song is good. All the time the lyric 'I ate a salad today, I ate one yesterday too' pops into my head and makes me laugh. She tweeted about this song a couple of days ago and it really made me laugh: "My ex-boyfriend & I once watched BBC Sherlock & during the ep he paused & basically soliloquised about how he’s a tortured genius just like Sherlock & I’m his Watson in as condescending a way as you’re probably imagining then poured a shot of whiskey & now you know the story"

listen here

#playlists

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